victor wembanyama after back to back losses after winning game one while traveling with his girlfriend (y/n) from okc to san antonio. he’s pissed and slightly feeling like you’re a distraction which starts an argument but ends in a very loving hot & sexy embrace.
game one win continuation
warning: smut, emotional, dominant, a bit rough. ;)
☆
The flight from OKC to San Antonio felt heavier than usual, like the air itself was carrying the weight of the last two games. Victor hadn’t said much since y’all boarded. He sat by the window, hood up, headphones on, jaw tight. You could tell he wasn’t listening to anything — the headphones were just a barrier, a way to keep the world out.
Two back‑to‑back losses after that insane Game 1 win… it was eating at him. You could see it in the way his leg bounced, in the way he kept flexing his fingers like he was replaying every missed opportunity in his head.
You didn’t want to push him, so you stayed quiet, your hand resting on the armrest between you. Close enough for him to reach for you if he wanted. Far enough to give him space if he didn’t.
When the plane landed and you both stepped into the private terminal, he finally spoke — but not in the soft, warm tone you were used to.
“I should’ve stayed locked in,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I let myself get distracted.”
You blinked. “Distracted by what?”
He didn’t answer right away. He just kept walking, long strides, shoulders tense. You followed him out to the car, your stomach twisting.
“Vic,” you said quietly once you were both inside, the door shutting behind you. “What do you mean?”
He exhaled sharply, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know. Everything. The travel. The noise. The pressure. You being here—”
Your heart dropped. “Me?”
He winced the second the word left his mouth, like he already regretted it. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?” you asked, voice soft but steady.
He looked away, jaw clenching. “I just… I’m trying so hard to stay focused. And when you’re here, I feel—” He stopped, searching for the right words. “I feel everything more. The highs. The lows. All of it.”
You swallowed. “So I’m a distraction.”
“No,” he said quickly, finally turning toward you. His eyes were tired, frustrated, hurting. “You’re not a distraction. You’re just… you make me feel too much. And right now I’m supposed to be cold. Locked in. Untouchable.”
You sat with that for a moment, the car humming beneath you.
“Victor,” you said softly, “you’re human. You’re allowed to feel things. You’re allowed to care about someone.”
He leaned back, running a hand over his face. “I know. I just… I don’t want to take this out on you.”
“You’re not,” you said. “You’re just overwhelmed.”
He let out a breath that sounded like defeat. “I hate losing. I hate feeling like I’m letting everyone down. And then I look at you and I just… I want to forget all of it. And that scares me.”
You moved closer, slow and careful, giving him time to pull away if he needed to. He didn’t. He just watched you, eyes softening even as his shoulders stayed tense.
“You don’t have to choose,” you whispered. “You can want me and want to win. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”
His breath hitched — not dramatically, just enough for you to feel the shift.
He reached for you then, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you gently toward him. Your foreheads touched, the space between you warm and quiet.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not a distraction. You’re the only thing that feels real when everything else is chaos.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, grounding him. “I know,” you whispered. “I’m here. That’s all.”
He closed his eyes, leaning into you, his breathing finally slowing. The tension in his body eased, not completely, but enough for him to rest his forehead against yours like he needed the closeness to stay steady.
The losses still hurt. The pressure was still there. But in that moment — in the quiet of the car, in the warmth of your hands, in the soft way he held you — he let himself feel something other than frustration.
He let himself feel you.
The drive from the airport to the house was quiet, but not the cold kind of quiet. It was the kind where both of you were still coming down from the argument, still feeling the sting of the words said, but also feeling the pull back toward each other.
Victor kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh, fingers tapping restlessly. You could tell he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if he should. You didn’t push him. You just sat close enough that your shoulder brushed his every time the car turned.
When you finally pulled into the driveway, he let out a breath he’d been holding since Oklahoma. The house looked dark and still, like it had been waiting for the two of you to return.
He got out first, grabbing both your bags before you could protest. Even frustrated, even hurting, he couldn’t help taking care of you. You followed him up the walkway, the night air warm and quiet around you.
Inside, he dropped the bags by the door and stood there for a moment, hoodie half‑unzipped, chest rising and falling with slow, heavy breaths. You could see the exhaustion in every line of his body — physical, emotional, all of it.
You stepped closer, careful, giving him space to pull away if he needed to.
“Victor,” you said softly.
He didn’t turn around right away. When he did, his expression wasn’t angry anymore. Just tired. Raw. Human.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you were in the way,” he said quietly. “I hate that I made you think that.”
You shook your head. “I know you didn’t mean it. You’re under so much pressure. I get it.”
He swallowed, eyes dropping to the floor. “I just… I don’t want to lose. And I don’t want to lose you. And sometimes those fears get tangled up and I say things I shouldn’t.”
You stepped closer until you were right in front of him. “You’re not losing me,” you whispered. “Not over a bad night. Not over anything.”
His jaw tightened, and he finally let himself look at you — really look at you. The frustration was gone. What replaced it was something softer, heavier, almost vulnerable.
He reached out, hesitating for half a second before his hands found your waist, pulling you gently toward him. You rested your palms on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat under your fingers.
“I don’t know how to do this sometimes,” he admitted, voice low. “The games. The pressure. The distance. And then you show up and everything in me just… shifts.”
You felt your breath catch. “Shifts how?”
He leaned his forehead against yours, eyes closing. “You make me feel safe. And that scares me more than losing.”
Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, grounding him. “You don’t have to be scared with me.”
He exhaled, long and shaky, like he’d been holding that truth inside for too long. His arms tightened around you, pulling you fully against him.You slid your hands up to the back of his neck, feeling the tension there slowly melt under your touch.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You just held each other in the quiet of the entryway, the world outside fading until it was just the two of you — tired, hurting, but choosing each other anyway.
Finally, he whispered, “Come here,” even though you were already in his arms.
And you did. You let him hold you like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. Like this was the only place he could breathe.
Victor’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer like he needed the reassurance of your heartbeat against his. The house was quiet around you, the kind of quiet that made every breath feel louder, every emotion feel sharper.
You rested your hands on his chest, feeling the slow rise and fall beneath your palms. He looked down at you, eyes tired but soft, the frustration from earlier fading into something warmer. Something real.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, voice barely above a whisper. “I never want to hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” you said gently. “You were overwhelmed. And you came back to me. That’s what matters.”
His jaw relaxed, and he let out a breath that sounded like relief. His forehead brushed yours, slow and careful, like he was asking permission without saying a word.
You didn’t pull away.
His hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He held you there for a moment, just looking at you — really looking — like he was grounding himself in the sight of you.
Then he leaned in.
The kiss was soft. Slow. Not rushed or heated — just full of everything he didn’t know how to say. His lips pressed to yours with a kind of quiet desperation, like he needed the closeness to steady himself after the chaos of the last two games.
You kissed him back just as gently, your fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie. The world outside the entryway faded — the losses, the pressure, the noise — until it was just the two of you, breathing the same air, holding onto each other like you were the only calm either of you had left.
The quiet didn't last long. The tenderness in Victor's eyes shifted, the softness hardening into something darker, more urgent. The guilt of calling you a distraction—of pushing you away when he was at his lowest—was still simmering under his skin, and the only way he knew how to purge it was through a physical intensity that bordered on desperation.
He didn't pull away this time. Instead, his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his long fingers tangling in your hair and tilting your head back. The kiss changed instantly. The softness vanished, replaced by a hungry, demanding pressure. He groaned into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire body, his tongue forcing its way past your lips to claim you with a sudden, rough authority.
"I can't... I can't stand that I made you feel that way," he rasped against your lips, his breath hot and erratic.
Before you could respond, he hoisted you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your back slamming against the nearest wall with a dull thud that knocked the breath out of you. He didn't let you recover; he pinned you there, his massive frame crowding you, trapping you between the hard wall and the heat of his body.
His hands weren't gentle anymore. He gripped your thighs, digging his fingers into your skin, hoisting you higher so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck. He bit down—not enough to break the skin, but hard enough to leave a mark, a possessive brand that signaled exactly who you belonged to.
"You're not a distraction," he growled, his voice dropping an octave, sounding primal. "You're the only thing that keeps me sane. I'm a fucking idiot for ever saying otherwise."
He reached down, his large hand fumbling with your clothes, ripping them aside with an impatience that bordered on aggression. When he found your center, he didn't tease. He shoved two fingers deep inside you in one swift motion, making you gasp and arch your back against the wall. He pumped his fingers ruthlessly, his thumb grinding against your clit with a heavy, punishing pressure that sent sparks of electricity shooting through your spine.
"Look at me," he commanded.
You opened your eyes to see him staring at you, his pupils blown wide, his expression a mix of raw apology and uncontrollable lust. He looked wrecked, desperate to prove his devotion through the only language that felt honest enough in the moment: dominance.
He freed himself from his pants, his cock springing out, thick and pulsing. He didn't use a slow glide. He grabbed your hips, tilting you perfectly, and drove himself into you in one powerful, unrelenting thrust.
You let out a sharp cry, your head snapping back against the wall as he filled you completely, stretching you to your limit. He didn't stop to let you adjust. He began to fuck you with a rhythmic, punishing intensity, each slam of his hips echoing in the quiet house. He was using you to ground himself, his movements rough and demanding, as if he were trying to merge his body with yours to erase the distance the fight had created.
"Tell me you're mine," he groaned, his voice strained, his sweat dripping onto your chest. "Tell me you know you're everything to me."
"I'm yours, Victor! I'm yours!" you sobbed out, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, digging into his muscles.
The sound of your submission seemed to snap the last thread of his control. He accelerated, his thrusts becoming shorter, faster, and more violent. He was hammering into you, his large hands bruising your hips as he held you pinned, claiming every inch of you. The friction was intense, the pleasure bordering on pain, and it was exactly what you both needed—a physical purging of the tension and the hurt.
He let out a loud, guttural roar as he hit his peak, his body stiffening as he flooded you with hot, thick cum. He buried his face in your shoulder, shaking with the force of his release, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to pull you inside his own chest.
As the adrenaline faded, the roughness dissolved back into that desperate need for closeness. He didn't let you down immediately; he kept you pressed against the wall, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting heavily in the sudden silence.
The adrenaline of the first release hadn't settled the storm inside Victor; it had only cleared the way for a deeper, more possessive hunger. As he held you against the wall, his breath still ragged, he didn't slide out of you. Instead, he shifted his grip, his massive hands sliding from your hips to your waist, squeezing the flesh there with a firmness that promised he wasn't anywhere near finished.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and swirling with a mixture of lingering guilt and an overwhelming need to dominate every single part of you. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to stretch this moment of reconciliation until you were completely spent, until the only thing you could think about, feel, or breathe was him.
"I'm not letting you go yet," he rasped, his voice a low, commanding rumble that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine. "I need you to feel exactly how much I need you. I need you to remember this."
Without warning, he hooked his arms under your thighs and carried you toward the bedroom, never once breaking the connection between your bodies. The friction of his cock sliding slowly in and out of you as he walked was a torture of the best kind, a slow-burn tease that had you whimpering against his neck. When he reached the bed, he didn't lay you down gently. He dropped you onto the mattress and immediately climbed over you, his towering frame casting a shadow that completely enveloped you.
He grabbed both of your wrists in one of his huge hands, pinning them above your head against the pillows. The disparity in size was staggering; your wrists felt fragile in his grip, making you feel small, vulnerable, and utterly his.
"You think a few apologies make up for how I made you feel?" he growled, his chest heaving. "I'm going to spend the rest of the night making sure you know you're the center of my fucking world."
He shifted his weight, sliding out of you with a slow, agonizing pull that left you feeling empty and aching. But before you could gasp for air, he moved down your body. He didn't go for your breasts; instead, he gripped your thighs, forcing them wide apart, exposing you completely to his gaze. He stared at you—flushed, wet, and trembling—with a look of raw hunger.
He leaned down, his tongue lashing across your clit in one long, wet stroke that made your hips jerk upward. He wasn't being gentle. He used his tongue with a forceful, rhythmic pressure, sucking your nub into his mouth and swirling around it with a dominance that demanded your total surrender. While his mouth worked you into a frenzy, his hand remained clamped around your wrists, keeping you pinned, denying you the ability to touch him or guide him. You were entirely at his mercy, a prisoner to the pleasure he was meticulously crafting.
"Please, Victor..." you moaned, your voice breaking.
"Please what?" he murmured against your skin, his voice vibrating through your thighs. "Tell me what you want. Tell me who you belong to."
"I'm yours... please, I want you inside me!"
A dark smirk touched his lips. He climbed back up, but instead of returning to the missionary position, he flipped you over with a sudden, powerful movement. He shoved you onto your stomach, pressing your face into the pillows and pinning your lower back down with the weight of his chest.
He reached down, grabbing your hair to tilt your head back just enough so he could whisper in your ear. "I'm going to fuck you until you can't even remember your own name, let alone the fight we had."
He entered you from behind in one brutal, deep plunge. You let out a muffled scream into the pillow as he bottomed out, hitting your cervix with a force that felt like it was rearranging your insides. He didn't give you a second to breathe. He began to drive into you with a relentless, punishing pace, his hips slamming against your ass with a loud, rhythmic slap-slap-slap that echoed through the room.
He was using his height and strength to keep you pinned, his forearm pressing into the small of your back, forcing you down into the mattress while he hammered away from behind. Every thrust was a statement of ownership, a physical manifestation of his apology and his obsession. He wasn't just seeking pleasure; he was claiming you, erasing every doubt and every hurt with the sheer force of his body.
"You're mine," he groaned, his voice sounding like a predator's. "Every inch. Every breath. You're the only thing that matters."
As you neared the edge again, he slowed down. He stopped the violent hammering and transitioned into slow, deep, agonizing grinds. He rotated his hips, rubbing his cock against your most sensitive spots with a precision that was almost cruel. He was prolonging the tension, dragging out the agony of the build-up, refusing to let you peak until he decided you were ready.
"Not yet," he whispered, feeling your muscles quiver. "Stay right there. Feel me. Feel how much I want you."
He kept you on that knife's edge for what felt like hours, alternating between rough, shallow thrusts and deep, soul-searching plunges. He played with your pleasure like an instrument, pushing you to the brink of a scream and then pulling back, forcing you to beg for it.
Finally, when he felt your body begin to shake uncontrollably, he let go of the restraint. He gripped your hips so hard his fingers left marks, and he accelerated into a blinding, frantic pace. He was fucking you with a primal desperation now, his breath coming in jagged gasps, his entire body tense.
"Now you can let go!" he roared, the command coinciding with a final, devastatingly deep thrust.
The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your internal muscles clamping down on him in violent spasms. The feeling of you squeezing him triggered his own release. Victor let out a guttural, animalistic sound, his body locking up as he pumped load after load of hot cum deep inside you, filling you to the brim.
He collapsed on top of you, his heavy chest crushing you into the bed, both of you drenched in sweat and shaking from the intensity. He didn't move for a long time, simply breathing you in, his heart hammering against your back. He shifted slightly, kissing the nape of your neck with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the violence of the last hour.
"I've got you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I've always got you." ☆
a/n: i genuinely had a 10 like goal for my first fic and i got 49 so far so tysm. im really enjoying coming up with these sadly the season will be over soon but i think ill keep this version wemby in my mind & on here. please let me know what you think! ^_^ also pray to the basketball gods we win game 7!🩵🩷🧡 ( update: we won!🫶🏾)
After winning game one vic is tired and battered but he has just enough energy for you. based on game one of the conference finals.
warning: smut, pure filth; first fic plz be nice, unedited!
The sound of the crowd was still ringing in your ears, that buzzing mix of adrenaline and leftover noise that clings to you long after the arena empties. This wasn’t your first basketball game, but the intensity of these games was something else entirely. Every round felt heavier, louder, more personal. And now that you were finally on break from school, you could actually travel with your NBA boyfriend — who just so happened to be in the conference finals of the playoffs. Victor Wembanyama.
Watching him tonight had been its own kind of emotional torture. Every time he hit the floor, your stomach dropped. Every time OKC tried to body him, shove him, scratch him, you felt your whole chest tighten. His lip was busted, his arms were covered in fresh red marks, and you knew his legs were bruised from all the awkward landings. But even through all of that, his skill was unreal. He played like someone who refused to lose. And even though it took two overtimes — two full, exhausting, heart‑stopping overtimes — they won. He won.
You waited while he did press, while he decompressed with his teammates, while the whole team celebrated the way only a Game 1 win after a war like that deserved. By the time you finally got to hold him, he was showered, hoodie on, sweats hanging low on his hips, hair still damp. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you in like he’d been waiting all night for that moment.
“It’s just game one,” he muttered into your shoulder, voice low and tired, “but fuck, I’m happy.”
“Im so fucking proud of you,” you whispered back, your hands smoothing over his back automatically. “You were amazing out there. My fucking MVP.”
He let out a breath that sounded like relief. “That’s all I want.”
He kissed you — not rushed, not hungry, just full and warm, like he needed you to feel what he couldn’t put into words, like he meant it.
In the private car to the back entrance of the hotel, he leaned into you without hesitation. His head rested against your shoulder, and you ran your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle. You could feel how drained he was, how heavy his body felt after carrying so much of the game. He’d given everything he had out there. And you knew he had practice early tomorrow, film sessions, treatment, all of it. But right now, he was letting himself rest against you, letting himself be held.
All you wanted was to take care of him — to tend to every sore spot, every bruise, every place OKC had gotten too physical. And with the way he melted into your touch, you knew he wanted that too. You just wanted as much time with him as you could get before the world demanded more from him again as much as he gave on the court you wanted to give to him.
The elevator ride up to the hotel room felt quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that settles in after a long night — not awkward, just full. Victor stood beside you, shoulders relaxed for the first time since tip‑off, his hand loosely holding yours like he didn’t want to let go. He positioned you from him, caressing your sides through your outfit you wore for him. Every few seconds he’d glance down at you, that soft, tired suggestive smile tugging at his mouth, the one he only ever gave you.
When the doors opened, he let you step out first, but his fingers stayed laced with yours as you walked down the hallway. You could feel the weight of the night on him — the minutes he played, the hits he took, the pressure he carried, these were the nights you missed the most when you were stuck on campus, watching him through a screen instead of being right here, close enough to feel the warmth of his arm brushing yours.
He unlocked the room and pushed the door open with his shoulder, letting you walk in ahead of him. The lights were low in his penthouse suite, the room quiet except for the soft hum of the AC. He closed the door behind you, and for a second he just stood there, hoodie slightly rumpled, hair still damp, eyes on you like he was memorizing the sight of you in his space.
“Finally,” he breathed out, voice low from exhaustion, but there was something else in it too — something warm, something that made your chest tighten.
You set your bag down and turned toward him, and he stepped closer, slow, like he didn’t want to rush a single second. His hands found your waist, gentle, careful, like he was afraid of how sore he was and how much he still wanted to hold you anyway.
“Are you hungry?” you asked, glancing at the kitchen.
“Yea mon amour, for you to bounce on it for me” you chuckled with him but you instantly got hot as he leaned down to your ear, you regret telling him your slight infatuation with nosferatu. “ Its all I can think about and I'm too tired to destroy you like I really want to,” you gulped “ Will you do that for me?”
You nodded, “I wanted to massage you and tend to that busted lip…” muttering as he lifted you up easily, walking to the bedroom sitting with you already in position as he began to peel your clothes off, kissing every piece of skin as it was exposed.
“i don’t always have you celebrate with like this and i always want you like this”
The large penthouse window dimly lit the bedroom , the city sprawling below you both like a glittering battlefield won. Victor’s long, sculpted body stretched across the crisp white sheets, his skin still flushed from the game, every muscle defined like a statue carved by gods. The busted lip was a dark, swollen mark of his victory, and the scratches on his arms told the story of the war he'd fought on the court. But now, in this room, he was yours—and you were his.
You hovered over him, your thighs straddling his hips, your slick heat already pressing against the base of his cock. He was thick, heavy, and painfully hard, the tip already glistening with a bead of precum. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, his dark eyes half-lidded but burning with a desperate, undiluted hunger.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that sent a shiver straight to your core. His hands slid up your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, possessive and urgent. “So fucking wet for me already, and I haven’t even touched you right.”
You leaned down, your hair brushing against his chest, and kissed the corner of his busted lip, tasting the faint metallic tang of blood mixed with the salt of his sweat. He hissed, but his hand shot up to grip the back of your neck, holding you there, forcing you to stay.
“Don’t stop,” he breathed against your mouth, his voice trembling with need. “Fuck, I need you. I need to feel you around me. Now.”
You shifted, your hips rocking against his length, the head of his cock teasing your entrance. A guttural groan tore from his throat, his hips bucking up instinctively, but you pressed down on his chest, pinning him to the bed.
“Easy,” you whispered, a smirk playing on your lips. “You said I do all the work tonight, remember?”
His jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring. “I lied.”
Before you could react, his hands locked around your waist, and in one fluid motion, he flipped you onto your back. The air left your lungs as you hit the mattress, and he was on top of you, his massive frame caging you in, his knees spreading your thighs wide. His cock slid between your slick folds, not entering, just teasing, the tip nudging your clit with agonizing precision.
“I can’t,” he growled, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged. “I can’t control myself when it comes to you. Not tonight. Not after what I did out there. Winning that game, hearing your voice in my head—it makes me want to fucking ruin you.”
He pulled back, his eyes wild, his pupils blown wide. His hand slid down your stomach, slipping between your bodies, and he guided his cock to your entrance. He pushed in just an inch, the head stretching you, and you both moaned in unison.
“You feel that?” he asked, his voice a broken whisper. “That’s what you do to me. That’s all I fucking think about. Your pussy. Your mouth. Your fucking hands on me.”
He thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, desperate motion. A cry escaped your lips as he filled you completely, the stretch almost too much, your walls clenching around him in a tight, hungry grip. He didn’t wait—he couldn’t. He started moving immediately, his hips slamming into yours with a raw, primal urgency that shook the bed frame.
“Fuck—yeah—take it,” he grunted, his rhythm erratic, pounding into you with a desperation that bordered on feral. His hands gripped your hips so hard you knew there would be bruises tomorrow, and you didn’t care. You wanted them. You wanted every mark he left.
He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, tasting you like he was drowning and you were air. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, each one hitting that sweet spot inside you that made your vision blur. You clawed at his back, your nails raking down his sweat-slicked skin, and he growled against your mouth, a sound so primal it made your toes curl.
“I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I’ve been thinking about this since the fourth quarter. Every time I looked at you in the stands, I couldn’t focus. All I could picture was you like this.”
He pulled out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, and flipped you onto your stomach. Before you could protest, he grabbed your hips, pulling you up onto all fours, and entered you from behind in one fluid motion. The new angle made you gasp, your face pressed into the pillows as he drove into you, his balls slapping against your clit with every furious thrust.
“Look at you,” he hissed, his hand tangling in your hair, pulling your head back. “Taking my cock like a good girl. My fucking MVP.” He slapped your ass hard, the sound echoing in the room, and you moaned, pushing back into him. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You like being claimed?”
He reached around, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that had your legs trembling. His rhythm faltered, his breathing turning into ragged gasps. “I’m gonna come,” he groaned, his voice thick with desperate need. “I’m gonna fill you up, and you’re gonna take every fucking drop. You’re gonna feel me inside you tomorrow when I’m on the court. You’re gonna remember who you belong to.”
His hips slammed into you one last time, his body shuddering as he spilled into you with a guttural cry, his cock twitching and pulsing as he filled you completely. You followed right behind, your orgasm ripping through you, your walls clamping down on him as you cried out his name, your body collapsing onto the bed beneath him.
He stayed buried inside you, his forehead pressed to the back of your neck, his breath hot and uneven. Slowly, he softened, but he didn’t pull out. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest, and kissed your shoulder.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice a sleepy, sated whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”
"My good girl," grumbled tiredness settling into his voice, pulling you against his chest. "Now, help me get to the shower."
summary: nothing says ‘good morning’ like seeing your neighbor’s dick
warnings: established relationship (fwb?), neighbor!reader, thickd!abbot, voyeurism/exhibitionism, nudity, yoga (obvi), minor asshole!abbot, minor pussy play and pronouns, lots of teasing, piv, they’re both freaky pervs, downward dog back shots, age gap (22+ y.o reader, 40 y.o abbot)
w/c: 2.3k
notes: shakespeare’s back. i didn’t expect so many people to want a pt.2 to tbto, it’s coming soon, trust. take a shot for every time I say the word stretch. also lmk if I missed anything but be nice about it <3. (the links are pinterest pics, thought id try it out, for submersion. dividers from @uzmacchiato again)
8 am
The morning is slow and soft, the lazy kind of Saturday where the entire neighborhood agreed in silence to stay in all day. The street is quiet except for the occasional car rolling by and the low chatter of someone with their child who was complaining about not being able to go out to play yet. Your living room window is wide open, curtains pulled to feel the new sunlight stretching out across the room in pale stripes.
The floor is cold under your mat as you settle into position, back straightened and legs pulled out in front of you. You inhale, slow and steady, letting your shoulders drop as you ease down against your legs hamstrings pulling into the familiar pose. Your dog rolls over beside you, tail wagging slowly as she plops back first on the floor attempting to soak in the sun.
You slowly roll up onto your feet, stretching your arms overhead as you naturally look out the window. You rest your hands loosely against your sides, lightly tugging on your shorts as your dog stretches out by your feet. There’s a small stretch of backyard before being cut off by a short dark brown fence, just high enough to mark the property line but low enough that your living‑room window looked straight into your neighbor’s.
You close your eyes slowly, taking a long deep breath as you stretched into the tree pose, one foot propped up on the inside of your thigh. You brought your hands together over your head, humming softly as you attempted to keep your balance despite your dog rolling on your foot. Your breathing slows, chest rising and falling in deep breaths as bring your foot back down on the floor, stretching up as if you were trying to touch the ceiling.
You open your eyes, blinking out the window as you catch sight of Jack who’s already stretching out on a yoga mat he placed on the floor. He must’ve just started while you had your eyes closed, you hesitated to turn to do your next pose. You squint slightly at the sight of him shirtless, lower half cut off by the head of his couch. He doesn’t notice you right away, stretching into a warrior pose, eyes focused on the blank tv in front of him before turning at the movement in his peripheral.
You bent down to scoop up your half sleeping dog from your feet, gently setting her down on the couch who just rolled onto her side to face you instead. You scratched the underside of her jaw, returning to your mat just to find Jack staring through the window.
You move into your next pose, mirroring his stance, as he gives you a simple nod of acknowledgement. He turns away with an unreadable look, so you find yourself doing the same, looking at the wall as you lean forward into a standing forward bend. You’re unaware of it but Jack’s already looking back at you, eyes following the curve of your spine.
You’re about halfway into your downward facing dog when you can faintly hear the abrupt ringing of your phone. Your dog whines in annoyance at the silence being interrupted, you look up towards your window to see Jack’s crouched down out of your line of sight. You quickly step into your bedroom, unplugging your phone from its charger to see that none other than Jack was calling you.
You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, quickly accepting the FaceTime call as you made your way back towards your yoga mat. “Hello?” You spoke out once, watching as he set up his phone against the coffee table he pushed aside, giving you a very clear view that not only was he shirtless, but he was completely butt naked. The small little smile on your face completely disappeared, eyes widening at his smug little chuckle.
“Saw you were doing yoga. Figured we could make it a little class.” You stepped on the mat, glancing out the window to find Jack already looking your way, giving you a small nod. You hesitated, awkwardly looking for somewhere to place your phone before opting on just putting it on the bookshelf in front of you.
“I mean, I don’t mind it, it’s just this small tiny little thing.” You sat down in front of your phone, scooting back just enough that you were fully in the frame. Jack stretched lowly, turning to face the camera as he bent down, thick cock pressed heavily against his right thigh.
“I wouldn’t really call it little.”
“Jack— not that— I meant the whole…being naked thing.” He pretended to gasp in surprise, glancing down at himself like he was suddenly stripped of all his clothes. He shrugged as if it were nothing, wrapping one calloused hand around the base of his cock and giving it a small shake.
“It’s good for your body.”
You laughed breathlessly, standing up to peek over at his window. You could barely see the way he was hunched over to peek at the phone, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, let’s just go with ‘physical enlightenment’.”
You watch as he stretches into a warrior 2 pose, his eyes staring at you through the phone as he noticed your lack of stretching. “Oh please, don’t tell me you’re nervous? You’ve seen it all before.”
You scoffed dramatically, mirroring him as you stretched into the same pose. “Sorry, my teacher’s a bit distracting.”
He grinned lazily, watching as you stretched back into a reverse warrior pose, the bottom of your shirt inching up towards your underboob. The position of your phone gave him just enough of an angle to peek under the gaps of your shorts at your underwear.
You pull back into a lotus pose, watching as the phone lagged back five seconds. The screen lagged, and once the call finally reconnected, Jack’s stood up straight, thick legs taking up majority of the screen. From this angle you’re unsure what he’s doing, but you’re already moving into a cobra pose.
Jack’s back in the screen, cock on display and broad chest stretched out as he lifts into a mountain pose. You’re finally able to hear his deep, slow inhales, shifting slightly into a plank as you watch. You hate to admit it, but you’re starting to get a bit distracted at his whole… package, especially considering you’re about 80% sure he’s sporting a hard on right now.
The two of you don’t say much for a long time, focusing on your breathing and your poses. You’re trying your best to focus solely on the stretching and the warmth of your limbs as your muscles relaxed. After a sigh of annoyance you sit up on your knees, leaning against the palm of your hands. “I’m sorry— are you doing this on purpose?”
