18+ 2001 (24)

[the-darklings]

—𝗖𝗢𝗔 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧;

summary: “Tell me a story with a happy ending.”

pairing: john wick x f!reader x santino d’antonio

progress: [20/25] - PART 21 IN PROGRESS | NEXT UPDATE: 

word count: 329k+ 

— 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 |

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[magpiepills]

Aquarius

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Javier Pena x new (f) secretary at the embassy

Word count: 1.3 k

Summary: Javi is an unrepentant whore and fucks the secretary on his lunch break.

Warnings: gosh. Sort of mean/careless Javi, he does not remember her name. PWP. Unprotected PIV, use Of sex toy, oral (f receiving) deep throating, panty hose, mentions of m receiving oral, mention of anal, big dick Javi, probably more, I can’t recall now. Third person pov, oc I guess but minimal physical description of female partner. She is wearing a skirt and panty hose, and is shorter than Javi. Use your imagination and make this you if you want. It’s totally you. Javi wouldn’t be able to resist you, you minx.

A word from the author: sorry, I was horny. I read a blind item that gave me thots and now here we are. He’s a whore, father.

Javi doesn’t know why the last secretary left. They went through a few a year. They were always young and pretty and he didn’t mind the fresh scenery while he did his paperwork in the office.

Who was this one? Emily? Heather? Allyson? He couldn’t remember. He knew she had a skirt on and he knew he owed her a pair of panty hose after he had ripped through the pair she had on. He was delighted to find she didn’t also wear panties. He wanted to devour her. He didn’t even buy her dinner or take her out properly. He walked her straight from her desk to his Jeep, then ushered her into his apartment.

He bent her over the kitchen counter so her feet barely touched the floor. Fucked her hard and fast with one hand on her hip and the other pulling her hair back so he can see her face and how wrecked she is by his cock. She didn’t even ask him to wear a condom and he didn’t offer. He pulled out slow then thrust in hard and deep, making her cry out. He tapped her cheek when she closed them. “Uh uh. Eyes on me, querida.” The pet name was the only tenderness he offered.

Javi’s cock was big. It was no secret. If you didn’t know from the office gossip whispered by every woman in the embassy that he had taken in the file room, his back seat, or in his apartment, you could see it well enough through the tight fabric of the pants he wore. He was long and thick, always on his left. He had a knack for knowing when anyone looked at it and he enjoyed how they blushed when he caught them, winking and giving them a salacious little grin.

He easily turned her over without pulling out. A fun little party trick that he liked hearing about second or third hand back in the office. Stripped of everything but the ruined panty hose, he pushed her knees up and cupped one bouncing tit in his hand while the other trailed down to rubbed expertly at her throbbing clit.

He knew if he could get the angle just right he make her squirt on the kitchen counter. He wondered if it would be her first time and if she would get shy about it.

He didn’t have time to make her soak his belly and counter, she came anyway, thrusting her hips right up into his own, taking him easily the way she was dripping slick, but gripping him tight in her little pussy. He watched intently at the way he entered her, stretching her little cunt. He loved ruining pretty little pussies. No matter how many dicks she took after this, she’d remember his best. The rhythmic spasm of her orgasm triggered his own. Javi gritted his teeth, pounding into her and unloading deep inside, a warm, abundant mess of cum to drip out of her the rest of the day.

She whimpered when he pulled out, followed by a trickle of milky white that slid down the letting her ass.

Normally Javi would give her a cigarette and take her back to work. He was on the clock and his lunch hour didn’t last forever,after all. The way she was so delirious, so cock drunk for him, though? He couldn’t resist.

He pulled a chair away from his kitchen table and made room for himself between her legs. Licking slow, deliberate stripes along her puffy lips, he used his thumb to push the leaking cum back into her. “Javi…” she breathed, and clenched at his shallow intrusion.

When he sucked her swollen clit into his mouth, she gasped, winding her hips up for more.

“What’s wrong? You didn’t get enough? Fucked out little pussy need more?” He teased in faux incredulity. Whining, she reached for his hair, trying in vain to pull him back to her aching clit. She knew better than to expect him to be ready to go again so soon. “Please, Javier. Make me come again.”

To hell with work. He kissed up over her mound, over the soft skin of her belly, and to the stiff point of each nipple, licking and sucking at each one before smacking her thigh. “Don’t move. I’m gonna call Steve, tell him we got stuck in traffic.” He went to his bedroom and quickly called his partner and told him not to look for him the rest of the day, that he was going to be inside the new secretary. He forgot to ask Steve her name. He hung up quickly and opened his nightstand to retrieve just what the little slut on his counter needed.

Back between her spread thighs, he smacks the thick dildo against her pussy, making her jolt. “Listen to how wet you are.” He positioned the fat head of the toy cock at her entrance and twisted it as he pressed, teasing her. He worked slowly, gently opening her once again, and admiring how it was covered in his cum each time he pulled it back out. He fucked her with the dildo, listening to the squelch of her pussy and her panting and moaning. He loved to pull it all the way out and circle her entrance with his thumb, delighted in the way her little hole clenched desperately around nothing. He licked her firmly from where she dripped up to her clit. The sounds she made grew louder and shriller, bound to draw the attention whis neighbors, but bringing the blood rushing back to his cock.

Fully hard and needing a warm wet hole to fuck, he pulled the dildo from her and brought it to her lips. “Clean it up for me. You’re so messy, querida.” He tsked. He held it while she licked the heady mix of their fluids, and began to stroke his cock while she sucked it. He pushed it deeper, curious to see how much cock she could swallow before she gagged. Her eyes water and she whined around the wet toy, but she took it deep. Javi considered pulling her down to her knees and feeding her his cock instead.

His cock throbbed and he lined himself back up, pushing in with less resistance this time, he set a vigorous pace, his eyes flitting from her flushed, mascara smeared face to her bouncing tits, to where he rammed into her. “Rub your clit. Make yourself come. Come on. Show me what you’re gonna do when you’re thinking about this cock later.” It was his turn to fall apart. “Fuck, Javi. Never going to stop thinking about your big cock. Gonna think about you every night. Gonna think about you fucking me at work. Feels so good, Javi. So fucking big.” Her last orgasm was every bit as intense as the others, crashing over her like a wave, with Javi not far behind, filling her once again with his spend.

As they caught their breath, she didn’t bother getting off the counter. Too boneless to stand yet, she sipped the glass of water he gave her. Javi sat back down in the chair he had pulled over and lit a cigarette. They passed it back and forth in silence, he wondered if she would last long at the embassy, how many more chances he might get to fuck her.

As he thought he mindlessly stroked her thigh, runninghis big, warm hand over the smooth Lycra of her ruined nylons. He liked the contrast of how the darker material looked and felt next to where it was ripped

Open and exposed the silky skin of her thighs. He let his hand roam down to her mound, stroking the soft curls there, then lower, ghosting over her slick and swollen folds, and dared to explore further, pressing the pad of his thumb against the taut ring of her cum-slick asshole. He wondered if she’d let him…

[littledes1re]

Little Fawn

Pairing: Old!joel miller x female!reader

Summary: In a camp where survival depends on silence and obedience, you hide in the supplies tent, trying to outrun the shadow of the man who once pulled you out of the woods and claimed you as his own. But when a cruel voice cuts too deep and old wounds split open, you retreat to the only place you can fall apart unseen—only to find Joel stepping into the dark after you, his presence a reminder of the bond you shouldn’t want, and the one you can’t seem to break.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, fauxcest, taboo dynamics, daddy kink, reader calls Joel dad, ddlg themes, age gap (20s and 60s), dom!daddy!joel, praise kink, pinv, nipple pinching/rubbing, clit rubbing, fingering, creampie, unprotected sex, squirting (once), finger sucking, pet names, joel calls reader bambi, little fawn and little one, kinda icky, insecure!reader, sub!reader, outbreak

A/N: Okey… if you don’t like things like this, I gently encourage you to just scroll or block me. This isn’t even the most taboo or ‘icky’ thing out there, but fandoms are really falling apart right now because of censorship and people’s inability to differentiate fiction from reality. So many writers are deactivating or taking their fics down, and it’s honestly really sad. If you enjoy this, the best way to support fic writers is by leaving a comment or a reblog—it helps to keep the fandom alive while everything feels like it’s crumbling. Anyways...I really hope yall enjoy this pookies!! <3

It was all a big, fucking mess.

Missing clothes darped haphazardly over boxes like ghosts of forgotten wardrobes—socks unpaired and with holes in them, jackets with messy hems spilling from open bags, and shirts crumpled into balls that might have once shielded someone from the biting chill.

You searched through the mess, fingers numb where the cold slipped through your thin gloves, trying to bring some order to it.

Across the tent, weapons laid scattered in a mockery of readiness—a rifle slumped against a stack of boxes, knives strewn like fallen leaves over the workbench, a pistol halfly buried under belts, its grip worn smooth from fear‑tightened hands. 

The supplies tent was a tangled symphony of neglect that you inherited by your own choice. 

You, were the one to volunteer for this job, the endless counting, packing, arranging and preparing that no one else dared to even touch. 

And all because it kept you hidden, buried in the grit and grime, far from the piercing gaze of the man who had become your unwilling anchor. 

Joel, the leader of this ragged group of survivors, was the one who had stumbled upon you in the frozen wasteland, your body curled in a fragile knot against the merciless cold, breath shallow as a whisper on the wind. He had pulled you from death's numb embrace, wrapped you in his coat that smelled of earth, and carried you back to this fragile resemblance of life. From that moment on, he treated you like the daughter fate had stolen from him, his rough hands gentle in their guidance, his voice a low rumble that insisted purpose where despair already has taken root. 

But purpose came laced with something deeper, rumours that twisted in your chest like vines overtaking a crumbling wall, and so you fled into the shadows of this tent, avoiding the warmth of his presence that both soothed and cared.

The canned goods were cluttered in the lower shelves, their labels peeling, revealing dents and bulges that spoke about expiration dates long past. You lifted one after another, the weight heavy in your palms, peering at the faded ink that marked them as relics of a world that no longer existed. 

A voice sliced through the quiet like a blade through fog then.

"This place is a disaster," he snarled, "No wonder we can't find anything. Look at this—half the ammo's scattered like fuckin' confetti, and these cans? Christ, they're older than the damn outbreak."

It belonged to Leon, one of the newer men of the group, his face weathered by the apocalypse but twisted now with frustration as he stormed into your space, boots kicking aside a stray boot in his haste. 

You opened your mouth, but only a stutter escaped—a soft, halting: "I-I'm... trying to—" before it died on your lips. 

Defense was a foreign language to you, vulnerability had been your shield and your curse, for a long, long time.  

You shrank back, eyes dropping to the floor as if dirt could swallow you whole.

And he didn't stop, his anger swelling on. "Only reason you're still here is 'cause Joel dragged you in like some stray," he growled, the words dripping with disdain, painting you as a burden. "Half frozen mutt he pitied. Without him, you'd be buzzard food by now. So maybe stop fuckin' up and earn your keep." 

The insult hit you deep, twisting the knife of your insecurities, and you just stood there, silent and small, your throat tight with the unshed tears and the weight of his judgment. 

But Leon didn't notice the shift in the air, the subtle thickening as a presence entered the room. He didn't see Joel standing by the tent flap, entered silently, drawn by some instinct that always seemed to pull him towards you, his girl. 

He watched, his jaw set and tight, eyes narrowing as the man's tirade unfolded, each word fuelling the quiet storm brewing within him.

When Leon turned around, his confidence evaporated like mist under the sun. There was no mistaking the aura that radiated from Joel: stern, unyielding, a force that filled the tent like smoke from a fire. 

He was the leader, the authority etched into every survivor's bone in this group; the man whose word was law in this godforsaken lawless world.

Cross him, especially on his girl, and you were cast out into the wilds, where mercy was nonexistent.

 Joel's gaze pinned Leon in place, dark and unblinking, the lines of his face carved deeper by the weight of command and the raw possessiveness that surged for you.

"What the hell do'ya think you doin'?" Joels voice was low at first, that gradually became a loud roar. "You don't talk to her like that. Not ever. She's worth ten of you and if you forget that again, you're gone—out there with the infected and the dead."

The yell was possessive, a statement that echoed his claim on you, the daughter he had taken from ice and hopelessness, the one whose every stutter, every tremble, multiplied his protective fury. His chest heaved quickly, veins standing out on his neck, the air crackling with the intensity of a father defending his own—or something dangerously close to even more?

Joel turned to you then, his expression softening just for a tiny moment: "Go on to your tent, honey'," he said. 

You nodded quickly, legs unsteady as you gathered your coat, slipping past him with a brush of shoulders that sent a forbidden spark through you, his scent drifting into your awareness before you can stop it.

As you vanished, Joel came closer to Leon, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut deeper than any shout. "If you even dare to raise your voice against her again, it'll be the last damn time you ever speak."

He nodded jerkily, face pale as snow, and backed out of the tent without another word, the flap swinging shut behind him loudly.

Alone now, Joel exhaled a long, deep sigh, his shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his frame. He never wanted to raise his voice like that, ever. Not with you nearby, not when every yell took away this fragile peace he tried to build just for you, his girl, the new-found light he had pulled from the frozen dark. 

But that's who Joel was...for you, he would roar down the heavens if it kept the shadows at bay.

The rain already eased into a small drizzles as Joel stepped out of the supplies tent, his camp sprawled before him: a cluster of weathered tents, wet by the rain and surrounded by leafless trees. Smoke curled lazily from a central fire pit, where a few survivors stirred a pot of thin stew, their faces marked by the things they had endured. 

Joel's boots sank into the mud with each stride, the cold seeping through the leather, but he paid it no mind; the chill in his bones was nothing compared to the one gnawing at his heart.

"Tim!" he barked, his voice cutting through the murmur of the camp. "Patrol's leavin' in ten. You, Leon, and Livia—check the perimeter east of the ridge. Infected tracks reported last night; don't get sloppy." 

The younger scavenger poked his head out from behind a stack of firewood, his hair damp and clinging to his neck. 

Leon, still pale from the earlier confrontation, nodded mutely, avoiding Joel's gaze as he slunk towards the armory tent to gear up. Joel watched him go, a flicker of satisfaction run through him—no one touched his girl, not with words, not with anything else. 

Turning to the others, Joel continued his demands, calloused hands resting on his hips. 

"Billy, you reinforce the watchtower—those boards are rotted through. And Clint, you and the kid handle the traps; reset 'em along the water. We need fresh meat if this rain don't let up."

His hands moved with practiced efficiency—clapping a shoulder here, pointing emphatically there—his presence a stronghold against the spreading despair that threatened to swallow them all once. The group responded to him instinctively, their movements quickening under his check, the camp starting to awake again. 

Yet beneath it all, in the shadowed place of his mind, you lingered like a faint melody, pulling at him with an ache that no amount of barked commands could drown.

His girl. 

The thought of you wrapped around him, warm but tormenting, as he walked towards the map tent to plot the next supply raid. He had sent you to your tent like some kind of mutt, dismissed with a gruff exterior that masked the tenderness he yearned to unleash. 'Honey', he called you, the word slipping out like a confession, but you slipped away just as quickly, your eyes downcast, body tense with that avoidance that you wore like your armor. 

If you weren't dodging him at every turn, at every god damned path, he would have followed you right then—pushed aside the flap of your shelter, knelt besides you, and pulled you into his arms until the world's cruelties melted away. 

But you were a ghost to him now, haunting the edges of his vision, and the distance you enforced carved deeper than any infected could bite.

The memory tugged at him then, pulling him back through the veil of time to that frozen eve when he'd first claimed you from winters ruthless grips.  

It was a night etched in ice and desperation, the world blanketed in snow, muffling the distant howls of the infected nearby.

Joel had been scavenging alone, his back-pack light, but his rifle heavy across his back, when he spotted you—a huddled form against the base of a snow-laden cliff, your body curled into itself like a wild fawn seeking safety and shelter. 

Half-frozen to death; your lips blue tinted, breath a faint mist that barely stirred in the air, clothes ragged and already crusted with frost. You were a vision of fragility in this unforgiving realm, and in that moment something primal stirred in Joels chest—a fierce, paternal urge to shield what the apocalypse had nearly shattered.

He dropped to his knees besides you, gloved hands gentle as they brushed snow from your face, the touch coaxing a shiver from your chilled frame. 

"Hey, hey now," he murmured, his voice sweet and coaxing like honey laced with gravel. "Ain't leavin' you out here to freeze. C'mon, let's get you all warm."

With effortless strength, he scooped you up, arms strong, protected around you and carried you to a sheltered hollow where he quickly set up a small, but efficient camp—a trap strung between trees, a fire pit in the middle, and something soft to sleep on. 

The flames he coaxed to life danced shadows across your almost colourless skin as he stripped away your sodden layers with careful hands, wrapping you in his own coat, thick and smelling of pine smoke and his warmth. You trembled in his arms, teeth chattering and Joel drew you close, his body a furnace against yours, you cuddled into the curve of his chest until the shivers turned into quiet breaths. 

One hand stroked your hair in rhythmic passes, the other rubbed slow circles on your back.

"That's it," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear, calming as a lullaby in the storm. "I've got you. Just breathe, sweetheart. Where you come from? Lost out here all alone, hm?'"

Your voice was a fragile thread when it once came, stuttering and faint, spilling the fragments of a shattered past, settling the last pieces of hope you have on this gruff stranger.

You talked, and talked. A family torn by the outbreak, days of wandering through blizzards alone and at one point the days blurred in line between living and surrender. 

Joel listened without judgment, his nods steady, eyes full of empathy that held your gaze without flinching. And when hunger clawed at you, he didn't hand you the rations; instead, he broke off pieces of jerky with his fingers, feeding you gently from his hand, one by one, the salt melting on your lips. 

"Open up," he coaxed, his thumb brushing your chin, the intimacy of the act weaving an invisible bond. 

Then water followed from his old bottle, tilted carefully so you could sip without spilling, his free hand supporting your head, murmuring encouragements until color returned to your cheeks.

Winter days started to blur into an each one another of shared survival and comfort. The two of you holed up in that makeshift haven as snow piled high outside. Joel hunted in the mean time, strengthened the shelter around you, and tended to you with a devotion that surprised even him...a man only hollowed by loss, now filling the void with your quiet, genlte presence. 

He watched you closely, noting in his head the way overwhelm shadowed in your eyes when the wind howled too fiercely, how viulnerability clung to you. You were a delicate bloom in this hopeless wasteland, oh how easily you were  crushed by the weight of existence. It steered something deep in Joel, a need to be your shelter; your steady hand. 

One evening, as the sun set, you sat by the fire, knees drawn to your chest, and admitted something: "I can't do this by myself. Everything's just too big, too much. I need...I need someone to look after me." And "Like the cold out there, it grabbed me and wouldn't let go, and now even this warmth feels overwhelming, like I might melt away or something...I need...I need someone to look after me. Someone to tell me it's okay when my head spins and I can't breathe right. What if I freeze again? Or what if the noises outside get louder? I just...I don't know how to make it stop being so much."

The words hung between you that day, raw and revealing, and when you looked up at him, eyes wide with unspoken plea, you whispered, 'Dad.' The title landed like match on dry grass, but catching Joels attention more than ever. 

He couldn't resist; pulling you into his lap, he cradled you close, his chin resting on your head, promising silently to be that for you—the father fate had denied him once over, your guardian against the dark.

But the nights deepened the bond into something more tangled, more forbidden. 

One such evening, in the closeness of the small tent, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and the chill, you turned to him in the shared bedroll. 

Bodies pressed together for warmth, your form molding to his like clay on the potter's wheel, and in that quiet intimacy, you kissed him—a small brush of lips that slowly but surely  bloomed into hunger. 

"Daddy," you breathed against his mouth, the word a velvet plea, followed by 'Dad' laced with sweet longing. 

Joel's restraint fractured like thin ice; his hands roamed your curves with hunger, he hadn't felt for years—peeling away layers until skin met skin, his cock hardening against your thigh as desire overrode the lines of propriety.

He entered you slowly, inch by deliberate inch, his thick, girthy length stretching your warmth with a gentleness that calmed the storm within you. 

"Shh, baby girl," he cooed, voice husky and commanding, hips rocking in a measured rhythm that built slowly over time. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, moans spilling as he fucked you deep and thorough, each thrust an erasure of the shadows haunting your mind: the infected, the losses, the loneliness and the cold.

His pace quickened, possessive and unrelenting, pounding into your sticky pussy until your cries echoed his name in variations of devotion, cum flooding you in hot pulses as ecstasy shattered every bad thought. 

In that night, Joel learned your truths: you needed a steady hand to guide you, someone to call 'Dad' that anchored your soul, a cock to fuck you senseless until the world faded to irrelevance, leaving only the pulse of shared release. 

Days turned into a haze, tents pitched in hidden groves where he'd take you against cold walls, caring for you with meals fed from his fingers and nights blurred by sweat-slicked skin and cum filled cunt. 

And when you two finally returned into his small camp after endless miles of this intimate journey—your body marked by his touch, heart entwined with his—he envisioned a life where you did no labor, simply waited in his tent, legs spread in welcome, his to protect and possess. 

"Stay with me, darlin'," he murmured, tracing patterns on your thigh. "Let me handle it all."

But rumours started to spread like wildfire 

on dry bushes, untrue whispers that poisoned this fragile relationship that you have built. 

Someone overheard your breathy 'Dad' in a moment of overwhelm, twisting it into a scandal. 

Another caught the sounds of your shared tent, moans misconstrued as depravity. Whispers evolved: "She's got him wrapped around her finger, that stray he dragged in."

The words reached to you, burrowing like thorns, making you feel small, misunderstood—a weirdo in a world that already judged harshly. 

So...the ache in your heart swelled until it bursted: you ended it, pulling away with tear-streaked face, declaring it over to spare him the shame.

Joel was absolutely heartbroken, the pain in his chest an ache that echoed with your absence, but he didn't let you go. He checked on you regularly—slipping rations to your tent, watching you from afar as you navigated the camp, ensuring your safety with a stubbornness that bordered on obsession. 

Yet he couldn't bear it longer: your avoidance, the careful dance of distance, the sidelong glances from the group, their murmurs like knives, your belief that you are weird, tainted, when to him you were this salvation incarnate.

As his thoughts faded, Joel found himself adrift in the present, his orders trailing off as he stared at the map spread before him. The camp still buzzed around him, patrols forming, tasks underway, but his mind was a whirlwind of you—vulnerable, evasive, his girl who needed him more than she knew. 

He couldn't take the separation anymore; tonight, he'll connect the gap, pull you back into the fold where you belonged, forbidden pull be damned, rumors silenced by the strength of his claim.

-

As the sun dipped low beneath the horizon, painting the camp in bruised purples and fading golds, Joel felt the weight of the day slowly settle into his bones. 

He couldn't bear the silence any longer, the way you'd retreated into your shell after the supplies tent moment, your avoidance a blade twisting deeper and deeper with every passing hour. 

His feet carried him unerringly through the mud slicked paths, past the murmurs of the group settling in for the night, until he stood before your tent—larger than the cramped quarters of the men, a sanctuary he'd insisted on crafting for you, and only you, alone.

He poured his callused hands into making it a haven, didn't he? 

The frame reinforced with scavenged wood, the canvas walls doubled for insulation against the relentless chill. Inside, he built the bed himself—a sturdy frame of rough wood, topped with a mattress stuffed with whatever soft fibers he could forage, layered with blankets pilfered from forgotten homes. 

Cushions and pillows, sewn from scraps of fabric, scattered for your comfort. A small table he made from a fallen log, wobbly but earnest. Shelves cobbled together for your few treasure—an old book, a carved wooden fawn he shaped in quiet moments—all of it born from his desire to wrap you in coziness, to shield your fragile spirit from the world's jagged edges. 

Oh, how grateful you've been once, your eyes lighting with a warmth that melted the ice in his chest. 

Now, as evening deepened, Joel hesitated at the flap, his broad fist hovering, a rare feeling of fear coiling in his gut. 

What if you turned him away? 

What if the chasm you'd carved between you had grown too wide to bridge? 

He was Joel Miller, the unbreakable leader of this ragged band, yet here he was, scared like a little boy before confession. 

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he knocked three times on the wooden part, soft enough not to startle, firm enough to announce his presence.

"Darlin'?" he called out, voice threaded with caution. "It's me. Joel."

The flap parted after a long moment, and there you stood, framed in the warm lantern light that spilled from within, your brows furrowed in a frown that tugged at his heartstrings.

Your eyes—those sweet, doe eyes that had first drawn him in—were rimmed red, lashes clumped with the remains of tears. The sight hit him like a gut punch; rage surged hot and immediate, a visceral urge to hunt down Leon and drive his fist into that sneering face until the man tasted the blood of his own regret. 

How dare anyone reduce you to this—his girl, curled in on herself, wounded by words sharper than any blade in this merciless world?

"Can I come in?" Joel asked, his tone gentle, eyes searching yours with a plea he couldn't voice. 

You nodded, a small, reluctant dip of your chin, stepping aside to let him pass. 

The tent was a cocoon of warmth, cozy and sweet, mirroring the tender heart you hid away from everyone. The lantern light bathed the space in a golden haze, softening the edges of the handmade furniture, the pillows plump and inviting on the bed where you so often curled like a fawn seeking shelter. 

Joel knew your habits intimately—how you drew your knees to your chest, burrowing into the nest of blankets, your form small and vulnerable, evoking those pet names he'd whispered in quieter times: Little Fawn, Bambi, fragments that captured your innocence amid the brutality. 

"You didn't need to defend me there," you said. "I could've just done it myself."

Even as the words left your lips, you knew they were hollow; Leons yelling had left you stammering, small and exposed. 

He turned to you, his dark eyes steady, holding yours with an intensity that peeled away your defenses layer by layer.

"I know," he replied. "But ain't gonna leave you alone like that. Not ever." 

You scoffed, the whispers of the camp echoing in your mind again, their side glances branding you as the weird one, the stray with the leader wrapped around her finger. 

Crossing your arms, you sank onto the bed, curling your frame, knees tucked close, gaze fixated on a spot in the corner. Tears started to well anew, hot and insistent, blurring the edges of the room as vulnerability crashed over you like a relentless wave.

"Oh, little fawn..." Joel murmured, the petname that was meant to soothe the hurt he saw etched in every line of your body.

"Don't," you whispered, voice cracking, turning your face away as the first tears traced down your cheeks. "Don't call me that." 

The plea was raw, laced with the ache of the loss for the intimacy those words once evoked, now tainted by the misunderstanding, by the fear that you were too weird, too needy in a world that devoured the weak.

Undeterred, Joel lowered himself besides you on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, while his presence was a grounding force amid your unraveling. You curled up tighter, a defensive coil, but he didn't press...instead, he sat close enough that the heat of him radiated through the space between, a silent promise of shelter.

"You remember the first time you called me Dad?" he asked, his voice a gentle murmur. 

You flinched at the word, an involuntary shiver rippling through you, the title stirring a hollow ache in your chest—an echo of warmth now soured by shame.

"I didn't think much of it," Joel continued softly, his hand rising with slowness to stroke your hair, fingers threading through the strands. Each pass was measured, calming, tracing the curve of your scalp as if it was to unravel the knots of your turmoil. "But I knew that your little heart calmed down after you called me that. Like the world's weight lifted, just a tiny bit." 

His touch was poetry in motion, rough palms gentle by intent, evoking memories of winter nights when his care had been your lifeline.

You sniffled, the sound small, peeking at him through your wet eyelashes. His eyes held no judgment, only a deep, unwavering understanding—of how you needed to be taken care of, how the chaos overwhelmed you until you felt little, drifting into a headspace where distractions pulled you like a dream. 

He saw that now in your hazy gaze, the faraway drift, your mind retreating to that vulnerable place where the world's edges softened into safety.

"I didn't find it weird," he pressed on, voice dropping to a husky whisper. "God—that's the least forsaken thing in this damned world I would find weird. In a place where the dead's walk and trust is a luxury we can't afford anymore, y'callin' me Dad? That's just...you needin' what we all crave deep down. Someone that holsd the pieces together."

"Are you sure?" you whispered, the question fragile as breath itself, seeking absolution in his gaze, your tears slowing to a quiet trickle as his words pierced the fog of self doubt.

"Course, baby," Joel nodded, his affirmation steady. "Nothing weird about wanting to be taken care of. Hell, we've all got our fractures; yours just call for a steady hand, that's all."

He paused, his hand stilling in your hair, thumb brushing a stray tear from your cheek. 

"You think I wouldn't have cared for you if I didn't? I wouldn't have built this bed, poured sweat into these cushions and shelves, made you all these things, hm? Every nail, every stitch—it was for you, darlin'. To give you a corner of peace in this madness."

You shrugged, a small, uncertain lift of your shoulders, the gesture speaking volumes of the doubt that lingered and lingered, but Joel leaned in then, closing the distance with a tenderness. His lips pressed to your forehead, warm, a kiss like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, sealing his words with an unspoken promise.  

"My little fawn," he breathed against your skin, the endearment a balm, wrapping around your heart.

Something in you yielded at last, the walls crumbling under the weight of his care. You snuggled into him, your body unfolding from its curl to press against his chest, burying your head into the crook of his neck where the scent of him enveloped you like a homecoming. A soft sigh escaped you, tears soaking into his flannel as the tension disappeared, replaced by the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat.

"That's right," Joel cooed, his arms encircling you fully now, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles along your back. "Come to Dad. I've got you, little one. Always will." 

His voice was like a lullaby in the dark, where the world's cruelties faded to whispers, leaving only the profound poetry of two souls intertwining once more.

You nestled even deeper into him, the tears slowly drying, but a deeper ache stirred within, a  pull towards that hazy headspace that tugged you into the depths where only his touch could anchor you. 

With a soft, instinctive motion, you reached for one of his hands—those rough, capable hands of his that built your world—and guided it towards your lips, your mouth parting to draw his thumb inside, sucking gently at first, the salt of his skin a familiar comfort blooming on your tongue.

Joel's breath hitched at that, followed by a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he watched you, his dark eyes softening with a mix of adoration and understanding. 

Without hesitation, he shifted his hand, cupping your cheek with his palm, angling his thumb deeper into the wet warmth of your mouth so you could nurse on it more fully, the pad pressing against the soft roof as your lips sealed around it. He leaned down, his lips brushing the crown of your head in a feather-light kiss. 

"There you go, baby," he murmured, his southern drawl a soothing balm, thick and warm like honey drizzled over wounds. "Suck a little deeper if it feels right...yeah, just like that."

His words were a gentle coo, laced with that paternal sweetness that made your heart flutter and your core clench in equal measure, his free arm tightening around your waist to rock you slowly from side to side, a rhythmic sway that mimicked the lullabies of forgotten cradles.

You whimpered around his thumb, the sound muffled and needy, your tongue swirling lazily and lazily as the subspace slowly deepened, pulling you further into that floaty haze where thoughts dissolved like mist under sun. The rocking motion lulled you, his body a cozy cocoon of flannel and muscle, but the whimpers grew insistent, threading with a whine that Joel knew all too well: you were craving the grounding force only he could provide. 

His cock stirred in his jeans, thickening against your thigh, but he focused on you, sensing the urgency in your escalating sounds, the way your hips shifted restlessly. 

He knew this dance like the back of his hand; your subspace made you far gone, adrift in a sea of need, and only the deep, claiming thrust of his cock—followed by the shattering release of orgasms—could reel you back, tethering you to the present with waves of pleasure that washed away the darkness.

"Oh, sweet thing," Joel whispered, his voice a velvet rumble as his hand slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing the soft curve of your belly before finding the swell of your breasts. 

He cupped one gently, thumb and forefinger rolling over your nipple, teasing it to a stiff peak with slow, deliberate circles that sent sparks down your spine. The touch was feather light at first, then firmer, pinching just enough to draw a gasp from you, your mouth releasing his thumb with a wet pop, a glistening string of saliva connecting your lips to his skin like a fragile bridge of intimacy. 

"Shh, babygirl, Daddy's just gonna touch you here...nice and easy." He murmured at your whines. 

You whimpered louder at that, the sound raw and pleading, your hazy eyes locking onto his. 

"Take care of me, Daddy. Please," you breathed out, your voice small and fractured, laced with the desperate ache of your subspace.

Joel's heart swelled at the plea, his little fawn so needy, so beautifully lost in that vulnerable space he cherished and protected. 

He wouldn't dream of denying you—never. 

This was his purpose, to soothe and claim, to fill every hollow part of you with his devotion. 

"Oh, I know, honey," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple, his beard scraping softly against your skin as he eased you back onto the bed, the pillows cradling your head like a nest woven for you alone. 

The mattress dipped under your weight, the blankets rumpling invitingly as he positioned you, his body hovering protectively above you. 

With tender care, he tucked his finger back into your mouth—this time his index finger, sliding it past your lips so you could suckle greedily, your tongue laving the length as if it were sustenance for your soul. 

"There, suck on that for Dad, yea? Keeps you nice and calm while I take care of the rest."

His other hand trailed downwards, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants to find the slick heat of your cunt. You were already so soaked, your folds swollen and parting eagerly under his touch, the sticky evidence of your need coating his fingers as he traced your slit. 

"God, look at you, Bambi...all wet and achin' for me," he cooed, his voice dripping with praise. "This for daddy, huh, honey? Dripping, achy pussy."

He pressed two fingers inside you without warning, stuffing your pussy full in one smooth glide, the stretch burning sweetly as your walls clenched around the intrusion, spasming with desperate hunger. You whined against his finger in your mouth, the vibration humming through him, your hips bucking instinctively to take him deeper.

"Biiig stretch, baby, yea?" his tone coaxing and babying, like an old man spinning tales to his most cherished kin. 

"Big stretch..." you repeated messily around his finger. 

Satisfied with your answer, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot with expert precision, his thumb circling your clit in lazy loops that made your thighs tremble. 

The wet sounds of his movements filled the tent: slick, obscene squelches that mingled with your muffled whimpers whike the air started growing thick with the musky scent of your arousal, sticky and intimate. 

"Y'gonna rub your nipples for me? Pinch 'em, for Dad? Show me how good you can be while I finger this pretty little cunt, c'mon." His words were filthy yet laced with such profound sweetness.

Obediently, lost in the haze, you released his finger just enough to slide your hands under your shirt, fingers finding your nipples and pinching them hard, rolling the peaks between your thumbs and forefingers until they throbbed in time with the thrusts of his hand. 

The dual sensation overwhelmed you—mouth full, pussy stuffed, breasts aching under your own touch—your mind traveling further into that blissful subspace. 

Joel watched, absolutely mesmerised, his eyes full of love. 

"That's it, Bambi." He murmurs. "Pinch a little more if it helps, yeah? make 'em ache like your cunny does for me."

The pace build as your juices start to leak down his knuckles, coating his palm in your sticky essence. 

