[jamespotterismydaddy]

Masterlist

Smut: 🍆

Personal faves: ⭐️

Requests I plan to write -> here

Aemond Targaryen Masterlist

Rhaenyra Masterlist

Aegon Masterlist

Jacaerys:

Oneshots/mini series:

Best Friends Brother, Cops And Robbers (modern!jacaerys)🍆

Traded Posession, Gilded Whore (dark!jacaerys x reader) 🍆

Cregan:

Oneshots/mini series:

Attitude Adjustment (cregan x wife!reader)🍆⭐️

Series:

Lord Husband (cregan x reader)⭐️

Daemon Targaryen Masterlist

Alicent

Oneshots/mini series:

A Simple Favour 🍆

Nymphets🍆

Michael Gavey Masterlist

Luke Castellan Masterlist

Sejanus Plinth:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Darling🍆

Tom Bennett:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Sailor Boy🍆

Joseph Descamps:

Oneshots/miniseries:

Behind Closed Doors🍆

The Last of Us Masterlist

[jamespotterismydaddy]

What the fuck have they done to my queen

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Yall why did gwayne get off his horse like that😭

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Could you please please write more brother!jace? Maybe something with a breeding kink or darker Jace?

PS I love your writing!

This i enjoy and will do…

He had a crazy look in his eye before he left to fight at the blackwater so I def think I will have smth to work with there

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Oscar Tully saying he needs more traitors dead to build a sept of bones was perfect

Daemon Targaryen u are the father!!

[lovelikelandslide]

Idk if your still taking fic suggestions but a muke x reader vibe (their most recent era) would feed me.

It's my religion

warnings: smut, emotionally cheating if you squint, threesome, barely any plot

word count: 3,718 words

pairing: michael clifford/reader, luke hemmings/reader, muke/reader

a/n: titled tba. I kinda got carried away also recently watched skins so luke is accidentally tony kinda

WARNING! RPF CONTENT DONT LIKE DONT READ

You were curled against Luke's side on the couch, knees tucked beneath you, while his arm hung lazily across the cushions behind your shoulders. He'd pulled you there a while after you started greeting your guests, settling you against him while he talked with a few of his friends, including Michael, who sat across from you in an armchair, fidgeting with a pick from the show from earlier that night.

The venue had been tiny, but impressive in a way that made your chest ache with pride every time you looked at Luke. The music rattled through the floorboards hard enough for it to feel in your ribs. The band had only been together for a little over a year, yet somehow people already knew the lyrics.

They’d shouted the band’s name afterward while Luke stood sweaty and breathless beneath the stage lights, curls sticking damply to his forehead.

The party afterward in Luke's apartment was mostly for networking, according to him. Producers, other musicians, friends-of-friends crammed in with drinks balanced carelessly in their hands. Luke had dragged you along with him the second somebody invited the band over, fingers hooked through yours as he disappeared easily into conversation after conversation. You mostly stayed put next to him while people talked about gigs and recording sessions and people you’d never met or even heard of, smiling politely and giving you two cents despite feeling a little lost.

You decided to get some air eventually, more out of boredom than anything else.

Luke noticed the second you started untucking yourself from his side, his hand sliding from your thigh while he glanced up at you through heavy-lidded eyes.

“Where you goin’?” he asked

“Outside for a minute,” you murmured.

His fingers caught briefly around your wrist before letting go again. “Don’t disappear.”

Michael seemed to notice your state.

He leaned back deeper into the armchair across from you, boot nudging lightly against the leg of the coffee table while he still rolled the guitar pick between his fingers, his eyes followed your movement and watched you disappear.

The chill hit immediately. It felt good after being packed inside warm bodies all night. You sat down on the metal steps with your drink between your hands, elbows resting on your knees, while the noise from inside dulled, and the smell of cigarettes drifted to your nostrils.

The fire escape window opened again a minute later.

“Knew this wasn’t really your thing,”

Michael stepped outside, the apartment light spilling briefly across the stairwell behind him before closing it once again.

“Figured I’d come keep you company.” he said after a moment

You looked down toward the drink balanced between your hands instead of directly at him. “That obvious?”

“A little.”

There was amusement sitting quietly underneath his words, though not enough to make it feel mean. He stepped down onto the stair beside yours, close enough that your knees could brush if either of you moved wrong.

Michael was somewhere in that strange space between acquaintance and friend. You saw him often enough because of Luke and spent enough late nights around him after rehearsals and shitty diner trips, yet the two of you had never really been alone together before.

There was something easy about him. Familiar, you would say. You trusted him instinctively, in the way you trust somebody who’s seen you half-asleep in the backseat at three in the morning or listened to you ramble tipsily on somebody’s kitchen floor without ever making you feel stupid for it.

And maybe that was part of the problem lately.

The last few weeks had felt off, you had no other word for it, in a way, you were trying very hard not to examine too closely. Nothing obvious. Nothing bad. Just little things that had started to linger longer than they should have.

Michael looking at you across rehearsal rooms a second too long. Your stomach flipping stupidly whenever he brushed past you in cramped hallways. The kind of tension you could still pretend wasn’t there if you never faced it.

“I think Luke forgets these things are actually boring if you’re not in a band.”

Yeah,” he murmured. “You kinda need to care at least a little.”

“I tried caring.”

“I’m sure you did.”

You glanced sideways at him finally, catching the faint grin sitting at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t mocking. If anything, he looked entertained by you in a way that made heat creep faintly into your face.

“You liked the show though?” He asked.

Your expression softened automatically. “Obviously.”

“You looked proud.”

“I was proud.” You smiled a little to yourself. “You're all getting the recognition you deserve, you're even getting invited to places like these.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Still feels kinda weird.”

“We were playing to like,” he laughed quietly, “fifteen people six months ago.”

“And now random girls know your lyrics.”

“That’s mostly Luke’s fault,” Michael said easily. “People like looking at him.”

You snorted softly into your drink. “You say that like people weren’t staring at you too.”

His mouth pulled slightly at the corner afterward, he muttered. “Were you?”

You were shocked because the answer should be obvious? Luke.

Luke, your boyfriend, all sweet and pretty smiles and endless love.

But maybe Michael, too.

Michael, with his guitar hanging low against his hips, head tipped down while he played. who barely seemed aware when people looked at him, which somehow made it more endearing.

The realization made the feeling of guilt twist softly in your chest.

Still, your eyes flicked briefly down toward Michael’s mouth before you could even stop yourself.

“Both.” you admitted quietly, and regretted instantly. What the fuck.

You felt it immediately, awfully in your chest, like you’d said something you weren’t supposed to out loud.

Michael noticed too. You could tell by the way his expression shifted slightly, the corner of his mouth pulling faintly like he was trying not to smile too much at your obvious panic.

You stood up too fast, nearly spilling your drink down the front of yourself in the process. “We should probably go back inside.” you said quickly.

Michael got up a second later, slower than you, hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket while he watched you carefully for a moment. He didn’t push you further, and that somehow worsened it all.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “okay.”

You suddenly felt too aware of your surroundings inside, after the quiet, warmer outside.

Luke was across the room, laughing at something while he leaned back against the counter.

His eyes found yours when you came back in. Then shifted briefly toward Michael, climbing in after you.

Something unreadable flickered across his face for half a second, you could tell, but it went as fast as it came.

The rest of the party blurred a little after that. You mostly pretended to listen to conversations while your brain replayed the fire escape over and over again in humiliating detail. And every now and then, you caught Michael looking at you from across the room, while Luke's hand rested on your waist.

Eventually, the apartment thinned into just the three of you.

Michael stayed. He always did. Which was unfortunate for your current situation, considering his presence in your apartment felt almost as familiar as your own by now.

By the time the place finally quieted down, it was almost three in the morning, and the three of you had fallen into cleaning without really talking about it, drinking more halfway through. Luke moved around the apartment gathering empty bottles into trash bags while you stood at the sink rinsing sticky alcohol from cups. Michael dried them beside you with a dish towel thrown over his shoulder.

Luke moved around easily behind the two of you, and every so often, he’d pass by and drag his hand absentmindedly over your hip or the small of your back like he needed to touch you on instinct alone. Casual.

Still, every single time he did it, you became painfully aware of Michael standing right there.

The last bag of trash was tied off. The final glass sat drying on the rack. The silence that settled over the clean-ish apartment..

“Can we not move for a second?” You groaned, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter.

“Please,” Michael mumbled.

Luke pushed off the counter immediately, a small smile dedicated to you. “Come on.” He caught your hand and pulled you towards the living room.

He fell onto the cushions first, landing with a soft oof, and pulled you to rest on his chest. your body molded to his with the ease of a year's habit.

He smelled like beer, and home. His arm came around you, heavy.

Michael followed behind, dropping onto the seat next to you.

The three of you lay there in a comfortable, drunk silence for a few minutes.

The streetlight outside cast long, lazy shadows across the room. Your mind drifted, floating hazily on the feeling of Luke’s heartbeat under your ear and the solid, quiet presence of Michael beside you.

Luke’s hand, which had been resting on your hip, began to move. It was absently-minded stroking you, his thumb tracing idle circles through the fabric of your dress. It was the same casual, instinctive touch from the kitchen, but here in the dark quiet, it felt amplified.

And each pass of his thumb sent a little spark through the pleasant fog in your head.

You tilted your face up toward his, and he was already looking down at you, his eyes dark and soft in the shadows. A slow, lazy smile touched his lips. He bent his head and kissed you.

It was a tired, beer-flavored kiss at first—soft, closed-mouthed, a simple love you. But then his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing you a little more firmly against him, and the kiss deepened. His tongue slid against yours, seekingly so, and a low hum of pleasure vibrated in his chest.

