headmastersapprentice

[headmastersapprentice]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[headmastersapprentice]

strike the match

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x college student f! reader

you fuck joel miller, austin’s fire chief, in your old room while your parents sleep down the hall.

tags/content warning: +18, mdni. f! reader. age gap. joel is 52, reader is 25. battalion chief joel miller. brief scene of attempted forced kissing (not by joel). reader wants that old man so bad. unprotected piv. creampie. wear protection please. dry humping. thigh riding. mouth covering during sex. oral f!receiving.

w/c: 9k

Hold the wide end of the cue stick with your dominant hand, palm facing up. Find the point where the stick balances, then shift your hand two or three centimeters back.

Form a circle with the thumb and index finger of your other hand.

You raise an eyebrow as you sip the espresso martini through a straw. Who knew pool could be this interesting?

Slide the cue stick through the circle and rest it over your middle finger. Set the outer edge of your hand on the pool table and—

Someone calls your name and you glance away from your phone, which is still open on a page titled “Pool for Dummies: First Steps,” just in time to catch the wide smile of one of your friends.

“Another round?” she asks, tilting her head toward your espresso martini. “Some guy just bought us drinks.”

Your glass is still half full, but you nod and agree, adding that the next one better come with a straw too. Free drinks are a no-brainer.

Once the waiter walks off with the order, your eyes drift again to the corner of the bar, to the pool tables surrounded by loud men downing tall mugs of frothy beer.

But you’re only watching one of them.

Your lips close around the straw again, and though your vision is slightly blurred at the edges, you stay locked in on the silver-haired man in his fifties, full beard and all, leaning against the wall with a cue stick in hand as he waits for his turn. He laughs at something his buddy says, and somehow, the drink tastes sweeter while you’re watching those broad shoulders under a plain black T-shirt and those strong thighs in faded dark jeans.

His turn.

He leans over the table, lines up the shot. His biceps flex, looking even bigger as he makes that typical forward-and-back motion before striking. His eyes are fixed on the red ball, until…

Suddenly, they’re on you.

Your stomach drops like you swallowed an ice cube. Still looking your way, brows slightly furrowed, he makes the shot. You don’t even have to follow the ball to know it sank clean.

His friend says something, and just like that, he looks away.

“Oh my God, stop flirting with the geriatrics,” your friend says, placing another espresso martini in front of you. “Adam wants to take you home. You know, the skinny blond guy…”

“The twenty-seven-year-old,” you say. “He’s a baby. And I bet he’s circumcised.”

“You’re twenty-five. What’s your beef with circumcised guys?”

You skip that question because there’s no polite way to explain your preference when it comes to pool cues.

“I like my men the way I like my cheese.”

“Old and stinky?”

“Aged!” you correct. “Y’all can keep your cheddar. I want my Gruyère.”

Your table erupts in laughter.

It’s your oldest friend’s birthday tonight, and you all decided to celebrate her twenty-ninth at Miller’s Bar, run by Tommy, an old friend of your dad’s, and his wife, Maria. Luckily, your summer break from grad school lined up with her birthday, and coming back to Austin is always worth it for nights like this.

And it’s not hard to imagine the kind of attention a group of girls in short skirts, high boots, and crop tops draws inside a traditional Texas bar.

You’re halfway through your espresso martini on your next sip, and for some reason, that reminds your bladder it needs attention. You excuse yourself and get up, though no one really hears you, and head straight for the bathrooms in the back of the bar, tucked at the end of a dim, nicotine-reeking hallway, where the air clings to your skin and the walls are hung with fading paintings of bulls, cows and longhorns.

Your bathroom mission is quick, mostly because it’s way too dirty to linger. Pee, quick reflection while perched on the toilet seat (layered in toilet paper), a bit of lipstick, a quick hair touch-up.

The music from outside, a Dolly Parton classic, fills the bathroom as you open the door, and it only takes one step into the dark hallway for you to slam into a wall of concrete.

“Shit,” says the wall.

Strong hands catch your shoulders and push you back, and suddenly your face is being tilted up by firm fingers.

“You alright?”

Black T-shirt. Gray beard. You blink, looking up, and your stomach flips again. He’s even bigger up close.

“Oww,” you whisper dramatically, touching your temple. Showtime. Anything to keep his hands on you a little longer. “I think I’ve got a concussion.”

“Doubt it. Looks to me like you’ve had a few too many.”

“You sure? Here,” you grab his hand and place it on your forehead. “Do I have a fever? What if you gave me a concussion?”

“Your fault for not lookin’ where you were going.”

You squint up at him again. He pulls his hand away and only now do you realize just how big it is and how thick his fingers are.

He’s raising an eyebrow, but there’s a hint of amusement on his lips that pushes you to blurt your name, offer a handshake, and say:

“How about I buy you a drink as an apology?”

The smile dies. He ignores your hand, pats the top of your head twice, like you would a puppy, and sidesteps you, saying:

“Go find someone your age, kiddo. Plenty of boys in there’ll want you.”

“I don’t want someone my age!” you call out after his retreating back.

“Too damn bad.”

He steps into the men’s room, and you feel your shoulders slump with disappointment. Would a lower-cut top have helped?

“When you think like that, feminism goes back twenty years,” your friend says when you repeat that exact thought to her. “He’s supposed to like you for your personality.”

“I don’t want him to eat out my personality.”

He walks past your booth and heads back to the pool area, and your eyes eat him up again, but then Adam, the allegedly circumcised boy, and his crew show up, cramming into your booth and blocking your view.

It’s hard, but you resist the urge to roll your eyes and order another espresso martini instead.

At some point in the night, you get fed up with the boys and their dumb incel-tier jokes, so you decide to leave. Your friends ask if you want company walking home, but you decline, even though your legs feel a little wobbly as you stand. You pay your part of the bill, say your goodbyes and make your way to the bar’s exit.

There’s a chilly breeze outside that raises goosebumps on your arms, and you shift your weight from foot to foot, leaning slightly against the wall as you dial your dad’s number.

It rings ten times and goes to voicemail.

You try again.

Voicemail.

“I don’t sleep until you’re home,” you mutter mockingly, repeating what they always say. “Bet they’re deep in REM by now.”

You’re typing your home address into the Uber app when the bar door opens again. Your eyes meet his.

“Changed your mind?” you ask, trying to sound alluring.

He closes the door behind him and looks both ways down the empty sidewalk before turning back to you with indignation.

“What the hell are you doing out here alone? Where’re your friends?”

“They stayed.”

“And they just let you stand out here by yourself?”

You ignore him, already over this conversation, and hit enter on the app. The fare loads. Shit. Twenty bucks to get home? That’s ridiculous. And the nearest driver’s twenty minutes away.

“Where do you live?” he asks.

“I’m not telling you where I live, stalker,” you mutter, eyes still on your phone.

“Five minutes ago, you were trying to buy me a drink.”

“So? Telling you where I live is crossing a line.”

“I ain’t leaving you out here alone.”

“Hey,” you spin to face him and point a slightly shaky finger in his direction. “You’re not responsible for me. I can take care of myself.”

He stares at your red-polished finger, then at your face, then raises his hands in surrender and walks past you toward the bar’s parking lot in silence.

Fine. Gotta love a hot guy who thinks he owns the damn world. Most exhausting type.

Alone again, you refresh the app a few times, and on the third, the price jumps from twenty to twenty-five dollars.

“Noooo,” you groan, leaning your head back against the wall to stare at the stars. Could you walk home? No… way too dangerous. And your high-heeled boots were not made for that.

The bar door opens again. You don’t look up to see who it is, and you don’t need to, because ten seconds later, there’s a hand on your waist. You jerk away, startled, trying to shake off the touch, but the grip is strong.

“Hey there, baby girl,” Adam says, way too close. You can feel his booze-soaked breath. “I got your message.”

His blown pupils freak you out, but it’s the fact that you can’t break his grip that makes your heart spike. You’re trying, but your espresso martini-filled body is sluggish. His hands feel like steel clamps against your dull reflexes.

“What message?”

“You wanted me to follow you out.”

“No, I didn’t. I just wanna go home. Let go.”

You try again. He holds tighter. Now he’s pressing his hips against yours. You push him, but every one of those espresso martinis slows you down.

“No need to make this so hard, baby girl. I saw the way you were lookin’ at me.”

“Let me go!”

Bile creeps up your throat and you swallow it down just to gather enough air to scream—

“Hey, kid,” a deep voice growls to your left, and your body nearly buckles with relief when he, Mr. Difficult, steps into view. He looks pissed.

“You back off her or you’re heading back to college five teeth short.”

Adam stumbles backward immediately, fear plain on his face. Mr. Difficult gives you a short nod, and you rush to him in quick steps, heart racing, tucking yourself beneath his broad frame like it’s shelter from the storm.

“These cameras,” he says, pointing to the ones mounted on the bar’s exterior, “I’ll have those tomorrow. Sexual harassment? I hope you don’t have a scholarship.”

Adam starts to say something, probably begging not to be exposed, but you don’t hear it. You’re gripping the man’s forearm, and he’s guiding you toward a black pickup parked between the shiny little cars of the boys still inside the bar.

In silence, he opens the passenger door and waits for you to climb in: slow, one foot on the step, the other in, legs together, finally settled. Then he shuts it and walks around to the driver’s side. For a moment, you feel like Bella Swan hopping onto the back of that weird guy’s bike in New Moon.

He gets in, shuts the door, and takes a deep breath before saying so firmly you don’t even think to argue:

“Give me your address. I’m taking you home.”

Defeated, you tell him. Only then does he start the truck and pull out of the bar’s lot.

“You know that guy?”

“I know his name’s Adam, but I don’t know him. Don’t even know his last name. He’s a friend of a friend.”

“Goddamn criminal little punks,” he mutters, rolling up the windows and turning on the heat when he notices you’re trembling, even though the cold has little to do with it. “You alright?”

“I’m… yeah. I think so. Thanks for stepping in.”

He keeps driving, and you use the quiet moment to steady your breath and your hands. The streets of Austin are empty, ghostly, barely any cars out, and your mind wanders for a second. Maybe it’s time to finally sign up for that self-defense class your dad kept telling you to take back in Houston.

You wedge your hands between your thighs to warm them and settle into the seat. You pretend not to hear when Mr. Difficult’s phone rings and he answers:

“Miller,” he says flatly. Someone talks on the other end. “What the hell happened to Jesse? Tonight’s his shift, not mine.” More silence. Then Miller, his newly revealed last name, curses under his breath and snaps, “I’m on my way.”

He hangs up and makes a sudden, hard right, jostling your body and making your eyes go wide.

“Are you kidnapping me?!”

His frustrated sigh fills the cab.

“You’re way too damn annoying to be kept in captivity,” he grumbles, accelerating. “They need me at work and I can’t drop you off first. It’s urgent. You’ll wait for me.”

“I can call another Uber.”

“You ain’t calling an Uber drunk like that.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because,” Miller says through gritted teeth, eyes on the road, “it’s literally my job to protect dumbass civilians who walk themselves into danger. I swore an oath. Now zip it.”

Civilians? Swore an oath?

Five minutes later, you get your answer as the wide property of the Austin Fire Department fills your vision, the U.S. and Texas flags flapping hard in the night wind. Miller drives through the open gate and parks beside the building.

“Come with me.”

You follow, still dazed, clacking behind him in your high-heeled boots. He doesn’t check if you’re keeping up, just walks with long, fast strides, and when he reaches the covered part of the station, three mustached men in full gear look at him like he’s the second coming.

The rest of the crew is further back, checking one of the trucks. They’re all huge.

“Chief,” one of them says. Chief?

“We need you. We got a call on—”

“Where the hell is Jesse?!” Miller practically growls. The three of them look at each other, shrinking a bit despite all standing well over six feet. “He think he’s back in school? What if I’d been drinking tonight? You’d go on a call short-handed? Hell of a teammate, that one.”

You’re only noticed when Miller turns his head toward you and calls out again:

“Come on.”

You do, still quiet. The firefighters tear their eyes off him and look at you, and yep… there it is. Raised brows, head-to-toe glance, lingering a bit too long on your skirt, and an open flirt-ready expression.

Miller shuts that down real fast:

“Eyes off, punks. I’ll be down in two.”

You give them a sheepish smile, but what you really want to say is: Yeah! That’s right, punks! Eyes off!

With a little bounce in your step, like a kid who just got praised by the teacher for their stick-figure drawing, you follow Miller up the stairs, metal steps creaking beneath you both.

Upstairs, you find the firefighters’ break room: a big dining table, a flat-screen TV, leather couches, and a kitchen tucked in an attached nook. You glance away from the wall of photos just in time to catch Miller stepping into his bunker pants, still over his jeans, and pulling the suspenders over his shoulders.

Shameless, you watch the whole thing while having a revelation. Yeah, now you get why firefighters are in every cliché fantasy ever. If Miller climbed into your window wearing that gear, you’d one hundred percent say something ridiculous like, “Here to put out my fire, officer?”

Next comes the heavy coat, and you can already see the sweat forming along his hairline as he zips and buttons everything up.

“Wait here for me. There’s coffee, water…” he gestures vaguely around the room, clearly in a rush. “Bathroom, running water, all that. Won’t be long.”

Before you can say anything else, he grabs his helmet and gloves and jogs down the stairs, pulling the Nomex hood over his head as he goes.

Moments later, the siren roars through the station, and as it fades into the night, it becomes nothing more than a ghostly hum at the back of your mind.

You sit on the couch, staring at the white wall with your hands tucked between your thighs. A firefighter. The chief.

Have you accidentally wandered into one of those steamy books you secretly read before bed? Or are you still sitting on the toilet in that grimy bar bathroom, hallucinating on espresso martinis?

The TV’s on. The news is covering a convenience store fire, result of an electrical short. Flames rage against the dark Austin sky, the interior swallowed by orange heat, yellow police tape keeping the crowd away. Thankfully, the store was empty when it caught fire.

Firefighters are en route, the reporter says, visibly relieved, and you curl onto your side on the couch, hands folded beneath your cheek, watching the broadcast.

You blink a little slower this time, and then everything goes dark.

“Were you trying to flash your panties to everyone in here? Damn short skirt.”

That’s the first thing you hear when you come to, groggy, as something is gently draped over your legs. You crack one eye open to find Miller carefully placing a leather jacket that smells like men’s cologne across your thighs. Only then do you realize just how comfortable you’d been lying there, considering the length of your skirt.

He keeps adjusting the jacket until everything’s covered. There’s no judgment in it. No irritation that you passed out like that. Just care, obvious in the way he pulls and tugs at the edges without ever letting his fingers brush your skin. And that, somehow, disorients you more than if he’d called you a name or scolded you outright.

“You’re back,” you mumble.

He shoots you a sidelong glance. His cheeks are smudged with soot and ash, his hair sweaty and tousled. The jacket’s gone, his suspenders hanging loose by his hips.

“Yeah. Didn’t die.”

“Thank God,” you murmur, eyes falling shut again. “What a waste that would’ve been.”

He clicks his tongue, exasperated.

You hear footsteps moving away, and peek through one eye to see him heading toward one of the adjoining rooms, tugging off his soaked black T-shirt in the process. The sight of his broad back makes your mouth go dry, especially with the reminder of what that body does for a living. All that strength. All that control.

Before the thought can spiral, other firefighters filter into the room, looking just as worn out as Miller.

“You the chief’s new girl?” one of them asks in a low voice, clearly trying not to be heard by said chief. He looks suspiciously like Bradley Bradshaw from Top Gun.

“No. He doesn’t want me.”

That earns you a burst of chaos. Whistles and chuckles like a group of teenage boys, not grown men who just came back from a fire call. Someone at the back yells, “I do!” and you ignore it, because you don’t kiss babies. Not when there’s a fire chief with a back like that about to drive you home.

You sit up on the couch, keeping Miller’s jacket across your lap, and glance at the coffee carafe they’re passing around.

“Can I have some?” you ask, motioning toward it.

They scramble like it’s a competition: who’ll pour, who’ll carry it over, who’ll get that sweet little “thank you” you sing out.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Miller says as he reappears, now in a fresh T-shirt bearing the Austin Fire Department logo on the chest and a clean face to go with it. His silver hair is damp, slicked back. He points at you. “Up. Let’s go.”

You rush to finish your coffee, burning your tongue in the process, and set the cup down to join him, still holding his jacket.

“I don’t know who’s been in contact with Jesse, but tell him he’s off the rest of the week. Maybe a seven-day suspension will help him get his shit together.”

One of them steps forward. “Chief—”

“That’s not a request, Lieutenant, that’s a decision. You boys need to learn the weight of the oath we swore.”

Silence.

Miller’s voice sharpens. “Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Miller places a hand on your shoulder and guides you forward. You walk ahead of him, down the stairs and out to his truck in silence.

“Tell me your address again,” he says once you’re both seated, looking worn out.

“You’re the fire chief.”

“Battalion chief,” he corrects, starting the engine. “Address.”

You tell him. He starts to drive. You watch him for a few seconds, then say:

“That was hot. The way you chewed them out? Extremely hot.”

“What’s with your thing for older men?”

“I thought you’d never ask!” you exclaim, and Miller rolls his eyes. Still grinning, you explain, “It’s not a thing. I just prefer older guys because they actually know what they’re doing. It’s not a crime.”

“How old are you?”

“You gonna judge me?”

“Seriously?” Miller stops at a red light even though the streets are deserted. It’s well past three a.m. “You’ve said all kinds of crap tonight, and this is what you’re worried about being judged for?”

“Because then you won’t wanna kiss me.”

“I’m not gonna kiss you either way.”

“See? That’s discrimination.”

“You still drunk?”

You think about it. Your vision’s clear now, no blurs at the edges. That weird rush in your ears is gone. The coffee and the nap did wonders.

“I’m not,” you say, turning in your seat to face him. He glances at you from the corner of his eye, like he’s afraid to admit you’re even in the truck with him. Finally, you say, “Twenty-five.”

“I’m twenty-seven years older than you.”

The light turns green. He drives.

“That just sounds like motivation to me,” you say, watching the way his thumb tightens around the leather steering wheel for half a second, his only reaction. “Are you married? Dating? Secret vow of celibacy?”

He shakes his head. No to all.

“My women need to be at least forty. That’s my cutoff.”

“Totally fair. Women in their forties are delicious,” you say, giving him a thumbs-up. “But there’s always an exception, right?”

“No. Not with you.”

“Am I ugly?”

“You know damn well you’re not. Those boys at the station were practically undressing you with their eyes.”

A Cheshire cat smile spreads across your lips.

“You noticed? Look at you, paying attention,” you tease, but he doesn’t respond, and you know your limit. You stop pushing. “Okay. You don’t want me. Got it. I’ll stop.”

Silence. His forearms have so many veins. You bounce your leg, restless, and because you can’t shut up, you say:

“Thanks for taking care of our city, Chief.”

More silence. Then suddenly, unexpectedly, a deep laugh fills the space between you, and the sound makes you melt right into the seat.

“You’re really somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

“Oh God,” you groan. “You’re gonna make this harder if you call me sweetheart.”

“What’s the difference with older men, anyway?”

“Fishing for an ego boost?”

“Forget I asked.”

“No, no, wait, sorry,” you say quickly, folding one leg under you and straightening like you’re about to give a TED Talk. You’re not wasting this moment. “Okay, listen, I lost my virginity in college—”

Miller rubs a hand over his face. “Too much information.”

“—and it was awful!” you go on, like he didn’t interrupt. “I didn’t finish. I told him that, and he said it was normal. So I slept with another guy, and that sucked too. I tried to settle because I thought that’s just what straight-girl life was.”

Somewhere in the universal rules of womanhood, there’s probably a clause that says never trauma-dump on a man. No man is different. But now that your mouth is open, it won’t stop.

“So I went out with this guy.”

“A guy,” he repeats, leaning slightly to check the passenger-side mirror.

“I think he was forty-two at the time. Miller… was addictive.”

“I can already imagine why.”

“Mhm.”

“But that’s not a rule. Not every older guy knows how to do that.”

You resist the urge to ask if he’s talking about himself.

“Haven’t had any bad experiences yet.”

The car goes quiet for five more minutes. You recognize the avenue you’re on, which means you’re probably only ten minutes from home.

“Have you always been a battalion chief?”

“I transferred here four years ago. Before that, I was a commander in Seattle.”

“So that’s why I didn’t know you. When you came, I was still in college,” you say mostly to yourself. “Got it. You like it here?”

“I’m from here. Tommy’s my brother. I left for Seattle twenty years ago.”

“Tommy from the bar?!”

“Tommy from the bar,” he confirms.

Mouth falling open, you lean back in your seat. Makes sense. His last name is Miller.

“Wow. Tommy’s friends with my parents,” you process the information bit by bit. “You’re Joel.”

“Mhm.”

“Joel Miller.”

“Yes.”

“I remember he used to talk about you all the time when he came over,” you say, because it’s true. Everything was Joel. Apparently, Joel had been his savior when they were kids. “He must be happy you’re back… and as battalion chief, no less.”

It’s subtle, but the line between Joel’s brows eases just a little when you say that last part. Other than that, he doesn’t react much.

“Family’s family,” he replies simply.

You reach your parents’ street and direct him to the house. Joel parks in front of it, and you notice all the lights are off, the windows dark. The porch light is on, and you know the key’s tucked inside the lilac flower pot.

You unbuckle your seatbelt as you say,

“Thank you so much for the ride. I’m sorry if I pushed too much and made you uncomfortable.”

You open the door to get out. Joel says,

“Close that door.”

Your hand freezes on the latch. Joel’s pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes down. After a beat, you shut the door and sit back in your seat.

The console light dims.

You give him a moment because he looks like he’s wrestling half a dozen battles inside his own head.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says quietly, rubbing his hands against his jeans. “I just don’t think I’m what you really want.”

“I think I’ve made it pretty damn clear you’re exactly my type.”

“Sweetheart, no offense, but this feels more like some drunk little adventure you’ll laugh about with your girlfriends tomorrow.”

If there was even a drop of alcohol left in your system, that sentence burns it out.

“Just because you’re older?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level. “Come on, Joel. That’s crap. Yeah, we’ve got a big age gap. But I told you what I like and why I like it.”

“Because you wanna be the wild friend?”

Your eyes go wide in disbelief. Your cheeks flare with anger, and you decide you’ve had enough. You reach for the door again, and the next second, a large hand covers yours and pulls it closed.

“Okay,” you murmur, still staring at his hand on top of yours, frozen. “Now I actually think you’re gonna kidnap me.”

“Shit,” he mutters, and he’s way too close. “Sorry. If you wanna get out, you can. I just… I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.”

“So what’s this whole speech for, then?” you turn your face toward him, and now you’re only inches apart, since he leaned over to shut the door. “You don’t want me. I get it. I’m a big girl. I don’t need a speech.”

Joel looks from you to your house, scanning the darkened façade, probably noting the lights all off. When his eyes return to yours, there’s a new kind of resolve etched into his face.

“It’s gotta stay secret,” he says. No wiggle room.

Your breath starts coming just a little heavier.

“I won’t tell a soul,” you promise immediately.

“Not even your friends.”

“What’s the big fear?” you ask, half-teasing, though there’s a flicker of real curiosity beneath it. “You married?”

“Hell no. I’m just the brother of the guy who’s friends with your dad, and I guarantee he wouldn’t want some fifty-year-old sniffing around his little girl.”

“I’m twenty-five,” you repeat, but your voice wavers a bit as Joel leans closer. “It’s not up to my dad who I get involved with.”

“Good for you,” he says, like he couldn’t care less, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your neck. “Still damn young.”

“And yet, I’m gonna be your exception.”

He squints, confused, until it clicks.

“Oh. Right. The first twenty in my rulebook.”

You lean in, ready to kiss him, but Joel holds you still with his hand at your neck, like he’s waiting for something.

You say what he needs to hear:

“Won’t breathe a word about what you do with a younger girl in front of her house.”

“Good. That stays between me and God.”

He pulls you in, and the second your lips meet, you’re gone, falling into that familiar place you’ve always adored with older men.

Your brain short-circuits and Joel takes the lead in everything. His hand moves from your neck to the base of your skull, tugging you deeper, and he’s the one to part his lips, the one to tilt just right so your mouths fit like it’s a damn movie scene.

Your fingers slide into his hair, thick strands slipping between them, as you sink further into the seat. He follows, body hovering over yours. The moan that escapes your throat when his tongue brushes the seam of your lips is honest. The one that comes when he finally kisses you with tongue, though just as real, is so drawn out it makes your cheeks burn with the fear he might think you’re faking.

God. That kiss.

“It’s a crime to keep that kind of kiss from me,” you whisper breathless, chest rising and falling in quick bursts. Joel kisses your bottom lip, your jaw, drags his mouth down your neck. The ceiling of the truck blurs as he finds your collarbones, and you arch into him to give him more room. “Joel—”

His tongue meets the skin of your chest and you thank every higher power that your neckline’s just deep enough for him to reach the dip between your breasts. The ache between your thighs tightens, that telltale pulse of being soaked hitting you all at once.

“More,” you whisper, tugging his hair, just enough to let him know you want another kiss.

He gives it to you. One hand on your waist, the other on your neck, he kisses you again, and this one’s filthy from the first second, now that you both know exactly how to move together. You press harder into his hands.

“You can’t be this polite,” you murmur. “Aren’t you gonna slip your hand under my skirt?”

“Boundaries,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut when you trail kisses along his jaw, rough with beard stubble. There’s still a faint trace of sweat and smoke from the earlier call, and you should probably care about that, but you don’t.

“No way you’ve got boundaries still holding steady in that brain,” you say. You watch his face up close as you take his hand and guide it down from your waist to your thigh. He opens his eyes at the heat of your skin and keeps them on you as you lead his hand higher, higher… right to the hem of your skirt. You pause. Ask: “Can I?”

He swallows hard.

He’s the one who moves now, sliding his hand beneath your skirt, grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing like he means it, hard enough to make you giggle. His fingers find the lace of your panties where it sits snug between your cheeks.

“No one’s out here,” you murmur. Your hand finds the thick bulge in his jeans, and you raise your brows at him. “Can I make you come?” you ask, giving just the faintest stroke, enough pressure to make the denim feel good, not rough. “Please. Want me to take my panties off while I touch you?”

Joel clenches his jaw. Moves his hand from your ass to the front of your panties, cupping your pussy fully, probably feeling the heat radiating for him. You spread your legs as much as the car seat allows, giving him space to explore, all while trying to slip your hand inside his jeans to—

“No,” he breathes, shaking his head like the effort to say it physically hurts. You pull your hand away instantly at his no, but raise an eyebrow, waiting for more. “No. Not here. I’m not about to come in my jeans like a goddamn teenager.”

He pulls his hand back from between your legs, taking a steadying breath.

“Not here,” says again.

God. You could cry.

“Okay,” you say instead because you’re an adult and you respect a no. “Alright. Okay.”

“Go on. Get inside.”

But before you do, you raise a finger.

“Can I suggest something?”

You’re not quite sure how you manage to convince him, though that alone would be something worth bragging about, but somehow, you do. You talk Joel into parking a little farther down the street, just to be safe, and into sneaking in with you through the back door, because the front one’s too damn noisy.

Your fingers wrap around his wrist as you guide him through your dark house. A stop in the kitchen for a glass of water. A pause in the living room to make sure no one’s there. Then the stairs. One step at a time, silent. His brown eyes find yours every time you glance back.

And then Joel Miller is in your bedroom and you’re locking the door.

With his hands on his hips, he looks around: at the old band posters from when you were eighteen and just starting college, at the lilac bedsheets covering your mattress. The curtains are cracked open, letting in the pale glow of the moon and the streetlights outside, casting his silhouette in silver while you kick off your boots and socks and toss them aside.

“Prove to me you’re not drunk,” he says low.

“You want me to do a four?”

He keeps staring. You roll your eyes but do it anyway, lifting your right leg and crossing it over your left thigh, making the shape of a four with your legs.

“You’re so old,” you mutter, reaching ten in the count. “I already told you I’m not drunk. You know that perfect little buzz? That’s all I’ve got.”

“Enough to not regret this in the morning?”

“Regret you? Only if I were out of my mind.”

The plush carpet cushions your sore feet as you walk toward the bed. He just watches you. Watches as you climb onto the mattress, toss the pillows to the floor, and lie back on your elbows, looking straight at him.

One raised brow. A wordless well?

Joel looks up at the ceiling, like he’s saying a silent prayer, then bends down to remove his boots.

“You think you can stay quiet?” he asks, stepping closer. He mutters, “Refuse to come in my jeans like a damn teenager, but here I am sneaking into your house like one.”

Joel stands at the foot of your bed. You smile at him, about to unbutton your skirt, but he’s faster. His hands slip under the fabric, tugging your panties down your legs and tossing them aside.

You realize what he’s about to do when he plants one knee on the bed and starts lowering his head between your legs, but you stop him with your foot against his chest.

“You don’t have to,” you say quickly. You’ve been out all night with your friends. Sure, you showered before leaving, but still… it’s been hours. “It’s okay, I don’t need—”

“I do. I want to,” he murmurs, and the way he brushes your foot aside like it weighs nothing sends a wave of heat down your spine. Now both hands are on your thighs, spreading them gently. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

He waits for a sign to stop. You don’t give it.

A smile curls his lips.

“Yeah. Stay quiet and let me enjoy it.”

The hands that were holding your thighs now push your skirt up, the leather bunching around your hips. Then Joel’s large frame lowers, and his mouth finds you.

Your head falls back as his warm tongue slips between your folds with torturous precision, the sound of his spit mixing with your slick making your stomach tighten, and you have to practically bite down on your bottom lip not to moan. He grabs your hips, pulls you toward his mouth, and my God… he really wanted this.

Joel seems to be patiently gathering every drop of your arousal with his tongue, like he’s not in any rush, not until he’s good and ready to start licking your clit, his lips closing around it and sucking, slow and steady.

A moan nearly slips out, but you manage to turn it into a shaky exhale.

Your leg gives a little and you can’t hold yourself up on your elbows anymore, so you lie all the way back, legs splayed around his broad shoulders.

You glance to the side, clutching the sheets beneath you as you start, slowly, to ride his face. The mirror on your vanity catches everything, still cluttered with makeup you’d used while getting ready, and now it reflects the way Joel’s body covers yours, one foot still on the floor, your skirt bunched up, the outline of him pressing hard inside his jeans. You lower your right leg and catch a glimpse of his jaw working as he eats you out, desperate, beard slick with your arousal.