Overstimulated and lost in the velvet haze of your headspace, Joel's relentless fingers curled inside your gushing pussy one more time; stroking that swollen spot until pressure build like a storm in your core, your cries of "Dad, too much—m'gonna...oh..." fracturing into a needy sob as a sudden, tiny squirt escaped, warm fluid arcing in a delicate spray across his wrist and your quivering belly forming a filthy little puddle.

"Easy now, darlin', let it all out for Dad—juuuust like that, baby." he cooed.

Your mouth stilled around his finger, lips parting in a silent cry as your cunt pulsed wildly around his digits, gushing more slick that soaked the bed beneath you. Your hands fell from your nipples, trembling, as waves of ecstasy rippled through you, pulling a choked sob from your throat. 

Joel slowed his movements then, drawing out the aftershocks with gentle strokes, his gaze drinking in the sight of you splayed out before him—cheeks flushed, lips swollen and glistening, eyes glazed in that beautiful, vulnerable haze. 

Beautiful. Sweet. His little fawn, trembling and spent yet still yearning.

"Please," you whined, voice breathy and broken, rocking your hips against the hard bulge straining his jeans, the friction drawing a deep groan from his chest. "Your cock, Dad. Need it inside me." 

"S'alright, honey," Joel soothed, his voice a tender rumble as he withdrew his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop, then from your pussy, leaving you clenching around emptiness. 

He shifted, unbuckling his belt with practiced ease, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock— thick and veined, the head already beaded with pre-cum, curving upward in rigid need. 

"Daddy's gonna give you what you need. Spread those pretty legs for me, darlin'."

You complied, thighs parting wide, exposing your dripping cunt to the cool air, the sticky mess of your release gleaming in the lantern light. 

He knelt between them, gripping his shaft and nudging the blunt tip against your entrance, teasing with shallow dips—in just the head, then out, coating himself in your slick—each withdrawal pulling a breathless whine from you. 

"Dad... please," you begged, hips going up, chasing the fullness.

He played a moment longer, savoring your desperation, the way your pussy fluttered against him, before sinking in fully with one smooth thrust, burying himself to the hilt in your welcoming heat. You moaned loudly, the sound echoing unchecked through the tent flaps, uncaring of the camp beyond—let them hear; you were his, and this was your healing.

Joel groaned low, his forehead pressing to yours, breath sharp as he bottomed out, your walls stretching around his girth, the icky squelch of your combined wetness filling the space.

"Fuck, baby girl...so tight."

He built a comfortable rhythm just for you then—slow, deep rolls of his hips that ground against your clit with every thrust, designed to unravel your thoughts, to flood your mind with nothing but sensation.

"Thaaat's it, honey, feel me stretchin' this sweet pussy," he whispered praises against your ear, "Dad's got you, gonna fuck all those bad thoughts away."

You whined 'Dad' and 'Daddy' endlessly, lips swollen from biting them, eyes rolling back as the pleasure built, your pussy gushing around him in sticky waves, the lewd slap of skin on skin growing wetter, messier with every drive.

"Did you miss me? Hm, baby?" He asked, softly pinching your chin between his fingers. "You're my everything, you know that? Gonna coax another cum outta this pretty hole, make you forget every damn whisper out there."

He babied you through it all, one hand stroking your hair, the other pinning your hip gently, his thrusts never faltering—filthy in their depth, yet so profoundly sweet in intent.

"Daddy...Dad, it's too much." You bucked your hips against him.

"Shh, I know, I know. My sweet little girl." he pressed a gentle kiss on your temple, breathing in your scent.

The pressure coiled tight, and when you shattered again, your cunt clamping down in rhythmic pulses, milking him relentlessly, Joel followed with a guttural groan, burying deep as he came inside you, hot ropes of cum flooding your pussy in a creamy creampie that overflowed, leaking out around his base in thick, icky trails.

"Yea, there we fuckin' go," he panted, still rocking shallowly to prolong the bliss, his voice husky with satisfaction. "All the thoughts fucked away now, huh? Look at you."

You nodded weakly, mind blissfully blank, body limp in the afterglow.

Joel eased his cock out with care, watching as his cum leaked from your well fucked pussy, pearly white mixing with your slick in a messy puddle on the sheets.

The sight stirred him anew, and before you could protest the sensitivity, he plunged two fingers back inside, stirring the creaminess, drawing a sharp whine from your oversensitive walls.

"Shh, hey. Easy now, easy. Just one more, honey," he hushed softly, his tone pure indulgence as he brought the other cum smeared fingers to your mouth. "Suck on 'em for Daddy, c'mon—taste how good we are together, focus on dad."

You latched on in instinctively, tongue swirling around the salty sweet tang of his release mixed with yours, the act so intimately, so cozy in its rawness. His fingers in your pussy worked gently, curling to hit that spot again, thumb rubbing your clit building you towards one final peak until you came with a muffled cry, your body shuddering as fresh slick coated his hand.

Satisfied at that, Joel withdrew his fingers, trailing sweet kisses across your body—forehead, cheeks, the curve of your neck, down to your breasts where he lingered, suckling on your nipple briefly before murmuring against your skin. 

"You're my everything, darlin'. My whole world in this godforsaken place."

He then gathered you close, pulling the blankets over you both, his arms wrapping securely as he rocked you side to side once more, the motion lulling you into peace. 

"I'm gonna take care of you, no matter what they say out there." He whispered. "Sleep now, little fawn. Dad's right here."

And as your eyes drifted shut, the tent a cocoon of sticky warmth and whispered devotion, you slipped into slumber, anchored fully in his love again.

Finally. 

I don’t know if I like this or not… I tried a new writing style, making it a tad bit ‘poetic,’ but I think I failed at a few moments. A lot of paragraphs are translated from German because I didn’t know how else to write them, and I’m sorry if some of it feels a bit weird.

Anyways, I hope it met some expectations, and I’m really excited to see what y’all say. <3

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @susieqorion24 @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @pinkangelglitterdusttt @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @Madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut t @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[cozymochaa]

sabor a mi

᯽ summary: you and your ex husband are forced to see each other every week since you share custody of your daughter. arguments are the only thing left between the two of you, but is that enough to let him back in?

pairing: ex husband!Javier Peña x f!reader

᯽ contents/warnings: mature - former established relationship, Chucho appearance, shared custody, arguments, insecurities, angst, buried feelings, 'the one that got away', first and last love, strong language, they're doing their best, drinking, dreaming, open ended, no description of reader, no uses on y/n. Apologies if I missed anything.

wc: 4100+

᯽ a/n: got this idea when this gif set was posted (i have a problem) but idk what possessed me while writing this bc it was just supposed to be a word vomit, but here we are 😀

song: loml by taylor swift - "should've let it stay buried"

“Usa la espalda, hijo. (Use your back, son.)” Chucho’s voice ringed in Javier’s ears. The two men putting back up a fence that fell during a recent storm.

“Lo entendí, papá. (I got it, dad.)” Javier replies, making sure the wooden post is secure in the dirt.

“Thank you,” Chucho breathes out, placing his hands on his hips to admire their handiwork.

Just then, a familiar car pulls up, the gravel driveway crunching under the wheels before the car is parked. Javier lifts his head, taking off his yellow aviators to watch you get out of the car. You don’t look in his general direction, too focused on getting your daughter and her stuff out of the car.

He can hear you speaking cheerfully to her, both in Spanish and English. It reminds him of the good times the two of you had before the messy divorce. Neither of you necessarily did anything wrong, you just weren’t meant for each other in the end, and decided to go your separate ways.

For the sake of your daughter, you and Javier have shared custody over her. You get her one week and he gets her the next. The two of you have been doing fine with co-parenting. As well as two exes can be, that is.

A bead of sweat rolls down Javier’s temple, and he removes his gloves to wipe it.

“Intenta no enfurruñarte demasiado. (Try not to sulk too much.)” Chucho says, earning a huff from Javier before his daughter starts running up the driveway.

“Papá!” the girl yells, wrapping her chubby little arms around Javier’s leg.

Javier grunts as he bends over to pick her up, “Hola, dulce niña. (Hi, sweet girl.)”

She wraps her limbs around him as best as she can, giving him a big hug. “Me and mamá brought crafts!”

A grin spreads across Javier’s face, “Yeah?” he asks, watching her nod eagerly. “Why don’t you show your abuelo while I talk to your mom, okay?”

Reluctantly, she agrees, planting her feet on the ground before she’s running towards Chucho, giving him the same amount of love. Slowly, you walk up to Javier, your arms crossed over your chest, your daughter’s backpack hung over your shoulder.

“Llegas tarde de nuevo. (You’re late again.)” Javier states, narrowing his eyes just a fraction.

“Hello to you, too, Javier,” you spit out.

“I thought we agreed to have her with me by noon. It’s almost 2.”

“She wanted to go to the store to buy arts and crafts so she could have fun with her father. What the fuck was I supposed to do? Tell her no?”

Javier sighs deeply, placing his hands on his hips, “No.”

“Okay then. Don’t act like that with me.”

His lips press into a fine line before he hooks his aviators into his shirt. For a moment, your gaze drifts down to his chest—golden skin with sweat dripping down from his neck into the purple fabric stretched across his broad frame. 

Your mind flashes back to the passionate nights the two of you had before everything fell apart. The whispered promises, the nail marks you’d leave on his back, the hickies he’d leave on your inner thighs. Ultimately ending with the two of you wrapped up in each other like there was no escaping. An unfamiliar pang stabs at your heart, your thighs involuntarily pressing together before you look away from him.

“How’s she been?” Javier breaks the silence, his voice soft and quiet.

“How do you think she’s been? She misses her father.”

“And what about you, huh?” he suddenly asks, taking a step closer to you.

“What about me, Javier?” you don’t back down—you never did, which is why your arguments almost always escalated without fail.

“Do you miss me? Or you still hate me for all the shit that you caused?”

“Me?” you ask with raised eyebrows, pointing at yourself. “You are so goddamn full of yourself,” you scoff, turning around to walk back to your car.

The gravel crunches under Javier’s boots as he follows after you, suppressed anger starting to rise to the surface after so long. “You believed the bullshit that your friends told you, over me!”

“You didn’t give me much of a choice, Javier,” you turn around, his body nearly colliding into yours. “Where were you when I needed you?” you don’t wait for his answer, “Oh, that’s right, you were out getting drunk instead of coming home.”

“To avoid this,” he points between your two bodies, “It was always an argument with you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me a reason to argue with you.”

Briefly your gaze travels behind him to make sure your daughter and Chucho are inside before you take a step closer, crowding his space. His musky scent travels to your nostrils, the smell of wood, nicotine, whiskey, and sweat making your head a little fuzzy.

“You stopped coming home at night,” you pause, watching him avert your gaze, “And that was well before I even gave birth.”

It was easy for the two of you to fall back into this pattern again. It’s all you’ve known for the last six years now. Pain and suffering. Not knowing if he was dead in a ditch somewhere because he got too drunk and couldn’t drive himself home.

Javier was your first love. You’ll always love him, but you can’t go through that again. Having a child changed everything, and she’ll continue to be the only thing holding you and Javier together.

“We’ve gone through this plenty of times before, Jav,” you hand him your daughter’s backpack. “I’ll see you next week.”

He takes the bag, not meeting your eyes again before you get back into your car. You don’t see it, but his eyes don’t leave your car until you’re well down the road. Somehow his soul feeling like a piece of it was being taken away from him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he turns around to go inside the ranch, the door creaking from overuse. His daughter’s laughter echoes within the walls, filling him with a sense of warmth as he drops her bag on the couch.

She’s sitting at the dining table with Chucho, her art supplies scattered across the table as she colors on a piece of paper. 

“Look daddy!” she says once she spots him in the doorway, holding up her drawing.

Javier smiles softly, stepping into the room and dropping down on one knee to take the paper. As he studies it, he feels his throat tightening. It’s a drawing of all four of you standing in front of the ranch, little animals drawn in the background.

Her smile falters for a moment when she sees Javier’s teary eyes, a small frown forming on her face. “Did mama leave already?”

He looks over at her, placing the drawing on the table, and picking her up so he can sit in the chair with her in his lap. “Yeah, mi vida. But she’ll be back next week,” he pauses, pushing her unruly curls back, “She always comes back.”

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she murmurs, “She misses you.”

Javier’s breath stutters, his hand rubbing soothing circles on his daughter’s back. He looks over at his dad, who gives him a sad smile in return.

“I miss her, too,” Javier whispers after a moment.

Around 8PM, Javier takes his bundle of joy to his own house. After the divorce, you ended up moving out and getting your own apartment in town, leaving Javier alone in a big empty house. It would’ve been the house the both of you were going to build your family in, but now it’s just where Javier showers and sleeps.

His daughter is sleeping soundly against him, the day’s activities catching up to her finally. He unlocks the door, carefully holding his girl and her things as he walks through the threshold. Leaving the door open with his foot, he reaches to turn on a small lamp on the entryway table.

He’s left the house untouched since the split, the place still nicely decorated with your touch. The lamp fills the small space with warm light, Javier closing the door with a soft click and locking it. Carefully, he takes his daughter and everything upstairs to her bedroom. He’d worry about giving her a bath in the morning since she’s completely slumped against him right now.

Automatically, she curls up against her teddy bear when he tucks her in, the one that has both yours and his voice in it telling her how much you love her. A long while ago, Javier sprayed a bit of both his cologne and your perfume on it, so in a sense, the both of you were always with her. 

He turns on her skylight and white noise machine, and leaves the door open three inches before he heads back downstairs. His feet heavily carry him to the kitchen, his body itching for a glass of whiskey to wash away his sorrows. 

It’s not clear when exactly the shift in your relationship happened, but he knows that it went on for far too long before either of you built up the courage to ask for a divorce. It was better to hold onto it rather than face the world without you on his side. He feels like a teenager again, aimlessly wandering the world, and hoping that someone else picks up the pieces he’s left behind.

But dating has been the last thing on his mind. You’re the only person he’s ever given his heart and soul to, and he’s afraid of even thinking about giving it to someone else. Growing up, all he knew was his parents’ love for one another. They had their first everything with each other, and that’s what Javier had with you. He just didn’t know that it also included a first divorce.

Neither of you were perfect–he knew that–but you were perfect for him. If this was the only way to keep you in his life, then so be it. He’ll handle it as best as he can for the sake of your daughter. 

The brown liquor stings his throat as it goes down, him automatically pouring another two fingers of whiskey, and downing it in one go. Two glasses was his limit, so he placed the glass in the sink and put the bottle away before plopping onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

He allowed himself to close his eyes momentarily, and dream of how different life could’ve been if the two of you knew how to communicate properly.

“I’m home!” Javier calls out, tossing his keys into the ceramic bowl you demanded to have on the entryway table.

The smell of Fricase de Pollo filling his nostrils before he hears tiny little feet padding on the hardwood floor. “Daddy!” his daughter yells out, popping out from the living room archway.

“Hola, mi amor,” Javier beams, picking her up easily and blowing raspberries on her clothed stomach.

Her giggles fill the house as he walks deeper inside, finding you in the kitchen hovering over the stove. Soft Spanish music plays on the radio, filling him with a sense of contentment.

You glance over your shoulder at your two loves, a soft smile on your face while you take your attention off the food momentarily. “Hi,” you greet him softly, quietly.

He greets you just the same, leaning down to press his lips to yours for a long moment. Just kissing you spreads warmth throughout his body, his mind getting lost in the sensation of your body against his as he deepens the kiss.

“Yuck!”

Only when your daughter makes a comment do you both pull apart, laughing. “What do you mean ‘yuck’?” he feigns offense.

She giggles, wrapping her arms tighter around Javier’s neck. “Kissing is gross,” she scrunches up her face in the most adorable way, shaking her head.

Javier smirks faintly, “Is that what you think?”

Your daughter nods, standing on her opinion.

“Well then,” Javier starts, “I guess you don’t mind if I do this–”

He covers her face in kisses, her giggles growing more obnoxious by the second. 

Javier’s phone ringing jolts him out of his thoughts, exhaling slowly before he sits up. Without looking at his phone, he answers. “Hello?”

It’s quiet on the other side of the line for a long moment, and he almost debates hanging up.

“I don’t even know why I’m callin’ you,” you murmur, grabbing Javier’s attention.

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting up straighter. He can hear your tone of voice, it’s that quiet, distant tone you get when you’ve been thinking about something too hard. “You okay?”

He’s not sure if it’s still his place to check up on you, but the question comes out before he really thinks about it.

You huff softly, “Am I okay?” you pause, “I’ve never been okay, Javier.”

“Have you been drinking?” he asks quietly, biting the inside of his cheek.

Chuckling softly, you respond with your free hand up in mock surrender, “You caught me.”

Javier sighs deeply, “Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“No, I’m fine,” you claim, “You still keep that stupid skylight on for her. Y’know, she’ll never sleep in the dark if you keep doin’ that.”

He furrows his brows at that, his gaze lifting to the curtain covered windows. The small southern accent you suddenly have isn’t lost on him, but he’s more worried about where you are. Slowly, he walks over to the window, peeking out the curtain to find your car sitting idly by the curb.

“How long have you been sitting outside?” he asks as he’s actively making his way to the front door.

“Not that long,” you murmur, watching the front door open.

Just seeing his silhouette causes your heartbeat to pick up a bit, buried feelings starting to rise to the surface. Your emotions were always heightened when you were drunk, and there’s no exception tonight. You hang up the phone, rolling down the passenger's side window. 

Javier pockets his own phone, leaning into your car to speak to you. “Do you wanna come in?”

You shake your head slowly, a sluggish smile on your lips. “Just wanted to stop by ‘fore I went home.”

He frowns deeply, reaching in to unlock the doors. You watch, amused as he rounds your car and opens the driver’s side door. He pulls your car keys out of the ignition and unbuckles your seatbelt. “Out.”

“No–”

“Don’t make me drag you inside.”

You huff quietly, grumbling under your breath as you stumble out of the car. Before you walk up to the door, you watch him pocket your car keys. “Can I just–”

“No,” he cuts you off, crowding your space to urge you to move. “Go.”

Reluctantly, you walk towards the front door after staring him down. You guess you’re not as threatening or convincing when you’re drunk, because Javier walks right past you to go to the kitchen. You hear glasses clinking, water running, and then his boots on the hardwood floor as he walks back towards the living room.

“Drink,” he hands you the glass, eyeing you like a hawk.

“I don’t need the one word commands, Javier.” You take small sips of the water, letting the cool liquid put out the fire burning beneath your skin.

He huffs, shaking his head slowly before he turns around. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath, sitting down on the couch.

Silence washes over the two of you. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing and drinking your water, but Javier’s gaze is elsewhere. Like he can’t even stand the thought of looking at you right now.

You press your lips into a fine line before you down the rest of the glass. “Can I have my keys back?” you ask, holding out your hand.

Javier finally looks at you again, studying your mannerisms to see how drunk you still are. “Why should you get them back?”

“Javier,” you sigh, “you don’t want me here, and I don’t want to be here. So why don’t we just skip the theatrics so I can go home and get some sleep.”

“I can’t keep an eye on you if you go,” he states, earning an eye roll from you.

“Jesus–”

“You’re a mother. You have responsibilities–”

“I know that!” you exclaim, but he keeps going.

“and our daughter expects you to be there 100% of the time. Why the fuck would you go out and get drunk on a weekday?”

“No,” you point at him, “you don’t get to judge me. You coming home with the stench of alcohol on your clothes was constant–”

“Oh, here we go again–”

“No, you let me fucking finish. You had responsibilities when we were together. You disappeared on me the second you saw those two pink lines, and what did I do? I stayed and dealt with your fucking bullshit because you were the only thing that I knew.”

Javier stands, towering over you. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been. I know damn well that you wouldn’t have wanted to see me drunk out of my mind every night.”

“I have loved you since we were 16,” you shake your head slowly, “You don’t think I’ve seen every side of you?”

“I didn’t know what you wanted from me–”

“I wanted you to want me again!” You burst out, sniffling while trying to gain your bearings again, “That’s what I’ve always been trying to fucking tell you.”

“What?” Javier asks, bewildered.

“Do you know what it feels like to not be desired by your husband anymore? After carrying his baby for nine months, only to become a second thought afterwards.” You take a deep breath, barely able to hold the tears threatening to spill over.

“Is that what you think of me?” he asks, almost hesitantly.

“You don’t look at me the same anymore. You look at me like I’m some sort of monster for tearing our family apart—“ you choke back a sob, the tears you were trying so hard to fight finally spilling over.

You turn around, but Javier immediately pulls you back into his chest. The moment he does that, it’s nothing beautiful about your crying anymore. It’s all loud sobs, snot, and coughs as you soak the front of his shirt.

But Javier doesn’t complain. He just holds you protectively. One hand in your hair while the other one rubs soothing circles on your back. Your body shakes with the force of your sobs, your hands clutching desperately at the man you once tried so hard to push away. 

He presses his lips against the top of your head, breathing you in but also pressing you closer against his body. Trying to give you as much comfort as possible.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers against your hair, “I’m so fucking sorry, cariño.”

There it is. The name you’ve longed to hear since the divorce. Just hearing it makes you sob harder against him, your breathing getting a little difficult to maintain.

“Breathe, baby,” Javier murmurs, “I’m right here.”

Suddenly, you shove at him, nearly knocking the air from his lungs. “No!”

You weakly swing at him, letting out hushed curses while streams of tears still tumble down your face. “You were never there for me then!”

Javier stands still, letting you get everything out, letting you beat on his chest like a bongo until exhaustion takes over your body again, and you slump against him.

Wrecked sobs still escape you, along with a few hiccups every now and then. He keeps his hand in your hair, his lips pressed against the top of your head, your temple, your forehead–anywhere he can reach to soothe you.

Only when your grip on his shirt weakens does he exhale, feeling your arms wrap around his waist. He doesn’t even think to let you go, only holding you closer, pressing your ear right against his chest so his heartbeat can soothe you.

Immediately, you melt into him. Too casually. Too normal for this to be happening between two exes.

But it feels so right.

Neither of you pull away. Neither of you say anything. He just holds you, protectively – like his life depends on it.

One of you should back away eventually, but Javier can’t find the guts to when you hold him tighter, the exact same way you used to. He strokes your hair gently, murmuring against it, “I’m sorry, cariño. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there. I’m sorry that you think I don’t love you anymore.”

You finally pull back, wiping your face before you glare up at him. He can see the familiar fire beginning to burn behind your eyes again in real time.

“It’s a little too late for sorries now, isn’t it?”

Before Javier can even get another word in, another voice cuts in.

“Mama?”

Both of you look down at your daughter, neither of you even heard her come down the stairs, and she was clutching her teddy bear in her arms.

“Hey, mi amor,” you say gently, kneeling down to speak to her. “What are you still doing up?”

Her little hand comes up to wipe under your eye, “You were crying,” she murmurs.

You smile faintly, wrapping your hand around her wrist to press your lips against it. “I’m fine, honey. I need to speak to your daddy, though. So you need to go back to your room, okay?”

She frowns deeply, looking up at Javier. “Are you guys going to make up?”

Her innocent question nearly crushes your heart, but you somehow manage to keep it together for the time being. “We’re talking, yeah.”

“Abuelo Chucho says that the proper way to make up with our loved ones is to hug and kiss, papá. Did you and mama do that?”

You glance up at Javier, watching him bite the inside of his cheek.

“Did he now?” he quietly asks, earning a nod from your daughter.

“And he said that you and mama will always love each other no matter what.”

You hum in acknowledgement, smiling faintly while you brush her unruly curls back. “Guess I need to have a little chat with Chucho then, huh?”

She crosses her arms over her chest, holding her bear close to her heart. “No!” she suddenly bursts out, “Abuelo is right!”

Javier says her name once, warning her. “Is that any way to speak to your mother?”

She pouts, “I’m sorry. I just don’t like when you guys are fighting.”

And she didn’t even know half of it.

You slowly stand up, Javier watching you intentionally putting distance between the two of you. That alone feels like a stab to the heart. You’re standing so close, and yet, you feel so far away from him. He has to resist the urge to pull you right back into his chest again.

Your daughter looks up at you, anticipation filling her big brown eyes. It’s almost enough to make you give in to her pleading. 

“Mi amor,” you say quietly, gently, “your dad and I have a lot to work out–”

“Just one kiss, mama,” she cuts you off, pleading, “Please.”

You exhale slowly, your gaze drifting towards Javier. Just looking at him after everything that’s happened has your heart feeling heavy. Like it’s ready to escape from your chest just to avoid being broken again.

He doesn’t move. Not until he sees or hears you give your consent. When you nod slowly, the both of you close the space between you cautiously. Your daughter watches with bated breath as you and Javier press your lips against one another’s after so long.

It steals all the air from your lungs for a second, then it’s warm and familiar. It almost feels like home.

Javier’s hands come up to cup your face gently, breathing in deep because this might be the very last time the two of you ever do this. He wants to savour it. Keep it locked away in his memories like it’s something sacred.

And to him, it is something sacred.

You’re something sacred.

The love you feel for Javier rises to the surface quickly. Nearly suffocating your heart to the point where it hurts to beat. And yet, you don’t pull back from him.

When Javier’s lips leave yours, you nearly chase them, but he doesn’t go very far as he presses his forehead to yours. Your breathing is in sync. Both of you breathing heavily while the feelings settle–or try to, at least.

Even your daughter is eerily quiet. Maybe she’s smiling, you don’t know, but when Javier opens his mouth to speak, you almost smile.

“If you’ll have me,” he whispers, “I’ll do better, I promise. I miss you, cariño, and I want to fix things. I want to go back to the way that we were.”

Are his words enough for you to believe him?

᯽ tags: @missladym1981 , @kirsteng42 , @mcthsman , @the-sophverse , @rosharanfiction , @cuteanimalmama , @harriedandharassed , @madpanda75 , @shadowqueen2024 , @picketniffler , @kokoluwie , @reedispunk , @milla-frenchy , @missadangel , @gothcsz , @kaliisapunk28 , @sawymredfox , @baronessvonglitter , @hanahleah , @la-vie-est-une-fleur29

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[mcthsman]

*TRIM: a joel miller x reader story.

You've had all sorts of people come into your beauty parlor but Joel Miller, the old man that treats haircutting in the same wavelength as teeth pulling, just might be your favorite client.

click here for my main masterlist.

warnings: no outbreak/modern setting, hairdresser!reader, reader is afab, old man!joel, age gap (joel's early 60s, reader's age is not specified apart from being a lot younger), brief sarah cameo, little bit of erotic massages, requited unrequited love, smut, joel's got it bad, pet names galore, untimely erections, improper use of a backwash unit, oral (m receiving), dirty talk, unprotected piv, size kink, praise kink, joel miller's monster cock, fingering (f receiving), pussy/cock pronouns, cowgirl, creampie, fluff and smut, kind of sugar daddy vibes if you squint.

rating: 18+.

word count: 6.7k.

fox says: hi friends, thank you for reading! this is based off of this request by the incredible @time-for-my-weekly-spanking ! ive been a hairdresser for almost a decade now but i'm not north american and let me tell you... it was quite the challenge to translate the proper vocabulary into english, i've never noticed how much i could never do my own job in an english-speaking country because i have no idea what anything is called lmao but i had fun writing this and i hope you guys enjoy it as well!!

also available on archiveofourown.

You don't do walk-ins. Your clients know and understand this, most of them booking their appointments weeks in advance but, when Sarah first came into your salon while dragging her sixty year old father by the hand like a stubborn toddler, you couldn't find it in yourself to turn them away.

“He's been cutting his own hair for years.” She tells you as the both of you coax Joel to sit down in your chair, a scowl on his face, his entire back taut.

“And I do a damn fine job.” He grumbles, but Sarah just waves him off.

“His eyesight ain't what it used to be, I'm surprised he hasn't snipped his own ear off just yet.”

Joel gives her an affronted grunt that yanks a laugh out of you. His hair is styled back, as if he'd just pushed it away from his face with a little bit of styling mousse and the way it sticks out of the sides is clear that he does it to hide the choppy cut, the curls at the nape of his neck doing wonders to hide just how uneven it is. His broad back stiffens when you run your hands through his hair, the curls catching on your fingers; it's clear that he's uncomfortable, but you're not certain if it's just because he's in a beauty salon rather than a barber shop or something else entirely.

“I could just clean it up a little.” You say, your hands resting on his shoulders for a moment before you pull away. “We don't need to change the haircut, I can just make sure it's even, give you a fresh canvas for you to muck up at home when you decide to cut it yourself again.”

He doesn't laugh, not really, but his lips twitch under his mustache and his eyes seem lighter somehow, which you take as a good sign; Sarah isn't a helicopter daughter — and thank God for that —, choosing instead to sit in a corner with her nose buried in her phone while you work. Joel is tense at first, sitting straight as a rod in your chair and then barely lowering himself into the backwash unit, his head tilted halfway up in a position that you know water is going to pour down his back the second you turn the faucet on. So, you pull the trick that your old boss, a lady with bleached blond hair that was three stories high and a voice rougher than gravel, had taught you: The scalp massage.

It's not something you do often considering that the bent position you're in while shampooing a client's hair kills your back at the end of the day, but you take your time with Joel. You apply just a little bit of pressure with the pads of your fingers, mindful of your nails, running clock-wise circles from the top of his head to his temples, grinning to yourself at the way he stiffens even more before his entire body melts against the porcelain basin, the hands folded over his lap clutching his reading glasses tightly as you work him over, shampooing and moisturizing his hair, tugging and rubbing until he's all but asleep.

Joel Miller becomes a fixture at your beauty parlor after that. You don't have a lot of male clients, your entire salon mostly avoiding booking appointments for men after one too many creeps but Joel is the exception you can't stop yourself from making: He comes in every twenty days 'just for a trim', even if he wears his hair on the longer side and doesn't really need trimming that often. He also starts buying a stupid amount of haircare products once you mentioned you earn a small commission off of every sale, always leaving the salon with a new beard oil or hair moisturizer or curl defining cream that you know he'll never wear on his own. The girls you work with start teasing you about your not-so-secret admirer and, while you laugh and roll your eyes at them, your stomach still burns with something that is not embarrassment. Truth is, you find Joel to be quite dreamy.

The girls don't agree with you— Too old, too weathered, with a daughter whose age is closer to yours than yours is to his but they don't see him the way you do: The way his impossibly broad shoulders relax when he sees you, the shy smile he gives when you welcome him to your chair, the soft sigh he exhales the moment your fingers touch his scalp. Joel Miller is a man built on contradictions: His hair is soft when his frown is prickly, his body language skittish when his words are warm, his brutish hands gentle whenever he shakes yours in goodbye: You found the handshake odd at first, as if you were sealing a business deal rather than saying goodbye to the man whose hair you've just spent the last forty minutes intimately touching, but you've come to appreciate that small moment. The only time your touch is reciprocated, the couple of seconds where his large hand engulfs yours and his warmth involves you in a way that lingers far beyond the handshake.

Maybe you're the one that is the not-so-secret admirer, in the end. You look forward to his appointments, terribly saddened by the few occasions in which he had to cancel, and it has very little to do with the easy money you make off of him.

He's usually your last customer of the day, and you're pretty sure that it's because he likes it when it's just the two of you. Joel seems more comfortable like that, more prone to talking about himself when your ears are the only ones listening— You learn that he's the single father of two daughters, Sarah and Ellie, and that he tried to retire a couple of years ago but got so antsy he had to go back to work. He owns a contracting company with his brother and, with his old age, he's taken the admin duties while his brother and a couple of guys take on the manual labor. He enjoys cooking and woodcarving and he lives on the other side of town— Sarah's apartment is close to the salon, and while he makes it seem that he only comes in to get a haircut whenever he's visiting, you get the feeling that it's not exactly true. And while you share just as many details of your personal life with him, the relationship has always been strictly professional.

It all changes on a rainy January Tuesday.

Joel comes in as your last customer as usual, but this time he's about fifteen minutes late, which is unusual for the man that is always so punctual. He's more disheveled than you’ve ever seen him, his hair is in disarray, curls undone and sticking everywhere; he's in black sweatpants, a t-shirt and the jacket he doesn’t seem to ever take off, but the ensemble is still something you've never seen before: He's always in jeans and some sort of button down or flannel, his sleeves rolled up and his boots shiny, like he takes good care of it. It's always casual but calculated, like he actually put in some effort before leaving the house.

“I'm so sorry, sweetheart.” He says as a greeting, shoving an iced coffee towards you— The coffee is a newish and welcome addition, even if Joel grumbles about how caffeine so late in the day is bad for you, he always shows up with pink-tinted cheeks and the iced caramel latte he knows you enjoy. “Had to drive the kid to the airport and traffic was crazy, ended up not havin' time to go back home to get dressed. Am I too late?”

“No, you're fine.” You smile, taking a sip of your coffee as he shakes off the remains of the pouring rain from his coat before sitting in your chair. Your late policy means you shouldn't be taking in the appointment: The salon has a maximum of ten minutes of tardiness but even if you tell yourself that you're breaking policy simply because he's the last client you have today, it truly is because he is Joel, and you'd let him run you over with his car if he wanted to.

You go through the motions as you usually do: Placing the towel over his shoulders — the larger ones, always, because the regular size doesn't fit him properly —, and then the bright pink cape — which you always pick for him because you think it's funny of see a man that size wrapped in a bat-like pink cape — before clipping his sideburns and the nape of his neck; the scruff on his cheeks is on the longer side today, but you don't touch them. You like him with a beard, and you often pretend to forget about it unless he specifically asks for a trim of his facial hair too. By the time the two of you make it to the shampooing station, Joel's already halfway through his tale of Sarah's out-of-state girl's trip for a friend's birthday and how it's the first time she's taking a long trip without him. It's cute, the way he talks about her as if she's just a teenager even though you know she's a grown woman, the way he voices his worries to you and then finishes a sentence with ‘didn't say that to her, of course’, as if he's apologizing for his over-protectiveness to her through you.

Joel falls oddly silent after the first wash, his voice cutting itself halfway through a sentence as you rinse away the shampoo, his once closed eyes snapping open. He shifts a little, one of his hands flying downwards as you fill up your hand with shampoo again and your eyes drift to follow the movement, your stomach dropping in the split second in which you think he's touching himself. He's not, not really, his hand closed into a tight fist and carefully placed over his crotch in a poor attempt at concealing a very impressive hard-on that tents through the pink cape. His eyes flit to yours, the two of you making eye contact for just a second before your hand overflows with the mint-scented shampoo.

You work in silence, biting down on your bottom lip to hide the giddy smile that threatens to show.