You kissed him back, the familiar taste and feel of him a comforting anchor in the sleepy, spinning room. Your hand came up to curl in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. The world narrowed to the soft sound of your mouths moving together, the scratch of his stubble, the heat of his body under yours.

Michael had turned his head on the cushion.

He was watching you, not with shock or jealousy, but with a kind of hungry fascination. His eyes were glassy from drink and tiredness, but they were fixed on Luke’s mouth, then on yours.

He quickly looked away when he saw you’d noticed, a faint flush visible even in the dim light, his throat working as he swallowed.

Luke followed your gaze. He didn’t seem surprised. He looked from Michael’s averted face back to yours, his expression thoughtful.

His hand resumed its slow stroking on your back.

“Comfy, Mikey?” Luke asked, his voice a low rumble.

“Yeah” Michael muttered

“Good.”

Luke kissed you again, but this time it was different. More deliberate somehow, like he was showing off.

He angled his head deeper against yours, making a soft, pleased sound into the kiss while one of his hands slid up to cradle your jaw. It was the kind of kiss that normally would’ve melted you instantly, but through the lingering haze in your head,

“The whole night,” he continued softly, thumb dragging once along your jaw. “The way he looks at you. The way you look back.”

Heat flooded your face so fast it almost hurt.

“Luke,” you whispered, horrified. “I didn’t mean—”

Michael let out a quiet strained laugh from next to you, more nervous than amused. “Dude—”

“Relax.” Luke cut in easily, though his eyes stayed on yours the entire time.

There was still something unfairly calm about him. He had no jealousy or anger. If anything, he looked too focused, like watching the two of you together had flipped some switch in his head that he hadn’t expected.

His hand slid from your jaw to your throat, loosely.

“It’s kinda hard not to notice,” he said quietly. “You get all shy around him lately.”

Your pulse jumped.

“And he looks at you like he wants to eat you alive.” Luke huffed out the faintest laugh through his nose after that, almost disbelieving. “Think I’d have to be blind to miss it.”

Luke shifted beneath you, his arm extending past your shoulder to grip Michael’s wrist where it rested on the armrest, pulling his hand forward until his fingers splayed warm and heavy against your hip alongside Luke’s own. "Touch her" Luke murmured, his voice wrecked against your ear, his thumb stroking the inside of Michael’s wrist where the pulse hammered wild.

Michael made a broken sound, his fingers flexing hard into your waist, and then he was surging across the narrow space between you, his hand coming up to grip your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair.

Michael kissed you like he’d been starving for it, months of sidelong glances and yearning finally breaking surface. His hand came up to grip your jaw, fingers sliding into your hair, and when he pulled back barely an inch his breathing was ragged against your lips.

“This okay?” he whispered, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. “’Cause I can—”

“Don’t stop,” you said, your voice sounding foreign, thick. “Please. Just don’t stop.”

You felt Luke shift behind you on the couch, his chest pressing harder against your back. His hand didn’t leave your waist—his fingers dug in possessively as he watched over your shoulder. Then his mouth was on your neck grazing the tendon there and you were trapped between them, gasping.

“You sure?” Luke murmured against your skin, his hand sliding up to cover Michael’s where it gripped your jaw. He laced their fingers together, a silent question passing between them. “We can just—”

“I want you both.” you said, the words tumbling out before you could catch them. You felt your face burn, but Luke groaned, low and wrecked, right against your ear.

“Fuck,” Michael breathed. “Okay. Yeah.”

Luke’s hand slid up roughly, pushing the strap of your dress off your shoulder. The fabric loosened, and Michael’s hand immediately slid inside, his calloused palm cupping your breast. His thumb found your nipple, rolling it until it hardened. You gasped, arching into it, your head falling back against Luke’s shoulder.

“You’re shaking,” Michael observed, his voice unsteady. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear. “We can slow down.”

“No,” you said, reaching out to fist your hand in his shirt, pulling him closer. “I’m not scared. I just—God, I’ve wanted this. I didn’t know how to say it.”

Luke’s other hand worked the back of your dress, zipper grinding down. He pushed it down your hips, his knuckles dragging against your skin. “You don’t have to say anything,” he said. “We know. We’ve known.”

The dress pooled on the floor. Michael broke away just long enough to pull his own shirt over his head, tossing it aside, and you reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle. Your fingers were clumsy, trembling.

“Here.” Luke said, his hand covering yours. Together they worked the leather free, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. Michael’s jeans unzipped, and his cock sprang out, thick and flushed. You reached for him, wrapping your hand around the baseand he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Your mouth,” he managed, his hand coming up to cup your face. “Can you—?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, and Luke was already guiding you forward with a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, bending you over Michael’s lap.

You took Michael into your mouth, tasting salt and heat, and he groaned above you, his hands threading into your hair—not pushing, just holding, his fingers trembling against your scalp. “Fuck, that’s—” he cut off, his head dropping back.

Then Luke was moving, kneeling on the floor between your spread knees. He shoved your underwear down your thighs, leaving them tangled, and pushed your legs wider with his shoulders. “Lift up a little,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your inner thighs. “There. Just like that.”

His mouth found you immediately—hot, wet, filthy. His tongue dragged up from your entrance to your clit, then he sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth. You moaned around Michael’s cock, the vibration making him curse and jerk his hips.

“Feel good?” Luke asked, pulling back just enough for you to feel the words against your thigh. He pushed two fingers into you, curling them, and you bucked against his hand.

“Yes,” you gasped, pulling off Michael with a wet sound. “Luke, don’t—don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. He went back to work, his tongue circling your clit while his fingers fucked you slow and deep.

Michael’s hand slid down from your hair, his thumb tracing your swollen lips. “Come up here,” he said softly. “Wanna see you.”

Luke’s hands gripped your hips, helping you turn, guiding you up and around. You settled back onto Luke’s lap, facing Michael now, your knees bracketing Luke’s hips. Luke’s cock was hard and hot against your lower back, and he reached down, grabbing himself, aligning himself with your entrance.

“Slow,” he breathed against your neck. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

You sank down onto him, inch by inch, the stretch burning perfect. You both groaned—low and guttural—as you took him to the base. “Not too much,” you panted, your head falling back against his shoulder. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Luke’s hands came up to grip your waist, his thumbs pressing into your hip bones. “Ride me,” he said, his voice wrecked.

You started to move, rolling your hips, grinding down. Michael watched from the couch beside you, his hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking slow. His eyes were dark, fixed on where Luke entered you.

“Come here.” you said to him, reaching out. “I want you closer.”

Michael moved immediately, shifting up onto his knees on the couch beside Luke’s head. You leaned forward, taking him into your mouth again, and the angle was different now—deeper.

Michael groaned, his hand coming to rest on the back of your head, not guiding but feeling.

Luke thrusted up into you from below, meeting your downward grinds, his hands tightening on your waist. “Look at you,” he rasped. “Taking us both. You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pulled off Michael with a gasp, your hand replacing your mouth, stroking him firm and wet. “Switch.” you managed, looking back over your shoulder at Luke. “I want—can I?”

Luke understood immediately. He slowed his thrusts, his hands guiding you up until he slipped free, wet and hard against his stomach. “Turn around,” he said softly. “Get on your knees.”

You turned, facing away from him now, on your hands and knees on the couch. Luke sat back against the arm, positioning himself in front of you, his cock upright and glistening. Michael moved behind you, his hands gripping your hips, his chest against your back.

“You good?” Michael asked, his lips at your ear. His cock was pressing against your entrance, not entering yet, just teasing through the wetness there.

“Yes,” you whispered, pushing back against him. “Please, Michael. I need you inside.”

He pushed forward in one slow steady thrust, filling you completely. You gasped, your forehead dropping to Luke’s thigh. The feeling was different from Luke—and it sent a sharp spark of pleasure up your spine.

“Fuck,” Michael breathed, his forehead dropping to your shoulder blade. “You’re so tight. So wet.”

“Okay?” Luke asked, his hand coming under your chin, lifting your face. His eyes searched yours in the dim light.

“Better than okay,” you said, and you meant it. You leaned forward and took Luke’s cock into your mouth again, the taste of yourself mixed with his pre-cum, and the position was perfect—you impaled on Michael from behind, your mouth full of Luke, the two of them filling you from both ends.

They found a rhythm together, natural and unspoken. When Michael thrust forward, you rocked onto Luke’s cock. Michael’s hands gripped your ass, his fingers digging in, while Luke’s hands were gentle in your hair, his hips making small, shallow thrusts into your mouth.

“Touch her,” Luke said to Michael, his voice strained. He reached down with one hand, finding Michael’s where it gripped your hip, and guided it between your legs. “Rub her clit. She’s close.”

Michael’s fingers slid between your legs from behind, finding your clit, rubbing tight, hard circles while he fucked you. The dual sensation was overwhelming—his cock hitting deep, his fingers on your clit, Luke’s cock sliding over your tongue.

“Is that good?” Michael asked, his voice breaking. “You gonna come for us?”

You couldn’t answer, you just moaned around Luke, the vibration making him groan and tighten his grip in your hair.

You were babbling incoherent, the pleasure building sharply, coiling tight in your belly.

“I’m close,” Michael choked out, his thrusts stuttering. “Fuck, I can’t—”

“Come in her,” Luke said, his voice a rough command softened by the way he was looking at you, his eyes dark. “fill her up. Let me see.”

Michael’s hips jerked hard, and he buried himself deep with a ragged cry, his cock pulsing as he came inside you, hot and thick. The feeling of him coming, the squeeze of his fingers on your clit, sent you over. You came with a moan around Luke’s cock, your body convulsing, your pussy milking Michael’s cock as he groaned above you, his weight pressing you forward.