Jack comes down from his mountain pose, crouching deliberately in front of you, lower half of his body taking up the camera. “Doing what on purpose?” He grabs his phone, lifting the device up as it looks like he approaches his living room window. You quickly stand up, finding him already looking into your living room for you. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you getting turned on from human anatomy?”
You roll your eyes, waving him away from the window before snatching your phone from the floor. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you the one that’s hard?”
“Are you judging me?” He raises an eyebrow at you, grinning at the silence from your side. “It’s natural.”
You scoffed to yourself, nodding slightly before turning to your puppy who had fallen asleep. You turned back to the screen at the not so subtle clearing of his throat. “What?”
“As much as I love staring at your ceiling, are we gonna continue?”
“…What?”
“Nude yoga?”
You hesitated for a long beat of silence, sighing under your breath as you look down at the phone. “Fine, fine,” You’re hyper aware of the way he’s looking at you, hand tapping impatiently against the side of his phone. “Just keep your parts to yourself, okay?”
“I won’t put him anywhere he hasn’t been before.”
“‘Him’? Wow, okay.” You ignore his light chuckle, hanging up the phone before setting it on your coffee table. You don’t even bother rolling up your yoga mat, because you know the two of you are absolutely not doing yoga.
Panting breaths echoed through the large living room as Jack stroked his hard cock slowly with one hand, the other resting firmly on your bare back as he guided you into a deeper stretch.
“Good, just like that. Breathe deep nice and big for me,” you try your best to force in a deep breath, but the air in your lungs are stopped short at the gentle run of his fingers along your mound. “C’mon, baby, deep breath.”
You breathed in slowly, hips jerking forward as the tip of his index finger pressed in between your folds. “Hands out.” Rubbing the slick there he forced you forward, one knee pressed in between yours as you slowly leaned down on your hands.
The downward facing dog feels ten times more vulnerable now that you’re fully naked. You try to look between your legs at the slick sound of his hand against his cock, but his knee perfectly blocks the view of what he’s doing. “Jack?”
“Shh, this requires total silence.” You shake your head to yourself, rolling your eyes as you look up slightly, hands sweating against the yoga mat.
His hand gently pushes your folds apart, eyes lightly scanning against the flutter of your cunt, thumb pressing insistently against your entrance. You attempt to press yourself against him, letting out a frustrated groan as he pulls away.
“Be patient,” he presses his cock head against the cleft of her ass, dragging down to slide against your slit. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, warmth pooling in your gut as your clit throbbed against him. “Poor thing’s making a mess of me. I’m sorry, princess. Don’t be mad at me.”
You whined lightly as he tapped the tip of his cock against your entrance, pushing in ever so slightly before moving back towards your clit. “I’m n—”
“I’m not talking to you, I’m talking to her. Wait your turn, hm?” He gives your pussy another drag of his fingers, just to watch the way your arousal coated his fingers before placing that same hand on your hip, lifting his two fingers to keep from getting your juices on you. “You gotta hear how loud she is. Needy thing’s getting all worked up over a little touch.”
You gasped shakily at the slow stretch of his cock as he inched forward until just the tip was nestled in your warmth. His hand shifted from your hip to your stomach, gently pulling you closer as he looked down at you. “How you doin’ down there?”
You shifted slightly, wriggling your fingers to keep from toppling forward. “Tired.” You mumbled in a strained breath, clenching around him as he inched further.
“I got you, relax a lil’.” He taps his fingers against the lower section of your stomach, tensing slightly as you carefully pushed up from your position. You wiggled your hands to get the blood flow back, resting your hands on your knees as his fingers applied firm pressure to your clit.
He rolled his hips against yours, inch by inch allowing his cock to sink into you as he kept two fingers circling your clit. You grunted, shifting on your feet as you arched against him. With a final slow push, he guided himself til his balls nestled sticky against your skin, stretching you open.
“Fuck, there she is,” he groaned gruffly, giving your ass a sharp smack as he slowly started to move, pumping his cock in and out of your weeping pussy. “So damn tight.”
You moaned sharply as his hips snapped against yours, fingers still rubbing and pinching at your clit as he thrusted deeply slow. Jack moved his hand towards your noisy cunt, fingers running around the stretch of your pussy lips. Grunts, pants and the wet, slap of flesh filled the room as he leaned forward until his chest pressed against your back.
He could feel you getting tighter, pussy fluttering wildly as he nudged against your g-spot. Your hips jerked forward, body buzzing and thighs spasming as you tried to keep upright. “Jack, I-I’m—”
He hummed softly, fingers shifting against your clit to give it a slight flick. “I know, I know, baby.” You keened, pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts desperately. The pressure build up was intense, thighs slick with sweat and your own juices, clit throbbing angrily the closer you reached your epiphany.
He fucked you through your orgasm, feeling your pussy spasm and clench around his cock. He sucked in a shaky breath at the tightness, watching with a low groan as your juices gushed around him. The sight of the mess you made had him pulsing against your walls, hips shuddering as he emptied inside you, spurt after spurt of seed filling you.
The two of you remained locked together, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist before carefully lowering you against the couch as he pulled out with a slick pop. He wiped the leaking cum from your cunt, gently guiding it back in before quickly turning to check on you again.
“Hey, you okay?” You turned to look at him, face pressed against the couch cushions as you propped yourself up on your elbows. You gave his shoulder a firm smack to which he just cowered back with a surprised laugh.
gentle reminder you can rise up from everything. you can recreate yourself. nothing is permanent. you are not stuck. you have choices. you can think new thoughts. you can learn something new. you can create new habits. all that matters is that you decide today and never look back.
a/n: ...i didn't really mean for this to turn out so cum focused, but oh well, it's not like i'm complaining about the result, it's stupid hot, it was just kind of an accident lol. whoops, welcome to cum city i guess. apparently i am your mayor.
summary: sucking in a sharp breath, your weary head lifted slightly to make out in the low light, streaming in from the hallway through the open door, who it instead could be that had stirred you from your dreams because they couldn’t resist having a midnight snack.
warnings: frat!ari levinson x innocent!reader x frat!andy barber, stepbro!steve rogers, smut, dark content, dubcon/noncon, college au, polyamory, kissing, corruption kink, somno, fucking while someone else is alseep in the bed right next to them, crying, dacryphilia, dirty talk, size kink, manhandling, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, orgasm control, orgasm denial, edging, squirting, impact play, pain kink, oral, fingering, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay
word count: 4294
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take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au
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A strangled whine crawled its way out of your lungs as you were drawn out of your slumber. Half asleep, it took you a while to realise that the sensation tickling at your core wasn’t a part of some dream. Goosebumps prickled your flesh as you noticed the duvet had been peeled from your naked form.
“S-Steve…” you hazily slurred, eyes still shut as your legs faintly shifted against the burly form, slotted in between them. A hot mouth was latched on your clit, still all sensitive and swollen how your stepbrother had railed you to sleep.
As he sucked down harder, his beard rubbing your petals raw, your quivering hole clenched around nothing, causing another drop to leak out of the cum Steve had greedily filled you up with before he’d flopped down on the bed beside you and passed out nearly as quickly as you had.
Though as his silky tongue swirled over your puffy pearl, sloppily making out with your sore cunt, your tired eyes finally blinked open, just enough for you to vaguely take in the dark surroundings of Steve’s room. But then when your head began to tilt to the side, twisting on the pillow from the scorching kisses smothering your tiny bundle of aching nerves, your squinted vision landed on your stepbrother, still softly snoring on the mattress beside you.
Sucking in a sharp breath, your weary head lifted slightly to make out in the low light, streaming in from the hallway through the open door, who it instead could be that had stirred you from your dreams because they couldn’t resist having a midnight snack.
Your cunt immediately throbbed beneath his ravenous tongue as your gaze discovered that the man lying on his stomach, snugly between your thighs, was none other than the president of the fraternity.
However, as soon as his eyes found your panicked ones in the dark, the quick reflexes that had made him a legend on the football field allowed him to then soar up and clasp a broad hand over your lips.
“Shut the fuck up,” he swiftly hissed, his eyes scanning your own as you panted behind his palm. Hovering above you, he murmured, “don’t scream, okay?” before a faint nod then slowly tilted your head.
“…Ari?” you whispered when he then slowly slipped his hand from your mouth, “wh-what are you doing?”
“Doing my taxes,” his eyes on you promptly narrowed brashly to a squint, “what do you think I’m doing?”
Shifting carefully to glance back over at Steve sleeping directly next to you both, you muttered, “but–”
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Ari arrogantly cut in.
“What?” you still struggled to comprehend the reality you’d woken up to, “I–”
“Hey, I am in charge around here,” he caught your chin and tilted your head back, forcing your wide eyes back upon him, “what I say goes, so I can do anything I fucking want, and what I want, is you,” he gazed down at you as if you were the only two in the bed, “and I say that your big stepbrother has kept you to himself for way too long. So what if he said that none of us could have you yet.”
“He did what?” you gasped, your eyes briefly flying back to Steve’s broad back twisted towards you.
“Oh, he’s just being greedy,” a shiver ran down your spine as he then pushed himself up to sit back on his knees, before his fingers then caught the waistband of his boxers, and he tugged them down enough for his hard cock to spring free of its binds and smack into his lower abs, “just don’t tell him… not that I think he’d actually do anything about it, I mean, what would he do? Deny his president? Not in a million fucking years. He knows better than to say no to me.”
“…but what if Steve gets mad at me…” you blinked up at him as your stomach threatened to coil into aching knots.
A bright grin then twisted up his features as he peered down at you, his girth throbbing in his grasp as he purred, “who in their right mind could ever be mad at you, huh?” before he then tilted closer and dragged the bulbous tip of him through the glistening seam of your cunt, making you whine softly into the night.
“Alright,” you panted, “but just please be gentle,” your eyes flickered down to catch sight of his dick nudging against your puffy pussy, “I’m still really sore…”
“Really?” a dark chuckle quietly slipped from his lips, “because to me, it looks like she wants it rough. She wants me to be mean to her, bully her so good, just like she deserves,” he smirked at the way that you squirmed as he tapped the weight of him against your petals, before then sweeping down to smear against the cream still slowly leaking out of your wrecked fuckhole, “look at that… shit, he sure did leave you fucking messy…”
“B-but–, ah!” he narrowly managed to cover your mouth again as he suddenly slammed the entirety of his length inside of you, using the sticky load already inside of you as lube.
“See?” a sickening squelch echoed throughout your stepbrother’s room as Ari then brashly rolled his hips, “doesn’t that feel better?”
As you struggled to wrangle the moan that his impulsivity had forced out of your lungs, you tugged his hand away from your lips, just enough for you to squeak breathlessly, “o-oh my g-god! A-Ari! It’s too–, fuck!”
But your whining only made him smirk as he continued to stare down at how you clenched around his fat girth, “damn, I thought you’d already been broken in! Apparently not good enough,” he then snapped his hips with more force, fucking through your tightness.
“It's so much, it’s too much–”
“Shh, shut up,” he clambered a palm back over your mouth as moans began to bubble up your throat, “be fucking quiet and take it,” he growled as he sloped down over you till his lips nearly skimmed against the back of his own hand, firmly clasped over the lower half of your face, “toys don’t talk.”
You could barely keep your eyes open as your body jostled on the mattress at the rhythm of his greedy pace.
“Holy fucking shit, you’re fucking strangling me here… gonna make me cum in no time,” he groaned, “such a perfect little pussy. What is this, your third time–, maybe fourth, that a cock’s stretched this tiny baby cunt out?” he croaked before you shakily held up six of your fingers in the sliver of space between you, “oh, this is only your number six, huh? He’s fucked you five times already and you still feel like this? Damn…” his hefty balls smack against your slick skin, “and you just let your big stepbro cum inside of your pretty pussy too, fuck… pump you full of cum… you gonna let me do that too, huh? Yeah, you are, aren’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll fuck his load out of you first, before I fill you up…”
Ari then abruptly pulled out only to smack the palm, that wasn’t plastered against your mouth, down upon your messy pussy, repeating the swift action till you were dripping even more and he then once more buried himself in your warmth. Though after the harsh stings, once his thick dick was yet again plugging you up, your cunt couldn’t help but clamper down around him.
“Look at you,” he swiftly began to chuckle, “you’re fucking squirting already?” his pace didn’t slow in the slightest as you gushed messily around his girth, “who the fuck gave you permission to squirt all over my cock, huh? Bad fucking girl. You just can’t help yourself from making a cute little mess, huh?” he kept on fucking you through it, dragging out your orgasm for what felt like an eternity as your body convulsed beneath him, “did I tell you that you could fucking do that? Did I tell you that you could cum? No,” his words barely seeped through your haze, “so you don’t fucking do it. Hold it, ask for permission, don’t fucking pull that shit again with me or you’ll regret it,” his intense stare imprisoned your weak gaze before he then sighed, “well, since nobody else has bothered to, I guess I’ll just have teach you some self-control myself…”
Just then, your stepbrother suddenly shifted in his sleep, rolling onto his back and shifting just a tad bit closer to you both. Each of you froze up at once as your eyes darted off to the side, Ari’s broad hand still pressed over your mouth.
And when the frat boy that stretched you out was sure that Steve was still asleep, he then began to pick his pace back up, gradually working his way back to the fevered rhythm he’d granted himself previously.
Some movement then caught your vision, as out of the corner of your eye, someone passed by out in the hallway, before the figure then circled back to eclipse the doorway.
“Fucking shit!” you then heard Ari moan quietly as he came undone, “that little pussy’s too fucking good, damn…” he finally slipped his palm away from your lips to instead smother them with a breathless kiss.
“A-Ari?” you then patted his wide shoulder once the peck had ceased, before you weakly pointed to the figure by the door.
“Oh,” Ari simply exhaled when he twisted his neck to spot who was standing in the threshold, “hey, Andy,” he smiled at his right-hand man, “enjoying the show?”
“Is he fucking sleeping?” Andy whispered as he nodded to Steve in the bed beside you both, “holy shit…”
“Wait, why are you–,” a gasp slipped from your lungs as you glanced to Ari, “I thought this was supposed to be a secret.”
“Oh, Andy’s just Andy,” he simply shrugged, “my vice president won’t run his mouth if I don’t let him,” he uttered before glancing back over his shoulder, “will you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Andy’s head gently shook.
Blinking between them a moment as you fought not to drown in the shock that washed over you, the two men kept up their alarmingly casual tone as Ari then offered.
“You want a go? I already lubed her up for you,” and it took you a second for it to sink in that he was referring to the hot load that he’d just spilt into you, his cock still plugging you up and keeping his seed inside.
“Not in here,” Andy shook his head as he smirked in your direction, “I wanna hear her squeal and moan for it…”
As Ari then got up from the bed, causing the mattress to dip enough for you to shoot a nervous glance to your slumbering stepbrother, he then picked you up and draped you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, one of your palms quickly soaring up to clasp over your mouth to muffle the yelp that promptly bubbled out at his manhandling.
Carrying you out to the hallway and into his own bedroom directly to the right at the very end of the corridor, he then dropped you down the bed in the middle of the room. For a moment as he let himself loom above you, standing tall at the foot of the mattress, the wild look in his eye made you think that he was about to ravage you all over again, but instead, to your amazement, his feet then began to shift away from you before he took a seat in the chair by his desk, swirling it around for his stare to stay glued on you.
Shutting the door behind him, Andy then stripped off his clothes, each long step that carried him closer towards where you lied cost a single item of clothing. Once no more fabric covered his burly frame, he propped a knee up onto the mattress before joining you on the bed.
Parting your thighs, he craned down to get an embarrassingly close look at your pussy. His touch sneaked up to ghost the broad pad of a thumb over your messy folds, making you jump slightly in sensitivity as his thick finger shifted down to your entrance, slowly leaking with Ari’s cum, “so fucking pretty…” he murmured before his digit stuffed some of the jizz back inside your haven.
Andy then layed down beside you before he dragged your exhausted form up on top of his own.
His grip drug into your hips as he then huffed, “well, go on,” before his broad palm swiftly collided with your bottom, “that dick isn’t gonna ride itself.”
“Huh?” you panted as the sinful situation you’d woken up to had you feeling as if you were still dreaming.
“Have you seriously already fucked that brain out of her?” the man below you shot a brief look over your shoulder at Ari.
“Well, she was kind of already half broken when I found her,” the frat’s president shrugged, “but sure, I’ll gladly take the credit.”
Sweeping his hands up your frame, Andy then captured your face and tilted it for your eyes to feebly find his, “sink that little pussy down on my cock, sweetheart,” he repeated in a clear yet impatient tone.
Blindly, you clumsily reached down between your bodies as you shakily raised yourself up just enough to let your arm pass. As you found his hard length, your cheek smooshed further into his palm as he held your face steady before him instead of allowing it to crash down onto his chest, letting himself absorb and revel in each little twitch that flickered over your features as you nudged the tip of his dick against your opening.
Weakly rubbing the thick cockhead against your dripping core, you then finally made your hips tilt, but just as the very tip of him carefully popped inside, you then lost your balance and came crashing down against him, the entire length of him slamming inside of you in one fell swoop.
He didn’t seem to care how the tumble had knocked the wind right out of you or how whines escaped you as you tried to catch your breath, your poor pussy fluttering around him in an effort to comprehend the sudden stretch.
“Come on,” he let go of your head to smack your butt, “bounce that ass for me.”
And though you shakily tried, it was without success.
“I-I’m sorry,” you whimpered against his chest, “I can’t…”
“What? You can’t fuck yourself on my cock?” he uttered in a mocking tone.
“It’s too much, I can’t, my legs they–,” your thighs quivered on either side of his hips as you fruitlessly attempted to raise yourself up once again, “I’m sorry…”
“Aw, baby…” his thumb briefly found your cheek in a soft stroke, “look at you… too fucking exhausted to work for that nut, huh?” he ushered your hazy gaze to find his own as he peered down at you, melted down against his pecs, “but you want it, don’t you? You wanna be a good little cumslut and take my load as well, right? Or else you’ll just hurt my feelings…”
“No, I do,” your words slurred slightly as you blinked up at him. Though you feared your poor body wasn’t able to keep going, the burning desire not to make the devastatingly handsome man that you lied upon even a little bit sad, drove you to murmur, “I’m sorry, I just can’t–, ughh!” before his grip then dented your ass and he began to move your hips for you.
“Well then I guess I’ll just take care of it myself,” he croaked as he began to fuck Ari’s cum deeper inside of you, “I’ve got you,” he simply smirked as he let you smother your face further into his chest, almost as if you were trying to bury yourself and hide from the intenseness as he kept on rocking you on top of him, “you can just rest.”
The pattern he rapidly formed, of lifting your hips all the way up before sinking your pussy right back down onto his cock, was then shattered as his own hips began to move beneath you, bucking up into your warmth till you felt your eyes begin to roll in your skull.
“Ari…” you weakly whined against Andy’s skin as even you began to hear how your cunt squelched sinfully each time the details of his cock dragged against your g-spot.
“Yes, baby?” you heard from the other side of the room.
“I think I’m gonna cum again,” you nearly cried as you dug your teeth into your bottom lip, “can I–… can I, please?”
“Since you asked so nicely,” he huffed, “sure, go ahead,” before you then squirted again, your quivering hole even forcing Andy’s dick out completely as your pussy continued to gush, “that’s it… that’s my girl…” Ari groaned before his fellow frat boy reached down to slip his cock right back in, only allowing you to be free of his girth for what felt like a second before he buried himself once more, although Andy did grant you the serenity of staying still once he’d sunk you back down onto his length, “and what do you say now?” you heard Ari fish.
“Hm?” you hummed weakly as your velvety walls spasmed around Andy’s cock.
“I just let you fucking cum, so what do you say?”
Your brow briefly knit together as you tried to scramble your foggy brain, “…t-thank you?”
“Thank you, what?”
“Thank you, Ari?” you tried in an unsure voice.
“Well, I guess that’s good enough for now,” he chuckled lightly, “can always make you call me your president or sir another day,” his stare on your cunt then intensified, marvelling at how you clenched around Andy’s dick, “fuck… how does she feel right now? Because that pussy’s grip around your cock looks so fucking tight,” you could vaguely hear the slick passes of his fist as Ari was once again painfully hard and stroking his length.
“Dude, it’s insane…” Andy puffed beneath you, resisting the urge to pound through the throbbing descent of your high, “you wanna tap in again?”
And the next thing you then knew, Ari had shot up from his seat before he’d plucked your frame off of Andy as if you were just a little doll in his grasp. Standing tall as he picked you up into his burly arms, a yelp then tumbled past your lips as he didn’t just readjust you in his grasp, but instead tossed you up even higher till he had you balanced on his shoulders and his face once again was buried against your puffy pussy for another taste. As he messily sucked your sore clit into his mouth, you feared momentarily that he might drop you, even though his strong grip on you stayed steady.
As he safely slipped you back down and tangled your weak legs around his hips, he then began to guide you back down onto his cock, splitting you open all over again for him.
With his massive hands spread out wide beneath your ass, he sank you down upon him before lifting your frame back up, limp and trembling in his flexing arms. But then as the tenderness of your most recent high lingered and exacerbated the soreness that had already been aching ever since your stepbrother had fucked your last night, the agonising overstimulation brought on by Ari’s merciless efforts caused you to crumble even further and begin to cry, something that you didn’t notice till the man cradling you cockily pointed out.
“Oh fuck…” to your horror, he somehow grew even harder inside of you as he spotted the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “that’s so hot,” his next few thrusts then couldn’t help but snap roughly against you.
“What?” Andy murmured as he got up from the bed.
“Look, she’s crying,” Ari smiled as you let your head fall to rest against his broad shoulder, “I love a girl who cries when it gets too much for her.”
“Yeah? Is it too much, huh?” Andy crept closer before one of his hands snaked in between your forms to momentarily bully your swollen clit, “can that little pussy not take it anymore?” he slipped his fingers away again, awaiting an answer, though try as you might, only a moan came tumbling off your lips, “you want us to move on to that little ass instead?”
“N-no!” you somehow managed to whine.
“No?” you felt Ari’s lips press against your temple as he spoke, “you sure? One of us could just stick it in at the end, who knows, you might even be too cockdrunk by now to notice the difference,” he bounced you in his arms as Andy reached out to tug crudely against your pebbly nipples.
“D-don’t, please–”
“But I thought that little pussy was all sore and achy now, right?” Andy tilted his head to get closer to your own, “so don’t you wanna give her a little break? Unless of course you like it when it hurts a little bit.”
“Oh, I bet she does,” Ari chuckled, “dirty little girl like her, spreading her legs for her own stepbrother. She for sure loves it.”
“So then why don’t we just both use that pussy at the same time?” a gasp escaped you Andy then tapped his palm against the soft peaks of your tits, “if you don’t want it up the ass yet, you want us to ruin that cute cunt instead?”
And as you weakly shook your head, drooling against Ari’s shoulder, you then felt a hum rumbled in his chest, “hm,” he pursed his lips as he blinked down at you, “I think that’s a no, unfortunately.”
“Oh well, at least we tried,” Andy respected it begrudgingly.
Shifting you in his hold, you winced slightly as Ari then slipped out of you, though your pussy didn’t get to stay empty for long as Andy swiftly settled in behind you and filled you up instead. Grunting into the back of your neck as his friend kept on holding you up, soon it wasn’t just Andy’s hips that snapped into the plush of your ass, enveloped by Ari’s broad hands, but the president of the frat had also begun bouncing you down to meet Andy’s efforts, offering his aid as he fucked you down upon his friend’s cock.
When they had traded places once again, Andy curved around to where your head stayed melted down against Ari’s shoulder, eyes shut as sobbing moans flowed out of you. Tilting down, he pressed a kiss to your lips, his palm slipping up to the side of your face before the light tap he then patted against your cheek forced your heavy eyelids to flutter back open. A groan slipped from Ari as the brief smack had caused your cunt to clench down around him, rendering him to command his friend to keep going, which Andy happily complied with, his lips stealing brief pecks between the swift slaps he then dealt.
The pattern of their constant switching efficiently edged you, as each time one of them had their go with you, it would cruelly push you painfully close to cumming, before they then would trade places, constantly denying you of that delicious high and granting you just enough of a pause to fall back down again before it all then repeated over and over again till you felt as if you were losing your mind.
But when the pending high crept up on you once again and began to blur your already hazy vision, you finally managed to part your lips and try to beg before Ari could once again deny you and pass your pussy back to his friend, “ca–…can I cum? P-please–”
“No,” his voice felt like a sharp slap against your cheek and caused a strangled sob to slip out past your lips, “not until both of us have gotten our rocks off, you got it?”
You tried your best to suppress it, put a lid over the boiling pot and hope that it didn’t explode as you dug your teeth into Ari’s shoulder in an effort to try and hold on.
Luckily, your torture didn’t stretch on for too long before, one by one, they then spilt their seed inside of you. Andy was the first to pump you full, though his load quickly began to escape as soon as he withdrew his throbbing cock, as you were still cradled so high above the ground that gravity played its part. Though a lot of it did leak out and drip down onto the floor, some still remained inside of you and quickly mixed and mingled when Ari swiftly flooded your haven as well.
Though as soon as his fat cock slipped out of you, Andy wasted no time reaching down and stuffing your drippy and creamy hole full with two of his thick fingers. He swiftly began to rock them inside of you so harshly that a meek cry burst from your lungs as your overly sensitive pussy once again squirted for them, gushing out their cum as well as he kept going until you nearly blacked out.
And then, as your eyes fell shut once again and you exhaustedly melted further into Ari’s strong frame, you heard him murmur against your temple, “okay,” as he pressed a kiss above your brow, “let’s go tug you back into bed, angel.”
✧˚ · . 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞, in which Logan fears the worst for you and can’t protect you forever
✧˚ · . 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐝𝐲𝐩𝐨𝐨L 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐢e, in which you are the ladypool to his wolverine, part two
✧˚ · .𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐛𝐲 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮, he's not your Logan, but you want him to be [angst and smut]
✧˚ · .𝓕𝓮𝓮𝓵𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮, You, Logan, Laura and Charles have to pretend to be a family with the nice people but Logan can’t help thinking what could have been
✧˚ · .Notice, Sometimes, even the big bad wolf needs his calm, in his case, it's you
✧˚ · .ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ?, you go on a date and you know old man Logan is gonna hate it [smut]
✧˚ · . I could’ve lost you, after a particularly harrowing mission, Logan can’t let you go
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
✧˚ 'Are you Hugh down under?' in which fans are obsessed with how you and Hugh flirt with each other at every chance you get, part two
✧˚ You, Oscar and Hugh you and Hugh are the stars of the biggest movie of the summer, and the pair of you are all that is talked about on Hollywood's biggest night
✧˚ NFWMB, you are Hugh's young and controversial co-star
✧˚ Nothing fucks with my baby , you are Hugh's young and controversial co-star [smut]
✧˚ You and Hugh are WIRED, Hugh and you take part of the WIRED autocomplete interview
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
✧˚ And I wouldn't marry me, either. ✧.* part one. part two.
You're Azriel's mate, but it took losing you three times for him to realise.
✧˚ Learning to fly, starting to crawl
You lost your wings, Azriel is teaching Feyre to fly and it hurts you more than you'd think
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
✧˚ Losing my religion
Abbey knew that for the murderer of her father to feel even an ounce of how she felt, she needed to aim higher than just him. (Angst)
✧˚ Mess of a man
Joel didn’t know why he’d let his little brother convince him a night at the bar was what he needed. But he might need to listen to him more. Smut!
✧˚ · . Strawberries
There are some things Joel misses after the end of times, he didn’t think something as sweet as strawberries would be one, part two
✧˚ · . Stacey’s (Ellie’s mom)
‘dude your mom is hot' was a sentence Ellie got used to hearing between her friends.
✧˚ · . It’s just a cigarette
Your dad wasn't around so Joel had to step up and be the man. When he catches you with a cigarette between your lips, it was only right he should punish you, right?
✧˚ · If you need my love
You were growing up in a house with little love, but luckily Joel Miller was living across the road and he was always there to pick up the pieces.
✧ · A friend of the families
You and Ellie became close when she moved to Jackson. You and Joel got even closer
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
Call it what you want to (ft Tom Blyth). ₊˚ෆ. part one. part two. part three. part four. part five
✧˚ Wanting you under the Italian sun.
You and Timmy have most been working hard. For the summer, they decide an Italian getaway.
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
✧˚ baby blue, you and Bucky are finally ready for the rest of your lives, you just never thought it wouldn’t work out.
✧˚ Do I look good, Mr Congressman, There were many perks to Bucky's new position, many you thoroughly enjoyed. [smut]
✧˚ Getting along, You and Bucky are dating, when Bucky adopts a cat of a mission the cat and you can’t seem to get along until you do.
‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊
✧˚ She's like a shot of espresso
(J.E) You work in a coffee shop and suddenly Jacob is a coffee enthusiast
✧˚ Daisy, oh my Daisy
(W.W) you have been helping Wonka all this time, but can you stick together until the end
✧˚ Cowboy like me.
(T.B) Your band has a new single out and a certain actor stars in the music video. Sparks fly just as high as rumours.
✧˚ Bye Sebastian!
(Marvel cast) You had stared in the most of the movies of all. The cast love you, maybe some men love you more than others
✧˚ The Paul Mescal school of yearning
(P.P) You and Pedro had stared in the Last of Us together, and now he cannot stop talking about you at any chance given, very much similar to another friend of his…
✧˚ Falling out of love.
(T.B) Fans think that you and tom are falling out of love after filming for ballad of songbirds and snakes and you don't post about each other much, so you show them that it's far from the truth.
✧˚ T hird times the charm.