Normally, if it were any other man on Earth, you would've been disgusted by it— Or annoyed, at the very least, but you're not. You take your time with the scalp massage, rubbing your fingers against him slower, more teasingly this time, doing your best to remain as professional as you can while having fun with it. Joel's entire face is bright red and his eyes are shut tight, but he doesn't seem as uncomfortable as he was before, his breath catching when your fingers dip close to his temple. You're not supposed to use your nails, you know it can be quite uncomfortable for some people but you can't help the way you allow yourself to scratch softly as his scalp, his mouth parting slightly at the sensation.

Joel doesn't look you in the eyes when you walk him back to the chair, which is not uncommon for him, but the air is electrified and you look away as he tries to readjust himself; the cape does nothing to hide his erection, though, and you know the imagine will be ingrained in your mind for a long time.

The two of you are silent throughout the entire haircut, with Joel shuffling in his chair every so often, clearly uncomfortable, and it makes your job at evening out the ends just a tad harder— You're not certain it's completely even by the time you're done, your hands shaky and your mind entirely distracted by him but the curls hide it well; if he never shows up again, you won't ever know if it's because of the uneven cut or because of the ten or so minutes he spent rock hard at your shampooing station. He seems a little more relaxed by the time you're removing the cape from his neck, his face still flushed red but at least his cock is down.

It's almost as if the Universe is conspiring against you, the rain pouring twice as hard by the time Joel finishes up his payment — with an extra 25% tip and a beard shampoo that you're certain he'll never use —, the two of you standing awkwardly by the door for a moment.

“Can I drive you home?” Joel asks all of a sudden, hands shoved inside the pockets of his carhartt jacket. “The rain ain't gon' let up soon.”

You open your mouth, ready to politely decline: Despite your crush, Joel is still someone you don't know that well and you're not certain you want him to know your address or to be inside his car for so long. But he blinks at you with his big brown eyes, shoulders drawn tight as if he's bracing himself for a rejection and suddenly you simply can't think of a single reason as to why you shouldn't take a chance. And, in the end, it was better than getting home late and sopping wet after taking the bus under a thunderstorm.

“Okay.” You nod, your smile broadening when he smiles back. “I would love that, actually.”

Joel's car is old, a large red pick up truck that he clearly uses for work, dirt on its tires and sides. He opens the door for you and helps you climb in, large hands respectfully wrapped around your waist when he hoists you up. You're a little shy when giving him your address, afraid he'll be annoyed by how far it is but Joel simply nods and turns on the radio, an old rock song coming through.

You sip your coffee, which is not as iced anymore by this point, sharing it with Joel every so often. He takes the cup between red lights, and you don't miss the way he twists and turns the cup to make sure his lips touch the exact spot where your lipstick has stained it— It makes desire simmer low but constant in your belly, his own lips staining with a soft shade of red.

By the time his truck pulls up into your driveway, the rain is somehow worse than it'd been before. The two of you sit in silence for a moment as you gather the courage to leave the warmth of the truck's cabin, and Joel hums to the song on the radio as if he didn't mind you stalling at all.

“Do you want to come inside?” You ask, and while the question might seem innocent enough, you can't get the outline of his hard cock from your mind. “I mean— It's just… It's dangerous for you to drive home in the dark while it's raining hard like that— I mean, uh, not hard, I—”

You burst into a fit of giggles, hating yourself from even bringing the word up. Joel closes his eyes, his face going pale before he blushes so hard his face is almost purple.

“I'm sorry for that. I…” He stops, visibly unsure of how to finish the sentence. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.” You say, softly, and Joel's eyes finally snap to yours as if he can't believe what you just said. “Just come inside, Joel.”

“Okay.” His voice is so low it's almost a whisper, gruff in a way that flies straight through your spine. “If you're sure.”

You don't dignify him with an answer, instead simply hopping out of the truck and rushing to your front door, hoping he'll follow.

Your house is small and in a somewhat sketchy neighborhood, a little messy and full of mismatched secondhand furniture and you're a little embarrassed as you shrug off your coat but Joel doesn't seem to mind, his intense gaze focused solely on you. You're suddenly acutely aware of how sweaty you are after a whole day of working on your feet.

“Make yourself at home.” You tell him, hopping around the room to collect the shoes that are scattered near your couch. “Do you mind if I take a quick shower?”

“Take your time.” Joel drops down on your couch, his hands rubbing his own knees. “How about I order us some food in the meantime? You must be hungry. Any allergies?”

“Sounds good.” You connect your phone to the bluetooth speaker on top of the coffee table, scrolling through your playlists as fast as you can to pick out anything that might be of his taste. “No allergies, no.”

Joel seems entirely at home in your cramped couch, his long legs stretched as he scrolls through the cellphone which he holds comically away from his face, too stubborn to put on the glasses you know he wears— You’ve seen them in his hands or hanging from the collar of his flannel but he never puts them on around you.

You try to be fast with your shower, but you still take the time to exfoliate and shave and moisturize every bit of your body. The clothing is a problem all on its own: You want to look pretty, but you're home after work and you can't simply show up to your living room super dressed up. All of your nice pajamas are a little too skimpy and, since you already invited him in, you don't want to walk out half-naked either— Sure, you are throwing yourself at him, but you still would like to pretend that you are not. In the end, you decide on putting on your prettiest lingerie and then covering it with a pair of comfortable shorts and the only oversized shirt you own that isn't torn or stained, an old Van Halen shirt that you mostly use only in the gym nowadays.

All your worries melt away when you pad back into the living room and Joel drinks you in; he's standing by your fridge, analyzing the thousand polaroids pinned to it. He looks at you like you're the only woman in the world, his darkened gaze going from your thighs to your chest to your face.

“Nice shirt.”

“Thank you.” You tug the hem of the shirt a little, self conscious even though you love the way he looks at you.

Joel clears his throat, his eyes snapping away from you to the square white box on top of the kitchen counter. “I ordered pizza. Reckon it was the safe choice, I dunno what you like to eat.”

“Pizza's great. I'm not fussy.” You rifle through your purse, and Joel frowns when you pull out the bills from the tip he gave you earlier. “How much was it?”

“What're you doin'?”

“Paying my share of the food?” You offer him the crumpled bills, but Joel crosses his arms over his chest.

“You ain't payin', are you crazy?”

“Joel, with the obscene amount you tip me, I could probably pay for the whole meal.”

“Use it to buy somethin' pretty for yourself.” He simply waves you off. “Go sit, we should eat before it gets cold.”

You want to make a sugar daddy joke but you're so flustered by the whole ordeal that you simply smile and do as you're told; you're not used to things like that, men opening doors and offering to pay and being so gentle with you— Most of your past boyfriends were nice enough, but never went above and beyond to make you feel special in the way Joel does.

 You eat on the couch, pizza box perched on the coffee table and mismatching plates balancing on your legs but Joel doesn't seem to mind, leaning across the couch to refill your wine glass — and isn't that fancy, having an actual bottle of wine with your food rather than the boxed stuff you usually buy? — whenever it starts to run low, his own glass tucked on the ground near his feet.

The conversation flows easily, easier than it usually does at work when there are too many interested eyes and ears on the two of you. Joel seems more at ease too, his face flushed from the wine and brown eyes gleaming under the warm light of your living room. Your feet end up on his lap somehow, the TV playing a movie you're not exactly paying attention to: Despite how much you try to seem relaxed, you are incredibly aware of Joel's imposing presence by your side, quietly watching the screen with the prescription glasses he finally perched on his nose when you first offered to turn on Netflix. His large, calloused hand rests on top of your feet, not moving at first, just holding onto you.

And then his thumb slides down, pressing softly against the arch of your foot. Your eyelids flutter, the dull pain from an entire day on your feet evaporating as he rubs against your skin, applying just enough pressure to have you melting into the couch. You don't remember the last time you've been so relaxed, especially around someone that is virtually a stranger, but you close your eyes and lean your head back against the cushions and do your best to keep the little moans trying to escape trapped behind your teeth.

The first time you feel it, it's just a soft bristle on the bridge of your foot, so feathery light that you think it must've been a breeze. And then you feel it again, the soft and scratchy tingle of Joel's beard on the inside of your ankle. You don't say anything and neither does he, his lips traveling a little higher, pressing a small kiss to your shin. Joel's nose runs upwards ever-so-slightly, bumping against your knee.

“This okay?”

You nod, a little embarrassed that just a couple of small pecks were enough to get your body thrumming. You feel Joel's lips twist into a smile as he turns his head to kiss the inside of your knee.

“I gotta hear you say the words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Joel.” You breathe out. “More than okay.”

He moves slowly up your body, and you giggle at the small grunt Joel gives as he twists, kneeling on the couch so he can run a line of open mouthed kisses up your leg, his aquiline nose brushing over your clothed mound before he started mouthing at the band of your shorts, pushing your shirt up so he could pepper kisses up your stomach all the way to your sternum; he doesn't touch your breasts, and the only touch to your pussy was the brief brushing of his nose, but you feel your entire body already on fire, legs falling apart so his hips could fit between yours before Joel finally presses his lips to yours.

He tastes of wine and remnants of pizza but the only thing you can focus on is the weight of his body on top of yours, his mouth moving against yours with experienced precision, one arm next to your head holding most of his weight while the other roams your ribs underneath your shirt. You giggle and squirm when his fingers ghost a particularly tickly spot, and Joel pulls back to watch your reaction, a soft smile on his face.

“I've been wanting to do that since the day we met.” He admits, his graying curls falling over his forehead. You reach up, pulling it backwards, unable to keep the smile off of your lips.

“I got a lot more that I've been wanting to do to you, old man.”

“Minx.” Joel gasps, but you can tell he's not offended by it, free hand wrapping at the nape of your neck before he pulls you up until the both of you are seated, your thighs straddling his lap.

Joel holds you close as the two of you kiss, your hips grinding down against him, your chest pressed against his as his hands roam from your back to your ass, grabbing handfuls of it as he dictates the pace but, no matter how slow or fast or rough you go, he doesn't seem to get past half-mast. It is as if he can sense the inquisitive tilt of your hips, head falling back against the couch as his hands knead your ass cheeks.

“ 'M real sorry, darlin'.” He says, redness crawling up his thick neck. “It just— It takes 'im a minute sometimes.”

A shiver runs down your spine when you realize that the him he's talking about is his own cock— You have never had anyone speak like that before, and although you expect to find it weird, you can feel yourself get wetter.

“Maybe we should move this to my bathroom.” You tease with a small smile, trying to ease the tension he clearly feels. “Let me wash your hair again and he'll wake right up.”

He groans, leaning forward to hide his face in the crook of your shoulder. You take pity on him, your nails raking through his hair before you lean back just enough to face him.

“We don't have to do anything tonight, Joel.”

“I want to.” Joel answers immediately, fingers flexing against your skin. “I want you— Fuck, darlin', you have no idea how much I want you.”

You press a kiss to his cheek. “Let me help, then.”

Joel watches you curiously as you climb from his lap, his legs parting automatically as you settle on your knees in front of him. His meaty hands flex, but he keeps them to his sides, mouth opening and then closing as if he's swallowing down whatever it is that he was about to say. You start slowly pressing soft kisses to the tent in his sweats that, while not as big as the one you'd seen earlier, it is still more than you thought it should be; you cup him through his clothes, warm and heavy, before sliding his pants down to his ankles. Joel shifts, toeing the sweatpants off just eager enough to make you chuckle, the fabric bunching as it gets caught on his left shoe.

He's only half-hard still, cock heavy laying against his right thigh, twitching in the night air— You take him in your hand, pumping him slowly, but all you can focus on his how big he is: Thick and long and uncut, bigger than any cock you've ever seen and you don't think there is any way he can grow any bigger once it's fully hard. You’re tempted to just swallow him at once but you don’t, holding him upright as you place soft kisses to Joel’s inner thighs, making your way upwards until the tip of your nose brushes against his balls— Joel jolts, just a little, but his legs spread a little more and you take that as a sign. You start with kitten licks, your hand still pumping his cock as you run tongue your over his balls; the noise that comes out of his mouth is almost painful, somewhere between a grunt and a gasp. You switch directions then, placing small kisses at the base of his cock— Joel looks wrecked just from those simple touches, his hands fisted by his sides, his eyes dark with desire as he looks down on you. 

“So fuckin’ pretty like that.” He breathes out, his hands pulling your hair away from your face, holding it in a makeshift ponytail— Joel doesn’t use it to guide your movements though, letting you explore him freely without the hair getting in the way. “Wish you could see yer’self.”

“Maybe next time I’ll let you take a picture.” You say as you circle the head of his cock with your tongue. Joel moans, his grip tightening in your hair and you can feel his cock twitch under your touch, hardening under your ministrations. You lick a fat stripe from the base up to the tip, following along the vein on the underside of his shaft, suckling on the head; you can taste his precum, salty and a little shy, but he’s far more responsive than you expected. 

“C’mon darlin’.” Joel goads you. “Take ‘im in. I know it’s big, but you can do it.”

Your lips quiver as you hold back your smile, your mouth slowly sinking onto him; you’re able to take about two thirds of his cock before it hits the back of your throat and you pull back slightly, breathing through your nose as you pump whatever part of him you can’t fit inside your mouth. It’s quite the stretch, drool pooling in your mouth and dribbling down the sides, and your core pulses as you think about how it’ll feel inside of you. 

“Fuck, there you go— Such a good girl f’me.” You find a pace that is comfortable for you, the weight of his cock on your tongue, the saltiness and warmth of his velvety skin making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

He somehow grows fatter in your mouth, thicker and heavier than before. You take him as deep as you can, only pulling away when you feel his cockhead hitting your throat, and Joel whines every time. You can see he’s trying to behave, the hand not holding your hair fisting the couch, straining as he tries to stop from thrusting into your mouth, which you are thankful for— While you don’t mind a little bit of throat fucking, you’re quite intimidated by how big he is. 

“C’mere.” Joel begs, tugging on your hair for the first time as he pulls you away from his cock. “Take those shorts off and sit on my lap.”

His words send a thrill of desire down your chest, your skin feeling warm and tight all over as you climb on top of him, your shins bracketing his thighs. You’re still in your oversized shirt, the hem coming down to the top of your thighs but you shiver when Joel’s now hard cock bumps against your wet cunt. You tug at his shirt just as Joel pulls you in for a kiss and the both of you chuckle at the clumsiness, his cotton shirt half tangled with his limbs; Joel separates himself from you just enough to yank his shirt off, the clothing falling somewhere behind the couch before he’s dragging his lips back to yours. 

You have never been with a man who really likes to kiss before— For most of your partners, kissing was just a means to an end, just a pitstop before getting to the foreplay but Joel takes his time with it, making out like you’re teenagers, his hands exploring every bit of your body underneath your shirt. It leaves you aching, your hips rutting against him, little needy whines escaping your throat. 

“Need something, sweetheart?” He has the gall to smile against your skin, his mouth trailing off from your lips down to your jawline. 

“Your cock.” You answer, throwing your head back so he could keep kissing the column of your throat. 

Finally, finally, Joel’s hand trails down between your legs. The pads of his fingers trace your clit and your labia, stroking softly as if he’s mapping you out, spreading the wetness that has been leaking out of you and dripping down onto his shaft.

“I don’t think yer ready for ‘im.” Joel mumbles against the hollow of your throat, his southern accent heavier than you’ve ever heard it. The tip of his middle finger teases your entrance, circling without pushing in and you buck your hips down, mewling when his finger sinks inside of you. Even his fingers are thick and you chase after the stretch, your torso leaning so far back that you need to grab onto his shoulders not to fall over. 

“Give me another one.” You all but beg. Joel leans back on the couch, one hand between your legs, the other holding you by the small of your back and you clench around his finger when you realize he pulled back so he could watch as he plunges his ring finger into you. You already feel so full your mouth waters thinking just how his cock is going to feel, how Joel is going to stretch you enough that you’ll be reminded of him every time you move. 

He fingers you slowly with precise, careful movements, his eyes never leaving your cunt and you keen every time he pushes his fingers to the hilt, his palm kneading against your clit. By the time Joel’s third finger slips inside you’re so wet the squelching sounds drown out your moans, your legs burning from how you bounce against him, fucking yourself on his fingers. 

“Fuck,” You moan, hips bucking faster as you try to chase your orgasm, your pussy clenching him so tight that Joel moans. “Joel— Please, I’m gonna—”

A whine falls out of your lips when Joel abruptly pulls his hand away, your slick dripping down his wrist. He holds eye contact as he licks his own fingers clean and you clench around nothing, your body thrumming with desire and annoyance at being denied your peak. 

“I want you to come on my cock.” He says, but the glint in his eyes tell you that it’s more than that— He wants to tease you, drive you to the edge of madness and be the one in control of your pleasure. Joel takes hold of himself, rubbing the tip of his cock against you and you gasp when it bumps into your sensitive clit. Everything feels heightened after your denied orgasm and you lift a little bit, wanting nothing more than just to sink on top of him. You start slowly, the hand that isn’t holding his own cock steady kneading the fat of your hip as you take him inside. It’s a lot, even just the head of his cock being thick enough to hurt, and you pause when he’s just a couple of inches deep. Joel kisses the soft flesh underneath your chin, his breathing deep and ragged, and you can tell he’s trying to control himself. 

“I’m sorry—” You breathe out and try to sink a little more. “I didn’t think you’d be this big— Fuck, that hard on at my shampooing station was just a half chub, wasn’t it?”

Joel chuckles, his grip tightening on you. “Don’t apologize. I know it’s a lot, darlin’. Just take your time, you’re doin’ so good f’me.”

You clench around him at his words and the both of you groan in unison, Joel holding you so tight you know you’ll have bruises in the morning. You take another inch and his cock hits the exact spot inside of you that makes you see stars; you come just like that, your cunt spasming around him, your fingernails digging into his shoulders. It’s never happened before, you don’t think you have ever come from penetration alone, especially one where neither of you are properly moving but the fresh wave of wetness that comes from it and the way your knees give out makes you sink on top of him all the way down to the hilt. 

You think you’d scream if you had any air left in your lungs. Joel makes a pained sound, something between a groan and a whine, his teeth digging into the soft spot between your neck and your shoulder. 

“Goddamn it, did you just come?” There is a hint of wonder in his voice and you giggle, a little embarrassed. You moan and squeeze him again, unable to form any coherent words.

You hold him close, eyes shut, your nails raking through his hair. You’ve never been this full before, not even with your largest toy, and it burns and hurts and it’s fucking incredible all at the same time. You give your hips a little rock, testing the waters, but Joel stops your movements. 

“Fuck, gimme a second, here.” He mumbles into your shoulder. “You’re just— So fuckin’ tight—” Joel kisses your shoulder and your neck, his mustache tickling your overheated skin. “Perfect f’me, takin’ me so well, such a good girl.” 

“Can I move?” You barely recognize your own voice, breathy and lost in pleasure and desire. “Please, Joel, I need to feel you.”

His hands move from your hips to knead your ass and that is all the answer you need. You start slow, a little back and forth and some circles, trying to get used to the sheer size of him but you pick up the pace quickly, head thrown back as you fuck yourself on him. Joel is a lot more vocal than you expected him to be, moaning and groaning with every thrust, talking about how you’re a good girl and how you were made for him. It’s easy to get lost in it, his string of praises egging you on, the sound of your body colliding against his reverberating through the room. 

His hand finds your clit, not rubbing but simply holding steady, and every time you move up and down his fingers press against your clit just right and suddenly you’re shifting your position, subconsciously trying to rut against his hand. You don’t think you can come twice, but the way his cock keeps pushing against the perfect spot inside of you makes you crack, your second orgasm coursing through you like lightning. Your muscles lock as you moan, pussy clenching hard around Joel’s cock and he comes just as you’re regaining your breath, thick ropes of cum filling you inside— You’re so full from his cock and his come that it pushes against your belly. 

Joel rubs your back when you settle against his chest, exhausted. You can feel his cock softening inside of you, his spend and your slick dribbling down over his balls. 

“You did so good f’me.” Joel whispers against your ear. “I knew you’d be perfect the first time I saw you.” 

“Is that why you kept coming back to the salon?” You ask, head slumped on his shoulder, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. 

“Yes and no.” He answers, rubbing his cheek against your temple. “Knew I wanted to take ya on a date, but I would never have the courage to ask— You’re too young and sweet for a bitter old man like me. So I settled for the haircut, yeah, but I wouldn’t come back if I didn’t think you’re good at what you do.”

You hum at his words, your stomach fluttering at the idea of going on a date with Joel. You didn’t expect him to be actually interested in anything other than sex, and you smile against his neck. 

“I would’ve said yes.” You whisper, your fingers flexing against his chest. “If you had asked me out.”

Joel’s muscles stiffen underneath you and you panic, thinking that maybe you’ve just said the wrong thing and that he’s not interested now that he got what he wanted, but he speaks before you can figure out a way of taking your words back. 

“And now? Would you still say yes to that date?”

“Especially now.” You giggle, the words coming out a little too fast. “With a dick like that, I’d be crazy to say no.”

His chest rumbles with laughter, and from your position you can’t see his face but you watch in real time as his chest and neck turn red with embarrassment. 

“How about tomorrow, then?” His voice is a little shy, rough and low. “Can I take you out for breakfast?”

“Only if you spend the night.” 

Joel turns his head then, pressing a kiss to the bridge of your nose. 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

He keeps coming back for his trims, always your last appointment of the day, always with some sort of sweet treat or coffee or flowers. He tips generously and rolls his eyes when you say that he has boyfriend privileges now and doesn’t need to pay. But he never leaves the salon alone.

And neither do you.

general taglist: @itsafullmoon @time-for-my-weekly-spanking @hopecomesbacktolife @rosharanfiction @shadowqueen2024 @ess-evo @trulyourslola @keylimebeag (i also tagged some peeps who seemed to be interested in this but no pressure!!)

[asteroidtroglodyte]

“Ugh can’t stand babies they cry so much!”

That tiny Human spirit has shat himself 4 times today if you’d shat yourself 4 times by noon you’d be in hysterics too

[asteroidtroglodyte]

He fell asleep in his bed, at home, and woke up at the goddamn grocery store with an overhead light in his face if that happened to you you’d become The Joker

[asteroidtroglodyte]

Poor guy’s only been here for like a dozen weeks he doesn’t even have a favorite show to distract him yet he’s just raw-dogging reality unfiltered with no goddamn Blorbos to rotate whatsoever

[scary-ivy]

Baby's first rotating blorbos

[asteroidtroglodyte]

Y’all are great I love y’all

[mylittlestlamb]

white feather hawk tail deer hunter જ⁀➴

masterlist | ao3

pairing: husband!joel miller x reader rating: 18+ tags: established relationship, 20s/50s age gap, sexual themes, mostly fluff, housewife reader, traditional gender roles, Joel likes you to sit there and be pretty, possessiveness, jealousy, ddlg themes, lil spanking here and there.     word count: 3,720  summary: you enjoy married life with your new husband

“When I met him, like an arrow, like a bird in the heart, like a sparrow. In the dark, we're a match; he's just in my bone marrow.”

જ⁀➴🦅જ⁀➴🦅જ⁀➴🦅જ⁀➴🦅જ⁀➴

It’s something you’ve never experienced. Joel's type of love. Genuine, passionate, steady, consistent, and all-consuming. You think he’d kill for you if you asked.

When you first met Joel, you had found him in a dimly lit bar that played old blues. He was sitting alone on a corner stool. Carhartt jacket with the collar popped to shield his face, in some jeans, and run-down boots. He wore a trucker hat to truly hide his presence, but you saw him. He was hard to miss. He was the only thing you saw when you entered, truly. 

You approached him first; he was the only man not to ogle you when you walked into the room, which made you desire him more. 

The first thing you truly noticed were his hands, how they were scarred and worn, as they clasped around some glass with brown liquor; he’s a worker, a hard one at that. Hard to miss. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest when you neared him. 

You could tell he didn’t want to be approached by his body language, hidden and disengaged, and the confusion on other patrons' faces as you approached, but you didn’t have much to lose. Life wasn’t kind to you, and hitting on a man twice your age wasn’t too out of your element. 

“Hiya,” You offered, scooching into the space between his bar stool and the one next to it, watching confusion twist on his face at the sight of you, so close to him, smiling dearly. 

“Guessing you want me to buy you a drink?” He doesn’t say it with malice or discomfort, just a kind southern gentleman nature - assuming if a girl were to approach him in a bar, it’d be for that reason. Especially a girl who looked like you. 

You laugh, a small giggle before shaking your head, eyes roaming over him to get a better look to confirm your suspicion that he’s just as handsome as you thought he’d be from the bar entrance - he smelled good too. Not like cologne or anything, just a natural warm fragrance that made you wanna bury your face in his jacket. 

“Nope. Just wanted to see ya better s’all,” You admit honestly, your hand moving to his forehead to swipe some of the fallen hair that doesn’t fit under his hat, revealing a small scar that leads from his brow up. Freckles dotting his cheeks, lines that show his age, parted lips that draw in shallow breaths, & deep eyes that search yours in bewilderment. 

“How old are you, darlin’?” Joel mutters as his accent flows like honey through your ears, biting your lip back as you understand he must be your father's age, wherever he is now. But that doesn’t matter.

You assume he asks to scare you off, maybe, as if you couldn’t see his age on his face. 

“Doesn’t matter,” You hummed, reaching for his hat, removing it, and placing it on your head instead, smiling at his hat hair as you earn a small smile for him, not anything too big, just a small quirk of his lips, smitten with you. 

He took you home that night. Something Joel hadn’t done since he was in his 30s. Then he decided to keep you every night after that. 

Months later, Joel proposed to you in that same bar, mind made up on marrying you. And once Joel's mind was made up, he was for certain. And the rest was history. 

Now, a year into marriage, life is a simple bliss. 

You had never imagined being entangled with someone, let alone married, but Joel was a once-in-a-lifetime type of man. You knew it, felt it deep in your bones when you first saw him, as if some invisible magnet pulled your souls to merge as one. 

Apparently, unbeknownst to you, he had the small town in west Texas wrapped around his finger as well. A mountain of a man. He made his living in carpentry, which built most of the town, making him quite the figure. 

You hadn’t known when you first arrived, assuming he was some random handsome man, but you became the talk of the town, too. Some people assumed you to be a goldigger after an older man. Some older women, scoffed at you in the street, jealousy-ridden at you picking up one of the few older eligible bachelors in the town. 

Most people, however, minded their own. Partly out of fear of Joel but mostly out of concern for their own lives. 

Didn’t bother you one bit; you could even say it fueled you. Knowing that other women sought after him, but he chose you, swiftly and decidedly. That you were the one for him, and he was the one for you. 

You were the one able to get the anti-social town grump in your arms. You were the one to get him to open up to you mentally and physically. You were the one able to burrow under his skin and set up camp, and he loves every part of it. It was all you. 

He’s hard with everyone else but you, you know it. You see it in his interactions - how dry and uncommunicative he can be, never with you. He’s known to be helpful and generous, but also cold and hardy. He’s fiercely protective of what’s his, whether that be his work, his home, or you. 

It’s something you’ve never experienced. Joel's type of love. Genuine, passionate, steady, consistent, and all-consuming. You think he’d kill for you if you asked. 

He never told you to cook for him, help him get ready, or see him off whenever he leaves in his blue pick-up truck. You just do. 

He never asked you to welcome him home every evening with dinner and for you to ask him about his day; what went wrong, what he loved, who pissed him off. You just do. 

He would never ask for any of what you do, but you want to because making him happy seems to be your only goal. 

It’s a simple thing. You don’t really know when it happened, you just enjoy being his little slice of peace… and occasional trouble here and there. 

In the mornings, you’re up before him, brewing his coffee and preparing his meals for the day, feeling the way his strong arms wrap around your waist as you pack his lunch, tugging you back to meet his body in a strong collision as his face greedily fits into your neck, sucking sweetly at the skin as you whine and whimper. 

“I tell you how much I love you?” He speaks in that deepened morning Texan voice, a shudder running up your spine as he speaks his common phrase, he mentions daily as he peppers your skin with morning kisses. 

Sometimes you roll your hips back to press against his crotch, tipping your head back and whispering, “Tell me again.”

And of course, one thing leads to another, and he has you bent over the sink, fucking you at a slow and tender morning pace, gushing about how much he loves you while he roots himself deep in your core. 

During the day, you busy yourself with house activities, sometimes you spend his money, sometimes you lazily lie around, tempted to call and bother him at work with nonsense. He doesn’t mind it, but you know he has better things to do. 

In the evenings when he’s drained, you help remove his boots and settle him into a bath where you can drag the washcloth along his body and scrape at any daily grime - washing his hair tenderly until he’s groaning at your touch, completely undone by your devotion. 

If he’s pent up, you get him into bed and take it upon yourself to ease any worries. Climbing on top of him, pressing your hands to his chest and letting him position himself at your entrance, sliding down on him as he croaks out like a frog - riding gently to relax his aching bones until he’s fully relaxed, coating your walls with his seed. 

He’ll tell you he doesn’t know how he went this long without you, doesn’t know what he’d do without you, or who he’d be, and that only encourages you to ride faster until you find your own pleasure through his affirmations. 

In the evenings, when he still has energy, you tend to find him in his workspaces. Sometimes, whittling in his woodworking room. Sometimes carving figures with some glasses perched on his nose while he blows away some excess wood, presenting you with some of your favorite animals every now and then. You have a nice growing collection. 

Your favorite evenings are when he takes his guitar to the porch and sits on one of the two rocking chairs he crafted. You join him out there every time, with some sweet tea for him and a blanket for you, closing your eyes as you listen to him pluck at the strings or play you one of your favorite songs he’s learned that you sing along to. Sometimes you even drift off in a soft slumber. 

Once the sun eventually sets, he’s rising up, heading inside, expecting you to follow, but you hate when nights like these end. A small slice of heaven every time you watch the departing sun glow on Joel and encapsulate how you see him, pure and full of light. He is your sun. 

“I’ll join you in a little,” You object, watching the way his hand reaches out to you to help you out of the chair, wishing you could stay in that moment forever. 

“Cmon now.” He’s stern when he says it, eyes set dead on you in a commanding tone & you know why. He likes to close down the house, make sure all the windows and doors are locked. Likes to make sure you’re in bed, safe, next to him. 

You give in, of course, pouting, letting him win, and taking his hand.

It’s silly, you think. He bought the surrounding land when he built his house, which sits within the Texan hills, hidden from anyone who would desire to wish any of you harm for whatever reason. But it is in the middle of nowhere, so you allow him his worry. 

He makes you feel better during the night, fitting you close to him, limbs entangled with yours as your ear presses to his chest, hearing his emboldened heartbeat that lulls you to sleep. He always says he loves you right before he’s gone with sleep, even in the depths of exhaustion, still only thinking of you and the love he carries.  

The hardest days are when he goes on a fishing or hunting trip with some of the men from work, or often just his brother Tommy. He heads to the cabin he owns a couple of hours from town and spends the day trekking through the forest for game with a gun in hand, or on a boat with some beer, fishing for bass. 

He departs before you’re awake, before the sun has a chance to awaken, kissing at your temple as you whimper and attempt not to cry through your drowsiness, knowing if you were to object enough, he’d stay home. But that’d be cruel to him, knowing he deserves this. 

He calls routinely, once when he arrives, in the evening, and in the morning. Just to make sure you’re safe and unharmed. You know better than to not answer, once having had the sheriff stop by when you slept through one of his calls. 

He won’t return until the day after, towards late afternoon or evening. Sometimes you’re pouty upon his return, feeling extra needy and not knowing how to show it - only answering him with one-word answers until he understands your frustration and lies you on the kitchen table and feasts on your cunt until you're undone and a mess and all his again. Beard soaked and dripping with you until you admit you just missed him dearly. 

“I know it, darlin’, missed you too,” Is what he says when he kisses you there, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. 

Sometimes you’re in a more upbeat mood upon his arrival, standing at the front door in a pretty white apron and only your lacey panties with one of his favorite cherry pies in your hand - freshly baked. 

“Yer’gonna ruin me, girl,” He says, cheeks turning as red as the pie as his eyes take all of you in. 

He kisses you first, leaning over to invade your space with a small, polite peck, then another, and another until he gives in to his needs, burly arms moving around your body as you’re hoisted up to his chest, your chest collding to his as he deepens the kiss, lips moving aggressively on yours, tongue snaking into your mouth to taste the cherries you were eating while baking. 

Kissing you as if you’re the only person to ever exist, slowly and sweetly - then possessively as he whispers how he couldn’t stop thinking of you over your warm lips. 

He fucks you then, reaffirming that you’re his while he does. Saying that you’re the only one for him. You do it back, telling him how amazing he is to you as your eyes roll back once he finds that perfect rhythm that undoes you both on the wooden floor, as you couldn’t make it upstairs to the bed. 

It's routine, finding ways to show that you missed each other, sometimes verbally, often physically. 

-

Bored. You’re bored. 

During your morning debrief, you had told Joel that you’d head to the grocery store, needing a couple of items. It was a good walk, but far, you didn’t mind. 

“Wait f’me, we’ll go together.” He mumbled against your lips in a kiss before heading out the door, knowing he enjoys time spent with you. He also mentioned he doesn’t like it when you walk alone. You don’t really pay attention to your surroundings, and he’s correct, but you still think it’s silly. 

The most dangerous thing that happens here is when the teens drive drunk. But you don’t fight him on it, knowing better than to challenge him on anything when it comes to your safety and well-being. 

There’s only his truck; you don’t need a car, really. Don’t enjoy driving, don’t need to drive. But now you’re bored and stuck. 

It’s rare you find yourself in this headspace, a bratty mood enforced by your boredom, but you decide to go anyway. Placing a good walking shoe on and heading out by yourself. 

You do it on purpose, knowing by the time Joel is home, he’ll know where you're headed. You really only had to wait another hour for his arrival, but you’re bored and enjoy raising your husband's blood pressure every now and then.

It’s like a game of hide and seek. You like to play hide n seek with him, mostly because of what comes after. You don’t know if he knows it just yet, but you love feeling hunted by him, like you can’t escape him. Makes your belly swirl with desire. 

It usually ends with a brutal fucking where he reminds you of who you are to him, your value, and preciousness, all while you’re on your third orgasm. 

You don’t leave a note when you leave; you always leave a note. But, you’re bored. 

Eventually, after some time, you make it through those sliding screen doors, cursing at yourself for making brash decisions in Texas heat, ignoring the sweat on your body, and instead basking in the air-conditioned store, picking up a handbasket. 

You get the usual groceries, piling them into the cart before stopping in an aisle you rarely find yourself in - picking up a box of condoms, curiously reading ‘Ribbed for Her Pleasure’

The clerk, probably around your age, stocking down the aisle, stares at you a bit before you catch his gaze, watching him blush a bit before continuing, turning your attention down to the box again.

You can smell him and hear his footsteps before you see him. The woodsy oak sawdust scent settles in your nose, boots pressed against the ground nearing you as an arm eventually slides around your waist - you don’t jump, don't scream, just smile gently knowing it’s him. He’s found you. 

