✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏Hello! My name is Bowie. I write for TLOU (primarily Joel). I love writing, but my imagination is sometimes very lacking, so, p͟l͟e͟a͟s͟e͟ send me any ideas or story requests you’ve got! I’m open to whatever, so, anything goes.
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Be warned, explicit stuff ahead.
I’m also open to writing darker themes, so… be warned again.
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Feel free to DM me/send an anon. Fic related or not, I appreciate them. If you want, use an anon emoji and don’t be shy!! Validation is my motivation—so, it keeps me writing.
Just wanna say, I’ve been reading fics for about a year now and Human Thing is still my fave. Sub!joel supremacy fr, especially to caring soft!dom reader. My heart melts
this actually means so freaking much to me bro
ive had like 2 paragraphs of a part 2 forever i might need to continue
Summary: morning sleepy sex w/ doctor and patient role play and a little accidental watersports
Warnings: oral (f!recieving), dubcon, pushy joel but not it a mean way, doctor and patient roleplaying, watersports, no specified joel age or era
Notes: This was intended for kinktober but guess what? I didn’t post it, as usual. To be fair some serious ao3 curse shit happened to be these past couple months, but that’s no excuse. I have a bunch of drafts I’m trying to do, but here you go, since I havent posted writing since June for some reason.
"Let's play sumthin'. C'mon."
You felt Joel's voice vibrate against your stomach as he muttered into the skin, leaving the occasional little kiss on your belly button or hip.
You shifted on the sheets, whisking a strand of greying hair from his forehead. "Okay."
He hummed in response, nuzzling further into the softness of your stomach, giving it another kiss as you felt the wetness of his tongue. You continued to touch his hair, holding a strand between two fingers or scratching his scalp.
“Doctor and patient?” You asked, patting the back of his neck as his fingers crept up your shorts.
“Yeah.” Joel nodded against your skin. “Think y’need a checkup.” His voice was grumbly and tired, but his fingers were still eager to grab the waistband of your shorts. His weathered fingers tugged down the thin fabric, just enough to get his head under them and his lips on your inner thighs. You didn’t wear underwear at night.
“Need’a make sure my girl’s nice an’ healthy,” Joel wetted his lips before sucking little spots on your thighs, inching closer to your center. It felt teasing, but he didn’t mean it that way. He was savoring you, sleepily.
He laid down his cheek on your pelvis, resting it on your warm skin, feeling the stubble there rub against his own. Eventually, he kissed down your lips and gave your clit a suck. “You been feelin’ sick?”
“No, but I need a checkup. It’s been too long,” you played along, still tracing your fingers along the back of his head and through the mess of brown and silver strands. The muscles in your thighs clenched a little bit when he started sucking gently between words.
“Well, first, I gotta check how ‘ya taste. Make sure everything’s workin’ fine.” Joel licked a firm stripe through your folds, chin coming to rest on your pelvis once again. His thumb creeped up, dipping into you for only a moment, before it rose to his lips and he licked off its new clear coating.
He wasn’t looking at your face, but you nodded anyway, closing your eyes shut as you let him work you up little by little. These little scenarios were as much yours as they were his, and they made it so much fun.
Joel hummed around his thumb before wiping the extra moisture from his spit against the inside of your thigh. It left a little path of shine in its wake. “She’s so tasty, baby girl,” he muttered. “Nice ‘n healthy.”
His mouth closed around your lips again, sucking at a gentle pace. It gave your stomach flutters, but it wasn’t enough to get you anywhere.
Two of his fingers pushed up against you, gently slipping inside. You tried to relax, loosening the tense muscles in your thighs as a heavy breath left your mouth. You gave him a huff, a certain whininess detectable in your voice as his knuckles pressed against your slick skin, his fingers bottoming out. They twisted and curled a little, rubbing your insides and making them warm.
“That good, baby?” Joel questioned you softly, the prickly feel of his chin poking you when he gave you little kisses.
“Yeah,” you mumbled, widening your thighs a bit as his slippery fingers wiggled inside of you. There was a relaxed grumble in your voice still, your head dropping back on the pillow as you let your neck relax. “Is everything right?”
“Looks like it…” he gave some mix of a kiss and a lick to your inner thigh. “But can’t be sure yet.”
His lips connected again with your clit, his sucks firmer now and settling warm in your stomach. You could hear the gentle laps of his tongue as he pressed it against you, little wet noises and low grunts mixing on your skin.
“Need’a see if she’s takin’ me well,” he mumbled against you before continuing to lick. You could feel that thick pressure creeping up through your stomach, squeezing deep inside your abdomen, complemented by the soft curl and prod of Joel’s fingers inside you.
That familiar electricity wormed its way through your lower belly, pleasure prickling as you finally got close, his lips sucking firmly enough to get you on the edge. His fingers continued to bend inside of you, pressing that extra nice spot. His fingers always rubbed it perfectly as if it were a formula. He was never any good at math, but maybe he did have one.
As the ripples of pleasure blended together, shifting from jolts to waves, you let little noises leave your throat without a second thought. It was Joel’s favorite thing: making you feel so good that you forgot your mouth was running. You let your fingers tap absentmindedly on his neck and in his hair, strands catching between your fingers and stinging him when you pulled them back. He just blew on your clit and got back to work.
“I know she’s gettin’ close, baby girl. Fuckin’…” another blow, lick, and curl of his fingers. “S’perfect.”
Your thighs tightened and relaxed around his head, hips ticking up every so often until you let out a final mumble of his name. When you came, your hips pushed up toward him as his mouth worked on you, still licking despite your sounds. You squirmed in the sheets, relaxing as you felt those last few ripples of electricity disappear from between your legs.
“She’s workin’ just fine…” he mumbled with a kiss to your tired clit. When he looked up and met your eyes, you giggled. It egged him on, you knew it. He leaned back in, licking another stripe through your folds and laying the most gentle of nips on each of them.
You were more sensitive now, your thighs squeezing his head tighter as the weight of your orgasm settled in your stomach. Joel hummed into you, the vibration adding to the feeling of his tongue, the now dull sensations continuing to leave you muttering his name as you pressed your face back into the pillow.
A thick and heavy pressure formed beneath your navel, mixing and stirring with the pleasure in your tummy. It pressed on your insides—a familiar feeling—and paired with the sparks which were again heightening.
Your nails dug a bit too hard into his scalp and your stomach tensed; that was your bladder—a thick bag, a weight. Fuck. It was almost too firm in the way the feeling nagged at you and sank your stomach, both heightening and tearing at your pleasure along with it. Oblivious, Joel chuckled at your fingers in his hair and leaving crescent moons on the back of his scalp. “Easy…” he shook his head to loosen your grip and you corrected yourself, replacing your nails with your soft fingertips as you grabbed him.
Your hips ticked up towards him but still, your hand tightened in his hair. You pulled him back a bit, fist tightening around a particularly silver mess of strands. When his lips left you, the pressure lessened, but Joel raised an eyebrow.