“Good?” you ask sweetly, fingers threading through his silver-streaked hair as your eyes meet. He can’t answer with words, but his eyes speak volumes, and he definitely grips you harder when you teasingly say: “You fifty-somethings really know how to eat pussy.”

Joel’s no exception.

You only pull him up because you want to kiss him again and because you obviously want him out of that fire department t-shirt. He peels it off, revealing a broad chest covered in dark hair that radiates strength.

Joel helps you slide your skirt off, and your mouths meet as you wrap your legs around his hips.

“I probably smell like smoke,” he murmurs.

“Just a little. More like sweat. And it’s delicious.”

Another smile. He’s on a roll.

“You’re insane,” he mutters, lowering his hips. The friction of his cock, denim-rough, grinding against your clit makes you whimper. He catches it. “Feel good?”

You nod. Joel watches you, then dips his hips again, and the seam of his jeans hits just right. You nearly come undone.

“Again,” you whisper.

He listens. Joel makes sure not to hurt you with the zipper, but grinds down hard enough, at just the right angle, to knock the air from your lungs. Your clit throbs under the pressure, the rough rub of the denim, and the solid heat of his cock beneath it only makes it more intense.

He licks two fingers and drags them between your legs just to give you a little extra slick, enough to keep it from turning raw, and keeps rocking into you. You hadn’t planned to come, but you also can’t stop it, not when that feeling keeps rising, rising, until—

It bursts, a sweet sharp rush that spreads from between your legs through every inch of you, and Joel keeps it going, those slow, steady grinds that don’t overwhelm but won’t let the afterglow slip away either.

You place a hand on the waistband of his jeans, gently stopping him.

“You need to fuck me. Now.”

“Urgent?”

“Mhm. So I can come again.”

“You’re so damn direct,” he mutters, clearly amused. Then he leans over and says, “Arms up.”

You obey. He takes off your top, and it’s you who unhooks your bra, now completely naked. Joel watches as he strips off his jeans and boxers, and when he’s bare, you prop yourself up on your elbows to look.

Thank you, God. Uncut.

You look up at him.

“Come here.”

Joel climbs onto your bed, his knees sinking into the soft lilac sheets, and settles between your thighs. Together, you shift higher up the bed until your head rests on the lone pillow left on the mattress.

“Might come too fast,” he warns, and you believe him by the way his cock is rock hard as he guides it to your entrance.

“I don’t mind.”

“Sure you don’t. You’re an expert in old men.”

The head of his cock pushes in with a wet sound that shuts your mouth. You bring your fingers down between your legs, starting to touch yourself again in slow, careful circles as Joel eases into you. He’s gentle, taking his time, eating you up with his eyes, and once he’s fully inside, his body covers yours.

You feel the soft press of his belly against yours, the hair brushing your skin, the weight of him, and it’s enough to stir you back up. Joel draws his hips back and fucks you, and the sound that escapes your mouth is nearly inhuman. Your eyes fly open, meeting Joel’s startled ones, and before either of you can react, his big hand covers your mouth.

“Quiet,” he says, then thrusts again.

You grip his wrist with both hands and wrap your legs around his hips, taking the rough, perfect rhythm of his thrusts — thankfully quiet, the bed doesn’t creak — as his thick cock drives deep into you, raw and goddamn delicious. Joel presses his hand firmer against your mouth to muffle you and clenches his jaw. The trimmed hair at his groin drags over your clit with every thrust, his balls slapping against your ass, and your eyes squeeze shut. You don’t even have the strength to keep touching yourself.

Joel goes again, once, twice, three times.

“Fuck,” Joel breathes, voice rough and shocked, sweat trickling down his neck. You feel a pulse inside you and then a warm rush spreading. “Fuck, fuck… I was supposed to pull out and—”

“It’s fine. Really,” because it is. You’ve never understood the drama around guys coming too fast. To you, it’s a compliment, as long as you’re properly taken care of. You repeat it, not wanting the afterglow to turn tense for him. “It’s okay.”

You pull him close and press a soft kiss to his lips, your fingers running through the softer strands at the nape of his neck.

“I had a vasectomy,” he confesses suddenly, lips still against yours, like the thought just occurred to him and he needed to reassure you.

“Great. I’ve got an IUD. Though we probably should’ve talked about this before, huh?” your hands slide down his sweaty shoulders. “Think you can get hard again?”

“Give me a minute.”

“Okay. Pull out.”

Joel shifts back, kneeling between your legs and wrapping his hand around the base of his cock as he slips out of you. You watch his softening length, slick with both of you, and wonder for a second why the hell you like that image so much. And even more… why the feeling of him dripping out of you turns you on.

“Sit there,” you tell him, nodding toward the headboard.

Silently, like a good student, he does exactly what you asked, leaning back against the headboard, his cock now fully soft resting on his thigh.

You crawl over on your knees, slipping between his legs to straddle his right thigh that feels solid under you, the thick hair tickling the insides of your thighs.

“How sensitive are you right now?” you ask, dragging a finger slowly along his cock, the head still tucked away. Joel jerks his hips back, pulling away from the touch. You lift your hand and arch a brow. “Okay. Got it. Very. I could try sucking you hard again.”

“Suck a soft dick?”

“Why not? I wouldn’t mind.”

“Alright. But I wouldn’t feel right about it.”

You rest your arms on his shoulders and lean in. “Okay. I respect that.”

Joel gives you that look, the one older people always get when they’re a little impatient with your ideas or mouth, but you know it’s not about you. He seems like the kind of man who grumbles about everything. Besides, the impatience doesn’t match the way his hands move across your back, soft and slow, up and down.

You say, “I was gonna learn pool just so I could play with you tonight.”

“Yeah? You learn anything?”

You pull back just enough to lift your hands. With your left, you pretend to grip a cue, and with your right, your thumb and index finger make a ring.

“Now I know how to hold a pool stick.”

Joel’s lips tug into a half-smile.

“You’re left-handed,” he notes, and you lower your hands again, nodding. His grip returns to your hips. “Well done. You should’ve come, by the way. I might’ve let you win.”

“You’d never let me win.”

“I’m softer than I look. And,” he cuts himself off when he notices your smirk, “if you make a joke about my soft dick, I swear I’ll have your name on a wanted poster by tomorrow.”

“I don’t get why it bugs you so much. Come on.”

You say that just before leaning in to press your lips to the pulse at his neck. Joel tilts his head slightly, giving you space, and you pepper kisses there, then across his shoulder. You press your chest to his, and his hands grip you tighter.

“Bet the single women in this town chase you down,” you murmur, arms around his neck. “And… the married ones too?”

“No comment.”

“Austin’s most wanted bachelor.”

“The divorcé,” he corrects.

Oh? You pull your mouth away from his neck.

“How long?”

“Five years.”

“Good. Tomb’s been sealed.”

He laughs against your mouth when you kiss him, but soon cups your face to kiss you properly, exactly the way you’re asking, even if you’re not saying a word. His kisses are so addictive, it’s strange to you. There’s something about Joel that turns a kiss into full-body contact. He kisses and touches you, strokes your cheek, your back, pays attention to what you need.

And he reads you well, because his hand slips between your legs.

“Lift up a little,” he says, and you rise onto your knees, no longer sitting on his thigh. His fingers slide between your folds, gathering the slick there. Joel lets out a low grunt, and you watch the way his cock gives a tiny twitch. “Let me eat you out again.”

Ah. Yes. But actually…

“Can I try something else?” you ask.

That’s how Joel, with lips slightly parted, ends up watching as you settle back down on his thigh, right over the thickest part, your legs spread wide.

You almost feel shy the first time you grind up against his thigh with his eyes on you. Your whole body shivers, breath catching in your throat, and you steady yourself with your hands on him. You’re so wet, from yourself and from him, that the movement is easy. Heavenly. The hair on his thigh adds just the right amount of friction on your clit, and it nearly sends you reeling.

“You like that?” he asks, genuinely curious, and you, dry-mouthed, nod your head. You grind again. Whimper.

“Been neglecting this pussy, huh?”

You shake your head. Joel touches your body, running his hands along your sides, gripping your waist. The next time you grind down, he helps, his biceps flexing, guiding your rhythm. Forward. Back. The muscle of his thigh tensing under you, his skin slick with your wetness.

He watches you, sees how close you are and how hard you’re biting your lip to keep quiet. Immediately, his thumb presses to your bottom lip, freeing it from your teeth, and he slips it into your mouth. You meet his gaze as you suck it in, hands clutching his arm, hips faltering in the next few rolls.

When you come, Joel lays you back on the bed, spreads your legs, and slides back inside. He’s not fully hard, but it doesn’t matter because he fits, thick and slow, and the way he stretches you prolongs your orgasm so sweetly it nearly breaks you apart.

You feel him stiffening more with each thrust, and as he grows harder, he goes deeper.

“Fucking perfect,” he breathes into your ear, biting your neck. “You’re driving me outta my mind.”

Your smile wavers when, after a few more thrusts, he slips out and lies beside you, then shifts you onto your side and pulls you back against his chest. He drapes an arm over your chest, grips your thigh with the other, lifts it over his hip, and slides into you again. His movements pin you, keeping you from doing anything but taking it when his fingers find your clit again, even oversensitive as it is.

Your whole body shakes.

“Joel—”

“Come on, baby. I know you’ve got one more in you.”

You try to jerk your hips away from his fingers as he rubs harder, faster, but there’s nowhere to go, and Joel doesn’t relent. He holds your thigh, keeps you open for him, slowing his thrusts just enough to drag it out. You grab the arm draped over your chest, twist your hips, and it’s almost too much.

Almost.

Because right before it crosses the line, you come. And then you go limp.

“Can I keep going?” he asks. “Want me to pull out?”

“No. Just… stay off my clit.”

The kiss he presses to your damp temple sounds like an “okay.”

You reach back, fingers slipping into the sweat-damp strands of his hair, and feel his ragged breaths against your neck as he keeps moving inside you. His next orgasm takes longer, but somehow it still only lasts a few seconds, and leaves you leaking all over again.

When it’s over, your ears are ringing, his body is hot behind you, and your heart won’t stop pounding.

Goddamn.

Thanks for your service, Chief.

You can’t stop staring at the top-left corner of the peach pie.

It’s not broken, exactly. The crust in that corner just sank a little lower than the rest, and it’s driving you nuts. You rotate the pie dish so the pristine edge faces front, hiding the flaw.

“Pie?” you offer with a smile as sweet as the amarena syrup your mom made, holding out a slice to the father and two sons approaching your stand.

Today is the neighborhood charity fair where your parents live. It happens every six months in the town square and has been around for maybe a decade. The goal is to raise funds for local nonprofits. Neighbors donate pies, sandwiches, roasted meats, inflatable toys for the kids. The whole thing.

When you were fifteen and a painfully annoying teenager, you thought wearing an apron and handing out pie was humiliating. Ugh, mom. Charity is soooo lame.

Ten years later, here you are: uneasy, borderline neurotic because the crust of the pie you helped bake has a deformed corner.

The father and sons leave with their slices in little styrofoam containers and colorful forks. You glance around.

Your mom is helping out at one of the roast beef sandwich booths since someone called in sick last night. Your dad’s at his own stand, trying to sell fishing gear, though bamboo hooks don’t exactly draw crowds.

Farther down the square, you spot the fire truck. Your heart does a little skip, part nerves, part excitement. The fire department’s on site for safety, at least for the first couple hours. But you haven’t seen Joel yet.

“Any pie here sweeter than you?”

You turn toward the front of your booth and find the fireman who looks like a knockoff Bradley Bradshaw. He’s wearing an Austin Fire Department tee, aviator shades, and a grin that’s way too… youthful.

Still, you smile back.

“Definitely. I’m pretty sure the pie also knows the number for the AFD’s misconduct hotline.”

“Kidding.”

“And because of that joke,” you say, grabbing three styrofoam containers, “you’re buying three slices to support the cause.”

He doesn’t even protest. Quietly, he waits as you cut the slices and hands you the money. You thank him with a sugar-sweet smile and a blown kiss.

Once he walks away, your eyes sweep the square again. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

And there’s the fire, staring at you from across the plaza, arms crossed under the shade of a tree. Joel’s in the same black Austin Fire Department tee, and you see his eyes dip briefly to read the name stitched onto your pink apron.

The Sweetest Bite.

That barely-there smile curves his lips.

You grab a styrofoam plate, cut a generous slice of pie, and pull five bucks from the back pocket of your denim shorts, dropping the bill into the flower-covered tip jar your mom set up.

Then you toss the apron onto the counter and ask your dad to watch the stand for a few minutes.

Joel doesn’t even see you approaching. He’s surrounded by three women asking what it’s like “to be responsible for a city like Austin.”

“Such a hard-working man,” you say, slipping in between two of them to hold out the pie. “Fresh, warm cream pie. A little thank-you for protecting the city.”

Joel looks from the pie to you. Your smile grows even sweeter. When he takes it, the women scatter.

“You got an endless supply of short shorts like that?” he asks, not even pretending to start eating. His eyes stay on the pie. “Cream pie.”

“My favorite,” you reply. And, about the shorts: “It’s summer in Texas.”

“Right,” he says to both.

You glance around. No one’s near. One of the other firefighters is tossing rings at a carnival booth.

“You should come to the barbecue at my place after the fair. Tommy’s going and I can ask him to invite you.”

“I’m not going’ to your house.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not buddying up to your parents. You’re out of your mind?”

“I don’t want you to be friends with them. I want you to sneak up to my room when no one’s looking.”

“No,” he says flatly, like the conversation’s over.

A few hours later, that victorious little grin creeps across your lips as you see Tommy walk through the back gate of your house.

And right beside him, carrying a cooler of beer, is Joel Miller.

[headmastersapprentice]

KILLING ME ANY WAY BUT SOFTLY...

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｡𖦹°‧￫ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader x Tommy Miller

｡𖦹°‧￫ WC: 5.5k

｡𖦹°‧￫ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, DDDNE W/ NON-CON & DUB-CON THEMES, no outbreak au, some pov switching, smoking, drinking, large age gap, unspecified but still brought up, joel and tommy are NOT good men, drugging, somnophilia, fingering, oral sex (f/m!receiving), nat writing a blowjob scene? the world must be ending, dacryphilia, more finger sucking (i can't stop…), p in v, unprotected sex, hair pulling, biting, blood, pain kink, creampie, mentions of prior assault, it's just super gross and super perverted yk, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧￫ NAT’S NOTE: i thought of this like halfway through my frankie fic but i was good and didn't start it until i was finished writing. be very proud of me because that never happens...anyway i've never written a dark fic before so this was very interesting slash fun in like the most morbid way possible. this was also partially inspired by angel @pedgito! PLAYTHING altered my brain chemistry so badly that i needed to partake in the depravity or i would die, like it was medical. everyone go read it and shower her with so much praise and love! once again please please please heed the tags and take your own personal triggers into account before reading. hope y'all love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! special shoutout to @iamasaddie for the icons!

you spend a night with the miller brothers…

You're too pretty to be at a place like this. Too soft. Too young.

That's what Joel Miller thinks the second he sees you.

All done up in short little cutoffs, sipping at something fruity and colorful out of a sweaty glass. Your legs are crossed neatly in front of you like you’re pretending to be grown, pretty white teeth idly chewing on the plastic straw as your eyes bounce around the room curiously.

This bar is too old, too dirty, too mean. The kind of place with dark, sticky floors and crude words carved into the tabletops. Joel’s probably been coming here since before you were born, since before you could walk, talk. 

You’re the youngest in the room by well over a decade—and that’s not lost on anyone. Not on the bartender who checked your ID twice, not on the group of bikers throwing dirty leers your way from the pool table, and sure as hell not on the two men at each end of the bar.

Tommy would call you jailbait, all dewy cheeks and big dumb eyes. Joel clocks you as one of those college girls from the next town over, still clinging onto that teenage naivety and misplaced hope that the real world won’t chew you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

The kind of girl who lies about her age to older men because the attention makes her feel special. The kind who doesn't even realize she’s being hunted until it’s too late.

You're still sweet, Joel thinks. Sweet and soft and stupid.

And he’s right, he always is.

You don’t know what the fuck you’re doing.

But Joel? Joel knows exactly what he’s doing.

He catches Tommy’s eye from across the way, jerks his head in your direction discreetly. Tommy follows his eyeline, his face sparking with interest at the look of you. Hungry eyes rake over the expanse of your body with all the subtlety of a shotgun blast, lingering on the soft swell of your breasts through that flimsy top and the bare skin of your thighs.

Tommy cuts his eyes back to Joel after a good long look, brows raised in obvious approval. He nods once, a winner, before his gaze wanders back to you and he’s shifting impatiently in his seat. A moth to a flame.

Joel huffs over the rim of his glass, unamused. He should’ve figured, they haven’t found one as pretty as you in a while. His brother’s bound to get a little rowdy, a little eager.

Out of the two of them, Tommy’s always been the more excitable one. That’s why it’s Joel’s job to set the bait. Tommy’s certainly prettier than Joel, he’s got a safer look to him. He’s just too damn trigger happy, comes on too strong too quick. It can raise red flags.

Joel’s better at playing it down, at taking it slow. He can butter girls like you up and still feign just the right amount of disinterest to keep them wanting his attention. He can tell you’re one of those types, one that’ll preen under anything he gives you. You want someone like him to come over and fawn over you.

You want to feel mature. Powerful. Sexy.

You’re practically begging to be used. He sees it in the way your thighs squeeze together, in the way your glossy lips leave smudges along the rim of your glass.

Joel smiles to himself. 

If you only knew.

Joel waits until you finish off your second drink. He sips at his whiskey and watches the way your tongue swipes along your bottom lip to chase a drop of syrupy liquid. You’re tipsy now, giggling at something the bartender says, the dazed glow of your eyes giving away just how sweetly warm you feel.

You’re still in your right mind, not drunk enough to be sloppy, not yet. That’s how he wants you—pliable, loose, thinking you’re the one still in control. 

He downs the rest of his drink in one go, the familiar burn coating his throat and settling in his chest as he slides off his stool. It takes nothing to make his way over, a few long strides and he’s leaning up next to you. Not too close, just close enough to smell the perfume you’re wearing—something bright and sugary that has his cock stirring behind his fly.

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doin’ in a place like this, sweetheart?” he asks, voice as deep as molasses and twice as slow, Southern charm oozing from every word.

You turn, blinking up at him, pupils a little too blown to be from two drinks alone. It makes him grin. You’re sensitive, easy. This might be a hell of a lot simpler than he thought.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you chirp, voice sugarcoated, a little too bold for your own good. “A place like this seems kinda…grungy for someone wearing flannel.”

That bright little smile of yours is like a hook in the roof of his mouth, tugging something dark and mean loose behind his teeth.

Joel chuckles low in his chest. “You sayin’ I look outta place?”

You shrug, all coy-like, swirling the last few sips of your drink. “A little.”

Joel leans in then, just enough for it to mean something. His eyes pin you down like a thumb over the belly of a butterfly, giving you a little once over that has your breath hitching. Your lips part, showing off the teasing pink of your tongue. Joel thinks about pushing into that sweet little mouth, getting that gloss all messy on his cock. 

“Maybe I was waitin’ on somethin’ worth comin’ out for,” he says, voice gone low and smoky.

You giggle, that tipsy, flirtatious little sound. You don’t notice the way Joel signals the bartender with two fingers and a single nod. He already knows what he’s ordering—something that’ll go down smooth but hit you fast. A new drink is slid in front of you before you can blink, warm amber liquid swirling in a clear tumbler.

You look confused. “I didn’t—”

“On me,” Joel says, voice slick. “Try it.”

You hesitate for just a second before bringing it to your lips, eager to please. Eager to prove you can keep up. You make a face when the smell hits you, strong and punchy. Joel just grins, already amused by the way you wrinkle your nose like it’s cute to be difficult.

“C’mon now, can’t drink that sweet shit all night,” he drawls, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “Gotta learn how to hold your liquor, baby.”

You giggle again, your fingers dainty around the tumbler as you mimic his movement. He watches you sip and watches your throat bob as you swallow. Watches the little wince, the tremble in your lips as it hits your system.

“Good girl.” Joel smiles around the rim of his own drink, eyes wandering over to where Tommy was sitting. He’s long gone now, a few bills shoved under the empty glass sitting on the bartop.

Joel turns back to you, clueless and sipping slowly at your whiskey. He drops his hand from the bar, lets his fingers brush against the soft skin of your thigh. You don’t flinch, hardly even bat an eye. You just smile up at him, lashes low and lazy against your cheeks, body heat rising with the alcohol laced through your bloodstream.

Your thigh twitches under his knuckles, but you don’t move away. If anything, you lean in a little, nudging your shoulder against his arm. Your shirt slips down a few inches, showing off the lacy trim of your bra snug over your breasts. Joel sets his drink down, tongue sweeping over his bottom lip at the sight.

“You always this friendly with strangers?” he murmurs, voice quiet enough that only you can hear it, eyes dragging up to your face.

Your lips part again, catching the low bar light. “Only when they’re buying my drinks.”

Joel laughs—deep, rich with something secret. 

And he orders another round.

It takes almost nothing for Joel to get you off your stool and obediently following him out of the bar. A few sweet words and lingering touches is all you needed, liquor clouding your good judgement when you agree to come home with him.

It’s still warm, even with the sun long gone and the moon casting a white shine over the two of you. Crickets sing in the grass as you walk together, Joel’s hand splayed out across the small of your back, thumb slipped up under the hem of your shirt to rub soft circles over the notches of your spine as he gently steers you towards his truck.

The drive to his house isn’t long, a little less than ten minutes. Joel’s knee bounces impatiently as he watches the road, window rolled down so he can flick the ash of his cigarette out. It gives him something to do with his hands, something to chew on before he can get at what he really wants.

You’re sitting pretty in the passenger seat, giddy as you swipe even more sticky gloss on in the truck mirror, asking dumb questions like “Is that your guitar in the back?” and “You live all the way out here?” 

Joel grins around the filter and exhales slow, smoke curling through the cab like a warning.  “Mhm. I like it quiet.”

You laugh, all honeyed sunshine, no idea that you’re being carted out into the woods like a lamb prepped for slaughter.

His house is tucked back further in the trees, down a road so far out it turns from asphalt to dirt. Not a neighbor in sight, nothing but grass and dark skies for miles. The porch light is already on when he pulls in, gravel crunching under his tires loud in the quiet. Another truck takes up the space next to his, red with the paint peeling like a nasty sunburn.

You peer up at the place with shiny, awed eyes like you’re some damn princess and this is your castle. It makes him want to ruin you even more.

The truck’s barely in park before Joel’s out and striding over to your side, opening the door for you to keep up his Southern gentleman act. You thank him with a bold little kiss on the cheek before making your way to the door. Joel rubs at the sticky mark you left behind with his thumb, flicking the butt of his cigarette on the ground.

He tosses the keys on the counter after you step inside, booted feet dragging heavy across the floor as he watches you wander around, fingers trailing over worn furniture and sun-bleached curtains. It’s not much, but you look impressed anyway.

“Cute,” you hum, bending over to peek down the hallway. He can see the way your shorts ride up the curve of your ass, lace peeking out just like before. Your turn to him, arms crossed behind your back as you sway on the balls of your feet. “This isn’t the part where you murder me, right?”

It’s light, teasing. An innocent joke.

Joel’s smile is tight as he walks to the kitchen. “Not unless you ask me real nice.”

You laugh again, that breathy little sound, and Joel listens for the faintest edge of unease. He’s gotten good at that—spotting the cracks before they show, gauging how much of a fight this might be.

You’ve been good since the bar, and Joel hopes it stays that way. He wouldn’t want to ruin that pretty face because you tried acting out.

Joel busies himself in the kitchen, back turned as he opens a cabinet and pulls out a couple glasses. He grabs some things out of the fridge, well aware that you can’t see the little silver tin hiding in his armful of honey and bourbon.

“You like it sweet, right?” he calls over his shoulder, masking the rasp in his voice. “Figured you’d need a chaser after that whiskey.”

“Aw,” you say from your spot on his couch, clearly drunk on attention, “you’re taking such good care of me.”

Joel laughs as he rounds the corner, handing you a glass. “Only fair, since you’re bein’ so good for me.”

“I’m already in your house, Joel. You don’t need to lay it on so thick anymore.” You take the drink with a smile, clinking it against his own before bringing it to your lips.

He watches the slow press of your lips to the rim, the way your throat moves when you swallow, how you down half the glass in one long pull. It has him shifting in place, his cock straining against the rough denim of his jeans. He sets his glass down on the coffee table, untouched, and leans back against the cushions. 

You turn to him, your gaze languidly roaming over his body. Over where his shirt is stretched tight across his chest, where his arms rest on the back of the couch, where his legs are spread wide. Your eyes are hungry, pupils blown wide and dark as midnight.

Joel lets you look, waits until you make it back up to his eyes to jerk his head in an obvious invitation. “C’mere, baby.”

You bite your lip, setting your glass down next to his and crawling over to him without another word. Your arms loop around his neck, knees on either side of him as you settle in his lap. His hands fall to your hips, thumbs sliding up and down the waistband of your cutoffs.

Your lips part under his like they were made to, your soft sigh swallowed up by the hot press of his mouth. He kisses you hard, slow and deep, like he’s been starving for it. You taste like lemon and honey, the sharp bite of his bourbon buried somewhere beneath all the sweetness.

Joel’s hands tighten on your hips, dragging you closer as he nips at your plush bottom lip. “Feels good, doesn't it, sugar?”

You nod, moaning as you bury your hands in his hair. Your lips part easily for his tongue, letting him claim your mouth. Joel groans, pressing the hard line of his cock over your clothed cunt, chuckling darkly at the high whine you breathe into the space between you both.

He lets you have your fun, necks with you on his couch like a couple of horny teenagers while he waits. 

Sure enough, after a while, he can feel the first few signs trickling in. Your grip on his hair goes slack, your lips grow lazy and slow against his own, your posture slips into something more relaxed and hunched over, leaning on him heavily.

Joel pulls back, a single strand of spit connecting your lips before it dips and breaks under the weight of gravity. You’re panting, mouth slick and swollen as your chest heaves with every breath. Your chin is red and raw, scratched up from his beard. 

It takes a second for you to open your eyes, blinking at him sluggishly. You look nice and fucked, pupils so big he can hardly see the color around them anymore, glassy and unfocused in a way that has nothing to do with the alcohol filling up the half empty glass on his coffee table.

“Joel…” It’s hardly a whisper, so soft and breathy. “Feels funny…tired…”

“Poor thing,” he tuts, squeezing your hips once. “Let’s get you on your back.”

You go easy enough, let him push your shoulders down until you’re splayed out across the couch. Your eyes slip shut again, your breath evening out as it finally sinks its claws in you.

Joel grins, wastes no time before he’s on his feet and sliding his arms under you. You don’t make a sound as he lifts you, your body completely pliant, head lolling to rest on his chest.

He starts down the hallway to his bedroom, the light on and bleeding through the bottom of the door to shine dimly over the carpet.

And like a ship being led safely to port by the fiery orange glow of an old light house, Joel walks, and he whistles as he goes.

You feel like you're floating, mind groggy and filled with the cloudy haze of sleep. The bourbon must have hit you harder than you thought.

The air is cold but your skin is so warm. Your limbs are heavy when you try to move, like you’re suspended in a thick, syrupy water.

Your fingers twitch against something soft. Sheets. You’re in a bed now. That much registers. You can feel the give of the mattress beneath you, the press of a pillow behind your head, the way your legs are bare.

Were you wearing shorts earlier?

Were you?

You pry your eyes open, barely having enough energy to. The world is warped, stretched at the edges like a funhouse mirror. Your vision swims, and all you can make out is light—the orange cast of a bedside lamp. The bulb buzzes faintly in your ear, the sound low and persistent, like it’s drilling into your brain.

That’s when you feel it, featherlight pressure making its way down your bare stomach. It’s soft, almost ticklish.

It takes your mind a few long seconds to catch up, to realize what’s happening.

There are hands on your body.

A slow, possessive drag over your thigh. Calloused fingers part your legs, thumb dipping just beneath the hem of your panties. You try to shift, try to close your legs, but you barely twitch.

You stir, a soft sound pushing out of your parted lips as you grip the sheets harder than before. 

“Shhh, baby,” he murmurs, pressing wet kisses down your neck. “You were beggin’ for it all night, remember?”

Joel. 

It comes flooding back to you in stages. The bar. The whiskey. The truck. 

It goes fuzzy after that, you can’t remember anything past sliding onto Joel’s lap. 

You whimper, body moving sluggishly under him. You try to twist away but it’s useless—he’s strong, and you’re dizzy and weak and pinned.

“You said I could fuck you,” he whispers, calloused fingers rubbing slow circles over your clit. “Said you wanted it bad. Don’t back out now, sweetheart. That’d be real mean.”

You sob, but your body betrays you—hips rocking forward against his hand, chasing the teasing pressure of his touch. Your eyes screw shut, tears burning hot and wet in your waterline. 

Joel hums, fingers spreading you open like he’s flipping through pages of a well-loved book. “Look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with want. “Fuckin’ leaking through these sweet little panties. This sweet pussy’s just beggin’ to be filled.”

You don’t hear the footsteps at first.

Not until the floorboards creak by the door.

A new voice filters in from somewhere far away, piercing through the cotton in your ears. It’s different from Joel’s, that same Southern twang but just a little lighter. A little smoother, like honey laced with iron.

“Thought I heard you gettin’ started without me.”

Your eyes snap open.

There’s a man in the doorway.

He’s shorter than Joel by a few inches, leaner too but just as broad in the shoulders. Another strong, blue collar looking type—a man that works with his hands.

Joel lifts his head with a lazy grin, glancing over his shoulder. “Not my fault you took your sweet fuckin’ time, Tommy.”

You try to move, try to push at Joel’s chest, but your arms are still too heavy to listen. “I don’t—” you start, but he hushes you again, thick fingers still sliding up and down the wet seam of your pussy over your panties. 

“I know, sugar,” he murmurs, all mock sympathy. “S’too much to think about, huh? Why don’t you let us help you feel instead.”

The bed dips behind you, and a new warm breath ghosts over your neck. You flinch at the sudden weight pressing beside you, and when you tilt your head, you finally see his face—Tommy, lit in the glow of the bedside lamp.

He looks at you like you’re a gift. Something precious and shiny, wrapped up just for him.

“She’s pretty,” he mutters, brushing his thumb over the sweat beading on your brow with a touch gentler than it should be. “Damn, Joel. You always know how to pick ’em.”