He tugs you to his chest, always needing to be close to you, it seems. You wouldn’t have anticipated it when you first met him that his love language would be physical touch. 

“Ain’t leave a note,” He murmurs grumpily into your ear, tickling you there with his breath as you giggle a bit, his lips pressing to your temple, knowing his girl and her antics, still irritated at you not listening. 

“That worry you?” You ask innocently, leaning away slightly, blinking up at him to see him in the grocery store light, worn from the day, as his hair is tousled a bit, with some stains on his white shirt from the workday. Strong and handsome as ever - he’s tanned a bit too from working outside. 

He snorts a bit, rolling his eyes, tightening his grip as his fingers flex against your body,  digging them into your side again to make you squeak, “It did. S’why you did it.”

You smile, as if you won something, giddy with the fact that he knows you so well as he takes the basket from your hands chivalrously, knowing that he probably wasn’t too worried. You locked the door behind you, a move you made to tell him there was no intruder, just you being silly. 

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” You tease gently, brows going up in a tantalizing manner as he looks up to scan the store, then back down at you, eyes dark as they settle on yours. 

“Think I’ll take you home and show you.” His one strong hand grabs at your face, cupping hardly and roughly, so your cheeks press up together, putting your lips at a pout as you laugh a bit once he releases you, excited for how he’ll take out his frustration on you. You wonder how he’ll do it this time. The belt is still your favorite. 

Makes you wanna run home. 

“Ribbed for her pleasure? Should we get ‘em?” You change the subject, watching Joel's eyes land on the box in your hands, face puzzled. 

“Ain’t never used those with you, don’t plan on it now.” He scoffs a bit, as if you insulted him by insinuating you should be fucking with protection. 

You smile, getting under his skin, “Think it’d be a nice change, I saw a flavored one, and one that warms - hey, scuse me, sir? Which ones do you prefer?”

The stocker looks up to you, then Joel, eyes wide with disbelief as he opens his mouth, stammering a bit before blushing, “They’re all pretty good- I believe- I imagine.” 

“Gonna give the poor boy a damn heart attack,” Joel mumbles, a bit tickled but refusing to show it, keeping up his stern appeal as the worker departs, knowing you won’t get Joel jealous. Trusts you too much. 

You don’t get the condoms, just head to a checkout lane, standing a bit in the way as Joel places the items on the conveyor belt. You offer a small smile to the cashier that she doesn't return, eyes focused on Joel when she speaks. 

“Hey, how are ya, Joel?” She smiles brightly, causing a scornful expression to appear on your face as he looks to her a bit, finishing up. 

“Good, Joanne,” He doesn’t make small talk; he hates small talk. You know that, you know him. Makes you a bit possessive over him as the bagger bags the groceries. Thrills you that he doesn’t give her what she wants. 

Joel isn’t jealous. But you can be. Having always had a bit of a competitive streak, you can feel anger rising. 

He moves you forward a bit so he can fit behind you, your body falling a bit back onto his as he holds you there, enjoying the bit of physical touch granted in that moment. Feeling extra needy within Joannes's presence. 

“True that y'all buildin’ a movie theater? Be nice not to have to go a town over…” She continues, not taking the hint, a strong, heavy, obnoxious sigh leaving your mouth that catches her attention as you stare daggers. 

“That’s the plan,” Joel mumbles, looking at the total, getting his wallet out as you tip your head back and up, asking for something there. 

He knows better than to not oblige you. Knows better than to not give you what you want when you’re touch-starved despite his aversion to PDA. 

He leans over you sweetly, pressing his lips to yours in a small, simple, chaste kiss that has you smiling at her once you lower your head, feeling accomplished, marking your territory.

“Have a great rest of your day.” You offer sweetly, smiling brightly and combatively as if you’re an animal bearing its teeth. 

Joanne nods a bit, not smiling anymore at Joel, as you walk towards the exit, a brown paper bag in Joel's arm as he walks beside you. 

“Gettin’ lil jealous back there?” He teases as the warm air hits you, walking back to the truck in the parking lot, his voice deepened with temptation. Usually, you do the teasing. Seeing a different side of him makes you excited to experience different sides of marriage with him.

“She’s a cunt.” You shrug matter-of-factly, digging in the bag as he walks, watching him lower it for you so you can get out a snack. 

“Easy, darlin’,” He chuckles, absolutely enamored by your jealousy, “Let’s get you home- still gotta teach you a lesson.”

His hand lands on your ass with a smack that has you jolting, a slap not even near his full power as you gasp out, turning to look at him as he opens his passenger side door, a slight smirk on his lips that tells you you’re in for it. 

You hop in, trying to hide your excitement, wondering if you both will even be able to make it home. You hope not. Would give you a chance for the world to see Joel claim you on the side of a dusty road. Your husband. He’s yours, you’re his. Forevermore.

.

.

.

tags: @hoziersguitarr

[seventeenpins]

Hear Me Out...

pairing: Older!Joel x F!Reader word count: 2.5k summary: Joel gets hearing aids. He finds out just how much he's been missing out on. content/warnings: SMUT, peepaw joel (late 60s), unspecified age gap, established relationship, pussy eating, piv, he cries when he cums, they are IN LOVE your honor a/n: Hi friends! This was intended as part of a multi-chapter fic that I simply have not had the time or brain to finish. I'm hoping I'll get back to it at some point, but I hope you enjoy this little piece 👉👈 hoping there's nothing that I left in that requires context of the whole?? thank you to @ems-chaos-corner for designing the banner!! 🩷

Joel hadn’t planned to tell you right away when he got his hearing aids.

This thing between you was good. You felt solid. So in sync, most of the time. You’d been through enough together that he knew your foundation wouldn’t–couldn’t– be easily shaken.

But this didn’t feel like a small thing. Sure, you knew his age. You’d met him when you were volunteering at the goddamned senior center.

Hearing aids, though, were a step too far. 

Because that meant he was officially old. People would think he was your dad, even more so than they do already. Or maybe even his caretaker, god forbid.

He looks alright, he supposes, for being a few years shy of seventy. But his bones ache, his hair is more grey than not, and wrinkles line his face. He has to face the fact that he’s an old man. And, while he’s facing the facts, he needs to admit to himself that he really can’t hear for shit these days.

He’s a tired, deaf, selfish old man, and he can’t bear to lose you just yet.

—

You’re out of town for the weekend when he gets the hearing aids. It’s perfect, really, because he can learn how to use them. They’re fairly low profile, and he’s let his hair grow longer these days, making them easier to hide.

Sunday night, you arrive back home. You show up at your door, weekend bag slung over your shoulder. As you pull out your keys, Joel beats you to the lock, swinging the door open wide for you. You’re exhausted, and it must show in the bags under your eyes, but you can’t help but smile the moment you see him.

He reaches to relieve you of your bag and you shrug it off, letting him put it down by the entryway bench.

“You have a good time, baby?” he asks.

“It was fucking wonderful. I really needed that,” you smile, reaching up to kiss Joel, “I’m really glad to be home now though-” 

And then you kiss him again and hum against his lips, a happy little sound.

Joel’s never heard it before.

He wants to hear it again. He has to hear it again–

He kisses you again, a little bit deeper. Presses himself towards you and hears the way you moan against him, breathy and soft and desperate. What he’d felt only as vibration before now has a pitch he didn’t know he’d been missing. 

Need hits him like a freight train, suddenly urgent and dizzying. In a moment, he’s hard and wanting, pulse pounding fast.

"Honey," he sighs, lips still hovering over yours, hot breath tickling against your skin. You look at him, glancing across his face, reading in it whatever he happens to be showing. He wonders if it looks like reverence. "I need you baby, I need you right now--"

You’re surprised at his abrupt enthusiasm, a crease between your furrowed brows, but a smile plays on your lips.  

"I should probably go shower,” you tell him, turning towards the bathroom.

"Nuh uh," he shakes his head and reaches for you, pulling you close. "You don’t gotta. Unless ya really wanna. I just need you right fuckin’ now, baby. Want you any way you’ll have me."

You scrutinize him, looking him up and down. For a moment, he’s certain you’ve clocked him, that you know what he’s hiding. 

Instead of challenging him, though, your expression softens. You shrug, like it’s simple. “I’m yours.”

It's been a while since he's greeted you like this, and you’re certain you must be missing something for him to be so turned on, so out of the blue. Sure, you’d been gone for the weekend, but it was just a weekend, and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve been apart, nor the longest.

He’s desperate though, more desperate than he knows how to be. He can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t stop touching you. His hands trace up and down your sides, making you gasp and whine at his attention. You revel in it.

When he gets you to the bedroom, he tries to pace himself. To savor it. He means to slow himself down.

He peels your clothes off, piece by piece. Gentle fingers fumble with the buttons, and he kisses that spot behind your ear that makes your breath hitch. 

When it does, though– when that sweet gasp passes your lips, Joel is changed. Any restrained passion he’d been trying to keep in check dissolves, replaced by desperate frenzy. 

He rids you of the rest of your clothes, strewn garments in your wake as he guides you to bed.

Joel has always been a generous lover, always watching and learning. In the early days with him, he’d ask you to show him what you like. He’d keep his eyes on you, attentive, reading you with care as he’d replicate the ways you know to give yourself pleasure, as though ensuring your gratification were his life’s only goal.

You’re used to his eyes on you, watching how your body reacts to his touch, touching you gently when you need softness, being firm when you need redirection. 

So, it’s always been good. But it’s never been quite like this. 

He pushes you down onto the bed and grabs you by the knees, shoving them apart, making you gasp. He hums and grabs you, lifts you, and scoots you back towards the headboard. Resets your legs so your thighs are spread again for him and he’s slotted between them. You can feel his cock, fat and heavy against his thigh, straining against his jeans– and fuck the fucking denim– he’s still wearing his clothes.

It’s not fair.

“Get naked, Joel,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You can see a blush spread across his cheeks and nose, but he doesn’t look bashful as he used to be. He looks hungry. A smirk twitches on his lips.

You’re bare for him, and so so ready. And, you think distantly, you’re so incredibly comfortable with him. There was a time you would have shrunk away from this kind of touch that allows you to be so seen. For him, though, you love little more than to lean back and spread your legs, so bare and exposed, all for him. To show him every part of yourself, and simply trust that he won’t frighten.

He makes quick work of his clothes. Grabs his t-shirt by the back of the neck and rips it over his head. Unbuttons his jeans and shucks them and his boxers off in one go, his cock bouncing heavy between his legs. You let out a breath, watching.

He slips his arms under your legs and slots back in, rests his body face down on the bed, presses himself in between your thighs.

He examines your cunt; runs a gentle thumb from your navel to just above your clit and presses down with just the lightest pressure. And then a little more, till you’re squirming and whining and his nostrils are flaring, his breaths coming out as pants at your response. He drags wet, broken kisses down your body. His lips trace your tummy, the dips of your hips, down down down til he spits on your shiny seam, making your clit nice and wet.

You tremble, just a little, in anticipation of feeling him on you. But he doesn’t move towards you. He looks up at you, brown eyes looking at you with such love and concern. And then he looks back down, to where you’re spread for him. He hums, affirming.

“Oh– would you look at that– she needs t’ be filled up, don’t she?” he asks, breath hot against your soft cunt, his words making you jerk against him, trying to find some friction. He grins against you as you sigh, pretty little asshole and pussy both visibly clenching in tandem mere inches from his face.

He stills you, hands clutching your hips, holding you down.

“I think she might need a kiss first, though, huh baby?” 

“Mhmm-”, you sigh.

Your breath hitches as he places a gentle kiss against your lips before he slips his tongue between them, gentle, languid- He lets you card your fingers through his hair as he licks into you, humming in affirmation when you grab on tight. He noses at your clit and draws a yelp out of you, groaning, the rumble of it vibrating against your skin.

There’s no rush as he pulls you apart. Just a little bit of time and some very precise pressure. You can feel yourself start to build as he flicks a pointed tongue against your clit. His focus is exact, and in no time at all, your breaths are shallow and desperate, your hips rocking up to meet his strokes, to feel his scruff against your thighs.

He’s eating you out like he needs it to live. Loud slurps punctuate softer licks as he buries his face between your legs. He’s so responsive, growling at every reaction you make. 

He barely brakes for air, but when he does, it’s punctuated with filth. “That’s a good girl, yeah, say my name just like that–” 

All you can do is breathe his name, a soft prayer, Joel, Joel, JOEL–

You chant, till the pull within you builds and breaks, sending you sobbing on his tongue, bliss coursing through every part of you. 

Sounds that he didn’t know he’d been missing surrounding him like the most beautiful symphony, your sighs, gasps, moans– He knows it’s useless speaking with his pussy-stuffed mouth, but he growls into you, letting you ride his face through it, prolonging your orgasm, and not stopping until you can’t handle any more.

When the stimulation becomes too much, you yank his head back by the hair. He grins up at you, sheepish. He's panting, wipes his slick mouth with the back of his hand, and stares at you, so fucking hungry. “Probably a good thing you had me stop where you did,” he tells you, “Nearly came now just from eating you-

"I love you--" you sigh, barely able to think, the intensity of your climax making you fuck-drunk and languid. A smile breaks through the hungry, wild expression on Joel's face, and he draws himself up and pulls you toward him so you're seated. 

"I love you, too," he presses his forehead against yours, damp curls tickling your brow, till he pulls back and swipes his hair away, pressing back against you.

You hum, so comfortable and happy, and Joel sighs.

It takes you a few minutes to fully come back to yourself, Joel holding you close the whole time. When you do, you know you need more. You pull back gently, shifting yourself apart from him until you’re able to straddle him. He’s still hard, painfully so, and neither of you need to say a word. You lift yourself, line him up with your swollen pussy, and sink down slowly, inch by stiff  inch. Your eyelids flutter shut at the sensation. He watches you in awe and adoration.

He reaches around you, grabs your ass with each of his hands, and starts to rock you gently.

“Yes–” you hiss, and tilt your hips to match each thrust.

It’s gentle at first, careful, and considered as he fucks you in his lap. But then, you adjust your position just a little and start to bounce, taking more with each thrust, grinding hard against him as he fucks up into you and hits just the right spot.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fUCK!--” you cry, sensation overwhelming you.

Everything is so much, so deliciously overwhelming, every little breath and moan and gasp that passes your lips finally tipping him over the edge.

“Honey–,” he hums, “I’m– I’m close, not gonna last–”

“Give it to me.”

“Fuck–” He keeps rocking into you, but his movements still just a little as he lets go. You can feel the way his cock pulses and shudders in you, his balls throbbing, your insides coated with cum, all of this sending you over again.

He whines as your clenching pussy chokes him, drawing even more from him. 

It’s pure ecstasy. 

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to reduce the overwhelm. When you come back down, your breathing starting to even out, you open your eyes to discover–

Joel, staring at you, reverential, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

You’ve only seen Joel cry a handful of times, and never once while he was still inside you–

“Oh fuck, babe, what is it?” you ask, suddenly panicked.

He shakes his head, thumbing his tears away, “No, no,” he tries to reassure, “Nothing’s wrong–”

But that doesn’t reassure you. The love of your life is balls-deep in you, crying, and you don’t know why.

“I promise,” he insists, and then he tucks his hair back behind one ear.

It only takes you a moment.

“Joel Miller. Did you get fucking hearing aids and not tell me?”

He laughs; a wet, spluttery thing.

“I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on so much- I–”

You let him collect his words, his thoughts. You love that he tries, even when it’s hard. He makes sure you understand.

“I never heard you like that before, baby-” he tells you, “Those gasps and moans. All those sounds you make for me. I can hear them now. And I could’ve been hearing them this whole damn time if I hadn’t been too proud.”

He shakes his head, frustrated.

“I was worried you’d think I was too old.”

Your eyes widen. Somehow, that wasn’t what you’d expected.

“Baby, you know I know how old you are, right? I met you at the fuckin’ Senior Center,” you frown.

He glares at you. Some of the puffiness around his eyes dulls the intended effect.

You know it’s not exactly that, though. It’s really just the irrational fear that you both have, of losing the other when you’d only just found one another, manifesting in any way it can.

So you press your lips to his, and hold him close. He’s still sheathed inside you, and you can feel him start to twitch hard again. 

“You know,” you tease, rocking your hips again, “I think the hearing aids are kind of sexy.”

Joel scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“No, I mean it–” you insist, “You’ve always been attentive. But– I don’t know. I know it’s something that’s been bothering you–and I also know you weren’t super into the idea, getting hearing aids– I guess I’m proud of you.” 

He snorts, but you can see the smile he’s trying to hide.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he shakes his head, “I just– I shouldn’t have put it off so long.”

“It’s okay, old man,” you tease, pulling forward to kiss him gently. Still seated on him, you roll your hips with just a little more vigor than you’d intended, cutting yourself off with a gasp.

He groans.

“Lets find out what other sounds you’ve been missing out on-”

[toxicanonymity]

Can you please write speakeasy!Joel full on fucking reader in front of people (and people are watching and commenting)

Lockdown

1k / joel miller x f!reader / joel master list

WARNINGS: Unsafe P in V, horny, desperate joel begging, established relationship, creampie, exhibitionism, forced voyeurism. 

You feel him harden against you and reflexively scoot your ass back without thinking about your surroundings.  He puts his mouth to your ear.   “Don’t start somethin’ ya can’t finish, baby.” 

That could be a problem.  You’re locked down in a one-room warehouse with about twenty other people while infected swarm the area.  Joel’s first instinct, as always, was to grab his gun off his back.  But a decision was made to hunker down.  Gunfire would only attract more of them.

He’s slumped against the wall and you’re between his legs.Ten minutes ago, he took off his belt because he thought it was hurting you and you should’ve known what would happen.  You turn your head and whisper, “Sorry.”  He only hardens more obscenely.  The familiar outline stretches up against his hip near his pocket. 

"Now look what ya did, baby." 

You take a deep breath as he subtly moves his pelvis, rubbing it against you.  Visually, it would be imperceptible to those in the room at this point.  But he has your whole body aching with need. 

“You gonna take care of this?” he asks as he continues.

“You know I can’t.”  Oh, how you wish you could.

"God damn, sugar." He pulls you back into him with a soft grunt. "Tryin' to kill me with this ass," he murmurs into your hair. It feels like he's trying to kill you with his voice all low and gravely, trying to be quiet. 

He isn't used to being turned down, as horny as you are for each other, but there's nowhere to do it.  It’s one big room with people all around it.  Boxes scattered here and there, but nothing that could conceal you.  No restroom. There's a nook that leads to a restroom and a closet but both are locked and no one there has the key. And all these people - they’re stuck in here with you.  No one can leave.

You feel his desperation as he pulls you into him. “We can’t, Joel,” you whisper. Fucking in public would be nothing new. But in a closed room where people can't leave?

He growls in a whisper. “We gotta, sweetheart.” 

People are having scattered conversations but mostly sitting around and it’s pretty quiet.  Two men are having a spirited discussion and a third tells them, "Shhhhh."

“Gimme some cover,” Joel says.  His hand comes between the two of you and unbuttons his jeans. Oh, God.  If he jacks off it's gonna be obvious to everyone, plus you'll be turned all the way on. He gathers your dress, pulling the back of it out from under you so your naked ass cheeks are against his jeans.  While he's at it, he slips a finger under your thong and snaps it playfully then slides his finger under it again and slides it down, un-wedging it from between your ass cheeks.  He takes a deep, horny breath. 

“Jesus,” the closest person whispers. Joel sighs and gives them an intimidating stare as he jostles between your bodies and takes out his rock-hard cock.  He lays it against your lower back, covers it with your dress, and a chill of arousal races down your body. He pulls you back into him and cups your breast as he rocks into you a little less discreetly. You squeeze his thigh. 

"Too much," you whisper. 

"Not enough, baby."

"Try to be still." He's still for about a minute then pushes himself against you with a soft, muffled groan that calls more attention.

"Hurts too much," he whispers. 

Someone whisper-yells, "Do you have to do that here?" Meanwhile some other pervert is palming his own cargo pants. You try to block it all out.

"Fuck, I gotta come, sugar. This is torture." He sounds genuinely in pain. 

"Then hurry up and be quiet." 

He quietly spits in his hand and wedges his hand in between you. His breaths are heavy as his hand moves and people pretend they aren't watching.   

"Sit on it, baby. It'll be faster." He breathes heavier and thrusts against you again. 

"No." You turn your head to tell him, "Everyone's staring already."

"You better look me in the eye when you're sayin' no."  

Your breath hitches. You look at him and see the utter agony on his face. It turns you on.  

"Fuck. cover yourself for a second." 

"Fuck yeah. Only take a minute"  

"But get a hold of yourself. We don't know these people." It's not the same as when you're in your own territory like the bar.  You glance around and a few people pretend they weren't watching. You try to pretend they're not there as you carefully get up and turn around facing Joel. He brings his legs together and you straddle him, spreading your skirt over both of you.  His face is so desperate you can almost, almost forget about the room full of people. He raises his knees behind you.

He holds his cock at attention under your skirt. "Sit on it, baby," he begs. He's panting. “Don’t gotta do nothin’ else.”  You slowly lower yourself, and as soon as you begin to take in his swollen tip, he takes hold of your hips and slides you down his length with a sigh. You try not to gasp too loud as his girth makes room for itself inside you. He looks up at the ceiling then back at you.

"God I love you," he whispers, then takes your face in his hands and kisses you passionately. 

Someone whispers, "what the hell?"  And someone else says "they're actually fucking."

You break the kiss self-consciously and you just look in each other's eyes as he gently rocks his pelvis and slightly bounces you on his cock. His arms wrap around you and you put your head in the crook of his neck.  Being full of him is your comfort zone. He’s right, it doesn’t take long until you get the tell tale signs that he’s going to come. His breath is ragged, his grunts are more frequent, though mercifully not as loud as usual.  He twitches inside you.  

“Not too loud,” you whisper.  He kisses you through his orgasm, moaning “Mmmmm,” slightly softer than usual.  You sit there on his cock for a long time, not wanting to move and draw attention.  You fall asleep there as he caresses your arms and your head stays buried in the crook of his neck. 

-

more of these antics on the joel master list - "for survival --> speakeasy" section.

Thank you so much for reading and engaging!!! you can follow @toxicfics for fic notifications and @toxicrecs for fic recs.

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore  @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy  @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk  @filthfairy  @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles  @harriedandharassed  @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy  @cutesyscreenname  @weddingfairy  @pedropascal-whore  @spideysimpossiblegirl  @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy

[daddysdecayingdoll]

you wish that was you huh

[magpiepills]

Put It In, Coach

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Joel Miller x f! Reader

Word count: 3.4k

Summary: you are an 18 year old high school senior on the cheerleading team, and Joel is the beloved and successful football coach. He helps you with some stretching after practice.

Warnings: SMUT!! The girthiest age gap (18 & 56), consensual but extremely unethical sexual relationship, pervert Joel, power imbalance, dubcon (due to said power imbalance) but I assure you reader is of legal age and enthusiastically consents. piv, oral (m receiving) fingering, dirty talk, semi-innocent reader, blackmail, creampie, twist ending, possibly dark Joel.

A word from the author: This is a repost! Listen, I know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. That is fine. Please don’t feel obligated to interact with this fic even if we are friends. It will be fine. I am posting this without making eye contact with anyone.

What is more important in a small Texas town than the high school football team?

Nothing, if you asked most anyone, including of course, head Lions football coach, Joel Miller- Coach Miller, that is. He had lead the team to numerous state titles, securing donations to the football program and filled display cases with trophies and framed team photos. Several former players had even gone on to play in the NFL.

Yeah, Coach Miller is a big deal.

You feel lucky when during your senior year the cheerleading team has to share practice space with the football team. Honored when Coach Miller helps your squad with conditioning. While the football team runs drills, he’s monitoring your time on the treadmill, checking your form during lunges, and helping you really lean into your stretches. He’s so helpful and encouraging. “That’s it, girls, get those knees up! Hustle!” He yelled as he watched you run by in your little shorts and sports bra. The one you took to wearing when you knew he might see.

Coach Miller knew a thing or two about cheerleading too, and he helped your coach to develop a cheer routine. You always blushed when his rough, steadying hands gripped your bare legs or circled your waist to help direct you. You saw how the other girls exchanged looks, but

Coach Miller had experience, he obviously knew enough about cheer. He knew what got crowds excited and lifted team morale. You beamed when he clapped and tucked his clipboard under his arm as you balanced on your teammates shoulders, one knee lifted high, both arms aloft, Pom-poms rustling in the hot Texas breeze. You felt butterflies that fluttered from your stomach down to your throbbing pussy. “Atta girl. You got it!” He praised.

The fawning newspaper articles never mentioned how handsome Coach Miller is. He’s probably in his fifties but you didn’t care. The other girls rolled their eyes, called him an old man. You liked the gray in his hair and beard. You liked the way his body was still so broad and strong, even if his belly was a little softer than it used to be. You liked the way his forearm flexed as he lifted the whistle to blow and get everyone’s attention. “Alright, boys go hit the showers, girls you stay and finish stretching.” Your cheer coach was busy with Megan and Lindsay and Tiffany, so you did your best to go through the regimen on your own.

You stood and twisted at your waist, first to one side, then the other. You spread your legs wide and bent deep to touch your toes, keeping your spine loose. You wanted him to see. “Ugh. He’s watching us.” You heard behind you. “He’s such a creep. He’s like a hundred years old.” “Yeah and you remember what happened with Monica. Nobody’s going to say shit to him.” You listened to the other girls talking, and tried to ignore them. Of course there were rumors about Coach that passed though the girls at school. They were probably just mad that he wasn’t giving them the time of day.

It was easy to forget the other girls and their hateful gossip when you saw that handsome man across the field. You stood and dabbed your shoulder. You winced and rubbed it, drawing the attention of Coach Miller. He jogged over, the muscles of his thighs rippling under his khaki shorts, belly rounding slightly under his royal blue polo shirt, and whistle bouncing as he made his way to you. “What’s ’a matter, sweetheart?” Care and concern painted his dark features, furrowing his brow. “It’s just my shoulder, Coach. I don’t know, it just is pretty sore.” You pouted up at him, giving him your best helpless face. He hummed and nodded. “You girls go on and get cleaned up, we’re done for today. I’ll let your coach know. I gotta deal with this.” He gestured to you, and you bowed your head sheepishly. The rest of the girls scoffed and muttered as they gathered their bags, shooting you looks of disdain and perhaps pity. Good riddance to them.

“Thank you Coach.” You said softly, bashfully. “C’mon, I got an ice pack in my office. Can’t let our rising star get hurt, can we?” You relished his attention. The hallways leading to his office were dark and empty, at 5:30 on a Friday, everyone had gone home. Once inside his office you sat on his desk, cluttered with papers and Gatorade bottles. You swung your legs and leaned back on your palms, letting the hem of your top ride up to expose a sliver of your belly. You hoped he would notice the way it was snug against your breasts. His office smelled like sweat and Lysol, but photos and framed newspaper clippings covered the walls. You used your phone to cover the framed photo on his desk of him and his wife and kid.

When Coach Miller returned with the ice pack, he found you innocently playing with the hem of your short cheer skirt. He hesitated, taking in your long, bare legs, smooth and pretty. He followed the line of them up to where they disappeared under that damn skirt, he wondered what he might find if he flipped it up. Wondered if you had on those little white panties he had seen once when you were practicing cartwheels with the other girls. He wasn’t stupid man. He knew that some of you young girls had little crushes on him. He'd be a liar if he said it didn’t stroke his ego or that he hadn’t jerked off more than a few times behind his locked office door. He would never, ever admit to a few consensual dalliances with a few girls. Always over 18, but always so young and beautiful and eager to please. Was it wrong? When they wanted him? Joel preferred to think of it as a perk of the job.

“Where’s it hurtin’, honey?” Coach Miller asked, his voice much more tender than he ever used with the boys on his football team.

“My shoulder, coach. It’s sore.” He made a sympathetic sound and slowly, carefully began to run his big hands over your arms. “Can you hold ‘em up for me? Good girl.” You held your arms out to the side and he palpated your shoulders, stepped back to look you over, checking for you didn’t know what. It didn’t matter. Your shoulder didn’t really hurt.

Joel frowned. “What is it coach? Is it bad? Your voice was small and wavering.

“No, darlin’ it’s just that I can’t get a good feel for your rotator cuff cause your shirt’s in the way.”

“Oh..”

“Well, here’s the thing, you know we got that big game comin’ up and your coach won’t let ya cheer if you’re hurt. Really would be best if I could just check it out. If nothin’s wrong we ain’t gotta worry your coach over it.” He winked at you conspiratorially.

“What if I just…I could just take this off.” You tried to sound casual. Like it was the most normal thing for an eighteen year old to be topless in a room alone with a 56 year old woodshop teacher/football coach.

“That’s what the boys all do, sugar. Ain’t a big deal, but I don’t want to make ya uncomfortable. I can just go get your coach and she can check ya out.”

There was no way you wanted your coach thinking you were injured. Not when you were gunning for a cheerleading scholarship. Missing any games now was out of the question.

“We don’t need to bother her, Coach Miller. I trust you.”

Joel nodded. “Alright, I’ll tell ya what- I’ll give ya a towel to cover up with. How’s that?”

“Sounds good, Coach. Just, could you help me unzip?” You gave him a little smile over your shoulder and held your hair out of the way for him to drag the zipper down.

Joel stifled a groan when he realized you didn't have a bra on under your little top. His cock was already beginning to swell in his shorts. You shrugged off the blue and yellow top of your uniform and clutched the tiny towel he handed you to your chest. “Is this good, Coach Miller?”

“Yeah that’s good. Real good. Arms straight up, now. Gotta check your rotator cuff.”

You did as he asked, and the towel slipped to your lap and he rubbed and squeezed at your shoulders, peeking over to catch a glimpse of your bare tits. They were so pretty, your hard little nipples making his mouth water.

“Good news. I don’t think it’s anything serious. A little massage and rest is probably all ya need. Couple ibuprofen.”

You thanked him, half heartedly bringing the towel to cover your chest again.

“Just one thing though, I noticed there’s not a current physical on file for you. You know, they take that stuff real serious. I know you’ve been workin’ real hard all year, I think you’ve got real potential and I’d hate for you to throw that away over a little form. If you want, I can give ya a quick check and it’ll be our little secret.”

“Gosh, Coach. You’d really do that for me?”

You knew damn well your physical was on file. You had taken it to the office yourself. It was something you’d been doing every year since you started playing sports in junior high.

“Yeah, won’t take but a minute. Don’t want ya getting in any trouble.”

You sighed gratefully. “Thanks Coach Miller. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Go on and hop up on my desk and I’ll make this quick and easy.”

He moved your arms one at a time, feeling for proper movement. He had you step on a scale and measured your height and weight, commenting that you were “full grown.” He had you bend forward and touch your toes, sliding his fingertips up the length of your spine to check for scoliosis, but taking the opportunity to admire the way your skirt rode up to expose just a bit of your panties, just barely brushing his hard cock over your ass. “Oops!” You dropped the towel, dramatically covering your tits with your hands, squeezing them together.

Joel looked at the form he was half-assing and scribbled on it, before sitting it aside and clearing his throat. “You uh, you do your regular self exams?”

“Self exams?” you blinked at him innocently, hiding the smirk that threatened to break through.

“Breast exams, sweetheart. Gotta make sure everything is like it’s supposed to be. Real important to check. Maybe I better show you how. Why don’t you lay down there and put your arms over your head for me?”

You did as he asked, lying back on his desk and didn’t bother hiding your lustful stare and he slid both hands up your rib cage to cup the underside of your breasts. He squeezed gently, kneading the supple flesh. “You’re doing great, baby.” You whined as he worked his way around your nipples, watching intently as they hardened. “Almost done.” He pinched at your nipples, making you squirm, he pulled gently, and rubbed them under his thumbs before squeezing your tits once more. “I think that’ll do.”

But he didn’t take his hands from you. He ran them over your chest, down your sternum, over your belly to the band of your skirt. He gripped your hips through the rough fabric, forgetting himself, or dropping the act. Either way, he found himself staring at the wet spot on your exposed panties. You bent your knees and rested your heels on the edge of Coach Miller’s desk. “Let’s see if he can resist this!” You’d thought, delighted with the way your plan was working.

Joel had his fair share of girls throwing themselves at him over the years, but you certainly took the cake. In half an hour you’d gone from a shy school girl to a sex starved slut right on his desk. It had been so easy, maybe too easy. Give you a little attention, some praise you weren’t getting at home, some touches like he knew the dumbass boys on his team weren’t going to learn about for another eight to ten years. Joel loved it when his plans worked.

“Something you need, baby?”

“Mhm. My backs kinda stiff. Maybe you could help stretch me. Get me loosened up.”

“This help?” Joel placed his hands on your knees and pushed them up, gently rolling your lower spine as he stood between your legs.he lowered them, letting your covered pussy brush against his rock hard cock, then repeated the motion, pushing your knees a little further each time.

“Feels so good, Coach.” You breathed, hands gripping the sides of his desk.

“Gonna open your hips up, you’re bein’ such a good girl.” He pushed again, letting your knees fall to the side, spreading you wide open. You could feel the way your panties clung wetly to your aching pussy, rendered nearly transparent by the slick that started seeping from you the minute you entered Coach Miller’s office.

Joel couldn’t play this dumb game with you anymore. He squeezed your plush thighs and pushed them down, dragging his thumb over the soaked gusset of your underwear. “I think ya got a bigger problem than a stiff back. Looks like you’re really hurtin’ right here. How long has this pussy been needin taking care of?”

Finally! “All day, Coach. I really need help to make it feel better.”

Joel’s finger slipped under the fabric to slide over your puffy lips.

“I got some other massages and stretches that’ll make this all better. Do you want that?”

“Yes, please! Please Coach.” You nearly shouted at him. If he didn’t do something soon you’d have to try to climb on top of him and just take what you needed. It’s not like you couldn’t see how hard his cock had been since the minute you got your tits out. He was a creep and everybody knew it, but he was too handsome to resist and if his bulging erection was any indication, well…

“Gotta get these panties off.” You lifted your hips for him to slide them off, then stretched your legs and demonstrated your flexibility by pulling your ankles down and holding your legs wide open for him. “Goddamn. Look at this. You do want this, don’t ya? Got so damn wet on my desk from just gettin your tits touched. Are all the girls on your team so slutty?” He marveled at how wet you were, slipping his fingers from your entrance up and around your clit, tapping your pussy firmly with the flat of his hand and groaning at the sticky slapping sounds.

His index finger teased at your opening while his thumb rubbed over your clit. Flames licked at your belly. “Just slutty for you, Coach. Need a real man.”