“Y’alright?” He grumbled, pressing a kiss to your thigh.
You hummed, easing your hands out of his hair and rubbing your eyes. “Yeah. Just… I have to pee.” Joel chuckled, his lips on your clit sending more little waves through your body. “So stop it,” you smiled. your thighs closed around his head again and you giggled, smiling down amusedly at him.
He smiled right back up to you, answering with a noncommittal grunt and another lick between your legs. “I bet y’can wait,” he murmured, continuing the work of his mouth, teasingly. And wait you did, letting him continue sucking and kissing, letting spit dribble down to aid his lips in their movements.
You smiled but the pressure came back when his mouth did, pushing up against your abdomen like it was trying to break loose. Each lick was adding to the force, amounting to something thick and strange.
“Now really stop, Joel. It feels… bad,” you grumbled, trying again—to no avail—at pulling his head back up and out. “I just need a minute.”
You watched the crown of Joel’s head shake—face invisible—between your legs: a refusal. his lips still worked tirelessly until a distressed rasp from your throat drew him out. If his mouth left, though, his fingers had to replace it—or, at least, that must have been his logic at the time. He looked up at you, lips wet and parted as the short whiskers around them glistened. Two of his rough fingers find their ways back between your folds. They plugged you up, the fingers smearing around before pushing in. He wouldn’t let up.
His digits sunk and curled in you, and you felt his lips form a smile against you. This was unfair.
Joel’s hand gripped your thigh, and yours began to pat at it the back of his head like it would stop him. It didn’t.
It was when that idle hand of Joel’s left your leg and creeped up your middle, settling on the soft plush of your tummy and pressing so slightly with an almost sadistic pressure that your efforts to hold it became futile.
It was at first just a little bit of fluid that escaped you as you tried to stop it, and your face flushed immediately. It was of no use trying to hold it, and liquid flowed shakily out of you, Joel’s face acting as its barrier to the sheets. “Shit,” you whispered as you felt it—a warm stream against your leg and a deflating pressure in your abdomen.
When you saw the shiny glint in his now wet beard, your hand left his head and instead plastered itself over your eyes, a thick sense of shame settling itself over you. Instinctively, your thighs pulled together again as the last bit of urine trickled out of you, this time not playfully, but embarrassedly.
Joel grunted before laying his hands back on your thighs, prying them apart a bit so as to loosen the pressure on his head. The muscles in his arms ticked as he held your legs from squeezing him again, and he looked up at your hands and how they were spread over your face; you were clearly trying to disappear into them.
“S’alright, babygirl,” he noticed your humiliation, and though he tried, couldn’t hinder the little chuckle in his lungs. “S’okay, look at me.” He tapped the skin on your thigh but still shook your head, turning it to the side and burying it into the pillow.
He sighed and gave your thighs a few more kisses. “You’re super healthy,” he mumbled against your stomach, giving it a kiss of its own. “Super healthy girl. Passed with flyin’ colors.”
After a few moments, you rubbed your eyes and smoothed your hair, looking down at him, still unsure. His worried look shifted to a smile, and he grinned into your tummy. “You’re all set, okay?” He hummed, pulling himself up to you on the bed, resting his heavy body next to yours and giving soft kisses to the crook of your neck. You could feel the rigid dampness of the sheets underneath you like a cold river, so you curled up your legs and hooked them around his hips. The warm wetness of your inner thighs left Joel’s stomach moist, and his arms wrapped heavily around you.
“That was so bad,” you mumbled into his shoulder, still embarrassed enough to try passing it off with a chuckle.
“I kinda liked it,” he pulled back a little to look at you with a smile both honest and smug.
“Fuck you,” you giggled, burying your face back into his chest.
summary: fucking your boyfriends dad was a one time mistake—well that was until he slipped his hand under your skirt at thanksgiving dinner, teasing you right across your boyfriends plate. luckily for you, joel enjoys his dessert—preferably stuffed and fucked over the dining room table when everyone’s asleep.
cw: 18+ MDNI, no named boyfriend (joel’s son), big ol’ age gap, college!reader, cheating, random miller family members, voyeurism, talks of food (and eating!), fem presenting reader, fingering, edging, joel tasting reader on his fingers, joel picking reader up, genital pronouns, pnv, kissing, primal jealousy, hair tugging, biting, creampie, talks of the future
wc: 6.4k
a/n: the loml @do3-eyed-dolly heavily influenced me into making a part two of bfd!joel and how could i say no?? ofc realistically, joel would never but once again… never let ur boyfriend stop you from fucking his dad!!!!
That night—that forsaken night where you stepped out on your boyfriend and stepped into the arms of his father, should have been a night of regret.
You know you should be ashamed of yourself and the decision you made that night, the man you’ve called yours for years, although not perfect—he deserved honesty.
You should be sitting him down in tears, letting him know you’ve chosen this unfortunate path of infidelity all under his nose—that the man you stepped out with was his very own father, letting him fuck you raw and intimately in the guest room across the hall in the house where he grew up.
You could have gone back to school, erased that night in your mind, and prayed Joel would keep his promise—the biggest secret of his life from his very own son.
Needing to do the same as well, you should be biting your tongue and moving on with the life you’ve built from the ground up with your boyfriend—yet you find yourself unable to focus.
Joel ruminates in your daily routine in the shoes of your boyfriend. Each touch, every kiss, every tender moment—you can’t help but see Joel in the back of your mind each time you close your eyes, imagining it was him instead.
Your boyfriend never catching onto your little situation was a blessing in disguise, yet his distance and poor treatment always had you replacing his face with Joel’s, wondering how he would treat you instead.
“You’ll see me again, I’ll make sure of it. Couple more months and you’ll be back.”
His words echo in your mind, hoping he’s thinking about you just as much as you’ve thought about him.
That night he had you laid out on the mattress—you haven’t allowed your boyfriend to touch you since, making up empty excuses each time he touches you, a twisted way of keeping yourself devoted to his father.
You know it’s wrong, but you haven’t been happy in months now, the days blurring into months as you attempt to grasp at the straws of your failing relationship—you’re barely holding on now, the only thing drawing the two of you together being the hold his father has on you, and you’re not ready to give that up.
But they always say, if you can’t get someone out of your head, maybe they are supposed to be there. And Joel? he’s solidified in your mind, his presence cemented deep inside of you, your best kept secret.
So when your boyfriend begs you to spend Thanksgiving at his house with his family instead of your own, you can’t fathom disappointing him—instantly agreeing a little too fast, secretly hoping for a chance to get Joel alone.
On the hours-long ride to the place you’d once again call home for a brief moment in time, you sat and pondered bored out of your mind. The curiosity got the best of you, wondering if Joel thoughts circle around you the way yours drift off about him, all the possibilities floating around in your mind on how he’s been feeling about this—about you.