(T.B) Tom and you met over zoom whilst auditioning for your roles in the ballad of songbirds and snakes. Instant attraction and the chemistry was off the charts, everyone could see it, even you two fools. In every interview you did, as co-stars, as best friends and finally, as a couple…
✧˚ · . I've been knowing you
(P.P) You want everything with Pedro, but when faced with it, he laughs off the idea
Warnings: 18+ mdni, angst, smut, rough sex, jealousy, age gap, mention of past trauma
Notes: Enough with the fluff. In this one we suffer.
By early summer, Jackson had settled into warmth—dusty roads, long daylight, and porch rails strung with drying laundry. The sharp edge of spring had softened; now the air buzzed with bugs and music and stories traded over cold drinks. The bitter months were just memory now, replaced by sweat-damp shirts and the sound of kids chasing each other down dirt paths.
So when talk of Maria’s birthday started circulating, no one was surprised the town wanted to celebrate. Tables were hauled into the commons, strings of mismatched lights looped from post to post, and someone managed to rig up an old speaker system that still worked. There’d be food, music, something close to joy.
You stood by the window of Joel’s house, arms crossed, watching neighbors haul folding chairs and mason jars toward the center of town. Sunlight slanted through the glass, casting long, honey-colored shadows across the floorboards. “You coming?” you asked, your voice casual but pointed.
Joel sat on the couch, elbow resting on his knee, thumb running absently along the edge of a worn knife handle. He didn’t answer right away. “You know how I feel about crowds,” he muttered eventually.
You turned, mouth tugging into something between a smirk and a dare. “It’s Maria’s birthday, not a parade. There’ll be food, beer, bad music… and people who haven’t seen me wear something decent in months.”
That made him glance up. “You want us to go… together?”
You tilted your head, smiling. “Sure. Why not? The whole town already gossips about us anyway.”
Joel blinked, clearly caught off guard. “They do?”
You snorted softly. “Joel,” you said, stepping closer, voice warm. “You walk me home regularly. I’m here more than I’m at my own place. We hunt together, patrol together. You think no one’s noticed?” He scratched the back of his neck, a half-grimace curling his mouth.
Somewhere between skeptical and sheepish. “Ain’t like we’re makin’ out on the front steps.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You want to?”
That got a real look out of him—flat, amused, maybe a little flustered. His eyes lingered a second too long. “Guess I can handle a few hours of cheap beer and someone’s busted playlist.” Then, quieter—almost an afterthought, but not really: “If it means I get to see you in that dress again.”
You blinked. “What dress?”
“The one you wore at the big New Year’s party. With the little… straps. And the red.” He gestured vaguely, like the memory still hadn’t let him go. His voice had dropped a note—rougher, sincere. “You know damn well which one.”
That caught you off guard. You hadn’t expected him to remember. Let alone describe it like that. “Huh,” you said, smiling despite yourself. “So that’s what did it, huh?” You moved to the door, hand on the knob. I’ll hop over to my place and grab it. Be back in five.”
Joel nodded, quiet. But as you stepped outside, you caught the way he was watching you—like maybe the heat of summer had finally cracked something open in him, and he wasn’t quite ready to admit it.
When you returned, Joel looked up—and his breath hitched. You stood in the soft, golden light pouring through the hallway, wearing that old red dress with the thin straps—the one he hadn’t been able to forget. The fabric was worn but hugged your body in all the right places, tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips like it had been made for you alone. The neckline dipped low enough to reveal a glimpse of collarbone and the swell of your chest, without ever feeling loud. The hem brushed just above your knees, swaying gently with every small movement, while your loose braid tumbled down your back, catching stray sunbeams like whispered promises. Joel’s eyes lingered longer than usual, his mouth parting slightly before he said, low and steady, “You look beautiful.”
You gave a small, self-conscious smile, tugging at the hem. “It’s the only thing I’ve got that’s not flannel.”
He rose, the familiar weight of his presence filling the room, and stepped forward. His hand found the small of your back with a quiet certainty as you moved outside together. The warm air held the buzz of the town’s celebration, the sound of music and laughter drifting softly on the breeze.
The party was already in full swing by the time you and Joel stepped into the commons. The space had been transformed—lanterns strung across the ceiling beams, casting warm pools of light over tables pushed together and draped with mismatched cloths. The air smelled of roasted meat, bread, and something sweet baking nearby. Voices echoed off the walls—laughter, conversation, the occasional burst of music from an old speaker someone had managed to fix up. Joel stayed close at first, his hand brushing against yours in the quiet way that felt more like a promise than a touch. Not possessive, not showy. Just there. You moved through the room together, pausing to greet people as they came—Maggie from the stables, Benny who handled the generator shifts. Joel spoke more than usual, giving short nods and even the occasional dry remark that earned a laugh. You caught the looks people gave the two of you—quiet and curious, but no one said anything directly. Just knowing glances and small smiles.
He even cracked a joke at one point—something about Tommy’s idea of dancing music being a federal offense—and you laughed, your arm brushing his as you leaned in without thinking. It felt easy. Comfortable. Like the space between you had softened. Maria caught your eye from across the room and waved with the kind of grin that only came after a couple drinks and a night that had gone exactly to plan. You smiled back, already feeling a little warmer than the room could account for.
But eventually, the current of the gathering pulled you outward. Someone called your name, and you drifted into another conversation, then another. Joel let you go, hands in his pockets, leaning against a wooden beam near the edge of the room. He sipped from a cup he wasn’t really tasting, eyes following you through the crowd like a tether stretched thin. That’s when he saw him. The boy with the dimples—close to your age, maybe a little younger. Clean jacket, hair slicked back like he gave a damn. Good-looking in the obvious kind of way. The kind that got him second helpings in the kitchen and made patrol partners linger too long when he talked. Joel had seen him around. Heard things, too—enough to pay attention. He watched the boy’s eyes find you across the room. They lit up, unmistakably, like someone had just turned a key in his chest. You smiled when you saw him—not the full smile you gave Joel, but warm. Familiar.
Joel’s jaw ticked. The kid was smooth, he had to give him that. Slipped through the crowd like it parted just for him. And when he reached you, he leaned in a little too close. Said something that made you laugh, your hand briefly brushing his arm. You didn’t flinch when he placed a palm lightly on your shoulder—just kept talking, eyes flicking up to meet his.
Joel’s cup lowered a few inches. Then it happened. Not much. Just a small touch—too familiar to be innocent. The boy leaned in like he was telling you something private and gave a quick peck to your waist, fingers brushing the small of your back like it was nothing. Joel didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. But something behind his eyes shifted—an old muscle waking up, one he thought he’d left behind in another life. His grip on the cup tightened until the paper creaked, his gaze locked, unwavering. No raised voice, no confrontation. Not yet. Just a weight settling into his chest, cold and steady, as he watched.
Then your eyes flicked across the room and caught his, still leaning against that beam like he’d been carved into it. Watching. You nudged the boy’s arm with the back of your hand. He leaned in slightly, grinning, just as you said something low. The two of you started making your way toward Joel. He straightened just a little.
“Joel,” you said as you approached, “this is Jonah—he’s been helping out with the housing builds over by the old radio tower.”
Joel’s eyes didn’t leave the boy’s face. He gave a small nod, neutral but solid. “I’ve seen you around.”
Jonah returned the nod, all polite and casual. “Yeah, sir. I heard you’ve been around construction your whole life. I just had a question about support spacing in the crossbeams—they’re settin’ a frame on a patch of uneven ground, and I figured someone with real experience might save us from wasting more lumber.”
Joel glanced at you briefly, then looked back to him. “You pourin’ concrete before or after the set?”
“After.”
“Then you’re better off over-reinforcing the joints. It’ll hold, but if that frost hits hard next year, you’ll be back to fixin’ cracks.”
Jonah nodded with what looked like genuine respect. “Thanks. That makes sense.”
You felt the exchange settle into something that almost resembled friendly. For a moment, you let yourself relax. That’s when Maria’s voice cut through the hum behind you. “Hey!” she waved from across the room, a dish towel slung over her shoulder. “Can I borrow you for a second? The storage door jammed again—we can’t get to the serving trays.”
You looked at Joel, then at Jonah. “I'll be right back,” you said under your breath, pressing your hand briefly to Joel’s arm before slipping away into the crowd.
As soon as you disappeared into the crowd, Jonah’s posture shifted. His smile stayed, but it thinned—less polite now, more like a dare. He shifted his weight, arms folding loosely across his chest like he had all the time in the world. “Didn’t think old guys like you kept up,” he snarked, tone just light enough to pass for teasing, but with an edge Joel didn’t miss. “She deserves more, y’know?”
Joel didn’t answer at first. Just watched him, jaw ticking once. He’d had his share of punks like this. Most burned out fast or talked big until winter knocked the swagger out of them. Jonah kept going, unbothered by the silence. “Pretty thing like that? She could have anyone here. Someone closer to her age. Someone who doesn’t creak when he gets up.” Joel’s stare didn’t budge. Still didn’t bite.
But then—then—Jonah leaned in, voice dropping low. “She talks about you like you’re everything. But I see the way she laughs with me. The way she leans in close. Bet she’s just waiting for someone who can actually make her moan. Not someone who groans just from climbing the damn stairs.”
Joel moved before the last word even landed. He grabbed a fistful of the boy’s collar and shoved him back—a clean, quiet shove that slammed him against the wall with a dull thud. Not loud. Not dramatic. But sharp enough to slice through the room’s hum. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. Joel’s voice came low. Measured. Each word like gravel dragged under a boot. “You don’t talk about her like that. You don’t even think about her like that.”
Jonah’s grin faltered for the first time, splintering under the weight of something real.
Joel’s grip tightened. “I will not say it again.”
A beat. Tense. Then Tommy stepped in—hand on Joel’s arm, calm and practiced. Someone else drifted close, murmuring something low. The air in the room had thickened, coiled. Joel let go. Abrupt. Final. Like a switch flipping back to neutral. Jonah straightened his shirt like it mattered. Joel didn’t look at him again. His eyes were scanning the crowd. Searching—for you.
You arrived just in time to see Joel’s hand drop from the front of Jonah’s shirt. He was pinned to the wall, shoulders tight, mouth caught somewhere between shock and wounded pride. Joel’s jaw was locked, his chest rising in short, sharp pulls—not from exhaustion, but from restraint. Tommy stood between them now, a steady hand still resting on Joel’s shoulder. “All right,” Tommy said, voice low but firm. “That’s enough. Let him go.” Joel did. Just like that. Jonah adjusted his collar with too much purpose, then flicked a glance in your direction—half smug, half bitter—before slipping into the crowd. His swagger was just a little too big, like he needed it to feel taller. The room stirred. Voices rose. Eyes turned. Joel. You. The silence between you, tight and electric.
Your stomach twisted as you stepped forward. “Joel.” Your voice barely made it past your lips. “What the hell happened?”
He didn’t answer at first. Just stood there, breathing through his nose, eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder like he needed the distance. “Let’s go,” he muttered finally, voice rough. “Please.”
You looked at him for a moment—took in the tension still coiled in his frame, the way his fists hadn’t fully unclenched. Then you nodded. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit. You followed, your pulse thudding in your ears, every set of eyes behind you pressing like a second skin.
The walk back unraveled in silence. Not cold. But tight. Stretched thin like wire between you, humming with heat and static, everything unsaid vibrating just beneath the surface. Gravel crunched beneath your boots. The night air clung to your skin—thick and still, the scent of earth and cut grass catching in your throat.
You kept glancing at Joel, waiting—for him to say something. Look at you. React. He didn’t. Not once. He walked beside you with that same clenched jaw, shoulders drawn up like a man dragging something heavy and pretending it didn’t hurt.
When you stepped inside the house, the door clicked shut behind you. You turned. Voice soft, careful. “Joel… what happened back there?”
He didn’t look at you. Just toed off his boots like it was any other night, like his fists hadn’t been trembling minutes ago.
“Joel.”
Still nothing. His silence wasn’t stone—it was smoke. Thick, curling, impossible to hold. He didn’t know how to answer without letting something else slip. Something messier. Deeper. He scrubbed a hand down his face. “We should get to bed.”
You stepped closer, the air between you tight as a wire pulled to snapping. “I’m not letting this go. Not until you tell me what that was.”
Joel didn’t answer at first. Just a long breath, rough at the edges. Then, low and bitter: “Stay away from him.”
You blinked. “What?”
Joel’s voice came out flat. “He ain’t… just stay away from him. Don’t talk to him again.”
The heat hit your chest like a slap. “So now you’re giving me orders?”
He finally looked up, jaw working.“I’m telling you to trust me.”
You barked a sharp laugh. “Trust you? When you won’t even explain why you attacked someone for asking a damn question?”
“He wasn’t—”
“He’s my friend, Joel. He just wanted to talk to you and you came at him like some jealous, overprotective—”
He turned his head fast, like the words stung worse than a slap. “I ain’t jealous.”
“Give me a break.”
“I ain’t jealous,” he said again, but softer now. Less like denial. More like defense.
You stepped closer, voice lower now—cutting, careful. “Then what is it?”
His silence was louder than a scream. Because the truth wasn’t something he could say. Not easily. Not out loud. It wasn’t about the boy. It was about him. He’d seen something that looked too much like losing you, and it cracked him open in a place he didn’t know how to close. So he gave you what he always gave when the feelings got too big. Distance. He turned his back to you, hands braced on the counter like they were the only thing holding him up. “It’s not you I don’t trust,” he muttered. “It’s the people around you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
A dry, humorless laugh left him. “You think I don’t know that?” He turned then, and the look in his eyes was raw. “That ain’t the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
Joel swallowed hard. “It’s what I can’t stand. The thought of someone touchin’ you like that. Thinkin’ they can get close to you—talk to you like he did.” He hesitated—then finally looked over his shoulder at you, eyes hard. “I saw the way he looked at you. Like he already had you. Like you were his to—” He stopped himself. A beat. Then: “I’m tryin’ to protect you.”
And the silence that followed hit harder than anything else. A wall going up between you. “No. You’re trying to control me.” Your voice was sharp, but the hurt beneath it was sharper. “It was nothing, Joel. And you made it into something ugly.”
Joel flinched—this time deeper. The words hit like bullets. “And all because deep down, you still don’t believe someone like me could stay.”
There it was. Joel looked at you like you’d reached in and pulled the words straight from his chest. Because that was the truth. He didn’t. Not really. “You think I don’t deserve you, huh?” he said quietly. “Guess we finally agree on somethin’.”
The words landed like glass in your chest. Not loud. But final. That wasn’t just anger. That was Joel cutting himself out before you could do it first. You stared at him, stunned. “That’s not what I… Wait, that’s what you really think?” He didn’t answer. Just stood there, chest rising, jaw tight, looking at you like it hurt to breathe.
A beat passed. You turned toward the door. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But something in his eyes—panic, maybe—flickered as your hand reached for the knob. “Don’t,” he said, voice low—strained. “Don’t walk away like this.” Your hand froze. “I can’t…” he swallowed, his voice cracking like it physically hurt. “I can’t let you leave.” Not because he didn’t trust you. Not because he wanted to win. But because the thought of losing you—like this—felt unbearable.
“Can’t let me?” you snapped, eyes blazing. “You don’t get to decide when I leave, or who I talk to—”
But before the words were even out, Joel was there. His mouth crashed onto yours with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. No finesse. No hesitation. Just heat—raw, messy, desperate. You gasped, fists tightening in his shirt. You hit his chest once—a startled shove—but your body betrayed you, dragging him closer instead of pushing him off. His hands gripped your hips like they were the last solid thing in his world. You hated how good it felt—how familiar. Like falling into a fire you knew would burn and doing it anyway. “I swear to God,” you muttered against his mouth, breath ragged, “you’re such an asshole.”
Joel didn’t flinch. Didn’t retreat. “Yeah,” he rasped. “I know.” Then he turned you, fast. Your front hit the wall, palms catching the surface with a thud. He hiked your dress up, so sudden the fabric nearly tore, your panties yanked down and trapped around your knees. The air left your lungs in a sharp rush. Joel’s body came flush behind yours, pinning you in place—not to overpower. To anchor. The cool air hit your skin—and then he did. One fierce, fluid thrust, his cock sliding inside with a stretch that made your spine arch, your mouth fell open in a strangled cry.
Joel groaned, loud, deep, chest pressed against your back. You clenched around him—your body raw, slick, already trembling. He moved inside you like a man possessed. There was no rhythm. Just motion. Urgency. Frustration and need and fear all tangled into one primal act. You felt him everywhere. Breath on your neck, hand above your shoulder, heart pounding like it was trying to break out of his ribs. His cock drove into you hard, fast—no hesitation, no room for air. The stretch made your whole body jolt, pleasure laced with a sting, the sweet burn of being taken completely. You screamed his name—sharp, broken. Palms braced, spine arched, the slick sounds of skin meeting skin loud and obscene with every thrust. “Wanna make you fall apart,” he growled into your ear, voice full of gravel and heat, “‘til my name’s the only thing you remember.”
"Joel—” you moaned, voice cracking under the weight of it, barely able to breathe as he pounded into you. Your cunt clenched around him, slick and aching, the sound of it wet and wanting. He was fucking you like he needed to. Like it wasn’t about pleasure—it was about proving something. About staking a claim he didn’t know how to speak aloud. And you knew that.
He pressed harder into you, deeper, the head of his cock dragging against every nerve ending, hitting the spot that made your vision blur. You could feel everything—every vein, every inch of him stretching you wide, forcing you to take him all. He was fucking you like he had something to lose. Like he needed to ruin you for every other man. Each thrust was bruising. Messy. Mindless. But it wasn’t about dominance. It was a declaration. He was trying to fuck the doubt out of himself. To carve into your body the only truth that mattered in this moment—that you were his. That no one else got to see you like this—raw, shaking, dripping, throat catching on his name like it was your last tether to reality.
Your inner muscles gripped him hard, pulsing with the need to let go. Joel grunted into your hair, sweat dripping down the side of your neck where his mouth hovered. He shifted his angle—one sharp tilt of his hips—and you screamed, your legs nearly buckling as your orgasm tore through you. It hit like a wave of fire and lightning, your body convulsing around him, mouth falling open, drool wetting your lips as you gasped through it.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. Your head fell forward, body too wrecked to hold itself up, and Joel’s arm came around your waist, hauling you upright. He kept thrusting—relentless, punishing—until his own rhythm shattered. His cock twitched deep inside you, and he came with a ragged groan, hips jerking hard against your ass as he emptied himself in thick, hot spurts. You both stood there for a moment, panting. Your thighs trembled. His hands didn’t let go. Like if he released you, you'd vanish.
You winced slightly when he finally pulled out, slick dripping down your thighs. You knew you were bruised—already tender—and there was no doubt you’d be feeling every inch of him for days to come. Slowly, you reached down, pulling your panties back up and adjusting your dress around your waist. Then you turned to look at him.
Joel was staring at you like he’d broken something. The wildfire in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a shadow of regret. For a long moment, he just stood there, struggling to put into words the shame of letting the raw fear of losing you take over. His voice came out tight, hesitant, almost awkward. “Did I… hurt ya?” He looked to your face, eyes searching gently for any sign that he hadn’t gone too far—any reassurance he could cling to in the silence.
You reached and traced your palm along his cheek, the touch soft, almost tentative. “No,” you said gently. “You didn’t.” A breath. A pause. “…But I know what this was. As much as it was good… as much as it felt like something I wanted—” your voice faltered, bitter and raw, “—it was also something else." A flicker of something passed through you—not fear, exactly, but a ghost of it. The kind that lived in muscle memory, not logic. The kind that made your spine stiffen before your mind caught up. "I’ve had someone in my life who tried to control me for so long. Treated me like I was his property.” Your fingers curled slightly against his skin, like you were grounding yourself through the memory. “And it cost me almost everything. I lost myself, piece by piece. I nearly drowned in it. And I swore I’d never let that happen again.” Your voice broke there—just slightly—but you didn’t turn away.
Joel’s brow furrowed, a shadow passing through his eyes—guilt, and something deeper. He lifted his hand, laid it gently over yours, and brought it to his lips. A kiss to your knuckles—soft, reverent. “Who hurt you, babygirl?” he asked, voice rough but careful. “Will you ever tell me?” He tilted his head, trying to meet your gaze. No edge in his voice now. Just warmth. Just a place to land.
You hesitated, lips parting as if you might say it. Might finally open the floodgate. But the words stuck. Lodged somewhere deep in your throat. “I…” you started. Then stopped. The silence stretched long between you. “Someone bad,” you said finally, voice thin with restraint. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” he whispered. “You can tell me.”
You shook your head, slowly. Not tonight. Not like this. You weren’t ready to peel it all back, to show him just how deep the scars went. “I just… I need some space.” You leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. “Just for tonight.” And it wasn’t a threat. Wasn’t anger anymore. It was exhaustion—the kind that came from years of holding things in too long, too tightly.
Joel reached like he was about to touch you—then stopped himself. Like even his hands were ashamed. He nodded once, like it physically hurt him. “Yeah. Okay.” You turned before he could see your eyes fill. Before he could ask again. Behind you, Joel didn’t move. Just stood there, frozen in place—still and quiet, like the weight of everything unsaid had locked his feet to the floor.
The hours after you left were thick with stillness. Joel stood in the quiet house long after the door had slammed shut behind you, the echo of it rattling in his chest like a warning he’d ignored too long. He didn’t move—not at first. Just stood there, hands braced on the kitchen counter, jaw clenched tight like it was the only thing keeping him from splintering apart.
That night, he tried to sleep on the couch. His body stayed still, but his mind didn’t. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you walking out that door. Every word he’d thrown played back like a weapon. He wasn’t sure what cut deeper—what he said, or what he hadn’t.
The next morning, he fixed the busted railing out front. Replaced the loose hinge on the back door. Built a damn chair no one asked for. Anything to keep his hands busy, anything to keep the silence from getting too loud. Ellie noticed—of course she did. She lingered more in doorways now, hovered just outside the room instead of barging in like usual. She didn’t ask questions, but she watched him like she was waiting for something to crack.
That afternoon, she found him in the garage, running sandpaper over a block of wood that didn’t need sanding anymore. His knuckles were raw. Jaw locked. The air around him coiled like a spring. Ellie leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You gonna talk about it?”
Joel didn’t look up. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”
“That why you’re sanding that thing like it insulted your mama?”
He stilled, finally, and looked at her—really looked. No sass in her face now. No sharp edge. Just quiet concern, tucked behind the usual smart-ass delivery.
“That bad, huh?”
Joel swallowed. Nodded once.
Ellie shifted her weight. “You want me to say something comforting or shut the hell up?”
A long pause. His voice came rough and dry: “Shut the hell up.”
By the second night, your scent had already started to fade from the sheets. He didn’t eat much. Didn’t talk. Tommy stopped by and got a grunt through the door. The whole town seemed to walk quieter around him, like they could feel something had fractured beneath the surface.
But it only got worse from there.
Three days later, you were gone. No word. No note. No trace. Just your name, passed around in half-whispers and worried glances. Joel didn’t panic—not right away. You needed space, he told himself. Time. She’s just blowing off steam. She’ll be back. But by nightfall, he was on his knees in your house, your drawers half open, hands shaking as he realized your jacket was gone. So was your rifle.
And suddenly, the silence wasn’t still anymore. It was screaming. He was already halfway to the stables when Tommy found him, a pack slung over one shoulder, boots laced and blood thudding hot through his ears.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Tommy stepped in front of him, breath fogging in the cold evening air.
“Move.” Joel didn’t slow down.
“Joel, don’t—”
“I said move, Tommy.” His voice cut sharp through the dark. Tommy grabbed his arm. Joel’s fist nearly flew on instinct. But he stopped, jaw clenched so tight it ached.
“She left a note,” Tommy said, low and deliberate. That made Joel freeze.
“She said she’s leaving Jackson for good. Said not to come after her. That it was her choice.” Joel stared at him, like he didn’t understand the words. Tommy reached into his jacket and handed over a folded scrap of paper. The edges were creased, the handwriting familiar.
'Tommy, I'm leaving Jackson. Please don’t come after me. I’m alright. Thank you—for everything. —'
He didn’t finish reading it. Couldn’t. His fingers crumpled the paper, breathing suddenly uneven. “She didn’t say why,” Tommy added, softer now. “Didn’t leave much more than that. Just… said not to send anyone.”
Joel’s voice, when it came, was barely a whisper. “She took her rifle.”
“She knows how to survive.”
“I should be the one out there with her.”
“I know you think that,” Tommy said. “But maybe she needs space more than she needs saving right now.”
Joel’s glare could’ve cracked bone. “I don’t give a damn what she thinks she needs.”
“That ain’t love, Joel. That’s control.”
Joel flinched—because maybe it hit too close. Maybe that’s what this was all about. Аll he could do was shove the note into his pocket and push past his brother, eyes burning but dry. Tommy didn’t stop him this time. Just stood there watching him walk back to the house like a man sinking in slow motion, too stubborn to call for help.
He didn’t eat that night. Didn’t speak. Just sat in the dark, that note folded like a wound in his palm, and wondered how the hell he’d lost the one good thing that had ever looked back at him and stayed. The house was too quiet. Even the floorboards had stopped creaking like they used to under your step. Your mug still sat on the kitchen shelf, the one with the chipped rim you always insisted on using. One of your sweaters was still draped over the arm of the couch, like you might walk in and shrug it on like nothing happened. But you didn’t. And Joel was starting to believe you wouldn’t.
What gutted him the most wasn’t that you were gone. It was how you left. No goodbye. No explanation. No look back. Just a goddamn note—and it hadn’t even been for him. Tommy got a thank you. Joel got silence. He sat at the edge of the bed that night, the one that still held the faint trace of your scent in the sheets, and he couldn’t stop wondering: Why? Why didn’t you say anything? Not a word. Not even a lie to make it easier. After everything you’d been through together. After the nights you spent tangled in each other’s arms, whispering things neither of you ever thought you’d say out loud. It all felt real to him. The way you looked at him. The way you held his face like it meant something when he was too tired, too wrecked, too far gone. And now you were just… gone. Like it hadn’t meant a damn thing. Like he hadn’t meant a damn thing. Maybe it was that fight. The way he tried to make you stay like he had the right. Maybe that was the final shove. It all twisted deep in his chest, sharp and ugly, the kind of pain that makes a man want to rip out whatever part of himself still hopes. He rubbed a hand down his face, slow, like he could wipe away the sting behind his eyes. “Guess I was just a stop along the way, huh?” he muttered, bitter to no one.
But the truth was worse. Because if he wasn’t even worth saying goodbye to—not even a note, not even anger—then maybe you really were better off without him. Maybe you’d seen him for what he was in that fight: something broken. Something heavy. Something not worth dragging any further. Still, it didn’t stop the ache. Didn’t stop him from waking up three times that night, thinking he heard the door. Didn’t stop the part of him that sat by the window the next morning, eyes on the trail that led out of town, waiting for a shape he knew deep down wouldn’t come. Not today. Maybe not ever.
The seasons changed, but the silence didn’t. Summer had burned itself out. The heat was still clinging to the days, but the mornings came with a bite—air just sharp enough to sting your lungs, the scent of woodsmoke curling through town. Leaves were starting to crisp around the edges, curling like old paper. You could feel autumn waiting in the wings.
Jackson always looked prettier this time of year. Gold dust on the trees. Sky stretched high and clean. But Joel couldn’t see any of it. Not really. You’d been gone a month. Some folks stopped bringing you up at all. Others—like Maria—talked about you like a chapter they’d already closed, their voices softer, like the weight of your name might tip something over. Even Ellie had gone quiet about it. Not because she didn’t care. Joel knew better than that. It was in the way she hovered by the door some nights, like she was trying to ask without saying a word. It was in the way she stopped setting your favorite mug on the table like she used to, pretending it didn’t matter. Like none of it did. But it did.
One evening, Joel found Ellie in the garage, kicking a dented can across the floor like it owed her something. “You fixin’ to start a band?” he asked, voice low.
She snorted but didn’t look at him. “You offering to sing?”
Joel leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Wouldn’t torture the town like that.”
A beat passed. The can clattered against the far wall. Ellie stared after it like it might give her an answer. “She didn’t even say goodbye,” she muttered. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”
Joel said nothing.
“I mean—” she kicked the can again, “—I thought we were close. She made me laugh. Taught me stuff. Gave a shit.” She hesitated, scuffing her toe against the floor. “I know she meant a lot to you, Joel. But… she mattered to me too.” That landed harder than anything else. Joel looked at her. Her shoulders were stiff, eyes trained on the floor. “She could’ve said something,” Ellie added, voice quieter now. “Anything. Did you…?” She hesitated, words catching. “Did you hurt her?”
Joel didn’t answer for a moment. Just stared at the floor like it might give him a better version of the truth. Then he said, quiet but certain, “Not the way you’re thinking.”
Joel huffed a breath. Almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. It does.”
He was still checking the gates every morning. Didn’t matter how early or how warm the morning still felt. He was always out on some damn patrol, eyes sweeping the treeline like he didn’t even know what he was looking for. Just in case. Just in case your silhouette ever showed up on the ridge—shoulders squared, chin tilted like always. Limp still in your stride from that time you— He shoved the memory down before it could bloom. It always felt like swallowing glass. Because the truth was, he didn’t even know if you were alive. He told himself you were. Had to. Someone like you—sharp, stubborn, hellbent on surviving—you could make it out there. But Joel had seen what happened to people who wandered into the changing season alone.