“Yeah? You need a real man?” He emphasized his words by sinking two thick fingers into you, “I’ll show ya what a real man can do for you, but you ain’t ever gonna be happy with a boy again.” He pumped his fingers into you and to your shock, dripped spit directly from his mouth to your clit. The slip made the sensation even more intense, and you squeezed his fingers as your orgasm crested. “Good, huh? Well, we ain’t done. I got a little more stretching for this tight little cunt.” You’d never heard anyone talk so crudely. You loved it. “Fuck yes, Coach, please. Please!”

Joel’s eyes snapped up from where he was watching his fingers disappear into your pussy. “Watch your language.” You whined and bucked your hips, eager for what you hoped was coming next. Joel worked a third finger into your pussy, the stretch stung and radiated, but faded into a pleasant feeling of fullness you’d never experienced before. Not with your inexperienced conquests.

Satisfied that he’d prepared you well enough, Joel hastily unbuckled his belt and let his shorts fall to the floor, weighed down by his wallet and keys. You watched as he tugged his turgid member, the biggest you’d ever seen. “C’mere. Get on your knees a minute. I know you know how to do that.”

“You want me to suck your cock, Coach Miller?”

He huffed at you, amused at your innocent act.

“Open your mouth.” You opened wide and took him deep, gasping and bobbing your head over his tip, hollowing your cheeks. You looked up at him and took him as deep as possible, relishing in the look of devastation that washed over him as you gagged and drooled.

Joel muttered something you didn’t hear before he pulled you off his cock by your hair. “Bend over the desk. Come on.” You did as he asked, and he slicked his cock with your abundant arousal, slapping the head on your ass a couple times, then held the base of his cock in one hand, and gripped your hip with the other. Slow and steady he pushed into you, taking his time until he was fully sheathed, hips flush against your ass. He waited there, leaning his forehead against your back and reaching under you to grab your tit.

“So fucking tight. Tightest pussy I think I ever felt. You’re not a virgin are you?” You shook your head. You weren’t a virgin. He was your third. He was your biggest and best. It would be hard to top him, you mused until he dragged his length out of you and slammed back in with more force. He did that a few times- pull out slow, slammin hard. Slow, hard, slow, hard. Then he switched it up, pushing your knee up into the desk he favored slow, deep strokes so he could watch how your pussy gripped him and sucked him back in, wetting his cock with your slick, so wet it dripped down to his balls.

He smacked your ass, leaving handprints on the unblemished flesh. “Fuck yeah, baby. Just like that. Taking this cock so good. Feel ya squeezing me so tight. Cock hungry little slut making me fuck her. Fuckin beggin for this dick.” He gritted filth through clenched teeth. You reached down to rub your clit, and let your hand wander further, feeling where your bodies joined, stretching your fingers to catch his balls as he pounded mercilessly into you. He smacked your ass hard, then reached up to hold your shoulders and his movements became uneven. “Coach, please! Please, come in my little pussy!” You’d heard that in porn and thought it sounded good.

Joel’s eyes squeezed shut tight as he let go, filling you with rope after rope of cum. You moaned, feeling him pulsing deep inside.

There was no kiss afterward. No hugging, no cuddling. Joel handed you the little towel to clean up with, Carter he watched his spend drip out of your wrecked pussy and onto the fabric of your skirt. He wished he had a picture of it. You wiped away what you could and put your shirt back on, your panties had disappeared and at 6:15 there was no time to look for them now. Coach Miller promised he would find them for you. You gathered your phone and backpack. He squeezed your shoulder as he walked you out to the main hallway and cleared his throat. “You know, if anyone found out about this, it could ruin your shot at any kind of scholarship. You might not even get into college at all. Now, I know you young girls make mistakes and I’m not going to tell anyone as long as you keep up your grades and your practice. If I hear about ya being a slut, though, I’ll have to inform the principal for your own good. Don’t make me do something we would both regret, sweetheart. Ya understand?”

“Yes, Coach. I understand.”

Joel breathed a sigh of relief. He had seven years until he could retire. He wasn’t sure how many more pretty little seniors would come sniffing around, but he thought maybe he should try to stop giving in to every doe eyed little slut that came along. Oughta try other ways of keeping his dick wet.

On Monday Joel was at his desk, drinking coffee, making out a supply request form for his woodshop lesson plan when his phone chimed. A message from an unknown number had sent an attachment. He squinted at the screen, and froze in horror when he saw his own face looking back at him, he was perfectly framed in the shot, a still from a video, and there you were, smiling at the camera underneath him. The message that followed was short. “See you after practice, Coach.”

[toxicanonymity]

Big Fat Tally Mark

Joel Miller x Female Reader | 1.7k words WARNINGS: 18+ NSFW. Non-outbreak AU, established couple, fem/AFAB reader, dirty talk, pet names, praise, incidental solo play (m), foreplay - oral f receiving, fingering, dirty talk. Joel wears a hollow strap* for PIV: Sometimes this is called a cock enhancer or extender but we know he doesn't need it. on the inside it's like a fleshlight. Written for @dark-scape’s The Tally Chain Fic Event. Please consider donating to the National Network of Abortion Funds or other abortion resources. Also, consider writing a tally fic 💙

You called Joel on the way home from work. "I'm just dying to give you another tally," you purred. All afternoon, a montage of possibilities had played in your head -- sucking his cock, jacking him off, politely requesting an anal cream pie...

“Got a surprise for ya,” he told you. 

“Yeah?” you asked. 

“Yeah,” Joel said in a sweet voice, then shifted his tone. “A whole lotta cock. Gonna pack ya full of it” 

“Be ready when I get home,” you replied. 

You and Joel had stored something special in the toy chest, saving it for a rainy day. By this point, you might have forgotten about it, but Joel hadn't, and this was the perfect occasion. The hollow attachment was veiny, close to Joel’s skin tone, and nearly 10”. His own dick, already a more than respectable size, would slide right into it, then he’d fuck you with the massive horsecock. 

Armed with a big bottle of lube, the strap, and the attachment, he went to the restroom to put it on. This was top-of-the-line equipment. Not only would it provide enhanced girth for your pleasure, but it would pleasure Joel, too. The inside of it was state-of-the-art material with a patented new design. More realistic as the Fleshlight, it promised, or your money back. 

Joel dropped his pants and lubed up his hard cock. He stepped into the harness and loosely fastened it before lining the tip of his dick up with the hollow cock’s entrance. The hole was a slit. Joel held the hollow dildo in one hand and his cock, dripping lube, in the other. He rubbed his tip over the soft little slit, then pushed his tip inside. He sucked in air through his teeth as the cock slid on far faster than he intended. His cock throbbed as he bottomed out. 

Joel finished fastening the strap and admired himself in the mirror. The dong was massive, and it looked stiff and swollen like it might burst.  At first glance, the size looked a little absurd, but the longer Joel looked at the mirror, it looked like it could feasibly be a part of him.

He held it in his hand, marveling at how his hand struggled to wrap around it. He stood in different poses. He faced the mirror and held it at the base and lazily thrust forward a few times. God, it looked hot, and the interior material felt more like your smooth walls than anything he’d felt in a while. 

The idea of your pussy spread around this cock made him hard as a brick. It made him so hard that the phallus began to feel tight. It felt tight in the best way, god it felt good–not as good as the real you, but it almost felt like this thing as sucking him. It was so snug that he had to make sure it wasn’t stuck. With both hands firmly on the attachment, he pulled his hips back and “fffuuuuu,” it was sucking him back in. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure to his taint. 

Hre paused to breathe then rocked his hips and felt it pull him in again.  “No? Need more?” Joel muttered under his breath and bottomed out again. He held the attachment firmly and withdrew twice as much shaft. He paused and watched his cock throb with the silicone slit stretched around it. Then he slid back in. “You’re a greedy little thing.” The walls of the attachment hugged his cock.  

Jesus Christ, he was gonna cum if he wasn’t careful. 

“Almost ready,” you called from the bedroom, making him jump. He hadn’t even realized you were home.

Joel emerged from the bathroom holding his “enhanced” cock in his hand as though it were his own, and you could only say, “Dear God.” You were in a nightgown with no panties. Joel’s steps toward the bed were slow and heavy. You scooted to the edge of the bed to stare that monster cock right in the face. 

“Can I taste it before you lube it?” you asked and he held it steady for you. 

You could barely stretch your lips around it. You gagged yourself then slid it out of your mouth, drool falling over your chin. You held your jaw and opened wide to try to get rid of the cramp. 

“Enough about  me,” Joel said. “How’s my sunshine?” He lifted your chin with two fingers, then kissed you, still holding his enormous appendage in his other hand. 

“Empty,” you whispered. “So very empty….” you eyed his equipment again. 

“Show me how empty,” Joel said. 

You turned around facing the bed and leaned over it doggy style. You lifted up your nightgown and Joel let out a low whistle when he saw how wet you were. 

“Easy, baby,” he chuckled. “Think I need to warm ya up a little.” 

“Well, get to it,” you teased him, crawling onto the bed and turning around. . 

He hovered over you, kissed you again, then pulled the straps of your nightgown down so he could make out with your tits. You moaned at his tongue swirling around your nipples. The silicone cock kept grazing you. It was bobbing heavily between you and made your body throb with anticipation. With Joel’s mouth still on your breast, he reached between your open legs and slid his fingers through your slick.

He pushed one, then two fingers into you, and you asked for a third. 

“Good girl,” he cooed as he fucked you with three fingers. His digits were coated in your slick. He removed his fingers and you protested “uh!” at the loss. Then he licked your fingers and moaned at the taste. 

“Wanna turn over?” he offered. 

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” you replied. 

With you face down on the bed, Joel adjusted your position for a better angle and kneed your legs open further. He ran his fingers and knuckles through your slick teasingly. He gathered slick with his thumb and began to work your clit. Then, after your first little whine, he spread your pussy wide and ate it from the back.

“MMmm,” he hummed into your cunt as he buried his mouth in your folds and made out with your weeping pussy. There was no better taste. Your hips lifted into his face, and he doubled down, absolutely feasting on your cunt until your thighs were trembling and your body took on the most beautiful shape. 

You had barely finished coming, when you breathed, “Fuck me.” 

Joel’s face was shiny and pink.  “Droolin’, ain’t she,” Joel murmured. “Can’t have enough’a this anyway,” he mumbled then pumped a puddle of lube into his palm and slathered the cock in it. 

“You ready for this monster?” Joel asked. 

“Mmm-hmm” you whined. 

He covered his fingers in lube and worked you open for him again until you were easily taking three of his fat fingers. Then he notched the tip at your wet little hole. “Oh, baby, you really think you can take this big cock?” 

“Mmm-hmm.” You tilted your hips. 

The cockhead prodded at your entrance and you reached back with both your hands to help spread your cunt around it. 

Joel groaned at the sight. “God damn, baby,” he pushed the tip halfway in, and you made yourself comfortable again, taking your hands away. 

Joel moved his hips in small pulses, teasing you with the tip until he pushed the tip inside, making you moan with the pressure. 

“Good girl,” he praised you. He pressed a little further. 

“It’s so—wide,” you marveled. 

“Too much?” 

“No,” you reassured him. 

“How ‘bout a little more?” 

You nodded. 

He withdrew all but the very tip of the cock and added more lube, then slid halfway in, pushing a low moan out of you. You grabbed a pillow to bite if you needed it, but the stretch was the best part. 

When Joel pulled back, your pussy was clinging to the dripping wet silicone, begging for it back, and Joel had half a mind to take a pic. 

“Babe, you look—So goddamn hot.” 

“Mmm,” you sighed. 

He pulled back a little then slid in all he could, gushing, “Gooood giiiirl,” as he gently met your cervix.  

“Ohhhh, fuck,” you panted. “I’m full. Fuck, I’m full.” 

Joel was breathing heavily. “You took that so good baby.”

He slid halfway out, then packed you full again, and began to fuck you at a slow rhythm. 

“Look at you takin’ this goddamn monster cock,” he marveled, and sped up just a little. 

“Oh, Joel,” you sighed, with the massive cock fucking you into the mattress. 

Joel was holding on for dear life. He wanted it to last, but it was too fucking hot, it felt too good. The soft inner chamber hugged Joel nice and tight, and your cunt made it squeeze him far tighter. The sight alone could’ve made him cum. 

“God damn,” he breathed, fully seated in your cunt. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby,” he warned you. 

“C’mon, babe,” you encouraged him. 

He held onto your hips and his eyes were glued to where your bodies were joined as he thrust a few more times, spreading your body apart, splitting you with this massive girth while you relished in the stretch. 

“Ohhh,” he began, then bottomed out and began to pulse. “Oh, god damn,” he breathed. “Damn I love you, baby.” His seed poured into the hollow cock, enrobing his dick in his own warm, sticky mess with each burst. 

As Joel began to pull out, you reached under the pillow and turned on a vibrating wand. 

Joel quietly chuckled, “attagirl,” and slid back in. 

You massaged yourself, feeling stuffed full like never before. 

“Ohhh, god,” Joel sighed when you convulsed around his cock. 

This thing he was wearing, God– it was a new sensation. And with the beat of your fluttering walls, and the vibration—It felt like even more cum was squeezed out of him with your orgasm.

When you were finished. Joel slowly withdrew from you. He sighed in admiration as your body drew itself back together, like nothing ever happened. 

You began to roll over and weakly said, "We've gotta mark the--"

“You just rest, baby, hold on." Joel went and got you a warm rag and helped clean you up, then put a glass of your favorite juice on the nightstand. The whole time, he was still wearing the attachment. 

Then he proudly walked over to the whiteboard and drew one big fat tally. 

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Thank you for reading!

Also, I truly appreciate your comments. I love knowing what you liked, and your feedback helps it feels more like a community than a stage 💙 ily all, please drink water and rest. 🫶

[popcornforone]

Every Room, Nothing Bound

A Harry Castillo Fan Fic

A Different Kind of Christmas

25th

29th

If you’ve been here long enough you will know that in most of my series there is one day where it’s pure filth… today is that day. Prepare yourselves.

Synopsis:- it’s a stormy day, you & Harry decide to make the most of it & explore every room in the penthouse & each other.

Word Count:-7200

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! IM SERIOUS!!! Whatever sex you think about it’s in this fic, PIV, anal, 69, oral, exhibitor, bath, shower, eating out, teasing, swearing, domination, power shift, sensual, riding, cock warming, dirty talk, sexual fantasy’s. Multiple orgasms.

See told you full on.

Good luck my loves. See you for some calm on Monday.

The rain hammering against the balcony doors drags you both out of sleep. You’re still tired from the chaos of the last two days, but honestly, Christmas has never felt better. The wind howls outside, rattling the glass. You reach for Harry’s T-shirt, the one he flung off last night while he watched you fall apart with your own hands before he was even allowed to touch you, & tug it over your head. It just barely covers your bum.

You sleepily stroll over to the curtains & part them an inch. A flash of lightning fills the room, thunder rolling right after it. For a second, you swear you feel the building sway. Behind you, Harry groans, then slowly sits up, hair a mess, voice rough from sleep. He still faintly smells of you.

“So that storm we joked about a couple days ago,” you say quietly. “Yeah… it’s here & it’s…”

A burst of hail hits the windows like thrown pebbles. “Okay,” you finish, “we’re definitely staying in today.”

“Good,” Harry mutters as he flops backwards. Exasperated that he even had to be woken up.“I just wanna chill & do nothing. Being festive is exhausting.” He says it sarcastically, but the grin in his voice gives him away.

“You loved every second of it.”

You hear his low giggle.

“Yeah,” he admits, lifting his head to look at you. “For the first time in a long time… I really did.” His eyes trail down your body, taking in the T-shirt clinging to you in all the right places. His lips part, slow & wicked. “Are you planning on being a distraction all day?”

“Would a distraction make you a bacon sandwich for breakfast because she loves you?” you ask, giving a cheeky little twist of your hips like some smug, naughty schoolgirl.

“Absofuckinglutely,” he says without hesitation.

He rolls out of bed, pulling on only a pair of grey sweatpants, low, loose, & doing absolutely nothing to hide how peachy his arse looks. Then he follows you out to the kitchen.

The kitchen is still dim, the storm rattling the windows like background percussion. You slide across the tiles, Harry right behind you, warm, sleepy & already eyeing you like breakfast.

You head straight for the fridge, grabbing the bacon, while Harry moves automatically toward the coffee machine. He starts it up with a low hum, rubbing a hand through his hair, still half asleep & stupidly gorgeous in those sweats.

“Tea for you?” he asks, voice gravelly.

“Mhm,” you hum, already turning on the stove. “Strong. I’m gonna need the energy.”

That gets one eyebrow up.

Harry’s coffee starts brewing, your tea steaming beside it, but his focus keeps drifting. Specifically… to your hips. Because as soon as the bacon hits the pan & starts sizzling, you put on music, nothing festive, something slow & sultry with a heavy bass line. A song you’d never admit you deliberately chose.

Then without meaning to… or maybe fully meaning to… your hips start swaying a little. Not dancing. Just moving. Slow. Intentional. Lazy circles as you flip the bacon.

Behind you, Harry groans softly.

Not subtle. Not even trying.

“Delicious,” he murmurs.

You glance over your shoulder. “The bacon or the view?”

His grin is slow & feral. “Both. But the view’s making it real hard to behave.”

“Good thing we’re not leaving the penthouse,” you say lightly, swaying a little more. The T-shirt rides up just a bit, giving him a flash of thigh. “Storm day rules apply.”

“& what rules are those?” he asks, stepping closer but not touching. Not yet.

“That I get to make breakfast without you distracting me,” you tease.

Harry places your tea beside you, so close you feel the warmth of his chest at your back, but he still doesn’t touch you. His breath grazes your shoulder.

“& what if,” he murmurs, “I’m the one being distracted?”

You flip the bacon again, pretending innocence.

“Then you’ll have to wait for your sandwich like a good boy.”

He laughs into your skin, low, dark, & promising absolutely nothing good. This is exactly when you feel his hands finally settle on your hips.

“Once I’ve finished off this bacon I’m gonna start on you,” he says.

“You calling me breakfast? A snack?” You put the bread in the toaster & push it down.

“You are more than both & you know it, honey,” he says. “In fact, you’re so much so that I think I can have you cumming before the bacon is done.”

“Is that a challenge?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Ooh no, baby girl, it’s a mission.”

He slides you away from the stove, bends you over the counter, & his voice drops low. “You gonna moan for me? You gonna be a good girl & take it like a champ?”

“For you, Harry, I’d do anything.”

You yelp when his palm cracks against your arse.

“Fuck, baby… yelping already? Maybe the bacon won’t even get crispy.”

He’s lifting your T-shirt, & judging by the way the head of his cock glides through your slick, he’s already pushed his sweats down. “So responsive, honey.”

Harry doesn’t waste time. He sinks into you in one deep, claiming thrust that has you gripping the countertop, knuckles white, breath stuttering.

“Oooh….fuck…yes, yes…”you cry, the sound of skin on skin almost loud enough to drown out the toaster popping.

“Come on, honey… show me whatcha got,” he snarls, giving your arse another sharp swat.

“Harry!!”

You scream as you come undone, your climax crashing through you, & as always, he’s right behind you, groaning, breathless, exhaling against your neck as he follows.

“Damn it, honey… why is it that when I fuck you in the morning, neither of us can last that long?”

“Cos…” You push up from the counter & turn to face him, the mess still dripping down your thighs now that he’s pulled out. “…it’s a need. Almost as much as the morning coffee.”

“Very true, but…”

He’s cut off by the fire alarm shrieking. Smoke fills the air. The bacon is pure charcoal.

“Fuck!” you both yell.

You start waving a tea towel at the alarm like your life depends on it, while Harry tries to rescue the pan. Out of the six rashers, only two survive.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to cook more to service our appetite,” you say, moving toward the fridge. But Harry steps in front of you.

“I dunno if that’ll quench what I’m craving,” he murmurs, desire shining bright in his eyes.

After salvaging breakfast, you put the items in the dishwasher to run later. You then find Harry in the lounge, scrolling through the TV planner to see what you’ve both recorded over the last three days. He’s still only in his sweatpants, no top. He looks like some Adonis, but he’s your Adonis.

“You gonna linger in the doorway,” he asks, slipping his glasses on, “or you gonna come join me for some catch-up TV?”

“I dunno…” you say smugly. “The view from here is rather good. I’m not sure anything on the TV is going to match it.”

He blushes slightly. He’s better at taking compliments than you are, but that one… that one lands.

“The view’ll be even greater if you’re closer. Plus you can feel it too.”

“Like scratch & sniff,” you say, walking in with confidence.

Harry snorts.

“Are you old enough to remember that?”

“I remember a Children in Need night with it.”

That makes him laugh even harder.

“I sometimes forget you’re a little bit younger than me.”

“Alright, old man.”

You slide onto the sofa, & his hand goes straight between your thighs.

“Thought I was meant to be the one touching,” you whimper as his thumb circles your clit. You slip your hand down his sweatpants, finding his cock already slick with precum, coating your palm.

“Honey, I think all bets are off on storm days.”

He pulls your T-shirt off in one smooth motion, flinging it somewhere near the TV, then he shimmies out of his sweatpants. He eases you down so your naked body lies in front of his on the sofa.

“Is this moody & stormy enough for you?” he murmurs as his length glides through your folds before pushing inside you again. You let out an intoxicating sigh.

“Thought as much,” he breathes, leaning over your shoulder so his mouth finds yours. His lips are soft, hungry, decadent. His hips start slow, building gradually, while his thumb returns to your clit, steady, intent, playing you like a cello.

Your hand tangles in his hair, your tongues sliding together, your moans caught in each other’s mouths. You only break for the briefest gasp of air before one of you latches back on. Feral doesn’t even cover the scene on the sofa as he thrusts into you, relentless, consuming.

By the time you’re both spent, he’s cradling you like he’s afraid you might disappear like Christmas cheer. He kisses your shoulder, a stray curl dripping sweat onto your skin, making you hiss.

“Best Christmas TV yet,” he whispers.

“I’d be up for a rewatch,” you murmur, kissing him tenderly as he pulls you into his lap. You do eventually watch some TV… but you’re far too busy taking over the sofa & each other for any of it to make sense. A rewatch will definitely be required.

A while later, you tell Harry you’re going to have a bath. You weren’t expecting him to join you, but when he says wine & a back rub, you’re definitely not turning that down. Your clothes stay abandoned in the lounge, future you can deal with them.

You ask him to run the bath (you know he hates it too hot), while you go for the wine. There’s still a nice Australian white in the fridge, so you grab the bottle & two glasses before heading to the bathroom. It’s not the en-suite, it’s the guest bathroom in his penthouse, the one he likes to use when he wants a long soak.

When you walk in, the room is already steamy, the air thick with tea-tree & cherry. Harry is slowly sinking into the tub, his arse as glorious as ever. You giggle as he sighs, eyes fluttering shut.

“Best get in quick, honey, or the bubbles will go.”

You don’t need telling twice. You set the wine & glasses on the table beside the bath & slide in, letting the warmth swallow you. Harry pulls you straight into his lap.

“So,” he whispers against your ear, “storm day rules, eh?”

“Mmmhhhmmm,” you hum, turning your head to look at him.

“Should I expect a day of passionate, unbound sex every time it rains?” he asks as he pours the wine.

“Harry…”

“What?” he laughs. “Is this just a special Christmas treat? That I get to claim you as many times as possible today?”

“Maybe,” you say, taking a sip. “But you can have sex with me whenever or however you want. I’m not gonna say no.”

Before you even swallow, he kisses you, his tongue stealing a little of the wine.

“I think we should have storm days more often,” he murmurs. “Take a day for self-care… self-pleasure… self-discovery… clothing optional.” His hand slides up your thigh.

“You don’t just want storm days to be naked days?” you tease.

His eyes light up.

“Dirty bitch,” he growls, squeezing your thigh. “Keep talking like that & I’ll fuck you in this bath.”

“Talking like what?” you ask, pretending innocence. “Imagine it, Harry, you wake up, I’m naked in the kitchen making pancakes, you could eat them off me… I’d be in your dressing room, not able to find anything to wear, I’d…”

He grabs your chin.

“You’ve just earned yourself an orgasm,” he says, lifting you out of the water. You grip both sides of the bath as he lines himself up, & then you slowly sink down onto him in one go.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

You’re already panting, still sensitive from your first two sessions.

“Not if you let me cock-warm for a few minutes,” you breathe.

“Cock-warm?” His hips jerk reflexively. “Don’t posh girls do that?”

“I dunno, do they?” you smirk. “I ain’t posh.”

“Honey…” he murmurs as his hips flex again, “you just got a £300 candle for Christmas.”

You both laugh, he’d bought it for you as a joke, even though it had been his idea. “Trust me, you’re posh now.”

You lean back, letting the water shimmer around you. It doesn’t take long before you feel the urge to move, each slow thrust sending ripples across the surface, each roll of your hips turning the bath into something else entirely.

The water sloshes, the bubbles cling to your skin, & the euphoria builds & builds… until the bath water starts to drain around the two of you. Sensual & sophisticated that’s where you’re at.

After drying off, you head to the bedroom in your towel. Harry stays behind to shave, keeping that perfectly trimmed beard looking good, before he joins you. The second he walks in, he spots what you’re doing.

“Ahmmm,” he coughs.

You turn around.

“Thought we just made storm day rules,” he says.

“What do you mean?” you ask as you fasten the back of your bra, your knickers ready to go on.

“No clothes,” he tuts.

“Really?” you challenge, & he leans against the bedroom doorframe. “But what if I want you to take it off?” you add, sly, trying to get away with it.

“Honey…” He steps forward & gently plonks you down on the bed. “Today is a lazy day. A storm day. A ‘I want to make love to my girl as often as I can’ day. I want you naked & easy access.”

You blush as he continues, voice deepening.

“I want to worship your body. I want you to have so many orgasms you forget your name. & I want you climbing to euphoria…” he unclips your bra, letting it fall, “every chance you get.”

You don’t argue. As soon as your bra’s gone, you tug at his towel. His cock is right in front of your face; you lick your lips & your hands start working him instantly.

“Oooh, fuck, honey…” he groans. But the second your mouth gets close, he stops you with a hand. “Let’s both enjoy this,” he murmurs, before lying down on the bed & turning so you’re facing opposite ways. “Let’s both get a taste of heaven.”

You settle over him, & the moment his mouth meets your folds, you moan around his length. Each lick he gives you makes you take him deeper, slurping greedily. For the next fifteen minutes you grind on his face, his tongue sending shivers through your whole body. It’s primal, both of you tasting, devouring, moaning into each other, the sounds muffled by full mouths & too much desire.

Every couple of minutes he taps your thigh, urging you to add a few slurps for him, & you feel him tense each time you obey. He eats you messily, licking up every drop you give him, humming like he wants more, always more.

Then suddenly he pushes you off, breath hot, eyes glassy as he kneels on the bed, fist working fast.

“Drink or facial?” he pants.

“Facial,” you breathe.

His groan is low, guttural, & then his release paints your face & breasts in warm streaks as he finishes himself off. You drag a finger through the mess, bring it to your lips, & slurp it up with a wicked grin.

“Think I’m gonna need another bath, Harry,” you tease, giving him a wink.

You slip off the bed with a soft laugh, grabbing a warm flannel from the en-suite. As you wipe your face & chest clean, you hear Harry moving behind you, slow, deliberate, the kind of movements that mean he’s not done with you yet.

When you walk back into the bedroom, he’s standing by the balcony doors. He’s pulled the curtain aside. The storm outside is raging harder now, rain streaking down the glass, lightning flashing white across his bare back. He stands there completely naked, muscles carved out by every quick, brutal flicker of light.

“God…” you murmur. “Moody man.”

He glances over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his mouth.

“Moody?” Another crack of lightning, & the feral glint in his eyes is undeniable. “Or hungry?”

You step up behind him, trailing a hand down his spine, over the curve of his back, then lower, heat pouring off him. Your other hand slides around his waist, fingers brushing the hard planes of his stomach.

“You look like lightning…” you whisper against his shoulder. “& I’m the thunder.”

He inhales sharply through his nose, jaw going tight.

“Oh, honey…” His voice drops. “If you’re the thunder & I’m lightning…”

Your hand drifts lower, he twitches in your palm.

“…then I’m about to strike.”

He turns fully, chest rising & falling, stormlight painting him in sharp, wicked flashes as he backs you toward the glass.

“Touch me again,” he murmurs, voice rough, “& I’ll take you right here. Against this window. While the whole damn city gets a front-row view.”

You lay your hand on his chest. His breath catches, that’s all it takes.

“Like this…” you tremble, teasing him. He grabs your wrists & kisses you furiously.

“Just..”another kiss, deeper

“like…”his hand cups your sex

“that.”

Then he spins you. Your chest hits the cold glass, nipples tightening instantly.

“Look at you,” he breathes, drinking in the sight of your body lightning-lit & arching for him. “My own personal storm.”

His thigh slides between yours, & your whimper fogs the glass. You grind down instinctively, & he smirks like he’s claimed something.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers.

“It’s raining,” you manage, breathless.

“No.” His lips graze your neck, slow & sinful. “Not the rain.”

His hand cups your breast against the glass, thumb circling your nipple as another bolt of lightning turns the world white. His other hand works between your thighs, fingers gliding through your slick like he already knew exactly what he’d find.

“Harry…” your voice breaks.

“Louder,” he orders. “I want you louder than what’s raging outside.”

Your palms flatten on the cold glass, your breath fogging it instantly, & then he pushes inside you in one deep, relentless thrust.

It’s fast.

It’s savage.

It makes the Titanic car scene look like a kids’ cartoon.

Heat pours off you both as he ruts into you hard & merciless, matching the rhythm of the storm outside. One hand braced on the window, the other working your clit, he has you pinned, claimed, undone.

Your free hand grabs for him, his jaw, his chin, anything to pull him closer, you just manage to gasp:

“Kiss me like this is the last sex you’re ever going to have.”

He obeys instantly, mouth crashing to yours. The kisses are messy, hungry, desperate, nothing but teeth & heat & possession as your bodies slam together.

Your climax hits first, ripping a sound from you that vibrates the glass. His follows seconds later, groaning into your mouth as he thrusts through the high, filling you with every last pulse before his forehead drops to your shoulder.

You both slide down to the floor, a warm, breathless tangle of limbs & sweat & stormlight.

A long minute passes before you whisper, “Harry…”

“Yes, honey?” he says, voice still wrecked. He’s still inside you, softening slowly.

“The window cleaner is gonna hate us.”

He huffs out a laugh, tilting his head back to look at the fogged-up glass & the imprint of your body pressed against it.

“Good thing I came inside you then,” he says. “Or we’d be tipping them double.”

After cradling each other for a while, & talking about your previous sexual exploits (you finally tell Harry you used to be a stripper on your summer holidays in Ibiza, which makes him twitch), you hear the intercom buzzer go.

“The fuck?” Harry says. “Who’s out in this weather & actually wanting to see us?” You grab a blanket off the bed.

“Honey…” he starts, watching as you wrap it around you.

“Don’t worry babes, I got this,” you say, heading toward the door. The blanket only covers the front of you, so Harry gets a full view of your arse as you scurry away. His mind is already racing for the next round.

You hit the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Ahhh sorry miss, just building maintenance. We’re checking in on everyone to make sure no one’s lost power,” says the voice. You smile.

“We’re all good up here.”

“Well please shout if you need anything or if something goes wrong.”

“I can tell you that Harry is very capable,” you say, clicking the intercom off.

“Capable…” You almost jump, not realising Harry had crept up behind you. “What am I capable of?” He raises an eyebrow.

“You want me to list them?” you smirk.

He lifts you up & sets you on the dresser, tugging the blanket away. You don’t even protest, legs parting quickly, already expecting more pleasure.

“Each thing you say is another thrust,” he murmurs, lining up & pushing deep inside you with one slow, deliberate stroke. “Come on honey, don’t be shy.”

There’s a teasing nature to him. You can tell he wants to take you hard & fast, but he’s also determined to play the game.

“Spending,” you say first.

“Interesting choice.” His jaw tightens, though not as tight as you clamp around him when he thrusts as promised.

“Spoiling.” Another deep jolt.

“Worshiping.” He does it again.

“Protecting.” You groan.

“Being a gentleman.”

The list goes on & on. Harry’s smile grows with each one as he moves you down the hallway, your back hitting the coat rack at one point before he slowly edges you toward the dining room. The walls fill with X-rated moans & breathless praise.

“Perfect,” is the word you use that gets you both off, your final thrust coinciding as he pushes you through the dining room doors & collapses to his knees. You’re still wrapped around him, panting, spent, completely undone.

He carefully lays you on the dining table. He’s covered in sweat from the sex & from carrying you in moments of passion, droplets falling onto your skin as you giggle, lying completely exposed on the table. Then you sit up suddenly at a new sensation.

“Oooh fuck, Harry,” you moan at the feeling of his tongue on your clit. “Do you ever slow down?”

“Not when I’m in heat,” he says, looking up at you, his head between your legs, those big brown eyes dazzling. “You just complimented me on how capable I am for nearly 15 minutes. I think it’s time I worshiped you. & as we’re at the dining table… why shouldn’t I feast?”

He dives back in, lapping, slurping, licking, fingering, teasing, your hands buried in his curls, twisting as you push his head down more. Back-to-back climaxes roll through you; you’re so sensitive it doesn’t take much for you to let go.

Harry lifts his face, glistening & giggling.

“I could’ve done this in the lift,” he says.

You playfully muss his hair.

“That was a one-off,” you say. “& it was better than doing it in a pub toilet.”

“True…” he smirks, kissing your thigh, “…but it was fucking perfect. Just like you.”

For a moment, neither of you can speak.

Then he exhales a laugh,dark, satisfied, exhausted.

“You just wiped me out, honey.”

He kisses your shoulder, & before you can even catch your breath, his arms slide under your legs & back. He lifts you effortlessly.

“Come on,” he murmurs, carrying you bridal-style out of the office. “Guest bedroom’s right next door. You need a nap…”

He kisses your forehead, smug.

“…& I need ten minutes to remember my own name.”

You cling to him, warm & floaty, as he carries you to the guest room.

“Don’t get too comfy,” he adds, nudging the door open with his hip. “I’m far from done with you.”

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake, Harry is spooning you. Both of you still naked, limbs tangled, the decorative throw blanket from the foot of the bed now draped haphazardly across your hips. His skin is warm, still slightly damp, and he’s clinging to you like a sleepy koala.

You stretch with a tiny yawn, shifting just enough that you know it will wake him. You turn slowly, & he stirs, blinking himself into consciousness. The first thing he sees is your soft, smiling face.

“Honey…” he murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.

“Babes,” you whisper back. “You fell asleep too.”

“No,” he yawns, eyes closing again. “Just wanted to keep you warm. & safe.”

“Sure thing, handsome.” You drag your fingertips over his cheek. “Clearly we both needed a nap.”

He cracks one eye open. “Are you saying you’re not up for more?”

He stretches, chest on glorious display, the happy trail guiding your gaze downward without mercy.