You tried to make it not so obvious that you hoped he wanted to see you, your boyfriend only letting you know his dad would be more than happy to have you over again and that he was looking forward to seeing you. But you held on to those words, hoping Joel craves to close the distance with you, and keep whatever the two of you have started.
The air shifts as your boyfriend pulls the car into the driveway, your body feeling glued to the leather seats at the idea of being here again—seeing him, for the first time since that morning he hugged you goodbye, promising he’d see you soon.
Staring at the front door, you wonder why he isn’t standing there like last time you visited, when he was just your grumpy in-law, a man you were scared to be left alone with.
You’re not sure what you want him to feel, maybe it’s in both of your best interests to never speak, never touch—never fuck ever again.
Yet when you finally step out of the car and follow your boyfriend into the house, the desire blooms in your abdomen, your face blushing under the soft hues of the kitchen light—you knew you were in trouble.
Joel sat in the living room, his body facing the door with the couch against the wall—it’s skin smooth and leathered, holding him snug against the cushion.
His legs are clad in grey sweatpants, reclined up in the air as he sits relaxed with a beer in his hand, the brown bottle half empty as he grips the neck hard enough his knuckles turn white.
Your eyes quickly find his own yet he’s already looking at you, his deep brown eyes twinkling in the blue tv lighting, his lip sideways turned into a smirk.
With a loud grunt, Joel kicks in the seat, slowly standing up from the couch and something about his movements make you hide yourself behind your boyfriend, making yourself small enough he can’t see you.
You watch as Joel’s feet approach your boyfriend, pulling him into a hug—throwing both arms around him in a bear hug.
What you don’t expect is to see Joel’s chin resting on your boyfriend's shoulder, his eyes open—staring right back at you.
“Missed you real bad kid,” Joel admits, but the way he speaks to his son, he clearly means it towards you, and you can’t help the coy look on your face as your lip curls into a small smile.
“Missed you too dad.” Your boyfriend replies lovingly to his father, although with Joel in the room, it feels like he doesn’t exist—the two of you looking at one another in a way that proves the feeling is still there between you, blooming in a way that entices you, your lip trembling with excitement .
“Got no clue,” Joel speaks, slapping his son's back with hand, “been countin’ down the days ‘til you’re home.”
Joel’s eyes burn into yours, not breaking eye contact as he continues on, and it’s clear—all this time apart, he’s been thinking the same thoughts that have been keeping you up at night.
Your boyfriend mumbles about the bags that remain in the trunk and Joel is quick to let go of him, his arm brushing against yours as he heads to the open front door, the cool breeze of the night slipping through the crack as he pulls the glass screen open, walking outside.
You watch as he departs, turning your back on your boyfriend, you can hear his footsteps walk up the stairs, not bothering to talk to you or help with the luggage.
You make a decision, instead of chasing after your boyfriend upstairs, you follow Joel into the chilling night, choosing to help him with the bags instead.
The pitch black sky soaks into your skin, triggering the porch light to flicker on as you tip toe to the car, the wind blowing against your face causes your arms to prickle with goosebumps, meeting Joel at the open trunk.
Joel’s bent halfway into the car, yanking luggage out the carpeted trunk. He feels you before he sees you, your presence sending a wave of warmth to his back, your sweet perfume swirling in his nostrils.
Turning around, he sees you standing there, the yellow aura from the porchlight reflects on your features—even in the dark, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever laid eyes on, unable to control his lips spreading into a smile.
“C’mere.” Joel mumbles, opening his arms for a hug.
You walk up to fill the gap in his arms and Joel instantly wraps around you, his hands connecting at the small of your waist. He pulls you in tight, feeling his broad chest against your breasts, he squeezes your waist so hard you become breathless.
Joel’s head lazily falls onto your shoulder, his nose deep into the soft skin on the nape of your neck, he hums as he takes a deep breath in, his lips lightly grazing the flesh.
“Missed this, missed you.” You purr into his ear, your voice barely above a whisper.
Joel doesn’t respond yet his body does, feeling his hand squeeze your back, and you hope it’s hard enough to leave a mark, a visual sign of his presence.
“How ‘bout you go upstairs, ‘n I’ll bring you your bags.” Joel mumbles into your neck, his lips ghosting the flesh.
Pulling away from him, his arms are still on your waist, not ready to let go of you.
“You sure?” Your voice raises at your question, the smell of him making you feel lightheaded.
“Of course darlin’, don’t you worry about me, I got it.”
When he finally pulls away, you can see the glint in his eyes—the silent charged cue is all you need from him—you know how bad he’s missed you, the feeling giving you butterflies deep in your abdomen.
As you walk into the bedroom, you flop face first onto the fluffy mattress, your brain swirling with Joel once again, feeling the skin on your waist buzzing just from his touch alone, you know it’s going to be a long, long weekend.
A queasy feeling erupts inside your core as you finish getting ready for dinner, running late from the fashion show you created out of your small suitcase, you tried on every single article of clothing you packed—yet nothing felt right for the occasion, knowing that Joel’s eyes would be on you, you wanted to get it right, hell—you wanted to look good, only for him.
You settled on an old red velvet skirt you stuffed into the side compartment of your suitcase—the garment a little wrinkled and from multiple fashion cycles ago, you still thought it looked the best out of everything else you packed.
The dark fabric—although itchy, would be comfortable long enough to sit for hours eating and safe from any stains if you accidentally spilled something on yourself.
You’ve heard the glass of the front door crash into the house repeatedly as guests pour into the Miller residence, the unfamiliar voices already making you feel on edge, not knowing anyone else other than the two men who you’d rather not be put in the middle of.
The walls of the bathroom quickly close in on you as you attempt to focus on getting yourself ready for the evening.
“C’mon, dinner's done!” You can hear your boyfriend's voice vibrate through the locked bathroom door, but you're not ready to go out there yet.
Turning the faucet on cold, you put your hands under the stream, letting the icy liquid ground you in your surroundings.
“Be down in a minute!” You yell over the bathroom door loud enough your voice echoes in the small pale yellow walls.
Staring at your reflection in the bad lighting of the bathroom, you think about your boyfriend, feeling your stomach sinking at the state of your sorrowful relationship.
Like most things, his disdain slowly crept up on you—going from not caring to ask how your day was, to him flat out ignoring you, brushing you off at any chance he gets to hang out with his friends.
He’s been more distant than usual, his negative attitude he only has with you, has crept up on you faster than you’ve realized. When the two of you are together, you find him ignoring you as if he’s always annoyed with your presence.
You know the breakup is inevitable, the invisible relationship clock is ticking—the two of you would be much better off going your separate ways, yet you can’t seem to erase the years you’ve built together—or secretly, the risk it would be to lose what you’ve started to build with Joel.