The tight clenching of your orgasm and the sight of you falling apart sent Luke over the edge. He pulled your head back slightly, his hand gentle in your hair, and came spilling over your tongue and lips, his hips bucking up, his hand gripping the couch cushion white-knuckled.

You collapsed forward onto Luke’s chest, Michael’s weight heavy and perfect against your back for a moment before he carefully pulled out, falling sideways onto the couch with a groan.

You lay there, a panting mess.

Luke’s cock softening against your stomach while Michael’s hand lingered on your thigh.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

https://www.tumblr.com/jamespotterismydaddy/820277132015058944/guys-pls-send-in-hotd-and-akotsk-requests-because?source=share

Omg I'm so excited about the return of lord husband!!

Okok hear me out: you know that one trope where one character is like super sad and angry and the love interest tries to console them but the other character shoves them away but ends up falling to the floor crying???? What if, after Princess gets news of Jace's death, that happens and all her icy exterior melts and she allows herself to cry in Cregan's arms 👀👀

Okay I actually do really like this concept!! I’m just worried that with the way I set up the story that this might create plot holes because Rhaenyra is pretty firmly established as Queen. One thought I had is that maybe she allowed Daeron to live and maybe he’s gathered an army after she’s been ruling. I will try to work it out tho

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Guys pls send in hotd and akotsk requests because i genuinely need to get back on my bullshit… also considering getting back into lord husband

[jamespotterismydaddy]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

size kink with brother!jacaerys thoughts tw: smut!

He hates to see his sweet baby sister is pain but he knows you can push through. Because that is what a big brother is supposed to do, right? encourage his sister to do hard things.

The stretch grows as he pushes deeper into you and you whine underneath him.

“Shh, hāedar. You have to be quiet.” He murmurs into your ear as he starts slow, shallow thrusts.

“I-I can’t… it’s too much.”

“Remember how you begged for it only moments ago.” He holds your face in his hand, trying to keep your eyes focused on him. “I said we could wait for our wedding night but you wouldn’t stop begging for your big brother to fill you.”

He pushes in deep and you gasp at the feeling of him bottoming out.

“I… know.”

He smiles at you softly and nods. “I know you do.” His right hand moves down to your stomach, pressing down slightly on the bulge from his dick. He smirks at how deep he is reaching inside you. “So you’ll be quiet before your future king finds another way to keep that mouth shut.”

a/n: I miss him and this is how I’ll cope

[jamespotterismydaddy]

I’m actually pretty upset about Jace’s death not just in the sense of him dying but because of Rhaena’s involvement with it. I understand they’re trying to show that dragons cannot be controlled but damn that was a messed way for him to go 🫩

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Rip Jacaerys Targaryen you served face until the end 🙏

[jamespotterismydaddy]

No way Alicent and Aemond just kissed rn I thought that leak was fake 😭

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Girl do tell if youve watched akotsk!

We need u to write the fanfics 🥵

I can mayhaps come out of retirement for this

[littledes1re]

Sugar for Repairs 

Pairing: sleazy mechanic!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Your car breaks down on a scorching Texas day, and Joel Miller—a sleazy, perverted mechanic—offers to fix it. You can’t afford the price, but Joel’s got other ways to settle debts. You agree once…then come back, heartbroken. This time, he says it’s free. But you? You’re not done wanting.

Warnings: 18+, Smut, MDNI, Fluff, slight Angst, crying, reader being insecure, Joel kinda catcalls reader, pervert!joel, sleazy!joel, age gap! (20s and 50s), cheating (but also not bc reader is not together with lucas), dub con?, unprotected sex, pinv, fingering, boot riding (oh hell yea), spanking, oral m!receiving, oral f!receiving, multiple orgasms, creampie, slight overstimulation, real dirty talk, pet names, praise kink, no outbreak (alternate universe)

A/N: OKEY this was supposed to come out LAST week but I got sick🤧 it’s also wayyyy longer than some of my fics but I wanted to really write this out. Soooo here comes unhinged pervert Joel miller :)) enjoy!

To some, driving halfway across the country just to see someone who won’t admit how he feels might seem a bit too much.

A boy who left you hanging countless times. Someone who shows his feelings only when you beg, and only when his lust is speaking.

Lucas.

Yet, you were driving your car like there was no tomorrow.

And admittedly, it wasn’t really your heart speaking. Maybe it was that aching feeling between your legs, maybe it was that one thought in your mind that wanted to feel needed and validated. Even if the consequence is waiting for something that never comes—a ‘will you be my girlfriend?’ or an ‘I love you.’

The Texas heat makes your clothes cling to your skin—damp, hot, and soaked in sweat, like you’ve already been swimming. You’re driving with the windows down, letting the wind slap your hair around while the radio hums something low and lazy, something that fits the mood.

You’re stuck in a loop of your thoughts until you hear it:

A cough from your car.

It’s subtle at first—a hiccup in the engine, a stutter in the rhythm. You furrow your brow, tap the gas, and it responds with a groan.

Then it jerks. Stops. Dead. Just like that.

Your eyes widen. “No, no, no,” you mutter, twisting the key in hopes that it works again. The engine wheezes, sputters, then falls silent again.

Trying it once more, it catches—barely—but the sound it makes is ugly, like metal grinding against rocks.

This is exactly what you needed right now.

You huff, slam your palm against the steering wheel, and lean back in your seat, sweat gathering at the base of your neck and forehead.

The sun is merciless. The air inside the car is uncomfortable. You glance around, hoping for a miracle, and that’s when you see it: a faded sign, half-hidden behind a cluster of stubborn weeds.

Miller’s Auto & Repair—400 meters.

You squint. You don’t have much of a choice, really. Lucas is too far to walk to, and you’re not about to call him for help—not when you’re still unsure if he’d even pick up.

So you sigh, start the engine again, and hope it’ll carry you at least 400 more meters before giving up. It starts slow, rough noises spilling out, over and over again. And to your luck, it keeps going.

Keeps going and going until…

You see it.

The place looks half-abandoned, dirty. A dry, sun bleached building with peeling paint and rust creeping up the sides. The sign overhead reads Miller’s Auto & Repair, the letters faded and cracked, like they’ve been baking in the heat for decades.

You finally roll into the lot, the car wheezing like it’s on its last breath.

It was only 400 meters, but under this sun, it felt like an eternity. Your dress sticks to your back, your thighs to the seat, and your patience is long gone.

You find the door—a really heavy metal thing with a hot handle—and push it open. The inside hits you like a wave: the sharp smell of gasoline, the musk of motor oil, and something metallic and burnt, like overheated steel.

You step in, blinking against the dim light, and that’s when you hear it.

A whistle. Low, lazy, and unmistakably directed at you.

“Well look at ya, sugar. What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ in a place like this?”

When your eyes land on him, you have to swallow. An older man, standing there, cigarette in one hand and in the other holding a wrench—his eyes are on you, lingering up and down, staying far too long under the hem of your dress.

His flannel shirt, dirty, from sweat and grease—just like the worn jeans and boots he was wearing. His hair slicked back, hints of silver shining through.

“Hi,” you breathe out, not realizing until then that you’ve been holding your breath.

His eyes darken, as he takes another look at you. From top to bottom.

He chuckles, “Yes, hello sugar.”

Your cheeks heat up, suddenly feeling intimidated under his gaze. Your eyes land unknowingly on his arms, his biceps then, his crotch. His jeans hangs low on his hips, revealing a sliver of skin and a trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband—and you absolutely hate that your eyes stay there.

“M-my car broke down. It still works kinda, but it’s making lots of noise and it’s very slow.” Your voice comes out smaller than you excepted.

“That so, hm?” His voice low and hoarse, like gravel soaked in whiskey. It slides down your spine leaving goosebumps.

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, cigarette still burning between his fingers. He glances out the open door, squinting at your car.

“I ain’t got time today,” he says, dragging the words out slow. “But for a pretty girl like you… I can rearrange.”

The compliments he makes (if you even can call them compliments) should disgust you, not make you blush like an apple fallen from a tree. And the grin he gives you is anything but friendly; it’s cocky. Flirty.

“I tell ya what, sweetheart,” He takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. “You can sit in my office, got a nice air conditioner in there and I’ll look at your little car. Alright?”

Lucas wouldn’t be missing you when you come a little late. So, you agree.

When he leads you to his office, his hand dangerously close to the small of your back, you take in his musk—cigarettes, gasoline, and beneath it all, the faint trace of his fragrance. It’s overrun by sweat, but you still notice the calloused hands, the patchy salt and pepper beard, and his height—a full head taller than you. And you wish you could slap yourself right then and there for the warmth spreading inside of your tummy.

His office smells like motor oil and old cigarettes.

Papers are scattered everywhere—invoices, manuals, receipts—some yellowed with age, others stained with grease.

The air conditioner feels like salvation. For the first time today, you can finally breathe, and the sticky sheen clinging to your skin begins to fade.

Joel doesn’t let you stand for long. “A sweet lady like you shouldn’t be on her feet in this heat,” he mutters, already popping open a can of cold Coke and handing it to you.

You sit down on the chair in front of his table, watching him leave with a smirk on his lips.

Sipping on the Coke, fizz sharp against your tongue, you listen to the sounds coming from the garage. Machinery whirling to life, metal clanks against metal, and you hear Joel cursing under his breath just faintly—something about a busted part.

It’s fast. Too fast. You barely have time to cool off before the door creaks open again.

Joel steps in, wiping his hands on a rag, his shirt clinging to his chest. He’s got that same cigarette hanging from his mouth, the smoke curling around his jaw like a halo made of ash.