“I never said that,” you tease, scooting closer. “I mean… you are Harry Castillo.” Your thumb brushes his jaw. “You’re powerful. You get what you want.”

“But so do you,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “I want you to have everything you’ve ever wanted. Whether it’s five quid for a bus or fifty million for a private jet, whatever it is, I’ve got you.”

“But who looks after you, Harry?” you ask gently. “Who makes sure you get everything?”

His expression softens in a way that makes your chest ache.

“Everything I need is lying in bed with me right now,” he says quietly. “& she looks completely sex drunk & her naked body im addicted to.@

The kiss he gives you after that is electric, slow at first, then hungry. His body covers yours, his weight warm & grounding, & you can feel him hardening against your thigh.

“Harry…” you whimper.

“Yes, honey?”

“I can give you something money can’t buy,” you whisper.

He pauses, body going still.

“What do you mean?”

“There’s… somewhere you’ve never claimed. Somewhere no man has ever been.”

He double blinks, eyes flicking to yours, shock melting into something deeper.

“You’re serious?”

“I wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t trust you implicitly,” you say, swallowing. “Just… be gentle. & if I say stop, you actually stop.”

He immediately takes your hand, squeezing.

“Honey, you know I don’t need to do this.”

“Call it a Christmas treat,” you giggle softly.

He laughs once under his breath, shaking his head fondly as he shifts down the bed.

“Only if you’re sure,” he murmurs, fingers sliding through your folds to make sure everything is slick & ready.

“On my life, Harry. & if I don’t like it, at least we tried.”

“Okay,” he says, voice low, steady. “I promise to go slow.”

He’s a gentleman with you, careful, controlled, supporting your hips as he slowly, gently guides himself inside your tightest place. His eyes stay locked on yours the entire time, searching for discomfort, reading every twitch of your breath.

Your eyes widen.

“I can stop,” he says instantly.

“No,” you breathe. “It’s… actually okay. It’s good.”

“Tell me everything, honey.”

His arms bracket your body, holding you, keeping your foreheads pressed together as the two of you move in slow, cautious rhythm, his body finally claiming the one part of you left untouched.

When it’s over, he stays inside you for a moment, just breathing with you, tracing your cheek with the back of his hand. You’re flushed, breathless, a little sore… but glowing.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

“I’m all yours now, Harry,” you whisper. “You’re the one who has it all.” He kisses your forehead like it’s a vow.

You lie there for a few minutes, cocooned in soft blankets & afterglow haze, expecting Harry to slip right back beside you. When he doesn’t, you roll to your back & call out softly:

“Harry? …where’d you go?”

Silence.

You sit up, blinking, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders as your muscles protest just a little. He still hasn’t returned. That alone is suspicious,he never wanders off after sex without telling you. Ever.

You stand, letting your toes touch the cool floor, and start searching.

Living room? Empty.

Kitchen? Empty.

It isn’t until you reach the hallway that you spot him, standing in the office doorway, one hand braced at the frame, the other loose at his side. The glow from the tree you decorated together spills warm light across his skin.

He’s naked.

& he’s staring at the room like he’s replaying something.

“Harry?” you ask, quietly amused. “You good?”

He turns his head just enough to look at you. His eyes scan from your face down to the blanket, down to your bare legs… then back up.

“I’m fine,” he says, but the tone tells you he’s thinking. Plotting.

You take a few slow steps toward him.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Thinking,” he answers simply, gaze drifting back into the study.

“About what?”

He nods toward the tree, the tinsel, the garlands. “About how you bossed me around in here for almost 3 hours. Pointing, directing, telling me where to put everything like you owned the place.”

You laugh under your breath. “Because you kept putting things crooked & weren’t in the festive spirit.”

He glances at you over his shoulder again. “Mm. & you just had to fix it, didn’t you?” His voice softens into a tease. “Couldn’t let me have one creative decision. Even had me in a Christmas jumper & covered me in glitter.”

You stand beside him now, bumping your shoulder against his arm.

“Oh please. You liked me ordering you around.”

A slow smile stretches across his lips.

“Did I?”

“You did,” you insist, stepping closer, nudging his hip with yours. “You liked me telling you where to hang things. Admit it.”

He finally turns fully toward you, &the shift in his expression is instant. Something darker settles behind his eyes. Something you feel low in your stomach.

“You know what I liked?” he says quietly, stepping into your space.

“What?” you whisper.

“I liked watching you get all worked up.” His fingers trail down the blanket at your shoulder. “All confident.” He pulls the edge of the fabric just a little, exposing your collarbone. “All demanding.”

You swallow, heat blooming in your chest.

“Harry…”

“& now,” he murmurs, leaning in, brushing his lips over your jaw, “I’m thinking it’s my turn.”

You exhale shakily. “Your turn to what?”

“To boss you about.” He noses along your neck, slow, deliberate. “My turn to tell you where I want you.” Another kiss, hotter. “& you’re gonna listen.”

Your breath catches, he hears it.

“Oh yeah,” he whispers, “you’re listening already.”

He steps back a single pace, eyes fixed on you, jaw set in that way that makes your knees weak. Then he tilts his head toward the office.

“Inside.”

You hesitate, not out of uncertainty, but because the tension between you pulls taut & electric.

“Harry…” you say again.

“What, honey?” he asks, voice low, authoritative, hungry.

“What if I’m not done being bossy yet?” you tease, lifting your chin.

He lets out a soft laugh,dark, thrilled, he closes the distance between you in one smooth stride.

He grabs the blanket, pulls it clean off your body, & drops it to the floor.

“You’re done,” he murmurs, eyes devouring you. “Get on the desk.”

Harry pushes off the doorframe & steps closer, towering just a little, but with that softness still in his eyes, the kind he only ever shows you.

“You know,” he says, fingertips grazing your hip beneath the blanket, “if you were my assistant at work?”

Your breath hitches.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear.Not kissing. Just close enough to wreck you.

“We’d get absolutely nothing done.”

A tiny sound slips out of you, involuntary.

His hand closes gently but firmly around your waist, guiding you backwards into the office, his body herding yours with slow, deliberate control.

“No one would survive it,” he adds, voice dropping. “Those little skirts you wear? The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking? I’d have you pinned against this desk every damn hour.”

Your knees go weak. “Harry…”

He cuts you off with a soft, dark laugh as your thighs meet the edge of the desk.

“You know what drives me crazy?” His fingers brushing your stomach, your ribs, the underside of your breast, not touching, just tracing the outline like he’s planning. “You walk around my apartment like you own every room.”

“& do I?” you whisper, breathless.

He steps closer. You feel the warmth of him, the intention, the control. His forehead touches yours, and that’s somehow more intimate than anything else.

“Yes,” he says simply. “But in here…”

His hands slide to your hips.

“…I’m the one in charge.”

A shiver rolls through you.

His grip tightens, not rough, but authoritative. Claiming without hurting. Command without pressure.

“& right now,” he murmurs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk, spreading your body where he wants you, “you’re mine to direct.”

Your pulse pounds in your throat.

He leans in for a slow, devastating kiss, the kind that promises everything that’s coming but gives nothing away yet.

“Lie back,” he whispers against your lips. “Be good.”

You do.

Harry stands over you, eyes dark, chest rising with hungry, restrained breaths.

He then murmurs, “I’m about to make this desk very, very memorable for you,”

the room tilts… the breath leaves your lungs …the world goes utterly still.

Harry is relentless, taking you hard & fast. The man who’d been so gentle in the guest bedroom minutes before is now plundering your body like he can’t get deep enough. You’re not exactly quiet, your moans are loud, raw, each one pushed out of you as he hits that special spot inside you over and over.

He bites his lip as you claw at him, begging breathlessly for Harry not to stop.

“Might have to make you my assistant when I work from home,” he snarls through his teeth. “Storm day rules, obviously. Let me claim this pussy. Make you work for your pleasure.”

“Oooh fuck, Harry…”you grind up into him, meeting every thrust.

“Imagine you sucking my cock under the desk while I’m on a Zoom with investors,” he growls, pace stuttering for a second. “Yeah… that would be so hot, honey.”

His words keep coming, filthy, vivid, the fantasies he’s clearly had simmering for a long time. You try to make a mental note to bring them to life someday, but the way he fucks you makes your thoughts dissolve as your climax slams into you, your cries ricocheting off the office walls.

Harry’s right behind you, groaning low as his orgasm takes him. He thrusts deep one final time before pulling out and dropping into the office chair, breathless, undone. You’re sprawled across the desk, boneless, shaking, a beautiful mess.

He wipes his brow, panting.

“Yes… I like being the boss of you,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “If you’re gonna be such an obedient girl.”

After you’ve both cleaned up & Harry’s ordered something indulgent for dinner, the two of you crash on the sofa. The storm outside is still rumbling, the windows fogged, the penthouse lit only by the soft glow of the Christmas tree in the corner. You’re both tucked under two blankets, legs tangled, a half-finished meal on the coffee table & some random movie playing, neither of you really paying attention.

Harry’s arm is around you, drawing small circles on your shoulder with his thumb, the kind of absent-minded affection that tells you he’s relaxed, content, fully in his soft era. His breathing is slow. Warm. That perfect “I could nap here forever” rhythm.

You shift slightly, just enough to nestle your face into the crook of his neck. He glances down for a second, assuming you’re just getting comfy. But then your lips brush his skin , light, slow, lingering.

“Honey…” he murmurs, voice dipping, eyes half-closed. “What are you doing?”

You don’t answer. You kiss him again, right below his ear this time, a little firmer. You feel his whole body react under the blanket, that subtle tension, that sharp inhale he always tries and fails to hide.

A lazy smirk curls at your lips as you trail your mouth down the line of his throat.

“Honey,” he warns, but there’s no real warning in it. “We just watched half a movie. You were supposed to be resting.”

“I am resting,” you whisper against his skin. “Just… multitasking.”

His hand tightens on your hip under the blanket.

“Oh, I know what that means,” he says, voice roughening. “Storm day isn’t over for you, is it?”

You kiss him again, he exhales like you’ve just killed his last bit of self-control.

“That’s what I thought,” he mutters, sliding the blanket off your legs. “Come here, honey.”

Harry pulls the blanket away, tossing it somewhere behind the sofa, & you slide into his lap with a slow confidence that makes him groan before you’ve even touched him. His hands move to your hips automatically, instinct, hunger, muscle memory, like his body already knows what comes next.

“You’re trouble,” he murmurs, kissing up your collarbone as you straddle him. “The dangerous kind.”

“You love it,” you breathe, rolling your hips just enough for him to feel the heat of you.

His head drops back against the sofa, eyes fluttering shut for a second as you grind down deliberately, unhurried, your bodies still warm from the blankets. The storm crackles outside, lightning flashing across his bare torso, & you swear he looks carved from every fantasy you’ve ever had.

“You start kissing my neck during a movie,” he mutters, voice low & rough, “& expect me to behave?”

You smile, wicked and sweet. “I didn’t ask you to behave.”

He grips your waist harder, a warning & a promise, & you reach down, guiding him inside you with a slow, aching slide that forces a curse straight from his chest.

“Oh, honey… fuuuck.”

You sink down fully, both of you shuddering at the stretch, the heat, the way his hands instantly drag you closer, like he needs every inch of you.

You start to move,a lazy grind, slow circles of your hips, Harry’s eyes lock on yours with a hunger that could burn the room down.

“That’s it,” he whispers, breath warm against your lips. “Ride me… just like that.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair as you move, your pace unhurried but devastating, every shift of your hips dragging a deep groan from him. His hands slide up your back, then down again, gripping your ass, guiding your rhythm even though you’re the one in control.

His forehead presses to your chest for a moment, breath shaking.

“You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he says into your skin, voice almost broken. “Storm days… Jesus, honey… you on top of me like this..”

You lean in, kissing him hard, swallowing the sound he makes when you lift yourself & drop back down, faster now. His fingers dig into your hips, his thighs tensing beneath you.

“Oh fuck…keep going,” he gasps. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

You ride him harder, your bodies slapping together, the sofa creaking beneath you both. His head falls back, jaw tight, eyes dark and wild as he watches you take him.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “My girl… fucking owning me.”

The words send you spiralling, your rhythm stutters, your nails dragging over his shoulders, Harry growls, pulling your chest to his as he thrusts up into you, matching your pace, driving you both straight into oblivion.

“Harry..”

“I know, honey…I know…come with me…”

Your climax hits like the storm outside, ripping through you, your cry muffled against his mouth as he holds you tight, thrusting through it until he breaks too, groaning into your shoulder as he spills deep inside you.

You collapse against him, shaking, breathless, his arms wrapped around you like he’s never letting go.

The rain hammers the balcony. The sofa is a mess. The blankets are on the floor. His heartbeat thunders against your chest.

He kisses your temple, still panting.

“That…” he whispers, “was the best movie I’ve ever not watched.”

The shower is a blur, steam, hands, lips, a lot of laughing, & yes, of course you end up pressed against the tile for a quick, slippery round that leaves you both breathless & giggling under the hot water. Storm day rules were alive & well.

By the time you both crawl into Harry’s bed, the rain has softened outside, the room lit only by the faint glow of the city. Your bodies are clean, warm, exhausted in the sweetest way. Harry flops down beside you with a satisfied groan, one arm immediately pulling you into his chest like he can’t not touch you.

“You’re warm,” he murmurs into your hair.

“You’re clingy,” you tease, nuzzling closer anyway.

He hums, sex drunk & content. “Come here, honey.” His fingers slide under your chin, lifting your face. He kisses you slow & deep, the kind of kiss that could start something all over again if you weren’t both worn out from being absolute menaces all day.

His lips move to your jaw, then your neck, soft and lazy. “I could do this all night,” he mumbles against your skin.

You stroke his hair, gentle. “Harry…”

“Mmm?” He kisses your collarbone.

“I don’t want sex tonight.”

His whole body freezes. You can practically feel his confused blink against your chest.

“What.” Not even a question. Just a flat, stunned statement.

You try to keep a straight face for half a second.

Then: “I’m joking.”

He pulls back, eyes narrowed, mouth falling open like you’ve personally offended his ancestors.

“You…”He points at you, jaw dropped. “Honey, that’s evil.”

You giggle as he rolls on top of you, pinning you with the laziest, heaviest, most satisfied smile you’ve ever seen on him.

“You scared the life out of me,” he mutters, kissing you again, slow and warm. “Don’t joke about that when I’ve given you, what, nine orgasms today?”

“Ten,” you correct smugly.

“Exactly,” he says, nuzzling your nose. “I’m emotionally vulnerable.”

You snort & he kisses you to shut you up, one hand sliding under the covers just to feel you, not to start anything, just touch for the sake of touching.

“But…” you whisper against his mouth, “I do want you to hold me.”

He settles instantly, wrapping you up in his arms, legs tangling with yours like he was made to fit there.

“That,” he sighs, lips brushing your temple, “I can do. All night.”

& as the storm eases outside, you both fall asleep tangled together, soft, spent, & completely ruined for anyone else.

[kittyminion]

SANTA BABY

model!joel miller x model!f!reader

SUMMARY: after your photoshoot with santa claus, things get a little...naughty WARNINGS: smut 18+, fluff, editorial photoshoot aes., poc reader, reader has curly/coily hair, language, semi-public, shower sex

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

absurdly long a/n: 1k christmas celebration!!! thank you guys so much for one thousand followers, it's insane actually, cause i started this blog after being on wack ass wattpad, and now it's so nice to get feedback and interaction. I've been consistently uploading for pretty much the entirety of 2025, and it's definitely paid off omg. i love love love seeing comments, and its very fulfilling to go back and see my previous works and realize how much ive improved. please continue to request and comment and like because it makes my day each time ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

christmas divider by @chateaubarnes

Santa Claus had always been something you'd thought of with an innocent bias. You remember waking up on Christmas morning, your parents excited for you to open Santa's gifts.

And when that silly myth ended, and you were left in the real world, you'd never think of Santa Claus again, unless it was driving through your neighborhood, joyful at the immaculate decorations your neighbors put up each year.

Now, Santa Claus was your co-worker for the day.

The director of your photoshoot, Diana, had hired a man called Joel Miller to wear a full Santa Claus get-up and simply sit, while you posed around him. He was merely a prop, meant to look at you like a gift, as a child would a present on Christmas morning.

But the catch was, you were a model—a lingerie model.

You'd wanted your photoshoot to be very deliberate, or rather, sexy. Your stylist decided on a red lingerie set, with white lace to represent a candy cane, while your hair bounced with juicy curls, riddled with cracked pieces of peppermint and candy cane.

"Alright, Joel, we'll going to have you sit there while she finishes getting ready." Diana directed Joel to the set, where a Christmas tree and a large red velvet chair sat.

You greeted Joel when he first came in, and the first thing that caught your eye was how large he was. You considered yourself above-average in height, but this man towered over you, arms the size of melons, nothing beneath his red jacket, save for an enticing set of oiled-up abs and pecs.

He was at least twenty years your senior, somewhere in his fifties, but he held it well, face covered with a dyed snow-white beard that you guessed was completely natural. Not to mention the mustache, curled delightfully at the ends and brushing his cheekbones.

Joel sat heavily in the chair on set, allowing the stylists to brush more oil over his chest, and you couldn't help but watch, even as your personal stylist, Jenna, rubbed shimmery lotion over your thighs and torso.

"Where exactly did Diana find him?" You questioned, finally dragging your eyes away from Joel, pushing strands of curled hair from your eyes. Your makeup was done up nicely, a red smoky eye with glittery winged liner, and cherry red lips.

"He's known for doing these sorts of editorials, like the pretty prop that sit and interact with the models in their photoshoots. Like Violet Jenkins." Your eyes lit with recognition, and you gasped lightly, "that was him?"

Earlier in the year, all the model industry could speak about was Violet and the infamous DILF who licked whipped cream off her body in a Candy Land photoshoot. It was extremely hot.

"Yes. And ever since, he's been all over the country doing photoshoots for editorials. Finally, it's your turn."

You'd never kept up with who Joel Miller was, nor his previous works besides the Candy Land photoshoot, but the desire in your belly grew into something the size of the ocean.

"Honey, I need you over here ASAP!" Diana called from the set, and Jenna finished applying the lotion, then she scooped your breasts higher in your bra, "you're hot, remember? Just act natural."

She didn't know the nerves weren't from the camera, but rather the handsome man placing a Santa hat on his head. The little pom-pom on the end bobbled as he fixed it nicely, hands rubbing together after as he shifted in the seat.

Your heels clicked as you approached the set, and you noticed Joel's attention switch to you as Diana spoke. "We want hot, we want fierce, but most importantly, we want chemistry between the two of you."

Diana grabbed your hands and guided you closer to Joel, "almost like a relationship. I want deep intimacy between the two of you, and I want to see it on camera."

Once she was finished, she returned to the camera, prepping the crew while you sat on the edge of Santa's chair. "How long have you been doing photoshoots?" You asked, glancing down at Joel, and he shrugged, "it's more of a side hustle. I'm from Texas, and I own a construction business."

That's what the drawl in his tone was, then—Texan. He inhaled deeply, eyes glazing over the smoothness of your thighs, then your chest, "got any boundaries? I don't want to do something you're uncomfortable with."

You smiled at him lightly, shrugging, "there's nothing in particular. You?" He shook his head, brown eyes incredibly soft for a stranger. "I liken myself to a prop when it comes to these photoshoots. The models tell me what to do, and I do it."

"Compliant, then?" He let out a husky laugh, squeezing his pants leg. Your eyes shamelessly zoned in on his chest, shimmering with oil, and little driplets spilling through each curve and indent of his abs.

What particularly caught your eye was the low fall of his pants, revealing deep lines in his hips that trailed further into his waistband, where the beginning of salt-n-pepper hair sat.

You blushed heavily, realizing you were starting to imagine him, naked, dick out, and possibly touching you.

So you stood, pretending to smooth your hair in the mirror that sat a little ways off the set. You could see Joel in the mirror, nodding at the words of Diana as she told him to open his jacket further and slip down the chair so his legs were open.

You could practically hear the thrum of your heart in your ears, and when you glanced at Joel again, your hands running over your shoulder to smooth out the glitter, he was watching you.

Heart lurching, you forced yourself to stay still apathetically, noticing the cut of Joel's mouth as it parted slightly, a pink tongue lolling out to lick his lips. He tilted his head, fist curling around the edge of the chair, but when you turned around, returning to set, he looked away.

"Alright, we're ready! Honey, I want you to start with the lap position. We'll go into the others later." As the lights dimmed in the room, and you sat on Joel's lap, all the racing thoughts in your mind calmed as you began to shift to your professional self.

You nuzzled into his chest, both your legs thrown over his, and your arm tucked behind his neck. "Is that good?" You questioned, searching for his input, and Joel nodded, throat vibrating with an agreeing grunt.

Then, he folded his hand against the curve of your hip—rough, callused hands warm. "Good, that's perfect! Wait, actually—" Diana rushed over and grabbed your calf gently, pulling it until your foot was pointed. "Joel, grip her hip. We want intimacy, like...Mr. and Mrs. Claus."

Joel did as she asked, his hand gripping your hip, denting your skin, and making your heart flutter even more than it was.

As the camera flashed dozens of times, you stayed posed, jaw tilting alternatively with each photo, then you pushed yourself further up, forehead pressing against Joel's, eyes locking with his.

His gaze slid to yours, soft and deliberate, lips veiled beneath the thickness of his mustache.

"Oh, my GOD!" Diana shouted, "those are absolute masterpieces! If those don't get more recognition than Violet fucking Jenkins, I don't know what will."

You laughed at her words, pushing out of Joel's lap, but Diana stopped you, "I want another pose in the chair before we move on, honey. Is it alright if we have you straddling Joel? I want to show the back of your set."

You glanced at Joel, waiting for his agreement, "yeah, I'm good with that." Joel nodded in agreement and raised his hand, assisting you as you got into position.

As you sat, though, you felt something hard brushing directly over the thin fabric covering your clit.

Joel let out a rough breath, eyes rolling closed, and you swallowed your moan, fixing your positioning. Hands landing on his shoulders, you blushed, refusing to mention what'd just happened.

Joel didn't say anything either, hand crossing your back to land above your ass, fingers grazing the curve of your behind. "Good, I don't even have to tell you both what to do. Amazing."

You leaned into Joel's chest for the first few photos, but eventually, you twisted, face revealed for the camera, hand grabbing Joel's wrist as you slid it further down, until he was gripping a handful of your ass, nails leaving crescent-shaped marks.

"Next, Christmas tree. I want you to try to put the star on the tree, but obviously, it's too tall for you. So Joel—or Santa—is going to help. Joel, as you approach her, linger, grab her waist, have your lips touch her temple, but I want to see you staring down at her."

A crew member handed you the star, and you lifted to your tippy toes, trying to place the star on the highest point of the tree. A few seconds later, the cameras snapped blindly, and Joel approached, hand slipping onto your waist, as he took the star and placed it.

"I have a fucking boner, because of you." He muttered, voice full of desire, then suddenly, he grabbed the length of your hair and tugged your head back, lips brushing yours, "is this too much?"

You shook your head, "do you always want to fuck your co-workers?" Joel chuckled, hand threading further into your hair, the flash of the camera making his eyes look a thousand shades lighter.

"No, just you. If you'll let me."

"I—" Diana interrupted you, hands clapping delightfully, "okay, we've got one last pose, but before we change sets, I want to revisit the lap pose, because the two of you have got some newfound fire."

Diana decided to add Christmas lights to the lap pose, so she had Jenna wrap a string of them around your body, from ankle to throat.

Joel didn't attempt to hide his stare as you approached, rubbing his beard as his eyes drifted over your body. He welcomed you onto his lap, hands fisted around the armrests, allowing you to position yourself, your cunt pressed directly onto his thigh.

Joel's hand slid over your waist as he felt the heat of your cunt, the pad of his thumb running against your back, hips rocking as you feigned adjusting yourself. Then, you slid further up his lap, until your ass was directly on his crotch.

"Save this for later." Joel murmured, and you shook your head, refusing to reply as the cameras flashed, but once they were finished, "you're hard as a rock, Joel. I'm trying to help." The tease in your voice made him scoff, but he pushed to his feet, you still in his lap, and he placed you solidly back down, finger hooking into the back of your panties as you left the set.

"Later."

The two of you broke apart to your separate stations, while the crew changed the set, taking away the chair and Christmas tree in favor of a bed, with a velvet comforter lined with fluffy white. The headboard was lined with lights and garland, a bucket load of little wreath glitters thrown onto the bed, meant to stick to the oil and lotion on your bodies.

Once they were finished, you and Joel returned to set, Diana ready to pose you.

"Do what feels natural, but I want you lying down, and Joel lingering over you, grabbing your legs, almost like—" she didn't even need to say it as the two of you nodded, flushed.

You climbed into bed, sliding past Joel, ass deliberately pressing against his crotch, then you lied down, knees raised. Joel climbed in afterwards, jacket gone, and his pants hanging off of his hips, revealing the edges of thick tufts of hair.

"Do what feels comfortable," Diana said, and both of you nodded, your legs lifting, the heels of your feet pressed into his shoulders. Joel stared down at you, hand running over your shin, and the warmth of his chest meeting the backs of your legs.

"Is this how you want me to fuck you? Or do you want somethin' less...intimate?" His lips pressed against the top of your foot, and you shivered, ignoring the clicks of the camera.

"I want you to fuck me in all ways. Fold me up, open me wide, all of it." Joel glared down at you, though not unkindly, the length of his dick slotting between your legs. You squeezed, keeping him in place, watching the rapid pace of his breathing as his eyes fluttered closed.

"You have a way with words, sweetheart." The drawl of his accent made wetness coat your panties, and you grabbed his hand, turning your head to meet your gaze with the camera.

"And that's a wrap!" Diana shouted, startling each of you from the moment you'd created. "Do the two of you want to see the draft photos?"

Pushing out of the bed, Jenna met you with your robe, but you shook your head, "the shower is screaming my name, Diana. But for sure once I come back."

You tightened the robe around yourself, trading your heels for slippers, grabbing your travel bag full of clothes and toiletries, then leaving the main set room for the hall, where the bathroom was.

It was large, mainly because of the separate shower rooms lining the backwall. Pushing into the farthest one, you left it unlocked, placing your bag on the counter, and twisting the faucet on.

You stripped out of your jewelry first, fingers thrumming with anticipation, then you stepped out of your slippers, and unbuckled your bra. The steam from the shower warmed your skin as you slipped off your panties, tossing them aside, unsurprised at the pool of wetness on the gusset.

Tying your hair up, you stepped beneath the water, muscles immediately soothed from the hot water. But you were listening, more than anything—for the pull of the door, the rush of chilly air, footsteps, anything.

Disappointingly, you heard none of that.

You inhaled deeply, annoyance peeking, then your hand slipped down your torso, burying into the wetness of your cunt as you flicked your clit.

A hand touched your spine.

You yelped, loud and piercing, spinning around and deflating at the sight of Joel, standing behind you, tugging off his Santa costume and tossing it aside with the rest of your things.

"Thought I wasn't comin'?" He whispered, meeting you beneath the water, arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you in close. You tilted your head, nodding, hands running over his chest.

"One thing you'll quickly learn about me, is that I keep promises." He leaned in slowly, eyes drifting from your eyes, to your nose, then your lips, water droplets refusing to mix with the oil covering his chest.

The sight was delightful and arousing, and you kissed him first, body buzzing with pleasure, feeling Joel's dick twitch against your abdomen, leaking pre-cum that disappeared into the heavy stream of water.

Joel kissed roughly and possessively, his hand locking around your throat loosely, pushing you further back until you hit the wall, chills running down your spine. His tongue tangled with yours, licking within your mouth like he was lapping up the water he needed to survive.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, eyes slitted as you watched the white dye in his beard and mustache fade away to reveal salt-n-pepper facial hair that scratched against your mouth.

"You taste like fuckin' cinnamon," he muttered against your lips, grabbing handfuls of your ass, delivering a soft smack that made you moan.

Joel licked up the length of your neck, leaving wet kisses, mouth sucking until purple bruises were left like a trail down to your breasts.

He groped your breasts, tongue flicking out to lick your hardened nipple.

Your skin was on fire, shivering contrastingly, and slick wetness covered the smooth skin of your inner thighs. You reached for his dick, rubbing it softly, hand pushing up and down, and Joel let out a grunt of pleasure, abs tightening.

"That's good, fuck—keep going." He said, and you smirked, pulling away from his mouth to watch his face thread with pleasure. His eyebrows pulled taut, jaw clenched, cheeks red like strawberries.

Joel didn't forget his role, though, one hand pressed to the wall, while his other pushed between your cunt, thick middle finger rubbing at your clit. Your toes were cold with pleasure, eyes blurring with tears, and you leaned into his chest, "Joel, fuck, faster."

He obeyed, pace quickening, while your hand tightened around his dick, other hand squeezing and tugging at his balls. Joel buzzed against you, little breaths exiting his lips, all the while his finger slipped inside of you, curling just right until your breathing halted.

"Does that feel good—my fingers curlin' inside your cunt?"

You hummed against his chest, stroking without a pause, mouth locking onto his pec, leaving a bruise that multiplied when you moved to the other side.

Joel's dick pulsed with heat, his ankles trembling as he leaned down, mouth against the crown of your head, cum spilling out in rapid succession with each stroke of your hand.

He pushed a second finger inside of you, grabbing your wrist and shoving it behind your back, pace quickening, palm pressing against your clit each time he slammed into you. You attempted to twist away, rough moans spilling from your lips, but Joel kept you pinned against the tile wall, eyes glued to the in and out motion of his fingers.

"Don't try to fuckin' run, sweetheart." He spat, biting your lip, and your gaze locked with his, thigh trembling. But suddenly Joel dropped to his knees, mouth latching around your cunt, sucking up every drop of your wetness, his tongue darting rapidly against your clit.

You let out a gasp, gripping his hair, your skull pressing painfully into the wall. Chest heaving, your hips bucked against Joel's mouth, and he pulled back slightly, eyes watching you intently as you began riding his face desperately.

Your clit rammed against his nose, legs pushed over his shoulders, and Joel leaned back on his hands, grunts muffled, tongue thrusting lazily into your entrance while he watched you ride out your orgasm.

Stars burst in your eyes, but you didn't let up, continuing to grind, thankful when Joel lowered himself, allowing you to sit on his face, smothering him entirely. You came again, little cries of pleasure seeping from your lips, and when you were finished, you inhaled deeply, pushing away from his face, water beating down on your back, effectively blocking the stream from Joel's face.

He gave you a smirk, reaching up to grab your breast, "you done, or you want more?" Your face gave away your answer, and Joel slipped you to your back, lining himself up with your entrance without a second of hesitation.

The pinkness of his tip disappeared inside your cunt, and your eyebrows furrowed, pressure bursting, but Joel kissed you, hand supporting your head, his legs bent while yours were spread to make way for his body.

"Quick or slow? It's your choice, sweetheart." He smirked, awaiting your answer, and you threaded your fingers with his, "both." Joel rolled his eyes with no bite, but then he grabbed your hips, beginning to thrust, his lip pierced between his teeth.

Joel started slow initially, reveling in the bulge of your abdomen each time he thrusted, hand gripping the plushness of your torso, but then he quickened his pace, watching your face fold into overwhelming pleasure.

He slammed into you, hips groveling, little winces of his exertion coming out with heavy puffs. He left red marks on your hips from how hard he was squeezing, but then Joel leaned down, chest meeting yours, and he slammed into your cunt, thumb reaching down to flick your clit.

"Look at me." He beseeched, hair dripping, and you listened, eyes meeting his, eyebrows furrowed heavily, stomach blazing with pleasure.

But then he pushed to his feet, you in his arms, and he bent you over the counter near the door, still watching your face through the mirror, hand reeling back to deliver a stinging spank to your ass.

"Joel," you moaned, grabbing his arm and tugging it around your body. Joel watched the wave of your ass as he fucked you, leaning down to kiss and nip at your shoulders.

"I want everyone in this buildin' to hear you." He whispered against your skin, but his thrusts were slowing and desperate, hips rutting to get deeper, knees trembling with each slam of his dick into you.

"I'm close." You didn't reply, barely able to keep your eyes open, the only garble of words coming from your mouth being Joel's name.

He muttered yours too, endlessly into your shoulder, eyebrows furrowed, and thrusts jagged, but you'd came multiple times, your cum coating his dick like snow blanketing a roof, and when Joel came, you felt it.

Warm and inviting, spilling out of your cunt, but he continued fucking you, twisting your aching nipples, "I'm gonna—fuck—I'm gonna cum again." He spat, and you met his thrusts with your own, pushing your ass back into his crotch.

Joel leaned against the wall to keep himself upright, entirely done fucking you, and giving you full control. He spread your ass, watching the in and out motion of his dick.

Then, when you squeezed yourself around him, he came again, this time pulling out to finish over your back. The two of you stood there, huffing, still tangled together, and Joel pulled you into his chest, kissing your cheek, once, twice, then three times, "I'm takin' you home with me. Got any complaints?"

You shook your head, "as long as you feed me." He chuckled at your words, "I'll cook you a five-course meal, sweetheart, whatever you want."

[reedispunk]

𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒊𝒓𝒆 ✂️

Joel Miller x f!reader

Joel needs a haircut, and it just so happens that he’s dating the town’s only hairdresser… a/n: I wrote this quickly in the early hours, oops. It’s just short, plotless Joel smut because you can never have enough

Warnings: 18+, mdni

You stand looking into the bathroom mirror which sits above the vanity as you tie your hair into a messy bun. You and Joel have had a full day in the sun over at Tommy and Maria’s place, celebrating the birthday of their boy. Joel comes into the bathroom behind you, smoothing his hands over the fabric of your dress before wrapping his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you back into his front. He buries his face into your neck, inhaling the scent of your skin.

“You looked so good today. Couldn’t stop staring at you in this little dress,” he mumbles. His facial hair tickling the skin on your neck.

“I noticed,” you smile, watching him in the mirror. He starts placing soft, delicate kisses all over the exposed skin of your neck and you move your hand to tangle through his curls. “Baby, you need a haircut.”

“Yeah?” He looks up.

“Let me do it for you.”

“Nah, you don’t have to do that now,”

“But I want to.” You smirk.

You first met Joel when he came into the salon just over two years ago. The salon was a new addition for the town at the time. When you arrived and told Tommy and Maria about the various skills you had to offer, it was obvious that a salon had to become the latest development for the community. That day, when Joel came in, he seemed shy, quiet and unsure, and secretly, you found it adorable.

Over time, even though Joel didn’t speak much when he called in, there was something about him that drew you to him. Whenever you would look up from a client and see Joel standing awkwardly near the door, waiting for his turn, your stomach would flip and you’d try your hardest not to allow your cheeks to turn red at the thought of him. You had to remind yourself that he had no interest in anything other than keeping on top of those luscious curls, so you had to remain professional and simply do your job.