Your hand shakes as you twist the doorknob, opening yourself into the lively world that takes place downstairs. As you round the staircase, the voices rapidly fill your ears, hearing the greetings of laughter as you venture into the space.
Entering the living room, you don’t recognize anyone in the crowded group currently sitting at the dining table, your boyfriend not bothering to give you any heads up on who’s coming.
You make a half-assed attempt to memorize their faces, your footsteps quiet thanks to the socks on your feet. Fake smiling at the guests with wide eyes and tight lips, you awkwardly turn the corner to walk into the kitchen.
You take a deep breath at the uncomfortable situation and quickly fix your plate, thankful you got there just in time.
Your boyfriend doesn’t concern himself with introducing you to any of the people you presume to be his family as your eyes scan each filled chair, all taken up—except for one next to Joel, directly across from your boyfriend.
You force another shy smile, gently nodding at the strangers staring at you, not so elegantly making your way to the empty chair, your plate warm underneath your cold hands.
Joel turns his head at you, nodding once in a silent greeting as you situate yourself at the table, but his brown eyes have a way of instantly shifting the energy of each room you enter, each time his gaze connects to yours, you can’t pull them away from his face, thinking about how those same lips know exactly how you taste.
Picking at your food, you run your fork down the mash potatoes, creating three small rows in the soft mushy texture, your gravy spilling over onto your stuffing, you watch it—letting it entertain you in this awkward situation, the river dripping down in ropes.
You lost your appetite about ten minutes ago, the smell of Joel's strong cologne is the only thing you can seem to focus on, the tobacco woodsy scent is so him, and you can’t stand it, wishing its musk wears off on you each time your shoulders brush against one another.
Joel is so close to you, you can feel every slight movement he does, and with each clicking and clacking of utensils on the glass plates, you increasingly become far too aware of your breathing getting caught in your throat, forcing yourself to manually take breaths on your own accord.
One small glance in the corner of Joel's eye at you was all it took for him to notice something was wrong, he knew the weight you were carrying on your shoulders was bothering you—hell, he can hear your heartbeat echoing in your chest, wishing it was just the three of you tonight instead.
Joel really didn’t want to host Thanksgiving, yet he had no choice, his large empty home being the closest place between each member of his family, and he didn’t want to disappoint anyone.
You looked extra pretty today, pulling yourself together nicer than usual—he wonders if his son ever compliments you as much as he should, but based on how he treats you, he can easily assume he doesn’t, the feeling making him wither in jealousy.
Although he wasn’t complaining, the worst his son was to you—the better it was for Joel. He remembers exactly what you said to him that night he shared with you, the secret whispers were the only thing keeping him going, and he couldn’t help himself staring down at the soft crumbled texture of your skirt, the deep maroon looking a little too nice against your thighs.
You feel Joel shift next to you, letting out a small huff, he extends his arm down under the table as if he dropped something, yet instead—his hand lands directly on your bare knee.
Jumping, Joel completely catches you off guard, almost dropping your fork in the process. His calloused fingertips from years of wood working begin to touch against the softness of your flesh, feeling each bump against his palm on your leg.
Shoving a spoonful of food in your mouth, you attempt to distract yourself from the feeling that spreads from your cunt to his hand, your body feeling on fire from his delicate touch.
As you swallow, the food runs down your throat at the same time Joel’s hand travels further up your leg, his pinky landing on the hem of your velvet skirt.
Joel has never been this bold with you before, the closer he gets to your growing ache between your legs, it’s hard to not whine out or thrash in your chair, it’s been far too long—too painstakingly long since Joel has had you at his mercy, and the public teasing is far too much for you to handle.
You can feel your face heat up at his absentminded touch, but he remains stone cold—poking at his own food with his free hand, paying no mind to the situation unfolding underneath the table, his actions completely hidden thanks to the angle of the tablecloth.
You wonder how far he’s going to go with this, and as if he can read your mind, Joel’s hand fumbles underneath the material of your thick skirt, his palm now resting inches from your cunt.
Joel tests you, giving a gentle squeeze on your thigh, he waits for you to squirm, kick, or even yell out at him to stop, yet you remain uncomfortably still—except for your right hand scratching your fork on your plate, twirling your food together.
You give Joel no push back, and that’s his answer to force the invisible line even further, his hand coming up in between your thighs, he abruptly cups your panty clad mound, the thin material warming his touch.
You know he can feel the growing wet patch against the cotton, and that makes you shiver—the need for him to touch you growing deep within your body, you place your left foot on top of his right one, angling yourself open and ready for him.
You pray no one can see the two of you as Joel’s hand finally goes into the waistband of your panties, swiping his pointer finger up your slit, coating himself in your juices.
He drags it slowly up onto your swollen clit, pushing down hard on the button, he begins to circle it with even pressure—the feeling instantly making you bite back a moan.
You look up from the white table cloth and around the room, yet no one has a clue that Joel's hand is currently stuffed down your panties massaging your clit.
The only person paying attention to you is Joel, and that makes you relax into his touch, your shoulders slouching back into the hard dark wood of your chair, you squint your eyes into the sliver of exposed area that the table cloth doesn’t cover, seeing Joel’s large hand cover the expanse of your thighs.
Joel has quickly figured you out like the palm of his hand, knowing just how slow and steady to play with your pussy in a way to make your toes curl, and you can already feel your orgasm approaching.
“You alright honey? You look flushed.” An older woman sitting at the head of the table asks, presuming she’s an older family member.
“Y-Yes! Yes I am, just feeling a little warm in h-here.” You manage to shake out of your self, your eyes playing ping pong as they rapidly fire around the room, checking to see who’s paying attention.
Of course, your boyfriend isn’t—too busy shoveling food into his mouth, angling his plate in the direction of his mouth to make his movements faster in a victory of cleaning his plate.
You feel Joel’s hand stiffen against your cunt, his movements coming to an abrupt ending, no release for your poor crying cunt, so close but so far from cumming, he snakes his hand out of your panties, bringing his hand back to the top of the table.
You watch as your glistening essence is coated on his fingers, the dining rooms lighting shines directly on the wetness, and you swear you can smell yourself from here—the sweet tangyness of your cunt radiates in such a way than in the crowded small space, only you and Joel can see it.
Joel takes his pointer finger and drags it down on the cranberry sauce, the gelatinous texture—clearly coming from a can, jiggles as it coats the print of his wet fingers dark red.
Your mouth drops open in an ‘o’ shape as you watch Joel’s hand rise to his mouth, the veins in his hand flexing as he angles the same finger that was rubbing your clit into his mouth, passing it over his pink lips.
He hums, swirling his tongue around the digit as he nods his head. “Yall try the cranberry sauce? ‘s real sweet, ‘bout the best I ever had.”
You sit there rapidly blinking at his words, no one looking up from their meal, all remaining none the wiser at Joel’s dirty double entendre, except for you—and now you can’t shake the idea that the taste of your cunt is the best he’s ever tasted.