“Wait—” Your voice is hoarse, small and cracked. You start to sit up, but Joel stops it with a heavy hand to your chest, keeping you pinned to the mattress.

He leans in close, presses a kiss to your temple, and whispers against your skin. “Don’t be rude, babygirl. You’re gonna be real nice to my brother, ain’t you?”

Brother.

Brother.

Your stomach lurches and you’re shaking your head before you even realize it. “No,” you whisper. “No, please—”

“Easy now,” Tommy coos. His hand is warm as it strokes over your cheek. “Ain’t no need to fight. We’ll be real good to you, sugar.”

Joel leans back, peeling your panties down your legs with a reverence that would almost be sweet—if you could move. If you could say no. If you weren’t so dizzy that you can’t tell if the ache building in your core is from fear or the sick twist of arousal.

The cool air hitting your core is a shock to your system, you gasp as it nips at the skin of your thighs, slick and gleaming. Your legs twitch, trying in vain to snap shut, but Joel holds you spread open with wide palms.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes glued to your bare pussy. His thumb runs along the seam of you, his touch slow and light. “Look at that.”

“Please,” you gasp, even as your hips twitch up off the bed. “I didn’t—”

“Didn’t what?” Tommy asks, dragging his lips down your neck. “Didn’t mean to make us hard? Didn’t mean to spread your legs the second Joel smiled at you all sweet? Don’t play innocent now, babydoll. You knew exactly what you were doin’, didn't you?”

“She knew good and well.” Joel says, sliding off the mattress, big hands keeping you pinned as he settles on his knees near the edge of the bed. He shoulders his way between your thighs, dipping his head down to blow cool air over the expanse of your pussy.

“So damn pretty down here,” he mutters, the edge of a smirk curling at his lips. “Bet you taste as good as you look.”

Then his mouth is on you.

He dives in with a hunger that knocks the breath from your lungs. His tongue is practiced and hot as it drags through your folds, the groan ripped from his chest as you flood his tongue is more animal than man.

The sound vibrates through you, and your spine arches off the mattress, another tear sliding hot and fast down your temple.

Tommy brushes it off your cheek, but instead of wiping it away, he licks it from his fingertip. His eyes flick down to yours, and his smile is soft. Mocking. “Aw,” he coos. “She’s cryin’ already, Joel. Thought we’d have to work harder than that.”

“She’s fuckin’ sweet,” Joel groans, nosing at you like a man starved. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, coaxing—then he seals his mouth around it and sucks. Hard.

Your hands fist the sheets beneath you so tight you can hear the distinct sounds of seams ripping under your nails. It’s an onslaught of pleasure, an attack. There’s nothing kind about the dull scrape of his teeth against your sensitive clit, but it has your thighs clenching around his head all the same.

Joel’s fingers slide into you without warning—two of them, thick and rough and curling just right as he keeps his mouth working on your clit. The stretch punches a sound from your chest, a high, keening noise that has both brothers groaning in tandem.

“Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight,” Joel grits out, dragging his fingers in and out lazily. “You’re gonna milk my cock just like this, huh?”

You couldn’t answer him if you tried, pure ecstasy racking your brain in all the wrong ways—burning through your veins like kerosine—too garbled and confusing for you to even think of speaking. You can only whimper, a pathetically desperate noise that’s drowned out by Joel fucking his fingers into you impossible faster.

The sound of it is loud, the wet slap of his palm and the dirty, slick sounds of your pussy sucking him in bouncing off the walls to echo back at you mockingly. 

Your hips shift helplessly, held down by Joel’s strong forearm as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. You can feel your own slick mixing with his spit start dripping down between your legs, soaking the sheets, and he groans like he loves it, nose bumping your clit as he moans into your cunt.

Tommy’s fingers start to trace the outline of your lips, dragging down to your chin before forcing them into your mouth. You choke, gag a little, but he doesn’t flinch—just presses them deeper, twisting his wrist slowly as he watches your throat bob.

“Pretty mouth,” he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your tastebuds. “Bet you give real sweet head, huh?”

You cry out around his fingers, your pussy fluttering around Joel’s tongue. Before you can think, you sink your teeth into Tommy’s thumb, hard. Hard enough that you feel the skin break under it, the unmistakable taste of iron spreading across your tongue. Maybe it’s a last ditch attempt to make him stop, maybe it’s a sick way of making him stay.

“Fuck.” Tommy groans like he’s been shot, chin dropping to his chest. His eyes go dark, something wicked swimming in the brown of his irises. His mouth slips open, soft pants falling from between his slick lips.

Joel chuckles darkly from between your legs, he raises head to catch your bleary gaze. The whole bottom half of his face is drenched, beard wet with your slick. “Biting won’t do you any good, honey. Tommy likes that shit.”

Tommy hums in agreement, low and vicious, pulling his thumb from your mouth with a soft pop. “Look what you did, darlin’,” he murmurs, holding it up for you to see, blood dripping down his skin in a thin stream of red. He drags it across your lips to smear it along them like warpaint. “So mean. That’s alright, sweet thing. Joel and I like 'em a little mean, it’s more fun to put you in your place that way.

He leans down and kisses you, soft at first, then deep—tongue sweeping over the inside of your mouth, sucking his own blood off your tongue. His fingers grip your chin hard enough to bruise as he keeps you still, mouth moving hungrily against yours until you whimper, struggling to breathe around the heat of it.

Joel still hasn’t stopped.

His fingers keep dragging against that spot deep inside you, stretching and curling until you’re clenching around him. His mouth sucks another bruise onto your thigh before pulling away with a low moan.

“She’s close,” he growls, sitting back on his haunches. “C’mon, Tommy. Let her mouth do some of the work.”

Tommy pulls back without another word, and reaches for his belt. Silver clinks softly as he undoes the flashy buckle with nimble fingers, never taking his eyes off you. He pops the button of his jeans, pulls his zipper down slowly, making sure you see every inch of it slipping open.

His cock springs free, hard and flushed an angry red at the tip. He takes it in his hand, pumping himself in the tight grip of fist—once, twice—before he’s tracing the drooling head along your lips. “Open up for me, beautiful.”

Joel chooses that moment to curl his fingers again, pressing right against the swollen spot inside of you, and your body reacts on instinct.

Your mouth falls open with a gasp, and Tommy takes the invitation, pushing inside until your lips are stretched tight around the thick head. He doesn’t ease in—he sets a rhythm fast, shallow thrusts that drag over your tongue, just enough to make you choke a little. 

Joel chuckles at the sound, giving your ass a quick swat before he’s standing. His jeans are already undone, his own cock just as hard and straining against his stomach. It’s flushed and leaking, veins bulging, too big for someone as stretched as thin and soft as you feel right now.

He takes your ankles in one hand, the other wrapped tight around the base as he drags the sticky head through your spit soaked pussy to rub it over your clit torturously slow.

You can’t even protest as he lines himself up to your clenching hole, Tommy filling your mouth so much you can only let out a broken whine around him, your legs straining in Joel’s firm grip.

Joel hushes you gently, like a lullaby. “It’s too late for all that, baby. You’re already open for me.”

And then he pushes in.

The stretch is sharp and immediate, your back arching as your walls struggle to take him. There’s no patience, no easing in—he feeds you inch after inch, his hips not stopping until they’re pressed flush to yours, his cock buried deep.

You sob, overwhelmed by the burn, the pressure, the way your body is forced to accept every bit of him.

“Christ,” Joel groans. “She’s grippin’ me like a fuckin’ vice. Could stay buried in this pussy forever.”

You can feel every throb, every twitch. The way he shifts slightly just to feel you react—your body spasming around him. The rhythm he sets is savage from the start. Rough, unrelenting thrusts that slap your skin raw where his hips meet yours. 

“Shhh,” Joel soothes as you mewl, bending low to press a kiss to your cheek. “You're takin’ it. You’re takin’ me so good, baby. Feels like you were made for this cock.”

The bite of sharp teeth nip their way down to your sternum, his mouth moving along the skin of your chest, sucking until deep bruises bloom. His hands wrap around your thighs, lifting your hips off the bed as he fucks into you harder, groaning with every wet slap of skin against skin.

Tommy isn’t gentle either. He fucks your mouth with slow precision, moaning every time your throat flutters around him. One hand strokes your cheek, the other twisted in your hair, tugging hard enough to make your scalp burn.

Your eyes roll back, spit running down your chin, tears streaking your cheeks—and they moan at the sight.

Every thrust is a jolt, hips slamming into the backs of your thighs as Joel fucks you deeper, each stroke driving the breath from your lungs, his heavy balls slapping over your sensitive clit. The pace is brutal, all the more suffocating with Tommy fucking your mouth in tandem, the obscene sounds of spit and slick filling the room.

“Jesus,” Tommy laughs, breathless and mean. “She’s perfect. Fuckin’ perfect.”

Joel fucks you harder, one hand slipping around your throat to pin you in place. “Gonna pump you so full, babygirl,” he pants. “You’ll be drippin’ for days.”

You feel it building, that terrible, traitorous heat pooling deep in your belly, curling tight like a fist.

You're caught between them, nothing but a warm, wet hole for them to use—your body split open, trembling and full.

“You’re ours now, honey,” Tommy pants. “Say it.”

You can’t. You choke, mouth stuffed full, brain scrambled.

Tommy pulls out, stroking himself fast. “C’mon, sugar,” he murmurs. “Tell us. Tell us you’re ours.”

Joel hammers into you, hand on your belly to press down and feel the outline of his cock. “Say it.”

You sob, the words tumbling out broken and wrecked. “Yours. I’m—fuck—I’m yours.”

Joel groans loud, hips slamming forward one last time as he spills inside you, hot and thick. You feel it fill you, warm and endless, leaking out around his cock.

Tommy’s not far behind, fisting his cock roughly until hot spurts of come stripe across your cheeks, your lips, your tongue. He lets out a ragged groan, hand still tight in your hair.

It’s too much, the dual sensations finally snapping the fragile rubber band of sanity that held you together. You shatter—mind blanking out under the weight of it all, pleasure and pain entwined so tightly there’s no telling one from the other.

Both men stay still for a long while after they’re done, suspended in the aftermath.

Tommy’s hunched over you, chest heaving as he rubs his come into your skin like a filthy sacrament. His voice is wrecked, as soft as you’ve heard it all night. “Pretty girl.”

Joel doesn’t move off your spent body, his softening cock twitching in your abused pussy as he presses his face into your sweaty throat, breathing hard.

Then he leans back, watches his cum slowly drip from your abused cunt. “You took us so good, babygirl.”

Tommy brushes your cheek with the back of his knuckles, gaze soft again. “Think she’s got one more in her?”

Joel chuckles darkly. “Only one way to find out.”

MINI NAT'S NOTE: it's literally seven in the morning. i'm posting this and then i'm passing the fuck out. thank you to chronic insomnia but mainly to my geek bar and addison rae's new song drop for giving me the energy to power through this. also ofc thank you to baby @ebodebo (cause she was mad i wasn’t going to mention her and threatened to hit me...someone save me...call 911…) for listening to me complain about this and not telling me to shut up even though i probably deserved it. most of all, thank YOU so much for reading! love you, mwah <3

[headmastersapprentice]

dirty work

You just bought a new house that needed a lot of work. Luckily, your grumpy old neighbor was more than happy to fix everything—not because he was generous, but because it gave him an excuse to be close. To look. To stare. And you? Love the attention.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, hotgirl!reader, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), nipple play (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, filthy dirty talk, desperate!Joel, pervy!Joel, pathetic!Joel, age gap, Joel being down bad, obsessive staring, possessiveness, mild power play, teasing, so much cum (like he literally can’t stop), Joel not having sex in decades and it shows, Hot girl reader knowing she's hot, Joel being completely ruined by your pussy, and you loving every second of it

11k. Enjoy!

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The house needed work. And probably a priest.

It wasn’t falling apart, but it also wasn’t move-in ready.

The kitchen faucet screamed whenever you turned it on, wailing like it had unfinished business in this world. The porch stairs were one strong gust away from sending someone straight to the ER- or the grave. 

The back gate swung open on its own, which was either a poltergeist or just bad hinges, but either way, it sent an unsettling creak through the yard at odd hours of the night.

The lights flickered sometimes. The water pressure was unpredictable. The floors creaked loud enough to make you think twice before sneaking around in the dark.

But it was cheap. And it had potential.

And you?

You weren’t a DIY girlie, but you could figure shit out. Probably…. Maybe. 

You did have a certain level of misplaced confidence that made you think you could tackle anything with enough trial and error.

The problem was—so far, it had been mostly errors.

Your first attempt at fixing the faucet resulted in a flood that had you sprinting to turn the water off before your kitchen turned into a slip-and-slide.

Trying to replace a light fixture nearly ended with you electrocuting yourself into another dimension. 

And the less said about the unfortunate caulking incident of last Thursday, the better.

Still, you were determined. A little clueless? Sure. But determined.

You wiped sweat from your brow, standing in front of your latest challenge: the front door. It didn’t latch properly. It wasn’t quite crooked, but something was off. The hinges, maybe? You had no idea. 

You just knew that a strong wind could blow the damn thing off, which wasn’t ideal for your safety or your sanity.

So there you were, kneeling on the porch, staring at a pile of tools you weren’t entirely sure how to use, the manual open beside you like it was about to offer some divine intervention.

You twisted the screwdriver in your hand, frowning at the misaligned screws. “Alright, bitch,” you muttered to the door, rolling your shoulders. “Let’s do this.”

And that was when a shadow fell over you.

A heavy presence.

You turned, blinking up at the broad figure standing at the foot of your porch.

Joel Miller.

Your neighbor. Big, built, silent as the grave. Old as fuck.

You’d seen him around—on his porch, smoking, reading the newspaper, doing old people things and watching. Always watching.

Never introduced himself. Never waved. Never made an effort. Just sat there, arms crossed over his chest, eyes unreadable, watching the world pass him by.

Watching you.

At first, you thought it was your imagination. A trick of the heat, the way his dark eyes always seemed to linger just a little too long before darting away. But then, as the weeks passed, you realized it wasn’t just some coincidence.

Joel Miller was looking. A lot.

From behind the safety of his porch, through his truck window when he pulled into the driveway, stealing glances while pretending to tinker with something outside—he was always looking.

He wasn’t the type to catcall or whistle or let his jaw drop like some dumb, desperate idiot. No, but he did openly watch, with that brooding, set-jaw expression, like a man standing at the edge of a cliff, fighting the urge to jump.

A man seeing something he wanted—something he knew he couldn’t have.

And, honestly? It was kinda hot.

You love a pathetic man.

Pathetic in the way only a man like him could be- big and strong and old enough to know better, yet still sitting on his porch like some clueless teenager, hopelessly caught in your orbit.

Joel had spent his entire life working.

Calloused hands. Aching back. A routine as grey and dull as the pavement he walked on. He wasn’t a talk-to-women kind of guy. He was a build-shit-and-keep-his-mouth-shut kind of guy.

He had probably spent years without even thinking about sex. Not because he didn’t want it—fuck, of course, he did—but because who the hell would even let him?

The man was a relic.

Pushing sixty. Grumpy. Built like a man who had done nothing but work his whole life—because that’s exactly what he had done.

No wife. No girlfriend. Nothing.

He didn’t flirt. Didn’t go out. Didn’t fucking bother.

Just work, fix, sleep. Get off when he needed to—always alone, always quick, no one to fucking hear him.

That was life.

And then you moved in next door.

And Joel broke.

Because Jesus Christ.

You.

Soft and sweet and fucking perfect—so young, so pretty, so effortlessly sexy.

You weren’t just beautiful. You were something else entirely.

Something cruel.

With your tiny little skirts and tight little tops, walking around like it wasn’t a goddamn crime to be that fucking perfect.

Joel shouldn’t have been looking.

Knew he shouldn’t memorize the way your tits bounced when you jogged past his house.

Shouldn’t have let himself watch the way you stretched on the porch, or walked in those obscene little shorts, or sunbathed out back with your top straps pulled down—looking so fucking soft, like you were made to be touched.

Made to be ruined.

It was sick.

And he didn’t care.

Because at night, when his house was quiet and the only thing in his bed was his own hand, Joel let himself imagine what it would be like to pull you onto his lap or spread you open, bury his face between your thighs and never fucking leave.

To get his mouth on you.

God, he was so hungry for it.

And the worst part?

He was pretty sure you knew.

It was pathetic.

And he fucking knew it.

But he couldn’t stop.

And right now, his gaze was locked on you.

Or, more accurately—your thighs.

You were still kneeling, skin glistening in the summer heat, your tiny skirt barely covering anything. Joel looked like a man who had just seen God.

His throat bobbed.

His fingers flexed.

Then, abruptly—his eyes snapped up.

“Need a hand?” His voice was rough, all gravel and rust.

You tilted your head, dragging your gaze over him.

You smirked.

“I got it,” you said simply.

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t even blink.

“…No, you don’t.”

And before you could argue, he was stepping forward.

Taking the screwdriver right out of your hand.

And just fucking fixing it.

Like it was nothing.

Like you weren’t even there.

· · ──𖥸

From that day on, Joel… kinda never left.

Not literally. Not in a way that you could call him out on.

But he was always there.

At first, it was little things. Fixing what you couldn’t. Offering a hand when you were clearly struggling. Showing up at the exact right time, tools in hand, that furrow between his brows like you’d personally offended him by even attempting to fix something yourself.

Then, it escalated.

Because you didn’t even have to ask anymore.

He was just there.

On your porch. In your yard. Pretending to check something in his truck but really just looking at you while you stretched in the morning, your tight little tank clinging to every inch of you.

The excuses started getting thinner, too.

At first, it was, “Saw the porch light flickerin’. Just figured I’d fix it before it got worse.”

Then, it became, “Just keepin’ busy.”

Then, no excuse at all.

Just Joel, lingering around your property, finding any reason to be near you, any reason to work himself into a sweat just for the chance to look at you up close.

Because that was his payment.

His reward.

Every little smile, every little laugh. The way your tits moved when you pointed at something needed fixing. The way you stretched just right, your little skirts and shorts riding up, flashing soft, smooth skin that made Joel’s head spin.

He didn’t even need you to talk to him.

Didn’t need you to flirt.

Just existing was enough.

So he worked.

For free.

Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do?

You made him feel like some pathetic old pervert.

Standing around like a useless extra in the movie that was your perfect fucking life.

A washed-up, near-sixty-year-old loser with a bad back, a lonely house, and a dick that hadn’t worked properly in years.

And now?

Now, he nearly was hard all the time.

No blue pills. No coaxing. No thinking about some old porn magazine he had tucked away for emergencies.

Just your voice, your body, the way you smelled, the way you looked at him when you handed him a lemonade like he was doing something special—when all he was doing was fixing your fucking sink.

And the worst part?

He was leaking.

Like a damn teenager.

Hadn’t been this sensitive in decades.

And yet, here he was—barely keeping it together, feeling the way his cock throbbed and ached, fucking dripped inside his jeans while you leaned in, smiling, teasing—

“Thank you, Joel!”

Fuck.

That voice.

All sweet and grateful and warm, and it was fucking nothing. Just three little words.

And yet, his whole body reacted like you had just whispered something filthy in his ear.

Like you had just gotten on your knees, licked your lips, and told him

Sit back, Joel. Let me take care of you.

God, he was fucked.

So he mowed your lawn.

Fixed your AC unit.

Made sure the fence was latched, the gate was locked, the pipes weren’t leakin’.

And when he wasn’t fixing shit inside?

He was finding things to do outside.

Hammering shit that didn’t need hammering.

Cleaning tools that weren’t even his.

Anything. Anything.

Just to be there.

· · ──𖥸

Joel looked wrecked.

Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, his broad shoulders sagging as he finally took a seat at the kitchen table he had just fixed for you.

His hands were rough and calloused, veins prominent, fingers flexing against the cool surface as he exhaled, deep and slow. He looked exhausted, the kind of exhaustion that clung to a man who had spent the whole day pushing his body to the limit.

And yet, even now, after hours of working himself to the bone, he was still staring.

Not at the food you’d set down in front of him, not at the cold glass of iced tea dripping condensation onto the table, not even at his own aching hands that had spent all damn day making sure every little thing in your house was perfect.

He was staring at your tits.

You noticed it immediately, of course. How could you not? Joel wasn’t exactly subtle.

His dark, hungry gaze stayed fixed on your chest, drinking in the way your tank top clung to you, damp with heat, the fabric just a little too thin, a little too low. His hands twitched every so often, like he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

He barely responded when you spoke, offering little more than a grunt here and there, a slow nod, an occasional hum of acknowledgment. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because he was completely fucking gone.

And you?

You smirked.

Because this wasn’t new.

Joel Miller had been looking at you like this for weeks now, like a starving man watching a meal just out of reach, a man standing in the desert watching water slip through his fingers.

And he thought he was hiding it.

He wasn’t.

You leaned forward slightly, trailing a finger through the condensation on your glass, watching his Adam’s apple bob when his eyes immediately flicked down again, drawn like a magnet.

You waited. Let it stew. Let the tension stretch thick and heavy between you until you could practically hear the way he was grinding his teeth together, working his jaw, trying to think of something—anything—other than the way your tits were right there.

Then, casually, you spoke.

“You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Joel didn’t move at first.

Didn’t even seem to register your words right away.

Just blinked, slow and dazed, before finally dragging his gaze back up to your face, blinking again, like he had just been pulled out of something deep.

“…Huh?”

His voice was thick, rough like gravel, his fingers flexing again before clenching into loose fists.

You tilted your head slightly, letting your gaze flick down to your own chest, then back up to him, pointedly.

“You like ’em?”

For a moment, Joel just sat there.

Silent.

Completely fucking still.

Then, finally, he exhaled. A slow, measured breath, dragging a hand down his face like he was collecting himself, trying to piece together a response that didn’t immediately give him away.

And then, voice lower, rougher, wrecked—

“…What’s there not to like?”

Oh?

That shouldn’t have affected you the way it did.

But it did.

The way he said it, low and warm and dripping with something dark, something dangerous. The way he looked at you when he said it, like he was memorizing every inch of you, like he needed to burn the sight into his brain.

A slow heat unfurled low in your belly, sinking between your thighs, pooling thick and molten as you shifted in your seat, pressing your legs together, suddenly very aware of how wet you were getting.

And Joel knew it.

Because his eyes flicked down for a split second, watching the way you shifted, the way your breath caught ever so slightly, and his fingers clenched tighter against the table.

And then, voice slow, teasing, stretching out the moment—

“Hmmm.”

You tapped a finger against your chin, watching the way his dark eyes tracked your movements, like he couldn’t help it, like he had no control over the way his body responded to you.

And then, soft and syrupy—

“You know, Joel… I feel kinda bad.”

Joel didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t breathe.

Just stared.

You watched the slow, deliberate way he swallowed, the way his whole body seemed to tense under the weight of those words, the muscles in his arms flexing as his fingers curled against the table.

“…Bad?”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“For letting you do all this work without paying you back.”

There was a beat of silence.

Joel’s fingers flexed. His breath stuttered, sharp and uneven. You could see the battle happening in his head—his morals, his age, the voice in his head screaming this is wrong, you’re too old, don’t do this—

And yet.

When he spoke, it was wrecked.

“…Can I just—”

Joel swallowed hard.

His voice dropped lower, raspier, barely even a sound.

“Can I just see you? Look at you?”

The words sent a jolt of something electric through you, made your skin heat, your pulse quicken, made that molten heat in your belly throb.

You smiled. Slow. Sweet.

Cruel.

"You wanna see me, Joel?"

His breath hitched.

His fingers twitched.

He nodded, almost absently, his mouth falling open, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

You dragged your nails lightly up your stomach, over your ribs, the movement subtle, slow, making him watch.

Your hands went to the hem of your tank top, your fingers curling around the fabric, slowly dragging it up.

Joel’s pupils blew wide.

His lips parted.

His breath hitched.

And when you pulled it over your head, letting it drop to the floor, you saw it.

The way his fingers clenched so hard around the edge of the table that his knuckles went white, like he needed to physically hold himself back.

You sat there in just your bra, running your hands up your stomach, over your ribs, tilting your head slightly as you murmured—

“Like this?”

Joel made a noise that was almost a groan, almost a curse, a low, strangled thing that caught in his throat as his eyes devoured you.

He swallowed again, hard, blinking like he was trying to process what was happening.

Then—rough, hoarse, desperate—

“…Please. Everything.”

So you did.

You reached behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra with a slow, deliberate flick of your fingers, letting the straps slip down your arms before shrugging it off completely.

And Joel lost the last shred of restraint he had.

His breath hitched—a sharp, audible inhale, like he had just been punched in the gut.

His eyes dropped from your eyes instantly, dragged down like they had no choice, like the second your tits were bare, he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else.

And fuck.

The sound that tore from his throat was something low, deep, filthy— not even a real word, just a groan, guttural and needy, his lips parting, his tongue darting out, his whole fucking body reacting like he was a man who had been starving his whole goddamn life, and now?

Now he was looking at the best fucking meal he’d ever seen.

Because Jesus Christ.

Your tits?

They were perfect.

So fucking full and soft, high and round, plump little handfuls of heaven that he’d been imagining for weeks, and now? Now they were right there.

And your nipples—fuck.

They were already hard, tight little peaks sitting pretty, puckered and aching, begging for something—a touch, a mouth, something wet and warm.

They looked so fucking sweet, like they’d feel so soft, like they’d taste so good on his tongue.

Joel groaned.

A rough, heavy sound, his jaw clenching so fucking hard it was a miracle his teeth didn’t crack, his entire body tensing like it physically hurt him to just sit there and look and not touch.

And then, voice wrecked, strained, barely even a whisper—

“Best goddamn tits I’ve ever seen.”

You smirked, slow and teasing, shifting slightly, making them bounce just a little, the movement so subtle, but his whole body jerked.

“Yeah?”

Joel grunted, a deep, broken noise, his breath stuttering, his fingers flexing.

“Yeah.”

His lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling with heavy, uneven breaths.

His hips shifted.

And you noticed.

The way his jeans were tight.

The way a wet patch darkened the denim.

The way his entire body looked like it was straining under the weight of his own need.

And then, voice breaking, groaning—

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Your breath caught.

Because that?

That sounded filthy.

Low, wrecked, grateful.

Like just seeing you was some kind of mercy.

His thighs tensed. His hands twitched. His eyes stayed locked on you, burning, devouring, drowning.

You dragged your hands up your own stomach, slow and lazy, brushing your fingers over the soft curves of your breasts, rolling your thumbs over your hardened nipples, smirking when you heard his breath hitch.

“You wanna touch ‘em, Joel?” you murmured, soft and syrupy, voice dipped in honey.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, like the question alone was enough to wreck him.

“Fuck yeah.”

He didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t fucking think.

His hands were on you before the words even fully left his mouth—grabbing, groping, squeezing like he was starving for it, like he’d been fantasizing about this for so long that the second he finally had them in his palms, he lost every ounce of restraint.

And Jesus fuck, his hands were big.

Rough.

Strong.

Decades of hard labor carved into every thick callus, every flex of his fingers, every hungry, greedy, desperate grab.

“Fuck, babygirl,” he muttered, voice wrecked, almost dazed as he kneaded your tits, rolling them in his palms, squeezing like he needed to memorize the way they felt—like he’d never get this chance again.

He groaned, deep and filthy, fingers digging in, rough fingertips brushing over your stiff nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath as heat licked through your veins.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he rasped, thumbing over the tight little peaks, watching the way your body reacted to him, your back arching, breath hitching.

Joel felt that.

“Feel good, baby?” he rasped, voice a low, guttural thing, dragging his calloused fingers over your nipples again, rubbing slow, deliberate circles, watching your reaction like a starving man watching a meal.

You swallowed hard, a shiver running through you, your thighs pressing together. Fuck.

Your nipples were so sensitive, tingling with every swipe, every flick, every dirty little touch of his rough fingers.

“Yeah,” you breathed, biting your lip, arching into his touch, letting him take what he wanted.

Joel groaned again, deep and needy, gripping your tits harder, pushing them together, squeezing, kneading, fucking obsessed.

His thumbs twisted your nipples, slow and deliberate, watching the way they hardened even further, standing up all soft and pink, looking so fucking suckable.

“Jesus,” he muttered again, voice dropping lower, rougher. “Look at these pretty tits.”

His fingers pinched, tugged, twisted just right—just enough to make you gasp, a soft little sound that sent a lightning bolt of pure fucking need straight to his cock.

He grinned.

A dark, hungry thing.

And then, voice gritted, thick with lust—

“Bet they taste even better.”

“Can I-”

Before he could even finish asking, you were already shushing him, already threading your fingers into his graying hair and pulling his face down, guiding him straight to where he belonged.

Joel went willingly.

Mouth first.

No hesitation. No second-guessing.

Joel yanked you into his lap, gripping you like you might disappear, like this was a dream he’d wake up from if he let go for even a second.

His knees ached against the floor, his back twinged in warning, but he didn’t give a fuck. Not when you were straddling him, warm and soft, tits in his face like some fucking gift from God.

His mouth sealed over your nipple, pulling at it with an obscene, wet suckle, tongue flattening before flicking, rolling, teasing the sensitive bud until it was aching, stiff, raw.

Just a wrecked, filthy groan, muffled against your soft, warm skin as he was sucking deep, sucking hard, sucking wet.

“Fuck yes,” he moaned into your skin, voice ragged, his breath hot and heavy against your breast.

He was loud.

Not in words—because words didn’t matter anymore.

But in the way he suckled, the way his lips sealed tight, how he groaned and slurped and moaned, every single sound of his mouth on you wet and obscene, filling the space around you.

His tongue swiped up, then down, then circled—slow at first, then faster, flicking against the stiff bud before pulling it into his mouth again, sealing his lips tight, sucking deep.

He couldn’t stop.

Didn’t even try.

His hands moved next, big, calloused fingers gripping your waist, dragging you closer, then sliding up to cup both tits in his palms, rough and desperate. 

“Oh—fuck, Joel—” your breath hitched, the sharp pull of his mouth sending a jolt straight between your thighs.

He groaned—deep, guttural, filthy.

“Goddamn, baby—”

Then, harder.

His fingers squeezed tighter, thumbs brushing over your nipples, pinching the one he wasn’t sucking on, rolling it between his fingertips, tugging just enough to make you gasp.

You felt his breath stutter—like he was about to lose it completely—before he pulled off with a wet, sucking pop, spit connecting his lips to your nipple, slick and shining.