Little did you know though, Joel was interested in more than just a haircut. For years he had done it himself whenever necessary, heading to the barbers in this world wasn’t exactly a thing anymore. But mostly he’d just let it do its own thing; he was never too bothered about his appearance. So when your salon opened in Jackson, at first he saw it as a useful convenience. But sure enough, he soon became caught up in his burning and persistent desire to see you, suddenly needing to get his hair cut more often than he even needed just as an excuse to be in your company.

Now, all this time later, he removes his t-shirt and leans over the sink as you rinse his hair, admiring the broad expanse of his back and shoulders. You massage his head gently, making him hum in pleasure.

“Enjoying this?” You giggle.

“Jesus, you’re so good with your hands,” he says, his head down, eyes closed, and you can see he’s smirking to himself.

When you’re done, you pull a chair into the bathroom and he moves to sit down. He leans back completely relaxed looking up at you. His legs spread wide, and you notice the slight bulge through his jeans as you move to straddle him. His hands come up to hold your waist as you sit on his thighs. You take a towel and fluff his hair with it, trying to dry it. When you put the towel around his shoulders, he looks up at you, hair all messy and damp, and the sight makes you grin. He’s too cute. Touching his jaw, you tilt his head back a little.

“Don’t move.” You warn him.

You comb through the damp hair, concentrating to assess what needs to be taken off. Taking the scissors, you begin to cut at the strands of hair that have become a little too long and messy. He sits silently, watching you do your thing as his large hands trace slowly up and down your thighs.

“Move your head to the side a little for me,” you say. He does exactly that. “Don’t think I ever have this much control over you, apart from when I cut your hair.” You tease. You gather a strand of hair between your fingers and snip carefully.

“Are you serious?” He chuckles.

“No, it’s normally you taking control.” You smile.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it when I do,” he smirks. “Maybe I could get used to this though, you telling me what to do.”

“Yeah? Does it turn you on?”

“Fuck, you know it does. Can’t you feel it?” His hips push up slowly into you, and you gasp. You could feel it; you’ve been feeling it the entire time, tempting you, distracting you, but you’ve been trying hard to focus on finishing the task first. “Might have to reward you after for taking such good care of me.”

You blush, moving his head down gently to get a better angle and you know he’s pleased about that, his eyes now looking straight towards your tits.

“I saw that guy talking to you today.” He says moments later. You look at him curiously.

“At Tommy’s? There were a lot of guys there, Joel.” You smile.

“That irritating, mouthy asshole. The one with the tattoos.” He says, slightly annoyed.

“Brad?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Mmhmm. He’s got a thing for you.”

“Joel,” you chuckle. “Brad’s harmless, and he never stops talking about his wife.”

“I know you think that, but I saw the way he was looking at you earlier; he wouldn’t stop staring at your chest in this dress, and it was pissing me the hell off. Was gonna come over and have words with him, but Tommy pulled me inside for something. He wants you.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” you smile sincerely.

“I am. He better keep his eyes off you from now on; ain’t no one but me allowed to look at you like that. You’re mine.” His hands grip your waist tighter as his hips shift beneath you.

“Baby,” you chuckle, “I’m always yours. You don’t need to worry.” You stop snipping, placing the scissors and the comb on the side. You cup his jaw with both hands, leaning forward to kiss his lips softly. Then you lift the towel from around his shoulders and swipe away the loose hair sticking to his neck. “All done, mister.”

“About fucking time, come ‘ere.” He replies impatiently.

He lifts you with him as he stands, moving you over to sit on the vanity. He moves down your body, hands roaming up your thighs, moving the hem of your dress further up to reveal you to him. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls at them; you shift, assisting him in taking them off. When he pulls them over your feet, he tucks them into his back pocket.

“I’m keeping these,” he smirks.

With your desire quickly starting to pool between your thighs, he leans down, pushing your legs wider so you're completely bared to him. He licks a slow trail up from the side of your knee, edging further and further towards your centre. With one hand supporting yourself behind you, the other comes to tangle in his hair, leading him to where you want him. As he reaches your now soaked centre, your head tilts back and a moan escapes your lips.

He tastes you, gently at first, but as you begin to pant, his exploration becomes more desperate, devouring your slick folds.

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you whisper breathlessly.

He inserts his middle finger into your entrance while his tongue flicks over your clit. You let out a little squeal at the intrusion. He works you good, eventually adding a second finger. You push his head closer against you, desperate for more and he begins to speed up, your hips struggling to stay seated on the vanity.

“Yesss, don’t you dare stop.” You moan.

But as he registers your words, his fingers instantly withdraw from your folds, his head pulls away and you groan in frustration. “What the hell?” You look down at him. His lips are wet with your desire, and he wipes them with the back of his hand. He stands up and tilts your chin up to him, kissing you deep. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and it makes you crazy. You reach down, cupping him through his jeans.

“Take these off,” you order. He does as you say, unbuckling his jeans. He pushes them down just enough for you to be able to take him out. You bite your lip, looking down at his hard, leaking cock. He takes your hand and spits onto it before moving it down to touch him. As you work him, his head falls forward, burying into your neck, and he starts thrusting his hips into your hand as his breathing starts to increase. When you brush your thumb over the head, collecting the bead of precum, his entire body jolts.

“Fuuuck, just like that, baby,” he groans.

As he starts to lose his composure, he moves your hand off him and grips your thighs hard, pulling your ass closer towards him, the edge of the counter digging into your skin a little. You wrap your legs around his waist. Taking himself in hand, he rubs his tip through your folds, teasing you at your entrance.

“Joel, please, I want you.”

“Tell me who you belong to.” His voice is deep. You tighten your legs around him, trying to pull him forward into you.

“Joel—“

“Tell me. Tell me you’re mine; I wanna hear you say it.” His words make your stomach flip. He pushes the tip inside your entrance. Waiting.

“I’m yours, Joel, only yours,” you whimper. As you say the words, he finally thrusts all the way inside you, making you gasp loudly at the stretch. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to the size of him.

“That’s right,” he draws all the way out before thrusting right back in. He doesn’t take it easy. He pounds into you, hard and fast; the wet sounds of your shared desires make you both feral.

“Fuck, daddy, keep going.” You pant.

“Shit! Call me that again,” he grunts, your words driving him wild.

“Daddy,” you whimper, looking up into his darkened eyes.

“Yeah, that’s right, I’m your fucking daddy.”

His nails dig into the skin of your ass as he fucks into you, taking the breath out of your lungs. It’s not long before you’re close, and he can tell by the way you’re panting into his ear. He rests his forehead against yours and reaches down between your bodies to rub your clit. The added sensation makes you lose control, loud uncontrollable moans releasing from you now. You cry out his name as you come apart around his cock.

“There she is. That’s my girl.” He says as you shudder around him as the wave pulses through your entire body.

His thrusts don’t let up after your high, and you can tell he won’t last much longer now. You kiss him, and his tongue explores your mouth like he’s starving for you. He reaches up and squeezes your breast so hard that it hurts, but you don’t care. You’re so oversensitive right now, but it feels so good. He tries to hold out, wanting you to give him another, but he can’t help it, losing himself as his thrusts become messy. He looks up and pulls out of you, taking himself in hand and stroking fast.

“Get down here, baby. I want to cum in that pretty mouth.” He pulls you off the side, and you kneel down before him, opening your mouth. “Further.” He instructs. Opening your jaw wider your hands rest on his thighs.

“Ready for daddy’s cum?” He growls. You nod.

He falls over the edge then; thick ropes of his cum spurt onto your tongue.

“Jesus Christ,” he pants, his hand resting on the side as you take his cock into your mouth, sucking every last drop. When he’s spent, you stand up, and his forehead comes to rest on your shoulder again.

Your hands rake up his back softly, and it makes him shudder. Once he’s caught his breath, you push his chest back to move past him. You go over to turn the shower on. He gives you a look.

“Think you could go again?” You ask quietly, greedy for more.

“Need a few minutes. Ain’t as young as I once was, baby.” He gives you a filthy smirk.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

D x C

Pairing: Bodyguard Clint Flood x Dieter Bravo x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Clint walks in on you and Dieter in a particular situation and decides to join in. Warnings: ALL PORN NO PLOT. SMUT, MMF threesome, boot riding, man on man action, handjob, fingering, anal fingering, unprotected p in v, unprotected anal sex, two dudes eating one pussy, ass licking, dick sucking, spit as lube, panty sniffing, face sitting, facial, cum eating after anal, cream pie, light choking, ass slapping, a singular slap against reader’s cheek, being called a cum slut, weed, whiskey, not beta read, writer mainly wrote this while ⬆️ and horned up. Words: 6969 <-nice

A/N: My first submission for mine, @schnarfer, and @mothandpidgeon's Magic Number Challenge. This is absolutely not beta read and is very much just self indulgent smut. I saw Freaky Tales on Sunday and uhhhh, I finished this REAL quick. Guys, what an amazing movie. I'm so happy @forspringcleaning and I can shout BIG MAN at each other again.

Masterlist

—-

Dizzying white smoke twists around Dieter’s face, spiraling in the air as he takes a slow hit from his joint. “That’s a good girl, look at you, pretty mouth full of my cock,” he grits, large hand resting on the back of your head. You stare up at him under heavy eyelids, knees pressing into the cool marble tile floor of the fancy, rented mansion. You haven’t even made it farther than the small entry way, both of you too drunk, happy, and horny for each other to do the proper thing and make it into the bedroom.

Dieter's cock drags in and out of your mouth, his hips bucking as he gently fucks your mouth, fingers intertwining with your hair, clutching slightly to guide your mouth.

His other hand fumbles in his pocket, taking out the delicate lace of your thong—the pair he just peeled off of you in the back of the limo, when his fingers slipped beneath your dress, exploring between your thighs, while his bodyguard drove up front, feigning ignorance to your muffled moans against Dieter’s neck.

He brings your panties to his face, pressing it against his nose and inhaling the scent of you in, his eyes rolling back when he breathes in your essence. “Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. "They're still so soaked."

Your fingers dig into the soft muscle of his thighs stabilizing yourself so you can slowly let the warm, heavy weight of him fill your mouth. He stretches your mouth, your throat relaxing to let him push himself deeper. He groans out a long "fuuuuuck" that makes your pussy clench as the pad of his thumb presses against the divot of your cheek as you hollow them, sucking and slurping, staring into his eyes as the joint hangs from his lips.

The straps of your dress slip down as you reach back, struggling to unzip the back of it as your mouth stays on Dieter’s cock.

A sudden woosh of chilled night air hits your heated skin when the heavy, wooden front door swings open. Your eyes widen in shock as the tall, broad-shouldered sillhouette of a man fills the doorframe.

Clint. Dieter’s ever-present shadow, his personal bodyguard, the opposite of your boyfriend. Intimidating, gruff, and serious, now stands frozen in the doorway. His face shifts from neutral professional to something darker and primal as he takes in the scene before him.

You, on your knees, Dieter’s cock in your mouth, your dress hiked up your back exposing your bare ass, while Dieter stands unabashedly naked. You immediately try to pull away, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Dieter’s hand plants against your skull firmly.

“It’s okay baby, Clint wants to see you like this. Don’t you Clint?” he asks, looking over towards the menacing force of a man. Dieter doesn’t seem to mind, a lazy smile spreads across his face as he takes another hit from the joint.

Clint steps inside, out of the shadows, closing the door behind him. “Sir,” he says gruffly, now standing so close to you, you can feel his domineering presence, smell the scent of his leather jacket mixed with heady scent of Dieter’s smoke. He doesn’t move, he just stands there, his hands planted against his belt buckle, his dark eyes focused on you.

Your pulse quickens at both men’s attention. Dieter’s grip on your hair loosens slightly, allowing you to pull away, but there’s something in the way Clint’s watching you, that holds you in place.

"See how beautiful she looks?" Dieter asks, running his thumb across your bottom lip, slick with saliva. "I've never seen anyone take me so well."

Clint takes a single step forward, then another. The heavy thud of Clint’s boots matches the heavy thud of your heart against your chest. His shadow overtakes you, you forget how to breathe around Dieter’s cock as you feel Clint’s hand grab a strand of your hair and pet it.

“She’s perfect,” Clint says, his voice deeper than you’ve ever heard it.

Dieter chuckles, a puff of smoke escaping his lips. "You've been watching her for months, haven't you? I've seen how you look at her when you think I don't notice."

“Mm,” Clint lowly hums an affirmative noise.

“You like watching how she sucks my cock?”

Dieter gently taps against your head reminding you to move, you obey immediately, bobbing your head and swirling your tongue.

Clint’s rough fingers thread into the hair against your scalp, joining Dieter’s, as if he can’t deny himself.

“Go ahead baby, show Clint how good you are. Show him what the pretty mouth can do.”

Both of their hands guide you along Dieter’s length. Pushing you all the way down to the base of him dark with curls, saliva pooling in your mouth as you slightly gag, your wide eyes staring up at Dieter unblinking with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as he watches you deep throat his cock. Clint’s grip is firmer than Dieter’s, less forgiving, as he pushes you forward.

The marble floor is hard against your knees, but you welcome the discomfort as your thighs clench together, slick with arousal for the two men. You’re writhing, as both men pull against your hair in tandem, making you suck and slobber all over Dieter’s cock. You accept their power, moaning around Dieter's cock, the vibration making him hiss through his teeth.

“I think you like watching her,” Dieter says with a arrogant smirk. “I think she likes you watching. Don’t you baby? You like having an audience?”

You manage a small nod against their hands, writhing on your knees, hands clamped around Dieter’s thighs, trying to balance yourself as you pray for a taste of friction against your cunt.

You can feel the tension in Clint’s body without even looking at him, much different than Dieter’s unworried stature.

“Looks like you’re suffering down there, aren’t you babygirl?” Clint grits, you can feel his labored breathing behind you.

You whimper along Dieter’s cock before he pulls himself out of yout mouth. “Answer him,” Dieter commands.

“I am,” you respond breathless.

“Good girl,” Dieter praises. “Clint, you think you can take care of my girl?”

“I think I can Mr. Bravo.”

"Please,” you plead.

You feel Clint's heavy boot sliding forward between your knees, pushing them apart. The toe of it nudging at your inner thighs.

“Spread wider for me,” he commands. The gravel of his voice causes a new gush of want to spill out of your pussy.

You obey instantly, your legs trembling as you let your knees slide against the floor, widening to let Clint position his boot directly beneath you.

Hard leather presses against your cunt, a gasp leaving your lips as Clint applies just enough pressure. You feel exposed, vulnerable, caught between the man you love and his powerful bodyguard.

Clint begins to rock his foot slightly, your wetness covering the leather. You moan, grinding your cunt down, relishing in the friction from the leather.

“That's it, babygirl," Dieter encourages, his hand guiding your mouth back to his cock. "Show Clint how good you can be for both of us."

You’re dizzy between eagerly taking Dieter back between your lips as the tip of Clint’s boot rubs against your swollen pussy.

Clint’s hand tightens in your hair, his breathing growing more ragged behind you. “Look at her, she's soaking my fuckin’ boot.”

“She’s a greedy girl,” Dieter chuckles, tapping your cheek affectionately as you hollow them around him. "Aren't you, baby?”

You nod eagerly around Dieter’s cock as you look up at him with veneration. Your movie star boyfriend, too cool and calm to care that another man’s boot against your pussy is making you squirm.

“Tell her what you want to do to her,” Dieter regards to Clint, low and commanding. “She likes it when you talk.”

Clint's hand slides from your hair down to your neck, his calloused palm wrapping around your throat from behind. Not squeezing, just holding you there, reminding you of his strength as his boot continues to press against your aching center.

"I want to watch her cum on my boot first. Then I want to taste her ‘n clean her little cunt off.”

Your entire body shudders at his filthy words. A moan vibrates around Dieter’s length as Clint’s grip on your throat tightens just enough to make your pulse beat harder.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Dieter asks, his thumb tracing your stretched lips. “Another man’s mouth all over your pretty pussy.”

You nod desperately, grinding harder against Clint's boot. Your thighs tremble, dress bunched around your waist as you rock shamelessly against the leather.

"Look at her," Clint grunts. "Fucking desperate for it."

Frantically nodding, your hips swirling down, working in earnest against Clint’s boot as your mouth worships Dieter’s cock. Clint’s hand around your throat sends currents through your body, making you feel owned and possessed by both men.

“She’s close,” Dieter groans. "I can tell by the way she's sucking me. Gets sloppy when she's about to cum."

Clint increases the pressure of his boot, angling it so the hard edge presses directly against your clit. "Cum for us," he orders. "Show us what a good girl you are."

Your body responds instantly to his command, crying out around Dieter’s cock as your orgasm given to you by both men crashes into you. Your pussy gushes out against Clint’s boot as he continues to rub it against you. Your eyes rolling back as your release washes over you in overwhelming waves.

"That's it," Clint grits, his grip on your throat tightening slightly as you ride out your orgasm. "Give it to me."

Dieter pulls out of your mouth, letting you gasp and cry out properly as your body convulses. "Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he admires, stroking your hair tenderly as you collapse forward, catching yourself on your hands.

Clint moves his boot from between your legs, before he kneels behind you, gripping your hips. "Sir?" he asks, looking to Dieter for permission.

"She's all yours," Dieter says as he lazily strokes his cock, still wet with your spit. "Show her what you've been thinking about all these months."

Clint wastes no time, flipping you onto your back against the cold marble floor. He looms over you, a fire in his eyes. His usuaully stoic face is transformed with hunger, jaw clenched tight as he stares down at your disheveled form.

"Been watching you parade around in those little dresses," he says, resting his large hands on your knees. "Listening to you moan through the walls when he fucks you."

You’re heaving for air as you watch him take you in, slowly spreading your knees apart exposing your glistening pussy. Your dress is bunched around your waist, straps hanging off your shoulders, your tits spilling from the top of your low neckline.

“Look how pretty my girl is,” Dieter muses, sitting cross legged on the floor next to you, his joint still burning between his fingers as he watches. “All swollen and ready for your tongue Clint.”

Clint doesn't respond with words. Instead, he lowers himself to his knees, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider as his rough hands slide under your ass, lifting you slightly off the cold marble.

“Let me taste what’s yours, sir,” Clint growls, his possessive, hot breath searing against your pussy.

“Oh god,” you whimper as Clint lowers his face between your thighs. The first dash of his tongue makes you arch your back.

While Dieter's tongue is playful and teasing, Clint's is methodical and precise, flat and firm as he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit.

“Jesus,” you gasp, one hand grasping Clint’s slicked back hair while the other finds Dieter’s soft thigh beside you.

Dieter strokes your hair as he watches Clint devour you. “Let him hear how good he makes you feel. Say his fucking name for me.”

“Clint,” you moan.

Clint groans against your flesh, vibrating against your cunt. His mouth works against you with precision making your thighs quiver around his head.

“Give her more,” Dieter directs. Clint immediately obeys, sucking your clit between his lips, his large hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider as his tongue delves deeper. He's relentless and focused, his dark eyes occasionally flicking up to watch your face contort in pleasure.

"Look at her," Dieter says lazily, taking another hit from his joint as he strokes your hair. "So fucking beautiful when she's getting her pussy eaten. In fact...” Dieter says, climbing across the floor and laying down next to Clint. “Move over, share my girl with me.” Dieter grins lazily, nudging his shoulder.

It’s almost comical watching two broad shouldered men try to fit in between your thighs, your muscles burning as both men stretch each leg open with a gripping hand.

A twitch of frustration passes through Clint’s usually stoic features before it turns into lust as two tongues work against each other lapping and sliding across your pussy.

“Oh my god,” you cry, clutching Clint’s hair with one hand as the other grips Dieter’s.

It’s obscene, the wetness between your legs being shared by them both as they devour you.

“I— I can’t—“ you stammer, struggling to breathe through it. Your body twitches, trying to pull away but Clint’s firm hands hold you in place.

"Yes, you can," Dieter says, his voice commanding even though he sounds just as wrecked as you. “And you fucking will.”

The two men create a rhythm against your swollen flesh that has you writhing between them, your body suspended in their grip.

Their tongues dance around each other, sometimes meeting in the middle against your flesh. Clint’s strong hand grips your thigh with bruising intensity while Dieter’s hand softly holds your thigh, trailing his hand teasingly along your inner thigh.

You’ve never made these noises before, crying, keening and wallowing both men’s names.

"Watch," Dieter commands, and you force your heavy eyelids open to see him slide two fingers inside you while Clint focuses on your clit. The visual alone—Dieter’s soft waves of chaos mixed with Clint’s perfectly swept back hair working together between your thighs—nearly makes you cum.

"I can feel her tightening," Dieter growls. “She’s close.”

Clint responds with a deep groan that reverberates through you. His dark eyes locking with yours as his tongue works faster.

"That's it," Dieter encourages, his fingers fucking you faster. "Give it to us, baby. Let us feel you”

The pressure inside you builds. You’re caught between the two men—Dieter’s fingers stretching you open, Clint’s steady tongue, two pairs of dark brown eyes watching you, the cool marble against your hot skin. It’s all too much.

“I’m—I’m…” you moan, unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words, as your orgasm builds within you.

"Say our names," Dieter commands.

"Dieter," you gasp, your voice breaking. "Clint—oh god, Clint!"

The dam walls shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you with devastating force, your body arching off the floor as you’re pulled under by both men.

Dieter slides his fingers out of your quivering cunt with deliberate slowness, the wet sound echoes in the marble entryway. Your release coats his fingers, glistening in the dim light as he holds them up between himself and Clint.

"Look what she gave us," Dieter purrs as he presents his fingers to Clint. Your slick drips down toward his wrist.

Clint's usually impassive face transforms, his dark eyes fixating on Dieter's hand with an almost religious intensity. He leans forward slowly, his broad shoulders shifting between your spread legs.

"Go ahead," Dieter encourages, a lazy smile playing across his lips. "Taste what's ours."

Clint's large hand wraps around Dieter's wrist, steadying it as he leans in. His lips part, revealing the pink of his tongue before he takes Dieter's fingers into the heat of his mouth. Your breath catches at the sight—Dieter's fingers disappearing between Clint's full lips.

Clint's eyes lock with Dieter's as he sucks, hollowing his cheeks around Dieter’s fingers, just as he watched you do earlier.

Dieter groans as Clint’s tongue works between his fingers, cleaning every drop of you from his skin. You watch, enamored by the scene—big, strong and intimdating Clint sucking your boyfriend’s fingers before he releases them with a wet pop.

“She's delicious isn't she?” Dieter asks with a cocky smile.

“Better than I imagined,” he rumbles.

You’re still sprawled on the marble floor, dress in disarray, body shivering with aftershocks from your orgasm. They both watch you, your chest heaving, eyes wide, and mouth agape.

"Look at her," your boyfriend admires. "Fucking wrecked and we've barely started."

His bodyguard growls low in his throat as he rises, standing over you, his prescence large and controlling as he begins unbuckling his belt.

Dieter crawls across the floor, gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest as he sits cross-legged on the marble with you perched atop his lap. He grabs the hem of your dress lifting it over your head.

“You want to suck him, babygirl?” Dieter asks against your ear, his hands roaming your naked body. “You want to feel Clint’s cock inside your pretty mouth?”

You moan out a long yes, as Dieter’s hands cup your tits.

Clint’s eyes don’t leave yours as his hands work at his zipper, lowering his fly.

“She’s eager Clint, look how she’s watching you.”

You’re squirming on Dieter’s lap, his cock pressing hard against your lower back as he licks a line across your neck.

You feel each heavy step in your body as Clint slowly prowls over, the top of his jeans opened, the metal of his belt clinking with each step.

He stops in front of you, staring down at you. “Open,” he commands.

You instantly obey, parting your lips as he frees himself from his boxer briefs.

Fuck, he’s just like Dieter, but a little thicker and longer, with a prominent vein running along the shaft. A bead of precum glistens just for you as your tongue darts out to taste him.

Clint hisses through his teeth as you tongue at his tip, his hand immediately coming up to tangle into your hair.

"Such a good girl," Clint praises.

“She is, isn’t she?” Dieter asks, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw, tilting your face upward. “You like how my girl’s mouth feels?”

Clint hums an affirmative as you part your lips wider, letting him feed his cock into your mouth inch by inch. He’s heavier, more insistent than Dieter as your jaw stretches to accommodate him.

“Fuck,” Clint snarls. His stoic composure cracking as your warm mouth envelops him.

Dieter chuckles against your ear, his hands sliding down your body to grip your hips. "She's good at taking cock, isn't she? Should see how she takes it in her tight little pussy."

Clint’s hips jerk forward when he feels the vibration of you moaning at Dieter’s filthy words.

He glides his cock deeper into your mouth as Dieter’s fingers trail along your body, pinching and pulling at the stiff peaks of your nipples.

You’re pinned between them again—Clint’s cock heavy on your tongue, Dieter’s cock jutting into your back.

Clint’s head tilts back, a long, low groan slipping out as he begins to fuck slowly into your mouth. “Feels so fuckin’ good,” he growls, eyes half-closed in pleasure you’re providing him. “Better than I thought it would.”

Clint’s fingers splay across the back of your head, guiding you, controlling the movement as he thrusts. He handles you with the same commanding intensity you see him excude everyday.

Each time he eases his length from your mouth, you gasp a quick breath before he fills it again.

“You like that? My pretty girl likes getting used by us?” Dieter nips at the shell of your ear.

Clint's hips rock faster, his grip on your hair tightening as he fucks into your mouth.

Dieter's hand slides down to the apex of your thighs. “Spread for me, baby,” he whispers against your ear.

You stretch out as much as you can on top of his lap. Dieter hums his approval as his fingers trail between your folds.

"Mmm, sucking Clint's cock is getting you all worked up again, isn't it?" he muses, slowly circling your clit with the pads of his fingers.

You whimper a yes around Clint’s cock, he groans above you as he looks down, watching Dieter stick a finger into your entrance. "Fuck, look at her, taking it so well at both ends."

Dieter chuckles. “The more she gets, the more she wants,” punctuating each word as he slides in and out of your tight cunt.

Muffled moans spills from your lips, vibrating against Clint’s cock as your hips jerk in Dieter’s lap.

Clint snarls, fucking into your mouth more erratic, his breathing huffing in deep breaths. The wet, obscene sounds of him fucking your mouth echo off the tile as drool drips down your chin.

Dieter trails his other hand down, drawing deep, long circles against your clit as he fucks you open with three fingers. You’re insatiable, whimpering around Clint’s cock as you writhe all over Dieter’s lap. "Cum," he demands in your ear. "Now."

You instantly cum at Dieter’s rumbling command. Your cunt clenching around his thick fingers as you orgasm. You’re pulsing electricity as both men use your body.

Your screams should be echoing across the room, but all you can do is suck and slurp against Clint’s cock as Dieter’s fingers continue pumping your overworked pussy as you shudder and shake atop his lap.

Clint pulls out of your mouth, allowing you to gasp for air. A string of saliva connects your lips to his cock, and he uses his thumb to wipe it away before pushing his thumb past your lips.

"Suck," he instructs.

You’re gasping, overwhelmed with the sensation of filling your lungs with air. Clint's thumb traces along your swollen bottom lip as you try to catch your breath, your chest heaving. His dark eyes boring into yours.

"I said suck," he repeats.

Youre too dazed to immediately comply. Clint lightly slaps your cheek, catching your attention. Not enough to hurt, but with just enough of a sting to make you gasp. Your chin is grasped firmly, your face tilted to meet his eyes.

"When I tell you to do something, you do it. Understand?"

You give him a shaky a nod, your pulse quickening at the sharpness in his tone. Dieter lowly chuckles behind you, amused by Clint taking charge.

"Answer him properly, baby," Dieter instructs.

“Yes,” you breathe out. “I understand.”

You open your mouth, he slides his thumb back between your lips and you suck obediently, swirling your tongue around the pad of his thumb.

“That’s a good girl,” Clint rumbles. He withdraws it, rubbing the pad of his thumb around the tip of his cock.

"What do you say, Clint?" Dieter asks. "Want to try out her sweet little pussy for yourself?"

Clint swallows hard, his intense gaze roaming over your face. "Yes, sir. I'd like that very much."

"Good man," Dieter chuckles, helping you stand on shaky legs. Clint reaches out to hold your hips, steadying you as you slightly sway.

“Why don't you sit on that chair in the living room?” Dieter instructs tilting his head over the the leather chair in front of the large window overlooking the city.

“Baby, why don’t you come help me pour us some drinks." He leaves a sweet smack against your ass when you head towards the bar.

Clint sinks down into the leather chair, watching as you grab two tumblers for Dieter to fill with whiskey.

“You good baby?” Dieter asks lowly.

“Yes,” you shakily breathe out. “More than good.”

Dieter smiles and winks, handing you one of the glasses before taking a sip from his own. “You’re so fucking hot, go ahead, give Clint a drink.”

Clint sits up straighter as you approach, his eyes raking over your body, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He’s still perfectly clad in his zipped-up leather jacket and dark shirt, while his jeans hang open, his half hard cock lying in his lap.

You climb onto his lap, straddling his muscular thighs as his hands rest on your hips, thumbs rubbing soft, tiny circles against your hipbones.

You haven’t kissed another man in years, not ever since the night you met Dieter. Until now, when you lean in and press your lips to Clint's. His mouth moves against yours, tracing the seam of your lips before you part them, allowing him to devour you.

You unzip his leather jacket without breaking the kiss, dragging it down his arms before Clint shrugs out of it and throws it to the side. You unbutton his shirt, letting it fall down his arms.

His tongue dances against yours, as his cock hardens beneath you, leaving you feeling wanted and desired by the statue of a man. Your hips rolls, grinding down and earning a low groan from deep in his throat.

"Getting him nice and hard for you aren't you?" Dieter asks from behind. "Go ahead ‘n fuck him for me.”

Climbing off his lap, you help Clint quickly tug off his jeans and boxer briefs. His cock stand tall and thick for you. You turn around, backing up slowly to position yourself over his lap, reaching between your legs to grasp his cock. Clint hisses through his teeth, hips twitching up.

You keep your eyes locked on Dieter’s as you slowly sink down onto Clint. His thick length stretches you in a way unlike Dieter, your head falls back aginast Clint’s shoulder as he fills your cunt completely.

Dieter leans forward, elbows braced on his knees as he watches you take another man’s cock.

“Amazing,” Dieter whispers incredulously as you begin to move, rising up until just the tip of Clint’s inside you before sinking back down. Clint groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you back to him, his plush lips licking and kissing against your neck as he fucks up into you, thrusting into your cunt with more force than Dieter, his hands more calloused and steady. You're bouncing on his lap, head thrown back against his shoulder, a litany of moans spilling from your lips.

Dieter rises from the couch, prowling towards you with dark eyes. He kneels in front of you, hands skating up your thighs. "Look at you, taking his cock so well. Such a good girl for us."

He leans in and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth, reminding you that you’re his even as Clint’s cock splits you open.

He pulls back, lips wet and shiny as he looks over your shoulder at Clint. "How does her pussy feel?" he asks.

"Like heaven, sir," he replies, gritting out each word with a hard thrust. "So fucking tight and wet."

Dieter laughs darkly, happy with the way Clint praises you. He tilts his head, moving his face closer to Clint’s. You watch, transfixed, your breath catching in your throat as Dieter closes the gap and press his lips to Clint’s.

It's filthy and hot, watching your boyfriend kiss his bodyguard whose cock is driving into you. Their tongues slide and tangle against each other, both men grunting while you moan watching them.

Dieter pulls away, his gaze turning back to you. “Like seeing me kiss another man while he fucks this perfect pussy?"

"Yes," you gasp, grinding yourself down harder onto Clint's cock. "God, yes."

Dieter reaches over, picking up Clint’s whiskey tumbler and takes a slow slip.

“Open,” Dieter commands to Clint. He obediently parts his lips as Dieter tilts the glass towards him. Clint doesn’t swallow immediately, instead he lets the liquid pool in his mouth.

“Let me taste,” Dieter lowly says.

Clint’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you firmly against his chest as he tilts his head forward. He slowly opens his mouth, the whiskey flows from it in a small stream, cascading down your collarbone and breasts. Glistening trails are left across your heated skin as it trickles down your body across the plane of your stomach.

Dieter’s tongue follows the path of whiskey down your body before he lowers himself to the floor, his face hovering in front of your pussy. A shock of pleasure is lit through your body when you feel a sweet lick against your clit. His tongue trails down your pussy as Clint’s cock pumps in and out of you. Clint groans beneath you, his hips stuttering when Dieter’s tongue grazes against his shaft.

A path is licked down to Clint’s balls and up to your clit, following the trail back and forth. Dieter hums against you when he tastes both of you together.

It feels so filthy and intimate, just as you’d expect from Dieter fucking Bravo. His dark hair bobbing between your thighs, his pink tongue darting out to taste another man’s cock as it fucks you.

Clint makes a choked noise as Dieter laps at his shaft.

Dieter pulls back slightly, his face shining with your’s and Clint’s arousal.

"You like watching me lick his cock, baby?”

“Yes. Fuck, Dieter, it’s so hot.”

He smirks. "You know Clint, I bet she'd love to watch me suck your cock, hm? Take you deep in my throat while she rides your face."

Clint makes a strangled sound at the suggestion, his cock twitching inside you. "Jesus Christ.”

“Let’s move this to bedroom then,” Dieter suggests, rising and reaching his hand out to you. You take it, Clint’s hold on you loosening as you slowly lift yourself off his thick cock. A small grunt from him mixes with your soft whimper at the loss of each other. Dieter leads you by the hand toward the bedroom. Clint follows closely behind, his breathing heavy, his cock still soaked in your wet.

You’re thankful this huge mansion has a massive bedroom with a California king bed that can fit both men currently flanking you. You feel so small sandwiched between Dieter’s broad body and Clint’s even larger and intimidating form.

“On the bed," Dieter tells you with a gentle slap against your ass. You climb onto the mattress, kneeling at the foot of it waiting for more instruction. “You too,” Dieter instructs, lightly swatting at Clint’s ass. “Lie back.”

Clint’s body easily takes up half of the mattress as he lays down on the bed. He’s so broad and strong, his dark eyes watching you as his cock stands hard and soaked between his thighs.

“Good. Now, baby,” Dieter turns to you, “why don’t you climb on his face?”

You nod, crawling across the mattress, positioning yourself above Clint, your knees planting on the bed bracketing his face.

He grips your thighs, pulling you down until your swollen pussy hovers just above his mouth. His hot breath fans against your sensitive cunt, dripping with need and ready to feel Clint’s mouth on you again.

“Ride his face baby,” Dieter encourages.

You’re pulled down against Clint’s mouth, his deep groan vibrating against your cunt as he tongues at your swollen clit. A tight gasp and long moan leave your lips as he devours you—methodical, thorough and relentless. Your hands grasp against the firm muscles of Clint’s thighs to brace yourself, Clint’s hands plant against your ass, spreading you wide for him.