Sometimes, in the quiet hours before dawn, when the house creaked just enough to sound like footsteps, he’d catch himself whispering your name. Not calling for you. Not asking you to come home. Just… saying it. Like if he spoke it enough, the world might remember who you were. Like the sound of it might tether you to something—anything—that would guide you back. He kept your sweater folded in a drawer. Your mug still sat on the shelf, untouched. He hadn’t touched the bed since the night you left. The couch had become his new home. His back hated him for it, but somehow it felt more honest. Like sleeping in that bed would smooth out the dent your body left behind. Like it might wipe you away, inch by inch, and make forgetting too easy. But Joel didn’t want to forget. He just wanted to understand.
Why.
Why you didn’t say goodbye.
Why you never looked back.
Why you left a note for Tommy, but not for him.
Was it him.
Some nights, the questions hurt more than the silence ever could. And maybe some part of him always knew this would happen. That someone like you wouldn’t stay with someone like him. Not forever. Because Joel had learned to live with grief. With guilt. With the kind of regret that stains your bones. But he had never learned how to live with not knowing. And that… that was what was killing him slow.
On a particularly cold morning—the kind that hinted winter wasn’t far off—Joel stood at the gate, rifle slung across his back, staring past the treeline like something might appear if he just waited long enough. The air had bite, sharp in his lungs. His knuckles were raw from where he kept rubbing them—skin cracked and chapped—but he didn’t seem to feel it.
“You still out here huntin’ ghosts?” Tommy’s voice came quiet from behind, careful.
Joel didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch.
Tommy sighed and stepped up beside him, eyes scanning the empty woods. “I wasn’t gonna say anything. But this?” He nodded toward the trees. “This ain’t healthy, brother.”
Joel’s jaw flexed. “You think I don’t know that?”
“She left, Joel. Her choice. Didn’t ask for help. Didn’t want anyone followin’.” His voice softened. Not angry—just worn. “You think I don’t hate it too? But you can’t bleed yourself dry over someone who ain’t lettin’ you.” He put a hand on Joel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man. I don’t think she meant to hurt you.” Still, silence.
Tommy glanced at him. “Ellie’s tough as hell. She’s been carryin’ more than she lets on, but that don’t mean she doesn’t need you.” Joel didn’t look at him, but something shifted—just barely. A flicker behind the eyes. “She’s your family, Joel. She needs you here. Not out there chasing shadows.” A long pause. Joel’s throat worked around something unsaid. Tommy stepped a little closer, voice low. “You keep shutting down like this, she’ll think it’s her fault too.” He let that land, then added, quieter still: “And that girl’s holdin’ on by her damn fingernails.” Joel’s shoulders sagged—just a fraction. The armor cracked. Not all the way through. But enough. “Maybe it’s time to stop punishin’ yourself,” Tommy said. “For her, if not for you.”
That night, Joel stepped into his bedroom. He paused in the doorway like it was sacred ground he didn’t quite deserve to cross. The bed looked too neat, too cold—like it had been waiting all this time for something that never came. He didn’t undress. Didn’t turn on the light. He just lay down on top of the covers, boots still on, arms folded behind his head like he couldn’t bear the vulnerability of rest. The mattress was firm beneath him. Familiar. Empty. He stared at the ceiling for hours. And for once, he didn’t think about the sound of your voice or the way you left. He thought about Ellie. And how maybe, just maybe, she was the one he’d been leaving behind too.
Days slipped by in a quiet rhythm—fixing fences, running patrols, sharing quiet meals with Ellie. Jackson moved around them like a machine still ticking, golden leaves crunching underfoot, brittle and fading. The town held its breath between seasons, and Joel… he didn’t dwell on what was gone. He kept his eyes on what remained.
One evening, as the light slanted low through the windows, Ellie wandered into the living room. The old guitar rested against the armchair, strings dull from disuse. “You ever gonna teach me how to play that thing?” she asked, arms crossed, chin tilted just enough to pass for casual.
Joel looked up from where he sat, brow lifting. “Might as well,” he said, voice low. “Can’t have you growin’ up not knowin’ how to strum a tune.” She didn’t answer right away, but she didn’t leave either. After a moment, she sat beside him, eyeing the guitar like it might bite. Joel shifted, dragging it into his lap and patting the space beside him. “C’mere. I’ll show you.” The afternoon sun painted long shadows on the floor as he handed it over, guiding her fingers into place. His touch was gentle, voice rough around the edges but patient. “Not like you’re stranglin’ a rat,” he muttered, lips twitching into something close to a smile.
Ellie snorted. “Feels like one’s fightin’ back.” The chord she finally pulled from it was shaky, uneven—but it was something. Joel’s smile deepened, the kind that started in the eyes and didn’t quite reach the surface. Something loosened in his chest. Like a thread pulling taut, then easing—quiet, but real. For a moment, the house didn’t feel so empty. And neither did he.
Summary: You and Joel make a mess of things—again.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Creampie. Age gap. Breeding kink. Period mishap / mentions of blood (!) Eepy Joel is eepy but always down to hit it raw 🤝 Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—for complete content warnings, please read this post!
Word count: 11.5k
Read on AO3
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8
Things changed.
You woke up snug in someone’s arms and didn’t move.
You couldn’t blame the warmth or the comfort of the bed—yours was a Twin XL, and your sheets were all tangled through your limbs in crude, haphazard fashion—for why you had. You just did. Like breathing, the decision not to leave this time around was as reflexive as it was freeing.
You buried your nose in an old, familiar neck and inhaled.
Joel.
Don’t go.
Please don’t go.
That voice was childlike and selfish: Don’t leave me here.
For once, you weren’t the one pushing him away; you were begging him to stay and let the scent of him linger on a little while longer in this too-small bed, in this too-cramped dorm, on this too-cold campus in a town over two thousand miles away from the one you called home.
He’d already spent every minute of the weekend here—Parents’ Weekend, of all things. After the initial shock and consternation of his surprise visit wore off and you’d finally had The Talk about what this thing between you was, you’d accepted that Joel loved you. You accepted that you loved him back. And not a second had passed since the end of that night where you didn’t want to be by his side. It hurt to think he’d be leaving you so soon, so of course, he’d offered to extend his stay to Monday.
The motel Joel had booked wouldn’t let him add an extra night, though, so that was how you ended up here: in the confines of your altogether new-and-nice-but-ridiculously-tiny dorm room that you shared with your roommate. Lucky for you, Aly had slept over at a friend’s. Unlucky for Joel, the only bed you had to offer him might as well have been built for a nine-year-old—his hulking frame nearly swallowed the whole thing, and his weight all but toppled the mattress off its risers. You’d only laughed your ass off a little when you saw it happen.
“Me and my old back need Tempur-Pedic, sweetheart,” he’d grumbled in your hair before drifting off to sleep.
“Tempur-Peepaw,” you’d murmured back, and could’ve sworn you felt his grip tighten while you nodded off too.
Now, your gaze was darting to the only source of light in the room—a digital clock between your bed and Aly’s.
5:11 A.M.
Why the fuck were you awake?
Your stomach hurt. Your head ached. You could’ve easily attributed both to the heaping plates of seafood you’d downed with Joel, Aly, and her family the night before. Dallas had picked the last place you went out to eat, and of course, his choice was fucked. While he swore up and down that this was the spot for him and his friends, the rest of you were wary of how hygienic the restaurant’s practices were. You all had felt a little queasy afterward.
But no, this wasn’t nausea you were feeling right now. It was worse, almost. There was a churning in your gut, an airiness in your head, and a searing warmth between your legs, too hot for even your box fan to combat.
You swallowed hard and stared into the darkness.
Were you…
No, no you were not.
No way were you horny at 5 AM.
But you most definitely were.
You hated yourself for it.
You kicked your foot in that muted self-loathing and huffed—you couldn’t move much else with Joel’s body blanketing yours. But you stirred what you could. It wasn’t fucking fair. You knew yourself, and you knew your body, and you would bet a million bucks that this feeling wouldn’t ebb until you’d thoroughly fucked yourself or someone else to a toe-curling, earth-shattering climax. In the next fifteen minutes.
Joel was fast asleep.
Your hands were currently plastered to your sides under the weight of one of the man’s big, tanned, hairy arms, and you didn’t have a hope of moving it more than an inch without waking him. Your gut twisted in despair.
I. WANT. TO. FUCK.
“Shut up,” you silently chided the fiend between your two shaking, slick thighs. And—oh fuck, were they wet.
This was like your own personal hell, not having access to the release you so desperately needed. Not having Joel to roll over with a knowing, crooked grin and a ‘Missin’ me already, honey?’ before a hand dove under the waistband of his boxers to retrieve what you wanted.
No, he needed to sleep.
He had a two-day drive back to Texas, and it would be unspeakably selfish for you to ask for dick right now.
But you needed reprieve from this awful feeling.
You’d rub your legs together. Dull the ache. Take a worn edge of your comforter and hump the thing like the world was ending today. That wouldn’t be weird.
It also wouldn’t be possible, you learned within minutes.
Try as you might to grind your hips and your desperate cunt through cotton without disturbing the man beside you, you quickly realized that the effort was fruitless: you couldn’t make a single seesaw motion back-and-forth without shaking the whole fucking bed. The old thing creaked and screamed worse than the one in the motel.
While need blossomed in your belly and your head swam with unsated desire, your mind hummed with new ideas.
Stupid ideas.
You shifted in place. Joel grunted and hugged you closer. Ordinarily, your heart would’ve melted at the gesture, but in your present bearings, with these pressing urges, you wanted nothing more than to push it straight off. The thought was slowly taking shape in your mind’s eye that maybe you could pull this off—perhaps you could get off without Joel’s noticing if you just…slid down.
If you slunk under his bicep and ever-so delicately pulled your right arm out from underneath his ribs, if you got his leg to stop draping so heavily over your thigh, you could slide down further. Try not to jostle him much.
It was doable.
With the right maneuvering, you could sneak off the bed.
Pleasure beckoned. Success was well within reach when you scooted your butt down the mattress and past the python-grip of Joel’s upper body. Before you knew it, your ass was gliding down, down, down, and then your torso was twisting, your knees shakily planting themselves closer to the foot of the bed. You sat up.
And as soon as you did, the first thing that greeted you through the darkened room was a wide, toothy grin.
“Climb on then, cowgirl,” came Joel’s gravelly invitation.
In the otherwise biting chill of the room, you felt your cheeks burn a hundred degrees. Your stomach flipped.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” you hissed back.
Those words were followed by a little smack to his arm. Joel took the hit in stride and simply stretched both hands behind his head on the pillow, eyeing you lazily.
“I was. ‘Til you started humpin’ my leg like a dog.”
“I did not.”
Your nostrils flared, and your words nearly rose to a whisper-scream. You still couldn’t make out Joel’s expression in the dark but sensed that it was smug.
“Did too.”
“Did n—”
“Baby, this was what the bed just felt like.”
To illustrate his point, Joel rocked his hips the tiniest bit. With the force of two thrusts, the whole frame screeched like a banshee. It seemed you’d been too horny to hear it.
“That’s not—” you started, voice tight.
“Just admit it. You needed to cum.”
He might as well have stuck his tongue out after.
You would’ve been irked beyond words if you’d had half a mind to channel the feeling. As it was, though, your brain was fried off a fucking need like no other, and your limbs were driven on pure impulse. You couldn’t be bothered to carry on this petty fight with your peri-geriatric partner right now; you needed release. So, hanging your head in shame for no longer than a moment, and working your panties down your legs while you did, you finally nodded.
The movement was slight. You’d only tipped your chin up once before those instinct-driven limbs were clambering quick to straddle Joel’s lap. He was lying supine on the bed, but you couldn’t see much else. You felt his smile stretch bigger as you lowered yourself onto him, though.
He was tired, you could tell. You normally weren’t one to rebuff an offer to have Joel inside you, no matter the hour, but this felt greedier than usual. You felt needy.
Which was why you didn’t immediately reach for the bulge in his boxers when you’d first mounted him.
Instead, you reached to touch yourself.
You were soaked as you’d ever been.
“I— I can get myself off in a minute,” you found yourself stammering out the second your index and middle fingers connected with your wet, throbbing clit.
And it was true. The sensations you felt were so sharp they almost stung, with sparks igniting across your lower half in just one brush against that pulsing bud. You’d scarcely completed one circuit with your fingers when Joel’s hands were gliding up to find your hips, grip firm.
He swiftly adjusted your seat. Made you rub him harder.
Amusement tinged his voice while he mumbled, low:
“Only place you’re gettin’ off is my cock, got that?”
You hated how quickly you nodded in response.
Okay. He was letting you be selfish. He wanted to help quell your thirst, no matter how early it was or how long of a drive he had. That realization only made you wetter.
You were practically dripping between the legs when Joel slid his boxers down and let his cock spring free.
You knew what to do. You didn’t need his assistance, but still, ever the caretaker, Joel palmed your backside with one hand and held the base of his cock with the other. He guided your heat to his tip, and in the dim, dull gloom of your dorm room, you could feel him watching. What his eyes couldn’t see his mouth elucidated in words.
“You ready for me, baby?”
He nudged just the head between your weeping folds and let you take the lead. You whimpered. “Yes, daddy.”
Desperate as you were, you didn’t wait for the right moment to move. You didn’t bother readying yourself, because you already knew what you needed. You sank down, and your walls parted without protest. You took him in and gripped him tight and all but choked Joel’s length with the soft, hot, and needy clutch of your body.
“Fuck, honey—”
“Feels so good,” you panted, lips parting as he filled you. You rolled your hips and whimpered again. “So— oh—.”
Your words split on a shriek. You hadn’t even meant to let it out, but the stretch of Joel’s girth felt unusually tough. It almost hurt. But, rather than shy away, you leaned into it. You braced your knees and bore down harder, relishing the sting of his throbbing cock as you slid up and then collapsed again. Pleasure surged through your veins.
The bed groaned and creaked. Your motions didn’t slow. Joel grunted, feeling you clench again, and in an effort to curtail his own need, evidently, starting kneading at the flesh of your thighs. He moved them inward, touch soft.
“Hon,” he breathed, tone just as gentle, “you’re soaked.”
You were restless, too. You anchored your knees a little deeper and leaned back, allowing Joel access to the space between your thighs that was sticky-wet with residue. He swept his fingers through your nectar and thumbed at your clit. You whined with hypersensitivity.
You felt delicate everywhere. Joel was so big inside you, stretching your most precious, sensitive parts and making room for himself. He was throbbing. Leaking. Reaching up and smearing your own wetness across your face while a grin no doubt spread across his own—‘There’s a good girl. Ride my cock. Take what you need, baby’—and you could tell he was just as invested in your pleasure as you were, if not more. He relished whatever remnants of your arousal he could find and praised you with it. You wished you could see him while he did it all.
If light wouldn’t allow you that view, you would take matters into your own hands, you quickly decided. Prying your lower half off of Joel with a grunt and a sigh, you squeezed his legs. You patted his thighs, gently.
“Need you closer,” you mumbled. Your hands slid up his front, and you smiled when you felt him snag your wrists.
Joel pulled you up. Kissed your palms. Kissed your cheeks. Drew you into his lips and, at the same time, flipped you over so that he was on top. His shaft was slippery as it bumped and rubbed between your folds, and you couldn’t help but let out a moan into his mouth.
“Where do you want me, sweetheart?” he said, panting.
In answer, you took the base of his cock in one hand and guided it closer to your center. Joel rutted his hips, and his length pushed up—it glided across your lower belly, smearing the plane of skin with your combined fluids.
He was teasing you. Canting his hips as if fucking someplace deep in your cunt. Biting back a laugh.
“You dick,” you breathed out, both a warning and a momentary reprieve from the severity of wanting.
You gripped his cheek with the same hand that had just held his length and drew him closer to your face. You kissed him and wrapped your legs around his hips, knowing the effect it would have. Joel grunted.
And, though you knew it would amuse him to no end to have you begging for his cock, you also guessed that he wasn’t quite as resilient as he made himself out to be. He couldn’t keep grinning forever—the second your legs nudged him back and the tip of his dick notched in, again, he moaned in pleasure. It ended in a whimper.
Joel was just as fucked-out and desperate as you.
You couldn’t see his full expression, but you could sense it would show he was right on the brink, same as you.
You kissed him deeply. You let his length glide back inside your needy cunt, squeezing every inch of the way.
“Gonna cum for daddy now? Make a mess of this cock?”
In a breath, you could tell he was already there. His balls began slapping rhythmically against your ass, and his stomach muscles clenched. Tufts of grey and black in that thatch of wiry hair at his base kept rubbing your mound, prompting you to squirm and beg for more.
“I-I’m close, Joel,” you told him. Your toes curled.
The bed frame all but shrieked beneath the weight of your body and his, now that Joel was on top and delivering thrusts hard and fast. You braced yourself.
If the bed broke, it broke. You’d gladly pay to have it fixed. Explaining the unusual charge on your student account to your dad was a separate question, though.
“Fuck,” you keened, just as a stroke to your most sensitive spot inside had stars flashing before your eyes.
“Right there,” Joel grunted, going again. “Just like that.”
His forearms bracketed your head, and his face was close. His thrusts were relentless. The little tendril of pleasure coiling up through your gut was just then beginning to take root—two more thrusts and it felt fit to burst. Your arms wound around the back of his neck, and your breaths sped up while Joel kept plunging in and out
In and out.
In and out.
“Gonna let me cum inside?” Joel grit through his teeth.
You nodded, braindead as you’d ever felt before.
“Gonna let me breed this pretty little cunt?”
Oh, fuck.
You came. You didn’t have a say in the matter. It simply swelled and flowed and expelled like a water’s stream, coating the front of Joel’s stomach and your own as well. Your eyes rolled, stomach clenched, walls pulsed and squeezed and flooded your whole body with pleasure.
At the tail end of the sensation, and only dimly grazing your present cognition, you felt his spend unload in ropes. They painted your insides and sent your head spinning, half-feral with the idea of him marking you in this risky, forbidden way. You wanted him spurting so far up your body you could taste him in your mouth. Your hips rolled one more time and your lips brushed with his.
“I— I love you. Fuck, I fucking love you,” Joel groaned.
His cum continued to pulse out from his tip.
“I love you, too,” you panted back.
When Joel collapsed, you feared the bed might split right down the middle with the force of it. Dizzy with pleasure, bliss, and more love than you thought was possible for just one person, you didn’t worry for long. You stroked the back of Joel’s head, silently thanked the bed frame for lasting as long as it had, and inhaled the man’s scent.
It was gonna hurt like a motherfucker when he left.
You weren’t going to think about that now.
Instead, you locked your legs tight around his hips and held him as close as you could. The head of his cock nudged somewhere deep inside you, and his face tilted sideways. Joel nuzzled your cheek. He kissed it softly.
“You alright, honey?” he checked in.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” It wasn’t a total lie.
You felt as content as you could be laying between the soaked sheets of your bed with Joel draped overtop. For several minutes, you did just that: laid back and emptied your head of any thoughts of leaving. You hugged him. Buried your face in the crook of his neck and sighed.
Alright, get up.
Go to the bathroom.
It’s 6 AM and you’re about to cry.
Attempting to get out from under Joel and off the bed proved futile—you would’ve had better luck punching a hole through a brick wall—but luckily, he eased up. He let you stand from the bed once he decided he’d doled out a sufficient number of kisses, then you rose on shaky legs.
You flicked on the light. You rubbed your too-tired eyes.
And just as you were about to scour the floor for some clothes and get ready to head outside, you heard a strangled sort of noise from the bed. You paused.
Joel cleared his throat.
“Hey, uh, honey…”
You turned.
FUCK.
Your bed looked like a crime scene. Joel was trying to sit up, though it seemed he wasn’t quite sure where to put his hands, as half the fucking mattress and sheets were all but soaked through with blood. Your stomach turned.
No. No. Your period wasn’t due for another two days. You hadn’t been caught off guard with a bloody mess like this in years. And in front of Joel? All over Joel, from his groin to his chest to his neck to his chin—you’d been touching him a lot in the dark—and now he was looking on at you in muted horror? You didn’t want to know what you looked like. You wanted to hurl yourself out of the window, if it meant you didn’t have to face the repercussions of this. Joel must be disgusted.
“I am…so sorry.” Your words came out mostly muffled through your fingers. Your hands shielded your face.
Before you could think, you were stumbling toward the sink. Your eyes were burning. He’s leaving. He’s leaving now, in an hour or two, and the last thing he’ll have to remember you by is your menstrual blood on his dick.
Just shoot me.
Make it quick.
“Sweetheart?”
Again, Joel’s voice was soft as he approached from behind. You had a hand towel thrust under a spray of water that was slowly going warm, and your bottom lip was clamped between your teeth. Your fingers trembled.
“Baby…” He said it like a harsher-spoken word might fairly split you in two. That only made you feel worse.
You still weren’t thinking completely straight when you yanked the towel out, wrung it once, and then turned to Joel, almost smacking him in the belly with it as you did.
Scrubbing his blood-smeared tummy seemed like the most logical course of action to take in the moment, so that was what you did. It was just that small matter of having your hands shaking so much you could hardly hold the towel that made it tricky. And Joel’s own warm, callused touch closing in over your fingers, squeezing.
“Hey, look at me,” he urged you gently. You wouldn’t, or couldn’t, so he tilted your chin up to his to make you meet his gaze and momentarily halt your motions.
His eyes were far too soft for a man drenched in blood and preparing to take a thirty-hour road trip that day.
The smile was too sweet for someone leaving you here.
“This is so embarrassing,” you blurted out, heart clenching. “I’ve— it’s never happened…like that.”
With a man, yes. On the person you love, even more so.
You were about to try and start scrubbing the blood again, wanting to rid yourself and him of this mess, when Joel’s smile stretched wider. It seemed almost like a grin.
“Honey, you’re fine,” he said, reassuring. Pressing at your wrist again. “It’s just a little blood. We can rinse off in the shower. Wash the sheets. No need to be embarrassed.”
Easier said than done.
Your brow furrowed.
“I’m sorry, Joel.”
The man in front of you took the towel from you then. He tossed the rag in the sink and cupped your likely-blood-smeared cheeks in his hands before meeting your gaze. His palms were warm. His eyes, as usual, were soft. Kind.
“You don’t have to apologize,” he said quietly.
With words like those and a look as serious as his, you couldn’t help but relent. Your muscles relaxed. In the glance you stole toward your floor-length mirror, you might’ve caught a glimpse of your own tousled, bloodied exterior for a second, but that memory didn’t last long.
Joel was reaching for a bigger towel. Wrapping you up. Grabbing another for himself and then nudging you over to the door, where you knew you’d need to sneak out and down the hallway to make it to the communal bathroom. Silently, you cursed yourself for opting to live on-campus that year, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Behind you, Joel secured a bright pink, polka-dotted towel around his hips and tried not to smirk.
“Never thought I’d be doin’ this again,” he murmured.
You shot him a look over your shoulder.
“Sneak out of any other girls’ dorms lately, Miller?”
Joel eyed you right back, undaunted.
“Yeah. About a decade before you were born.”
And neither one of you possessed the sense to control it: you had to laugh, and Joel had to elbow you playfully and tell you to respect your fuckin’ elders, kid, and your amusement only grew as you approached the door. His arm hooked around your neck before pulling your back against his chest. Your giggles turned to squeals as he nipped the skin just below your ear and kissed you in a manner more akin to tickling. You begged him to quit, but the grin on your face said you wanted it. Joel gripped the doorknob in his free hand and was about to pull it back, when the thing jumped forward, at you both.
The door opened, and light from the hallway poured in.
“Wh- oh! Hey. Woah. Hey.”
Dallas Ingram’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, but a smile was as quick to form. He eyed you both—up and down.
And almost as swift as his smirk was to appear:
“Gettin’ busy, huh?”
You stared back slack-jawed, covered in blood, and frankly wanting to die a little bit as your roommate’s brother looked on with the biggest, dumbest grin.
Evidently, your undercover skills needed some work.
Despite your best efforts all weekend, Dallas had come to learn that you and Joel weren’t actually stepdaughter and stepfather by the end of breakfast early Saturday morning, and it wasn’t because his sister had snitched. He’d seen Joel smack your ass en route to the bathroom in the dining hall and swiftly surmised that there was more to the story than either one of you were letting on.
He hadn’t been shocked to find you and Joel in your dorm that morning after Aly had asked him to stop by and pick up her gym bag, but he had seemed relatively intrigued by the blood. He’d asked if you and Joel had been fighting or fucking—or both—and you’d rolled your eyes so hard they’d nearly hit the back of your skull. Joel had looked like he either wanted to deck the kid or laugh with him. You suspected by the smirk that ensued it was probably the latter. His face had still flushed a little bit.
Now you were showered, dressed, decently groomed, equipped with enough tampons and pads to supply a city, and perched in the passenger seat of Joel’s Bronco.
“Take a left in half a mile. Onto Kirkland,” you dictated.
Joel squinted to see your phone screen.
“That ain’t right,” he replied.
He made a pass for the phone. You pulled it out of reach.
“I know where I’m going, Joel,” you said, directing his gaze back to the road. “I’m here every other weekend.”
“I’ve been here, too. You go straight on Prescott, take a right by the bank, keep going past the food trucks—”
“No, no, this is Putnam. You’ve got it all fucked up.”
You pointed out a street sign as if to say, ‘See?’
“That ain’t the same one we saw comin’ in.”
“It is. Open your eyes and maybe we’d—”
“My vision’s just fine, kid. Seriously—”
“Seriously? We’ve been circling!”
“It’s called finding the right—”
“—HERE, RIGHT HERE—”
“That ain’t th—”
“Miller!”
The Bronco barreled right past Kirkland Street, along with the diner the two of you had been trying to find for the last twenty minutes. Every time the navigation on your phone had directed you one step closer to the spot, Joel had insisted that his memory served him better.
It hadn’t.
You missed your turn for what felt like the fiftieth time that day, and you were one wide, jerky U-turn away from just throwing yourself out of the moving vehicle. That was how bad Joel’s navigational skills and your level of frustration were at the moment. Add to that a stabbing pain in your stomach and you were truly ready to jump.
Joel cut the wheel and headed back in that direction.
“‘M’sorry,” he said. He glanced your way, where your knees were pulling up to your chest on a particularly tough cramp, and he reached for you. Squeezed your leg. “I’m sorry. That was on me. I should’ve…listened to you.”
“No shit.”
You winced—in pain and in shame for sounding so mean.
“I mean,” you returned, quickly recovering yourself. “Sorry. I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have yelled like that.”
Watching Joel’s side profile, you saw his lips twitch.
“‘S’alright. I like you feisty.”
You bit your tongue.
Sure, he did.
You were just then pulling into the parking lot of your favorite brunch spot in town, and the air outside was cold. The tips of your toes still prickled at the memory of a crisp, frigid trek from your residence hall to the car, and for a moment, you dreaded going inside to eat at all. You wished your body had timed its monthly implosion a little better and your last hour with Joel wasn’t spent in half-agony and agitation, but that was life, you reckoned. With a resigned sigh, you reached for the door handle.
Your boots were back on the floor and about to heave your body out when Joel stopped you in your tracks.
“Wait here,” he murmured.
He motioned for you to stay.
You turned to ask why; the driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Through the windshield, you saw his broad, hunched form round the front of the car. He paused a moment to draw his jacket tighter about himself, and shortly sidled up and swung your door open.
He offered his hand to help you out of the Bronco.
Then, to your surprise, he retracted it even faster.
His eyes had just landed somewhere inside and flashed with recognition, as if remembering something big. Joel reached in, past you, mumbling softly—‘Shit, I meant to give you these earlier. Forgot I even bought ‘em’—and he looked contrite. He opened the glove compartment and tugged out a box. Before you could try and ask what it was, Joel had its contents out. He stepped closer, casting a quick look over his shoulder and frowning.
“Here, why don’t you scoot over? I’m gettin’ you cold.”
He gestured to the wind overhead and moved in nearer like he meant to climb in. You slid across the bucket seat, not entirely sure of what he intended to do, but let him shut the door after himself again and go in all the same.
Shortly, Joel held up what looked to be a heating pad.
His gaze flitted to your stomach, and he nodded once.
“When I first got here you mentioned you were expectin’ your— your, uh…time of the month soon, so I went out and got these. Forgot I bought the pack of ‘em. ‘M’sorry.”
Joel’s frown grew, as if chastising himself. You blinked.
“If you just lift your shirt a bit…maybe tuck it right—” He pinched a belt loop to tug the denim out from your waist. “—under the band here. I don’t know if it’ll stick, but—”
His words trailed off in your mind—you’d caught a glimpse of what was stuffed in the glove box along with the heating pads, and you saw a trove of other items: Advil, chocolate, your favorite trail mix, saltines, jerky, fucking chamomile tea, like he knew exactly what you needed. All because you’d said in passing—actually, right before you’d begged him to finish inside you Friday night—that you were going to be starting your period soon.
And you’d just chewed the poor guy out for his driving.
You blinked some more, not saying a word because you didn’t know what else to tell him, and your throat ached.
Thank you for being sweet.
Sorry I’m so damn mean.
Please don’t leave me.
Slow, steady breaths warmed your cheeks, and a hand tugged your shirt up. Another touch smoothed the heating pad over your belly. Joel wriggled your waistband a second, trying to fit the thing snug underneath it, and all the while, you said nothing.
“I had to text my brother. That’s how clueless I was.”
Joel breathed a laugh. It was soft and sheepish. In contrast to how taciturn you were, he couldn’t seem to keep quiet—like filling the silence with words might make him feel less nervous or awkward about this.
“He’s been seeing this girl, Maria. Well, Tommy’s always been better’n me—much better, I’d say—with, y’know, bein’ in touch with his feminine side, I guess. He’s had more girls than me, friends and girlfriends alike. Anyway, I just needed all the help I could get buyin’ this stuff, and he and Maria gave me advice on what to do. I hope it—”
“Miller,” you cut in.