He stared.

Breathing ragged. Eyes dark, starving.

And then he dived right back in.

Latching onto the other like a man possessed, groaning into it like he was trying to drink from you, ruin you, consume you.

His hands never stopped.

He hugged you closer, pulling you right into him, pressing your tits together, mashing them up against his face, smothering himself in them.

“So fuckin’ soft, baby—” he rasped, licking, suckling, tongue dragging slow circles around your nipple before he sealed his lips and sucked deep again.

“So fuckin’ sweet—”

He switched between them like he couldn’t pick a favorite, couldn’t decide, couldn’t stop.

His tongue flicked, his lips sucked, his teeth grazed, sending shocks of pleasure straight between your legs.

Your breath hitched.

Your back arched.

Because he wasn’t just playing around.

This wasn’t just teasing.

This wasn’t some guy mouthing at your tits before moving on.

No.

Joel was staying here.

Lingering.

Drowning in it.

Like he could suckle your tits for hours.

And then, voice low, gravelly, wrecked—

“Baby…”

You hummed, already smirking.

He swallowed thickly, his fingers tracing absent circles against your ribs, his voice barely above a whisper—

“Lemme see you.”

Your smirk widened.

“See what, Joel?”

He groaned, head dropping against your shoulder for half a second like he physically needed to collect himself. His nose brushed along your jaw, leaving small kisses, hot breath fanning against your skin, and then—

“Sweetheart, please,” he rasped. “Lemme see that pretty little pussy.”

Your stomach tightened, heat flaring low, but you didn’t let it show. Not yet.

Instead, you stretched, slow and indulgent, arching just slightly, your tits pushing up against his chest. “Hmmm,” you mused, tapping a manicured nail against your lip like you were actually considering it. “You worked so hard for me, didn't you, Joel?”

His jaw flexed. His hands slid down, gripping your thighs, squeezing.

“C’mon, pretty girl,” he rasped. “Don’t tease me like this.”

You tilted your head, tapping your chin, dragging it out just a little longer—watching the way his fingers twitched, watching the way his pupils were blown black with hunger, watching the way his hips barely resisted the urge to rut up against you like he needed something, anything.

Then, finally, you sighed.

“Alright, old man,” you murmured, shifting in his lap, the movement making him groan. “Take me to the couch.”

Joel nearly fucking growled.

His arms came around you instantly, strong, needy, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you. Not struggling, not even hesitating—because fuck if you thought he was too old for this, fuck if you thought he wouldn’t show you exactly what he could do.

He laid you down like you were something delicate, something precious, his hands sliding over your body, down your sides, gripping your thighs, spreading you open just enough.

And then—his fingers curled into the fabric of your skirt.

Not pulling it down.

Just flipping it up.

Joel wasn’t breathing.

At least, it felt that way.

He couldn’t. Not with the way you were spread out in front of him, thighs parted, panties soaked, looking like the filthiest, prettiest fucking thing he’d ever seen in his goddamn life.

And the worst part?

You knew exactly what you were doing to him.

The way you stretched lazily, arching just a little, making your tits push forward. The way your lips curled in that slow, knowing smirk when you caught him staring, like you were indulging him, letting him look, letting him take in every fucking inch of you.

And Joel—Joel was gone.

His hands slid up your thighs, slow, reverent, rough fingertips dragging against soft skin, feeling the heat radiating off you.

“Jesus fuck,” he muttered, his voice low, dark, almost reverent.

Joel dragged his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze locked on the damp spot between your legs, so fucking dark, so fucking pretty.

His thumbs traced along the edges of your panties, brushing just barely over the damp patch at the center, groaning when he felt the way it stuck to you.

“So goddamn wet,” he murmured, almost to himself, shaking his head, his fingers flexing against your skin. “Been like this all night, little girl?”

You moaned, shifting slightly, watching the way his jaw clenched at the movement.

“Maybe,” you teased. “Not my fault you’ve been looking at me like that all day.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a low, ragged sound, his grip tightening.

Poor old man.

He was completely fucking gone.

“See something you like?” you teased, voice sweet, syrupy, making his jaw clench.

Joel exhaled through his nose, hands tightening where they rested on your thighs, fingers pressing in deep, like he needed to hold onto something, ground himself before he completely lost control.

“Baby,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice low and rough, thick with something desperate. “You’re fuckin’ evil.”

You laughed, slow and taunting, your nails dragging up the couch, watching the way his entire body tensed, like he was on the verge of snapping, like he was barely holding himself together.

“Am I?” you mused, tilting your head, watching him watch you.

Joel groaned, deep and guttural, his grip bruising now, his breath shuddering, his hips twitching like just the words alone were enough to ruin him.

And then—

He leaned in.

Pressed his face against your covered cunt, breathing deep, dragging his nose over the soaked fabric, his entire body shuddering, shaking, gripping you like you might disappear if he let go.

And fuck.

He moaned.

You smirked. Moaned.

Because you knew.

Knew exactly what kind of power you had over him. Knew that Joel Miller—this gruff, brooding old man who barely spoke to anyone, who’d spent his life working, fixing, existing—was utterly wrecked over you.

And right now, he was on his knees, rubbing his face against your soaked panties, inhaling like the scent of your cunt was the only thing keeping him alive.

You loved it.

“Mm, you really like it down there, huh?” You moaned dragging your nails through his hair, watching the way his whole body twitched, the way he groaned against you, his nose pressing harder into the damp fabric covering your pussy.

Joel barely lifted his head, just enough to look at you, eyes so dark they were nearly black, lips slick with his own spit. His fingers flexed against your thighs like he was fighting himself—like he wanted to tear those panties off and bury himself in you, but he was holding back.

Barely.

“Like?” he rasped, voice wrecked. His tongue darted out, swiping over his bottom lip, like he was tasting the scent of you in the air.

He groaned.

“Pretty girl, I’m fuckin’ obsessed.”

You moaned. Tilting your hips just slightly, pressing up into his face, watching the way his eyes fluttered, the way his breath stuttered like just feeling your heat against his lips was too much.

“Oh yeah?” Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging. “Then show me.”

Joel didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t breathe.

He just acted.

His hands shot up, gripping the waistband of your panties, and for a second, you thought he was going to rip them off you. But no—Joel was feeling something nastier.

Instead, he grabbed the soaked fabric, pulled it tight against your cunt, wedging it between your slick folds, pressing the thin material right into your aching clit.

You gasped.

“Ohhh, fuck—”

Joel groaned, a deep, filthy sound from the pit of his chest as he rubbed the fabric against you, slow at first, then harder, pressing it between your lips, letting the damp, sticky material drag over your throbbing clit.

His nose dragged over the outline of your swollen pussy, mouth parted, tongue slipping out to taste the wet spot directly over your entrance, groaning like it was the best thing he’d ever fucking put in his mouth.

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “S’soaked, girl. Look at this fuckin’ mess. You see this?” He rubbed the fabric in deeper, groaning at the way it stuck to your folds, the way your slick smeared against it, making it wetter, stickier.

You moaned, hips rolling, pushing against his mouth, chasing the friction.

“Joel—”

He growled again, gripping your thighs tight, keeping you spread as he bit down gently on the covered part of your clit, tugging with his teeth, rolling it between them through the fabric.

You gasped.

Your back arched, hands flying to the couch, gripping the cushions for some kind of grounding because—holy fuck.

Joel chuckled. Chuckled. A deep, perverse sound.

“Ohh, you like that, hm?”

He pressed his tongue flat against your clit through your panties, sucking at the damp fabric, like he was trying to drink you through it, humming like he could taste you, even with the barrier in the way.

Then—

His teeth latched onto the thin cotton, gripping the wet spot over your entrance, and he pulled.

A sharp, precise tug.

Dragging the panties against your cunt, making them slide against your soaked folds, pressing them deeper, wedging them between your swollen lips, rubbing everything.

You fucking whimpered.

Joel moaned against you, rutting his hips against the couch, pressing his nose right against your slit, inhaling, sucking, rubbing his face all over your cunt like a man starved.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, nuzzling you, his voice dripping with filth. “Pussy’s so fuckin’ warm, baby. So fuckin’ messy. Leakin’ all over these little panties—bet they’re ruined, huh?”

Your thighs shook. Your breath stuttered.

Your fingers curled tight in his hair, tugging, and he moaned again, loud, tongue slipping out to drag slow, wet strokes over the damp fabric, gathering everything before pressing it back against your cunt, making you feel how fucking messy you were.

His hands—those big, rough, work-worn hands—slid up your thighs, spreading you wider, holding you open, thumbs pressing into your soft skin as he finally, finally hooked his fingers into your panties and peeled them off.

He groaned when they stuck.

When your slick clung to the fabric.

When he had to drag them down your legs because they were soaked.

And then—

You were bare.

Wet.

Dripping.

All for him.

Joel sat back on his heels, staring.

His fingers flexed, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head, voice deep and wrecked.

Then, dark eyes flicking up to yours, a slow, filthy grin stretching across his face—

“Oh, baby…” He groaned.

“I’m gonna ruin you.”

His voice was a wreck, almost a whisper, full of awe, full of filth, full of something desperate and hungry.

Because you were fucking perfect.

Your pussy was obscene.

Pink and swollen and glistening, folds spread, sticky and slick, so wet you were practically dripping onto the couch. 

Your clit—puffy, throbbing—begging for attention, twitching every time Joel’s hot breath ghosted over you. 

The dim light caught on the shine of your arousal, making everything look impossibly wet, messy, fucking ruined.

And Joel?

Joel was losing his goddamn mind.

His breath hitched, a low, wrecked groan ripping from his chest, his fingers flexing hard against your thighs, like he was physically restraining himself from lunging forward and devouring you whole.

“Fuck me.” His voice came out rough, strangled, barely even a whisper. “Look at that messy little pussy. S’so fuckin’ wet for me, baby.”

You hummed, stretching out against the couch like you had all the time in the world, arching just slightly making your tits look so good, making yourself even softer, even easier, even more of a temptation.

“Yeah?” Your voice was all gasped, all teasing, your hips rolling up just a little, just enough to make the slick between your thighs glisten in the low light. “You like her, Joel?”

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, jaw clenching, nostrils flaring, eyes blown dark and wide, locked on your cunt like it was hypnotizing him, pulling him under.

He let out a rough, humorless laugh, shaking his head, squeezing your thighs just a little tighter. “Baby, I’ll never let go of her.”

That smirk stretched slow across your lips, your thighs parting just a little more, an open invitation, a silent dare.

Joel groaned—deep, guttural, painful.

And then he snapped.

His big, rough hands grabbed you, dragging you down the couch with no warning, tugging you toward him until your ass was hanging off the edge, his broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, his face—his mouth—right where he wanted it.

And then—

A long, wet, messy lick.

Tongue flat, broad, dragging over your slit, catching every drop of slick, lapping it up, his nose bumping against your mound, his groan muffled as he tasted you.

And Jesus fuck—he growled.

“Goddamn, baby… this sloppy little pussy.” His voice was hot against your skin, his tongue flicking out to catch another drop of arousal, swallowing it down, his thumbs spreading you open even wider. “Fuckin’ drippin’ all over my face.”

You whined, hips bucking, but Joel’s grip slammed you back down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped, dragging his tongue up again, circling your clit, teasing, groaning loud like he was tasting something sinful, something addictive, something he was never gonna get enough of.

His lips wrapped around the swollen bud, pulling it into his mouth, sucking, his tongue flicking, his nose buried against your mound, his face pressed so deep in your pussy he was fucking drowning.

And he loved it.

You were soaked.

Dripping.

And Joel wanted it.

Wanted every drop.

His tongue licked into you, fucking inside, groaning loud when he felt your walls clench, sucking your juices from his own tongue like he was drinking you, like you were feeding him.

And fuck—

His hips rutted against the couch, grinding, his cock straining against his jeans, so fucking wet, his pre-cum soaking through, his whole body wound tight like he could come just like this, just from eating you, from tasting you, from hearing the little broken whimpers spilling from your lips.

His fingers dug in deeper, pressing into the softness of your thighs, spreading you wider, pulling you closer, burying his tongue so deep inside you it made your eyes roll back.

And then—

A rough, growled, wrecked—

“Goddamn, baby. Gonna fuckin’ stay down here.”

Joel was gone.

Buried between your thighs, tongue fucking into you like a starving man, like this was what he was made to do.

And fuck, maybe he was.

Because he was too good at it.

You moaned, dragging a hand through his hair, pulling, loving the way he groaned, the way his hips rutted harder against the couch, the way he needed this.

“Fuck, Joel,” you panted, voice thick with pleasure.

Joel growled.

He actually fucking growled, pulling you closer, spreading you wider, licking into you deeper, his tongue flicking, curling, sucking, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back from humping the fucking couch like some desperate, pathetic thing.

And then—

Joel spat on it.

A wet, messy, lewd spit, right over your swollen clit.

And then?

He rubbed his face into it.

Like some depraved old pervert, moaning as he smothered himself with your slick, nuzzling into it, smearing his own spit and your arousal all over his lips, his chin, his nose .. damn nearly up to his forehead. 

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, breath hot, words slurred against your swollen folds. “Smell so fuckin’ good, baby. Taste even fuckin’ better.”

His tongue swiped over your clit, broad and firm, lapping at it like he was fucking thirsty, groaning when he felt you pulse, when he felt your thighs tremble.

He spat on it again.

And smeared it in.

Dragged his tongue through the mess, licking his own spit off your cunt like he was cleaning you up.

And fuck.

It sent a shock of pleasure straight through your body, a sharp, hot jolt that made your back arch, your mouth dropping open in a broken moan.

“Fuck, Joel,” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. “I—I’m gonna—”

Joel knew.

Knew you were close, knew he had you teetering, knew you were about to fucking snap.

So he latched onto your clit, sucking, moaning, filthy and loud, his fingers bruising into your thighs, holding you open, keeping you still, forcing you to take it.

And when you came—

Oh, fuck, when you came.

Your body jerked, legs trembling, the orgasm hitting you so hard it stole the breath from your lungs, your vision going white, your whole body clenching around the pleasure, drowning in it.

And Joel?

Joel groaned.

Like he felt it.

Like your orgasm belonged to him.

Like he had just come from tasting you, from making you come, from hearing you cry out his name.

And he didn’t stop.

Didn’t fucking stop.

Kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept fucking devouring, his tongue flicking over your oversensitive clit, dragging out every last aftershock, keeping you on the edge, keeping you throbbing.

And you—

You were shaking.

Body weak, legs useless, cunt aching for something more.

“Joel,” you gasped, breathless, still trembling. “I—I want your cock.”

And Joel?

He didn’t hear you.

Didn’t process it.

Because he was lost.

Lost in your pussy, lost in the taste, lost in the way you fucking shook for him.

His tongue dragged through the mess, lapping up every drop, swallowing you down like you were something precious, something he couldn’t afford to waste.

So you tried again.

“Joel,” you panted, tugging at his hair, trying to get his attention. “I want your—”

And he still didn’t listen.

Just kept licking. Kept sucking. Kept moaning against your cunt like he was starved.

So you had to rip his face away.

Fisting your hands in his hair, pulling him back, making him look up at you—

And fuck.

His face.

Wet. Slick. Lips swollen, chin shining, pupils blown.

And his mouth—

His mouth was fucking open, his tongue still flicking like he was trying to find you, like he was looking for your pussy, like he was about to dive right back in.

He was panting, breath heavy, wrecked, like he had just fucked you, like he was the one who had just come.

And then—

A low, desperate, ruined—

“Baby, please.”

Like he needed it.

Like he needed to go back.

Like he wasn’t done yet.

The smell of you. The taste of you. The way you squirmed and moaned, your fingers sinking into his hair, giving the softest little tugs that made his cock throb.

You hummed, dragging your nails lightly against his scalp. “You gonna stay down there all night, handsome?”

Joel groaned against your thigh, his fingers tightening where they gripped your hips.

“Would if you’d let me,” he muttered, voice rough and muffled.

You laughed, breathy and teasing. “Well…” You tugged gently at his hair, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to look up at you. “Maybe I want something else tonight.”

Joel’s head spun.

His stomach clenched, heat coiling low, thick and heavy in his gut.

Because you couldn’t possibly mean—

“Maybe,” you mused, trailing your fingers down his face, smirking. “You should fuck me instead.”

Joel went completely fucking still.

A full-body freeze.

Because, holy shit.

He hadn’t even considered it.

He hadn’t dared to.

Had been so caught up in this—this ritual, this worship, this sick fucking devotion of getting to lose himself between your thighs, mouth greedy and desperate, tongue messy and unrelenting—he hadn’t let himself imagine it going further.

Hadn’t even let himself hope for it.

But now?

Now, you were looking at him with those big, bright eyes, your lips curled in something teasing and wicked, your fingers trailing down his chest, and fuck.

It hit him.

Like a fucking freight train.

He was gonna fuck you.

Joel groaned, his head falling forward against your stomach, breath heavy, body shaking as his hands gripped your thighs, squeezing so tight it bordered on bruising.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fuck. Baby.”

You grinned, delighted. “Yeah?”

Joel swallowed, lifting his head, his gaze burning as he looked up at you.

“Yeah.”

His voice was rough, wrecked.

“Then get up here, old man,” you purred, tugging at his shoulders. “Come fuck me.”

And, fuck, he was gonna.

Somehow, he managed to kneel between your legs, looming over you, broad and heavy and burning with something filthy and desperate.

Somehow, he managed to unbuckle his belt, yank his zipper down, pull himself free—

You hadn’t expected this.

Hadn’t expected him to be this thick.

Because, fuck me.

Joel Miller was fucking big.

The way his cock twitched the second the cool air hit it, sending a slow, heavy bead of precome dripping down—hot and sticky, landing right on your stomach.

God.

Your breath hitched, your thighs twitching where they were still spread open for him, aching.

And Joel?

He was just watching.

Watching that glistening drop smear against your skin, dragging his fist slow along his length, squeezing at the base, like he was trying to calm himself down.

Not that it was working.

Because he was dripping.

Leaking all over you, precum slick and thick, dribbling down the fat head of his cock, smearing over the tip as he worked himself, his jaw clenched tight, breathing heavy.

His cock was—fuck.

Thick. So fucking thick.

Broad, heavy in his palm, his shaft veined and throbbing, dark with need, his swollen head gleaming wet under the dim light.

A thick trail of silver and black hair led down from his stomach, curling around the base—graying just like the rest of him, salt-and-pepper in a way that made your stomach tighten.

And his balls.

Heavy and full, hanging low, tight and aching with neglect, pulled up just slightly, like his body was already fighting to hold off the inevitable.

And Joel—Joel was losing his fucking mind.

Because fuck.

Your soft, pretty body sprawled out beneath him, tits still sticky from his mouth, your stomach slick with the mess he was dripping all over you, your thighs spread open, that sweet, soaked pussy waiting for him—his cock.

He groaned, low and ruined, watching another thick bead of precum slip from the head, drooling down his shaft, slicking up his fingers.

He couldn’t stop leaking.

Couldn’t stop fucking twitching, pulsing in his own grip, so hard it was almost painful.

His body was betraying him.

Decades of needing, decades of nothing, and now?

Now he was about to lose it over just this.

Just you, looking up at him like that.

Smiling sweetly like you fucking knew.

Like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

Joel groaned, watching your expression shift, watching your eyes flick down to where he was gripping himself, your lips parting just slightly, breath hitching.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing he’d ever seen.

He smirked. Just a little.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Ain’t gettin’ shy on me now, are ya?”

You dragged your gaze back up to his, grinning lazily, voice smooth and teasing. “Nah, just thinking.”

Joel raised a brow, cocking his head. “Yeah? ’Bout what?”

Your lips curled.

“How the hell this thing’s gonna fit inside me.”

Joel growled.

A deep, guttural, feral fucking sound, his grip tightening around his cock, his other hand gripping your thigh, yanking you closer.

You giggled, delighted, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down, his body pressing heavy against yours, his cock resting hot and thick against your belly, pulsing.

He was panting.

You could feel it, the heat of his breath against your cheek, the slight tremble in his arms, the pure need radiating off him.

“You’ll take it,” he murmured, voice rough and low, dangerous in a way that made your stomach clench. “You’ll take all of it, baby. Ain’t no way I’m not givin’ you every goddamn inch.”

Fuck.

You whimpered.

And Joel—he fucking felt it.

Felt the way you clenched around nothing, the way your thighs trembled, the way your nails dug into his shoulders.

Felt the way your body was begging for it.

“Joel…” Your voice was thinner now, breathless.

He smirked.

“What, baby?” He pressed against your entrance, just barely, the thick head of his cock stretching you the tiniest bit before he pulled away again, teasing, watching the way your body tensed, the way your breath hitched. “You were talkin’ so much before. What happened?”

You whined.

Louder this time.

And Joel groaned, dropping his forehead against yours, shaking his head.

“Jesus,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ spoiled, baby.”

Then—

Joel pressed forward.

Slow.

Heavy.

Thick.

The swollen head of his cock pushed against your slick entrance, parting your folds, stretching you open inch by agonizing inch. Your body clenched around him instinctively, the burn sweet and deep, making you gasp, your fingers digging harder into his shoulders.

“Fuck—” Joel groaned, long and drawn out, his forehead dropping against yours as he fought to hold himself back, his hands gripping your waist so tightly you knew there’d be bruises come morning. “Goddamn, baby… s’fuckin’ tight—”

You moaned at the stretch, the way your cunt swallowed him up, the way he felt inside you—thick and throbbing, pulsing against your walls, filling you more than you ever thought possible.

And fuck, he wasn’t even all the way in yet.

Joel was shaking.

Every muscle in his body drawn tight, his cock twitching as he struggled to keep himself together, to not just slam in all at once and lose himself in the hot, wet grip of you.

He was too old for this shit.

Too fucking old to be trembling like some desperate goddamn virgin, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his breath coming in ragged pants as he forced himself to go slow.

But Jesus Christ—

You were so small.

So fucking tiny compared to him, your cunt squeezing around his cock like it was trying to keep him out, like you weren’t built to take something this fucking big.

But you would.

You had to.

Joel wasn’t stopping.

“Take it,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, voice wrecked, low and strained. “You’ll fuckin’ take all of it, little girl. Gonna stretch you out real nice, make you mine.”

You whimpered, legs trembling as you tried to relax, tried to take him deeper.

“Good job, sweet girl,” Joel groaned, voice rough, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pressing his weight against you. “That’s it. That’s a good fuckin’ girl.”

You clenched around him at that, and Joel felt it—felt the way your body squeezed him, the way your breath hitched, the way your back arched just slightly, like your body was instinctively trying to get more.

And fuck, that just about broke him.

His hips twitched, and suddenly, he was sinking deeper, forcing more of his cock inside your tight little cunt, and you gasped, nails raking down his arms as he stretched you even further, the feeling almost too much, too full—

But fuck, it felt so good.

“Joel—”

He groaned at the sound of his name falling from your lips, dark eyes snapping up to meet yours, pupils blown wide, his lips parted as he panted against your mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice dripping with heat.

You couldn’t even form words. Couldn’t think past the way he felt inside you, past the way he was holding you open, filling you up, stretching you out in a way you’d never felt before.

“More,” you whispered, breath hitching, thighs trembling. “Please.”

Joel growled.

Deep and low, something primal and wrecked, and before you could process it—

He thrust forward.

Burying himself to the fucking hilt.

You choked on a gasp, your whole body jerking at the sheer force of it, the sudden fullness, the way he bottomed out inside you, his cock nestled so deep it felt like he was fucking splitting you in half.

Joel snapped.

The last thread of his restraint fucking gone.

“Fuck—” He groaned, hips jerking, grinding himself deeper, reveling in the way you squirmed, the way you moaned, the way your body clenched around him like you never wanted to let go.

“Goddamn, sweetheart—” His voice was all rough edges, his head dropping to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin. “You feel that? How deep I am?”

You could barely think, barely breathe, barely function beyond the overwhelming stretch of him inside you, the way he filled every inch of you, every nerve ending fucking screaming in pleasure.

Joel didn’t wait for an answer.

Didn’t need one.

Because he knew.

Knew you felt it.

Knew you loved it.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his lips dragging over your throat, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. Made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t you? You were askin' for this, huh? Teasin' me all these weeks?”

You moaned.

Loud and wrecked, your head tilting back, exposing more of your throat, and Joel fucking ate it up.

“Fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight,” he rasped, voice strained, his hips pulling back just slightly before pressing forward again, grinding against that soft, spongy spot inside you. “Like this little pussy don’t wanna let me go.”

You whimpered.

Because it didn’t.

Didn’t want him to go.

Didn’t want anything except more—more of him, more of this, more of the way he was stretching you open, fucking ruining you for anyone else.

And Joel knew it.

Could feel it.

Could see it in the way your body arched, in the way your nails dug into his skin, in the way you moaned his name like a prayer.

And fuck—

That did something to him.

Something dark.

Something needy.

Something possessive.

His hips snapped forward, harder this time, and you cried out, hands flying up to grip his shoulders, and fuck, he loved that sound.

“Oh, god—i - you feel so good,” you cry, eyes fluttering shut, pleasure rolling over you in hot, heavy waves.

“Yeah, baby?” he rasped, voice full of filthy heat. “That what you want? Want me to fuck this sweet little pussy with my cock? Want me to ruin you?”

You gasped, back arching, nails dragging down his back.

“Yes—”

And that was all he needed.

All he needed to let go, to give in, to let the raw, aching need consume him.

Joel’s grip on your hips tightened, and then—Joel growled.

A deep, wrecked, guttural thing that ripped through his chest, and suddenly—he was moving.

Thrusting.

Fucking you.

“Oh—oh god—” Your back arched, breath hitching, body jolting with each sharp thrust, each desperate snap of his hips.

Joel fucking grinned.

“That what it takes, huh?” he rasped, voice dripping with filthy satisfaction. “A big cock to shut you up, baby? Hm?”

You moaned, head lolling back against the cushions, unable to form words, pleasure slamming into you so hard your mind went blank.

And Joel? He ate it up.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he gritted out, gripping your hips tighter, dragging you down onto him, forcing you to take every inch. “Too busy takin’ my cock to be a smug little brat now, huh?”

You whimpered.

And Joel groaned, eyes rolling back slightly as his pace faltered, his cock twitching inside you.

Fuck—he wasn’t gonna last.

Not with this.

Not with the way you were tightening around him, squeezing him like you wanted him to cum, like you wanted him to break apart inside you, wanted to milk every drop from his aching cock.

His breath turned ragged, hips stuttering, muscles tensing, and—

“Oh, baby—shit, I—I won’t—”

His voice broke.

He gritted his teeth, fighting it, holding on as long as he could, but you were so fucking tight, so fucking wet, so fucking perfect—

And then—

You clenched around him again, dragging him deeper, pressing your lips to his ear, voice all soft and sweet—

“Cum for me, Joel.”

And that was it.

Joel snapped.

His body locked up, cock throbbing as a strangled groan tore from his throat, his hips pressing flush against you as he spilled deep inside you, pumping you full, burying himself as deep as he could while pleasure crashed over him in heavy, burning waves.

His breath stuttered, his whole body trembling, nails digging into your skin.

Your body was still trembling, sweat slicking your skin, the heat between your legs thick and wet with the mess Joel had already left inside you. Your mind was still spinning, your breath uneven, but Joel wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He held you close, his big body still caging you in, his thick arms wrapped around you like he needed to keep you there, to pin you down, to claim you.

His lips moved against your damp skin, pressing soft, wet kisses against your shoulder, up your throat, nuzzling against the sensitive skin behind your ear as he let out a deep, satisfied groan.

But then—

Another pulse.

Another deep, warm spurt of cum filling you up, coating your walls even though you swore he had already given you everything he had.

Your breath hitched, your body twitching slightly as you felt it—felt him still throbbing, still leaking, still making sure every single drop stayed buried inside you.

“Joel,” you gasped, tilting your head back against the couch, your fingers curling weakly into his sweaty back. “You’re still cumming?”

Joel grunted against your neck, his hips giving a slow, almost involuntary push forward, like he was trying to press himself even deeper, to make sure it stuck. His lips dragged up to your jaw, warm and slightly open, his breath ragged, his voice wrecked when he finally muttered,

“Still got more for you, baby.”

Fuck.

Your stomach tightened, another wave of heat rolling through you at the sheer desperation in his tone, the filth in his words. You felt his mouth on you again, felt the rough scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, and then—

Joel groaned, his lips finally finding yours, capturing them in a slow, wet kiss. The second you moaned into it—

Another slow pulse inside you.

Another spurt.

Hot, deep, filling you up all over again.

Joel shuddered against you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, swallowing your soft whimpers as he rocked into you, his cock still buried deep, still throbbing, still giving you everything.

You broke the kiss first, tilting your head back against the couch, a dazed, smug little smile curling on your lips. “You really are an old pervert,” you murmured, voice teasing, breathless.

Joel’s hand came up to cup your jaw, tilting your face back toward his. His dark eyes were hooded, heavy with lust, filled with something possessive and raw as his fingers flexed slightly, keeping you in place.

“And you,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous, “are a fuckin’ menace.”

His hips rocked again, and you let out a choked little gasp as you felt just how deep he was still buried inside you, still stretching you, still keeping you full. He groaned at the sound, dipping his head to bite softly at your bottom lip before licking over it, tasting you, his tongue sliding against yours in a slow, lazy tease.

You melted into it, humming softly as you curled your fingers into the damp hair at the nape of his neck, pulling slightly.

Joel growled.

His breath was heavy against your lips, warm and ragged, his body shuddering slightly as the last waves of pleasure pulsed through him. He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw, then another just beneath your ear, his lips soft and warm and so different from the way he’d just fucked you—filthy and desperate and rough.

Now, he was gentle.

Now, he was melting against you.

His weight pressing you down, his hands smoothing over your hips, his fingers curling possessively around the softness of your thighs. Keeping you close. Keeping you his.

You sighed, shifting just slightly, feeling the thick heat of him settle inside you, the stretch easing, leaving behind a deep, satisfied ache. You were so full.

So stuffed with him.

And god, you could feel it—the way he was still throbbing deep inside, the way the sticky warmth of his spend was already beginning to leak out, thick and hot, slicking your thighs where you were still stretched wide around him.

You smirked.

“Hm,” you mused, tilting your head back against the couch, letting your fingers drag lazily down his back. “I really got forty-year-old cum inside me right now, huh?”