Dieter’s eyes darken with each step he takes as he watches you moan and writhe atop Clint’s face. He crawls between Clint’s spread legs, his hands sliding up Clint’s thighs until they meet yours.

“Watch me,” Dieter orders, staring in your eyes as he lowers his head.

You couldn’t look away even if you wanted to try. The sight of Dieter—your Dieter—wrapping his fingers around Clint’s thick cock almost makes you dizzy. Clint’s hips jerk up at the contact, a gasp puffing against your pussy.

Dieter holds Clint's cock in his fist, giving it a few lazy strokes before lowering his head. His eyes never leave yours as his pink tongue darts out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe from base to tip. Clint's entire body shudders beneath you, his groan vibrating against your cunt.

"Holy shit," you breathe, amazed by the sight before you.

Dieter smirks, his lips hovering just above Clint's glistening tip. "I told you to watch," he reminds you before taking just the head into his mouth.

Clint's fingers dig deeper into your ass, pulling you harder against his mouth anchoring himself to you.

Your hand reaches out to thread through Dieter's soft waves, tightening your hold to guide him further down Clint’s shaft.

Dieter's eyes light with mischief as you push him further onto Clint's cock. Clint's body tenses beneath you, his hips bucking upward as Dieter deep throats his cock.

It’s beautiful, your boyfriend's lips stretched around another man's cock as that same man devours your pussy.

Dieter pulls off Clint's cock with a wet pop, his lips shiny with saliva. His hand continues to stroke Clint's length as he locks eyes with you.

"Spread his legs wider," Dieter commands, his voice dropping an octave.

You push at Clint’s inner thighs, spreading him open for Dieter, who hums appreciatively, lowering his head to lick a long stripe from Clint's heavy balls up his shaft.

Clint groans against your pussy, his tongue circling your entrance before dipping lower, circling your asshole with light, experimental licks.

"He's licking my ass," you gasp, eyes wide as you look at Dieter.

Dieter's grin turns predatory. "Is he now? You like that, baby?"

You nod frantically, unable to form words as Clint's tongue presses more insistently against your tight ring, his hands spreading your cheeks wider.

“You know baby, I think Clint would like the same treatment,” Dieter says lowly as he moves lower between Clint’s spread thighs. Dieter’s hands push Clint’s thighs up and back, exposing him completely.

His tongue trails from Clint’s balls to the sensitive skin below. You watch, enamored by Dieter’s tongue circling Clint’s tight hole.

“Fuuuuuck,” Clint whispers against you.

Dieter pulls back with a devilish smile before he spits across Clint’s asshole. You moan when you watch Dieter press his thumb against Clint’s entrance, circling it slowly.

"Jesus Christ," Clint hisses against your ass, his tongue stilling.

Dieter’s thumb slowly pushes in Clint’s tight ring of muscle. Clint's entire body tenses before he forces himself to relax, his shoulders sinking deeper into the mattress beneath you.

You can feel Clint’s reaction through his entire body as Dieter's thumb sinks deeper and deeper—the way his stomach muscles clench, the slight arch of his back, the firmness of his grip against your skin, the desperate “fuck” that vibrates against your ass.

Clint grips your hips, moving you up and down against his mouth, licking long lines from your asshole to your clit and back.

"Look at him," Dieter purrs. "Big, tough bodyguard taking my thumb in his ass while he eats my girl's pussy. You like that, don't you, Clint?"

Clint groans against you, a shiver running across his body.

"I think he likes it," you gasp, grinding down harder on Clint's face.

Dieter laughs darkly, leaning down, taking Clint's cock back into his mouth while working his thumb deeper.

You’re all connected, Clint's mouth on your cunt, Dieter's mouth on Clint's cock, Dieter's thumb working Clint's ass, Dieter’s eyes on you.

A long moan leaves your lips when Clint sucks hard on your clit, your back arching as his hips rock upward into Dieter’s mouth.

"Oh fuck," you gasp, clenching your thighs around Clint's head as he continues to feast on your drenched pussy. "I'm… gonna…"

Dieter looks up at you through heavy-lidded eyes. "Cum for me baby. Cum all over Clint's face."

That's all it takes to send you over the edge. Your entire body trembles and convulses under the power of your orgasm, grinding down on Clint’s face as he eats you through it. Your arms go weak, and you slump forward against his body, breathing hard. Running your cheek along the soft nest of coarse curls above his cock. Dieter grips your chin, guiding you to turn your head, taking Clint’s cock out of his mouth, guiding it into your mouth. You’re still humming and moaning from your release, your mouth working over Clint’s shaft as he groans against your overworked clit.

“I think you got her nice and worked up for me Clint,” Dieter says. “It’s time for me to fill my girl’s pussy.”

Dieter grabs your limp, overwhelmed body, laying you down on the bed next to Clint, your back nestling against the soft sheets.

Clint’s dark brown eyes watch as Dieter lines up, his tip dipping between your folds and rubbing against your clit before thrusting into you, burying himself in your cunt. Your body jerks forward with the force of him, a loud scream bursting from your lungs. Clint groans, as he watches Dieter’s hips slap against yours, ruthlessly pounding into you, owning your pussy after Clint’s had his way with it.

Clint can’t take his eyes off of you, staring into your eyes, watching as your face contorts in pleasure as Dieter fucks you harder and deeper. Your back arches off the bed, hands grasping the sheets tightly as you take Dieter’s cock.

"Fuck yes," he grunts. "Get behind me Clint. Finger my asshole while I fuck her.”

Clint moves behind Dieter, his large hands running over Dieter's ass before spreading him wide. Dieter groans when Clint's finger circles his tight ring of muscle, teasing him.

Dieter growls, slamming into you harder, staring into your eyes as Clint pushes his slick thumb past the ring of muscle, pressing deep into Dieter's ass. “Holy shit,” Dieter gasps, a wide smile lighting his face before he leans forward and kisses you, his hips jerking against yours as Clint works him open.

Dieter’s head tips back, groaning loudly as he drives into you even harder, pushed to the edge by Clint’s finger stretching him open.

“Fuck my ass,” Dieter orders, pressing you farther down into the mattress under his weight.

“Yes sir,” Clint growls, spitting in his hand and slicking up his cock before he slowly notches himself against Dieter’s asshole.

Dieter’s hips stutter as he pauses, breathing hard as Clint stretches him open with his wide cock.

“Fuuuuuck,” Dieter hitches. “You’re so fucking big.”

You watch Dieter’s face, a blissed-out smile lifting his lips, his eyes fluttering shut before he opens them, staring down at you as Clint starts to fuck him in long, slow strokes.

You clutch on Dieter’s strong arms, gripping his golden skin tight as he moves with Clint, the slow drag of his cock pulling out of your cunt before thrusting back in steers you closer to another orgasm.

You’re tangled in each other, Clint’s large body laying over Dieter’s, Dieter’s lips biting and licking at yours, your moans and groans echoing off the walls of the expansive room.

Dieter’s head drops to the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as Clint surges in and out of him.

“Gonna cum,” Dieter whines against you. “Gonna fuckin’ fill you up while he fucks me.”

The three of you move as one, your pussy clenching around Dieter’s cock, Dieter’s asshole taking Clint’s cock. “Cum for me baby,” you urge. “Give me your cum.”

Clint’s pace turns brutal, pounding into Dieter deeper and harder. Both men’s weight bears down on you—pinning and claiming you as the center of their desire.

“Fuck,” Dieter lifts his head, staring into your eyes as he begins to cum, a deep, guttural groan escaping his throat as he empties himself inside you. His handsome face contorts with pleasure, teeth gritting, eyes locked on yours as he shoots his big load inside you.

“That’s it,” Clint growls behind him, fucking into him as Dieter’s body tightens around him. “Give her every drop, sir.”

Dieter’s cock pulses inside you, filling you with his heated release that triggers your own orgasm, your walls clenching him hard, milking every last sweet drop of cum from his cock.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Clint groans, pulling out of Dieter. "I’m close.”

“Cum on my girl’s face,” Dieter orders, rolling off of you and pulling you into his arms.

Clint stalks forward, his knees dipping into the bed as he kneels in front of you, stroking his cock, his bottom lip captured between his teeth.

You reach a hand up, massaging his balls, firmly pressing against them, giving him the perfect amount of pressure.

“Gonna cum," he grunts through gritted teeth. "Fuck, I'm gonna..."

Dieter's hands slide up to cup your breasts, squeezing roughly. "Do it," he encourages. "Give her what she wants. Paint that pretty face."

With a strained groan his cock pulses in his hand as he strokes himself, aiming the tip at your waiting face.

"Open," he commands again. You obey, sticking out your tongue in offering.

Thick ropes of cum spurt from Clint's cock, striping across your cheeks, your chin, your outstretched tongue. You moan as he marks you, claiming you as his own.

"So gorgeous covered in another man's cum. My perfect little cum slut,” Dieter admires.

You whimper as Clint milks the last drops onto your waiting tongue before he looks down, admiring his work, your face glistening with his release.

"That's my good girl," Dieter praises, his fingers tracing through Clint's cum on your cheek before pushing it between your parted lips. You suck his fingers clean, moaning at the taste as both men watch you with hungry eyes.

Clint collapses onto the bed beside you, his chest heaving.

“Well done Mr. Flood,” Dieter chuckles, running his hand through Clint’s hair. “I think we’ll keep you.”

—-

Proof it's 6969. lol

Also, please know I referenced this GIF by @perotovar A LOT while writing this.

—-

Tagging some moots and people who were interested: @sawymredfox, @sp00kymulderr, @almostfoxglove, @evolnoomym, @ace-turned-confused

@bitchesuntitled, @beefrobeefcal, @magpiepills, @joelmillerisapunk, @arcanefox207

@quinnnfabrgay, @bergamote-catsandbooks, @milla-frenchy, @jokesonthem

[paulyenvol6]

A Universe Without Her

Reed Richards x f!reader (+ Joel Miller)

Part two to this story, and it's kind of based on this request. Enjoy :))

Contains: angst, trauma, cheating, manipulation, morally questionable behavior, misuse of Reed's resemblance to Joel, hurt, grief, multiverse themes, alternate universe, jealousy, obsessive behavior

Wordcount: 5,574

Masterlist Wanna be on my taglist?

Water tickled down onto a sleek surface.

Usually, this was the kind of noise that drove Reed insane. He would sometimes scurry around the house, seeking the source of the annoying sound until Sue was forced to leave the bed, capture him and get him to come back to bed.

But today was different. Reed simply didn't care about it, even though his mind was strangely aware of the dripping water.

His gaze was on Claire, as always, these days.

He almost felt like a creep watching her from across the room, but his brain commanded his body something it wasn't capable of doing. He wanted to look away because it was the right thing to do, but Reed's eyes wouldn't avert from her elegant form, moving swiftly in front of the monitors.

At least, no one seemed to notice who he was watching so extensively. Reed sat at a table a few feet away from the others, explaining that he needed time to think about the pressing matter at hand.

The Thunderbolts requested to fight a criminal gang alongside the Fantastic Four. Although Reed had more pressing matters to attend to, he agreed — perhaps to distract from his unusual behavior.

The good news was that no one questioned his slightly off-center position. He had a reputation for finding solutions and elaborating plans for the most complex and urgent matters. Therefore, neither Sue nor the other Fantastic Four members had asked any follow-up questions when he excused himself.

His wife and friends were not stupid and had noticed Reed's odd behavior over the past days. He had tried to come up with explanations and logical conclusions but sometimes, Reed could spot that sparkle in Sue's eyes that made him think that no matter what he told her, she didn't believe him.

"Reed!" someone shouted, and it sounded like it hadn't been the first time. His head shot around, lashes fluttering to bring back the life inside them.

"What?" he asked, his jaw working as Yelena gestured him to approach.

"We have a plan. Did you have some brainstorm?"

"No," Reed said, shaking his head and deliberately averting his gaze from Claire, who was standing next to Joel.

Too close to Joel.

Reed knew how ridiculous this was, getting jealous of Joel who had every right in the world to be close to his girlfriend. But he couldn't help it, although he would do anything to forget about you, Claire, and this whole mess at once.

"Nothing?" Johnny asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“What did you come up with?” Reed asked, distracting himself from his lack of ideas, which had a simple answer. He hadn't spent any time thinking about what the Thunderbolts could do about the criminals in New York City. He had wasted his time with his favorite activity nowadays – daydreaming about Claire and cursing the universe for punishing him with his fate. Maybe it was some higher power's way to penalize him for cheating on Sue and going behind her back. Perhaps, Reed even deserved all of this while Joel had lived a kind and giving life and had been rewarded with a girlfriend like Claire. He didn't believe in things like that, but he sometimes liked to think about it that way.

"Well," Yelena began, pointing to one of the monitors. "We're striking on Friday. We know there's a large sum of money being transferred by the New York bank, and we think they'll be there."

"Why are we even taking on thieves? Is this what you guys normally do?" Johnny threw in, provoking almost everyone in the room to roll their eyes, but first and foremost his sister. "Johnny. This is not helping."

Yelena gave her a gracious nod, then proceeded with her explanation.

"The only problem is, that we have to lure them out of the bank. The building is hard to break in, and we could only attack from one side if we went in too. So, we have to get them outside. Once that happens, Johnny will burn their fancy weapons, and we can corner them from all sides."

Yelena's gaze briefly shifted toward Claire, causing Reed to tense up involuntarily.

"And how are we gonna get them to go outside?"

"Well, Ben suggested we just wait until they leave, but it's too dangerous. These guys have modern and dangerous weapons in their cars that even you people in your pretty suits can't do anything about."

Reed lifted his eyebrows but listened as Yelena continued.

"This is where Claire comes in."

His heart skipped a beat just like it always did at the sound of her name.

"Oh yeah?" he uttered, trying to sound as indifferent and cool as possible. He was simply talking about any other member of the team, no one special. He was just a normal guy, helping as best as he could and listening to Yelena's plan.

"Yes, she has to go in and lure them out onto the streets."

His body screamed to protest, just the mere thought of something happening to Claire making him want to throw up. He couldn't lose you a second time.

"And why does it have to be her?" Reed hissed a lot more aggressive than intended. Just as expected, Johnny and Ben exchanged a suspicious glimpse, which instantly made him regret his rough comment.

"Well, because Claire is the only one who can even go into the building in the first place."

Reed felt his patience faltering, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.

"And why is that? These guys are gonna destroy the lock. Everyone can go in."

"No. They use electro waves to open doors like this one. For us, it's an untouched lock. Good thing we have an agent whose face will get her into basically anything. That's the advantage of working with the government."

Reed paused, lashes fluttering as his gaze ran over Claire and Joel who were holding hands.

"It's dangerous," he said after a while, sounding almost accusing.

"Nothin' she can't handle," Joel answered for her, lightly squeezing her hand as Reed scratched his beard.

"We got this, Reed," Yelena joined the conversation and briefly patted his shoulder. "We are experts. We know how to do stuff like this."

"Are you sure about that?" Johnny threw in, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Yelena chose to ignore his comment and instead kept her eyes on Reed, who was still struggling to accept their plan. He knew that he was drawing attention to his unusual behavior and was risking everything, but at the same time, he didn't know how to make peace with the thought that Claire, who looked exactly like you, brought herself in danger. It was irrational and ridiculous – Reed didn't even really know her – but he couldn't watch someone who resembled you so much slip away from his grasp again. Even though Claire wasn't even his in the first place. Just like you hadn't been his.

Ultimately, Yelena and Claire took his silence as a sign of defeat, although Reed could have sworn that Joel held his gaze on his face for a second longer than necessary.

The rest of the meeting passed him like a fever dream. Reed tried to focus on the conversation around him, but with Claire and Joel in front of him and his mind preoccupied with their proposal, he had difficulty concentrating.

Half an hour later, his earlier surmise was confirmed as Joel didn't seem to be in any hurry leaving the room as quickly as the others. He even put a hand on the small of Claire's back, whispering something in her ear before she followed the others outside.

Reed glanced at his wife, who was deeply involved in a conversation with Yelena, and then sighed as Joel approached him. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised. He could have done a better job of hiding his emotions.

"Reed," Joel uttered as though he was initiating casual small talk and walked up to him to stand next to him in front of a monitor. The two men were watching the screen, though Reed had a hunch none of them were actually paying attention to the glimmering lights.

"Frankly, I'm impressed by these monitors," Reed murmured, picking at his chin and attempting to add something as Joel turned his head toward him.

"I'm not an idiot, Reed."

The professor froze, but tried to maintain his composure as long as he couldn't be sure what his counterpart was talking about.

"But neither am I an asshole."

Reed waited for something else, but when nothing came, he put his hands on his hips.

"Okay?"

"I don't know what's going on between you and your wife, and whoever may be involved, but keep your hands off my wife. Or rather your eyes." Joel's voice remained calm and quiet, yet his tone made it clear that he wasn't joking around. With his broad shoulders and grim expression, Joel generally didn't look like the kind of person who played around.

"What are you talking about?" Reed asked back and hardly managed to hide the faint hint of panic resonating in his voice. This was bad. After all, his marriage to Sue was at stake. He wouldn't risk losing his family or his future just because of Joel's suspicions.

"Do you think I am dumb? I see the way you look at her. And you look at her all the time. And all this stuff about keeping her safe… Reed, I'm her boyfriend. Sometimes, I can't stop staring at her. Do you think I wouldn't notice someone doing the exact same thing? And her safety, her well-being is on my mind all the goddamn time. Of course I see these kinds of things. It's like – like someone playing a song that's been stuck in my head for the past five years."

Reed averted his gaze to avoid showing the shimmer in his eyes. He knew denying it was futile. Yet, he couldn't be sure admitting to Joel's accusations wouldn't end in catastrophe.

"It's not about your girlfriend. I hardly even know her. I just knew someone who looked like her. And I'm… I'm fascinated by the resemblance."

Reed did his best to sound indifferent and cool. He believed he was doing a good job until his counterpart chuckled humorlessly.

"Yeah…," he muttered. "And I would like to know about her."

"What?" Reed spoke and folded his arms in front of his chest.

"Yes. Tell me your story. I just have to watch you look at my wife, and I know it's a good story."

Anger was building up in Reed's stomach, his blood seething in his veins. This wasn't some fairy tale that he would gladly tell a man he had just met just because they looked alike.

"There's no story. I'm sorry if I offended you by looking at her. I will stop it. There's no meaning behind it, I'm a scientist and I've been studying the multiverse for many years. I'm mesmerized by all the various shaping and the resemblance between your girlfriend and the person I used to know is remarkable."

Reed avoided eye contact as he stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling Joel's gaze bore holes in his profile.

"Oh yeah? I don't believe you. Maybe I can't prove it, but I got a feeling you're not telling me the truth."

Joel shook his head slowly, then patted his shoulders.

"But that's okay. You got through bad shit. No pressure from my side. Just leave my girlfriend alone. When I first met you, I thought that you and me would get along well. I still think so. But when it comes to Claire, things get serious. I'm not playing around. She's precious to me."

Reed wanted to scream that she was precious to him too, but fortunately the words got stuck in his throat, and he simply nodded with his head, though he felt quite stupid doing it.

"I know. I'm not trying to get between the two of you, I promise. I'm happily married."

It was pointless to claim that Joel actually believed what Reed had said, but at least he nodded instead of asking more questions. He looked like he was about to drop the topic and turn around, but then he paused and narrowed his eyes.

"What's up with you not wanting Claire to be on the mission?"

This man really wasn't scared to ask what was on his mind, Reed thought with a harsh scoff but then shrugged.

"Nothing," he lied, a weight dropping off his heart as Joel finally meandered out of the room with a loud "I wouldn't have guessed that there was a version of me in the universe that's more closed and secretive than me… But here we are."

With these words, Reed was left alone, an inexplicable emptiness in his chest.

He didn't know how to feel about the encounter. First and foremost, he feared the consequences of Joel knowing that something was up. There was always a chance it would reach Sue's ears, which would end in chaos and hurt for every involved party. The thought that he was being unjust and cruel toward his wife wasn't one that hadn't crossed his mind before – hell, he had cheated on her. But the least he could do – at least in his mind – was keep the trouble away from her.

She seemed happy and content, or as happy as one could be after losing their home planet. Perhaps, in times like these, honesty wasn't what she would treasure the most but maybe it was a world in which not everything was horrible. Reed had never considered telling her what had happened between him  and you over all those weeks while Sue had been at work thinking that her husband was busy in the lab. And he wouldn't risk it now just because Joel seemed to start gathering information about things that had nothing to do with him.

One week later

"Press that button please," Reed murmured, his head peeking out from under the cooling system to watch his wife go after his request.

"Which one? The red one?"

"Yes." Sue did as she was told, and a second later, various bright lights lit up the dim spaceship.

"Oh… amazing. So that means the ship is working now."

Reed nodded and crawled out from under the cooling unit.

"Yes. In theory, it should work."

"But we don't want to, right?" Sue casually spoke and began helping Reed pick up the tools spread out in front of them.

"I don't think so. We got nowhere else to go, right?"

Sue shook her head. "I like it here… I don't know – it's weird not to know what our future brings. I don't know what we're gonna do in tweny years, but what I know is that I wanna be happy, fulfilled and I wanna be with you."

She grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward her to kiss his lips.

"Yeah… I want that too," Reed whispered and then continued to tidy up the workspace as Sue cleared her throat.

"But for now, I feel like we're good here. We can help the others with the criminal gangs in New York City, use our powers for something good and… and maybe redeem ourselves for what we did back on our earth."

Reed paused, darting up at his wife with a crease between his brows.

"You do know that none of this is your fault, right?" he said slowly.

"I know. But it feels like we owe them something. Just because we're the only ones that made it. I feel so much pressure and weight on my shoulders, and I don't know where all of it is coming from."

Reed quickly reached for her hand to brush over her knuckles with his thumb.

"I know. I get it. But life is not gonna be easier if we live with that pressure, babe."

"I know. You're right, and I have to clear my mind of this bullshit."

Sue put the last remaining screwdriver in the tool case and messed up his hair. "Joel and Claire are so nice. And I love that they're also a couple like we are…"

Reed almost choked on his breath just at the sound of her name. "Y-Yes… Sure, yes. They are."

He was aware that it had been one agreement too many, but his wife didn't appear to suspect anything. She just kept warbling as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"It's so funny though that he looks like you. I swear, one day I'm gonna confuse you with him."

"You can still tell the difference," Reed disagreed, causing Sue to shrug.

"I know. But not from afar. His beard is greyer than yours. Does that mean you've aged more graciously than him?" she giggled and traced his stubble.

"Maybe. But it also means that it won't be long until my beard grays…" Reed scoffed as he scratched his chin and gestured toward the door. "Should we go?"

"Yes… Sure," Sue sighed, looking almost regretful as the couple left the spaceship behind. Reed, who had seen her peering over her shoulder, frowned.

"I thought you're the one that likes it here. So why are you looking back like this?"

"I do like it here. It just holds so many memories… Do you remember the first time we went up? I swear to god, I have never seen my brother so nervous."

Reed chuckled and helped his wife down the few steps back to the ground. "Really? I don't think I noticed that."

"I know you didn't. He's good at hiding things like that. But he was a mess. It was back when he felt like he had to compete with you. He never would've shown any hint of weakness," Sue uttered, grinning at his profile as they walked back inside the building. "We've come a long way, haven't we…"

Half an hour later, the Fantastic Four, the Thunderbolts and Joel and Claire had dinner in the kitchen – pizza, that Ben made. Yelena had finally trusted him with her oven for the first time.

"It's good," Bob mumbled after taking the first bite, which earned him an approving nod from Ben.

"Thank you. Finally someone who appreciates my cooking skills."

"Oh come on, I appreciate your cooking skills too," Johnny threw in, slamming his fist on the table, which provoked everyone at the table to grin.

"Let's say you appreciate it 40 percent of the time…."

"Everything was so quiet today," Claire suddenly mentioned, and just the sound of her voice made all of Reed's senses sharpen.

He couldn't look.

The dark glint in Joel's eyes and his warning voice were still gnawing at him, yet the temptation was strong. Just a glance, just one dart at her beautiful hair, the little creases around her eyes from laughing so much. Reed hated the fact that it wasn't him who had made her laugh often enough for these little lines to develop, but he still enjoyed studying them when no one else was looking.

"Isn't that good?" Bucky grinned and shoved a big piece of pizza inside his mouth.

"Yes, but – I don't know, I was a bit bored."

"You just work too much, darling," Joel purred, placing a hand over hers. "You're not used to sitting around with nothing to do."

"Oh the two of you are making me sick," Yelena exclaimed, harshly putting the glass she had emptied back on the table. "I knew it was a bad idea to have a couple on our team."

"Oh and why is that?" Bob wondered.

"Because they make me sad for myself. Do you know that I went on a date the other day?"

Ghost's eyebrows shot up, her face grimacing. "Oh you're dating again? How was it?"

"Awful. And I don't wanna talk about it. And this is not even the point. I don't think it's healthy for us, people that don't have any love in their lives, to be forced to watch happy couples."

Yelena's father sneered, patting his daughter on her shoulder. "You have love, my darling."

"Yes, you do," Bob added, and then turned around to look at Reed. "And besides, Reed and Sue don't bother you?"

Yelena clicked her tongue, glaring at her glass like she was genuinely sad.

"A little. But at least, they aren't all over each other like Joel and Claire. Thank you guys."

Now it was Joel, who finally spoke up after clearing his throat. "You know, I've never believed in love – "

"No… Don't give me that 'love finds you when you least expect it' speech. I've heard it from my therapist a million times before."

Yelena rested her chin on her palm, narrowing her eyes at Joel, who defensively raised his hands.

"Maybe not that one, but there's some truth about it. Don't pressure yourself. Just let it happen. Of course you can actively search for someone, but don't expect the first person you meet to be the love of your life."

"Not helping," Bob murmured with a glance at Yelena, who seemed to sink lower into her chair with each passing minute.

Twenty minutes later, the first person – Bucky – excused themselves. Now, even Yelena didn't seem so upset anymore and happily drank a generous glass of wine with the rest of the group.

Nothing went past Reed, and that was although he didn't reject a drink either. He saw the flushness on Claire's cheeks wondering whether Joel noticed it too. His stomach twisted when Joel used the hem of his sleeve to clean the corner of her mouth where the red liquid had gathered. And Reed's lashes briefly fluttered as Claire hiccupped, clearly not unaffected by the alcohol.

Another hour later, she excused herself as well, and then more and more members of the group went to bed until it was only Reed and Ben left in the dimly lit kitchen.

"I think I'm gonna head to bed, too," Ben spoke, patting his shoulder as he passed him.

"Yeah. Me too."

Reed stood up, emptying his glass with the expectancy to be the only one left in the room as he put it back down. But Ben was still standing in the doorway.

"Reed?"

"Mhm?" the addressed hummed, grabbing his jacket.

"Are you okay? You seem… off. And I don't really ask you about it because I assume it's about everything that happened, but… I don't know, it feels wrong not to ask. You're my best friend."

"I'm okay, Ben. Of course these things had an impact on me, but I – I'm better. I'm getting better."

Reed didn't even know whether what he had said was a lie or not. His emotions were a constant rollercoaster. Thus far, there was no hint of steady improvement, but he knew exactly what his friend needed to hear in order to relax.

"Okay. I hope so. But you know I'm here, right? We all are."

Reed nodded and forced a gentle smile. Then he and Ben parted ways once they had left the kitchen.

He headed back to the room that he shared with Sue. It was more than convenient that the Thunderbolts didn't just have their headquarters in the building but also a few sleeping accommodations that the fantastic four were more than happy to take advantage of.

Sue was already in her pajamas, reading in bed, when he entered the room.

"Hi babe," she said without looking up.

"Hey… I'm gonna go brush my teeth real quick."

"Sure… By the way, Joel and Claire are in the room next door. Claire said that he has drunk a bit too much and she doesn't trust herself either. They wanted to stay here and not risk getting into trouble on their way back into the city."

Reed nodded casually, just like any other person would who received this kind of information. He quickly got ready for bed, changed into his pajamas, and climbed into bed next to Sue, who had already turned off the lights.

"Sorry baby," he whispered as he climbed onto the bed, scared to disturb her in her sleep.

"I'm still awake…," she murmured into the dark, though her voice sounded sleepy.

Reed sighed as the mattress creaked underneath him. There was a little more rustling, his body trying to find a comfortable position until he finally closed his eyes, ready for sleep to take over.

Reed woke up early the next day. Outside, the sun had barely even started rising in the sky as he lay in his bed, wide awake.

There had been nothing specific that had torn him from sleep, and yet it was not new or special for Reed who had been suffering from insomnia ever since his home planet had been devoured by an intergalactic space god. Who could blame him?

He decided not to rot in bed while waiting to doze off again, so he quickly changed into casual jeans and a grey t shirt and headed downstairs with the intention to get himself a cup of coffee.

He didn't mind being the only one up. Reed had never been socially intelligent, and his skills hadn't improved over the past weeks and the troubling events that had been shaping his personality. He would always choose a calm, peaceful morning over a loud, crowded kitchen.

Therefore, Reed blissfully hummed to himself as he waited for the coffee machine to finish its job, so focused on the device that he didn't hear the noise behind him.

"Joel?"

He froze. He would have recognized this voice among thousands, and that was even though Claire had a slightly different accent than you had had.

Reed didn't say anything.

Even if he had wanted to, he couldn't have, with his mind blank and his mouth dry as a desert.

The next thing he felt were two arms draping around his waist, and that was when he began to panic.

"I didn't know you where up already… Did I wake you when I left the bed?"

Reed blinked a couple of times, feeling her chin nudge his shoulder.

"N-No," he muttered.

His brain was still disconnected from his body.

That was the only explanation for how his mouth had been able to form that word despite his empty head. He knew that the objectively right thing to do was tell Claire that she had mistaken him for her boyfriend, but he just couldn't. Not only was he afraid of making things uncomfortable between the two of them by pointing out her blunder, but Reed also believed that he was incapable of putting the letters in the right sequence.

And then… then there was this really ugly part of him that simply didn't want to stop her.

Unfortunately, Claire's looks weren't the only thing she had in common with you. Her hands rubbing up and down his arms and her chin digging into his back reminded him of you so much that it hurt. Reed knew that he was being egoistical and immoral, but the idea of being Joel Miller just for a minute and having everything he ever wanted was seducing.

So enticing that he didn't stop Claire – even as she turned him around.

Maybe it made everything worse.

She wore workout clothes which consisted of shorts and a blue t shirt. Her hair was tied up in a ponytail, just as you sometimes had worn yours. And of course, a smile flashed across her face.

She hadn't recognized him. Good.

"Did you make coffee?" she whispered, sliding a hand up his face to rest on his cheek.

"Yeah. You want some too?" Reed tried to make his voice sound a little darker and more relaxed, resembling Joel's rough tone as best as he could.

Just a little longer. He knew that he had to stop. Joel already had his suspicions and there was no way that this would end well, but it felt so good to pretend to be Claire's – your – boyfriend. Looking upon your face so nearby, seeing the way you sometimes scrunched your nose, how your teeth gleamed from time to time in a soft smile.

No. Not you. Her. Claire.

"Yep. Thank you."

Reed grabbed a cup with trembling hands and just hoped that she wouldn't register it.

"By the way, I tried the new route I told you about today. And you know what, I came by a lake."

Claire chuckled with that clear, high voice of hers while Reed poured coffee into her cup.

"A lake?" he muttered neutrally, putting the mug in front of her on the counter.

"Yep. With swans. And ducks. Even though I'm not sure if they were actually ducks. But the looked like it though."

Reed grinned, which didn't even feel forced.

"You have to show me some time."

"Show you?" Claire chuckled, entwining her arm with his. "You're gonna wake up at 6 to go on a run with me?"

Reed took his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes wrinkling with amusement. "For you. Yes."

"Naww… that's sweet. But I don't want to drag you out there either. I'm honestly still so surprised you made it down here so early. You're not getting sick, are you?"

Just a little longer.

Reed's teeth were gritted – with guilt or dread, he didn't know. The actions he took were so wrong, and he couldn't even justify them by claiming that different sets of morals existed on the Earth he came from. It was just goddamn wrong.

"Don't worry about it, honey," Reed whispered, cupping Claire's face and feeling his lips involuntarily curl into a soft smile. She just looked too beautiful, despite the flushness and the thin layer of sweat on her skin.

"Oh I like babying you when you're sick. But just because you're so whiny."

"Oh yeah? It makes you feel needed, doesn't it?" Reed grinned, causing her features to draw with mirth.

He was the reason for her joy. He was the one who brought her that fleeting moment of happiness. The thought made his stomach tingle.

"Maybe…," Claire warbled and closed the gap between the two of them, snaking her arms around his neck. "But I like being there for you just as much… Because I love you, Joel."

A moment later, her lips were pressed against his, making Reed forget all about the initial direness that had come with the name 'Joel' rolling past her lips so effortlessly.

For a mere heartbeat, his mood had been tarnished, the reminder of who he was and what he was being cruel and harsh. But now that Claire kissed him and he got to devour her bottom lip, the intimacy consumed his brain activity.

When she pulled away, they were both breathless, and her eyes had a glow that Reed thought looked like the one behind his pupils.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" Claire muttered, her thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth.

"Forgotten something?" Reed asked with lifted eyebrows and watched her open her mouth before it hit him.

"Oh. I'm sorry baby… I love you too."

Claire smiled and rewarded him with another kiss before winking at him.

"I'm gonna head downstairs now. For the second part of my workout."

Reed nodded in understanding, feeling relief cascade upon him. He had feared she would go straight back to the room she shared with Joel, which would lead to uncomfortable questions.

But this way, he might be able to cover his crimes for another few hours… Maybe. Unless Claire would immediately discover that she hadn't spent the first minutes of her day in the kitchen with her boyfriend. And from that point forward, it wasn't difficult to find out who she had talked to.

"I think I'm gonna go back to our room. Get another hour of sleep maybe."

She emptied her cup, put it back on the counter and grinned triumphantly as Reed instantly carried it to the sink to clean it.

"Thank you, baby…," Claire purred with her honeyed voice and then rushed out of the kitchen.

Once she had left, all the energy left Reed's body, making his limbs slacken and his skin prickle.

He had done it. He had actually betrayed everyone here, from Joel and Claire to Sue, Johnny and Ben.

Now that Claire was gone, the initial sweetness on his tongue was replaced by a bitter taste.

Had it been worth it? Floating in her warm, sugary embrace for a couple of minutes?

The price he would pay was high. Unless, of course, he could come up with some explanation or lie that would protect him from the inevitable consequences.

Claire, Joel and Sue would find out one way or another.

The only lingering question was whether Reed would be unsparingly at their mercy or if there was any way around his fate.