You think about Joel for the rest of the dinner, your ears ringing as the sticky situation that lies between your thighs continues to grow, your cunt practically pulsating by the time you finally excuse yourself, calmly flattening your skirt, you stand up and head to your impromptu bedroom.
You feel Joel’s eyes burning into the back of your head as you walk up the staircase, beginning to wonder what it will take for him to finally snap and talk about what in the hell is happening between the two of you, because now that you’ve started—you're unsure if you can stop.
You’ve sat on the uncomfortable mattress for hours now, your makeup long gone—the nice outfit you once had on is in a ridden mess on the floor, replacing your skirt with much more comfortable sleep shorts, glad the cursed itchy fabric is far gone from your body—yet the feeling of Joel’s hands remain on your skin.
His touch is like a ghost, each graze he gives you—purposeful or accidental, always causes your skin to buzz hours after he touches you.
His stunt from earlier is causing you to become antsy, tossing yourself ontop of the messy comforter, you debate on rushing into his bedroom and begging him to take care of you—for real this time.
The sun is long gone in the sky, the moon shining brightly in the night, the pale yellow crescent so close you can see each crater on its surface, the stars twinkling in your line of vision.
You left dinner before you got the chance to have a slice of pie, and you can feel your belly growling at the idea of the sneaking a slice. Squinting, you check the small clock on the wall, its digits reading just past midnight.
Sneaking out of your bedroom, the floorboards creak underneath your foot steps, the balls of your feet sticking to the smooth surface.
Patting down the dark hallway, you make your way towards the empty kitchen. The soft hum of the refrigerator buzzes in your ear, the only sound in the quiet of the night.
You look around the small room, the place where your boyfriend grew up—cozy and homey, you wonder what stories lie deep within the home before you were in the midst of it, your thoughts going back to Joel.
There’s no woman currently nestled in Joel’s life—you’re sure of that, the home decor that decorates the room is far too lazy for that, yet it still makes you think about your boyfriend's mother, who remains starkly absent in every single family photo nailed crookedly into the walls.
Your eyes flash back onto the pie on the counter, its shape similar to the moon—only a sliver left in the metal tin, you lazily look for a fork in the darkness, deciding its best to dig right into the packaging and finish it off.
As you reach in the drawer for a fork, that’s when you hear it—the wooden staircase creaking loud enough you're sure it’s not a random noise, instead a person.
You freeze, stilling your breathing as you listen closely against the wall.
Step.
Step.
Step.
You watch through the opening in the kitchen for the hidden figure to appear, your heartbeat thumping in your head loudly.
Taking a deep breath, you hide yourself around the small space between the wall, feeling your pulse quicken in your neck.
As the figure approaches, you quickly calm down, seeing Joel’s unmistakable shadow approaching you cautiously in an attempt not to frighten you.
“Sorry, it’s just me. Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Joel whispers, raising his hands out in front of him.
The adrenaline that rushes in your body shifts to something more charged. Joel heard you down here and instead of ignoring you—he came down to check on you, unable to hide the warm feeling he gives you.
“Yeah, couldn’t sleep, was thinking about how I missed dessert.” You whisper back, nodding your head in the direction of the pie.
“Me either, heard someone down here…was hopin’ it was you.”
“Yeah?” You question, a curious glint in your eyes, trying to hide the way his words made your body jump.
Joel takes a curious step forward, as if he’s scared to run you off—yet you don’t move, you wait for him to meet you farther in the kitchen.
Joel’s steps come to an abrupt end, his feet meeting your own. He looks you deep in the eyes, the small kitchen light casting a cool drench of color on his calm features.
“Been ignoring me since ya got here. Now I ain’t trying to press you on it, but you’re killin’ me over here honey”.
His warm breath on your face makes you shudder, thankful that the dim kitchen lights are able to conceal how he’s already affecting you, you can feel yourself becoming antsy at his blatant honesty.
“If…if you regret this,” he pauses, swallowing hard. “Then I’ll leave ya alone ‘nd forget about all of this.”
This is the last thing you expected, Joel was crazy to believe you didn’t want him, if he could only see the state of your mind the past month, he’d be gladly mistaken.
“I don’t regret it, I-I was just scared you did.”
“Hell, it’s been too long since I touched you, couldn’t help myself earlier. Always look too damn pretty.” Joel sighs, bringing a shaky hand up to your cheek, caressing the soft flesh with his thumb.
The quiet of the open space suddenly felt loud, his hand sending electricity through your body, only Joel could touch you like this—he makes you feel as if your skin is burning, the feeling making your blood shake.
You stare right back at him, leaning your face into his hand, your cheek puffing into your eye forcing it into a squint.
Before you can catch yourself, your mind begins to race, thinking about the first and only time he’s been fully sheathed inside your body. “D-do you remember how you felt inside of me?”
“Every damn day, not a second of my life goes by without thinkin’ of you.”
You take the leap, closing the gap between the two of you, crashing your lips into his. His lips are dry against your soft ones, the cracks on his mouth scratch the surface of your own, grounding you in the fleeting moment of intensity.
He swipes his tongue into your mouth, the taste of spearmint tickling your tongue as he runs the muscle over your cheeks, savoring your taste as if he’s scared to lose it.
Your hands fly into his hair, your fingertips tugging at the loose curls situated at the back of his neck. The skin burns hot as your pinky rests against it, his body so warm to the touch you want to melt into him, moaning into his mouth.
“Joel please, I need you.” You breathe into his mouth, feeling his teeth clack against yours, the both of you attempting to get as close to one another as possible, but it’s not enough, gripping his hair so hard it makes him whimper.
Joel’s hands fall to the base of your hips, grabbing a handful of flesh—he picks you up without taking his mouth off of yours, guiding your hips to wrap around him.
You easily pick up on his motions, locking your legs tight by the ankles low on his waist, your arms flying to the back of his broad shoulders to stabilize yourself.
He carries you backwards, his back hitting the dining room table.
Joel finally pulls away, his lips red, bitten and glistening, he turns himself around, placing you on the edge of the deep mahogany stained wood. “You got me baby, ‘m right here.”
The table is cold against the underside of your thighs, your flesh sticking to the clean surface of the table—just earlier once covered in a flimsy tablecloth is thankfully empty, enough room for you to spread yourself on the expanse of the grain.
Joel’s voice has a way of transforming the darkened dining room into an oasis, with each touch of his skin he distracts you from your thoughts, your life, your boyfriend—upstairs hopefully asleep, remaining blissfully unaware of what’s partaking at the table he ate dinner on.
He’s quick to take your bottoms off, latching his fingers around the soft fabric, he peels them down with your underwear, letting the light material fall to your ankles.
“Always so perfect, can’t believe you’re sharin’ her with me.” Joel coos, his eyes glued to your glistening cunt.