“Serpentine belt was shot,” he mutters, voice rough as gravel. “Fixed it for ya, sugar.”

His eyes linger on you, longer than necessary, longer than comfortable. And that nickname, ‘sugar’—he says it like it’s second nature, but it curls around your spine in a way that makes you flustered. Maybe more than you’d like to admit.

He was too old. Too old to be calling you pet names and looking at your body like that. God knows what runs through his mind when those darkened eyes land on the hem of your dress, or the low-cut cleavage you had no choice but to push out and let hang low—still clinging to the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, Lucas might take you today.

You stand, placing the coke on the desk, and offer a smile. “Thank you. Really. You kinda saved my ass.”

He lets out a slow, low chuckle, then flicks the cigarette to the ground without a second thought.

“I sure did, hon. But it ain’t gonna be cheap. Had to replace the whole belt. Those things don’t come easy.”

Of course.

That was something that somehow went completely over your head. And you’d be lying if your heart didn’t sink into your gut at his description of the repair being expensive.

You bit your lip, gawning at the flesh inside of your mouth, when you peep out: “and how much?”

He walks over to his seat, rough boots loud as he steps, groaning when he sinks into his chair, the leather creaking beneath him. He crushed his cigarette into the ashtray before lighting another cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the lines on his face.

“250$. But for you, I’ll make 200$.”

Eyes widened, you look at him take another puff of his cigarette, with the other hand running his hand through his hair. The realisation that you only have 50$ dollars with you settles in your bones.

“Can I maybe pay it off later?” you ask, voice soft. “I promise.”

He chuckles, that cute voice of yours already making his brief tighten. “That ain’t how that works, sugar.” Continues after exhaling smoke. “You come in here, think lookin’ pretty’s enough to get a free fix?”

Your heart starts to race. You glance at the door, then back at him. “I just… I don’t have much money with me. Please, just let me pay you another day.”

He leans back, eyes narrowing. “If I let that happen, I’d have to let it happen with everyone.”

And of course, he was being cruel, just that way men sometimes are when they know they’ve got the upper hand. Sure, he let others pay later, scribble out a check and drive off. But not you. Not the sweet girl with that skimpy dress and the nervous smile.

No—he wasn’t letting you off the hook that easily.

You slump into the chair, defeated. The room feels smaller now, hotter. Joel’s gaze drifts — from your face to your shirt, lingering a little too long before trailing downward. You feel it. The weight of it. The way it makes your skin prickle.

“How about another way you can pay me, sugar?” he says, voice thick with suggestion.

Your eyes meet his, and something flickers in your chest—nerves, maybe. Or something darker. You nod, faintly, unsure if it’s fear or curiosity guiding you.

“S’just a tiny bit dirty,” he adds, eyes dropping to his crotch, then back to yours, “But ain’t nothin’ you’re not used to already, I’m sure.”

You freeze. Just for a second. You want to scoff, to roll your eyes, to say something biting. But nothing comes out.

Instead, your gaze flickers—to his face, to the cigarette on his hand, to the door that suddenly feels way too far away. Your skin begins to prickle, not from the heat this time, but from something colder. Shame, maybe. Or the fact that part of you isn’t recoiling. You hate that. Hate the way your body responds before your mind can shut it down. Hate the spreading of warmth in your belly, the pulse in your throat, the way your breath catches just slightly.

“That’s—that’s inappropriate,” you stammer out, not having many words left to answer him.

“Is it more appropriate if I call the cops on ya ass?” His eyebrows furrow together.

Your heart sinks. You stare at him, unsure what to say. The room is quiet now, save for the hum of the air conditioner and the soft fizz of the Coke can.

“C’mon, sugar,” he says, eyes landing on yours then flicking back to his crotch.

The door’s right behind you. You could say no. You could walk out, call your dad, tell him to come get you from the creepy mechanic who trades dirty favors for payment.

But you don’t.

Warmth rushes through your body, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you stand—his eyes following you—and take the first steps toward his desk. A familiar, cocky grin forms in his face, and yours stay frozen on the big bulge forming in his crotch.

“S’what I thought,” he murmurs, leaning back against his chair, making room for you under his desk.

You kneel, skin touching the cold floor.

“Look at you, folding at the thought of getting dick into that mouth.”

And you can’t help but feel turned on by his words. They should disgust you, especially when he says them in a degrading tone.

Your hands move without you even noticing, resting on top of his thighs, feeling the rough jeans beneath your fingertips. While your eyes are fixated on his bulge, you murmur:

“Can I?”

A low grumbling chuckle comes from above. “And a polite one are you too.”

Your gaze watches as his rough fingers opens his zipper, quickly moving and pulling out his hardened cock. The sight makes you want to roll your eyes to the back of your mind. He is thick, pulsing and aching from top to bottom while his big swollen head is leaking pre cum from his slit.

He grips himself from the base, tugging on him for a few times before swiping his wet tip with a thumb, bringing it to your mouth.

You open instantly and close your lips around his finger, sucking on it softly, while your eyes look up, landing on his—face all hazy, watching you like he is mesmerised.

“Y’ready for the real thing?” He murmurs, pulling his thumb out of your mouth, “Now open wide, sweetheart.”

You do. Obeying him like your life depends on it. Your mouth opens slack, your tongue out as you wait for his tip to push in. The first feeling is wet—his pre cum mixed with your saliva making it easy for him to slide into your mouth. You close your lips around him, looking up with big eyes—his breathing ragged while looking down on you through hooded eyes.

“Thaaas’it, sugar.” He praises, as you replace his hands with yours, wrapping around his length and taking him in further.

Your head slowly bobs up and down, your tongue swirls around his tip as you hear groans and moans on top of you. The rest of his cock is being pumped by your hand, while your mouth starts to memorise every vein and every throb his dick has to offer.

Joel’s hips start slowly bucking, and you notice his tummy going up and down, happy trail glistening in the light while doing so.

“So fuckin’ warm and tight,” Your hair is suddenly pulled back by his hands, gathered in a ponytail, to keep the strands from disturbing you while you work. “Bet that cunt feels equally warm and tight, doesn’t it sweetheart?”

His words spread warmth in your tummy, your panties start to get wet—feeling throbbing inside of your cunt. Without noticing you start grinding against the air, small little bucks coming from your hips, while your mouth concentrated on his cock.

“Yeah, there she goes. Talkin’ bout being inappropriate, now she is humpin’ the air like a bitch in heat.”

With a lazy shift, his boot finds its place between your thighs—first just touching your thigh but pushing against your underwear. You don’t realise—maybe you don’t think before starting to grind yourself on the tip of his boot, the worn leather nudging at your clit over and over again.

His cock leaves your mouth only to moan. Joel moves his boot just right to meet you over your panties, rubbing from top to bottom.

“She wet already?” He asks, pressing down harder. “Only from sucking cock?”

You look up to him, eyes glassy as you nod, wanting him to continue his work on your pussy.

Joel is watching you, his hand wrapped around his cock, hooded eyes and a smug smirk—moving the tip of his boot tightly against your wet, throbbing cunt. The fabric feels soaked, the pleasure is unbearable and you wonder how a shoe is getting you off more than Lucas ever did.

Your hips rock in a quick rhythm as your hands grip into his thighs, completely forgetting about his cock, silently hoping that he will still make you take him after you’re done.

“Oh, she’s enjoying herself” he grumbles under his breath, hand tight against his cock. “Keep going, sugar. You’re almost there.”

Muscles tightening, legs shaking as your clit meets the tip of his shoe just one more time and you’re coming without a warning. Your body lunches forward, gripping on his thighs, your tights closing around his foot. Silent whimpers and cries leave your chest and underneath all that bliss you can feel his calloused hand rubbing up and down your back.

When you calm down and you look up again, you see his face first—hazy, breathing hard and looking at you with a lazy smirk. Then, looking further down you realise, he came. All over his hand that is still wrapped around him and his crotch, even a little bit on your hair.

Joel lazily milks the rest of his cum, hand still soothing on your body, now moved to your cheek, just stroking.

“I’m gonna let that slide, made me cum nonetheless,” he says nodding to you. “Even cleaned the tip of my boot with your wet cunt.”

His fingertips slide further down, catching your lip and squeezing. Eyes just focused on your fucked out face. Flushed cheeks, glassy eyes and swollen lips. God knows, what he would do with you if he could. But works waiting.

“C’mon, sugar. Off ya go.”

You stand up slowly, holding into his frame for support, realising that your dress slightly slid down, revealing just one of your tits. And instead of sliding it up and feeling embarrassed, you look at him, breast handing in front of his face.

He doesn’t say anything, he just looks into your eyes before nearing his mouth against your tit and taking your nipple into his mouth. He suckles on it for a moment, keeping eye contact with you, before slapping it slightly with his rough hand.

“Fuckin’ work is callin’,” he groans, standing up, packing his cock back to his trousers and sliding your dress back up to your shoulder. “Oh, what would I do to ya, sugar. Take you just the way this cunt deserves,” your breath hitches when his hand cups your pussy over your dress suddenly. “Fuck you just the way my cock likes.”

He lets go and before he heads to the door, he pauses. Reaches across the desk, fingers brushing past scattered tools and ash to pluck a card—worn at the edges, slick with grease. He holds it out to you, eyes locked, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

You take it, fingertips grazing his. Your eyes flick down, then back up. “Joel?”

He nods, slow. Like he’s confirming something you already knew.

You hesitate, then offer your name—soft, almost shy.

That’s when he chuckles. Low. Rough. The kind of sound that makes your stomach flip. “Introducin’ yourself after you had my cock in your mouth?”