Joel groaned, shifting slightly, dragging his lips down the curve of your throat, nipping softly. “Baby, don’t—”

“What?” You grinned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you rolled your hips slightly, making him hiss. “Just stating facts.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing where they gripped your waist, holding you still. “Not forty,” he muttered, his voice a low, grumbled thing against your skin.

You hummed, tilting your head slightly. “Oh? My bad. Forty-something-year-old cum.”

Joel groaned again, his forehead dropping against your shoulder. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. “And yet,” you purred, voice sweet and teasing, “you still came so deep inside me.”

His hips flexed, pushing deeper, and you gasped, arching slightly beneath him. Joel lifted his head then, dark eyes meeting yours, something warm and hungry and satisfied settling there.

“Damn right, I did.”

You shivered.

His lips curled slightly, his hand dragging down to rest against your lower belly, pressing there—right over the place where you were still stuffed full of him.

“Know how long I been thinkin’ about that?” he murmured, fingers flexing slightly. “Fillin’ you up like this?”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering as he rolled his hips again, slow, lazy, letting you feel every inch of him inside you. “Joel…”

His lips found yours again, slow and deep and lingering, his tongue sliding against yours in a soft, lazy tease. You melted into it, letting him kiss you slow, letting him take his time, letting him savor the taste of you, the feel of you, the warmth of you still wrapped around him.

When he finally pulled back, he looked at you for a long moment, his hand smoothing up your side, curling around your ribs, tracing absentminded circles into your skin.

“You okay, sweet girl?” he murmured, voice softer now, rough around the edges but warm.

You exhaled, stretching slightly, feeling the way his body fit against yours, warm and solid and safe. You felt good.

Better than good.

A slow, satisfied smile curled on your lips. “More than okay.”

Joel grunted, pressing one last kiss to your jaw before finally shifting, pulling out slowly, carefully, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he felt just how soaked you were.

He sat back, dark eyes dragging over the sight of you—legs spread, pussy messy and glistening, his cum already beginning to leak out onto the couch. His jaw clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out and push it back inside.

Your smirk deepened. “Like what you see?”

Joel exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me, girl.”

You stretched your arms over your head, arching slightly, your grin widening. “Well,” you mused, voice lazy and satisfied, “if you die, at least you’ll die a very happy pervert.”

Joel rolled his eyes, reaching for you, tugging you onto his lap effortlessly, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you close.

You sighed, melting into him, pressing your forehead against his, your fingers dragging up the back of his neck.

Joel exhaled, his breath warm against your lips, his fingers flexing slightly where they gripped your hips.

Then, voice low, murmured against your mouth—

“Yeah, baby. Happiest I’ve ever been.”

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

...Hey y'all im back. Opinions and comments are greatly appreciated please PLEASE (please)

[headmastersapprentice]

catharsis but dom ellie pls pls pls Im begging😭

take it

sypnosis; roles are switched—seth spits out a nasty comment at ellie, causing your anger to flare up. she decided it was best to take you home, until she decides to find a way to control your anger.

cw; angst, smut, dom!ellie, sub!fem reader, car sex, strap use (referred to as a cock), oral sex, rough fucking, spitting, multiple orgasms, fluff, r!receiving all, men and minors dni.

a/n; there was a few reqs to write dom!ellie for this fic and i looove the idea so here it is! and ohhh if she ever looked at me like that…endgame!! and also, if i haven’t done your request yet, i promise i am either currently working on getting it posted, or im still writing it. a few will get released this week!

➝ masterlist

your eyes narrowed at seth, your whole body filling with heat as ellie just looked at him, her look almost puzzled. you werent doing anyone any harm, just purely kissing. thats it. yet it still gave seth the ability to spit out some homophobic comment one way or another. ellie was your girl, your princess. if anyone was even slightly rude—it’d make you angry. you just thought she was too precious to even be made fun of at all. she noticed the way your face twisted with disgust, and she knew you’d say something if she didnt act—causing her to take your hand in hers softly. “lets go.” she whispers, not wanting to cause a scene.

your eyes finally left seth, looking at ellies pleading face and softening when you did, but the anger still bubbled. you thought it was probably best to just leave instead of causing a scene infront of everyone. even though seth had already done half the job—you didnt want to finish it. you let ellie take you outside into the fresh air, her hand tightening around yours for reassurance. you didnt dare look at her, feeling to angry to even speak.

she knew—so she just walked hand in hand with you to the car. there was a big problem, though. ellie hated it when you didnt talk to her. she preferred talking it out and letting you rant to her, she hated awkward silence. she let go of your hand, watching you storm off to the passenger seat. she scoffed, taking the keys out of her pocket and opening the car, getting in and starting it.

“dont.” she begins, her voice firm as her hands grip the steering wheel, pulling out of the car park. you scoff, still staying quiet and you could tell she wasnt a fan of your growing attitude. “scoffing at me now? you’re brave.” she furrows her brows, her eyes stuck on the road as one hand stays on the wheel, the other on the gear lever. you roll your eyes, testing the waters as much as you could. you wanted this all to be over and the best way for you to do that was so stay silent and bottle it up. but not for ellie.

“baby, seriously,” she begins, her head rolling a little in annoyance. “drop the attitude. none of this is my fault, unfortunately theres always gonna be people like seth and theres nothing we can do. you know that, right?” she explains, firmness still in her voice as her eyes glance over at you before back onto the road.

you sigh, looking at your hands as you fiddle with your thumbs. “i know, but seriously why do we always have to be the ones to say something? nobody else said anything.” you groan as she listens to your rants.

she takes in a breath, understanding where you were coming from. “i know, sweetheart. trust me, i do. but we have to deal with it. you dont always have to defend me, im fine.” she explains, but clearly it wasnt enough for you. you laugh sarcastically, the anger clearly still swarming you. “dont, ellie. dont make light of this situation, you know damn well its fucked up. so dont you fucking—“ you get louder, but before you can continue, she swerved the car to the side of the empty road, parking it. you gasp at her sudden move, confusion clouding your mind. “what the fuck was that fo—“ you begin, but she cuts you off again.

“lose that attitude and get in the fucking backseat.” she demands, her voice firm. you knew she wanted no argument but the way her voice went from reassuring to demanding in the matter of seconds led you to just listen to her words. you slowly unbuckle your seatbelt and get into the backseat of her car, looking at her as you did. her eyes never left you as you moved, her hand reaching into the glovebox, to her strap.

she took it into the backseat with her, her hands immediately wrapping around your thighs and placing you on your back along the seats and she crawled on top of you, parting your legs so she hovered inbetween them, her lips inching to your ear as her breath was hot on your skin. “angry, arent you? well i’ll make you a deal, baby. you take it like a good girl and i’ll fuck that anger out of you, hm?” she whispers, her voice almost mocking. leaving your eyes wide as you felt your body already growing limp under her touch.

your whole body shivered, leaning against the door of the car, eyes never leaving hers. she smirked at you, her look stern yet soft at the same time. with that, her hands reach up, tugging at your jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down—letting you lift your hips to help her tug them off and discard them somewhere, not really caring where. the heat that was growing between your thighs now displayed infront of her face, looking at the wetness pooled there like it was liquid gold. she smirked, both of her hands hooking around your thighs and pulling them further apart for her, her eyes never leaving yours as her tongue darted out, swiping all the way up your wet cunt.

your head falls back against the door, a whine emmiting from your lips—your hand instantly flying to her hair and pushing her mouth closer onto your needy pussy—to which she almost hiccups from the force of your hand. she props herself up a little further, her hands kneading your thighs slowly as her tongue works on your bundle of nerves, swirling around it, her lips making a pop sound every time they left your pussy for her to take a breath, but after she delved right back in, eating you out like she was a starved woman.

she hungrily darts her tongue into your pulsing hole, dabbing it in and out which caused your thighs to squish her head and a string of moans to fall out your mouth. she let out a hum against your cunt, before slipping her tongue out and her lips leaving too. her eyes left your gleaming pussy, looking up at you through her lashes as she slowly spits, letting her saliva drip down onto, your mouth opening a little with a gasp—before she breaks eye contact and leans back down. her tongue licks all the way up your folds, pushing her tongue back into your aching hole, causing you to grip her hair harder, her thick auburn locks tangled in your fingers. “s—shit! ellie, oh my…fuuuu—“ you choke out, your back arching.

“fuck,” she whimpers against your pussy, her brows furrowing as her own heat was needing attention as she ate you out. your body began shaking as you could feel her warm tongue darting in and out of you, your hand gripping her hair hard, pushing her in closer as you felt your high coming. her eyes flickered closed, knowing you were close. she quickened her pace, dipping in and out of your hole before you jolted, a string of moans falling out your mouth as your cum flowed out onto her tongue.

she looked up at your face covered in pure ecstasy: your head tilted back, mouth agape, brows knitted together, sweat aligning your forehead. you felt her drink up ever last bit of your release before she quickly pulled away, wiping her mouth like she’d just had a good meal, and she undresses her lower half—disgarding her jeans somewhere and slipping her strap on. all before your eyes had even opened yet.

once they finally did open, her hands were already squeezing on your thighs—gripping them hard and flipping your whole body around and forcing you on your hands and knees. you whined slightly, already feeling her press the tip of her cock onto your entrance.

her hands palmed your ass, giving you a light smack which made you jump. “shit, look at you. so beautiful like this.” she whispers, voice low and dripping with seduction. you bit into your bottom lip, not even ready for her when she pushes forward—one of her hands leaving your ass to grip the base of the clear silicone, sliding into you and completely bottoming out. your bows knit together, eyes squeezing shut.

“ohhh! fuuuck, els!” you whine, almost choking out as her cock was already pounding against your spongey spot. her brows also furrowed, her mouth open as she pulls your hips back on her cock, filling you up good. “mmm—good girl. taking me s’well, fuuckk.” she mumbles, but it came out more as a desperate moan. your hands conveyed to the steam-covered window, leaving handprints.

you thought this was as good as it could ever get, until she leaned forward…her chest completely pressed against your back as she continued pounding into you. the new angle sending shivers through your body as it instantly brought you to the approach of your second high. her teeth found the top of your ear, taking it in her mouth before speaking. “gonna lash out at me like that again, princess? or are you gonna—nghh…behave?” she whimpers, her breath hot on your ear. one of her hands grips the handle on the window, her other curled around your waist as she picks her pace up.

“cum for me, sweet girl. allll over my cock, yeah?” she teases, her voice sounding breathless. your eyes roll back along with your head, almost meeting with her shoulder as you shivered violently, all of her teases and her relentless pace bringing your body into a frenzy. you jolt, your cum shooting out all over her cock as well as the car seat beneath you. “oh my fucking god…ohhh fu—“ you choke out, your entire figure growing limp as she pulls out.

“fuck baby, that was hot.” she whispers. your hands slip off of the window, leaving a streaky handprint as you feel her arms envelop your body, bringing you close. she kisses your hair, letting it linger before you speak. you had no idea what to say about what just happened, so you skipped over that—after all, her actions did all the talking. “sorry i got so mad, my love. i just hope you understand why.” you whisper as you lean into her.

she smiles softly, holding you close. it was comforting. “shh, its okay baby. although, its cute that you’ve moved on so fast. im nowhere near done yet.” she grins, sounding mocking.

the car was a mess, steamy windows, obvious handprints, clothes everywhere.

anyone who drove past—you prayed for their sanity, as well as yours as you awaited arriving home.

taglist: @valeisaslut @elliesfavtoy @ttspenny @ellieswrath @willurms @slutt4ellie @stvrluvrrpres @elliescoochieeater @les4elliewilliams @eveyuyy @starwilliams @eriiwaii @vahnilla @ellieputellas @vampirq @elliesngirl @se4ttlellie @edenspoem

[headmastersapprentice]

after midnight

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: turns out having your girlfriend as a neighbor might have its pros.

word count: 5.6k

THE BELL ABOVE the record store door chimed as you stepped inside, the off-key jingle already familiar. That comforting scent of old CDS, wood polish, and faint incense hit you instantly—Ellie’s world, lived in and real, and lately? A place you’d started thinking of as your favorite part of the day.

Your eyes scanned the shop, smiling instantly when you spotted her behind the counter. Ellie was bent over a stack of records, tongue peeking out between her lips as she scribbled some price tags. She was in her usual uniform—baggy flannel, sleeves pushed to her elbows, her tattooed forearm lazily resting against the register. Her hair was a little tousled, cheeks flushed like she’d been rushing around, and she was mouthing lyrics to whatever was playing softly overhead—Pixies, if you were hearing it right.

You leaned against the counter. "Hey, pretty girl."

Ellie jumped slightly, then quickly smoothed out her expression—though the pink in her cheeks deepened instantly. "You’re gonna give me a heart attack doing that," she mumbled, but her eyes sparkled as she took you in. "Also… hey."

"Missed me much?"

Ellie tried to act chill, but her smirk betrayed her. "Nah. I’ve had a great time reorganizing punk bands alphabetically. Living the dream."

"She’s lying," Jesse called out from the back. "She changed her shirt three times this morning."

"Dude," Ellie hissed.

You turned your grin toward Jesse, who was leaning out from behind one of the shelves with a box of used records. "Seriously?"

"She tried to wear the black one, then the gray one, then the black one again. I told her it didn’t matter, but apparently it really matters what you wear when your girlfriend comes by."

Ellie groaned and dropped her head to the counter. "I will kill you."

Jesse shrugged, unfazed. "Not before I write a song about this moment and play it in your funeral slideshow."

You laughed, leaning closer to Ellie’s crumpled form. "So… black shirt, huh?"

Her voice was muffled against the countertop. "I thought you liked the black one."

"I do." You reached up and gently tugged the collar of her flannel, teasing. "But I like you flustered even more."

Ellie sat up, squinting at you. "You’re evil."

You just gave her your most innocent smile.

"Okay," she said, crossing her arms and pretending to lean back casually, "well if you’re gonna come in here looking like that—"

"Like what?"

"You know what," she muttered, her voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch.

Jesse groaned from the back again. "If you two start making out on the counter, I’m calling your mom."

"I like her mom," Ellie shot back.

"Yeah, and her mom likes me more. Be afraid."

You choked on your laugh as Ellie blinked, betrayed. "What—"

"She follows me on Instagram," Jesse added smugly, vanishing back into the jazz section.

"Unreal," Ellie muttered.

You brushed your fingers against hers on the counter. "I think he might be my favorite coworker of yours."

"I am your favorite coworker!" Jesse yelled without missing a beat.

Ellie just stared at you, that little soft look settling back on her face. "He is a pain, I will give that, but… he likes you. A lot."

"Clearly." You bumped your knee against hers. "You jealous?"

Ellie raised a brow, her lips twitching. "You want me to be?"

"Maybe," you replied sweetly. "You’re cute when you get all huffy."

Ellie leaned in just a little, her voice low and teasing. "If you want me to get huffy, you’re gonna have to flirt with someone hotter than Jesse."

After a while, Ellie disappeared into the back and returned with something wrapped in brown paper.

"I got this for you," she said, suddenly a little shy again, eyes flicking to yours and then away. "Didn’t know if you had it, but I... I thought of you when I saw it."

You opened the paper gently—and gasped.

It was a first press vinyl. An artist you’d mentioned only once, months ago, during a late night cuddle session on her couch. She must’ve remembered.

Your voice came out soft. "Ellie…"

"It’s not a big deal," she said quickly, playing with her fingers nervously. "It’s kind of scratched, but I cleaned it up. Should play fine. Just figured…"

You were already throwing your arms around her neck.

She froze for a beat, then melted into you, her hand finding the small of your back instinctively.

"You’re unbelievable," you whispered.

Ellie buried her face in your shoulder, voice muffled. "You say that like it’s a good thing."

You pulled back enough to kiss her cheek, right below her freckle. "It is."

From the back, Jesse made a gagging sound, but neither of you moved away.

The rest of the day went slow and sweet. You stayed until closing, perched behind the register on the stool, flipping through albums while Ellie teased you with music trivia.

She got bolder as the afternoon stretched on—resting her hand on your thigh beneath the counter, brushing her fingers over yours whenever she walked by, low murmurs in your ear that made your chest flutter every time.

YOU WERE TRYING to not psych yourself out too much. Really, you were. You were just going to hang out with Ellie’s best friends, Jesse and Dina. You already knew Jesse. He was easy. Friendly. Teased Ellie in a way that made you feel instantly included.

But Dina… Well. You’d seen her that morning in the hallway, laughing with Ellie like something out of a damn romcom movie. Cool haircut and easy smile. You didn’t even mean to assume anything, but the image had branded itself into your brain and stayed there for a while.

And now Ellie had invited you to a little movie night at her place. Just the four of you. She’d been smiling, nervous and adorable, when she asked. 'She has been bugging me to meet you. Not in a weird way. Just—she’s just curious. You’re important.' You melted on the spot. Obviously had to say yes.

But now, with the microwave humming behind you and your fingers nervously playing with the hem of your hoodie—Ellie’s hoodie—you were bracing yourself for impact.

"Stop looking like you’re about to be sacrificed," Ellie said as she grabbed a drink from the fridge. She was dressed with a faded band tee and sweatpants, her freckles dusted pink with amusement.

"I’m not," you said, not very convincing. "I just—what if Dina hates me?"

Ellie frowned, slightly offended. "Why the hell would Dina hate you?"

You shrugged, and she gave you the Ellie Look. The one that meant you’re being ridiculous, but I also kind of love it. Then, softer: "She’s gonna love you." Then, quickly—"Not like that. I mean—love, like—fuck, you know what I mean."

You laughed, cheeks hot. "You're really bad at calming people down."

"I try my best," she mumbled, nudging your hand with hers. "C’mon. They’re almost here."

The knock came five minutes later, followed by the familiar voice of Jesse shouting through the door, "Ellie! I brought snacks and our combined bad taste in movies!"

Ellie pulled the door open and Jesse walked in like he owned the place, a bag of chips tucked under one arm and a six-pack in the other. "Hey, stranger," he grinned at you, giving you a one-armed hug. "Looking dangerously cozy tonight."

You laughed, giving him a warm smile. "I dressed up for the occasion."

He turned to Ellie. "So, you finally let her wear your real hoodie, huh? What happened to 'this one’s sacred?"

Ellie blushed furiously. "Shut up, Dude."

Then you heard another voice behind him. "Hi! Sorry, I made us stop to pet a cat. Totally worth it though." You looked up—and there she was. Dina. Radiant, cool, confident. And already giving you a warm smile like you were old friends.

You froze for half a second, caught between smile like a normal human for fuck’s sake and panic. Ellie watched your face like she knew exactly what was going through your mind.

Dina stepped forward and held out a hand. "You must be the neighbor. Ellie’s been hopelessly annoying about you."

Ellie groaned, face-palming behind you, and Jesse cackled. "It’s true. Still a loser."

Dina added, "I already feel like I know you. You’re basically a character in the group chat."

That made you laugh, the nerves slowly melting away. "Oh god. Hopefully a flattering character?"

"Absolutely!" Dina answered. "Though I do have questions about how you fell for the grumpy music goblin."

"Rude—"

Dina just winked and took your arm. "C’mon, you’re helping me with the popcorn. I need to know everything."

The kitchen turned into your safe zone. You and Dina hit it off shockingly fast—she was funny, warm, a little chaotic in the way that made you laugh constantly. Within ten minutes, she was mock-interviewing you while stirring cheese sauce for nachos.

Dina opened every cabinet in Ellie’s kitchen, grabbing ingredients and tossing them onto the counter. "We’re doing nachos. And maybe pizza."

She passed you a knife and a cutting board, then nudged her hip into yours like the two of you had done this a hundred times before. "So." She glanced at you sideways while dicing tomatoes. "Ellie’s been a wreck since she met you.”

You snorted. "I seriously doubt that."

"Nope. Total disaster. She’d come into work all flustered, humming Green Day like she’s in high school again."

You glanced toward the living room. “Does she always hum Green Day?”

"Only when she’s in a mood," Dina said, mock-serious. "Like, full-on love-sick loser behavior."

You giggled, cheeks warm. "You’re really selling her, wow."

"She’s got layers. Like an onion. Or a tortured lesbian lasagna."

You nearly dropped the knife from laughing. "A tortured lesbian lasagna?"

Dina grinned, clearly proud of herself. "It’s canon now."

You leaned against the counter, biting back a smile. "You’re not what I expected, honestly."

"Oh?" She looked curious. "What did you expect?"

You hesitated, then gave a sheepish shrug. "I kinda… thought you and Ellie were dating."

Dina blinked, then burst out laughing. "Me? God no. We tried kissing once in freshman year and it was like making out with my cousin."

"Oh my god."

"She made this weird sound with her nose," Dina added, pointing at the bridge of her own. "Like, nnchh—I can’t explain it. Traumatizing."

You doubled over in laughter. "You’re insane."

"And you’re adorable," Dina shot back, poking your arm. "I kinda get Ellie now."

You looked down, trying not to grin too hard.

"I’ve never seen her this soft. She’s usually all 'grr I don’t feel emotions unless they’re in minor chords.'"

You snorted. "She’s been very—sweet."

"Sweet?" Dina wiggled her eyebrows. "Did she show you her little CD shrine yet?"

"…Maybe."

"Then yeah, it’s over for her."

You were giggling over the counter with Dina when Jesse tapped Ellie’s shoulder gently, voice low. "She’s cool," he said.

Ellie didn’t take her eyes off the open kitchen. "Yeah."

Jesse watched her for a moment. "You’ve got that dumbass look on your face again."

She looked at him, deadpan. "Eat shit."

Jesse just grinned. "Can’t help it, huh?"

Ellie softened a little, voice quieter. "Can’t help it. I love seeing my favorite people together."

Jesse elbowed her lightly. "You’re so far gone it’s embarrassing."

Ellie didn’t even bother denying it.

Later, you all crammed onto the couch, Ellie squished between you and Jesse, Dina spread out with her feet in Ellie’s lap and her head in yours. The movie was some ridiculous cult classic Jesse insisted on, and most of the time was spent throwing popcorn at each other and cracking jokes.

By the end of it, Jesse and Dina were dead asleepç, and you were almost on that path. Your head was on Ellie’s shoulder. She looked down, nudged your hair gently with her nose, her voice soft. "You okay?"

You looked up. "Yeah. More than okay."

She smiled. "Told you she’d like you."

You leaned in closer, fingers brushing hers beneath the blanket. "Yeah. She’s great."

Ellie gave you this look—one full of warmth, and something deeper that she maybe didn’t even know how to say yet. And you thought, god. You were so screwed for her.

By the time Dina and Jesse left, it was already past midnight, and the apartment had gone utterly quiet. After hours of chaotic laughter and awful movie marathons, everything had finally settled into a hush. You stirred awake in Ellie’s bed, eyes blinking against the soft darkness. The space beside you was cold.

You sat up, rubbing sleep from your eyes, and instinctively looked toward the balcony door. The curtains swayed slightly with the breeze. You walked over, the hardwood cool under your bare feet, and peeked outside.

Ellie was there. Splayed out lazily on the patio couch—bare arms curled around her knees, a cigarette glowing softly in the dark. She was wearing a dark tank top and some oversized boxers, and her hair was a mess of tangled auburn locks.

You opened the door slowly, letting the cool air kiss your skin. "You’re gonna catch a cold out here, you know."

She didn’t turn immediately, but her lips quirked. "Nah. I’m immune."

You stepped out, arms crossed as you sat by her side. "Nuh-huh. That’s what every sick person says right before they get the flu and whine for three days straight."

Ellie glanced over her shoulder with a sheepish smile. "Okay, I’m maybe a little cold. Just didn’t wanna wake you." She leaned her head back, her voice low. "Tonight was good."

You hummed, pleased with the warmth that her body gave you, and suddenly sleepy again.

"I don’t know, it’s just… Jesse and Dina, they’re my people. They’ve been there through some heavy shit, you know? And seeing you with them…it just... it meant a lot."

You softened, your heart swelling in your chest. "I was nervous. With Dina, I mean. After that whole hallway thing, I thought maybe…"

Ellie groaned, her face falling into her hands for a second. "God, I’m never gonna live that down, am I?"

You laughed, nudging her shoulder softly. "Nope. But hey, it worked out."

Ellie took another drag, then stubbed out the cigarette in a tiny tray perched on the table. "It’s just… it’s kinda crazy. How fast this all happened. But it doesn’t feel rushed, y’know? You being here, in my space, it feels… right."

You rested your head on her shoulder, and Ellie immediately leaned into the touch, her cheek brushing against your hair. You could feel her smiling, even if you couldn’t see her face at the moment "It made me really happy."

Your chest ached in the best way. You leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. "You’re really stuck with me, Williams."

She laughed under her breath. "Good. I kinda like being stuck with you."

Eventually, you whispered, “Come back to bed?”

Ellie stood slowly, stretching out her arms. "Only if you promise not to tell Jesse how soft I got just now."

You grinned, taking her hand. “No promises."

YOU WERE barely awake when you heard the sound of a sniffle. Then a sneeze. Then another. Followed by a dramatic groan.

You open your eyes slowly, and turned your head slightly, frowning as you brought the back of your hand to her forehead. "Oh no, Ellie?"

"Mmmgh," she groaned. "I’m dying."

She was curled under three blankets, hoodie pulled tight over her head, only her red nose poking out. "I feel like death," she croaks.

You bit back a smile. "Oh really? That serious, huh?"

She rolled onto her back dramatically. "This is how it ends."

"Uh-huh." You shifted up onto your elbow, brushing a curl from her sweaty temple. "Told you you’d get sick, dummy. What was that you said last night? Something about being immune?"

"I was," she grumbled, voice hoarse. "Now I’m just... weak. Helpless."

"Pathetic, I would say" you offered, as you leaned down to kiss her burning cheek. "You want tea?"

She nodded, sniffling again. "With honey. And I also need like… the healing power of your presence."

You slid out of bed with a mock-salute. "Coming right up, you big baby."

It wasn’t long before you came back with the warm mug, setting it on the nightstand before sitting cross-legged beside her on the bed. Ellie struggled to sit up, groaning dramatically as she wrapped both hands around the tea and sipped carefully.

"You’re an angel," she murmured.

You grinned, brushing your fingers through her hair. "Don’t forget it."

She looked up at you with droopy, red-rimmed eyes. "Hey, uh… babe?"

"Mm?"

"Can you call Joel?" she asked, her voice suddenly a little sheepish. "We were supposed to get lunch today. Can you tell him… we’re canceling?"

You raised an eyebrow, smiling. "We’re canceling?"

Ellie blinked at you.

"No no, baby," you teased, taking the mug from her hands and setting it aside. "I’m telling him you’re canceling. I’m not getting dragged into the wrath of Joel Miller just ‘cause your dumb ass wouldn’t wear a hoodie."

Ellie groaned and flopped back down, covering her face with her pillow. "Cruel. Heartless. Betrayed by my own girlfriend."

"Go cry about it."

"I will, actually."

You laughed and leaned over to grab your phone from the nightstand. "Fine. I’ll call him. But don’t blame me when he tells you I’m the new favorite."

Ellie mumbled something incoherent as you pressed Joel’s contact and hit Call. He picked up after a few rings.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Joel, it’s me."

"Well, hey there, kid," he said, voice warm with recognition. "You and Ellie on your way?"

"Not exactly," you said with a little wince. "Ellie’s, uh… not doing so good."

He immediately sounded more alert. “What’s goin’ on?”

"She’s got a fever," you explained. "Caught something overnight. She’s okay, just cranky and dramatic about it."

Joel let out a soft chuckle. "That sounds about right."

"She wanted me to call and cancel lunch."

Joel sighed but didn’t sound particularly upset. "Figures. I told her to stop running around dressed like it’s summer."

You smiled, glancing over at Ellie, who was now peeking at you with one eye from under her pillow. "I mean, to be fair, she did say she was immune."

That got a full laugh out of Joel. "You takin’ care of her?"

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see. "Yeah, yeah, I got her. Made her tea, bullied her a little."

"Good," he said. "She’s lucky to have you."

Your chest fluttered, and you ducked your head, suddenly warm. "Thanks, Joel."

There was a pause, then his voice softened a bit. "You know, I wasn’t sure about anyone bein’ good enough for her." You blinked, lips parting. "But you… You might’ve shut me up."

Your throat tightened. You tried to swallow around the lump there. "That means a lot. Really."

"Take care of her, alright?"

"Always."

"Alright. I’ll see you two when she’s upright again."

You ended the call slowly, staring at your phone for a second before glancing back at Ellie. She was still under the pillow, but now she had a tiny, dorky smile on her face. "Shut him up, huh?" she said, voice thick with smugness despite the congestion.

You tossed a pillow at her. "You heard that?!"

"I did," she beamed, catching it and holding it to her chest like a trophy. "That’s the best I’ve ever felt while being miserable."

You slid back into bed beside her, pulling the covers up over both of you. "Next time you get a cold, I’m making you call him," you said, nuzzling into her shoulder.

"Deal," she whispered, already halfway back to sleep. "Love you."

You froze for just a second. Then your smile bloomed, unstoppable. "Love you too, baby."

YOUR DAY had been a disaster from the second you stepped into work.

It started with someone taking your lunch from the communal fridge — not just any lunch, but the one Elliecooked and poured her time and heart into it, both of you knowing how bad she sucked in the kitchen. The one she’d tucked a dumb little sticky note into, just saying, 'Pasta tastes better when shared w/ me. But I hope this helps. Love you.'

It only spiraled from there. A last-minute meeting turned into your boss questioning your ideas like they were barely coherent. A coworker made a passive-aggressive comment that echoed in your mind hours after. Everything you touched felt off. Wrong. You kept fumbling. Kept overthinking. You felt raw by the time you finally made it home.

You dropped your bag at the door and kicked off your shoes with an exhale that sounded like a sob if anyone had been there to hear it. You started to cry not much later, leaning against the wall for a minute, trying to steady yourself. Trying to remember that tomorrow would be better. That it was just a bad day, not a bad life. But it was hard when everything felt like it had weighed on your back all day long.

It was when you already dercided to skip dinner and crawl into bed that you saw it.

Sitting right in the middle of your little kitchen table was a bouquet — chaotic and beautiful. Lilies, your favorite, some you’d told Ellie you liked months ago, others that looked like she probably just thought were 'cute as fuck.' A few petals had already fallen onto the wood.

Next to it, a folded piece of notebook paper. Torn from the corner of a page, slightly smudged, written in the messy scrawl you recognized instantly.

Hi baby,

Here’s something for you to come home to.

You make everything better. For me. Just by existing. Come over later. Or now. Or whenever. Just know that I love you.