He takes his pointer and middle finger down to your slick, spreading your lips widely to see the mess you’ve made. Your poor cunt is still aching from earlier and you think you must be the wettest you’ve ever been in your life, the sound of your lips opening gushes in your eardrums.
“Already had enough today, I want you, want to feel you again.” You plead, biting your lip so hard you can taste the metallic taste of blood on your tongue.
“Fuck honey, you sure?”
Joel is so cautious and careful with you, his brown eyes showing no signs of restraint—yet you know with one shake of your head he’d instantly stop, always being so gentle with you only makes you want him more.
“Please Joel.” You beg, holding yourself up on your elbows to face him, the wood biting into your bones.
Joel lets out a strangled moan from the back of his throat, his hand coming down to the waist band of his pants, you can see the growing wet spot of precum pooling through the light cotton fabric, the sight making you bite your lip.
Watching Joel, he pulls his pants down over his cock, the heavy member springing up just below his belly, your mouth salivating at the sight of his red, messy dick.
You eye the staircase across the room, reminding yourself of where you are, the placement out in the open was a huge risk, it wasn’t too late in the night, your boyfriend could easily come down the stairs and see you like this, legs wide open with his father standing between them.
“W-what if he comes down stairs?” You question, your eyes wide as you stare down Joel, the hair on the back of your neck raising.
He’s pumping his large cock in his hand, focusing his attention on the tip. He swirls his thumb around the head, pulling his hand down the shaft in a rocking motion, just inches away from your fluttering cunt.
“Let him.”
Joel’s face is stone cold as he speaks, and you can tell he’s serious, feeling yourself clench around nothing.
He lines himself up at your entrance, dragging the beating red tip up your slick, he collects it against him, dragging out a sigh.
“Always so wet for me ain’t ya?”
Whining at his words, you buck your hips into his cock, feeling the tip hit your entrance.
Joel takes that as a sign to stop stalling, allowing his tip to push into you, your velvety walls sucking him in.
You feel so tight against him, your walls squeezing down around his cock, it feels as if he’s suffocating inside of your cunt.
Joel fully sheathes himself inside of your wet heat, burying himself so deep his pubes are flush against you, feeling them prickling your clit.
You love the feeling of being stretched out from his cock, the inside of your thighs burning at the sheer size of him—yet you still can’t get enough, wanting him even closer, you grab him by the collar of his shirt pulling him halfway on top of your chest.
Joel wonders if his son is fucking you how you should be, he knows the two of you have been growing distant, the two of you barley speaking the whole time you’ve been here together. He can’t help but feel jealous of his son, every time he’s with you or inside of you—he feels green with envy, wishing he got to you first.
Joel’s mind goes back to that night tangled up in bed with you, “When’s the last time you—”
You cut him off, rapidly shaking your head. “N-not since you.”
A possessive noise vibrates through his chest, his head falling in the soft pace between your neck and shoulder, he bites down softly on the skin, pulling his cock out of your folds—he slams in deep, the pace instantly picking up makes you unable to breathe, suffocating on the feeling of Joel.
“He don’t deserve this, don’t deserve you.” Joel grunts, his head shaking against your shoulder, his cock plowing in and out of you at an alarming rate.
Gripping onto his arm, quiet moans begin to fall from your lips, his cock pushing itself against your g-spot, you quickly begin to feel fuzzy, your legs falling asleep at the stretched out angle on the table.
Joel knows you’re being loud, and he can’t help the feeling of pride blooming through his chest.
“You want him to hear ya huh? Don’t worry, if-if he does, I’ll take care of it. Always take care of my girl.”
“Joel please!” You cry out, unsure of what your feigning for.
Joel knows exactly what you need, snaking a hand down to your clit—the same hand from earlier at the dinner table, comes back again to push against your button, rapidly circling around you just right, the pleasure making your eyes roll back.
“Can feel you squeezin’ hard baby, you’re mine, always have been.”
Mine—that word makes you feel funny, you’ve been Joels for quite some time now, the distance between the two of you has only made you grow more crazy for him, unable to imagine a life without him.
Your eyes flutter shut as they clamp down tight, white starry flashes erupt in your vision at the feeling of your orgasm approaching much faster than you expected—Joel knowing exactly how to chase your release.
Flashes of a life with him erupt from your imagination, dreaming of a life he could create with you together, your boyfriend a far distant memory, the person who brought you and Joel together.
“G-gonna cum, want you to cum with me.” You heave, your head thrashing against the hard surface of the wooden table, your head bumping hard as it falls cheek first.
Joel grabs the back of your head, lifting it in his arms, pushing his forehead into yours. “Shit-you want that? Want me to fill you up? I’ll show ya, make you mine forever.”
“Yes! I need it so bad, wanna feel you inside me, feel you all night even when you’re not here with me.”
Joel can feel his balls tighten at your words, the idea of him not being here for you makes him feel sick, the urge to claim you taking over him as he pushes harder against your clit.
His hips rapidly snap into yours, the sound of skin slapping fills the quiet room, unable to control yourselves.
“Yeah? cum for me honey. Tel-tell me who this perfect cunt belongs to.”
The rabid circling of his finger makes your nails scratch the surface of the table, feeling the staining buildup underneath your nails.
“Joel!” You cry out inches from his face, your back arching off the table, “it’s yours! Only yours!”
Your words sound like honey to Joel, the sweet sounds of you being his hit him like sugar, and with one tight clench from your cunt—he cums, his seed squirting deeply inside of you.
You can feel his milky substance shoot up past your cervix, the raw primal feeling of being claimed does it for you, pulling him into a kiss, you cum harder than you ever have before.
Even through his own orgasm, his finger in your clit remains constant, hitting your bud just right—your legs jerking with electricity, the feeling over powering your nervous system.
You stop Joel from catching his breath, his half-hard cock still somehow able to fuck you throughout your orgasm, his body fully devoted to making you feel good.
When you pull away from his lips, you feel like you’re floating in his hold, your body going completely limp, your head still being held up by his arm.
“Let’s get you in bed alright?” He coos, your brain too scrambled to process his words, feeling him start to pull your shorts up your legs.
Joel lifts you off the table, your sweaty legs sticking to the smooth surface.
He guides you up to your temporary bedroom, his grip firm around your hips as your legs wobble up the stairs, attempting to keep your fucked out body as quiet as possible.
As you come up to your door knob, something stops you from opening it, thinking back to the inevitable moment where you are pulled out of this fantasy and back at school.
“Wish I could stay here with you, don’t wanna go back home.”
“I know,” he pauses, reaching for your hand. “You’ll be back for Christmas right?”
Your gaze falls to the ground at his question, playing with the sleeve of your shirt, you remember your failing relationship. “As long as things with him go well,”
“Hell, if I'm bein’ honest… I hope they don’t.”
Looking up at him, your heart falls into your stomach, feeling your cheeks heat up.
“Why’s that?” You pry, your eyebrow raising in curiosity.