“Yeah?”
Your breath hitched.
“Have you ever…had a girlfriend?”
The words tumbled out before you could rein them in. Joel had just finished pressing the heating pad flat across your stomach and was pulling your shirt back down when his gaze jumped to yours. For several seconds, it was his turn to be silent, staring at you.
Your insides burned like you’d doused them in kerosene.
“I haven’t…really…” he started again, speaking slow.
Why the fuck were you doing this? Why now?
“Would you…want me to be your girlfriend?”
For whatever reason, your voice cracked.
You hated the sound of that with everything in you, but it was too late to stop the surge of word vomit coming out.
“Even if I’m…mean, and I’m needy, and I— I— I can’t—”
“Sweetheart.” Joel’s expression visibly softened.
“And I can’t show love like a normal person should. I don’t…know how to be good like that. Or receptive to affection. And just knowing that pisses me off so m—”
“You aren’t.”
“What?”
“Mean.”
“Wh—”
“Or needy.”
Joel’s gaze skated from your eyes to your lips, and in a fraction of a second, you could see something threaten to tempt his own. He looked back up instead, smoothed your hair out of your face, and then cupped your cheek.
“Kinda thought you already were my girlfriend, honey.”
It sounded like a confession and a stunt, almost—how could the man be so assured when a reality like that scarcely seemed plausible to you? He was fighting a smile as if he knew something you didn’t. He had to.
“And I love you, you know that?” He said it gently.
You blinked.
You still weren’t used to hearing it.
“You do?” Your voice was small for some reason.
For some reason, it was like you were a child all over again, wishing your father would reach out and hug you sometimes. Approaching adolescence and missing your mother. You’d never felt it, much less heard it from the mouth of someone else in a way that seemed weightless. Joel said it like loving you was as easy as drawing breath.
Then he said it again:
“I love you, sweetheart.”
You said it back, and meant it.
You said it another time while strolling hand-in-hand into the diner. Felt it rumble through Joel’s chest when you took your spot beside him in a booth by the window. Heard it in his tone. Sensed it with his looks. Tasted it on his lips, if only for the briefest of moments while you sat and picked out breakfast together. Your knuckles brushed and your shoulders bumped with damn near every other bite of the meal, but neither of you minded. There was comfort and security in every touch. There was home, and then there was Joel—even though Austin would stay 2,000 miles away as long as you stayed here, he was all you needed to feel safe and content right now.
You didn’t want him to leave.
Back on campus, standing in the parking lot behind the dorms, you told him as much. You hadn’t cared how sad or desperate it made you seem—you were those things—and when Joel hugged you tight, you didn’t regret saying it. He held you close and kissed the crown of your head.
And when it was time for him to leave, you could tell he couldn’t help himself when he leaned down even lower, lips grazing the shell of your ear. Grinning. You felt him.
You heard the words he’d murmured but almost couldn’t believe what he said when he’d said it. You’d discussed it some over eggs and cheesy grits that morning, but still.
It was scary.
Unsettling.
Maybe exactly what you needed, judging by that smile on his face when he finally leaned back and pulled away.
“Just…think about it, OK?” he said, tone encouraging, “We can take this as slow or as fast as you wanna go.”
You nodded that you would.
You knew this could wait.
But still, as you headed back inside and waved the Bronco off for another long spell of time apart—your boyfriend was going home, and taking a piece of you with him—your muscles tensed. Your stomach stirred with uncertainty just shy of a pain, and it wasn’t your cramps that you could reasonably blame this on now.
Your steps were slower; your legs were leaden. The impression of Joel’s last words were still fresh in your mind, and though the prospect was thrilling in some ways, in others it chilled you to your core. While you walked, his words echoed again and again and again:
“I’m ready to tell your dad whenever you are.”
Time passed, and the days wore on.
One minute he’d had you wrapped in his arms, and now you were gone. Every day. It felt like a weight, though nothing, no one, was there, and Joel found himself loathing it more and more with each passing day.
He called your phone more often than he should.
Without a doubt, you had a busy life in college. Finals were drawing close on the horizon, you had at least five different projects and essays and whatever the hell else those fuckass professors decided assigning last minute, and Joel wasn’t too much of a jealous man, but he also craved your time. Your touch. Your voice. When distance deprived him of your presence, he sought any means to be with you, even if it meant looking lame and pathetic.
He was.
He worked evenings. Whenever he saw your name pop up on his phone screen, he’d walk out on just about any task he had and take your call. He kept the old device in his breast pocket just so he could feel you when you did.
Joel Miller was in way too fucking deep, and he knew it.
So, in an effort to curb the fixation, he took to housework during the day. Real, manual labor. It wasn’t for his own home but his granddad’s, and it had been something he’d promised to do for years—him and Tommy both.
The old man had been gone for over a decade now, but the home had stayed in the family. It was in a constant state of disrepair, rarely saw a hint of human life outside of the occasional visit from either brother just to ‘go and check the place out,’ but he and Tommy knew they’d have to do something about it soon. Inspiration just hadn’t struck for what that ‘something’ might be.
Today he was cutting grass. Cleaning out gutters. Pulling weeds—lots and lots of weeds, the sheer mass of which he hadn’t been able to fathom at first glance of the yard.
And he felt a little guilty for just how bad he’d let this place get over the years. The fact that it had taken him an all-out infatuation with a girl he couldn’t get his head or heart off of just to haul his ass over here and work.
Something rustled in the bushes. Joel groaned.
And just as he was about to cup his hands around his mouth and shout, ‘GET THE HELL OFF’A MY PROPERTY!’ you called. He picked right up.
But he couldn’t help the huff in his voice on ‘Hello?’
“Everything alright?” You sounded confused.
“‘M’fine. Just tired of fighting this beast.”
“Beast! What beast?”
“This fuckin’ rat.”
He heard you pause, as if trying to recall when the last time you’d seen a rat yourself, and then you laughed.
Joel momentarily brightened at the sound of it.
“Yeah? Is my big, strong man scared of Stuart Little?”
And then his frown was back. He nearly rolled his eyes.
“I am not,” he returned in protest. He stalked over to the bushes where the sounds had just come from, and he shook a few errant branches. Hard. “Go on, get out!”
“Alright, I’ll go.”
Joel could hear your chuckle through the line. He didn’t need to see your face to know it had broken into a grin.
“Funny. Y’ever consider bein’ a comedian, sweetheart?”
“I’ve toyed with the idea. Now what the hell have you got going on with a rodent on your granddad’s property?”
“It ain’t a rodent.”
Another pause.
“Well, what’s—”
Joel didn’t hear the rest. He’d just shook the bush as hard as he could, and out flew the beast he’d been after. It scrambled on its paws and hightailed it across the yard
“AND STAY OUT!” he yelled after it.
Now you were invested. Your stifled giggling had turned to queries—‘What the fuck are you doing, Miller? What is it?!’—and Joel scarcely had the energy to answer. His back hurt. Hell, it ached. And his knees weren’t doing so hot either. At length, he turned to face wherever that damn critter had gotten off to, and he squinted out into the mid-afternoon sun. It was cold, but his efforts had worn him out. Warmed him up. He’d broken a sweat.
“It’s just…a dog,” he heaved at last.
A little gasp sounded through the phone.
“A puppy?!” you squealed. “Joel, you bastard!”
Joel scowled. He wished you could see it.
“Why am I a bastard? She’s trespassin’.”
“It’s a goddamn dog, Miller! C’mon.”
The man wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. Yes, it was a dog. A yellow blond beast of a thing that tore out and around the farmlands like he owned every acre of it and shit exclusively in his backyard. He’d stomped through four big, soggy gifts of this kind in the last week alone. He was sick of the thing, and determined to find out who she belonged to.
“Is she OK?”
Your voice was soft. Joel had to do a double take.
“OK? ‘Course she’s OK, she’s got a big, pretty yard to drop shits in, a loud and yappy bark to wake the whole—”
“Food, I mean. Has she eaten? Is she coming back?”
Now Joel really had to take a beat. Were you sympathizing with the beast he so despised?
He put a hand on his hip. He winced, instantly, feeling a strain in his back the size of Texas itself. He slowly lowered the hand and started off to the house.
“I don’t think you’re hearin’ me. This creature is ruining my property. My grandfather’s property—just soilin’ it.”
“Because you and your brother have done such a bang-up job of keeping that place fit for human habitation.”
“Hey,” Joel huffed, “I’m tryin’. Been here all week.”
“I know.” You took a second yourself. Probably smiled. “I’m just teasing. I’m glad you’re out there to fix it up.”
Then, before he could reply, you were jumping back in:
“So, what are you thinking of naming her?”
By now, Joel was approaching the back porch. The toe of one boot had just struck the bottom step, all molded, old, and rotten straight down to the tufts of grass below. He halted in place and shifted his phone to the other ear.
He frowned deeply.
“What do you mean, ‘what am I naming her’?”
“All that screamin’ and hollerin’ you’re bound to do while you try and evict this poor thing from your property. Might as well give her a name if you’re gonna yell.”
“You yell at me plenty and rarely use my name.”
“That’s not true. I do use your name.”
“‘Dickhead’ doesn’t count.”
He was walking up the steps now. Hearing them groan and creak beneath the weight of his body and hoping the porch wouldn’t split in two before he reached the door.
“I’m serious, Miller,” you continued, unfazed. “Give her a name. Leave out some treats. Let her get comfortable enough to where you can check her collar, or else pick her up and take her to the shelter. See if she’s chipped.”
Joel didn’t have the heart to tell you that most dogs out here didn’t have little luxuries like microchipping, and the odds of finding this thing’s owner that way were slim to none, but he also just wanted to say something sweet. Ease your mind before changing the topic to more important things—like when you planned on coming home and how he could persuade you to make it a day or ten sooner. He heard the screen door slam shut behind him, and he was heading straight for the sofa. He sighed.
“Alright, sweet pea. Why don’t you think of some names for me, and I’ll start asking around the neighborhood if anyone knows whose she is. How does that sound?”
“I’ll need to meet her first,” you answered shortly.
“What?”
Joel dropped to the couch and kicked off his shoes. On the other end of the line, he heard shuffling, like you were preparing to relax a bit yourself. You cleared your throat.
“Yeah. Can’t fairly name a dog I haven’t even seen.”
“I’ll send you a picture if I catch the little shit.”
“Nope. Gotta be in person. You know that.”
“No, I don’t. And we ain’t keepin’ her.”
“We’ll see about that, dickhead.”
“Honey.”
That last word was both a term of endearment and a warning—‘We are not, under any circumstances adopting this dog.’ For some reason, as he said it, the protest already seemed futile on his lips. Like you weren’t hearing a syllable of what he was saying.
“Okaaaaay.”
“Sweetheart.”
Another warning. Another beat of silence.
Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his grip.
For a second, he was confused. Who the fuck would be texting him other than you? His brother and friends were all serial phone call fanatics—too Boomer-adjacent to use texts as a common form of communication. He pulled his phone from his face and put you on speaker. He swiped his thumb down to snag his new notification.
And nearly choked on the spit in his mouth.
You’d texted him. He’d opened it.
Attached to the message you sent were several different pictures of you, all in various states of undress. They were taken seconds ago, if Joel had had to guess.
“Fuck me,” he groaned.
His cock was already hardening in his jeans. He could hear you stifle a laugh across the line but didn’t care.
“Weird name for a dog, but I’ll take it,” you said.
Mutts were the furthest thing from his mind.
He wasn’t shy to tell you as much as his hand slid down to the button and zip of his pants and undid them both.
“Put on the…the…Face…book,” he muttered, low.
“The what now, Joel?” you cackled back.
“The Face-whatever. Video call. Wanna see your face.”
“FaceTime, Miller. FaceTime.” You were teasing now.
You should’ve known damn well a man as old as him wouldn’t know what the fuck a FaceTime was, but you poked fun anyway. Joel reminded himself to make you pay for that later, and then took his cock in his hand.
He let go to spit in his palm. He grabbed it again.
“Put those pretty tits on FaceTime or I’m tellin’ your old man all the sick, depraved things you’ve been lettin’ m—”
“You’re insufferable, Miller.”
He grinned to himself.
“You love it.”
He knew you couldn’t argue with that. In a minute, he heard you sigh, felt you betray a little smile of your own as you got to shifting around in place again. Preparing.
“I’ve got class in twenty minutes.”
“Won’t need but five, sweet pea.”
His phone buzzed with an incoming FaceTime.
Today was the day.
Well, almost the day.
Tomorrow you came home, but it was close enough to midnight now that Joel could pretend that it was today.
He was seated at a bar, both elbows planted on the sticky wet surface of a tabletop that was rarely cleaned. By now, he knew Mando’s sports bar like the back of his hand, and he could tell when certain staff weren’t around to clean spills. He could smell it, with the stench of a coconut-flavored rum wafting up to his nostrils and invading his brain. It took him back to his college days. Meanwhile, a mob of plastered bachelorettes were gathered six stools down and only getting louder.
“Kill me now,” your father grumbled beside him.
Joel hadn’t meant to say yes when he’d invited him out.
In fact, this was the last thing he wanted to be doing tonight, but your dad was unimaginably persuasive. He’d also offered to pay for Joel’s drinks at the bar, so really, this was just an opportunity to exercise his liver with an old friend, for free. Nothing dangerous about drinking with the guy whose daughter he was secretly dating.
Nothing dangerous at all.
Joel swallowed another draught of his jack and coke and stared harder at the wall of spirits in front of him, like a long enough look might save him from having to talk.
He’d never felt more awkward around his friend in his life. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to die or just confess.
Hey, man, I’m in love with your daughter, by the way.
We’ve been having filthy phone sex for weeks now.
Regular, old fashioned fucking for even longer.
“I need to take a leak,” Joel told him instead.
“Really? That’s your fourth piss in the last hour, Miller,” your father observed, almost clinically. He was drunk. “Sure you ain’t got one of them…UTIs, or whatever?”
The man had a smirk on his face when he said it.
He went on: “Catch a little somethin’ from whatever girl you screwed on vacation a couple weeks back, maybe?”
Of course, he meant the time he’d visited you at school.
Of course, he didn’t know it was you he’d gone to see.
He would, eventually. Not now. Not here. Not with eight of the most obnoxiously intoxicated women flailing limbs and lip syncing to Shania Twain just a dozen feet away.
When Joel returned from his bathroom break—another stupidly long pit stop like the last three taken before it—one of the octet had wandered over. She moved closer to him. Joel had only just slid onto his barstool and ducked his head to drink when a voice broke in, high and shrill.
He ignored her. Like the sound hadn’t even registered for him, he completely disregarded the wasted twenty-something, though it was obvious her eyes were on him.
“Ain’t feelin’ too friendly tonight?” his friend ribbed him.
Your dad didn’t seem to be seeing her either, while her fingers splayed over her hips and she slurred something more about needing some of that Southern hospitality.
Joel could smile. Nod his head.
That should get his friend off of his back.
But the moment he did, it was like a siren went off.
“Why don’t you buy her a drink, Miller?!” the man barked.
And Joel declined. Didn’t even lift his gaze in the girl’s direction and took another sip of his drink, hoping that she would leave. She did, eventually, but only after your dad had bought her and her friends a round of green tea shots, and the group had shrieked with satisfaction. His friend grimaced, but Joel could tell he was also amused.
“Never seen that before,” the man hummed.
“Seen what?” Joel took another swig of his drink.
“Never seen you so disinterested in gettin’ ass, Miller.”
Joel cringed hearing that. Not just on account of you, but knowing how crude your father could get when he was drunk. How forthright and unfiltered he’d become.
“Yeah. Just not that into…that,” Joel finished lamely.
“I’ll bet.”
His friend flitted a look from him, to the bachelorettes, to him once again. He seemed to appraise him in his seat. Then he leaned in closer and bumped Joel’s shoulder.
“Hear the way she screamed when I bought ‘em drinks?” His grin was smug. “Think she’d sound the same if y—”
“Why don’t you do it, then?” Joel said suddenly. He turned toward his friend, then nodded to the group. “Eager as you are to get some tail, go tell ‘em hi.”
He hadn’t meant it to sound so abrupt. His tone was clipped, with an edge that said that he was annoyed with this conversation. Admittedly, he was, but he didn’t need your father asking why. He took a slow, steadying breath.
“Because I’m a taken man, Joel Miller. You ain’t.”
Right.
Right.
Fucking his ex-wife’s best friend was a real special thing. One could only imagine how well that would turn out.
Without thinking, Joel glowered down at his drink.
“Shit. You’re empty,” his friend slurred a little. “Sadie?”
Sadie, the bartender, had their drinks replenished in a second—she knew her regulars and didn’t talk much.
Your dad could learn a thing or two from her, Joel mused.
Then, as if reading his mind and deciding to push his luck even more for the hell of it, the man spoke again:
“Don’t worry, Joel-y. I’m sure you’ll get there someday.”
He was sneering faintly. His breath smelled of whiskey.
“Oh yeah?” Joel shot back. Sharp. “Get where?”
He couldn’t help it.
Too late to channel his own inner-Sadie now.
His companion raised his glass to his lips and smiled.
“A relationship, Miller. With the woman you love.”
“And here I thought you just liked fucking her.”
A silence stretched after he said that, and Joel couldn’t tell if it was his friend taking his time with his cocktail or really resenting his words. He hadn’t meant to be rude.
Well, no, maybe he had.
Maybe he was tired of talking about Helen like that ‘relationship’ they’d had wasn’t the reason his friend’s marriage had gone up in flames decades back and you’d grown up most of your life without a mother. Joel didn’t have the whole story—couldn’t fully gauge what had taken place all those years ago, or why she’d left—but he could guess that this wasn’t the right move for your dad.
Or for you.
Just knowing what he knew, and what he’d failed to do when his friend had first told him, was enough to piss him off. Which was why he went on, futile as it seemed.
“You really think it’s love…with Helen? I didn—”
“Yeah. I do.”
His friend’s reply sounded a little barbed, at last.
There it was. The first tinge of annoyance—a rare sight for a man as indefatigably cheerful as your father—almost made Joel smile. He could see how he really felt.
His friend was clearly drunk now.
As the man’s emotions had a tendency to take wild, arcing swings whenever the drinks had gone to his head, it appeared he was nearly there. He’d eased off on the nonsense about Joel’s hypothetical sex life and directed the discussion inward. Joel could handle these musings.
For the first time, he leaned in closer and spoke lower.
“Last time we talked, you said Helen Foley was a fling.”
His friend’s eyes widened the slightest bit. He swallowed whatever whiskey was in his mouth and shook his head.
“You don’t…Don’t even say that.”
“Say what? That was all you.”
Joel’s gaze goaded him on, and he wasn’t even sure why he wanted to. It felt like the right thing to do, though, given how otherwise tight-lipped his friend had been about his former mistress and the fact that he was flaunting it now. As drunk men often liked to do.
“I never said she was a fling, Miller. I just…”
Another shake of his head, eyes glazed.
“Just what?” Joel pressed.
“I just said I liked her. A lot.”
“You said you liked the sex.”
Joel was being crass. Crude, like his friend had been before. He knew it would provoke a reaction out of him.
And just moments later, Joel’s wish was nearly granted.
Your dad blinked. He cleared his throat and tapped his now half-empty glass on the bartop before peering up.
“You’ve got it wrong,” your dad said, low. Hoarse.
“You said—”
“I say a lot of stupid shit, Miller. You know that.”
He did.
“So what is it then? Is the sex that good that—”
“No.”
“And it wrecked your whole fucking marriag—”
“Don’t,” your dad cut in, again, harsher now than before.
His speech was slowed, sluggish, and palpably agitated. The whiskey had hit his brain. He wasn’t as in control of the words flowing out of his mouth; Joel could see it.
“So you don’t feel guilty at all for cheating with her—”
“Because I loved Helen first!”
In spite of the raucous din of the bar all around them, your father’s voice carried surprisingly fast. Loud. Sadie cocked her head from a sea of new patrons huddling in at the entrance, lifted one brow, and scanned them briefly, as if trying to tell if a fight might be brewing.
It wasn’t. Your dad just got loud when he was plastered.
And once he started something, he had to keep going. Joel was listening, but he had to admit that the drinks were beginning to affect him, too. He set his down.
“What are you talking about?” he asked him.
Your dad dropped his glass with a little more éclat.
“I’m saying,” he started. Pausing to swallow once more. “I knew Helen first. I loved her first. This was before…”
He swallowed again, and Joel could see the effort there.
“…before I ever even met Amy. I swear.”
Amy. Now that was a name Joel hadn’t heard in awhile. It had been mostly an unspoken rule between them both never to bring up his ex-wife’s name, much less mention her like this. But there he went. Six drinks in and he was reminiscing on your mother. Joel felt trouble simmering.
“But you and Amy were married—” he started, slower.
“Exactly eight months before our daughter was born,” his friend grit out. Something like ire flashed in his gaze. “How’s that for one big fuckin’ coincidence, huh, Miller?”
Joel hadn’t even thought about it. He hadn’t known your father or mother back when they were first married—though Tommy had worked with the former, and had been friends with the couple a bit longer than he had.
Joel had only seen the ugly end of the marriage. It never occurred to him to inquire when—or how—it had started, just that it pissed his friend off whenever Amy became a topic of discussion. Mostly, it was in the context of regret
He saw that again, presently.
“Nobody even knew that was a thing because we were…casual. And real private about it, for a little while. Then the pregnancy came outta left field and I thought I was doin’ the right thing, y’know? Gettin’ married and growin’ up and all. But Amy wasn’t ever really in it any more than me. She knew I’d always be in love with somebody else.”
Helen?
Her best friend?
“Then why weren’t you with her?” Joel couldn’t hope to control the fervor that warmed his tone. He was enrapt.
He’d never heard this side of the story before.
His friend shrugged like it was nothing to him.
“Timing. Life,” he answered, duller. “We tried it out for a little while when she was in college, but Helen was so…young. And full’a big notions of gettin’ out of town, doin’ something else and stayin’ someplace else. I didn’t fit.”
He sounded deflated as he said it. He went on.
“I was damn near ten years older than her. I didn’t know the first thing about keepin’ a girl her age interested, or givin’ her what she needed. Had me mad for the longest time— which was why…I guess…” his friend trailed off.
“Amy,” Joel answered for him.
“Yeah. Amy,” your dad confirmed. Something more passed behind his eyes, though Joel couldn’t quite tell what it was. If he had to guess, he would say it was guilt.
The man kept going, evidently emboldened by his present state of intoxication and ready to say the worst. He ground his molars and rolled his lips like there was something bad he was itching to say, and Joel could only stare back. Wishing he was a little more drunk himself.
“I never meant it to be serious, Joel. I was young and dumb and trying to make the girl who rejected me jealous by screwin’ her best friend, and Amy knew it just as well. She knew I was sleepin’ with other people, too.”
His words were coming out quicker now. He planted one hand on the tabletop beside him, but he was facing him.
“Amy and I were both sleepin’ with other people, Joel.”
Then he paused a moment, and Joel wasn’t sure what the man was trying to say. Shortly, it dawned on him.
His eyes widened.
“You mean…?”
Your dad swallowed. Then shrugged. Then looked away, like he was suddenly ashamed of what he’d said. Knowing what it implied for himself, his ex-wife. For you.
“I’m— I’m almost positive she’s mine, there’s just…”
What? A possibility that you weren’t his daughter?
How could the man live with something like that?
Joel’s heart thudded a little louder in his chest. He wasn’t sure why; it just felt like something strange and momentous and bizarre for him to know before you.
Did you know?
“Does she…” He found it harder to finish his sentences.
Your dad’s eyes darted back to his. He blinked rapidly.
“No, no. God, no. I’d never tell her somethin’ like that,” he answered, fast. “It— it don’t even matter now, she’d always, always be my little girl. I just found out years after there was a chance she might be…someone else’s.”
Someone else’s.
Suddenly, Joel didn’t feel like he was fit to be told any of this. He felt like he was intruding. For your father to confess all of this—sharing such heavy news—it was all he could do to keep his blinking and breathing in check.
“See, Helen was never ‘the other woman.’ Amy and I were long checked out of our marriage before we ever split, and we…I mean, I went back. To Helen. I loved her.”
Your father paused again.
“I still love her, Joel. We tried making things work again, back then, too. We’d grown up a little bit. But my divorce was too new, my daughter was too young. It— it just didn’t happen. But now she’s here, and she wants to try again. I want to try again, and see if maybe— I dunno.”
“But then…” Joel thought of you. “Your daughter.”
“She thinks I’m the piece of shit who blew our family up on account of some affair. And I’m fine with her thinking that, if it keeps her from diggin’ into the past and learning her mom and I weren’t— that I might not be…”
Joel closed his eyes a moment. He sucked in a breath.
This was the last thing he needed to learn the night before you were supposed to be coming back home.
How could he tell you something like this? Should he?
It almost seemed as if the walls were closing in, and he was faced with the same dilemma as he had before—cope with a lie or cause more pain by telling you the truth. But now it really didn’t feel like his place to tell. It felt heartless and cruel to even bring it up, and somehow worse if he didn’t. If he withheld the truth from you again
And just as he’d endeavored to get his head around the idea, to try and make sense of it, a new bomb dropped.
“But if she ain’t mine, at least I’ve got an…idea of who the father might be. Silver livings an’ all,” his friend said. The smile he flashed him was as weak as it was sardonic.
“Who?”
“There were a few—rumors, I mean. Nothing for certain. Just heard she was seeing Dave York and Javier Peña…”
Those made sense. Joel knew the guys from work.
“Marcus Pike and that dude who used to live a little ways out of town—Ezra something, I forget. You remember?”
He didn’t.
Joel was racking his brain for names, and the last two sounded familiar, though he couldn’t place their faces.
“Dieter Bravo, that actor guy…Reed Richards—shit, it’s been a minute since we talked to him, ain’t it? Damn.”
Your father kept rattling off names like this was the most normal thing in the world—he’d probably done it often over the years—but with each new pronunciation, Joel felt himself growing sicker. He didn’t want to hear more.
But he’d have to, unless he made up an excuse to leave.
Another bathroom break might do the trick.
Okay, he could slip out easily that way.
Just as Joel was clearing his throat and preparing to make his fifth restroom announcement of the night, he had to stop. He heard another name drop from your dad, and he almost choked. Then he did choke, in a second.
“And Tommy, maybe…”
“Tommy?!”
The lone word punctured the air like a strangled breath—it came from the labor of his own two lungs, at hearing his brother’s name raised in connection with all of this.
What could Tommy have to do with any of that?
“Yeah,” your dad answered, nonchalant at first. Then, seeming to recollect his senses as he realized what he’d said, he smiled sheepishly. “I mean that’s—that’s a long shot, Joel. I heard some whisperings Amy and him might’ve gotten on and hooked up once or twice back then, but it was nothing serious. The odds of him bein—”
“Your kid’s father?!” Joel spit the words out like poison. He couldn’t help it. His heart had jumped to his throat.
He couldn’t be hearing his friend correctly.
He had to have been mistaken with that.
Joel’s brain short-circuited momentarily. It felt like his heart had leapt from his throat to his head and he could sense every sick, throbbing pulse of the thing thrumming sporadically through his skull. It was deafening to him.
Your father was continuing on, but it was hard to hear.
“…Tommy must’ve been, what, twenty-two? Same as Amy. I think they had some mutual friends besides me—must’ve been a casual thing. I don’t think he even knew we were hooking up back then, too. I don’t blame him…”
The man might as well have been speaking French, because Joel didn’t understand the first fucking thing coming out of his mouth except ‘Tommy’ and ‘Amy.’
His brother and your mother.
Having sex? When the fuck had that happened?
There had to be some misunderstanding. No way could his baby brother have done something like that and not…
Fuck. It had been twenty-two goddamn years since then.
What if he didn’t remember?
What if he couldn’t remember?
What if—oh, fuck, there was no fucking shot.
“Don’t look so shocked, Miller.” Your father grinned, and for the first time in a while, through the bulk of this whole conversation, it was genuine. He thought this was funny. “You know Tommy got around back then. Shit happens.”
Then, as if to rib him again:
“What, you scared of bein’ my kid’s uncle or somethin’?”
Joel was ready to throw up.
No, not ready—he was going to retch.
Jack and coke could’ve easily taken the blame for that, but anyone with half a brain and an ability to see the situation for what it was would’ve known better.
Joel knew better.
He had to shake his head. Say something. Otherwise he would be stuck, staring at his friend and looking as if he might spew chunks all over the front of his shirt at any given moment. There was no way you two were related.
“Hey, if you are, I’d say you’d make a damn good uncle anyway. You and her have been close for awhile, right—”
Time to vomit.
Time to leave.
Time to abandon any scant sense of self-respect and simultaneously lose the last six drinks he’d consumed into the closest sink or toilet. The room was spinning.
‘Gotta…piss’ was all he remembered saying. That should’ve been enough. If it wasn’t, well…that was no longer his problem. He was gone in the next second.
In his semi-drunken state, it amazed Joel just how far he was able to disgorge his dinner. As he expected, it was mostly liquid. It was like the second he stepped into the bathroom, all bets were off, and he was heaving like he was on the brink of death. What the fuck was all that?
This didn’t feel real. Wiping his mouth, running the sink, watching the liquid trail down, down, down until there was nothing left for him to see but a concave block of porcelain staring back. Its surface was surprisingly bright, shiny, and slick. It made him want to barf again.
But this was no time for fucking around.
If anyone needed to be spilling their guts now, it was someone else. Joel couldn’t rest until he reached him.
So, pulling out his phone with sweat-damp, noticeably shaky hands, he blinked harder. He focused his gaze. For the first time in what now felt like years, he turned the device on without the intention of texting, calling, or FaceTiming you. He scrolled through his long list of contacts until he reached the name, then winced.