Your El.

You reread it twice before your vision blurred with tears again. But this time they weren’t sad ones, though. Just overwhelming. Just the kind of tears that come from feeling seen, known, and loved. You didn’t even think to grab shoes. You ran barefoot down the hallway, heart pounding, letter clutched in your hand.

Ellie opened the door at the second knock. There was music playing faintly behind her — something soft, acoustic — and her mouth opened to say something, but it caught in her throat the second she saw your face. "Oh," she breathed.

You must’ve looked a mess — eyes red, lashes damp, a slight tremble still in your hands from the adrenaline rush of holding it in all day. You couldn’t even say anything. Just looked at her, your lower lip wavering.

And Ellie —God. Ellie stepped forward so fast, so instinctively, that the door swung all the way open behind her.

"Baby," she whispered, both hands coming up to cradle your cheeks. Her thumbs wiped at the tear tracks like they offended her. "Hey. No— come here. Come here."

You let her pull you in, your arms looping tight around her waist as she hugged you, hugged you, like she’d been waiting all day for this exact moment. Like you were something precious and fragile and hers. You buried your face in her neck. Her hoodie smelled like cedarwood and smoke. She smelled like home.

"I— I was gonna text," you mumbled, breath hitching. "But then I saw it and I wanted to say thank you, I just—"

"No, no," she whispered, stroking the back of your head. "You don’t need to say anything. You’re okay. You’re with me."

She guided you inside wordlessly, closed the door with her foot, then walked you backwards toward the couch, her arms never leaving you for a second. She sat first, tugging you gently onto her lap, wrapping herself around you like a human blanket. Her hand rubbed slow, grounding circles up and down your spine.

After a while, when your breathing evened out and your fists unclenched a little against her hoodie, she pressed a kiss to your temple and murmured, "Wanna talk about it?" You shook your head. "Okay." She paused. "Wanna sit in silence and just let me hold you for a while?"

You nodded into her collarbone. Her grip tightened, like she was the one that needed you close. "Done. It’s already happening. You're stuck here. Tough luck."

You huffed a tiny laugh, and she grinned against your skin, proud of herself for pulling it out of you. "I’m sorry," you murmured eventually, voice hoarse. "I feel ridiculous."

Ellie pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. Her expression was so soft, it made you want to cry all over again.

"Don’t you dare," she said. "Don’t you ever apologize for having a hard day. You’re allowed to feel like shit sometimes."

You looked down at your hands in your lap, still nestled in the folds of her hoodie. "I just… I feel like I give and give, and people still find ways to make me feel small. Like I’m not enough."

Ellie took your hands in hers. "You’re more than enough," she said seriously. "You’re everything." Your heart squeezed. "And you didn’t give too much today," she added. "They just didn’t know how to receive it. That’s not on you."

You blinked at her. "Since when did you get so wise?"

She smirked like she was already proud of her answer. "Since I fell head over heels for a girl who cries at love letters and runs barefoot down the hall to kiss me."

You smiled and leaned in, your nose brushing hers, your voice a whisper. "I just really needed to see you."

Ellie kissed you slow and gently. "I’m always right here," she said. "I will always be right here for you."

You ended up falling asleep there, curled together on the couch, her hand still laced in yours, feeling her soft heartbeat against your own.

YOU WOKE UP to the smell of cinnamon.

Still groggy, you stretched a little, blinking against the early light slipping through Ellie’s curtains. You reached out instinctively — but her side of the couch was empty. Something gentle hummed through the apartment. Music, faint and crackly from the little record player in the corner. Something older — Nancy Sinatra, maybe. And cinnamon. Definitely cinnamon.

You sat up, your body heavy with sleep, but your chest felt lighter. You walked around the apartment barefoot, wearing only one of her shirts, the hem brushing your thighs.

Ellie was in the kitchen.

Hair messy, tied back in a low bun. Oversized hoodie. Socks half on, half falling down. She had flour on her face — actual flour — and was bent over the stove, very seriously flipping something in a pan.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and smiled. "I feel like I’m interrupting something private here."

Ellie jumped and turned — her entire face lighting up when she saw you.

"Babe," she said, like she’d been waiting for you all morning. "I was trying to let you sleep. Did I wake you?"

"You made your whole apartment smell like cinnamon. I’d wake up even in a coma."

She grinned and held up the pan like a trophy. "Cinnamon pancakes. I found this recipe online — well, Jesse texted it to me. He said it’s foolproof, so if they’re bad, we blame him."

You laughed, walking toward her, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind as she focused on pouring syrup into a tiny saucepan. She leaned back into your chest instinctively, humming under her breath. You swayed with her for a moment.

"You’re ridiculous," you mumbled into her hoodie.

She turned her head slightly, brushing her nose against your temple. "Nah. You just had a shitty day yesterday. And I hate it when you look sad."

You pressed a soft kiss to her neck. "So you decided pancakes would cure me?"

"Did it work?"

You thought about it — how your chest felt less tight, how the anxious hum in your bones had quieted, and how safe she made you feel just by standing there, solid and sleepy in her kitchen, making you breakfast. "It’s definitely helping."

After pancakes (which were — surprisingly — very good, despite Ellie nearly burning the first one and dramatically mourning it like it was a fallen soldier), she told you the plan for the day: "There’s no plan."

You blinked at her from across the table, licking syrup off your thumb. "No plan?"

"Nope. None." She leaned back in her chair, arms behind her head, looking pleased. "You’re not lifting a finger today. Not a single one. I’m your butler. Your chauffeur. Your loyal steed."

You snorted. "My what?"

"I take my girlfriend duties very seriously."

She really meant it, too. She ran you a bath with the stupidly fancy bubble stuff she’d teased you about the week before but then bought anyway. She showered you with compliments and let you pick a movie, not complaining even if it was one she’d already seen.

After dinner, she was inside the kitchen again, preparing a french dessert you mentioned once and she just happened to have every single ingredient. So here you were, smiling at the dedication and effort Ellie put into making you happy. She turned, and caught you staring.

"What?" She asked, suspicious.

"Nothing." You replied, trying not to smile.

"No, no. I know that look. That’s the I’m-about-to-roast-you look."

You tilted your head. "I’m not—"

"You’re about to say something mean and deeply offensive. I can feel it."

"I was just thinking about how you hold a spatula like it’s a weapon. Like you’re about to interrogate it." You shrugged innocently.

She gasped, pointing you with the utensil. "You take that back. I cook with precision."

"You cook like someone who’s holding the last weapon in a boss fight."

Ellie narrowed her eyes and closed the distance between you in three quick steps. "You wanna say that again, sweetheart?"

You smirked. "Or what, you gonna arrest me with the spatula?"

She blinked once. Then, wordlessly, she grabbed you—hands at your waist, firm and sudden—and hoisted you off the stool like you weighed absolutely nothing.

"El—!" you yelped, laughing, squirming as she walked you the three steps to the counter.

"Say it again," she said, deadly serious, "and I swear I’ll put you in the sink."

You were still giggling when she deposited you on top of the kitchen counter, your legs dangling and hoodie riding up your thighs. She stepped between your knees, arms on either side of you. Your laughter softened into breathless smiles. Your cheeks hurt. Her eyes were so green up close, you could almost count every single freckle that embelished her visage.

"Not gonna lie," you murmured, "this is kinda hot."

Ellie raised a brow. "Me threatening you with domestic violence is hot?"

"Only when it ends like this."

She laughed and leaned forward, resting her forehead against yours. "You’re ridiculous," she whispered.

"You love it."

"Unfortunately, I do."

You kissed her, soft and lazy, her hands resting gently on your thighs now. When you pulled back, you ran your fingers over her jaw. "Thanks for today. For everything."

She shrugged, but her ears were already red. "Didn’t do that much."

"You spoiled me. You’re still spoiling me."

"Yeah, well, you deserve it."

You touched the tip of her nose with your finger. "You’re a sap."

She grinned. "And you’re lucky."

"I am," you whispered. "I really, really am."

The moment stretched, the kind of moment you wanted to live in forever. And then, "okay, but seriously,” you added, poking her side. "I’m never gonna forget the way you flipped that first pancake this morning. It flew."

She groaned and buried her face in your neck. "Don’t. Don’t bring that up. That pancake died tragically."

"It looked like a UFO. I thought it was gonna hit the ceiling—"

"You are banned. Banned from my kitchen."

You laughed and wrapped your arms around her shoulders, letting her hold you there, tucked against the warm crook of her neck, swaying slightly to the background hum of the record player. Her fingers tapped along your thigh to the beat, and for a while, you just breathed her in.

And when you finally curled up with her on the couch, full of tea and warm and soft all over, you rested your head on her shoulder and whispered, "You really went all out."

Ellie kissed the top of your head. "You’re allowed to have bad days," she said quietly. "But I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure the day after feels better. Always."

You looked up at her, your heart so full it ached. "Ellie."

"Hm?"

"You’re gonna make me cry again."

She smiled, leaned in, and kissed you softly. "Yeah, but like… the good kind this time."

You nodded, curling closer, letting the world outside dissolve. Wrapped in her arms, safe and held and spoiled absolutely rotten, you finally let yourself believe it — that no matter how rough things got out there, this would always be your soft place to land. You could definitely get used to this.

perm taglist !

@valeisaslut @firefly-ace @sevslover @twopeoplee @mayfldss @elliesfavtoy @usuck @avalovesmus1c @samcvrpenters @mars4hellokitty @prettyinpink69 @yashirawr @furtherrawayy @maximumdreamlandcoffee @elliesfavgirlfriend @abcline006 @marieeeluvsyou @smaugayra @eriiwaiii2 @d1psht @creativedespaitr @leaaavesss @yasmilks @piastorys @nemesyaaa @elliewilliamskisser2000 @mascspleasegetmepregnant @oatmatchalatte @leeidk87

neighbor!ellie taglist !

@alinerr @liztreez @wwefan2002

[headmastersapprentice]

Virgin!reader x toxic gf!ellie

She pressures reader to have sex with her and she’s really rough with her even when reader asks her to be gentle

(Btw I love your writing so much 🩷)

— ᴛᴏxɪᴄ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ; ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ɢꜰ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ (ꜰ!) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ; ᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀʟꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴅᴜʙ ᴄᴏɴ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ ᴏɴ

Ellie believes she has been more than patient. She notices the flicker of fear and the shadows of disagreement that cross your face whenever she brings having sex up, and she chalks it up to the norm. After all, it's only natural to feel apprehensive about the first time; she experienced those nerves herself. Yet, as she watches you, a wave of hunger washes over her, making it all the more enticing to bridge the gap between you and her. The way you lay in bed, watching TV, panties visible the her. She nearly swears you're doing it on purpose. It makes her think of all the times you were so needy but refused to have sex. She could hear you cumming on your pillow at least three times in one night while she stayed in the living room.

She wanted to keep being the slow-moving and forbearing lover, keeping to her promises of giving you as much time as needed and hiding how she truly felt. But her patience has always had limits.

She shuffles into the bedroom, a hand running through her hair. She was forming a script of words she’d whisper at you to finally bring you over the edge and give in. Your gaze shifts onto her, closing your thighs with a small redness on your cheeks. Ellie crawls onto the bed besides you, slipping one of her arms around your face to turn you and face her. Your puppy-like eyes stare up at her, an incoming pout forming. Her free hand strokes your cheek, a moment of intimate silence before she speaks up.

“How are you feeling, babe?” She whispers, thumb tracing circles on your hip. You grumble under your breath, being held flush against Ellie. Your eyes would dart around on her face, her tattoos. Your thighs clenched together. "Bit sleepy, just couldn't fall asleep." You huffed.

Ellie tuts, moving strands of hair out of your face in faux sympathy. "Poor baby," She begins, slipping a leg between your thighs, catching you by suprise. Your hands rested on her chest defensively, nodding. "Need help going to sleep?" You had an idea of what she could be suggesting, but you trusted her to respect your wishes, so you nodded again and asked "How?"

A smile ends up painted on Ellie's lips, refraining from rocking her knee against your clothed cunt just yet. “Y’know,” Her hands wander away from your hips and face, instead groping your tits in implication. You couldn't have shaken your head quicker, brows furrowing. Your hands pushed against Ellie's chest but she just held you closer. "Shh, shh, c'mon. It'll help you go to bed in no time, baby."

Your breathing was slightly uneven, biting your bottom lip. You wanted to sleep, but it was just so soon in your mind for sex. "I'll be so, so gentle, baby." You trusted Ellie, or at least you wanted to. Yet, you still denied the consistent offer. "No– Ellie, I'm not ready.." She rolls her eyes, body now above yours on the bed. She was caging you in. "Don't you wanna make me happy?" Her statement gave you a moment of contemplation. You feared her leaving if you didn't give her what she wanted soon enough.

“You promise you’ll be gentle?” Ellie keeps one hand besides your head on the bed, the other one reaching her pinky out to you childishly. “Pinky promise.” When your finger interlocked with hers, a small leaving your lips at the gesture, her hands went straight to undressing herself. She hovered above you, her belt undone right before you. You couldn't help but whimper, her boxers just begging to be taken off.

Your fingertips trace the waistband, seeing her already having a strap underneath. It slightly threw you off, wondering if she had planned this, but you didn't have much time to keep thinking when she fully tugged them down. The silicone dick was girthy, her palm encasing it and stroking it as if it were real. “Not gonna fit, Els..” She scoffed, kissing you to shut you up while removing your shirt and hiking up your skirt to reveal your panties and take those off too.

You responded to the kiss with fervor, hands tangling in her hair and groaning into the kiss alongside her. She didn't even reach down to play with your clit nor stretch you out with her fingers, lining up her cock to your entrance. Your tongue was exploring her mouth and she held you closer.

When you felt it stretch you completely, Ellie immediately buried herself to the hilt, you broke the kiss. Your eyes were wide, a bit of pain in your expression. Ellie groaned, hand resting on your throat as she began to thrust inside you. You whimpered, squeamish from the pain and incoming pleasure. She moaned into your neck now, hand pressing against your lower tummy so you could feel all of her inside you. “Fuckk— you don’t know how long I’ve needed this,”

You clawed at her back, head thrown against the mattress. Her pace was unrelentless and you felt the tip nudging your cervix. She pulled back from your neck, grasped your thighs, and kept pumping her dick into your sopping cunt. Tears welled in your eyes, it felt so good but it was so unwarranted. “Ellie— so- s’mean!” You whimpered, huffing and panting.

Your vision got blurry from both the tears and how her cock made your head swirl, you were filled to the brim. “Fuck, don’t- don’t cry, baby,” She was gasping for air, and even as you got closer and closer, she kept ramming the strap inside you. The sound of squelching and skin-slapping bounced off the walls, a knot forming deep in your tummy. “You’re dripping on me, baby, I can’t be that mean?” She chuckled breathlessly.

Your eyes were basically rolled to the back of your head, tongue lolling out. You wanted so badly to be mad and yell, but you couldn’t do much, just babble incoherent words. Your mouth was nearly completely slack, “Fuck— Els, can’t, can’t ta-take—“ She hummed, nodding and letting you ramble.

“You can, can take everything I give you, going so fuckin’ dumb,” She kept pounding into you, she swears she can feel you clench around her dick. You couldn’t stop squirming, back arching, she held you right in place while fucking you through your orgasm. She slithered a hand between your thighs to rub circles on your clit, throwing you over the edge and cumming all over her

Her pace slowed down, instead giving harsher, deeper thrusts as you came down from the high. Ellie pulled the silicone cock out, resting it on your abdomen with the white ring of cream you left on it. She swiped sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, kissing it gently. She noticed the upset front you put on, her pride too high to say sorry.

Instead, she whispers sweetly in your ear, “You’ll forgive me, right?”

[headmastersapprentice]

loser ellie fucking you from behind drives me crazy

mdni. warnings: needy!loser!ellie, sub e, switch e, switch r, fingering (r receiving), oral (e receiving), somno, ellie has nipple piercings, established relationship | lmk if i missed anything!

"baby, wake up, please." ellie whined in your ear, grinding her hips against your ass from behind, slipping her hand under your shirt. you barely stirred at the feeling of your girlfriend groping your tit, sleepily mumbling a "go back to sleep, el"

the poor girl whimpered at the denial, burying her face in your neck from behind. ellie squeezed one of your boobs with her eyes squeezed shut, wanting you awake so bad, but she didn't want to be denied again.

then she remembered a conversation the two of you had a while ago, about using each other in your sleep. she knew you were okay with it... so it'd be fine, right?

ellie was nervous about it, her hand tentatively leaving your shirt to toy with the waistband of your shorts, the tip of her middle finger underneath the stretchy material.

her lips parted to nip at a spot under your ear, trying to relax as her hand slid down further into your pants, tugging at the subtle lace on the edge of your panties. ellie tucked her fingers under it to make contact with your folds, trying not to pout when she found your pussy dry. knew it was irrational to pout over it, you were sleeping, but she realized that she wished your pussy was always wet for her.

your brows furrowed in your sleep when her middle finger dragged through your folds before settling on your clit, but you didn't stir. her finger rubbed small circles on your clit, burying her face in the crook of your neck, her hips rubbing up against your ass in a pathetic search for friction.

"babe... want you..." she whimpered, her finger sliding down from your clit to your entrance, gathering the little wetness on her finger so she could slide it inside you. your face scrunched up, your walls squeezing her finger, as if subconsciously trying to push her out.

ellie pouted faintly, starting to pump her finger in and out of your pussy. she heard you whine in your sleep at the invasion, squirming a little bit against her. she pushed you onto your stomach, her hand leaving your shorts to just pull them down entirely, along with your underwear, baring your ass to her.

you barely moved when your girlfriend shifted you, nor when she slipped her middle and ring fingers inside you. she laid on your back, pressing her face between your shoulder blades as her fingers started to become increasingly rougher.

you groaned when she moved rougher, your cunt squeezing around her digits. ellie pressed a kiss to your skin, trying to coax you awake. her efforts had finally started to work, because your eyes were fluttering open within a few moments. "ellie? what are you doing?" you said groggily, mind being slow to catch up with your body. a gasp left your mouth when her fingers pressed against your g-spot, turning your head in an effort to look at her. "ellie."

she whined in response, pressing her mouth to the spot below your ear. "m'sorry, needed you so bad. needed this pussy." she murmured, her voice more of a whimper than anything else.

your mouth fell open in a silent moan, raising your hips to push back against her fingers. "ellie... i'm so close." ellie just whimpered, her fingers curling inside you and her thumb slipping through your folds to rub your clit, groaning when your walls clamped down around her fingers with the force of your orgasm.

ellie felt dizzy when she felt you cum around her fingers, pulling them out of you after you'd come down from your high, lifting them to her mouth to suck the digits clean.

but now that you were awake and more alert, you were a little annoyed with her for waking you. but you couldn't find it in you to punish her, instead pushing her onto her back, pinning her down against the mattress. "such a needy girl." you murmured, smiling when her head lifted up to kiss you, your head pulling back out of her reach.

your girlfriend just frowned, the little quirk so cute that you decided to take pity on her, leaning down to capture her lips with yours. ellie hummed happily into it, her hands finding your waist and just holding you above her. "want you."

your lips left hers to press against her cheek, then her nose. "sit on my face then." you whispered, pulling away to watch the red spread on her cheeks and nose. the poor, needy girl looked dazed at the command, making you smile even wider when she nodded absentmindedly.

her hand went to your shoulder, nudging you to lay back against the bed, and you willingly went. she reached down to tug her pants and boxers down, leaving them at the end of the bed, then crawling up your body so her knees were on either side of your head, her soaked pussy just inches away from your lips.

you couldn't help but moan at the sight. shit, she really liked fucking you in your sleep, huh?

ellie gasped when she felt your hands curl around her thighs, pulling her down to latch your mouth to her clit. her fingers sank into your hair almost immediately, keeping your head in place as her hips bucked against your mouth. your eyes were fixed on her face as your tongue slipped into her hole, watching her mouth fall open, grinding down against the soft muscle.

ellie got so close so quickly, riding your mouth like you were nothing but a toy, chasing her orgasm. one of your hands reached up into her shirt to squeeze one of her tits, toying with her nipple piercing. her hand clamped over yours, keeping your hand against her chest as loud moans and whimpers spilled from her mouth, her hips moving faster against your tongue.

her pussy clamped down around your tongue, gushing into your mouth with shaking thighs, slumping forwards from her orgasm. you lapped at her cunt to work her through it, smiling against her when she shivered and tried to get off you.

you helped her lay back down, and she immediately snuggled up against your side, making you giggle as your arms circled around her. "we've gotta clean up, el."

she just smiled at the sound of your giggle, pressing her face in the crook of your neck, muttering a lazy response. "in a minute, baby."

ellie loved how you reacted to waking up with her knuckles deep inside you, and she knew she'd be doing it again very soon.

first time writing actual smut so it's awful but wtv

[headmastersapprentice]

RIDING/GRINDING ON ELLIES TITS

spoiler: she cums first!!!

ellie x reader

CW: established relationship, reader riding/grinding on ellies tits, e! cums and r! doesn't (or at least it's not mentioned) ,mentions of readers tits bouncing (doesn't necessarily mean she's supposed to have big boobs?), not proofread

"You want to what?" she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion, staring at you as if you've just made the most outrageous request imaginable.

"Ride your tits"

Ellie blinks, her gaze flickering between you and your words, still hanging in the air. You're perched on the edge of the bed, your lips forming a subtle pout, waiting for her to process it all.

She couldn't quite wrap her head around where this idea had come from. Of course, she'd never deny you anything; she'd move mountains if you asked her to. But... wow, she hadn't realized you harbored these kinds of fantasies.

You two had always been open with each other. She knew how much Ellie adored—no, obsessed with your breasts. But you? Well, that was a different story altogether.

"I mean... I just want to try it, but if you're not into it, I totally get it," you said, your voice soft and sincere. You never wanted to make her feel uncomfortable. But Ellie quickly shook her head, her expression softening.

"It’s not that, babe," she replied, her tone gentle. "I’m just... honestly shocked that you want to try something like this."

"But I really do..." you mumble, your voice soft but determined. You slowly crawl over to her on the bed, where she’s sitting with her back propped up against the headboard. Leaning in, you gently tug at her hoodie, your breath brushing against her ear as you whisper, “I want to ride your tits"

Without much more hesitation, Ellie’s on her back, stretched out across the bed. Her hoodie lies forgotten on the floor, and her undershirt is bunched up enough to reveal her tits.

Her breath hitches as you slip off your underwear and position yourself on top of her. She notices how wet you are. She could’ve sworn it was glistening under the warm glow of the bedside lamp, catching the light just right like it was begging to be touched.

Ellie's eyes widen slightly as she takes in the sight of you, straddling her with your most intimate area just inches from her chest. She swallows hard, her voice barely a whisper, "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

You don't answer, instead you just look down at her and lower yourself.

Her breath catches in her throat as she feels the warm, wet sensation of your clit pressing almost directly onto her nipple. Her hands instinctively move to gently grip your thighs, holding you in place as she looks up at you with lidded eyes.

Ellie's nipples harden beneath you, and she lets out a soft moan, her hips involuntarily bucking slightly. She can feel the heat radiating from your pussy, and it's driving her wild. She swallows hard, trying to find her voice.

Fingers dig into your flesh as she tries to remain still, knowing that any movement on her part could send you both over the edge. "Fuck," she hisses under her breath, her gaze flickering between your face and the contact point between your bodies. "This is insane."

Ellie can feel your breath growing faster and shallower as you slowly shift your hips, trying to find the perfect spot. She can see the beads of sweat forming on your forehead, chuckling slightly at your concentration.

Ellie's eyes roll back slightly as she feels you finally find that perfect spot, your clit grinding down on her hard nipple. She lets out a loud moan, her back arching involuntarily, pushing her chest up further into you. "Shit, right there..."

"Yeah? You like that too?" you ask, breathless, your voice low and a little shaky.

"Fuck yes..." she pants out, her voice thick with desire. She can barely think straight with the way you're riding her tits, you wetness smearing onto her chest. "You're gonna... fuck..." She trails off, losing her train of thought as another moan escapes her lips.

Picking up your pace, your movements growing more desperate as your hands find her arms, gripping them for support—pinning her down gently, but with purpose.

You lean down, your chest hovering just above her face, close enough for her breath to ghost across your skin. Her eyes flicker up to meet yours, wide with something between awe and hunger.

Ellie's eyes flutter closed for a moment as she lets out a deep moan, your movements driving her wild. She can feel your wetness coating her nipple, and the sensation is almost too much to bear. Her hips buck up slightly, meeting your rhythm as she whispers, "Holy fuck..."

Her gaze is firmly locked on your own bouncing tits as you ride her. She watches, mesmerized, as they jiggle and shake just inches from her face. Her mouth waters at the sight, and she can feel her own desire building to an almost unbearable level. "Jesus Christ..."

Suddenly she cries out, her body convulsing beneath you as a powerful orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy clenches around nothing, aching from the intense stimulation received solely from your breasts grinding against hers. Panting heavily, she grips your arms tighter.

“Did you just—?” you ask, breath hitching as your body keeps moving, grinding down without pause. Your voice is soft, airy, nearly lost in the heat between you.

You glance down to meet her eyes. She’s already looking up at you, flushed, chest rising and falling fast. Her fingers tighten around your waist, grounding you—and maybe herself.

She lets out a breathy laugh, barely a whisper. “Y-Yeah.”

A dazed smile pulls at your lips, the haze in your mind making everything feel warm and weightless.

And then, in that small space between heartbeats, Ellie says it—gentle, reverent.

“You’re so pretty.”

[headmastersapprentice]

when you need the job done

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: moving out alone for the first time might be scary—and awfully exhausting. you’re lucky you have a very handy lesbian as a neighbor.

word count: 6.8k

THE BOX you were carrying was way too heavy. You knew it the second you stubbornly yanked it out of the trunk, but by the time you realized how unwise that was, you were already halfway up the steps to your new apartment. The one that didn't have an elevator.

A bead of sweat ran down your temple. Your arms were shaking, the cardboard creaking ominously, and you could feel the edge of a textbook digging into your thigh through the bottom of the box.

You grunted softly as you stagger forward, muttering under your breath, "okay, stupid idea, officially noted."

That’s when you heard it. A door creaking open. You looked up, flustered, and caught sight of her. A young woman that was standing in the open doorway of the unit just across the hall. Faded gray hoodie, sweatpants that sat a little too low on her hips, and a tangle of auburn hair in a messy bun that looked like it gave up halfway. One hand gripped the door frame, the other clutching a half-eaten granola bar.

She blinked at you, shocked. You offered a small, sheepish smile. "Hi."

She blinked again. "Uh—hi."

There was a beat of silence. She kept staring at you, and you shifted your weight, struggling to hold the box and at the same time balance your pride. "I, uh… just moved in."

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, no—I figured. New face. And boxes. That’s… obvious. Sorry."

You bit back a laugh. "I promise I’m not usually this pathetic. Just… long drive. Too much stuff."

Ellie snapped out of it suddenly, like her brain had just rebooted. "Shit—wait. Let me help you with that."

Before you could protest, she’s stepping forward, quickly wiping her hand on her hoodie like she just remembered she’s eating, then gently taking the box from you like she’s worried you’ll shatter if she’s too rough. And she lifted it as if it didn't weight anything. God, you're not sure if it was just the exhaustion, but was the room suddenly hotter? Or was it just you?

"Oh my god," you exhaled in relief, letting your arms drop. "Thank you. You may have just saved my spine."

She grinned softly, cheeks a little pink. "No problem. I’m Ellie, by the way."

You gave her your name, and she repeated it quietly under her breath, like she wanted to make sure she didn’t forget. It was oddly endearing.

She followed you into your apartment and gently sat the box down by the window. "Wow. You’ve got, like… a lot of books."

You glanced around at the stack of boxes marked READING / PLEASE DON’T CRUSH, smiling a little. "Guilty. I had a system, but the system kinda died somewhere around hour five of unpacking."

Ellie nodded like she got it. "Want some help? I mean—only if you want. I don’t have anything going on. Just… reorganizing my guitar pedals and regretting life choices."

You raised an eyebrow. "Guitar pedals?"

She blushed faintly. "Yeah. Music nerd. Don’t judge."

"I’d never," you replied, already walking toward the nearest box. "If you’re serious about helping, I’ve got a bookshelf I was too scared to try assembling alone."

She perked up immediately. "I’m your girl."

An hour later, Ellie was sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, her hoodie sleeves pushed up—her arm tattoo on full display, as she studied the instruction manual with a look of pure concentration.

There was a screw between her lips and her hair was falling in her face, but she didn’t seem to notice. You were lying on the rug beside her, trying not to laugh. "You look like you’re defusing a bomb."

She spat out the screw with a grin. "This is Ikea. You never know." You laughed, and Ellie beamed at the sound. "Okay, hand me the... um. That… L-shaped—thingy."

"You mean the Allen wrench?"

"Right. That. Allen. Bastard of a wrench."

You passed it to her and watched as her hands worked with practiced ease, though she was still mumbling things like 'who designed this nightmare' under her breath. After a few minutes, the pieces started to come together.

You offered her a drink from your tiny fridge, and she takes it with a soft 'thanks,' sipping while scanning the partially-built shelf.

"You know," she said casually, "this place is nice. Good lighting. Kinda cozy already."

"Think I’ll like it here."

Ellie shrugged, maybe a little too fast. "Yeah, well. I mean. You’ve got a cool neighbor, so."

You laughed, leaning your head back against the wall. "I really do."

ELLIE WAS standing at your door, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, wiping her hands on her jeans even though she hadn’t touched anything in the past ten minutes. The bookshelf was done. The boxes were stacked a little neater. She helped more than she should have for someone who just met you, and now there’s a weird lull in the air like… okay, what happens now?

You stretched your arms overhead, groaning quietly as your back pops. "Okay, officially retiring from lifting furniture."

Ellie snorted. "You say that now. Wait until you realize you still have, like, six more boxes marked 'miscellaneous disaster'."

You groaned again, dramatically this time. "Those are tomorrow’s problems." Then, with a soft sigh, you glanced toward your hallway and say, "God, I still need to get a new bulb for the bedroom. I haven’t been able to see in there since I got here."

Ellie raises her brows. "No light at all?"

"None," you say. "And of course, I packed the lamps in the box that’s... still in my car. Which is currently blocked in by some delivery truck of doom."

There was a pause. You expected a laugh, maybe a 'good luck with that.' Instead, she played with two of her fingers awkwardly, and smiled at you. "I could take you?" she said.