Your breath catches, but a smile slips out before you can stop it. It’s small. Crooked. Embarrassed. But it’s there.

He sees it. Of course he does. And he leans in just enough to make the air feel heavier. “You can call me anytime, sugar.”

He starts walking towards the door holding it open for you. You walk over with wobbly legs and a wet cunt.

“Thank you.” You whisper, throat dry.

“Anytime, sugar.”

—

You slide into the driver’s seat, the door clicking shut besides you. The engine hums to life without protesting this time, and for a moment, you just sit there.

Your breath is uneven. Not fast just… off. Like your body’s still catching up to the heat that bloomed inside you minutes ago, on the mind blowing orgasm you just had on his shoe. Your skin is hot, there are goosebumps all over your it—just from the way his voice curled around each word. From the way he didn’t hesitate. From the way you didn’t either.

You feel like you’ve done something forbidden. Something you weren’t supposed to want. But you did. God, you did. And that’s the part that makes your stomach twist—not the act itself, but how much you liked it. How much you still feel it.

The ache between your legs is sharp, insistent, like a whisper you can’t ignore. You shift in your seat, trying to shake it off, but it lingers.

You could go back in there. You could ask him to fix it properly. You know he would.

But Lucas is waiting.

You put the car in drive and pull away from the garage, the tires crunching softly against gravel.

The evening slowly wraps around you, quiet and thick, the radio hums low and your thoughts never stop.

Should you tell Lucas? Should you pretend nothing happened? Should you go back to Joel and let him finish what he started? Your mind is a mess, tangled in guilt and desire and something that feels dangerously close to freedom.

And when you finally pull up in front of Lucas’s house just as the last light drains from the sky, you take a big breath. The Texas heat has finally loosened its grip, replaced by a breeze that brushes against your skin and makes you shiver.

You sit in the car for a moment, engine humming, heart thudding.

Your thoughts are a mess—Joel’s voice still echoing somewhere in the back of your mind, the ache between your legs still not quite gone.

But this isn’t about him. Not now.

You climb out of your car and walk up to his door slowly, each footstep louder than it should be.

You knock, soft at first, then again.

The door opens.

And there he is.

Lucas. Joggers hanging low on his hips, hair messy like he just rolled out of bed, freckles scattered across his nose like they were placed there by someone careless. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t say hello. Just looks at you like you’re a stranger who showed up uninvited.

You try to keep your voice steady. “Hi. How are you doin’?”

He doesn’t answer. Just scoffs—a short, sharp sound that cuts through the quiet. Then he gestures, finger flicking between you and himself.

“We need to stop doing this.”

You blink. Your heart stutters. “What do you mean?”

“I’m with someone else, now.” He says, voice calm.

“What?”

He shrugs, casual. Like he’s telling you he forgot to take out the trash. “Yeah. I met someone at work. Just clicked between us two.”

You stare at him, mouth slightly open, trying to make sense of the words. He keeps going, like it’s nothing. Like you’re nothing.

“And I know we had this thing going on, but I want to end it.”

Your breath catches. Your chest tightens. You feel your face drop, the warmth draining from your skin. Sadness floods in fast, but it’s not alon —anger rides in with it, hot and bitter. You stare at him, your expression twisted into something raw, something broken. You want to scream. You want to ask him why. You want to ask him if any of it meant anything.

But you don’t.

You just stand there, blinking, trying to hold yourself together while he looks at you like he already moved on.

“So… bye,” he says, voice flat. And then he closes the door.

Just like that.

You stand there, staring at the door, the porch light buzzing above you. The wind picks up, brushing your hair into your face, but you don’t move.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. Your cheeks are wet before you realize you’re crying. The tears come slow, then faster, until you’re hiccuping quietly, mascara bleeding down your skin like bruises.

You can’t say you didn’t see it coming. Lucas never said he loved you. Never said anything, really. Just showed up, touched you, left.

But still—you thought maybe. Maybe there was something. Maybe he cared in his own quiet way.

And now you wonder if you deserved this. If you brought it on yourself. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t anything official. But you still let someone else touch you. You still sucked on someone else’s cock.

You let out a sob, sharp and sudden, and turn away from the door. You walk back to your car, each step heavier than the last. You slide into the seat, shut the door, and start the engine.

That’s when it hits you.

The sobs come hard now, shaking your shoulders, blurring your vision. You grip the wheel like it’s the only thing keeping you together. You cry for him. For Lucas. For yourself. For the way no one ever seems to choose you. For the way you keep giving and giving and end up empty every time.

Maybe you weren’t enough. Maybe you were never enough. Maybe you were too quiet, too needy, too messy. Maybe if you’d been prettier. Smarter. More mysterious. Maybe if you hadn’t let him see how much you cared. Maybe if you hadn’t let someone else touch you.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, nails digging into the leather. You feel stupid. Used. Like you gave away something sacred and got nothing in return. Like you were just a placeholder until someone better came along.

-

The time slowly passes as you drive with your window down, dry skin, streaked with salt from tears that stopped flowing miles ago. Your muscles are stiff, your eyes swollen, but you don’t feel anything anymore. Not sadness.

Not anger. Just empty. Numb.

You stare forward, not at the road but through it, like you’re driving into nothing. Thoughts are scattered, but they all circle the same drain—Lucas’s voice, his shrug, the way he said “I met someone else” like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. You replay it over and over, trying to find a crack in it, trying to make it make sense. But it doesn’t. It just hurts. And you’re too tired to fight it.

Then the car coughs. Once again.

A sputter. A stutter. A sound you’ve heard before—just today. The engine slows, hiccups, spits.

You press your foot to the gas, but it resists, groaning like it’s dying. You pull over, gravel crunching beneath the tires, and throw it into park.

Your head drops to the wheel with a dull thud.

“Not again,” you whisper, voice hoarse, barely there.

You sit there for a moment, forehead pressed against the leather, breathing shallow. The silence wraps around you, thick and unforgiving. You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You just sit. Because what’s the point?

Then your eyes drift down.

There it is. The card.

Joel’s card. You forgot it was there. You forgot he gave it to you—that moment in the doorway, his fingers brushing yours, that smirk like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You can call me anytime, sugar.”

The words echo in your head, low and lazy, wrapped in smoke and heat. You remember the way he looked at you. The way he touched you. The way he made you feel wanted—not sweetly, not gently, but fully. Like you were something to be devoured.

Your heart thuds once, hard. Your head pounds from all the crying, all the anger, all the confusion. You sit up slowly, fingers brushing the card like it might burn you. You stare at it. Then you start the car again.

It groans, but it obeys.

You pull back onto the road, headlights slicing through the dark, and you drive.

Towards Joel’s repair shop.

You climb out of the car, the wind tugging at your clothes, brushing hair across your face. You feel hollow. Like someone scraped you out and left the shell behind. You walk up to the door, heart thudding, and knock.

For a moment, nothing.

Then the door creaks open.

Joel stands there, framed by the dim light inside. He looks the same—flannel sleeves rolled up, jeans worn and stained, boots heavy on the concrete. But there’s something different in his face. Something tired. His eyes flick over you, and the smirk comes slow, lazy.

“Now who do we have here,” he drawls, voice low and teasing. “Can’t remember that I ordered my dinner.”

You want to laugh. You want to roll your eyes, toss back something sharp. But you can’t. The sadness is still sitting heavy in your chest, thick in your throat. You just look at him, eyes wide, lips barely moving.

“Hey,” you say, voice small.

Joel’s smirk fades. His brows knit together, and before you can react, his hand lifts—rough fingers pinch your chin, tilting your face towards him. His eyes scan you, slow and deliberate, taking in the smeared makeup, the red-rimmed eyes, the way your mouth trembles.

“The hell happened to ya?” he asks, voice quieter now. Not teasing. Not cocky. Suddenly concerned.

You scoff, brushing his hand away. But it’s not anger. You just can’t be touched right now. Not gently. Not like that.

Joel steps back, understanding. His posture shifts, the swagger draining from his shoulders. He glances past you, looking at your car parked crooked in the lot.

“S’your car again?”

You nod, arms crossed tight over your chest. “Makes the same noise as earlier today. Also feels slow. Like it’s choking.”

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes flick back to your face, lingering on the dried streaks, the way you won’t meet his gaze.

“We’re actually closed,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “But I can take a look at it.”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak. Joel watches you for a beat longer, then gestures towards the inside.

“Why don’t ya come in. Sit at my office again, yeah?”

You step past him, the warmth of the garage brushing against your skin. You don’t look at him. You don’t say thank you. You just walk— slow, heavy—to the office door. You open it, slip inside, and sit down in the same chair you did earlier.

It feels different now.

The room still smells like oil and smoke. You sink into the chair, arms still wrapped around yourself, eyes fixed on the floor. You hear Joel moving outside, the soft clink of tools, the low murmur of him talking to himself.

You don’t cry.

Even if you want to. The silence makes it hard, your head feels heavy.

Joel steps into the office, the door creaking behind him as he wipes his hands on a rag, the scent of oil and metal trailing in with him. His eyes land on you instantly—slouched in the chair, arms tight around you, eyes glassy and distant. You don’t look up right away. You don’t need to. You can feel the weight of his gaze settle on you like a coat you didn’t ask for but might need.

“Fixed it again for ya, sugar,” he says, voice low and rough. “Tensioner was loose—belt couldn’t hold. Lucky it didn’t snap on you.”

You lift your head slowly, eyes meeting his. There’s no smile. Just a nod. Your heart aches in your chest, heavy and swollen, like it’s holding back something that wants to spill. Joel sees it—something’s wrong. But maybe he doesn’t know how to ask. Maybe the invisible line between mechanic and customer holds him back. Maybe it’s the age gap. Maybe it’s something else.