This wasn’t real.
This wasn’t real.
He dialed the number and grew nauseous all over again.
Pairing: Ari Levinson x Curtis Everett x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]
Word Count: 7.2K
Summary: Being in love with your promiscuous roommate is all well and good. Except you can’t help wanting more. And things just keep getting more complicated from there.
Warnings: Monster AU (Weretiger/shifter Ari and Ice Dragon Curtis, Monsters x Human Romance), Cursing, Idiots in Love, Pining, Love Triangle, Dating App/Hook Ups, Misunderstanding, Mild Angst, Possessiveness, Jealousy, Making Out, Smut (Unprotected Sex, Cunnilingus, mild Overstimulation), UnBeta’d. Minors do not interact (18+).
A/N: I wanted—no, needed—more fun and fluffy and mildly angsty monster loving like my Stucky Monster verse. And this was born. So, enjoy weretiger Ari purring and ice dragon Curtis staring. 🥰
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I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite, post my work, or feed it into any AI generator, at all. I cross-post to my own AO3 account.
Title from “Can’t Hurry Love” by The Supremes
Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!
The mug in your hand steams. Milk pouring into the spiced chai. A cup of coffee sitting on the counter beside you as your front door opens and closes. Keys jangling in the bowl on your side table.
It doesn’t take long for his hand to wrap around his mug. And you pass the milk without even looking.
“You going natural anytime soon, tiger?”
A growl rumbles in his throat, body shifting with a quiet chorus of cracks. He sighs in relief. The fur on his chest sits ruffled. His claws scratch through it lazily. His head tilts side to side, joints popping with the movement.
“Rough night?” you ask him, turning away from the counter and meandering toward your living room.
Flopping back against the cushion of your overstuffed sofa, you ensure not a drop of your drink spills. Ari follows. The soft pad of his paws keeping him near silent. His tail swishes behind him, streaking orange and black, vibrant against your muted walls. Hips swaying in his stalking strut.
“He was.” Ari sends a wink your way. You giggle as he trails off, his eyes distant, locking onto something you cannot see.
Though, whatever it is, he shakes it away and lowers himself to the cushion beside you, slinging his arm over the back. Paw tickling your shoulder while he lounges and spreads his thighs. His phone chimes—the distinct tinkle of a Glammr notification.
Your brow arches and you nod toward the device held in his paw.
“Someone special?” you ask, a hitch of an ache in your chest despite the grin on your face.
“Just a match,” he replies easily, not taking a moment to look at the screen. The toggle switching to silent with a flick of a claw.
Your head bobs, a sip of your drink soothing your throat.
Ari looks at you from the corner of his eye before placing his mug and phone on the coffee table and flopping his head in your lap. “What about you?” His voice rumbles in his throat, an easy smile on his lips. Your hands automatically petting through his lush fur. “You seen anyone recently?”
“No.” You shrug, looking at him. He chuffs. “What?!” you squawk, flicking his forehead with your fingers.
He hisses and sits up, rubbing away the pain, a mischievous glint in his eye. Before you can blink, his arm wraps around the back of your neck, tugging you to his chest. A whoop bursts past your lips, torso contorting to place your mug safely on the table before resting against him. He vibrates with a purr.
You sigh, snuggling closer—secretly hoping the moment lasts forever, and that he can’t hear the thunder of your heartbeat. That dawning thought shakes you, and shakes another loose.
“Oh!” You pop up and push against Ari’s chest, rushing over to your cabinet and grabbing up the plastic CD case. Heart pattering and cheeks burning. You clear your throat and offer out the case. “I made this for you.”
Ari sits up, his eyes shining in excitement. “Give it to me.” He takes the CD from you, examining it and smiling. “Can we listen now?”
Before you can reply, a giddy bubble in your chest, your phone rings with an alarm. You click your teeth. Fizzling with disappointment. “Looks like it’s time to get to work.” Your nose scrunches in sympathy.
Ari sighs. His claws raking through his fur as he deflates. A moment passes as you watch him. The broadness of his shoulders. The soft rise and fall of his breath. Then the vocal warm-ups start. Sounds rolling and popping past his lips. Exercises to prepare him for a long recording session.
“It’s all set up for you in your room,” you say with a gesture, dipping your head at the admission. “I went in there this morning. Manuscript on the desk. Post-it note on your starting point.”
“Thank you, kit kat.” He stands, towering over you with his monstrous height and presses a kiss to your forehead. Your belly flutters, but you know it doesn’t mean anything special. “You got work lined up?” he asks, rummaging in the drawer of the nearby table for your headphones.
“So much editing,” you drone, grabbing your laptop from the dining table. “And about to get some more once you finish, so go.” You nod over your shoulder.
Ari brushes past you, handing over your headphones and nudging your chin with his finger in an affectionate gesture. You watch him. The last swish of his tail before he closes himself in his room. Staring at the door, letting your longing linger for another moment.
Then the couch welcomes you back. Settling in the warmth of Ari’s spot, sipping your tea latte and getting started. Blinking away the familiar pang in your heart.
The music barely carries over the crowd. So many voices piling on top of each other. Glass clinking cheers and ice clacking in shakers. Beat thumping more in your bones than your ears.
In the booth, you cuddle up to Ari. His warmth soothing and cozy. Your fingers weave through his fur. Enjoying the soft texture. He purrs beneath you, lulling your eyelids drifting and drooping down.
“Here we are!” Sarah says, bringing another round of drinks to the table. Her wings flittering happily.
“Watch the cards!” Jake swipes at them with his hand, clearing room.
You cheer in the back of your throat and sit up to grab hold of your glass. Sipping at the sweet cocktail. A happy dance wiggling you in your seat.
“You so sure you should have another?” Mickey asks, his fingertips tickling your forehead and trailing to your cheeks.
Ari’s eyes narrow. Attention dazzled by the fae’s glittering skin, your smile stretches your lips wide. Head fuzzy and sparkling with inebriation.
“I feel fine,” you reply, elongating the words for emphasis. The DJ smirks in return. “But I’ll go get some water just for you.” Your finger boops his nose. Nearly missing. Laughter barks past his lips as your hand waves through the air before pushing you up to float toward the bar.
By the time you turn back to your friends, cool glass of water secured, a woman stands by your spot, her body leant in a suggestive pose. Exposing the best view of her assets to Ari. Her laughter bright and enticing.
“Your voice sounds so familiar. I’m thinking we find someplace quieter to get to know each other?” The smoky, seductive tone of her voice tempts even you. You’d definitely fall for it. But your focus remains on Ari. Watching every minuscule twitch of muscle for his reaction. “Maybe then I’ll be able to put my finger on where I’ve heard you before.”
A beat passes. Stretching longer than it should. Time slowing as you catch sight of the weretiger in the booth. The beauty of him under the lights—made more beautiful by the haze of your vision. Your eyes meeting his over the woman’s shoulder. Ari smiles at the sight of you. His hand lifting in a wave. Your lip quirks in mild irritation. Shifting on your feet.
“My friends and I were just in the middle of something,” he replies, glancing back to the woman in front of him. “Maybe I’ll find you later.”
And with all his charms and the natural rumble of his voice, she agrees.
“Nice to meet you,” he says, dismissing her with a nod of his head.
The woman strolls off, head high and a proud smile gracing her lips. A last flirtatious glance cast over her shoulder before she disappears in the crowd.
And the smallest bitter flame ignites in your belly. Inexplicable and unfamiliar. Ari’s always had numerous paramours—one night stands, temporary hookups—flirtation his default setting. It’s never really bothered you before. But tonight, you sour. The rush in your head dragging you under.
Even as he lifts his arm and tucks you back into his side. Your mind slogs through thoughts. Distracting you from the card game and conversation. Nursing both your drinks as you try to find a conclusion too nebulous to grasp with alcohol clouding your senses.
“Be safe,” Mickey instructs. His skin twinkling like stars under the street lamps. Layers bundling to keep him warm. Hands shoved into his pockets.
“You know we will,” Ari replies, clapping their hands together and pulling each other close for a hug. “Text when you get home.”
Mickey salutes and turns to you, stealing you away from Ari’s stability for a bone-crushing embrace. The weretiger growling in the back of his throat while Mickey laughs. You squeak and return the affection before the fae backs away toward his cab, ducking in and driving off.
Ari turns to you, arm slinging over your shoulders. “You ready for home?” he asks, voice soft. His form human. Bright blue eyes gorgeous like always. Your arms grab at his sides, fingers craving the soft insulation of his fur.
But you mumble an agreeable reply and start walking, sliding from Ari’s grip.
“Whoa,” he calls, hands falling to your shoulders to guide you around in the opposite direction. “This way, kitten.”
You hum and follow his gentle direction. Strolling and swerving home by his side. A gnawing ache in your stomach on the precipice of…something.
An alert sounds from Ari’s phone—Glammr, again. He ignores it. Reaching out to grab your arm to keep you from crossing the street without looking.
“I thought you were gonna go with that woman at the bar?” you ask, turning over your shoulder to meet his eye.
Ari scoffs and shoves his hands in his pockets. Head tilting toward the streetlights. His lips lift in a smile. “And leave the cutest kitten stumbling home on her own?” His form stretches, joints popping until he stands tall in his tiger form. Ears twitching and paws hanging by his sides.
And cheeks fluffy. So fluffy you can’t resist. Mumbling to yourself as you scritch your nails through them.
He chuffs and takes a half-step closer. Crowding into you even as you continue your meandering dance back toward your apartment.
“Well, you big flirt,” you finally say, “how can I ever repay you?” Your lip protrudes in as seductive a pout as you can manage. Gazing at your friend who stares back in turn.
His lips part, teeth peeking sharp through the crack. His tongue licks across his lower lip and his head shakes. He takes a step away and chuckles.
“Wait,” you whine, your head swaying on your shoulders. “I’m serious, Ari.”
“I’m sure you are,” he replies, guiding you forward with each step back. “And I’m sure the breakfast you make tomorrow will be worth—”
“No, I’m saying I wanna fuck you.” The words blurt out of you before you can think them through, soaked in a viscous kind of honesty. Body aligning with his as your inhibitions flutter away on a cool night breeze. Your hand lifts petting over the soft fur of his head, tracing along his cheeks toward his lips. “Just like that first time.”
His eyes widen. “You’re serious?”
You huff and trail your fingers down his chest, swirling patterns in his fur. “What do you think?” Your head angles, tilting your lips toward his. Breath exchanged intimately.
“Whoa,” Ari jumps back, hands lifting as a barrier between you. You sway a step forward to follow just like before. Wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning against his bulk. He sighs. “You’ll be the death of me, kit kat.” His finger tucks beneath your chin but he doesn’t pull you closer. Doesn’t fill that space with the kiss you crave. “We can’t,” he whispers instead, words laced with regret. His lips find your forehead and he spins, turning you both to your building and climbing the steps with you in tow. Memories eclipsing your swirling thoughts.
“We can’t!” you shriek, voice a hushed whisper inside the library. Your book sprawled open under your palm, Mickey’s friend—your acquaintance—crowding across the table.
Ari leans back, palms showing in placation. “It was just an offer,” he assures. Brow quirking. “But it’s a good one.”
You cast a glance over your shoulder. Heat rising in your cheeks. A deep breath fills your lungs, turning back to your book. Words smudged blotches of ink as they blur out of focus. Thoughts more focused on the gorgeous weretiger in front of you. His feline features attentive as you parse out an answer.
And only an hour later, your back arches off the bed. Bowing in pleasure, lungs screaming for air.
Ari feasts at your cunt. Purr rumbling through his chest and vibrating you out of your skin toward euphoria. Your voice hitches in your throat. Too overwrought and sensitive. You push at his head, whining.
“Too many,” you garble. Waning strength inconsequential against Ari’s bulk. His fur soft and warm under your palms.
Despite your pathetic attempts at controlling his gluttony, his head pops up. Long, delicious tongue licking his lips as he stares at you. Breaths even but heavy, devouring your scent with every luxurious inhale.
You swallow. Snared by his eyes. The pierce of his gaze.
“Too much?” he finally repeats on a low growl. “You’ve had how many partners?”
“Five,” you concede, confused by the inquiry, but brain slogging toward an understanding of where it may lead.
“And how many made you cum?”
Your head tilts back against the headboard in his room. Hands reaching up to cover your face. Yup, you were right. Embarrassment washes through you. He knows the answer. Wants to make you say it.
“None.”
His paws drift up your belly toward your breasts. Claws prickling around your nipples. Gentle even as your breath hitches and stutters in your chest. Not a nick, not a scratch left behind.
He doesn’t speak again until your gaze meets his. Teeth sinking into your lower lips. Eyes pleading.
“I’m not stopping until you’re writhing in ecstasy and can’t even remember your own name.” He nuzzles against your hip, keeping eye contact.
You whine at the sensual brush of his fur against your skin. Shivering with the pleasure of it. You could come to crave something so soft.
You blink, struggling to keep your final strands of rationality. “But, Ari—”
“Do you trust me?”
You pause. Point lost. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” you reply, quiet but sure.
And that’s enough for him to drag you down. Tilt your hips back to his lips and devour. Until you’re cumming on his tongue. Grasping at pillows and sheets and unable to control the needy roll of your hips.
Only the briefest of reprieves before you’re calling out again to any god who will listen. His cock sinking into you. Thick and barbed and driving you toward the pinnacle of insanity. Stimulating your walls until your legs tremble uncontrollably. Your pussy a vice around him. Refusing to let him leave you. The twitch of his cock inside you and his release sending you plummeting over the edge once again. Keening your pleasure and grasping at his shoulders.
His lips find yours. Soothing as your high washes through you. Effervescent in your veins and leaving you with the breathless, heady rush.
“Oh my gods,” you gasp, limbs limp on the bed as Ari falls beside you and pets over your exposed skin. “What the fuck.”
Ari props himself on his arm, crowding into you from the side, intimate and comforting. “I hope that’s a good thing.”
You turn your head to meet his eyes, dazed and blissful smile uncontrollable on your lips.
“Absolutely.”
And as you stare into his eyes, something glimmers that you can’t quite name. Even as reality washes over you and you remember the casual offer leading to your current state.
“You are really good at that,” you say, poking at his shoulder and chuckling. “Thanks for showing me what I was missing.”
With great effort, you pull yourself up from the pillows and perch on the side of the bed, grabbing your bra and panties from the floor to start redressing. Gathering your dignity for the inevitable brush off and return to friendship.
A claw strokes over your spine. Your eyes close at the sensation, biting back a sigh of pleasure.
“Where you going, kitten?” Ari purrs, his form finding your back. Lips brushing the juncture where your neck meets your shoulder.
“Well,” you reply, enjoying the last bits of intimacy from your encounter, “I’ve got a couple things I need to do before heading back to work on Monday.”
A beat of silence passes. Your hands pause at your sides. All while Ari continues to lavish you with affection.
“You could stay,” he suggests. His finger tilts your head toward him for a sweetly seductive peck of your lips.
A self-conscious grin tugs at your lips. “It’s okay, Ari.” You pull his paw from your face and turn away. Despondence sinking in your gut. “I know what this is.”
“And what’s that?”
You meet his eyes again, the mildest frustration building at his impenetrable facade. Unreadable to your eye. But looking with expectation, as if you should be able to read him like a book.
“You were just helping a friend out and getting some fun along the way.”
His phone pings with a notification. Your eyes drawn to the screen and the app on his phone—one your finger has hovered over but never downloaded, Glammr. Yeah, you know what he uses that for. You stand and face him on the bed. His lips parted on an unspoken thought, something pleading in his eyes.
“Thank you for a spectacularly fun afternoon,” you say, resolve heavy in your gut as you lean down for one last taste of his lips. “I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”
The mug steams in your hands. Thoughts lost to the embarrassment of throwing yourself at Ari a week ago. Your drunken confession replaying in your head. Even when he didn’t acknowledge it the next morning. Your routines—your friendship—as normal as could be. Just the same as after he’d made his infamous offer and you’d accepted all those years ago.
His door opens down the hall, the bathroom closing soon after. As the shower turns on, you turn to the coffee machine, finishing its brew. You find Ari’s mug in the cupboard and pull it out.
“Can I get some of that?”
You freeze. Startled by the unfamiliar voice. You whip around. A tall dragon filling the doorway into the kitchen. Taking a moment, you let your gaze drift over him. Scales framing his face and arms bulging with muscles.
“Uh, hi,” you say, covering the awkward moment with a sip of your drink. “Yeah, there should be enough in the pot.”
His lips twitch and his tail flicks behind him. “You’re not used to this.” His voice drifts, syrupy through the air. Tickling a pleasant part of your brain with his timbre.
You clear your throat. An uncomfortable smile tugging at your lips. “He doesn’t usually bring people around.”
Curtis hums. Entering the kitchen to lean against the counter beside you. Wings tucked close to his back. “It was sort of, uh, spur of the moment.” His tail brushes against your leg. You glance down at it, resting just against you. “I hope we didn’t wake you.”
“Oh,” you sputter. Heart clenching in your chest. Trying not to picture Ari’s night, finding pleasure with this stranger. Failing. “That’s very considerate of you.” A wry smile forces itself onto your lips, swallowing any taste of deprecation or desire with another sip. Dragging a normal nonchalance to the forefront. Your hand waves through the air in dismissal. “But his room is soundproofed. Could probably massacre a small army and I wouldn’t hear.”
“Cute,” the dragon mutters to himself. Chest brushing your shoulder as he reaches up for another mug. Pouring himself some of the freshly brewed coffee.
You expect warmth from him, the press of his figure against you. Instead, you shiver despite his bulk. Your nipples pebbling in your top—just from the chill, of course, nothing more, not at all.
“Sorry, I run cold,” he explains, watching your every move as you offer cream and sugar for his coffee. He takes a sip black. “I’m Curtis.”
He holds out his free hand expectantly. You reciprocate. Your name falling past your lips. His cool scales smooth under your palm.
In a second, he draws you a step closer, lifting your knuckles to his lips. Your eyes widen, frozen on him. Heart thumping wild in your chest. A gasp slipping free. He smirks. His thumb slowly brushing over your fingers. And you’re enthralled. Unable to move your gaze away. His sharp, handsome features the only thing on which you can focus.
An arm wraps around your waist, pulling you back into damp fur. You blink. Spell broken. But still your eyes draw back to the dragon sipping his coffee.
“I see you’ve met my kitten,” Ari boasts, squeezing you tight into his side. Claws sharp against your skin, but gentle as always. Your friend’s chest puffs in pride and a smile tugs at your lips.
Curtis’s eyebrow arches. “Your kitten? You mean your girlfriend?”
“We—”
“No, no,” you interrupt over Ari’s explanation. Catching his train of thought at his fumble. Your smile straining. Voice pitched a bit too high. “We’re roommates, best friends. That’s all.”
Curtis blinks slow. Gaze shifting between you. Something intrusive about it. Like the scrape of dental tools down in your bones. The dragon’s jaw twitches. A hum buzzing past his lips in skeptical acceptance.
It baffles your mind. How it happens. Ari and Curtis becoming so close. Their one night leading to days spent hanging out. Every indication of a platonic bond. The way Ari plays and Curtis laughs. None of it imbued with a strictly romantic affection. But Ari seems happy, even as you puzzle and try to define his new relationship.
And you get swept into it. Often tagging along. At their beck and call as they adventure through the city. Conscious of a probable desire for privacy, and yet somehow never infringing upon it.
“Come with us,” Ari begs. His arm snaring around your middle as you stroll past the couch. Curtis lounging beside him.
It really isn’t fair how one pathetically pleading look from your best friend makes your knees weak. His eyes wide and sparkling. Face smushed against your belly. Grip tight.
“You two can go ahead,” you say with a pat of Ari’s head. Keeping your voice steady even as it threatens to hitch. “I’ve got some work to catch up on.”
Ari harrumphs. Huffy breath billowing under your shirt. “We could help you and then go.” You chuckle and push at his forehead, his ears twitching with your touch. “Curtis, tell her.”
And when your eyes meet the dragon’s, you almost give in. His cool perusal of your figure as incisive and intense as always. A shiver trails up your spine.
“You can do whatever you want, sweetheart,” Curtis rumbles, eyes narrowing with some kind of insinuation.
Ari chuffs, brow settling in a displeased furrow. “You are not helping.”
“Maybe I’ll meet you guys after,” you placate as you slip away while gathering up your laptop, charger, and headphones, “but I do really need to get these few things done.”
Ari continues his unhappy grumbles. Curtis hums curiously. But neither shifts a muscle. Their eyes intent on your every move until the door shuts behind you with a click.
And a fifteen minute ride later, you’re seated at a table in the library. Hands cupping your face. Checking every other second to ensure your headphones are plugged in and you’re not exposing the rest of the room to the deliciously devious script to which you’re listening.
Voices syrupy and dripping sin, Ari and Curtis play their parts to perfection. Their voices rising and falling, lulling you into a state of ruin.
“What I wouldn’t give,” Ari’s voice rumbles in the recording, “to have you at my feet. The perfect pet.”
Curtis’s chuckle follows and you feel the blood rushing from your head. Heat pooling between your thighs. “I could make it better for you, lay you down on a pile of gold and shower you in the riches you deserve.”
Their dynamic a competitive banter that toes the line between love triangle and ménage à trois. Leaving you reeling between the two voices. Unable to pick your favorite. You swallow and grab for your water bottle, nearly knocking it down as you reach. Thirst rearing its head even as you try to sate it.
“You should let us have you,” Curtis insists. Voice a smooth coercion, tempting every fiber of your being.
“We promise to be so good to you. By the time we’re done, you won’t even remember your own name,” Ari purrs. Just like you remember, all throaty and wanton.
Your fingers tremble and tap your space bar. Pausing the recording. You breathe deep. Sucking air into your lungs and cooling your head. Overwhelmed by this new audio Ari wants you to edit for his subscribers.
Your phones buzzes. Text popping on the screen. Perfectly timed—as if they know exactly to what you’re listening.
How’s it going? Ari.
Your eyes drift to your screen. Barely halfway done with your first pass of the audio.
You can’t help it. Your hand darts out to grasp your phone. Fingers blitzing across the screen as you type—what the fuck Ari???
A beat passes as you stare at the words. Thumb over the send button. Not pressing down. Just hovering. And then you delete it.
Your fans sure are gonna love your new release with Curtis. You have great chemistry together. 👍🏻
You blow a deep breath past your lips, curling in on yourself and cradling your head in your hands. Blindly finding the space bar and pressing it. Letting their words roll through you, sparking an aching needy desire. Playing through the recording until the end. And then replaying it. Just once more to gather your wits. To desensitize yourself to it. And maybe, just maybe, bask in the sensual drone of their voices one more time.
“Look at you, gorgeous!” Ari enthuses as you find the table where all your friends sit.
You chuckle, watching as his tail perks and he looks to his sides, both occupied by your friends.
“Sorry I’m late,” you reply, brushing off the only open seat beside Curtis, coat shrugging off your shoulders and hanging on the hook overhead. “Time got away from me.” The vinyl squeaks softly as you settle. Placing your purse beside you.
The dragon’s tail swings, stretching out behind you and resting on the bench. His claws wrap around your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze through your jeans. You shiver and peek at him through the corner of your eye. Warming with desire. And you know he feels it, the way his head subtly tilts toward you. Gravitating toward the heat despite his proclivity for cold.
The waiter comes around to drop off drinks, taking your order and card before walking away. And before Ari sits a large bowl, swimming with fruit and candy—something for college kids when they first start drinking.
“What is that?” you ask, eying the monstrosity sure to give him the worst hangover.
“What?” he asks, neon pink straw between his lips and smirk on his features. “I was curious.”
You hum. Rolling your eyes and letting the conversation flow back to its original train of thought. Something about Mickey’s upcoming gig and invites and emails.
So used to always sitting beside Ari, you lean and rest your head on Curtis’s shoulder as you listen. His cool temperature a shock as you make contact. You jolt and his hand squeezes your knee. Still placed there, though you hadn’t realized.
“I don’t mind,” he rumbles, a glance cast toward the weretiger staring both of you down. An indecipherable look in his eyes.
Sarah gets up from her seat, an excuse for the restroom. And in an instant, Ari occupies her spot, swapping their drinks and scooting right to the edge of the seat to be beside you.
“You trying to kill a man with that outfit, kitten?” he asks, leaning in like it’s a secret. Warmth radiating off his fur. A deep, sultry look in his eyes—really selling the charade.
You snort to yourself and roll your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips. “Yeah, sure,” you brush off. Grasping for a change of subject, trying to protect your heart. “How’s your ridiculous drink?”
His lips wrap around the straw, drinking while keeping your eyes locked. He swallows and doesn’t move but somehow also seems to come closer. Maybe you’re swaying toward him—except no, you won’t admit he’s that magnetic.
“It tastes sweet,” he purrs, a mischievous sparkle in his eye as they lower down your body, “like you.”
Curtis shifts beside you. His tail brushing against your back.
Your eyes widen at the intimate comment. An undignified noise swallowed before it can escape. But then, Sarah’s back. Shoving Ari out of her seat and back to where he started. Feathers snapping behind her.
“The nerve,” she grumbles under her breath. Joining in the wider conversation to point out a detail of Jake’s story.
A nudge catches your attention moments later. The brush of cool breath against your cheek.
“You know he’s serious, right?”
You blink, taken aback by Curtis’s pronouncement. Turning to meet his eye. Not a hint of deceit or jest in his gaze.
“Serious?” you ask, voice hushed.
“The way he looks at you. What he says,” Curtis explains with a nod, intense in his focus. Your spine starts to itch with a shiver. As though he trails a claw along your skin.
You clear your throat, sipping your drink and lowering your gaze. A prick of hurt tugging at your heartstrings. “He’s a flirt. Always has been.”
“He’s in love with you.”
You choke on your drink. The sip burning with more than just the alcohol. You cough but gather yourself.
“You’re so sure of that,” you reply, chuckling and dabbing at the tears gathering along your waterline.
“Dragon intuition sees everything.”
The way Curtis says it so assured. You glance toward Ari. He’s already staring back, the briefest glint of concern reflecting back at you.
“And what about you?” you return to the dragon, mind puzzling out his assertions despite twisting against it. “I thought the two of you were getting along…” Your statement trailing off into a suggestive question, eager for his answer.
Curtis’s lips lift toward a smile. Sure he is reading you like an open book as he stares.
“He’s a good friend, and might have been more if he wasn’t so enamored with you,” he finally replies. “We’ve spent time together, but the closest we’ve gotten is in our recording sessions. Have you heard them?”
A bolt of desire skips down your spine and you adjust yourself in your seat, positioning yourself a hair closer—only by accident. You take another sip to soothe your parched throat and scramble to think of a response.
“You have,” Curtis surmises. His finger lifts your chin, locking your eyes. No judgement stares back at you, only kindness and, maybe, passion. “It was a good collaboration, I’m glad you enjoyed them. Wish it lasted longer.”
And time slows. His lips finding your cheek. The cool, affectionate press against your skin. A gasp slips past your lips. Heart battering in your chest. As he parts, you remain frozen. Even when he makes his excuses and leaves to close out his tab at the bar.
Your eyes trail after him. His figure weaving around the bar and disappearing through the door. Leaving you split and more confused than ever.
“You alright, kitten?” Ari asks, setting his keys in the bowl as you shrug out of your coat.
You barely hear the clink over the buzz of thoughts in your head. Disquiet overtaking you. If Curtis is right, if Ari is in love with you—all this time, everything he’s said. A flutter of hope flips in your belly.
“What did Curtis say to you tonight?” His voice trembles, a subtle uncertainty you’ve never recognized before, even as his paw pads press to your elbow. Stilling your movement and taking your coat from your hands. Hanging it up on its hook.
Instead of answering, you round on him. “Have you ever slept with Curtis?” The question blunt. Laced with your genuine curiosity. It takes your roommate aback.
“No,” he replies with a decisive shake of his head. “Not once.”
“Why not?” you needle, brows tilting in incredulity. “He’s insanely attractive and your chemistry together is explosive.”
“I didn’t want to.” His shoulders shrug. He rocks back on his heels and turns to check the lock.
“That’s not like you.”
He pauses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” you immediately reply, leading him toward the living room. Unsettled. Feet itching to pace. “I just—I thought you wanted him. You’ve both been getting pretty cozy lately.”
Ari blinks. Jaw dropping. “I didn’t,” he says with a shake of his head and a gesture in your direction. “I thought you did!”
You scoff, shaking your head in turn. “But you should have!” Your brows pinch, fingers pressing to your forehead.
“I didn’t want to get in your way,” Ari insists. “You two have quite the chemistry, too, you know.” He huffs. Angling his shoulder away from you and leaning beside the couch.
You blink. Head tilting at his statement. Brain working overtime to fully grasp this conversation. “Okay, wait,” you beg, hand held up in a bid for patience. “Who’s the last person you had sex with?”
“Why does it matter?” he asks, arms crossing over his chest and shoulder raising.
“Is there someone special?” Dreading the answer. Gut churning in anticipation—waiting for the punch.
He pauses a beat before he responds. Shoulders sinking and voice soft. “Why is this so important to you?” He pushes away from his position, half a step closer, hand reaching in a bid of comfort but hesitating, dropping back to his side.
You sigh and run a hand over your hair. Head craning back as your eyes find the ceiling. Searching for answers in the texture. “You’ve been acting weird for weeks now,” you finally reply. “I thought you were maybe trying something serious with Curtis.”
“We’re friends, kit kat,” he says, a placation. His paw finds your shoulder brushing down to your hand. And despite their weight, just his touch makes you feel lighter. “What’s this all about?”