“Makes it hell of a lot easier to make you mine.”
His hand comes up to your face, cupping your jaw with his finger tips, your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.
Humming, you wrap your arms around him, planting a small kiss to his lips, “Joel, you’ve always been mine.”
[7/15 — pegging + sub!adrian]
adrian is more versed in the concept than you, but, for him you'd really try anything. [KINKTOBER'25] // [GEN. MASTERLIST]
pairing: adrian chase x f!reader
tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, first time pegging, adrian has experience reader doesn't, established relationship, sub!adrian, doggy style, missionary, strap blowjobs, masturbation, handjobs, kinda fluffy
word count: 2.3k+
a/n: i've literally never written a pegging fic so i really wanted it to reflect that lack of experience lol
You weren’t sure.
Adrian, staring up at you with sad, wet eyes, on his knees, had his bare chest pressed against your calves. He’s almost never this raw with you, resting his head atop his arms, weight on your cold legs. He’d certainly never asked for something this directly, this desperately.
“You...have one already?” You run a hand through his hair, tugging back the curls. He lets himself be pulled back, further and further with each course drag of your fingers over his scalp. You catch on a knot, and his voice runs thick as he responds.
“Mm, duh, I have had other girlfriends.” For however deep his voice ached, he held tight to that trademark indignance.
Narrowing your eyes at him, envy whirls in your gut, but you don’t like giving him what he wants when he’s like this. Whether it’s his erection in your mouth or your weight on his face, if he’s clamoring for it you’re fighting to keep him wanting for as long as possible.
“I know.” You close your fist at the crown of his head, staring down at him, making his eyes meet yours, “Isn’t it gross to use the same strap?”
“Uh, is it gross that I’ve used the same penis for ten years?”
The corner of your mouth tugs, and you force it into a frustrated frown, nostrils flaring, “You’ve only been having sex for ten years?”
He blinks hard, “Yes.”
You shove him away by the hair, “Loser. You know you’re not doing a very good job of begging.”
Adrian comes back before you’ve drawn your hand in, yanking it to his lips. He presses kisses to each knuckle before closing his mouth around your thumb. The wetness of his tongue swirling on the calloused skin shoots a rocket off in your gut, his eyes fluttering closed as he draws his mouth up the length of your finger.
“Come on,” He whimpers, spattering kisses up your arm, climbing into your lap to suck a hickey at your collarbone. His torso is scalding hot compared to yours, the moisture between his thighs slotting him rightly on either side of your waist. You stick to him like dry ice on warm flesh as he clings to you, rocking his hips in time with his pleading kisses. Precum soaks a spot through his briefs and onto the curve of your stomach, and he cups the shell of your ear with his mouth, muttering, “Would you please fuck me?”
The timbre of his voice travels straight to your brain, and you can’t stop the full body shudder that follows, hands finding his hips to dig your nails in. You can feel him smile against your ear before he presses a firm kiss to the nerve behind it. All you can do is nod.
“Oh, fuck, thank you.” He breathes, ducking to your mouth. The kisses are wet, open-mouthed, his tongue washing over yours. Gratitude falls from his lips, tiny platitudes again and again until you have to tug him back again, holding his chin between your thumb and forefinger.
“Alright, alright. Go get it, then.”
A mild learning curve and Adrian’s eager hands working the strap onto your body later, you were on the couch and he was on his knees, again.
“Jesus, is this what I look like?” You sit ram-rod straight on the cushion, knuckles pressing into the fabric on either side of you as Adrian lets a bulb of spit dangle over the pale blue dildo. It glides down the silicone before spreading out over his tongue as he runs down the shaft. He slips his tongue below the metal ring of the strap, prodding at your cunt underneath your underwear.
“Way hotter.” He stares up at you, sucking at the cotton until it’s soaked through, your hips hitching up with every jolt in your pelvis.
Adrian replaces his mouth with his fingers, shoving aside the hem to sink two fingers into you as he drags his tongue back up over the piece, taking it into his mouth. His fingers fucking into you keeps you hitching your hips up, and he moans around the strap.
Your hand finds its way to his hair again, and without conscious thought you’re pushing him down onto the cock, the lightest thrusts up into his mouth. His fingers fill you well, but it’s the sight of his lips stretched around the strap that keep you from going passive with the feeling. It’s not that you’re a pillow princess, or even really all that submissive normally, but to see him the way he gets to see you is a privilege better than you’d have ever guessed.
“Fuck,” He mumbles, fingers slipping from your cunt to instead grab at your thigh. You loosen your grip.
“Sorry, is that too much?”
He pulls back with a wet pop! and shakes his head furiously, “No, no, fuck no. Please keep doing that.”
You run a thumb over his glistening bottom lip, and shove it into his mouth, “Good, good Adrian.”
His eyebrows kick up, eyelids fluttering closed. He swirls his tongue around your thumb, patiently obeying until you find yourself wanting for the sight of his mouth on the strap again. You re-situate your grip in his hair, eyes locked on each other as you guide him back down. Expanding black pupils swallow the tepid sea-green, and you watch the edges as they pulse at the full breadth of their circumference.
Adrian works the strap until he’s drooling, silicone slick with his spit, his hand palming over his briefs.
“You think you’re all set?” You whisper, pinching at his cheekbone.
He darts up to your lips, the slightest chuckle in his throat, voice sweet, “No, crazy, we need lube.”
“How would I know?” You grab his jaw and squeeze, keeping him from indulging in more than a chaste kiss, “We almost never use lube.”
He remains unaffected, glad for whatever taking you’ll give him, “And I wish I could get as naturally wet as your pussy, trust me.”
The vulgarity breaks your facade, and you jump to swallow him with your lips, a little exclamation escaping as he taps your open palm with the lube bottle, a warning before he squeezes out the cold compound.
He pulls back to watch you slick up the strap, yanking down his briefs to tug at his own erection.
You ache at the sight of his pulsing cock, the harsh vein running along the side, tip red and dribbling precum. If you can’t have him inside you, at the very least you want your hands around him.
“What, um, what position?” Adjusting on the couch, you feel yourself falter for a moment at the immediate prospect before you. Adrian is so eager, so needy, his free hand squeezing at your thigh, thumb running over the seams of the leather harness.
“Well, this one girl thought doggy was easiest. Then the next girl only liked missionary. And the one time with Chris—”
You’re propelling off the couch before he can finish the next syllable, clasping your hand over his mouth. You reach down to stroke his erection, the lube still on your hand making easy work, his cock jumping underneath your fingers.
“If I’m going to fuck you, I don’t want to hear about anyone else fucking you, okay? Least of all Chris.” You grind your forehead against his, “Got it?”
He lurches away from you with a whine, hot breath hitting your hand, abdomen flexing as he tries to steady himself. He nods, screwing his eyelids shut.
“Just turn around.”
He obeys, and you slot yourself behind him, reaching around to stroke at him for a few moments more. Confidence building, surely.