“The cost?” you ask, voice quiet, almost hopeful. You don’t know why you want him to say a number you can’t afford.

Joel leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you.

“150 bucks,” he says. Then, with a crooked smile: “I’m assuming you didn’t go and get money since last time.”

You don’t answer. You just stand slowly, legs shaky, and begin to lower yourself to your knees. It’s not graceful. It’s not seductive. It’s desperate. But before you reach the floor, Joel’s hands are on your arms, pulling you back up.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, voice firm but not unkind. He steadies you, hands lingering at your elbows.

“S’on the house this time.”

You blink, confused. Embarrassed. Your heart thuds painfully, thinking maybe he doesn’t want it. Maybe he doesn’t want you. You look away, shame crawling up your spine.

“Hey,” he says, softer now. “You ain’t—sugar, you ain’t in the best shape. Not gonna accept something from you when you’re like…” He trails off, unsure how to finish.

Your forehead drops against his chest, pressing into the fabric of his shirt. You move side to side, a quiet whine escaping your throat.

“But I wanna,” you mumble, voice muffled against him. You’re not sure what you want. Maybe for him to make that empty feeling go away.

Joel’s breath catches. His hands hover at your sides, unsure. He’s holding himself back—you can feel it in the tension of his body, the way his fingers twitch but don’t grip. He could take you. He wants to. But he doesn’t. Not yet.

So you lean in—slow—and press a kiss to his mouth. Just a peck. Then another. And another.

He exhales through his nose, like he’s been holding his breath for hours. His hand comes up, rough palm cupping your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye. And then he kisses you back—deeper. His lips part against yours, warm and steady, and you melt into it like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this exact moment.

Your mind goes foggy. Almost numb—just full. Full of him. Full of heat and ache and the need to be closer. So you move without thinking, arms wrapping around his neck as you jump into him, legs curling around his waist. He catches you instantly, hands gripping to your thighs, holding you like you weigh nothing.

He walks you backward, lips still locked with yours, and gently sets you down on the desk. The wood is cool beneath you, but his body is warm, grounding. You don’t stop kissing. You can’t. It’s messy now—breathless, hungry, like you’re trying to climb inside his skin.

Then Joel pulls back, just a little. His lips trail down your jaw, soft and slow. He plants a kiss beneath your ear, then down your neck, then lower—to your shoulder, your collarbone, the top of your chest. Each kiss is deliberate, reverent, like he’s memorizing you with his mouth.

You start to squirm.

It’s not discomfort. It’s something else, something tangled. Your body wants more, while your mind is drifting, slipping somewhere distant. It feels foggy, and he is the only person who is your anchor. Joel feels it instantly. He pauses, hand still on your thigh, lips hovering just above your skin.

He looks up at you, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to read a language he doesn’t speak.

“Don’t go easy on me. Please.” A whine escapes your throat, tears already starting to bubble inside of your eyes. “Not gentle. I need to feel it.”

Joel’s jaw tightens. His eyes search yours, not for lust—for permission. For clarity. For something that tells him this is what you need, not just what you think you deserve.

Slow and deliberate, he makes you hop off the desk and turns you around with a firm hand on your waist. You don’t resist. You let him guide you, let him bend you gently over the edge of his desk.

The wood is cold against your forearms, grounding. Your breath catches, your heart beating faster.

Then you feel it—the hem of your dress lifting, fabric sliding up, exposing skin that feels too bare, too vulnerable. You brace yourself, fingers curling against the desk.

The first spank lands with a sharp crack, your mouth falls open with a gasp.

Your skin prickles instantly, nerves lighting up like static. Your breath hitches, eyes squeezing shut. But the fog—the numbness that’s been clinging to you like a second skin finally starts to clear. Just for a second. Just enough to remind you that you’re here.

Joel pauses, his hand gently kneading the flesh.

“Like this?” he asks, voice low, rough. “Y’want more, sugar?”

You nod, too fast, too desperate. “Please. More.”

He gives you the second spank—firmer this time. Your body jolts, but you don’t flinch. You lean into it. You want it. You need it.

By the third, you’re already crying.

The tears come fast, hot, and silent at first. Then they bubble out, thick and broken.

“He didn’t want me,” you sob, voice cracking open like a wound.

Joel freezes. His hand stills. He leans over you, hand rubbing slow circles up and down your back, grounding you, holding you together.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you whisper, the words spilling out like they’ve been waiting for someone to catch them.

Joel’s voice is quiet, but steady. “Can’t even imagine someone who wouldn’t want ya, sugar.” He tries to sound cocky, tries to lighten the weight in the room, but his voice falters just enough to show he means it.

You glance back at him, eyes glassy, lips trembling. A small smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, feeling understood.

“He—he made all sorts of promises,” you say, voice thin and shaking.

Joel nods, listening. Then, without warning, he gives you the fourth spank, but it’s not cruel, just a reminder. A reminder that you’re here.

“And then he just went with someone else,” you sigh, hiccuping through the words.

Joel’s hand kneads your skin gently, rubbing your ass cheek in gentle circles—soothing the sting, grounding the ache.

“Fuckin’ douchebag,” he mutters, voice thick with disdain. “He ain’t even deserving of these tears.“ His fingers trail softly over your skin, calming you softly. “Of all of you. Can’t handle a sweet thing like you…that’s what ya call a pussy.”

A giggle slips from your lips and it’s unexpected, for Joel and you. It feels that finally you can breathe, and feel safe.

Joel bends over you, his chest warm against your back, and plants a soft kiss on your cheek.

Then comes the fifth and final spank.

It’s the hardest. Not brutal—just final. Like a door closing. Like a breath held too long finally released.

You crumble.

Your knees buckle slightly, your head drops to the cold desk, and you let out a deep, shuddering breath, it stings and it hurts. But it feels good. It feels like a release.

Joel doesn’t move. He stays close, one hand on your back, the other resting gently on your hip.

And you wonder how you’re feeling more understood and comfortable with a stranger than the boy you used to love.

As your hiccups gently vanish, and the silence falls back into the room, Joel moves his body just slightly so you feel his bulge, nudging against your underwear.

Breath hitching you turn to him, the wood beneath you soaked with tears as his lips turn into a smirk, giving you a tiny peck on your lip.

“You feel that, sugar? That’s what it means to be wanted.”

A whimper leaves your lips as Joel grinds his bulge against you, the rough fabric of his denim just perfectly meeting the center of your cunt.

His hands slide under your arms, pulling you upright from the desk where you collapsed, breathless. You barely register the movement before he turns you, guiding you gently until your hip hits the edge of the table. His arms bracket you in, one on the desk, the other wrapped around your waist, holding you steady.

“Lookin’ so fuckin’ pretty when you cry, baby.” He cups your cheek, thumb swiping away the tears. “You just need someone to properly ruin you, yea?”

Dazed, and desperate. Throbbing and aching. In need of something, you nod your head quickly, nuzzling against his touch.

“Then c’mon. Up on my desk.” He demands, his head nodding towards his table.

You do as he says, jumping on his desk, the things that fall on the floor are long forgotten.

Joel’s gaze pins you in place—heavy, deliberate, and laced with a promise. Not soft. Not sweet. Just the quiet certainty of a man who knows exactly how he’s going to break you open and make you beg for more.

“There ya go, sugar. Now open them legs. Let me see what i’m workin’ with.”

You spread your legs wide, feet planted besides your hips, revealing the soft cotton panties, soaked in your wetness—just waiting to be touched. And without him saying something, you even hook your thumbs beneath the waistband, and slide the fabric down your hips slow, deliberate, like you want him to feel every second of it. You lift one leg, then the other, panties slipping off and landing softly besides you on the desk. Joel doesn’t blink—just watches, jaw tight, breathing shallow, like you’ve just undone something inside him.

“Fuckin’ look at that.” He murmurs after a silent moment. He comes closer to your pussy, bending over a little bit to analyse. “Prettiest thing. Weepin’ and creamin’ without any stimulation.”

“S’a shame,” As he comes closer, so much so that you feel his breath against your clit. “Let’s change that, yea?”

A long, wet, lick from your dripping hole to your clit. You gasp into the room, breath hitching as you watch Joel bend over even more and put his hands on you. His thumbs grazing on your pussy lips, opening you up like a flower.

A low whistle leaves his lips.

“Poor thing, all twitchy. Gonna bury my face into this sweet mess, make you forget any men that made you feel unwanted.”

His lips wrap around your clit, sucking on the button like his life depends on it.

You start to moan into the quiet room, praying that Joel doesn’t have any workers still in the building. Two fingers start to fill you, burying to the brim and curling inwards, rubbing that sensitive, sweet spot in you.

“Sweet as sugar.” He releases your clit with a plop. “And so fuckin’ tight, squeezing me like a god damn vice.”

His mouth starts lapping on you again. This time, removing his fingers from your cunt and opening your pussy lips with his thumbs. His tongue explores your hole, goes back to your clit, whirls around and sucks a few times before thrusting his tongue back into your hole.

A cry leaves you at his movements, already feeling your tummy tightening and legs shaking.

And of course, he notices.

“You cummin’ angel?” he asks, slipping his two fingers into you again. “Oh, she is. Look at ya creaming around my fingers.”

His words make you snap already, and you moan into the room, your body falling back on top of the desk, as you buck your hips against his fingers. He strokes your insides with deliberate precision, riding out your orgasm to the fullest, while watching your cunt spasm and twitch with your release.

“Pussy deserved it.” He murmurs, slipping his fingers out of your sensitive hole and gently caressing your thighs.