“You didn’t sleep with Curtis.” The statement awkward on your tongue. Trying, as you speak, to piece together a cohesive statement. “But even before you met him, there was that woman at the bar. Why didn’t you sleep with her?”
“You were drunk.”
Your hand waves through the air. “I would have been fine on my own.”
“I didn’t want to leave you,” Ari insists.
“Why?” you push, slipping away from him. Feet pacing across the rug. All the heavier without his touch. “You have plenty of times before.” Your teeth worry over your lower lip. Blurting out the hurt that’s got you hung up on it all, “and you didn’t want to sleep with me.”
He doesn’t reply to that. His eyes dropping to his claws, scratching through the fur on his thigh.
A sinking thought gives you pause. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Ari rushes to answer. Gaze snapping back up to meet yours. He rushes over, cradling your face in his warm paws. “I just want something different.”
“So you’re looking for a…more serious partner?” you question, even as he playfully smushes your cheeks. Unamused by his antics as you try to figure him out, a laugh still catches in the back of your throat.
“I guess I have to say it, don’t I?” he mutters, more to himself than to you. He breathes deep and lets his paws drop. “You’re right.” He nods, backing up a step. “I am looking for something more serious.”
Confused, you try to continue his thought with your only logical conclusion, “With Cur—”
“With you.”
For a moment, you can’t breathe. Convinced you’re drunk and passed out in the bar booth. About to be woken from this dream by an angry bouncer.
“Me?” you croak. Mind sparking with moments. Every touch. Every playful flirtation. Your voice cracks as you ask, “the fuck?”
“It’s so hard to believe?” His lips lift in a wry smile. “That afternoon we shared together. Watching you writhe in pleasure. There’s never been anything like it.” He sighs. Backs another step away. Taking all the air in the room with him. “But you didn’t want me like that. Just friends. So I tried-I tried to move on. But you were always there.” He points to his temple, eyes locked on you. An intense fire blazing within them. The predator rearing its head. “Always right there. All the time.”
“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Breathless. Astounded. Wondering why Curtis didn’t tell you sooner. How you never noticed. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult.”
“It wasn’t difficult.” He purrs, all sonorous syllables spilling past his lips. He gets closer. And only then do you realize how close to the couch you are, legs bumping up against the cushions. “Just being near you was enough. Sharing coffee was enough. Making you smile was enough.” His head tilts, smile soft and relieved. “I love you.”
“I love you, t—”
“I mean I’m in love with you, kit kat.” His head shakes as he interrupts. “Don’t say it back if you don’t mean it, too.”
You swallow. Your reply sticking in your throat. “So,” you hedge, working past the lump in your throat, “Curtis was right.”
“If that’s what he told you,” Ari nods, “then yes. Though, I didn’t tell him.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask. A spark of ire igniting in your belly. Poking at his chest.
“When you offered to sleep with me again,” Ari admits, running his claws through his hair, “I thought that maybe it would be the start. But then you woke up and it was the same old routine.”
“But you said nothing!” you protest.
“I never wanted to push my luck,” he retorts, just as fierce. “I know I haven’t had the best record in your eyes—never seeing the same person twice.” His teeth grit and his eyes cast toward the coffee table. “I understand if this is all too late. I know you’ve had your eye on Curtis since he came over to record with me.” You flop onto the couch and the cushion sinks as he sits beside you. “He’s an insanely attractive dragon and finds you just as…irresistible. I tried to keep him around for you. Doesn’t hurt that he’s a great guy. And he’d be perfect for you.”
You don’t interrupt his train of thought. Waiting for it to fizzle out. Ears catching each words and saving them for processing—later.
“I’m in love with you, too,” you gush, letting them finally escape. Words you never thought you’d speak aloud.
Ari pauses. Chest still, posture frozen. A beat passes, his eyes blinking slowly. Watching your every move. Waiting for a caveat or a retraction.
“I’ve been in love with you,” you repeat, explaining further, “since the moment you offered to ‘fix my problem’.” Your fingers raised in air quotes before dropping back to your lap. Ari’s warm paw takes your hand in his. A small smile lifts the corner of your lips. “You were just so sweet and playful. The smile you wore and how comfortable you made me. I was crushing hard when Mickey introduced us, but then…” You trail off, cheeks heating. The familiar memories rising to the surface for the billionth time. “I just thought you didn’t want anything more.”
One paw lifts from your hand, gently wrapping around the back of your neck, guiding you closer. His forehead resting against yours. Whiskers tickling your cheeks. You giggle at the sensation. His lips curving in a gentle smile.
“I want everything with you,” he whispers. His chin tilting to capture your lips with his. Indulging you in a long overdue kiss.
Ari’s other paw smooths up your sides to cradle your ribs. Your hands scratching through the fur on his chest, taking the opportunity to touch him with all the weight of your confessed love behind it.
In a sensually smooth motion, Ari tucks you against him and lowers you both to the cushions of the couch. Your legs kept to his sides as he pins you down. Slotting himself between them and letting you feel his weight. The power of his muscles under your fingertips. Poised and restrained, rolling his body into yours. Kiss unbroken as he drinks you in.
You break apart. Breathing each others’ exhales. Chests flush. Letting the weight settle. Your fingers smooth through the fur on Ari’s cheeks. Still stunned. Yet you fill with incandescent joy.
“You love me,” you muse happily. Lips pressing another kiss to Ari’s. His hips shift, between your thighs. A hitch in your breath at the sensation.
“Yes,” Ari agrees, nuzzling at your jawline.
“And I love you,” you continue, giddy.
“Yes.” His eyes find yours, bright in their happiness. Radiating from every inch of him. “Yes, you do,” he repeats with an air of disbelief.
“And Curtis brought us together,” you continue, brow scrunching in incredulity.
Ari’s arms loop around your middle, keeping you both close as he bows to press a kiss against your collarbone. “He did.” He meets your gaze once again. A thought passing from you to him. An understanding settling between you both.
“I guess there’s only one thing we need to do now, huh?” you comment. Ari’s nod answering you a mere moment later.
Ari clutches your hand in his paw, a gentle squeeze for comfort. His other reaches out to knock on the door.
Your head turns to him. A nervous swallow bobbing in your throat. But Ari sees it. Wrapping you in his arms before the door swings open in front of you.
Curtis stands in the doorway, a pinch of confusion furrowing his brow.
“Is everything alright?” the dragon asks.
“We wanted to see you,” you respond, clicking your teeth as the statement fails to encapsulate what you’re actually trying to say. “That is—”
“You left us at the bar,” Ari pipes up, body flush to yours. Comforting warmth radiating from his fur. “That didn’t seem quite fair.”
Curtis’s wings shake out behind him, tail flicking to the side. “Well,” he says, voice grating in his throat, “it didn’t seem like you needed my help anymore.”
Your head shakes, somewhat agreeing with his claim. Smiling as Ari chuckles against your back, you say, “No, we just need you.”
I’m still very excited to read this!! Hopefully my mental bandwidth is better this week and I can get swept away by this. I know it’s going to be amazing 😍
Summary: Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping.
TL;DR: You convince old man Joel to dick you down.
W.C: ~6.2k
Warnings: dbf!Joel, unprotected p-in-v sex, praise AND degradation (whoops), big fat age gap (Joel is around 50, reader is 21), daddy kink for a sec soz, aftercare, slight size kink, cunnilingus through panties, cunnilingus, dry-humping, couch sex (no outbreak!)
Note: hey y'all, trying my hand at joel miller smut because i saw an edit of pedro pascal and literally licked the fucking screen protector, so i guess that's god's sign of telling me to write filthy shit. anyway, hope you enjoy! wrote this instead of a politics essay #yolo
“C’mon, Joel.” Your dad sighed, meeting his best friend’s eyes with a pleading gaze.
“Look, I—”
“Just this once. Please. I really can’t get out of this meeting, the board would kill me. Especially with the damn FTC breathing down our necks.”
You were visiting your hometown for Spring Break. Tomorrow night, there was going to be a party in a town fifteen minutes away from your own—one that you had been invited to. Your dad was supposed to give you a ride home, but as always, there was some last-minute work emergency. So, Joel was his solution.
The aforementioned solution frowned, crossing his large arms over his plaid torso.
“I got better things to do than chauffeur your little girl.” Joel shrugged.
That was, in fact, horribly untrue. His agenda for that night consisted of re-watching one of the Die Hard’s and drinking a nice, cold Coors.
“I’ll owe you one.” Your dad insisted.
“Desperate ain’t a good look on you, buddy.” Joel cracked a small smile.
Your dad ignored this jab.
“Joel, we’ve been friends for almost two decades. You’ve let me borrow your car, helped me paint my house more times than I can count, and even bailed me out of jail when I sped down the interstate.” He counted the feats off his fingers. “But picking my kid up is where you draw the line? Come on.”
Joel inhaled through his teeth.
The real reason he maintained his firm stance on not giving you a lift home was, really, a bundle of three smaller reasons.
One, ever since you turned eighteen you’ve made it painstakingly and increasingly clear you wanted to get in his pants.
Two, you were a huge flirt.
Three, he wasn’t so sure he could keep on resisting. But he had to. For god’s sake, what kind of a friend would bone his friend’s daughter?
Hopefully, not him.
“I–” Joel began but was shortly interrupted.
"I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. You’re picking up my kid. She has no one else, and I don’t trust her friends to be sober enough to get her home without getting in some kind of drunk-driving accident."
He levelled Joel with a firm look.
"So, are you picking her up, or should I expect to see her name in tomorrow’s obituary because one of her little buddies got behind the wheel after doin’ a keg stand, or a gazillion games of beer pong or I don’t know—fuckin’ ‘Cheers to the Governor’?”
Your dad stared him down with an expectant look.
Joel took a second to process this.
He rubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and then met his friend’s stare with a sigh.
“Fine.” Came through gritted teeth.
Your dad patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He chirped happily.
———
And so, there Joel was.
Leaning against his old Chevrolet, idly spinning his keys around his finger, and staring at the front door of the party.
Several kids filtered out; stumbling into worn Honda Civics with disgruntled parents waiting in the driver’s seats, or with their arms interlocked and their sides almost melded together, giggling off to god-knows-where.
When you came out, you were part of the latter group.
Some blonde-haired boy—tall, but not too tall—was holding you close to him with a stupid smile on his reddened face. You mirrored it with a stupider smile of your own.
He whispered something into your ear that made you laugh and was promptly leading you in the opposite direction of Joel. But Joel was both keen and quick to intervene.
“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel called out, crossing his arms.
You froze and turned your head to lock eyes with none other than Joel Miller. Your neighbour, your dad’s best friend, and more importantly, your long-time crush.
“What are you doing here?” You arched a brow, slipping away from your friend and nearing him and his truck.
Your friend followed after you and settled by your side, resting an arm that hung a little too comfortably around your shoulder.
“Evenin’ to you, too, sweetheart. And to answer your question, I’m pickin’ you up.” Joel stated simply, then tossed a quick surveying look to the guy next to you. “Who’s blondie over here?”
“Daniel.” Blondie blinked and stuck out his free hand, glancing at you. Under his breath, he muttered, “you told me your dad couldn’t give you a ride.”
“He’s not my–” You started, but were immediately cut off by Joel.
“Get your hand off the girl, will you, Derek?” Joel narrowed his eyes at him, a dangerous look underlying his seemingly casual tone.
Daniel immediately did so, going so far as to step a pace back from you.
“It’s Daniel.” He coughed awkwardly. Then added, “sir.”
Joel ignored him—or, at least, didn’t show any sign that he had heard his correction—and turned around.
“Time to go home, young lady.” Joel said lowly. He opened the front passenger door, and upon finding you in the same spot as you were standing before he had turned his back, continued with, “that wasn’t a suggestion.”
You mumbled a quick ‘goodbye’ to Daniel and hopped inside the truck.
“Good girl.” Joel sighed, closed the door with a bit too much force and walked around the front of the car. He spared a few seconds to glare at your friend before sliding into the driver’s seat.
Suddenly, the engine thrummed to life and the two of you were headed down quiet suburban streets in the late hours of the night, leaving what's-his-name in the dust.
The air had been thick with a tension neither of you could describe and was further blanketed by a heavy silence broken only by the hum of the engine, the faint skid of tyres against asphalt, and your own rapid heartbeat pounding insistently in your ears.
Not five minutes had passed before Joel spoke up.
“Who was he?” Joel asked casually, his eyes still focused on the dimly-lit road ahead.
You sank further into the cracked leather of the front passenger seat.
“A friend.” You shrugged, not looking over at him.
Joel hummed a non-committal noise as he carefully took a turn into a side street, the truck slowly crunching over loose gravel. His grip on the wheel remained firm, but his eyes flickered over to you.
“Your daddy let you out of the house like that?”
You huffed out a short laugh and looked down at your choice of partywear; a low-cut top and some tight-fitting jeans. Not necessarily the most vulgar apparel, in your humble opinion.
“No, actually, he called the cops on me for indecent exposure, but I managed to escape.” You spat out sarcastically.
Joel didn’t find your comment funny. Or rather, there was no indication on his unwavering poker face that he had found it funny. Or was experiencing any emotion at all other than slightly tired.
The two of you sank into yet another silence.
“I’m not a kid, Joel.” You said after a minute or two.
“Like hell, you ain’t.” Joel scoffed.
“I’m in college, I can dress how I like.”
“Is ‘how you like’ a prostitute?”
You turned to face him fully, your arms crossed and your brows furrowed.
“That’s both slightly misogynistic and completely off-base, don’t you think?” You snorted, then smiled smugly to yourself. “Plus. Admit it, you like it.”
That threw him off-guard.
For the first time that evening, Joel showed a sliver of emotion. His eyes widened slightly as he opened his mouth, quickly closing it, and then opening it again to say, “what the fuck are you going on about, kid?”
“You were definitely staring at my tits.”
Joel was even more taken aback. First, by your absolute gall, and second, by your accuracy. He may have snuck a peek at your cleavage, but in his head, it was very discreet. But, fuck, did they sit perfectly.
“You’re drunk.” Joel shook his head.
“You didn’t deny it.” Your smile grew. “But yes, I am a little tipsy. Not drunk, though.”
“I noticed.”
“Just say the word, Miller, and I’ll flash you the twins anytime you like.” You leaned over the control arm, your eyes travelling along his tensing frame.
“Fucking Christ.” Joel breathed. He kept his eyes fixed on the road but released a hand from the steering wheel to rub the lower half of his face.
This. This was why he didn’t want to do this favour for your father. You were already a handful while sober. And you had been a handful ever since you started college—making throwaway yet entirely flirtatious comments, pressing your tits against his chest a bit too much while you lingered after a hug, and wearing the tightest clothes known to man.
And now drunk? You were literally throwing yourself at him.
The worst part was that he couldn’t control his body’s reaction to you. In fact, his jeans felt a little tighter the closer you got.
Fuck, he was more than twice your age and here he was getting a hard-on—
Joel was suddenly violently snatched from his internal monologue when he felt your hand ghost over his lap.
“That’s ‘cause of me, isn’t it…? I can help with that.” You whispered, your tone almost pleading as your fingers gently traced over the front zipper of his jeans.
“Honey, sit back down.” Joel said slowly. His eyes remained intently glued onto the road.
Jesus Christ, he was fucked.
“Joel,” You practically whined.
Jesus Christ, he was so fucked.
“You’re drunk,” Joel said, more to himself than you as some sort of ill-justified dismissal.
“Tipsy.” You corrected helpfully, yet not retreating back to your seat. “But not really.”
Before he knew it, Joel was pulling up in front of your driveway, his grip on the steering wheel deathly tight.
Joel sighed. “You’re home.”
You glanced out the window disappointedly.
“No shit, Sherlock.” You replied.
Joel muttered something to himself under his breath and got out of the car, quickly appearing by your side and opening the door for you.
“C’mon, sweetheart.” He nodded toward your house.
You got to your feet indignantly and marched up to your porch. Joel followed after you, leaning against one of the support beams of your front awning as he watched you dig through your purse.
After a few moments of your struggle, Joel cleared his throat.
“What?”
“Can’t find my key.” You frowned.
“I’ll call your dad.”
“Not home. And won’t be, ‘till tomorrow morning. He’s in the city for some work emergency, remember?”
Joel ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, visibly mulling something over, judging by the crease in his forehead.
“And you don’t got a spare key lying around somewhere? Under a flower pot or a welcome mat or shit like that?”
You shook your head.
If Joel were a better man, he’d have caught the glimmer of an ulterior motive dancing in your mischievous eyes. He would’ve brought up the spare key given to him for emergencies—this would’ve constituted as such. And he certainly wouldn’t have said what he had next.
“You can stay the night at mine.”
You blinked up at him, your hand frozen in the opening of your purse.
Joel straightened up, taking his weight off the support beam.
“Or you can sleep outside. Up to you.”
“I’ll take option number one.”
A few minutes and a trip across the road later, Joel had wriggled his key through the entrance lock and opened the door, inviting you inside.
Joel’s two-story craftsman was cosy and lived-in. The leather couch facing a moderately-sized flat-inch was slightly worn, the coffee table was cluttered with magazines and empty cans, and standing by its lonesome in a forgotten far corner of the living room was an acoustic guitar. More importantly, his house smelled like him; like warmth and vetiver and wood.
You had been a guest at his house on several occasions, but such instances had always been with the company of your dad.
That evening you found yourself free of his presence and, coincidentally, free of a conscience.
However fortunate your moral freedom was, it was only partially incited by your father’s absence. The four lukewarm cans of Lone Star you had chugged at the party may have had more of an influence on your risqué behaviour, because you sure as hell weren’t pushing Joel down on his leather sofa and straddling his lap with complete sobriety.
Joel let you take control, placing his big hands on your waist like they were always meant to be there while you moulded yourself against him, and met your lips with equal fervour when you smashed your mouth against his.
He sighed into the kiss and gripped your waist tighter as you slipped your tongue past his lips, ignoring the slight scruff of his greying stubble rubbing against your jaw.
But it was when you began slowly rocking your hips against the tenting figure in his jeans did he suddenly remember himself and wrench his face away from yours.
“Shit.” He panted, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving as he zeroed in on your kiss-swollen lips and your half-lidded, desperate eyes.
Why the fuck did he just do that? ‘That’ being the act of letting you kiss him, but he was just as equally angered with himself for stopping.
“We shouldn’t.” He shook his head, but his eyes were focused on your pretty, slightly parted lips.
“Why not?” You sighed, leaning closer.
Joel took your chin in his hand and held you at a safe distance.
“You know fucking well why.” Joel’s voice rumbled deep with frustration.
“Give me a reason.”
“I’ll give you three: you’re drunk, you’re barely eighteen, and your father is my best friend.”
You huffed out a noise of annoyance.
“I’m a little tipsy at worst, I’m twenty-one, thank you, and my father doesn’t have to know.”
Joel’s lip twitched. You were very persistent. He didn’t even know why he was arguing with you, he just knew he had to resist whatever fucking temptation this was.
“I’m old enough to be your father, too.” Joel frowned.
“But you’re not.”
“You should want someone your own age.”
“But I don’t.”
Joel inhaled through his teeth, subconsciously nearing your face once more. “This is so wrong.”
“Just once, Joel.” You pleaded, your eyes flooded with need.
“Fuck,” Joel shook his head, his brows furrowed as he once again lost himself in how pretty your lips looked; all puffy and raw. All because of him. “Honey–”
“Just this once.” You whined prettily.
At the sound, Joel unconsciously rocked up into you. Your hands immediately went to grab his shoulders to steady yourself; feeling a little lightheaded from the mere singular action.
Joel’s grip on your waist tightened.
“Fuck.” He said again, breathing slowly.
Being as old as he was, Joel never expected to relive the days of his brazen youth when his only major problem in life was cumming in his pants after a pretty girl had barely touched him.
His dark eyes finally met yours.
You held your breath.
“Just this once?” He said.
“Just this once.” You confirmed.
“You won’t … you won’t try anything again?” Joel’s eyes dropped back down to your mouth and his thumb gently traced your bottom lip. His other hand slipped from your waist to the bare small of your back from underneath your blouse.
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, but you shakily nodded your head.
Joel didn’t believe you.
But, fuck it, he captured your mouth in another hungry kiss anyway, closing his eyes and holdiing you against him.
He was definitely going to hell, but he would gladly do so just knowing he had felt heaven against his lips.
And, fuck, was that an unforgettable taste.
Joel gently trailed his chapped lips down your jaw, your neck, and lingered on your pulse point, all while one hand held you by your nape and the other against the skin of your lower back, idly caressing the base of your spine with his thumb.
Instead of the white-hot passion that had initially been the catalyst for this heated night, this moment was charged with an underlying tenderness. And all you could do was throw your head back and accept his tentative indulgence.
Though by the way Joel unintentionally bucked his growing bulge against your clothed mound as he peppered the crook of your neck with open-mouthed kisses, you could tell his delicacy was largely imbued by whatever ounce of restraint he inexplicably retained and was, by no means, a testament to his true nature.
He was holding back.
“Joel?” You whispered, carding your hand through his hair.
“Mmm?” He hummed into your skin, his eyes closed in bliss.
“I want…” You began, the words dying in your throat.
What did you want?
Well, his cock, definitely. More specifically, inside of you, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.
“Words, baby.” He pressed a final kiss onto your neck and pulled away the slightest distance to meet your gaze. His eyes were wrecked with lust; half-lidded and almost entirely swallowed by his dilated pupils. He softly took your face in the hand that was formerly resting against your nape. And when he spoke, his voice was low and rich with that sweeter-than-molasses Southern drawl. “Try that again. What do you want, honey?”
“You.”
“And you have me, don't you?” Joel said distractedly, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. His soft, umber eyes momentarily dipped down to your mouth as if he was debating on kissing you again.
And he was. Fuck, those lips of yours.
“No, I…” You breathed, your hand coming down in between your two bodies and palming his rock-hard erection through his denim. Joel hissed. “Can I suck you off?”
Joel’s eyes widened. You certainly held no room for subtlety.
“Fuck, honey.” He huffed. “Really know how to get to the point, don’t you?”
“Can I?”
Joel hummed.
“Can I be perfectly candid, sweetheart?”
“You have my blessing.” You arched a brow.
“If you so much as breathed on my dick right now, I think this night would come to a quick and rather … anticlimactic finish.” Joel sighed, breaking into a small smile. In true dad fashion, he then added, “pun not intended.”
You granted him the reward of a snicker for his antics. Then, you leaned close to his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin.
“If I had known that all I’d get from you was a dry-humping makeout sesh, I’d have stuck with Daniel.” You sighed, as casually as you could.
Without even looking at him, you saw the jealousy morph onto his aged face.
“Get on your fucking back.” He said, his voice measured, yet somehow equally unhinged.
You stilled, not expecting that much of a reaction from him.
“I said,” Joel met your gaze, his eyes holding a dangerous promise. “Get on your fucking back, young lady.”
And that was how you found yourself lying against the arm of a sofa older than the Great Depression with your jeans discarded in a wrinkled pile somewhere and your legs spread around the owner of said ancient sofa.
Joel crouched down in front of you, with one of your legs perched on his shoulder. He pushed your shirt up past your belly button and kissed a path down to the waistband of your panties.
His hand slid up your knee, then your thigh, and then stopped right against a particularly damp spot in your underwear.
“This for me or Daniel?” Joel hummed against your lower stomach, his stare flickering up to your face.
You bit your lower lip.
“You.” You said softly.
And then Joel lowered his head and kissed the patch of arousal. And then he kissed it again and again, basically frenching your cunt through your underwear. You could feel the pressure of his tongue against your swollen clit, sliding, only by a small margin as restricted by your godforsaken panties, in between your folds—
“Say that again for me, honey? Didn’t quite hear you.”
“Fuck–” You gasped at the feeling. “You, Joel!”
“That’s what I thought.”
To your displeasure, Joel stopped whatever the fuck he was doing and his eyes found yours once more.
“Need me to eat your pussy now, sweetie?”
Yes, fucking please.
You might’ve said that out loud, judging from the pleased chuckle Joel let out.
Before you knew it, Joel slid your panties off your legs (pocketing them secretly—only to wash them on your behalf, of course, nothing dirty at all on his part) and then consequently salivated at the sight of your bare cunt.
Fucking gorgeous.
“Oh, honey.” Joel sighed, barely hiding his eagerness.
“It hurts…!” You breathed, your eyes flickering down to your pulsating core; dripping wet and throbbing in anticipation of him.
“Aw, it hurts, does it? I’ll kiss it better, hm? Is that what my pretty girl wants?” Joel cooed in a falsely-sweet tone.
He then held you still by the firm grip on your waist and leaned down right in front of your slick seam.
Joel tutted as he took in your desperate scent.
“So wet for me.” He mumbled, more to himself than you.
Without warning, much less another word, Joel dipped his head down to plant a kiss directly on your swollen clit, lapping at the swelling bud.
You gasped and a hand flung down to grasp his salt-and-pepper curls.
Joel smiled against your cunt and moved further down, his tongue lazily sliding through your folds and flicking inside your velvety walls.
In response, your grip on his hair tightened and you whispered something close to his name. Or God’s. Or anyone’s, really, you were teetering on the edge of unconsciousness from the sheer intensity of the situation, you could’ve been reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, for all you knew.
“Mmm... fuck, you taste good, baby.” He mumbled against your heat.
Suddenly, Joel pulled away with a wet ‘pop’ and his eyes met yours. Upon seeing your lust-blown face, he smiled through his scruff—a slight shine evident around his mouth from your slick.
“Good?” Joel mused, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your hips.
You nodded deliriously and pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt—why the fuck was he still fully dressed—to taste yourself on him.
His lips moved hungrily against yours as he licked into your mouth. You were so consumed in the kiss, you barely noticed the sound of his belt unbuckling or his zipper sliding down.
It wasn’t until you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your seam that you noticed you were, very possibly, actually going to fuck your dad’s best friend.
Or rather, he’d fuck you. As long as you were fucked, you were fucking happy.
Your eyes flickered down to his length.
“Shit.” You gasped.
You always knew Joel to be a big guy; from his broad shoulders to his massive hands—no doubt incredibly useful in his line of work as a contractor. But seeing his fucking cock? You were still somehow surprised.
“Joel, I…” You blinked. “You’re so…”
Big. He was so big.
“Oh, c’mon baby, I know you can take it,” Joel said against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll go slow at first. That sound good?”
You nodded.
In hindsight, he should’ve worked you with his fingers first. That would’ve been the first thing he’d done after tasting your delicious fucking pussy, but he got lost in how good you felt against his mouth, he was too excited to feel how you’d stretch around him.
“That’s my good girl.” Joel hummed, satisfied. “I’ve got condoms upstairs, if–”
“I have an IUD.”
The four little magic words which really meant, please Joel, fuck me raw.
Being ever the gentleman, Joel planned on doing exactly that.
“Then eyes down, sweetheart. Want you to watch how I fuck you.”
Obediently, your eyes dragged down to the sinful sight of Joel taking his cock and slapping it a few times on your pussy, before just barely sliding inside. His weeping tip easily disappeared inside you, along with an inch or two, aided by the arousal coating your entrance.
He wasn’t even halfway in, but the thickness of his cock was unlike any other you’ve felt before. And, possibly, too much for you to take.
“Too big.” You whined.
Above you, a wicked smile grew on Joel’s face.
“Too big? D’you just say it’s too big? Well, tough luck, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t stoppin’.”
Joel continued to push forward, thrusting shallowly in, retreating, and then feeding you a little more of his length at a relaxed pace.
“My good girl can take it, can’t she?” He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. He mumbled indifferently in between tasting your sweet skin, “after all, you were the one begging me so sweetly to fuck you a little while ago. Would be a damn shame if you couldn’t follow through with your own request…”
“I can.” You affirmed, squeezing your eyes shut from the overbearing sensation of being filled by him.
“Attagirl.”
And then, to test your claim, Joel finally buried himself all the way to the hilt, his balls slapping obscenely against your ass from the movement.
“Daddy–!” You gasped, your nails digging into his back.
Joel’s lip quirked upward in a small, amused smile.
“‘Daddy’, huh? Should’ve figured.” He tutted, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You want daddy to stop?”
“N-No!”
“Then take it—” Joel thrust into you, his tip deliciously kissing your cervix. “—like a good girl.”
And then he began a steady pace. Not too slow, but fuck, did he hit deep.
You could’ve sworn you were seeing little cartoon stars dancing around your vision from the plane of pleasure you found yourself on; otherwise known as being dicked down by Joel Miller, apparently.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” Joel winced, his hips stuttering.
He really should’ve stretched you out with his fingers first, but there was no way in fucking hell he was going to pull out now. Not with how perfectly your cunt was wrapping and crying around him.
In fact, you felt so good, Joel was starting to feel a familiar sensation in his lower stomach that alerted him of how close he was to prematurely spilling inside you. Turns out, his unintentional celibacy (circa the fucking creation of MySpace) had a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked.
“Yeah? Do I feel good, daddy?”
Fuck.
Joel’s dick twitched.
If this really was going to happen ‘just once’, Joel was damned set on, firstly, fucking your brains out without coming early, and secondly, making you reach your end before he reached his. Ladies and gentlemen, chivalry was alive and well in the twenty-first century.
Thinking intently about the starting lineup for the Cowboys game that Sunday, Joel began to pick up the pace, reaching places you’ve never been aware of until that precise moment.
Mesmerised by both the slight outline of his dick in your stomach and the sheer sensation of his heavy length, you took it upon yourself to encourage a quicker speed and moved your hips in time with him.
“Mmm,” Joel inhaled sharply, locking eyes with you. “Look at you, prettly little slut. Tryna fuck me back too, huh?”