You blinked. "What?"

"To the store," she shrugged, eyes darting away like she regrets offering. "I was just gonna run out and grab snacks or something anyway."

You tilted your head. "You were?"

Ellie turned red, but tried to play it cool. "Yeah. Definitely. Wasn’t just gonna, y’know, spiral alone in my apartment or anything."

You both knew that was a lie. But you laughed, and something in her posture relaxed. "Okay," you replied, smiling. "Yeah. Let’s go lightbulb hunting."

Ten minutes later, you’re both in Ellie’s dusty old truck—windows slightly cracked, and a faint smell of pine from a crooked air freshener hanging from the mirror. She was gripping the wheel like she’s trying not to white-knuckle it, sneaking occasional glances at you when she thinks you’re not looking. You’re pretty sure you caught every single one.

At the hardware store, the lightbulb section was far more overwhelming than it had any right to be. You stood in front of it together, baffled by the sheer number of wattage options.

"Why are there so many types?" you whispered.

Ellie whispered back, "capitalism."

Eventually, you grabbed the right one (after way too much debate about warm vs. cool lighting), and Ellie casually picked up a few things for herself. Chips. A soda. A pack of sour candy she pretended not to want until you caught her staring at it for a solid minute.

"You’re definitely a sour candy person," you said as she tosses it into the basket.

Ellie shrugged, cheeks pink. "You're saying that like it’s a bad thing."

You shook your head. "No, just… makes sense."

"Yeah?"

"Yep," you said softly, smiling. "It’s cute."

She froze. Didn’t say anything for five seconds. Then muttered a very quiet, 'Oh.' You pretended not to notice how red her ears go.

BACK AT YOUR apartment, it took about eight minutes to screw in the new bulb—and then you were both just… standing in your now-lit bedroom, staring at the glow like you’ve just witnessed a miracle.

"Let there be light," Ellie said reverently.

You laughed and flopped back onto your mattress dramatically. "I owe you my life."

She leaned against the doorway, hands in her hoodie pocket, watching you with the kind of soft smile she probably doesn’t even realize she’s wearing. "You don’t owe me anything."

You glanced at the clock. "You hungry?"

Ellie paused. "Me?"

"No, the bookshelf." You smirked. "Of course you, dummy. C’mon. I’m starving. And you did save my spine."

She tried to brush it off with a joke—'I do take payment in pepperoni'—but you could tell she was secretly thrilled.

Twenty-five minutes later, a pizza box was open between you on the living room floor, two paper plates balancing precariously on a stack of books. You’d strung up some fairy lights that Ellie offered to 'totally not judge you for owning,' and now the room is bathed in warm, flickering gold.

You were sitting cross-legged, a slice in hand. "God, I didn’t realize how hungry I was."

Ellie smiled behind her cup of soda. "You looked like you were gonna pass out when I showed up earlier."

"Honestly? Close."

There was a pause. She glanced at you, then down at her food, then back at you. "I’m glad you let me help," she says.

"Yeah?"

She nods, playing with a corner of the box. “I don’t… really do that. Talk to people, I mean. Not right away. But you’re… easy."

You rose an eyebrow, smirking. "Easy?"

"I mean—you’re easy to talk to,” she blurted. "Not like—not in a bad way. You just—shit. That sounded wrong."

You burst out laughing. "Relax. I know what you meant."

She groaned into her hands. "Kill me."

"Never," you laughed. There’s a lull after that. A comfortable one.

You leaned back on your hands, stretching your legs out toward her. "So what’s your story, Neighbor Ellie? Mysterious girl across the hall. Fixes furniture. Gives rides. Loves sour candy."

She gave you a look. "You clocked all that in one night?"

"I’m a fast learner."

She exhaled a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Okay, well. I moved here a couple years ago. Work in a CD store. Play guitar in my free time. Live a thrilling life of talking to no one and watching horror movies until 2 AM."

"Wow," you deadpanned. "Truly a menace."

She smirked. "I contain multitudes."

You nudged her leg with your foot. "I think you’re cool."

Ellie went so quiet after that you worry you went too far. But then she said, soft: "I think you’re pretty cool too."

Neither of you moved for a second. The pizza was getting cold, the lights were flickering softly. She was staring at you like you hung the stars, and your heart’s doing something very inconvenient in your chest.

IT WASN’T HARD TO figure out where Ellie worked. Not like you stalked her or anything—she just... mentioned it. Casually. In passing. And it stuck with you, that offhand comment about shifts and sorting and 'old people complaining about the price of CDS like it’s 1985.'

And okay, maybe you were a little too curious. Maybe you had a free day and a really good memory. And maybe there weren’t that many record stores in town to begin with.

You checked out the first shop—a dusty little place with an impressive jazz section and a guy behind the counter who looked old enough to have invented jazz. No Ellie. The second one was sleek and modern, curated for aesthetic Instagram posts, with alphabetized playlists and diffused lighting. Also, no Ellie. But the third one… That’s where you saw her.

She was behind the counter, alone, hunched over a small stack of CDs, scribbling something onto tiny sticky notes with a black pen clutched between ink-smudged fingers. Her hair was tied up in a low bun, loose strands falling into her face as she worked. She was mouthing the words to whatever track was playing overhead—some soft, rock ballad you didn’t recognize—but it made the whole place feel hushed, intimate, like stepping into someone’s favorite memory.

You stood near the entrance for a second too long.

Ellie glanced up and froze. Her pen paused mid-word. You caught the brief flicker of surprise on her face—like she wasn’t expecting to ever see you here, like this part of her life was separate and you’d somehow wandered past the invisible boundary.

But then her expression shifted, softening into something unreadable. The corners of her mouth twitched like she was trying to decide whether to smile or run.

She settled on a weird middle ground. "Oh," she said nonchalantly. "Hey."

You raised a hand, suddenly hyper-aware of your own body, your posture, the fact that you hadn’t really thought through what you’d say when this moment came. "Hey. Fancy seeing you here."

Ellie blinked. "In my place of work?"

You laughed, and she smiled for real this time. "Right. I was just... exploring the neighborhood," you lied. "Didn’t realize this store was so close."

She nodded slowly, clearly not buying it—the store was a twenty-minute drive from the apartment complex— but was too polite to call you out. "Yeah? You into CDs?"

"Definitely," you said, scanning the shelves like you weren’t about to have a heart attack. "I mean, I personally prefer vinyls, but yeah, CDs are like, super retro. Very... round."

Ellie snorted. "That’s one way to describe them."

You wandered closer, pretending to browse, your fingers grazing the spines of old cases. She watched you, but not in a judgmental way. More like she was trying to figure you out.

"Do you work every day?" you asked after a moment.

"Nah," she said, leaning on the counter. "Just a few days a week. Tuesdays, Thursdays, sometimes Saturdays."

You nodded like that wasn’t valuable information now burned into your brain. You grabbed a Fleetwod Mac CD, and took out your wallet to pay. "Cool," you said. "Guess I’ll have to stop by again."

"No, uh, don’t worry. It’s on the house." Ellie scratched the back of her neck, eyes darting to her Casio watch. "You, uh... wanna hang out after I’m done? My shift ends at five."

"You sure?"

"You don’t have to. I just thought—I dunno, maybe we could go get coffee. Or you could show me your superior taste in 'very round CDs.'"

You grinned. "I’d like that."

Ellie looked down, then back up through her lashes. "Cool. Yeah. Cool."

You ended up spending the next half hour pretending to look through racks while sneaking glances at her—and she, in return, kept stealing glances at you in the reflection of the display glass. And when five o’clock finally rolled around, she practically flew out from behind the counter, tugging on her jacket and fumbling with the sleeves like she was nervous. Which, honestly, made two of you.

THE COFFEE SHOP Ellie picked was small, local, and mostly empty by the time you both got there—quiet enough that your conversation didn’t have to compete with the noise, but not so silent that the pauses felt heavy. The barista gave Ellie a little nod when she walked in, like she was a regular, and Ellie just muttered a soft 'hey' back before holding the door open for you.

You sat by the window, your cups warming your hands, and the conversation came easier than you thought it would. Ellie was shy, yeah, but not in that way where she tried to disappear. It was more like she was deliberate. Careful. She listened to you like you were saying things worth remembering.

She told you about the weird guy who always came in looking for jazz CDs they didn’t have, and how she’d once spent two hours reorganizing the punk section just because she couldn’t stand the way someone else had done it. You talked about the move, the disaster of trying to assemble your own bookshelf, and the apartment above yours that sounded like a zoo with a drum set.

Ellie laughed at that one, and you caught yourself staring just a little too long at the way her eyes crinkled when she did it. You suddenly felt the urge to count every single freckle that was marked in her face.

Somewhere between a refill and a shared chocolate chip cookie, she glanced at the clock and said, "Wanna come over?"

"To your place?"

She scratched at the back of her neck. "I mean, only if you want. No pressure. I just—I have this CD collection I was talking about and, uh... coffee shops close eventually."

You tried not to smile too obviously. "Sure. I’d love to."

Ellie’s apartment was quite similar to yours—after all, both were from the same block, but something about it was undeniably her. The couch was beat-up but clean, the walls were decorated with band posters and a couple of hand-drawn sketches you didn’t ask about yet, and her windowsill had a few neglected plants that were somehow still alive.

"I wasn’t really expecting company," she said, kicking off her shoes near the door. "Sorry if it’s a little... messy."

You looked around. "Ellie, this is better than mine by far."

She shrugged, clearly flustered, and motioned for you to take a seat while she made herself busy putting on a playlist— just background enough to not distract from her own nervous energy. With your drink still in hand, you wandered to the shelf near the TV, running your finger along the neatly organized spines of her CD collection. "So this is the shrine."

"Hey, don’t mock the shrine," she said, coming to stand beside you. "It’s got history."

You glanced at the rows and rows of titles—some familiar, others completely new to you. "What’s your holy trinity, then?"

She paused, seriously considering it. "Green Day, Radiohead, and—don’t laugh—The Smashing Pumpkins."

You blinked. "Why would I laugh?"

"I dunno. People always think I’m gonna say something cooler. Nirvana or something."

You smiled. "I think that is cool."

Ellie ducked her head and muttered, "Yeah, well... you look cool, so I’m trusting your judgment."

You turned toward her, and right as you opened your mouth to say something, you felt it—a warm splash of beverage sloshing right onto your top. You looked down at the spreading stain and groaned. "Oh my god. I can’t take me anywhere."

Ellie reacted fast, already rummaging through a basket of laundry near the couch. "Wait—here. I, uh, I’ve got something you can wear."

She tossed you a hoodie, worn and soft and a little big. The same one she wore the first time she saw you. You pulled it on without thinking—slightly mortified, and very aware of how it smelled exactly like her. It was stupid. It was just detergent and something like cedar and maybe... her shampoo? But it hit you like a memory you hadn’t made yet, and when you looked back at Ellie, she was definitely flustered.

"You okay?" she asked, voice a little tight.

You nodded, tugging at the sleeves. "This is so comfy. You might never get it back."

Ellie laughed nervously. "That’s, uh... fine. You look good in it."

The sentence hung between you for a beat too long. You turned back to the CDs. "Show me your favorites."

And she did.

You sat cross-legged on her living room floor while she pulled out album after album, fingers brushing the covers like they were sacred texts. Time slipped away. The music got quieter, the light outside faded to black, and before either of you realized it, the clock on her microwave blinked 1:04 AM.

"Oh shit," Ellie said, glancing over. "You’re probably exhausted. I didn’t mean to keep you here so long."

You rubbed your eyes, yawning. "I am tired. But like, in a good way. I had fun."

Ellie stood awkwardly, hovering near the door. "Do you want me to walk you back?”

"It’s literally ten steps ahead."

"Still," she muttered, fidgeting with her fingers.

There was a weird, sudden stillness. Not uncomfortable exactly—just... charged. Like you’d both walked to the edge of something without realizing it, and now neither of you knew what to do. You stood in the doorway, Ellie’s hoodie still wrapped around you, warm from her and too soft to take off just yet.

"I should go," you said.

"Okay," Ellie agreed, voice quiet.

You could feel it—just beneath the surface—the shared, unspoken thing you both wanted. The maybe. The what if. But neither of you crossed the line.

Instead, you gave her a soft smile and a breathy 'goodnight,' and Ellie rubbed the back of her neck and murmured it back. When the door finally closed behind you, your heart thudded like you’d just run a mile.

Back in your apartment, you curled into the matress that laid on the floor, still wearing her hoodie, surrounded by the quiet hum of the night, and told yourself you were fine. That you’d get another chance. You didn’t know Ellie was sitting on the other side of the wall, wide awake, hoodie-less, and thinking the exact same thing.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke slowly. And the forst thing that you felt was Ellie’s hoodie. Still wrapped around you. Still warm in the chest, even if the sleeves were cold now. You’d never meant to fall asleep in it, but you hadn’t been able to make yourself take it off either. Not when it still smelled like her. Not when it felt like the last piece of her you got to keep before things got too real. Before either of you dared to name what last night had almost been.

You sat up, groaning at the way your spine protested after crashing half-sideways across your bare mattress. One arm still tucked under a throw pillow, hair wild with sleep. You ran your hand through it and stretched—and that’s when you heard the voices. Muffled at first. Laughter. Two people in the hallway, maybe just outside your door. You froze.

One of them was Ellie. You’d recognize her voice anywhere by now. That low rasp that turned warm when she laughed. And she was laughing—louder than you’d heard her in days. And the other voice? Feminine. Confident. Light and teasing.

You moved quietly, barefoot on the wooden floor, hoodie still draped over your frame like a second skin. You opened your apartment’s door just enough to let sound bleed in, and curiosity got the better of you. Just a peek, you told yourself.

You leaned into the silence of your own apartment, looking at the hall. And there she was. Ellie. Hair still damp from a shower, in a flannel over a gray tee and those dirty Converse she always stomped around in. She looked so relaxed, so casual—leaning against the stair railing, grinning in a way she never quite had with you. Her hand came up to push her hair out of her face, and she was looking at the girl beside her. Dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Pretty. Effortless. Golden skin and a wicked smile and that kind of magnetic energy you’d always admired from a distance. She looked like someone who knew how to charm your mom and talk about records without ever trying too hard. The kind of girl who just fit.

She playfully shoved Ellie’s shoulder and said something that made them both burst into another fit of laughter. And your heart sank. Of course. Of course Ellie wasn’t single. What were you thinking? That someone like her—funny, sweet, handy, effortlessly cool—would just be floating around, unattached? That she'd invite you over, lend you her hoodie, stay up talking music with you ‘til one in the morning because she wanted something more? No. You’d misread it. All of it. You closed the door quietly.

Your face felt hot. Your eyes threatened to let out a couple of tears. You slipped the hoodie off and folded it, hands trembling just slightly, and placed it gently on the edge of the couch like it might burn you if you touched it for too long. Like it had just become hers again, not something you were allowed to keep holding.

And then you started getting ready. Quieter than usual. Slower. You told yourself you’d imagined it. That it didn’t matter. That it was fine. You’d just… back off. Respect the boundary you hadn’t realized existed.

Ellie noticed something was off that same day. No music playing. No lights on. Not even the faint sound of footsteps inside like usual. The little signs she’d come to expect over the past few days—gone. And the worst of all? You hadn’t texted her.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she walked down the street, bag slung over one shoulder, thumb hovering over your contact in her phone. She kept replaying last night over and over again in her head—the way you looked in her hoodie, how you smiled at her dumb music rants, how close your knees had been on the floor, how you hadn’t kissed her when you left. And how she hadn’t kissed you either. Too nervous. Too wrapped up in the fear of ruining something before it even started.

She walked into the shop, tossed her bag behind the counter, and barely had time to clock in before Jesse—her coworker, and unfortunately, her most observant friend—poked his head in from the back room. "Yo, Williams."

"What."

"You got the personality of a wet sock today. Did something happen?"

Ellie groaned. "I’m fine."

"What the fuck? You’re not. You sighed seven times during that one sentence. That’s a record, even for you."

She pulled the stool out and sat down behind the register, slumping dramatically. "It’s nothing."

Jesse raised a brow. "Is it about hoodie girl?"

Ellie snapped her head up. "What? How do you—"

"You literally texted me last night 'she’s wearing my hoodie and I might die.'"

"Okay first of all, fuck you. And second, I was emotionally compromised."

Jesse leaned on the counter, smirking. "So what happened?"

Ellie looked down, fiddling with the string of her hoodie. "I don’t know. We hung out, it was great—like, really great—and I thought we were gonna maybe... kiss or something? But then she left, and now she’s just—cold. Like, totally ignoring me."

"She see you with Dina?"

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What?”

"Dee told me she went to pick up her speaker this morning. Maybe she saw you two together."

Ellie’s jaw dropped. "She thinks I’m dating Dina?"

Jesse just gave her a look. "Wouldn’t be the wildest assumption, dude. Dina is hot. And you two always look cozy as hell."

Ellie slumped back in the stool. "Shit."

"So go tell her." Jesse folded his arms. "Like, right now."

"I can’t just show up and be like 'Hey, by the way, that girl I was laughing with? Not my girlfriend!'"

"Why not?"

"Because it’s—" Ellie rubbed her face. "I don’t know, it’s embarrassing. What if she didn’t see me with Dina? What if I read everything wrong? What if she’s not into me like that?"

Jesse tilted his head. "Are you into her like that?"

Ellie didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He smiled. "Then fix it, you idiot."

But Ellie just sat there, heart caught somewhere between hope and dread, wondering how the hell she was supposed to explain the mess when you wouldn’t even look at her anymore.

FOR THE REST of the week, you did your best to act like everything was fine.

Avoiding Ellie wasn’t hard, exactly. Not at first. You slipped out early to grab coffee before she left for work. And you told yourself—again and again—that it didn’t hurt. That you weren’t letting your mind wander back to the way she’d smiled at you in her dim little apartment, the way her voice had gone all soft and reverent when she’d talked about her guitar and her favorite bands. That you weren’t still thinking about her hoodie, folded on your couch like something sacred, something almost yours.

But even so… you missed her. And she noticed. She wasn’t stupid, either. Every time Ellie walked past your apartment, her chest tightened just a little. She couldn’t stop checking—subtle little glances at your windows, your doormat, listening for footsteps inside. But she was met with nothing, just pure silence.

It had been nine days. Nine days since your almost-date. Since you wore her hoodie and sat so close she could smell your shampoo. Since you’d yawned around midnight and she’d practically panicked, blurting something awkward about how you didn’t have to go but also yeah totally if you’re tired cool cool yeah no worries. And she hadn’t even walked you to your place. Just stood there, heart in her throat, as you smiled at her one last time without kissing her. Now you didn’t even look at her. And Ellie? Ellie didn’t know how to fix it.

That evening, a thunderstorm rolled in with no warning. It was more chilly than you expected, and by the time you realized, Ellie’s hoddie was back like a second skin. You tried to lie to yourself, thinking you were too tired to open the winter clothes box. But in reality, it was just to feel it again. You’d tried to settle into a book, when the lights suddenly flickered… and then went out. You sat in stunned silence for a beat before peeking out your window and confirmed what you feared—the whole damn block was dark. Not a gleam streetlamp in sight.

And the worst part? You didn’t have a single candle. So you were swallowed by black-pitched darkness. You were just settled back onto your couch, the book long forgotten by now, when someone knocked. A soft, tentative knock. You froze. And then came her voice.

"Hey… It’s Ellie."

Your heart did a little jump, stupid and immediate. You stood slowly, suddenly all too aware of your pajama shorts and the way your hair had half-dried in soft, tangled waves.

You opened the door. Ellie stood there holding two thick candles—one already lit, the other one tucked under her arm—and a slightly sheepish expression. She was wearing a red flannel, straight jeans, and a pair of black Converse. Her hair was tucked messily behind her ears, her freckles barely visible in the low light.

"Power’s out," she said.

"Yeah. I noticed."

She shifted her weight, and if she had noticed you wearing her hoodie, she chose not to say anything. "Thought you might need these."

You took the candles from her slowly, your fingers brushing hers in the exchange. Her hand was warm. You swallowed. "Thanks."

Ellie nodded, but didn’t move. She glanced into your apartment and then back at you, chewing the inside of her cheek. "You okay?" she asked. "You’ve been, uh, quiet lately."

You hesitated, trying to ignore the knot isnide your chest. She had noticed. Your heart beat against your ribs, stubborn and tired. "Yeah. I’m fine."

A pause. "You’ve been avoiding me."

Your breath caught as you looked away. "No, I haven’t."

Ellie tilted her head, gently, like she knew you were lying. "Okay. Cool, then."

"Do you wanna come in?" You mumbled, stepping back. Fuck. Why’d you even said that?

She bit the inside of her cheek. "Only if it’s okay."

You nodded once. "Yes. It’s okay." So she stepped in.

The candlelight made everything feel hazier, slower. Her shadow danced across your floor as she walked toward your living room and stood awkwardly near your bookshelf, hands shoved into her hoodie pocket. You followed her in, set the candles on the table, and sat.

Ellie sat too—but not too close. She glanced around, then down at her lap.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," she said finally, voice soft. "The other day. At my place."

"You didn’t," you said too quickly. She looked up. You wrung your hands in your lap. "I just… It was silly for me to misread the situation, I guess."

Ellie blinked, then blinked again. "What do you mean?"

You gave her a look. "You know. I saw you with the girl... friend."

Realization dawned on her face. "Dina?"

You didn’t answer. Great. She had a pretty name too.

Ellie let out a breath and leaned back. "She’s not my girlfriend. She’s—God—she’s like my sister. We’ve known each other since middle school. We were talking about Uncharted."

That made you look at her. "Uncharted?"

"Yeah, she was making fun of me for being obsessed with it, and playing the stupid game the whole night. It wasn’t flirting."

A small laugh broke out of you before you could stop it, quick and surprised. Ellie smiled—just a little. And then the room got quiet again. That flickering, charged quiet where neither of you really knew what to say next.

Until Ellie whispered, "You look really good in my hoodie."

You swallowed hard, but didn’t answer. Ellie’s gaze flicked to yours. Her cheeks were flushed, soft pink in the candlelight, but smiled anyway.

"I thought maybe you were gonna kiss me," she murmured.

You felt your whole face go warm. "I wanted to."

She blinked slowly. "Then why didn’t you?"

"I got scared."

Ellie’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Me too."

You looked at her then. She looked nervous, her knee bouncing like she couldn’t sit still. She was leaning in just a little—but not enough. Like she was halfway between running and staying. And then she said it, "can I try again?"

Your breath caught. You nodded once, biting your lower lip unconsciously. And this time, she leaned all the way in, her hands finding your cheeks. The kiss was soft, shy, and barely there—like both of you were scared it would vanish if you moved too fast. But then she pressed in a little closer, and your hand slid gently to her cheek, and she smiled against your mouth.

And when you pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. In the flickering candlelight, everything else faded. No hallway whispers. No misunderstandings. Just Ellie. Warm and nervous and real.

THE MORNING SUN peeked in lazily through Ellie’s half-drawn curtains. The green-eyed girl had been working her ass off last week, and still pleaded you to wake her up once you did, but you weren’t going to do it. She needed the sleep. So here you were now, bleary-eyed, standing barefoot in her kitchen and wearing Ellie’s Pink Floyd oversized shirt.

You were trying to figure out the ancient coffee machine she kept saying 'wasn’t that bad' when you heard the apartment door creak open. No knock. No announcement. Just a solid, casual entrance. You froze with one hand on your chest, wide-eyed.

"Ellie, if you’re gonna leave your damn wrench where I can trip over it, I swear to—"

You turned just in time for him to round the corner into the living room, carrying a paper bag and squinting toward the kitchen. He paused when he saw you. His eyes dropped to the oversized shirt, the unbrushed hair, your whole deer-in-headlights vibe. His brow lifted—just slightly—but it said everything. "Well," he said slowly, adjusting the grip on the bag, "you ain’t Ellie."

You cleared your throat. "Um—no. She’s still asleep. I think. Probably."

The man stared at you for another long beat, then sighed through his nose and gave a slow, skeptical nod. "Right."

And just like that, Ellie burst out of her room, hair a mess, wearing a tank top, some boxers and a mismatched pair of socks, looking completely and utterly disoriented.

"Oh—shit," she groaned, voice thick with sleep. "Joel. What—uh—what are you—what time is it?"

Joel raised the bag. "Brought you breakfast. And coffee. Thought I’d surprise you. Guess you beat me to it."

Your face was probably nuclear at that point. Ellie looked like she might combust from within. Joel’s gaze shifted between the two of you. He let out a grunt. "Well. I’ll be damned."

"I’m gonna—uh—bathroom. I’m gonna use it. Yours," you muttered, already halfway down the corridor. "Yep. Bathroom. Gone." You shut the door behind you and leaned against it, hand covering your face.

Out in the living room, there was a heavy pause.

"So," Joel began, in a voice that could only mean trouble, "you finally got your head outta your ass."

"Dude. Please." Ellie rubbed a hand over her face. "She’s not— I mean—we’re not, like… together together."

Joel arched a brow. "Does she know that? ‘Cause she’s wearin’ half your closet and looked quite comfortable in your kitchen."

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed. No response. No correction. Joel nodded to himself. "Didn’t think so."

"I didn’t say anything!" Ellie hissed, lowering her voice like you might somehow hear through the closed door.

"But you ain’t denying it either, kiddo." Joel said smugly. "Look, I’m not gonna give you the whole dad speech or... whatever. You’re grown. But if that girl’s gonna be hangin’ around, I expect you to treat her right. Like how I raised you. No ghostin’. No weird mind games. No—"

Ellie sputtered. "Jesus, Joel, can you not?"

"You like her or not?" He asked calmly.

She was quiet for a long beat. "…Yeah," she said, voice soft and barely audible.

Joel grunted, satisfied. "Then don’t be an idiot."

The bathroom door creaked open a second later. You emerged, trying your best to look composed despite the fact your heart was definitely doing somersaults.

Joel glanced between the two of you, and his face softened for just a second—like he was genuinely happy for Ellie. "Well," he said. "I should get goin’. You kids behave."

Ellie groaned, already anticipating some parting remark. "Don’t say it—"

Joel ignored her entirely, giving you a quick, amused glance. "Good luck dealin’ with this one," he said, jerking a thumb at Ellie like she wasn’t standing right there. "And bon appétit."

You grinned. "Thanks for the breakfast."

"Take care," Joel said with a wink, then stepped out the door and closed it behind him with a soft click.

A moment of silence settled over the apartment. You turned slowly to face Ellie, arms crossed, squinting with faux betrayal. "You. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Me?" Ellie blinked, slightly offended. "What?"

"Don’t 'what' me, Williams," you said, marching toward her dramatically. "Your dad, or whatever he is—just walks in like he owns the place and finds me in your shirt, barefoot and barely awake, making a fool of myself trying to work that prehistoric coffee machine—"

"You mean the beautifully vintage coffee machine?" she interjected, raising a hand in mock offense.

You shoved her shoulder gently. "Don’t deflect! I looked like I had just rolled out of bed after a one-night stand!"

Ellie choked. "You didn’t! You—you look cute."

Your brain short-circuited at that for half a second, but you rallied. "I was wearing your clothes, Ellie!"

"I didn’t tell you to wear my clothes!" she argued, but her voice was breathless, half-laughing. "And you do look cute!"

You shoved her again, this time with both hands, and she stumbled backward into the couch, grinning as she caught herself.

"Oh, okay, so it’s my fault," she said, recovering. "Next time, I’ll just let you walk around naked. Note taken."

"You didn’t even try to explain!" you pointed out, still feigning dramatic offense.

Ellie held her hands up in surrender, though her face and ears were red. "Okay, okay, you’re right! I panicked!"

"You liked it," you accused.

"I did not—!" Ellie protested, but she was laughing mid-sentence. "Okay—maybe. Maybe a little. It was kinda… nice. I mean, not the surprise Joel part. That part sucked."

You hovered above her where she’d half-sunk into the couch cushions, breathless from all the mock fighting, face flushed. The laughter slowed between you both.

"It was nice," you echoed, voice soft now. "Him thinking I was your girlfriend."

Ellie looked up at you, suddenly quiet, her grin faded into something gentler, something almost vulnerable. "You didn’t run away screaming, so… that’s something."

You dropped your gaze, fighting a shy smile. "I thought about it. Then I remembered I still have your hoodie, and you’d probably come after me."

Ellie sat up a little straighter, nudging your knee with hers. "Damn right I would’ve. It’s one of my favorites, you know."

"You’re unbelievable."

"But charming," she added hopefully.

You tilted your head like you were thinking it over. "Eh. You’re on thin ice."

She reached over and poked your side, making you squirm. "I brought you breakfast."

"That was mostly Joel." You finally let yourself smile fully, sitting beside her and tucking your legs underneath you, shoulder brushing hers.

"But I didn’t stop him," she said proudly. "You’re welcome."

You laughed again, leaning your head on her shoulder without thinking. It just felt natural. Warm. Safe.

Her voice was softer now, almost a whisper: "You can… stay. If you want. A little longer. You don’t have to rush back."

You didn’t lift your head. "You sure? I might steal more of your clothes."

"I’d let you," she mumbled. Then, like it was the easiest thing in the world, she added, "they look better on you anyway."

Your heart flipped. "God," you murmured, eyes closing, "you’re such a loser."

"Yours though," she said under her breath.

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[headmastersapprentice]

men & minors dni

・❥・ellie fingering your mouth

content: 18+, mouth fucking (r), sub! reader, top! ellie, praise

Ellie's thumb ran across your lips, stopping when it made contact with your bottom lip. She held it there for a moment, staring straight into your eyes, before she pulled away, leaving you breathless. It made everything all the more intense; the air thinning around you.

“So pretty for me, baby,” Ellie lulled, her eyes entranced by your lips, coated in a layer of shine from your lipgloss. This had her mind reeling with dirty indecent thoughts, thumb instinctually going back up to your lips.

Your breathing grew steadier, lips parting ever so slightly to question her. But, you weren’t able to get a word out because Ellie caught you to it.

With her thumb still hovering over your lips, she mumbled out her desire to you, what she so desperately wanted. “Wanna finger your mouth, how does that sound?”

You almost thought you didn’t hear her right, not expecting her to say something like that. You nodded your head immediately, words absent from you, only Ellie’s lingering. Somehow you couldn’t find it in yourself to form words, leaning into Ellie’s touch.

Ellie tested the waters by pushing her thumb past your glossy lips, into your mouth, the lipgloss smearing messily onto her fingers. You accepted her thumb graciously, taking time to suck on it and watching Ellie’s face for a reaction.