You lay there, breathing heavily as you look up to the ceiling, already feeling dazed again.

Joel draws lazy circles around your mound, going back and forth before slipping under your dress and landing on your breasts.

“Need to give these girls attention too.” While pinching your nipples and squeezing the flesh with his calloused hands. A few whimpers leave your lips before—you feel it.

The tip of his cock nudging at your entrance, lazily drawing circles around.

“He missed you, sugar. Gonna let me fuck you full?” He asks, pinching your nipple one last time before his hands land on your hips. You sit up slightly, eyes landing on his hard cock. Just as you remember.

Red, swollen and dripping with pre-cum.

“Think your hole clenching down is already an answer,” He chuckles, his hand jerking him up and down before lowering himself to your hole and starting to fill you.

“Ungh—Joel.” And it’s a big stretch. A way bigger stretch than his fingers and even more so from all other men you had.

He coos, thumb landing on your clit as you spread your legs wider for him. His tip pushes into you with a sting, a sting that rather feels good than it hurts.

“I’m inside ya now,” He whispers before slowly feeding you the last inches of his cock. “Ain’t no goin’ back.”

“Joel.” You whimper, lying back down on the desk and feeling full.

“That’s it. Taking me so well, sugar.” And with that, he thrusts once. A cry leaves your lips, begging for more. So he just does that, giving you small shallow thrusts, while focusing on your fucked out face. Mouth hang open and eyes squeezed together.

His hands explore your tummy, rubbing circles and every now and then slipping under your dress to pinch your nipples. A groan leaves his mouth, breathing heavy into the room as his hips start to take pace, going in and out of you in a faster way.

“I’m gonna ruin this pussy for anyone else,” he mutters, grabbing both of your wrists, bunches them together, and yanks them against his stomach holding you there, tight, like he’s using your own body to pull himself deeper.

You gasp, the angle sharper now, the stretch unbearable in the best way. His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens. “You feel that stretch?” He asks and you can’t do anything else but mindlessly nod.

“That’s me settlin’ in. Deep. So deep that you’ll be feelin’ me for days.”

His thrusts grow quicker and deeper, your body moves up and down while your tits spill from your dress now bouncing with his hits. He grunts, one hand coming at your clit and rubbing in quick circles.

“Joel—please. I think i’m gonna cum,” you whine out, shaking your head to left to right in frustration.

He chuckles. “Course ya gonna’, sweetheart,” his hand leaving your clit only to pinch your nipple between his fingers. “Sweet pussy is gushing around my cock, baby.”

And that does it. Unexpectedly.

Your body locks in as a big cry leaves your mouth, back arching off the table, eyes squeezed shut while you ride through your orgasm. Joel’s thrusts don’t stop, he supports it with circling and pinching your clit while going in, and out of you deeply.

You try to move your hands, but he won’t let you, his hand gripping tighter against both of your wrists, still pulling you towards him so he gets impossibly deep into you.

“Oh yea, sugar. That’s it, there we go.” He murmurs, watching your face twist with pleasure, fingers slowing down on your clit.

You sigh once more deeply and land with your back on the desk again before looking to him, a lazy smile forms on his face, droplets of sweat hanging from his forehead while he slows down with his hips.

“Y’ready for round two, baby?” He asks, and before even getting an answer he starts rubbing your clit quicker. “Y’got a few more in ya. Gonna properly wreck this pussy.”

“Too sensitive, please.”

He only chuckles. “That so? Your cunt gripping me tight says otherwise.”

“And that sweet button, twitching like no tomorrow,” He nods, circling around it. “I’m gonna keep goin’ until you forget your own damn name sugar.”

It was a promise.

Joel’s thrusts start picking up pace again. You can only whimper around, when his cock starts punching into your cervix. And you were sure that at how tight he was gripping your wrists, that he was going to leave marks tomorrow. And you wish it was something that didn’t turn you on.

“Fuckin’ milkin’ me.” He mutters, noticing you squirming around with sensitivity, and when you break your hands from his grasp, you try to pull yourself upwards—away from his cock.

But he ain’t having it, he stills with his thrusts, roughly gripping your wrists again and holding them down to your stomach.

“Hold still,” He mutters and when you don’t, he tugs them sternly. “I said hold still, sugar.”

“I can’t—“ you cry out, feeling like you’re going to spiral when you feel his thrusts pick up again. He pinches your clit between his fingers, already feeling himself getting close. You let yourself get pulled up by his hand, now sitting on the desk again and your forehead’s touching.

“I know you can,” he whispers. “Don’t you dare to pull away, now. You asked for this.”

And maybe you did. Maybe you did when you asked for him to not go gentle. Maybe you did when you didn’t want him to be soft.

But it felt like too much.

He looks into your eyes, grunting curses under his breath, while you bite your lip so hard that you can feel it bleeding.

“That’s me takin’ what’s mine, sugar.” He nods his head, giving your lips a quick peck.

“Y’close, I can feel it,” his thrusts go sloppier and sloppier. “Keep goin’, baby. Focus on me.” He whispers.

And you do, focus on the way his cock hits your sweet spot over and over again, cries leaving your lips as you feel the need to release bubbles up once again.

“C’mon say you’re mine,” he grits out, “say it like you mean it.”

“Joel. Please.”

He slows down with his thrusts, his hand leaving your clit. A frustrated whimper leaves your lips.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours—please.” You blubber out, bucking your hips against his cock wanting any stimulation so you can cum.

“Louder, baby.” He demands and you do just that. Screaming “i’m yours” over and over again until he is satisfied and starts fucking you again.

Quick, sloppy and mouth on you, kissing your lips your cheeks and whispering encouraging words until you let go.

And when you do, he does too.

Your cunt clenches down on him, he lets you lay down on the table again and buries himself so deep that you can even feel him filling your tummy with every spurt that his cock releases into you.

Tears leave your eyes as you lay there, spasming on his cock, while he grunts and groans, slowly bending over your body and burying his face into your neck.

And the room goes silent again, save for the heavy breathing.

Gently after a quiet time passed Joel stands again, groaning while pulling his cock out of you.

“Filled ya to the brim, sugar.” He remarks cockily, watching as his cum oozes out of you. You sit up gently, your wrists hurting, breasts handing from your dress, limbs almost feeling numb and most importantly—your pussy aching from sensitivity.

He runs a hand through his hair, then steps closer, voice low and rough.

“You’re mine now, y’know.”

You look up at him, and something flickers in your chest—doubt, maybe. Not fear, just the quiet ache of wondering if this was only heat. If it ends here.

Joel sees it. Of course he does.

He leans in, gaze steady, voice softer this time.

“Ain’t just this once, sugar. I want more. If you let me.”

Your breath catches. You blink once, then nod—slow, shy, but certain.

“I’ll let you.”

His thumb brushes your knee, firm but gentle. “Ain’t no room left in you for that other guy, anyway. I made sure of it.”

You laugh—soft, the kind that curls at the corners of your mouth. You glance up at him, and Joel’s mouth twitches into something like a smile. “You forgot about him, didn’t you?” he asks, teasing but hopeful.

You nod, still smiling. “I think I did.”

Joel leans in, resting his hands on either side of your thighs, gaze steady.

“You wanna come back to my van?” he murmurs. “Ain’t gonna do nothin’ crazy. Just wanna hold you for a while. Maybe let you fall asleep on me.”

You nod again, and Joel kisses your forehead like it’s a promise—one he intends to keep.

Oh phew….that was a lot🤧 I’m a sucker for sleazy Joel and I hope you guys liked it and that it met your expectations lol

I haven’t had the time to really proofread it a hundred times so please, if you see any mistakes just ignore them! Or tell me and I edit it out☺️

Wanna be tagged in my posts? Just write your username in right here!🫶🏻

Taglist: @vickie5446 @a-goose-on-mars @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @cuntyhunty22 @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @lovelystrawberrysblog @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @mossy-buds @alwaysanundertone @balljointedpup @almodovarispunk @rafeysgirl5 @darknight3904 @lanasdolll @anheloamores @white-wolf-buckaroo @valitagun @imdoingitareyou

[starcourtangel]

where you & mike are forced to share a bed

tw mean mike, smut, dubcon & mike being a brat as always 😊

masterlist & reblogs appreciated!

the van gives out with one last cough and a shudder before steve swerves onto the shoulder of the freeway.

“no. no, no, no, no! don’t do this to me,” steve groans, smacking the steering wheel.

“is it supposed to smell like that?” dustin asks from the back, already half out of his seatbelt.

a sharp burn of hot oil and exhaust blew straight through the dashboard vents thick enough that everyone’s coughing and waving their hands in front of their faces. yep, the van’s engine was toast.

“steve, i told you that noise earlier sounded bad!” lucas pinched his nose, exclaiming.

“you say everything sounds bad, sinclair!” steve snaps, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. “okay. okay. emergency stop. calm down guys. everyone just… relax.” he hops out of the vehicle and pops the hood.

the party collectively lets out a huge groan.

relax? you couldn’t bring yourself to relax. you’d spent most of the drive wedged between will and el, sweaty and cramped, trying to ignore mike’s knee that’s been digging into your back for the last forty minutes. you didn’t realize you were muttering to yourself until someone snapped you out of your thoughts.

“is the princess gonna be able to survive one night without air conditioning?” mike snickers lowly behind you, as the rest of the group piled out of the car.

you turn around to glare at him.

he flashes you an annoying grin, to which you flip your head right back to follow everyone out with mike right behind you. he’s met with the flick of your ponytail across his face. he quickly wraps his fingers around your ponytail and yanks hard.

max however, catches it. she always does. knowing how mike is, she catches your eye and raises her eyebrows at you.

mike's been worse than usual this whole trip. being an asshole to you, only you. and you really tried your hardest not to let it get under your skin.

by the time steve drags everyone into a flickering roadside motel with a giant VACANCY sign buzzing overhead, tensions are already shot. the lobby smells of bleach. mike pushes his way to the front of the group to stand next to steve, shoving you hard causing you to stumble forward and drop the granola bar in your hand onto the sticky motel floor. you don’t look back at him.