“Keep this up.” You tug at one of his arms, guiding him along his own cock until he’s sure of the rhythm.
You inhale enough breath to fill your lungs and then some, chest burning, before you exhale slowly through your nose, prodding the tip of the strap at his entrance. You work him open, an inch or two in and out, hands loose on his hips.
“How’s this feel?” You lean to the side to look at him, and he’s nodding, head hanging between his shoulders.
“I can take more, come on, please.” His voice strains, and you back away entirely as he tries to shuffle backwards onto you.
“Hey.” You snap, fingernails digging into his hips, keeping him in place, away from your strap, “Can’t you be patient?”
“No! Fuck no.” He whines, dropping to one elbow, hand on his cock still slow.
“No?” You lean back on your heels, sighing, “Guess we’ll just have to wait till you work on that.”
“Oh, fuck, fine.” He presses himself fully onto the carpet, stretching out an arm to grab at the beige threads. He hitches his hips forward, fucking into his hand, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. Sorry.” His voice fades until he’s croaking out apologies and humping the carpet.
Your gut aches for him, the ridge of his shoulders tensing and flexing as he only grows more desperate, beads of sweat on reddening skin.
“That’s better.” You mutter, edging towards him.
He lets out a throaty, full moan as you brush his entrance again, but keeps still. His body shakes with the effort, and as you sink into him in one slow push, he releases all the tension at once, torso going limp on the carpet. He pumps up and down his erection as told, but is otherwise enthralled by the whim of his body, convulsions coursing through as you build your own rhythm.
Everything in you aches with the desire to know what you’re unable to. How tight he is, what he must feel like pulsing on a real cock, how good it would feel to let your own orgasm loose inside him. The sight is almost enough, his toned back flexing as he lets you fuck him, the lightest jerk of his ass back onto the strap. You’re certain he thinks he’s going undetected, his gargled whines at the tail end of heaving breaths, his hand stroking harsh on his cock all enough of an excuse if you were to call him out. The thought kicks up admiration in your chest, and the depravity of his need is enough for you to let him continue his charade.
“Adrian,” You groan, tugging back again.
He grumbles with dissatisfaction, voice airy, “Yeah?”
“Can you turn around?”
He flips and hitches his hips up for you, cock falling fat and hard against his stomach. It twitches up once, twice, before he’s wrapping a hand around it again.
Slotting yourself at his entrance, you take in the fucked out look on his face, lips pink and raw. His curls stick to his forehead, and the angles of his cheekbones are highlighted by a red flush on his skin. He grins at you, and you watch as it turns into a grimace, sinking the strap in one full go, faster this time, the head thudding somewhere deep inside him.
“I wanna see you cum all over yourself, okay?”
He nods, planting a foot on either side of you to lift his hips at the right angle, but he’s shaking more with every thrust. You wouldn’t be able to life his legs if you tried, but, reaching blindly behind you for a throw pillow, you place it under his lower back so you can keep as upright as possible without the added strain on him.
You hook your hands under his thighs, grinding your hips up into him, the base of the strap rustling the fabric of your underwear. It shifts light over your clit, sending a vague shock through you with every thrust. You hope Adrian will be begging for you to sit on his face after this, you’re sure he will, but more than anything you ache to see him covered in his own cum. Ache to lick it up and pretend it’s your own, pretend you’ve fucked him to your own climax and marked him with the evidence.
His free hand combs through his hair, forcing the sweaty strands off his forehead, skin pulled taut as he digs his head back into the carpet.
The tendons in his neck strain, Adam’s apple caught in place. There’s a whine stuck in his throat, and he freezes with his hand tight at the base of his cock. You can feel resistance against the strap, feel it hitting something deep in his gut.
“Shit, are you gonna cum already?”
He nods, mouth open and silent. He manages a few furious thrusts down his cock, endures a few more harsh thrusts from the strap before he’s seizing underneath you.
Ropes of cum spurt across his chest in long, jerking stripes, dribbling down the valley of his pecs. His thighs convulse beneath your hands, and you hit him with a couple lazy thrusts, hitching to the back of his hole and dragging halfway before pushing into him again.
The moan caught in his throat echoes up to the ceiling, and a litany of grateful pleas follow in quick succession. Thank you and you’re so perfect and I love you over and over until they’re jumbling into nonsense from his lips. He hisses as you pull from him, but satisfied hums rumble in his chest as you kiss up his torso, dragging your tongue over the spattered cum on his abdomen.
You press your fists on either side of his head, ducking down to kiss him before his hands snake around your back and pull you down on top of him.
Minutes pass like this, wet, tired kisses in silence, the strap slotted up beside his softening erection.
“Was that...good?” You break to lay your chin on his chest.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Adrian raises his eyebrows at you, reaching to pinch your cheek, “I don’t even have the words.”
“That’s a first.”
“Hey, no it’s not.”
You laugh, scooting back up to his mouth, warm kisses of salt washing between you both, building for whatever comes next.
Not all of the people reading your x reader fics have white skin
Just a gentle reminder before you write characteristics that assume whiteness and exclude your black/indigenous/poc supporters-specifically in 'x reader' works.
I love and appreciate writers, but this is a recurring avoidable issue (going on for decades now).
“Your face flushed” "your dusky pink nipples" "your face turned just as red as his" "he could see the blush on your face" “your cheeks furiously blushed” “your ears burn bright red” “The look in your reddened face” “your knuckles white with effort” “bruised purple against your light skin”
Describing the physical feeling instead of the visual change helps include your readers while also elevating your writing IMO.
Anyone can say "Your cheeks turned red with embarrassment" or "Your face flushed" but wouldn't you rather say "A burning heat rushed across your face, from your neck to the tip of your nose, prickling right underneath the surface. You look anywhere but him, hoping your newfound interest in the buildings ceiling tiles will ease the fire tightening beneath your skin" And instead of the other character pointing out that the readers face is red, they can point out the obvious flustered facial expression/body language.
If you want your reader insert to have white/fairskin, then just label them white!reader or put the mention in the warnings/summary.
↪I have reached out to writers I favored/supported before and sometimes I have been met with severe hostility and defensiveness. I often wonder if people are doing this purposefully or for some reason think only white people read their fanfics (?)-if that's the case then be upfront and label your reader inserts as white!reader or something PLEASE. It’s gotten to the point where I feel like black women and other POC aren’t wanted or considered in these fandoms because it comes off like that in your writing. If you need a different motivation, just know you're missing out on more interactions, reblogs, and a bigger reader base. I don’t know why white is the default for so many writers in unspecified x reader/reader insert fics-the people on your blog following, reading, and supporting you aren’t all white and fair-skinned.
I am not talking about OC fics or fics where race/skintone is x specified in summary or warnings. This is specifically about unspecified "x reader" where whiteness is assumed as the default
Put in the comments good replacements for writers to use!