Your walls clenched around him at his words. Mean as they were, his tone was still as sweet as honey.
“‘S okay. You take what you need, babygirl.” Joel dipped his head down to suck at your pulse point as he continued sawing into your drooling cunt.
“Need more. Please.” You all but whimpered.
“My baby needs more, hm?” Joel muttered against your neck, nipping at a freshly-made hickey. You yelped in response, but Joel only grinned as he muttered to himself, “she’ll get more. Filthy fucking whore.”
And then Joel sped up his thrusts, going in and out, in and out, at a brutal pace. Salacious, wet sounds filled his living room every time he shoved his fat cock inside you. That, combined with the unabashed moans spilling from your mouth, made the whole affair seem borderline pornographic.
Not that Joel was complaining, because you sounded pretty as a peach.
“Joel!”
“Fuck, that’s it, Joel!”
“Oh, Joel, you’re fucking me so well!”
Your moans came in tandem with every stab of his cock, blabbering desperate words of praise as your walls fluttered around him.
Joel sucked in a breath.
“Yeah, that’s it, baby, scream for me. Let the neighbours hear who’s fucking you so well, hm?” Joel lazily kissed your jaw. “You close, pretty girl?”
Unable to sound anything other than nonsensical syllables or his name or ‘daddy’ upon nearing your climax, you simply shook your head in an eager nod.
So Joel kept on mentally listing the fifty states to keep from joining you, and maintained his rapid pace.
“Go on, sweet girl, come on my cock. Let go, honey, I’ll catch you. ‘M right here.” Joel murmured sweetly, caressing your flushed cheeks. A total juxtaposition to the ruthless pace his hips were setting.
In and out. In and out.
In. And. Out.
And then his hand trailed down your bare stomach, lightly spidering over the faint outline of his dick jutting in and out of you, and settling on your very sensitive swollen bundle of nerves. His hand then began generously swiping at your clit as whispered sweet words of praise into your ear.
You clutched his bicep with an iron grip as you felt your high approach.
“Joel, I’m…!”
“Yeah, come on daddy’s cock. You’re so close, baby, just let go.”
And so you did. With a scream that reached God in the high heavens above, your walls clenched around him and you were nearly knocked out from the overbearing sensation of your intense orgasm.
Joel fucked you through it, unrelenting in his devoted momentum, his tip finding your cervix with every other thrust. And he continued fucking you through it, even after the last waves of your high, letting out low groans of pleasure.
When he saw your eyes refocusing, he slowed down for a moment, as reciting the ABC’s backwards was hardly working to calm his hard length.
“Don’t stop…” You mumbled, a bit sadly.
“Baby, I got no plans of stopping anytime soon, don’t you worry.”
And to prove his point, Joel kissed your right ankle and hitched your other leg over his shoulder, practically splitting you in half as he reached deeper inside you.
If he was gonna come, so were you. If the last thing he’d get to do on this godforsaken planet was send the pretty girl bent in half underneath him into two soul-shattering orgasms, he’d die a satisfied man.
Did he also want to show off and possibly ruin you for all men? Maybe.
Fuck, yes, he did.
He wanted you to be fucking addicted to the way his cock stretched your velvety walls, because he sure as hell was.
Screw the ‘just this once’ bullshit. He was gonna fuck you every damn night from now on, if you’d let him.
“Feels so good, Joel…” You whined pathetically.
Joel hummed in a self-satisfied sort of way and began pushing up your shirt to reveal your bouncing tits and leaned down to take a pebbled nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking at the nub, and nipping at the surrounding sensitive skin.
“Oh!” You gasped, jerking your head back.
Joel took it as a sign to continue, showing the exact same attention to your other nipple and maintaining his deep and rapid thrusts, causing the springs of the couch to whine in protest with every jut of his hips.
You let out a strangled moan.
“Joel—! Joel, it’s so…!” You panted, tears collecting in your eyes from the overstimulation.
“Shh, it’s okay. Almost there. Almost there, baby.” Joel tutted, gently swiping away your tears with his thumb as he continued to fuck you like he was an interior designer from the way he strived to rearrange your guts. “You gonna be good and come around daddy’s cock a second time?”
Your walls tightened in response and you let out a breathy whimper.
“Good girl.” He smashed his mouth against yours and swallowed your moans, his lips moving in time with his hips. “Where do you want me to…?” He mumbled against your lips, his breath mingling with your own.
“Inside.”
“Fuck, babygirl, you sure?”
“Miller, I said, inside.” You made a point to fuck yourself onto him with deep movements of your hips, displaying your intent.
“Yes ma’am.” Joel smirked, absolutely fucking pussydrunk.
With that, Joel caught your lips in another searingly intense kiss, licking into your mouth as his thrusts continued to ram into your cervix while you held onto the couch for dear life.
And if that wasn’t enough sweet torture to your poor body, Joel moved one hand above you, gently laced his fingers with yours, and brought it back down to lay flat against your clit.
“Play with that pretty pussy, baby.” He whispered against your skin, his hand moving yours encouragingly. “Need you to give me another.”
With a shaky nod, you acquiesced, toying with your clit like you had a million nights before.
Except this time, instead of imagining it, you really had Joel fucking Miller in between your legs, sawing into your cunt like he wanted to break it.
“That’s my good girl,” Joel’s mouth twitched into a slightly proud smile against your skin.
It took Joel half a dozen more stabs into your slick mound before his hips began to stutter.
And then it took three more before he buried himself completely inside, and, with a gasp of your name accompanied by an appropriate expletive, painted your walls with hot ropes of his come.
“Fuck, daddy!” You moaned, your back arching off the sofa.
At the same time, for the second time that night, no less, you felt yourself reach another mind-blowing orgasm, your walls greedily sucking him in further and shaking around his thick length.
He continued to fuck his come into you with a few more slow, but deliciously deep rolls of his hips, before he stilled inside you and fell on top of your heaving chest, letting your legs fall back onto the beaten old couch, too.
It took a few moments for both of you to steady your breaths.
“Was that … okay?” Joel breathed, staring at you with furrowed brows, and gently tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.
“I think I blacked out for a second there.” You smiled.
Joel laughed and kissed the corner of your mouth. Smug as ever, he muttered, “I take tips.”
“That’s funny, since I just took yours.”
You almost felt Joel roll his eyes.
Joel slowly sat up, gazing down upon the absolute fucking mess the two of you made; both your arousals leaking out of your mound and coating your thighs in a light sheen.
Tenderly, he began to pull out, wincing from both the feeling of leaving your warmth as well as the sight of your come and his collecting around his cock in a shiny ring.
“Sit tight, baby, I’ll get you something to clean you up.” Joel pressed a kiss to your collarbone, tucked himself haphazardly back in his jeans, and disappeared off into another room.
If he had stayed a second longer, you would’ve said something that testified to how hard he had fucked you, since you weren’t sure you could move anyway.
Joel returned a minute or two later with a damp towel and began to softly wipe away the remnants of your dalliance, delicately caressing your hip with his other hand.
“What a gentleman.” You purred, watching him with a stupid grin on your fucked-out face.
Joel threw the towel aside.
“You think so, sweetheart?” He hummed, leaning down to give you a quick, affectionate kiss.
“Never had this level of aftercare.” You admitted, laughing slightly.
Joel gently manoeuvered the two of you so you laid on your sides facing each other on his surprisingly roomy sofa.
“Still regret not goin’ with that Daniel boy?” He smirked, taking your chin in between his fingers and tilting your face toward his.
You swung your bare leg over his hip and pulled him closer. “Not at all.”
“‘S what I thought.” Joel hummed happily, bumping his nose against yours.
“And … y’know what I said about this being a one-time thing?”
No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.
Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.
This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Summary: you seek validation through online correspondence with incarcerated men, only for one to lock you down in turn.
Characters: convict/excon!Thor (silverfox)
As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.
Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.
I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖
The night is long and torturous. When sleep comes, it's accompanied by the same man that invaded your waking hours. Thor is like a shadow, following you from one plane to the next. You wake in a sweat, disoriented and dull.
What are you going to do? Even if he wasn't a dangerous felon, you're no match for him. He's like if someone made a bear human. Despite how nice he can be, you fear the flip side of the coin.
You force yourself to get up as Andy's voice echoes beneath the thunder of Thor's. Your mom would flip if she found out. And do nothing. It's your problem, you're grown, just don't bring that around your siblings. She's with Andy for a reason; several.
A day off would typically be an occasion for delight. Everything is off. Everything is tainted by the consequences of your stupid action.
The idea of eating makes you want to puke. Getting washed up is a task on its own. You read about Marie Antoinette in her cell and the looming threat of the guillotine. Is this how she felt?
Light blue jeans and a tiered lilac top. It would be cute in any other context.
You don't know when but you know he's coming. He promised. He made many promises and you never took those seriously. Now you know just how committed he is.
It's absurd. He has to see that right? You're too young. You're naive. He needs someone who can relate to him. Someone who isn't terrified.
The doorbell rings as you pace in circles. Shoot. Ugh. You see him on the little smart screen.
You freeze for a minute. Fight or flight has you stuck in the middle. You make yourself move. You have no fight but also nowhere to run.
You open the door and let out a gurgling noise. He's surprised you again. Not as frightfully as that first encounter, but still. Thor wears a tidy button up in a shade of pale blue and navy slacks. His hair is braided along the sides and drawn back into a low pony. He smells like fancy pine cologne. Your eyes go wide.
"My queen," he offers you a tiny gift bag, dwarfed by his large hands.
"Um, hi," you take it by the ribbon handles with a trouble furrow in your brows.
"While you always look stunning, might I ask you to change into something more...than casual?" He smiles sheepishly. "I have many surprises and I would have you in style."
"Oh, uh, yeah, I just... threw this on," you look down.
"It is no trouble. I only thought you would want to match your gift," he gestures to the gift bag.
"Ermmmmm," you drag out the fizzy murmur.
You reach into the bag and take out the ivory box. Your stomach storms furiously. You pull open the lid on the hinges to reveal a ruby necklace. The heart-shaped stone is trimmed in diamonds. You blink and babble.
"It's so... pretty, but I can't--"
"My queen, please, it would be a great honour to have you wear it," he insists. "Might I?"
He opens his large palm. You stare at the deep lines and gulp. You carefully pull the necklace free and hand it over.
You turn and he steps closer to drape it around your neck. It rests along your clavicle as he clasps it. You're no great judge but you think it's real. Did he steal it?
"Thank, er... I'll go find something to go with it," you draw away as he tickles your neck.
"As ever, I shall patiently await my queen," he assures.
The bag crinkles as you face him again, "can I meet you at the truck? I don't want you standing out here that long."
"It is no trouble--"
"Please, I would feel bad," you plead.
He touches his chest, "aw, my queen, you do treat me well. Yes, I shall wait for you there."
You nod and watch him go before you retreat inside. You hurry to the guest room and shove away the bag. You sift through your bag. You didn't really bring anything fancy... Wait.
You trip out of the room and head down to the basement. Your mother holds onto everything. You clamour down to the basement and push through the hangers. It's not your fave and she chose it, but your semi-formal dress hangs amid the forgotten thread. You really don't think it goes with the necklace but it will have to do.
You change quickly and steel some of your mom's shoes and a thin white shawl. You probably don't look any more ready than you feel. As you come out, clutching your purse against your side, you catch your breath. You lock the door and brace yourself.
You come down the walk as Thor stands up straight from leaning on his truck and touches his hair to check that it's in place. Oh gosh, what've you done?
This man is delusional. Sure, you helped build that fantasy, but for him to take it this far? You feel sick.
"My queen," he opens the door.
You smile and let him help you into the truck. The dread settles with you in the seat. He shuts the door gently as you look down at your hands. You busy yourself by buckling the seat belt.
He gets in and you peer down the street with wide eyes. He reaches over to pet your knee, "that colour is wonderful on you. You always are perfect, darling." He leans over and kisses your cheek. He squeezes your knee with his large hand, fingers swirling on the bare skin. He growls. "How I dreamt of this. Of you. When I was locked up. But now I'm free, we are free, and together."
You put your hand on his and squeak, "Thor."
"I understand now. It is new to you. I wish you'd said. But now I can take it slow for you, my kitten."
He kisses your cheek again and rescinds his hand. He grips the wheels and you watch his knuckles pale. Your throat constricts as if his fingers are around your neck.
"Um..." you shrink into the seat, "where are we going?"
He chuckles, "it's a surprise."
You twitch. This is how those true crime shows start. Your lips tremble but you keep your smile in place. He pulls away from the curb.
"Okay, but er, you know, my stepdad is very... strict and I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on the house, so I can't stay out long," you explain as you mash your palms together.
"Your stepdad. Hm. Yes, he seems controlling."
"Well, you know, he's just... particular," you shrug.
"Mm, it makes sense," he nods.
"Makes sense?"
"Yes, why you thought to try to block me. To deny our love," he clucks. "You speak of this man as he is. A dictator. Well, I am your king, he will not keep me from my queen, so you needn't worry for him."
You don't argue. It's a better explanation than you had and if he knew the truth...
"I don't know the man and yet he makes my blood hot. I could throttle any who would stifle you, my queen," he snarls. "As I have sworn to myself to always keep you safe. And close."
You cringe. You remember his long rambling emails. You skimmed a lot of those flowery monologues. You assumed he read a lot of poetry in jail. What else did he have time for?
"Please, be calm, and yourself," he glances over at you. "No need to be scared, my queen. Not ever."
🩷
Your confusion mounts as you watch the grand house rise before you. The property is maintained; trimmed hedges, marble statues, a fountain, a drooping blossom tree akin to some whimsical fantasy movie.
It's unlike anywhere you've ever been. How would Thor know of this place? Are you trespassing?
You peek at him nervously as he pulls his bright red truck in behind the luxurious ivory and gold car. You search around for anyone to come calling intruder. Thor gets out as you're too reluctant to move further. He comes around and opens the door. As you step down, his hand around yours, his name booms in the air.
An older man with white hair marches over in a velvet jacket over a sleep shirt. He's eccentric with his long white hair and bird-headed can.
"Ah, the prodigal son returns," the man proclaims, "and he has brought... fresh meat?"
You squirm as you look between them.
"Father, she is not to be spoken of such," Thor warns.
His father? Your mouth falls open.
"Odin," the man offers his hand. "And you must be wildly out of your mind."
You open and close your lips. He laughs and you finally unclench your hand to shake his. He squeezes firmly and brings your hand up to kiss the back.
"So, has she read the court report yet? Is she aware?" Odin chirps.
"Father, I am reformed," Thor snatches your arm back. "You needn't mock me so. I've done my time. She knows this."
"Does she? She is rather young. How much can she know?"
Your brows rise up and down. You're speechless. This is both awkward and humiliating.
"Come then, your mother has been fussing over breakfast all morning. It is why I had to flee the house. You get your madness from her," Odin mutters as he turns.
He walks airily despite the cane, swinging it more than he uses it. Thor holds your hand as he pulls you along. Maybe your family isn't so weird.
Odin whistles as he swings the door open and enters. Thor squeezes and you fear he might dislocate something. You squirm and he lets up.
"Oh, the love of my life, where are you?" Odin calls out, his voice echoing along the high ceilings.
Your eyes rove around the extravagant decor. Refined but not stuffy. Elegant with subtlety. You could only aspire to be any of those things.
You can't help but wonder how he got locked up. By the looks of it, his family is wealthy. Better off than your own. Your mother is comfortably middle class but she's stingy as heck. Andy is worse.
"In here," a trill sounds through the large doorway with the curling detail over the archway.
Odin strides through and Thor drags you in to see the older man kissing a blond woman on the cheek as she juggles a covered tray. "Oh, you rogue."
He purrs and keeps his arm around her as she sets her armful down. Her eyes brighten as she looks in your direction and they flick between you and Thor.
"Oh, my son! You've brought her!" She claps her oven mitts together. "And she is absolutely stunning."
She sweeps out of her husband's embrace and around the large square island. She brings the warm mitts to your cheeks and presses a kiss to your forehead. She holds you at arms length and admires you.
"My, my, so lovely," she praises. "And you're with my son?"
Thor grumbles, "mother."
"Well..." she shrugs and pulls away, then wraps her son in a hug. He wraps his arms around her as she turns her ear to his chest. She giggles as her green eyes flash. "His heart is racing. He must be in love."
"Mother," he gently nudges her away. "You're embarrassing me."
"I embarrass myself," she turns to you again, "Frigga, darling, and you?"
You peek up at Thor before you give your name. She repeats it, rolling it over her tongue.
"Just as beautiful as the rest of you," she turns and taps away in her heels. You don't know how a woman her age has so much energy. "Oh, and have you heard from Loki, Odi?"
"You know his excuses. Work. A very busy man," the white-haired patriarch shakes his head.
"My brother," Thor explains in a whisper.
You nod. Does it make much of a difference?
"My son tells me you've been a wonderful support. Gods know he has always been such a handful," Frigga arranges a silver tea pot and porcelain saucers on a tray. "Even after they put him away, oh, it was awful. When I called, they told me he was not permitted to take his calls." She hums in disappointment and sends Thor a sharp look. His shoulders slump. "I didn't raise him like that. I want you to know, I've only ever taught him to respect women and I do hope he treats you as well as you treat him."
"Mother, you know I would never," Thor insists.
"Oh, and you promised you would not go to prison. Yes, I see how that panned out," she sniffs. "Ah, but let us not cling to mistakes. Let us move on." She smiles at you as she lifts the tray. "I know, dear, that you will fix him. From what I hear of you, it cannot be any other way."
Heat crawls up your neck. What has Thor told them? How can you live up to expectations when you don't even know what they are?
"Um, may I help with that?" You offer as you near her.
"Oh, but you are a guest," she chimes.
"Really, it's no problem. All this food smells delicious. It must be a lot of work," you insist. "It's the least I can do."
You take the handles of the tray as she relents. You hold your smile and turn. You don't let the facade fall until you're out of the room. She calls after you that the dining room is left not right. You correct your path and bit the inside of your lip.
You're really not that helpful but you'll take the excuse to get away. If even just a few minutes.
You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.
Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it
11k. Enjoy!
· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··
The house needed work. And probably a priest.
It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.
The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave.
The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.
The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.
But it was cheap. And it had potential.
And you?
You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe.
You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.
The problem was—so far, it had been mostly errors.
Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.
Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension.
And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.
Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.
You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea.
You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.
So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.
You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”
And that was when a shadow fell over you.
A heavy presence.
You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.
Joel Miller.
Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.
You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.
Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.
Watching you.
At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.
Joel Miller was looking. A lot.
From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.
He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.
A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.
And, honestly? It was kinda hot.
You love a pathetic man.
Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.
Joel had spent his entire life working.
Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.
He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?
The man was a relic.
Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.
No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.
He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.
Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.
That was life.
And then you moved in next door.
And Joel broke.
Because Jesus Christ.
You.
Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.
You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.
Something cruel.
With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.
Joel shouldn’t have been looking.
Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.
Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.
Made to be ruined.
It was sick.
And he didn’t care.
Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.
To get his mouth on you.
God, he was so hungry for it.
And the worst part?
He was pretty sure you knew.
It was pathetic.
And he fucking knew it.
But he couldn’t stop.
And right now, his gaze was locked on you.
Or, more accurately—your thighs.
You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.
His throat bobbed.
His fingers flexed.
Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.
“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.
You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.
You smirked.
“I got it,” you said simply.
Joel didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
“…No, you don’t.”
And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.
Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.
And just fucking fixing it.
Like it was nothing.
Like you weren’t even there.
· · ──𖥸
From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.
Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.
But he was always there.
At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.
Then, it escalated.
Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.
He was just there.
On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.
The excuses started getting thinner, too.
At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”
Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”
Then, no excuse at all.
Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.
Because that was his payment.
His reward.
Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.
He didn’t even need you to talk to him.
Didn’t need you to flirt.
Just existing was enough.
So he worked.
For free.
Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.
Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.
A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.
And now?
Now, he nearly was hard all the time.
No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.
Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.
And the worst part?
He was leaking.
Like a damn teenager.
Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.
And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—
“Thank you, Joel!”
Fuck.
That voice.
All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.
And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.
Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him
Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.
God, he was fucked.
So he mowed your lawn.
Fixed your AC unit.
Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.
And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?
He was finding things to do outside.
Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.
Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.
Anything. Anything.
Just to be there.
· · ──𖥸
Joel looked wrecked.
Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.
His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.
And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.
Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.
He was staring at your tits.
You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.
His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.
He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.
And you?
You smirked.
Because this wasn’t new.
Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.
And he thought he was hiding it.
He wasn’t.
You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.
You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.
Then, casually, you spoke.
“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”
Joel didn’t move at first.
Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.
Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.
“…Huh?”
His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.
You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.
“You like ’em?”
For a moment, Joel just sat there.
Silent.
Completely fucking still.
Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.
And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—
“…What’s there not to like?”
Oh?
That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.
But it did.
The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.
A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.
And Joel knew it.
Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.
And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—
“Hmmm.”
You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.
And then, soft and syrupy—
“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”
Joel didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
Just stared.
You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.
“…Bad?”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”
There was a beat of silence.
Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—
And yet.
When he spoke, it was wrecked.
“…Can I just—”
Joel swallowed hard.
His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.
“Can I just see you? Look at you?”
The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.
You smiled. Slow. Sweet.
Cruel.
"You wanna see me, Joel?"
His breath hitched.
His fingers twitched.
He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.
You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.
Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.
Joel’s pupils blew wide.
His lips parted.
His breath hitched.
And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.
The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.
You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—
“Like this?”
Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.
He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.
Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—
“…Please. Everything.”
So you did.
You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.
And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.
His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.
His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.
And fuck.
The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?
Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.
Because Jesus Christ.
Your tits?
They were perfect.
So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.
And your nipples—fuck.
They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.
They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.
Joel groaned.
A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.
And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—
“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”
You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.
“Yeah?”
Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.
“Yeah.”
His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.
His hips shifted.
And you noticed.
The way his jeans were tight.
The way a wet patch darkened the denim.
The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.
And then, voice breaking, groaning—
“Thank you, Sweetheart.”
Your breath caught.
Because that?
That sounded filthy.
Low, wrecked, grateful.
Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.
His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.
You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.
“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.
Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.
“Fuck yeah.”
He didn’t wait for permission.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t fucking think.
His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.
And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.
Rough.
Strong.
Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.
“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.
He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.
“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.
Joel felt that.
“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.
You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.
Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.
“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.
Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.
His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.
“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”
His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.
He grinned.
A dark, hungry thing.
And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—
“Bet they taste even better.”
“Can I-”
Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.
Joel went willingly.
Mouth first.
No hesitation. No second-guessing.
Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.
His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.
His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.
Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.
“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.
He was loud.
Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.
But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.
His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.
He couldn’t stop.
Didn’t even try.
His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate.
“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.
He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.
“Goddamn, baby—”
Then, harder.
His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.
You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.
He stared.
Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.
And then he dived right back in.
Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.
His hands never stopped.
He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.
“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.
“So fuckin’ sweet—”
He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.
His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.
Your breath hitched.
Your back arched.
Because he wasn’t just playing around.
This wasn’t just teasing.
This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.
No.
Joel was staying here.
Lingering.
Drowning in it.
Like he could suckle your tits for hours.
And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—
“Baby…”
You hummed, already smirking.
He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—
“Lemme see you.”
Your smirk widened.
“See what, Joel?”
He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—
“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”
Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.
Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”
His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.
“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”
You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.
Then, finally, you sighed.
“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”
Joel nearly fucking growled.
His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.
He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.
And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.
Not pulling it down.
Just flipping it up.
Joel wasn’t breathing.
At least, it felt that way.
He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.
And the worst part?
You knew exactly what you were doing to him.
The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.
And Joel—Joel was gone.
His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.
“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.
Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.
His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.
“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”
You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.
“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”
Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.
Poor old man.
He was completely fucking gone.
“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.
Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.
“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”
You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.
“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.
Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.
And then—
He leaned in.
Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.
And fuck.
He moaned.
You smirked. Moaned.
Because you knew.
Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.
And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.
You loved it.
“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.
Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.
Barely.
“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.
He groaned.
“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”
You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.
“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”
Joel didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think.
Didn’t breathe.
He just acted.
His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.
Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.
You gasped.
“Ohhh, fuck—”
Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.
His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.
“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.
You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.
“Joel—”
He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.
You gasped.
Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.
Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.
“Ohh, you like that, hm?”
He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.
Then—
His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.
A sharp, precise tug.
Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.
You fucking whimpered.
Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.
“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”
Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.
Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.
His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.
He groaned when they stuck.
When your slick clung to the fabric.
When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.
And then—
You were bare.
Wet.
Dripping.
All for him.
Joel sat back on his heels, staring.
His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.
Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—
“Oh, baby…” He groaned.
“I’m gonna ruin you.”
His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.
Because you were fucking perfect.
Your pussy was obscene.
Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch.
Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you.
The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.
And Joel?
Joel was losing his goddamn mind.
His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.
“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”
You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.
“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.
He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”
That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.
Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.
And then he snapped.
His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.
And then—
A long, wet, messy lick.
Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.
And Jesus fuck—he growled.
“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”
You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.
“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.
His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.
And he loved it.
You were soaked.
Dripping.
And Joel wanted it.
Wanted every drop.
His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.
And fuck—
His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.
His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.
And then—
A rough, growled, wrecked—
“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”
Joel was gone.
Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.
And fuck, maybe he was.
Because he was too good at it.
You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.
“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.
Joel growled.
He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.
And then—
Joel spat on it.
A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.
And then?
He rubbed his face into it.
Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead.
“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”
His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.
He spat on it again.
And smeared it in.
Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.
And fuck.
It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.
“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”
Joel knew.
Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.
So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.
And when you came—
Oh, fuck, when you came.
Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.
And Joel?
Joel groaned.
Like he felt it.
Like your orgasm belonged to him.
Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.
And he didn’t stop.
Didn’t fucking stop.
Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.
And you—
You were shaking.
Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.
“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”
And Joel?
He didn’t hear you.
Didn’t process it.
Because he was lost.
Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.
His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.
So you tried again.
“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”
And he still didn’t listen.
Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.
So you had to rip his face away.
Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—
His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.
He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.
And then—
A low, desperate, ruined—
“Baby, please.”
Like he needed it.
Like he needed to go back.
Like he wasn’t done yet.
The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.
You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”
Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.
“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.
You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”
Joel’s head spun.
His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.
Because you couldn’t possibly mean—
“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”
Joel went completely fucking still.
A full-body freeze.
Because, holy shit.
He hadn’t even considered it.
He hadn’t dared to.
Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.
Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.
But now?
Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.
It hit him.
Like a fucking freight train.
He was gonna fuck you.
Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.
“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”
You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”
Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.
“Yeah.”
His voice was rough, wrecked.
“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”
And, fuck, he was gonna.
Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.
Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—
You hadn’t expected this.
Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.
Because, fuck me.
Joel Miller was fucking big.
The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.
God.
Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.
And Joel?
He was just watching.
Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.
Not that it was working.
Because he was dripping.
Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.
His cock was—fuck.
Thick. So fucking thick.
Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.
A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.
And his balls.
Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.
And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.
Because fuck.
Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.
He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.
He couldn’t stop leaking.
Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.
His body was betraying him.
Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?
Now he was about to lose it over just this.
Just you, looking up at him like that.
Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.
Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.
Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.
And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
He smirked. Just a little.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”
You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”
Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”
Your lips curled.
“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”
Joel growled.
A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.
You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.
He was panting.
You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.
“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”
Fuck.
You whimpered.
And Joel—he fucking felt it.
Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.
Felt the way your body was begging for it.
“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.
He smirked.
“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”
You whined.
Louder this time.
And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”
Then—
Joel pressed forward.
Slow.
Heavy.
Thick.
The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.
“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”
You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.
And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.
Joel was shaking.
Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.
He was too old for this shit.
Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.
But Jesus Christ—
You were so small.
So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.
But you would.
You had to.
Joel wasn’t stopping.
“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”
You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.
“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”
You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.
And fuck, that just about broke him.
His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—
But fuck, it felt so good.
“Joel—”
He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.
“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.
You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.
“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”
Joel growled.
Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—
He thrust forward.
Burying himself to the fucking hilt.
You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.
Joel snapped.
The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.
“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.
“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”
You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.
Joel didn’t wait for an answer.
Didn’t need one.
Because he knew.
Knew you felt it.
Knew you loved it.
“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”
You moaned.
Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.
“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”
You whimpered.
Because it didn’t.
Didn’t want him to go.
Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.
And Joel knew it.
Could feel it.
Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.
And fuck—
That did something to him.
Something dark.
Something needy.
Something possessive.
His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.
“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.
“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”
You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.
“Yes—”
And that was all he needed.
All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.
Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.
A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.
Thrusting.
Fucking you.
“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.
Joel fucking grinned.
“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”
You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.
And Joel? He ate it up.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”
You whimpered.
And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.
Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.
Not with this.
Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.
His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—
“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”
His voice broke.
He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—
And then—
You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—
“Cum for me, Joel.”
And that was it.
Joel snapped.
His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.
His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.
Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.
Not even close.
He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.
His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.
But then—
Another pulse.
Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.
Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.
“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”
Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,
“Still got more for you, baby.”
Fuck.
Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—
Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—
Another slow pulse inside you.
Another spurt.
Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.
Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.
You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.
Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.
“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”
His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.
You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.
Joel growled.
His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.
Now, he was gentle.
Now, he was melting against you.
His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.
You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.
So stuffed with him.
And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.
You smirked.
“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”
Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”
“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”
Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.
You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”
Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”
You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”
His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.
“Damn right, I did.”
You shivered.
His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.
“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”
Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”
His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.
When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.
“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.
You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.
Better than good.
A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”
Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.
He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.
Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”
Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”
You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”
Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.
You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.
Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.
Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—
“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”
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...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)
until i disappear @lovebugmushroom - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