“two rooms,” steve says to the clerk, slapping a 20 dollar bill on the counter. “yeah, i know it’s a squeeze. it’s fine, trust me. we’ll make it work.”

“yeah, right,” lucas mutters under his breath, lugging both his and max’s bags across the floor and up the staircase.

you guys arrive at your room and steve quickly begins assigning the sleeping arrangements.

“henderson, you’ll share the single with lucas,” steve points.

“will, el, you two get the pullout.”

“max, you’re good on the floor?” max shrugs, “i’ve slept worse places.” she throws a pile of comforters and throw pillows on the ground, considering it a win.

then steve takes a good long, hard look at you and mike. there’s a pause. he smiles.

“…you two don’t mind sharing, right?” he says finally. “you guys are civil.”

dustin lets out a loud snort from behind you guys, and mike whips his head around to stare him down.

“steve,” you start.

“it’s one night,” he cuts in. “doors stay open, nobody murders anyone. okay?,” he throws his hands up in the air, walking away. “my job here is done.”

later, while everyone’s brushing their teeth with motel sink water that tastes wrong, max corners you by the ice machine.

“you know he does it on purpose, right?” she says quietly, “he thinks you’re an easy target.”

“i know,” you sigh. growing up, you never really had the natural tendency to stick up for yourself. your parents had always told you to walk away if you ever found yourself in the presence of a bully. unlike max, who went head-to-head with any boy in the group who dared cross her.

“and you’re still stuck sharing a bed with him.”

“i know.”

she squeezes your wrist. “if he pulls your hair again, kick him. i’ll back you up.”

lucas, overhearing, adds, “yeah, man, wheelers are like raccoons. you just gotta learn to assert dominance.”

mike jerks his head up from the couch across the room, “you know i can hear you guys.”

and now, it’s the middle of the night.

the lights are off. the room is quiet except for the hum of the ancient ac unit. you're both on your backs, as far apart as the bed allows, staring at the ceiling. you're in an oversized t shirt and shorts. he's in just boxers because he "runs hot" and didn't bring anything else. there's maybe six inches of space between you, but it feels like static electricity.

"stop fucking hogging the blanket," mike says, his voice quiet but sharp.

"i'm not? you literally kicked it off,"

"whatever," he mutters. "just stay on your side, wouldn't want to accidentally touch you and catch whatever makes girls so dramatic."

how could someone possibly be this fucking childish? you tried to reason, and why out of everyone did you have to be paired with him? you think to yourself as you huff and turn your body to face the wall. silence stretches. then the mattress dips. he shifts closer, whether on purpose or not, you're not sure. his arm brushes yours.

“what?” he notices you freeze, "you're scared i'll bite?" he whispers, his tone mocking.

"shut up, mike," you retort, you silently thank god it was pitch black in the room, you were so flustered, your cheeks resembled a pair of cluster tomatoes. mike wouldn’t ever let you live it down if he knew the effect his words had on you.

he doesn't turn back. instead, he moves again. it's deliberate this time, until his chest is almost against your back. you can feel the heat coming off him.

"you've been running your mouth all weekend, acting like you're better than me all the time,” he says, “but here you are, stuck in bed with me. funny how that works."

“i have no clue what you’re talking about.”

his hand lands on your hip, and his fingers curl over the fabric of your shorts.

it's not gentle. it feels like a claim.

"michael," you say, your voice tight, "michael, get off me,"

"mmm.. no," he states with a low chuckle right by your ear.

he pulls you back against him hard. you can feel the outline of his length, pressing into your ass through the thin layers of cotton. your breath catches.

"see? you don’t really want me to get off you, do you? you like this,” his hand inching closer and now hovering over the waistband of your shorts, “i bet if i stick my hand down your pants right now, it’d come out soaking.”

he slides his hand up under your shirt. his rough palm drags over your stomach, up to cup your breast. he squeezes once, meanly.

"wow,” he scoffs, “no bra?”

you hate how your back arches into his touch. this was getting out of hand, you thought. you flip onto your other side in an attempt to grab his wrists and push him off. but mike beats you to it.

he flips you back onto your back, grabs your left wrist and holds it above your head. his eyes glint with that same cruel smirk you've seen all week.

"open your mouth,"

"what? you can’t make me-," you whisper defiant, struggling to get out of his grip. yet trying not to wake the others. what in the world has gotten into him?

his hand shoots up, his fingers gripping your jaw. it's not hard enough to bruise, but it's firm. he forces your lips apart with his thumb.

"i said open," he says even louder.

you do. just enough to get him to stop and quiet down.

he leans down and lets a slow string of spit fall from his mouth into yours. you feel it hit your tongue. it's warm and humiliating. he watches your face the whole time.

"swallow," he commands.

you hesitate for half a second. then you do.

his grin is pure filth.

"awww," he mocks the pout on your face. "see? it's not so hard to behave now, is it?”

he kisses you then. starting as a peck on your lips, and then he forces his tongue into your mouth. his wet open mouthed kisses muffling your gasps. meanwhile, his hand slides down between your legs, pushing your flimsy shorts aside without ceremony. he finds a wet spot on your frilly pink panties.

"huh, you are actually pathetic, you know that?" he sneers, pulling back just enough.

he finds your entrance and inserts two fingers inside you agonizingly slow. you gasp into his mouth. he curls his fingers cruelly, pushing in slow to hit the spot.

"shhhhhhh," he whispers.

you bite your lip to keep quiet as he works you open, his thumb grinding against your clit. when he pulls his fingers out, he wipes them across your cheek like a dirty napkin.

then he's yanking your shorts down your thighs and shoving his boxers off. he lines himself up and pushes in with one long, brutal thrust that makes your eyes water.

“c’mon princess biiiiiig stretch,” he slowly sinks into you, and it makes an embarrassingly loud squelching noise, “ohhhh yeah,”

your lips that were perched shut the entire time as to not make any noise, come undone without your permission, “aaaagh- mikey!”

“mikey!” he replies mimicking you, and starts pounding into you. plop plop plop. his sack slapping meanly against your clit over & over. normally, you would be embarrassed. but right now, you can’t really process much feelings but the one of him stretching you out down there. you feel your arousal drooling onto his thighs.

"ohhhh my gosh," he groans low at the feeling, and proceeds to shove your head into the mattress, not really concerned whether or not you can breathe okay, "just ugh- take my cock and shut the fuck up."

he sets a punishing pace, his pelvis snapping against yours. the bed creaks quietly under you both. one hand grips the back of your neck, just holding you down, so your face stays smushed into the pillow.

"look at you," he says. "bet no one else has ever fucked the attitude out of you like this."

you're close, embarrassingly fast, and he knows it. “oh my gosh, you’re really enjoying this, huh?”he laughs. mike slows his pace down just to torture you.

"wanna come?" he asks. "beg."

you press your lips together hard in an attempt to not make any noise, not giving in to what he wants.

he removes his hand from the nape of your neck and presses all of his body weight down onto you. forcing you into prone bone, pressing your bodies together hard. and you feel his palm harshly crack down on your butt.

"aaaaagh oh-ohmygoshohmygosh plEASE mike please," you whisper, broken.

"please what?" he says.

"please…. let me com-,"

he meanly pushes your face hard into the pillow again mid-sentence with his palm and laughs.

"come on then," he says. "come on mikey’s cock.”

you do. it hits you hard, and you bite down on your own arm to stay quiet. he follows right after, burying himself deep and groaning your name like a curse against your neck.

after, he doesn't pull out right away. he just stays on top of you, heavy and breathing hard. his hand loosens up off the back of your neck and rolls off you, shifting back to the far edge of the bed like nothing happened. the room falls into heavy silence, broken only by your ragged breathing.

your thighs feel sticky, warm and messy from everything, the evidence of what just happened cooling uncomfortably against your skin. he doesn’t make any move to help, doesn’t even acknowledge it, just lies there on his back, staring at the ceiling.

then, out of nowhere, his voice cuts through the quiet, softer than before. “you’re kind of cute when you’re all fucked out like that.”

you blink in the darkness, taken aback by the almost gentle tone. “did you… like it?” mike asks, even quieter.

you’re still catching your breath, heart hammering, surprised he’d even ask. “yeah,” you looked down shyly, “kinda.”

he snickers right in your face, the meanness snapping back instantly. “yeah, i figured… since you were being so goddam loud.”

before you can respond, his foot shoves against your side, kicking you toward the edge of the bed. “go clean yourself up. you’re dirty.”

you tumble off the mattress with a soft thud onto the thin carpet, pulling your cotton shorts back up as you stumble off to the bathroom.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

I came across your lord husband stories and it lowkey took over my mind tbh

I absolutely love princess and definitely hc her to be somewhat like Saera Targaryen in personality and such and I wouldn't put it past her to pull a 1x04 rhae and sneak out and have her first time with other man before she was shipped off to winterfell tbh (I also totally envision that other man being Gwayne - no i am not taking criizism at this time! <3)

It wouldn’t come as a surprise to me! She’s definitely rambunctious

[jamespotterismydaddy]

I have sm free time rn. Would anyone care if I wrote for some stranger things characters??

I’m thinking like Jonathan, Steve, Mike maybe others if people want that

I need to go back to my fanfic roots