A smirk curled onto her face, pleased by your obvious liking to sucking her thumb. Ellie removed it with a pop, a pout forming at her removal. “Why did you remove it?” You whined.

Ellie’s eyes narrowed, she cupped your cheek. “So impatient… Just using different fingers. Now be a good girl for me and take it.”

The smirk didn’t leave her face, her eyes darkened with glass of lust the more she stared at you. You nodded again, following her orders like an obedient dog. You licked the remains of your lipgloss away as you spoke, “Always your good girl, Ellie.”

She hummed, “That you are, angel…” Her fingers fell from your cheek towards your lips, her pointer and middle fingers pushing into your mouth that patiently awaited to be filled and stuffed with her long digits.

She bit her lip, seeing you take her fingers made her pussy clench, aching herself. You sucked her fingers, your tongue swirling around them to further coat in your saliva. Ellie decided she had enough of this, and took control by using her other hand to grab your face. She lightly moved her fingers to signal to you what was to come next.

Ellie pulled back her fingers, then thrusted them forward. You gagged, tears brimming the corners of your eyes. You grasped at Ellie’s shirt, not wanting to give up and continue.

She nodded, a hum of approval rumbling from her throat. “What a good girl, my fucking good girl,” Ellie whispered and continued thrusting her fingers back and forth. The gagging and groans you’d let out made her all the more wetter.

You were a mess yourself, feeling like a whore getting your throat finger fucked and used. But you didn’t care, not if it was Ellie doing what she wanted; using you as she pleased.

“Little more, baby….” Ellie muttered, her other hand soothing your face and holding it. You were so good for her, she absolutely fed off it. She was addicted to the feeling you brought her. She couldn’t get over how you looked for her; face sticky with your own spit and choking on her fingers.

Soon your lips were freed of her fingers, throat aching slightly. Ellie stuffed the fingers that were just in your mouth, coated with your spit into her mouth. She moaned, enjoying the taste of you and savouring it on her tongue.

You felt the heat in your cheeks rise seeing her do this, and your wetness in your panties gushing more. You couldn’t believe Ellie licked her fingers clean… Somehow you found it in yourself to speak. “Ellie… Did you actually—“

She cut you off, “Yes. You always taste good to me, baby…” She continued to lean down and connect your lips in a passionate kiss to reassure you. Ellie pulled back, your lips meters apart, “You never have to doubt anything with me.”

She reconnected your lips in a searing kiss, helping pass any thought you had to think anything other than what she said.

[headmastersapprentice]

takin' what's not yours.

ALMOST LOVERS. so close, but not quite. ellie sends you a note that might rekindle what you nearly had.

word count: 4.9k warnings: nsfw mdni, infidelity, secretive behavior, pussy-eating, strapon r!receiving, messy tribbing, vague description of squirting tags: ex-bestfriends with benefits. long term homoerotic secret-third-thing. forbidden. a playful fuck born of yearning.

ELLIE HAD BEEN looking down at her third mixed drink when her stomach lurched at the thought of having to finish it. She never liked vodka. She wasn’t sure why she even chose it to begin with.

“I missed you,” Ellie said, setting her drink down on her coffee table, fiddling with the coaster her drink sat on. 

It was a childish thing to say. Childish, naïve, maybe even teetering on reckless. Ellie couldn’t help herself; it was nothing she hadn’t said before, although circumstances now would imply heavier consequences. 

You returned to an acquaintance of Ellie’s. A quiet awareness of each other, clearing paths to avoid regrettable collision. You repelled each other’s pull to orbit with nothing but sheer will and an intense fear of embarrassment.

An acquaintance, sure. But what did that mean when you’ve known the exact way in which the lines of Ellie’s neck join her collarbones, her shoulders? When Ellie had etched in her mind the way your silhouette takes its shape against the natural light while you’re sound asleep, nothing but a beautifully sun-drenched figure? 

It didn’t mean much at all, apparently. Her sheets have always held your scent — but it’d been six months too long since you’d been in her sheets anyway. Although that side of the bed wasn’t yours. And never had been. In fact, it was someone else’s now.

Still, you were no stranger. But Ellie had been bolder. And she’d been responsible for far more reckless things. 

So have you.

C’mon. Say it.

“I… missed you too.” 

The words ran from your mouth in a long breath; you were unsure whether the confession was intentional or by accident, but the words hung in the air now. She heard it. And you wrung your hands a bit, trying your best to bluff, still uncertain of what game she sought to play. 

She wouldn’t let you catch her eyes, and whether that choice of hers was sheepish or cocky, you couldn’t tell.

It would be too brave of you, too bold, to express what you’d really thought. Right? Wasn’t it? 

A swirling nostalgia settled in your stomach, and you played with the idea of drinking its temptation in full. Among the inside jokes stashed in between the couch cushions you sat on, you could probably still find one or two popcorn kernels lodged in there, too.

Could you maybe eat like a normal person? The movie’s not that scary, El.

Ha. Pshhh, I’m not scared. I’m just saving those for later. Obviously.

This was just a friendly, strictly-platonic get-together for two, just as you had done so many times before. You and your best friend had always been tightly knit – sewn, if you were being honest – until seams all but unraveled just a few months ago. You both found new ways to occupy your time, new hands to hold, new lips to kiss. More time to make for someone else.

And yet, that corny envelope and handwritten note still somehow slipped underneath your door earlier that day. Come over for some drinks? If you want. Definitely don’t have to if you don’t want to. Dina’s at Jesse’s for the night, if that means anything.

If that means anything.

“It’s okay that you’re with her, by the way." 

Attempting to save both you and herself from the silence, Ellie’s heart had spoken through gritted teeth, although her lips made sure the words rang polite. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips when she realized she wouldn’t have to hear you backtrack.

She peeled the coaster out from beneath her drink and leaned over to grab your third drink, watching the condensation pool beneath the empty glass of ice. You swallowed the words as hard as you tried to untangle them. And the thought of Dina caught and hung itself like an anchor in your stomach. 

Dina was good for Ellie. And to save face, you’ve mustered the courage to say that your new lover was good for you, too. No matter the words exchanged in quiet – those were lovers’ quarrels and you always made up. The nights spent alone meant nothing, that was just how she coped. And forget the comments, they were funny! Even you laughed. Right? This was good. Why wouldn’t it be okay? Of course, it was okay. You and Ellie had only ever been friends. Or something like that.

“Whew!” You sarcastically pretended to wipe away sweat above your brow. After pressing your lips together in an attempt to conceal a smirk, you continued, “Fuck, I’m so relieved I have the Ellie stamp-of-approval. God, what would I have done without it?”

“Oh, shut up," Ellie laughed and rolled her hazel-green eyes at you, lips parting to reveal a crooked smile. Just a playful nudge at your arm with her freckled nose all wrinkled, and a flame ripped across your chest and crept toward your neck. "I was just being nice."

You broke the ice – the way you wanted it to be broken. Lighthearted, good-natured, casual. Maybe there was a twinge of something else – and of course there was, there’d always been something else  –  something sweet and tender and so poorly developed and fragile that maybe it was best that it never touched the surface. Although, maybe now, buzzed and lacking inhibition, it didn’t seem so bad to let it breathe.

“Okay, and? So was I.” You nudged her back, the nostalgia feeling bittersweet and overdue. “I can still kick your ass, y’know.”

“You wanna bet?” Ellie’s eyebrows perked up at you as she jokingly raised her fists, cartoonishly winding up a punch. Frequently, you used to find yourself at the receiving end of Ellie’s goofy shadowboxing. Few others have had the privilege of being her victim. “Put ‘em up.”

“Careful, nerd. Might hurt yourself,” you replied, feigning a lack of amusement. 

You slapped her lazy fist downward and something reeled inside Ellie’s gut. A knot formed in her stomach, being reminded of how long it’s been since you’ve touched her hands. But the inner corners of her mouth creased into a bashful smile anyway. She had finally let you catch her eyes. And for a moment, you forgot the circumstances. It seemed as though Ellie did, too.

“Do you ever miss this?”

Ellie’s gaze lingered. Maybe just a bit too long. Heat tore across your ears, and you tried your best to ignore the burn.

  “Miss what? Being challenged to kick your ass?” you defused. This was supposed to be lighthearted, casual… harmless. It was harmless. 

“Ha-haaa. Very funny.” You caught an eye-roll from the Savage Starlight card collector. “Y’know what I meant.”

“Being friends?”

“I mean, yeah, sure. Something like that,” Ellie uttered, unsure but settling for what left her lips. She shrugged, shy eyes downcast toward her fingers.

“I do miss it, yeah,” you admitted. Ellie struggled to contain her buzz at your confession. You returned a shrug, swallowing the urge to place blame. It had never been anyone’s fault. You had simply grown apart – friends do that sometimes, don’t they? 

“Don’t know why it’s been so long. Just… busy I guess,” Ellie muttered, almost embarrassedly. She was the one who stopped calling, she’s sure. Patrols were just…coincidentally reassigned, too. To make things less awkward between you both, obviously.

And busy had a name. You didn’t feel like your Busy was worth mentioning. But for Ellie, it was always Dina. 

Her name hung in your mouth and Ellie's eyes softened, a quiet understanding passing between the two of you.

“So…” you sighed, debating on continuing. “How are things with Dina?”

“It’s been… really great. She’s great.” Ellie compulsively finished the rest of her drink to avoid elaborating further. It had been proving difficult trying to remind herself that when it’s good, it’s great with Dina – and that it was something worth waiting it out for. And mind often wandered so far as to ask whether it had to be this way at all.

Relationships don’t always need sex for it to survive, right? What are the odds of sex life flatlining shortly after making it official? Was it just her libido? Perhaps lesbian bed-death, or something. People grow out of it, the freezing-out thaws, and all that, she guessed. But the guilt in Ellie’s chest burned up the words that never left her mouth. She hoped that with each breath thereafter, smoke wouldn’t curl out from between her lips.

“But… she doesn’t find your corny puns funny either?”

“Well, I know it breaks your heart, but she does, in fact, find my puns funny,” Ellie lectured in between laughter, with arms crossed and her warm buzz to blame for the half-lidded gaze.

“She’s still in the honeymoon phase, huh?” The sarcasm threaded your motion, slowly nodding at Ellie, hoping to win another laugh from her.

“I dunno. It’s just not the same y’know?” 

You tensed. You brought your hands down to your lap when you began biting the inside of your cheek. Of course you knew.

“It’s not the same as what?” 

You attempted to jump ship anyway. Lest you reveal something you didn’t want Ellie to know.

“Like how we used to be.”

“As friends?” 

Or something like that, right?

“I mean, friends don’t really kiss friends.”

Right.

The urge to bristle at the comment was hard to fight. You weren’t the one to have kissed her first; she started it back then. But the guilt slithered into your gut and gnawed at you, knowing that you always wished you had kissed her first, anyway.

“Sometimes they do. And maybe it’s that simple,” you said a little too defensively, knowing how Dina and Ellie got together. You didn’t mean for it to come out so brash, but you blamed it on the alcohol crippling your self-awareness and its accompanying filter.

“I mean – c’mon – don’t you wanna talk about it?” Ellie quibbled. “Or would you rather keep pretending that nothing ever happened?”

“Nothing did happen, Ellie.”

You prayed that the next words out of Ellie’s mouth wouldn’t be “Friends don’t fuck friends, either.” Because if they had been, you’d have to spend the next few minutes waiting for the hungry ache between your legs to subside; you know that your nameless Busy could never fuck you the way Ellie did.

“We both know that’s not true,” Ellie teased and leaned in toward you, holding back a scoff. You would’ve called it a laugh if you had been sober.

“Hooking up never meant anything, El. We were just friends, and you’re with Dina now. Don’t fuck this up for yourself,” you chided.

There was still time to leave. To walk away from whatever hot, tempting mess was awaiting you on Ellie’s couch. It was an old dance, a familiar one, whose steps had been memorized by your soles. 

It started with something harmless. Innocent touches. Friendly ones. Then, a peck. Something like kisses littered along a collarbone. Until, eventually, legs were hoisted over shoulders, faces buried in between thighs and hands with a mean grip on hair. 

It was inconsequential fun back then. It was forbidden now. And for some reason, the thought of getting fucked into a bed by Ellie, who didn’t belong to you, made your cunt slick.

“Did you know why I kissed you back then?” Ellie’s voice was soft, quiet. But there was a challenge there. Her words dripped with a dare.

“Cause you had a big, fat crush?” You leaned in the way she did, taunting her with a drunken smirk. Your faces were only inches from each other’s now, the vodka on her breath strong and the mutual desperation stronger.

“What if I said that I still do?” 

Ellie’s eyes flicked between your lips and your eyes, clearly distracted by a twinge between her thighs. When was the last time your mouths have been so close? She swore that her fingertips could recall the hills and valleys of your figure. Maybe she could try tracing them along your skin again, just to test herself. Just to say she could. C’mon. Maybe.

“I would say that you’re drunk. And fucking insane,” you quipped, unable to help the laugh that escaped your lips – low and breathless. 

“Nothing else?” 

Every time she spoke, all the clear, hard lines that kept you two apart suddenly looked softer, blurrier – like someone had been rubbing out the edges. They looked wobbly, jagged, faded, as if someone drew them with a hand that couldn’t quite steady itself. Everything felt a little more fluid, a little more bendable, a little less… consequential.

God, the stakes were high and the rewards even better. One wrong breath and you could win her or lose her. You were always good at bluffing but had a bad habit of throwing out your cards. What then? What’s next? Fold, right? It’s always been a fold, baby. You never wanted the pot that bad anyway, did you?

“And that you’re a nerd.” “Oucchhhh.” 

Ellie feigned anguish with a cocky smile, whilst pretending to drive a dagger through her heart. 

Your conscience held itself in silence as soon as you watched her eyebrows pinch at the center. It’s almost exactly the way you remembered. When she’d look down at you, face between her legs. When you used to glide your tongue through her folds, making slow, soft circles around her clit.

There had suddenly been just too much fucking saliva in your mouth while looking at her like that. You began to believe that the spit in your mouth could be used for far more useful things than moistening your mouth. Both of you exchanged a fleeting look. A knowing one. A thirsty one.

You slowly leaned in to kiss her gently, pulling away to scan her face for any sign of regret, resentment – or satisfaction.

She didn’t wear surprise on her features. Her eyes had darkened, something hypnotic and fucking carnal behind pupils blown. The small victory set your body alight. And a discreet, sin-free, mouth-watering desire had been fulfilled. It was a peck. Just to test the waters. An innocent thing. 

The tug just below Ellie’s happy-trail disagreed. 

You both moved to brazenly close the distance, rushing to get up and get your hands on each other – to clumsily and carelessly make your way toward the bed that you missed so much. Your hands held the side of her face as her lips continued to crash into yours. She brought a hand to the side of your neck, a thumb grazing your cheek, the exact way she used to make you melt. It was sweet, it was missed, it was never supposed to be innocent. It was born of desperation. 

And it was fucking sloppy.

Miraculously, you two had found the bed – which, to be honest, is no miracle since this felt like ritual – and she pinned you down onto it. You slid up further into the sheets, your body buzzing at the way Ellie groped you. You clawed at her shirt, pathetically pulling her closer. A soft whine crept from your throat when her lips left yours, a string of saliva stretching between your mouths. Gravity broke the string; the warm spit dribbled down your chin.

You laid there, looking up at Ellie, whose hands have already undone a bra, while she feasted her eyes upon your neck like it was her next meal. Ellie had always been one to admire you, but there simply was no time to fuckin’ waste. 

Her right hand found your neck, nimble fingers closing around your throat and squeezing a breathy yelp from you. Her left hand found a handful of your soft tits, her palm skimming over your hard nipples and fighting the urge to grab any harder than she was. But before she could decide to rough you up any further, her lips and tongue met the skin on your neck, leaving a trail of painful and wet kisses.

It was so quick, born of something so pent-up, secret, uncontrollable. You loved that she didn’t give you a moment to think. The moans that involuntarily escaped your lips were half-formed, broken, breathy. Your thoughts weren’t that much different.

“Shit,” you managed to croak out, realizing that she had been leaving love bites. “C’mon, El. I don’t… don’t have a way to fuckin’ cover them.”

“Good,” Ellie huffed between half-kisses, before decisively bringing her teeth down hard on your neck, purposely ignorant to your wishes. A sharp inhale through your teeth settled into a helpless moan in your mouth. “Means I get to keep you. Right, baby?”

Baby. She called you baby. Something in your chest tightened, like heartstrings suddenly tangled. You’d question whether she meant that if you were sober. But the buzzing in your body from the gin denied the need for proof. Your proof was right there. Ellie’s tongue on your neck softened anxiety’s edges for you and your nerves remained partially blunted to the panic of being called her baby. 

“Mhm,” you sighed, nodding a bit sporadically, clearly melting. You searched for her hands with yours and dragged them down toward that deliciously painful ache in your pussy. “Fuck, please touch me, El, please.”

Ellie’s fingers dug into the hems of your shirt and her hands scrambled to pull it up and over your head. She brought her soft, pink lips to your chest, leaving kisses, sneaking bites and trailing her tongue down to your hard nipples. Ellie drew a plea from your lips, and she was about to do it again. All while her hands had worked themselves to the button and zipper of your jeans. And once she got those down – her own.

Your eyes lavished the sight of Ellie’s pretty thighs. Pretty, soft, flecked with freckles. The perfect place to put your head between. Goosebumps had strewn themselves across your skin. And your pretty friend’s warm hand over your cunt didn��t help.

“So you must’ve really missed me, huh,” she teased, running a finger over an obnoxiously wet spot of your underwear. You flushed at the soft brush of her finger, your blood red-hot underneath your skin. Afraid that she’d draw away her hand to tease you further, you gripped her forearm and pressed it against the heat between your legs. Your eyes locked.

“Gotta check to make sure, right?” You tilted your hips toward her, your words edging on a dare. And you had always known Ellie to be far too stubborn to turn one down. 

In silent agreement, her left hand peels your panties toward the side, her right middle and ring finger slipping easily into your dripping cunt and thumb gently landing on your throbbing clit. 

“Sh-Shit,” you moaned, licking your lips shortly after. With eyelids low, you reached for your tits, as if something feral stirred in your gut at the feeling of being filled by Ellie’s fingers. You fervently imagined what her tongue would feel like filling up your pussy; it had been too long ago to recall.

Your eyes followed her movement in hungry anticipation. She lowered her face to your middle, fingers sliding out to spread the lips of your cunt. What a fuckin’ tease.

She ran her tongue through your folds, eager to earn another pretty sound from you. And she did. Bottom to top, the tip of her tongue caught and spread the slick over your clit, and you couldn’t help but groan in greed. More. You wanted more. 

Ellie delivered — with a warm, wet tongue that slid into your pussy. 

“Goddd, fuck, El. Feels so, f-fuckin’ — good,” you whimpered pathetically. “S-so fuckin’ deep in my cunt.”  Like second nature, your fingers clawed for a grip on Ellie’s rusty brown hair.

“So — fuckin’… pretty, baby,” she moaned into you, between tongue-deep licks of your pussy. The sound of Ellie’s tongue messily lapping against and into your gushing cunt made a slippery mess out of her own underwear. But she didn’t need to tell you that for you to know.

Her fingers found themselves in your messy pussy again, her tongue at your clit, making steady swirls, occasionally closing her lips around your bud to gently suck. Like clockwork, a familiar hunger gently tore at you from your core.

“Shit, yessss, baby. Mhm, like that. Like thatttt. Gimme, El, p-please. I’m —” 

Just like that, Ellie had to do the opposite of what you so desperately begged for. Her tongue abandoned your clit, and her fingers left your pussy, sticky, beaded strings of slick adorning the space between them. An exasperated whimper left with an exhale. Ellie sat back onto her heels, self-satisfied smirk on her face.

“Sorry — were you not done?”

“Fuckin’ Christ, El. You’re so annoying.”

She watched you compose yourself from the brink of the delicious chase of your orgasm, pulling something out from inside a bin from underneath the bed. Something she hadn’t used since she had seen you last. 

She calmly wrestled it on, made sure it was secure. And you ignored the blatant watering of your mouth.

“Aww, c’mon.” She screwed up her chin into a sarcastic pout. Her features sat gentle on her face, but her movements were a bit rough. Her hands pulled your legs to the right, leaving you on your side. Without giving you time to react, she rolled you onto your front, and pulled your ass up by your hips. You comfortably laid there, on your knees. “You love it.”

Her hazel eyes drank you up, admired your ass, and locked on the pretty, glistening wet lips between your legs.

“What are yo—”, you started, unable to finish. Ellie’s fingers spread your pussy lips, the tip of the strap gliding just-barely in. “H-holy shhhit.” 

The sultry whine slipped from your mouth. And, poor you. You couldn’t help but arch your back. Stars swam in your eyes as her slips slowly rocked into you, the length of her strap filling your wet cunt. 

“Slipped in sooo easy, baby,” Ellie hummed, hypnotized by the view, the way your ass moved with every stroke. Her palms spread on your ass, fingers digging in, likely to leave light fingertip bruises afterward. Her strokes got quicker and harder, her strap running over that delicious sweet spot in your pussy.

“Ellie! Fuck! Goddd, fuck me plea— right there, rightthere, baby,” you groaned, barely coherent, face-deep into her pillow, hands clawing at the sheets that smelled so much like her.

A series of whimpers had been leaving Ellie’s lips as she fucked you, the base of the strap rubbing comfortably — conveniently — against her clit. Something feral crawled up into Ellie’s abdomen with each stroke.

Unsatisfied with her grip on you, she reached over, laid a hand across your throat, forcing you to look up and stifling your moaning. 

“You make such — pretty fuckin’… noises for me — fuck,” Ellie said. Maybe sighed. Although, to you it felt like a pant.

You turned your head just a bit to catch a blurry sideways glimpse of Ellie. There was a cool glow that illuminated the side of her face, freckles clear and bright, eyes closed and chasing that familiar tug in your core as she fucked into you. It was probably the moonlight trickling in from behind Ellie’s closed curtains. 

And it was safe to say you fucking hated those curtains as they were.

Writhing under the pressure and friction of Ellie’s body behind yours, you secretly wished those curtains were never closed to prying eyes. You desperately wanted someone to look in. Someone to watch Ellie fuck you silly while you were wide-eyed, hypnotized, and hungry. The way she used to. Face down, ass up and fucked into a pillow. The way it was supposed to be.

And you’ve never looked more fucking gorgeous to her. 

“God fuck, so clo—”  Ellie’s breathy groans grew more intense, her sounds became all whiny, fussy, insatiable. You had her wrapped around your finger — and you’d be insane to make it all so easy for her. Her breathing quickened, catching itself on that warm knot in her stomach nearly unraveling. 

You pulled forward and away from Ellie. The strap slid out of your pussy, to both your dismay and delight. A smirk snuck its way onto your lips as you turned around, rolling onto your back — missionary.

Her freckled chest was heaving a hard, unsteady breath. A bewildered expression on her features bordered on defeat.

“The fuck was that?” She asked, chest and cheeks alight, flush and rosy. You daydreamed about leaving purplish love bites around her neck, like a collar. You had always been holding the leash, haven't you? 

This was your proof.

“I think that makes us even,” you answered, brandishing your self-satisfaction.

“Asshole,” Ellie exhaled with half a laugh, still catching her breath. Her hand tapped your thigh in a light smack — Ellie’s version of playful chastisement.

“Yeah?” you challenged, eyes flicking between the harness and the endearing lines forming at the corner of Ellie’s smirk.

You sat up, hands at the harness which sat around her hips and ass, managing to wrangle it off. Your eyes struggled to leave the pretty, sloppy mess she made underneath it.

Often you wondered if there was some secret language that only you two speak telepathically. Because she grabbed your legs, forcing you on your back again, and hoisting your right leg over her right shoulder — doing exactly as you desired. 

Ellie positioned herself so that her middle met your own, and when it did, the feeling of her warm, sticky cunt made the ache of your clit border on painful. The slightest movement made the most delicious and obnoxious sound of your desperately wet pussies up against each other. 

“So fuckin’ wet for me, baby,” Ellie huffed, watching the way your hands grasp at your own chest in lust. “Is that all for me, pretty girl?”

Strings of drool stretched between your cunts every time she pulled away and returned back to you, hips rocking like something carnally possessed. Your clits passed over each other, throbbing hard and sensitive from the pressure and slippery, effortless lack of friction between your gushing pussies.

“Mhm, yes, fuck… yes—,” your pathetic, lovedrunk mouth ran. “All fuckin’ yours.”

You admired the tiny beads of sweat on her,  like a mist that fell over Ellie’s neck and chest. You couldn’t help but bite your lip at the sight of glistening slick adorning both of your thighs. The air was a mess of both your whimpers, whines, nearly animalistic breathing.

“Uh-huh, just like that — All mine, baby,” Ellie groaned, leaning just a bit forward to grab one of your tits with her free hand. 

All hers. Sure, you were both drunk. But Ellie did nothing but confirm all of which you held to be true in secret. You’ve always belonged to each other – whether the world knew it or not.

“Keep going, please— yes… shitttt. El, plea— please fuck me,” you pleaded, eyeing Ellie’s tits bounce as she rubbed herself against you.

You clawed at each other; fingernails dug into Ellie’s forearm, and Ellie returned the favor with fingertips pressed hard into her grip on your thigh. The incessant and pathetic desire to get closer than you were plagued you both, as if you hadn’t been close enough. You could've shared skin – and surely even that wouldn't be enough. 

A mouthwatering daydream of watching Ellie’s eyebrows draw together exactly the way they did earlier, became reality. Lust burned circles around your clit and the deep tug behind your belly button served as a warning.

You could gather the same from Ellie, her eyes pinched closed, movements a bit more erratic, a bit more involuntary.

“Gonna make me cum with you, baby? Make me fucking cu—,” Ellie said, words sloppy and frantic, breathing ragged. “Shitshitshit, holy fuck, fuck!”

As warmth crept from Ellie’s cunt overs – you writhed underneath it. The thought of Ellie’s squirt drenching your pussy did nothing put you over the frenzied edge.

“Mhm, please, so fuckin’ close, El. Please, so close, I can’t fucki— shit! I’mcumming I’mcumming, fuckin’ god—” A tide rolled itself in your gut – you held your breath, just to feel it a bit longer, the euphoric tension and release. Heat ripped from your cunt to your chest, pussy clenching, clit throbbing, Ellie unrelenting. The relief in your clit grew sharp, a bit painful, overwhelming. Your hand rose to her abdomen, preventing her from rocking against you further. “Jesus christ.”

Ellie’s half-lidded gaze favored the way you squirmed under her; you were just so effortlessly beautiful, at the brink of cumming, at the sleepy aftermath – even with sweat beaded upon your brow from the desperate chase.

She adjusted her legs, fixed in order to collapse next you, although close enough to nearly be on top of you. You tangled legs with hers, finding soft, cool spots on her skin to rest on. Ellie lays half-way on her side, one arm folder and underneath a pillow and the other tracing the outline of your jaw. You both take a moment to catch your breaths.

“But friends don’t fuck friends right?” Ellie quipped sarcastically, waiting for a laugh from you.

“Oh, shut up, El,” you replied, a bit of a spirited defeat in your voice. Fighting the sleepiness, the exhaustion, the self-satisfaction –  you relented, wanting to enjoy the moment as it was. For now, she was yours and you were hers. You shared a bed. The sheets smelled of you. She called you her baby. 

“Let’s just…worry about that shit tomorrow.”

[headmastersapprentice]

TORMENT ME 𓋜 ft. mean bbf!ellie williams

cw. nsfw, kind of exhibitionism, ellie isn’t really mean she’s just a tease, loser ellie implied bc i can’t help myself lol, reader has a brother bc duh, and is afab but gn. wc. 1.6k. based on this request

it was about 11 in the morning, you are in your kitchen getting breakfast, ‘the most important meal of the day’ they say. but you could care less about getting breakfast with this leech constantly hovering over you at a distance that should be considered too close.

ellie. where do i even start? she’s just like a stray cat, you feed her once, one time and she’s here again begging for more. but instead of feeding her once, you may have slept with her... it was one time and you were both drunk. you barely remember it. so why is she always here reminding you that she was knuckles deep inside of you?

your eyes drilling holes into the fridge, so many options, but none that fill your needs. you’re not even hungry, if you were to be honest. you just came down here to see her. as much as you hate to admit it you like ellie. you’ve always liked her. she’s been your brother's best friend since, like, forever, you can’t quite recall a moment where she wasn’t here. on the couch in your living room, your brother's room, or the kitchen, the fridge specifically.

you knew ellie liked you as well, she’s made that fact very obvious. she is constantly reminding you of it, but not in a desperate way, no, ellie isn’t desperate at all, well maybe a little, she’s just really persistent. she knows you like her so what is the problem with the two of you finally having something, at least?

your brother doesn’t even seem to care if the two of you date. because you how it’s always when you fall for your brother's best friend. the same: ‘uhhh no you can’t date my friends.’(pretend that was said with a very forced imitating voice). or something like ‘fuck no, my friends are off limits.’

but no, not with your brother. he could give less of a fuck about whatever it was going on between you and ellie.

you were the real problem here. so stubborn about admitting your feelings and so, so bratty every time ellie makes a pass at you that clearly has an effect on you.

and here she was again. you, still trying to find something to eat, mind coming up blank of mostly anything only being occupied by the toned biceps that you got a glimpse of when you walked into the kitchen. she was already there making breakfast for herself as your brother sat at the dining table with his back towards the kitchen and a pair of headphones plugged into his ears, eating what seemed to be the biggest breakfast you’ve ever seen.

you walked past her trying not to stare too hard at her arms as you made your way towards the fridge.

it’s been a good minute and a half of looking at some jar(that’s filled with something of a very strange colour…)in the fridge trying to think of what you should eat, so you decide on the same thing you have almost every morning; toast. everything you needed was already on the kitchen counter.

you whip around, fridge door slamming shut behind you. she’s still in the kitchen, you were hoping she would’ve left by the time you finished your staring contest with the insides of the fridge. and she’s got that damn lopsided smirk like she just won something. with her elbow perched up on the counter right next to the bread and butter.

“found what you were looking for in there?” ellie asks.

you roll your eyes “i wasn't looking for anything.”

it was a stupid question because she knows you weren’t pay attention to anything that laid upon the shelves of the fridge. she did, however, catch your attention on her arms. and ellie was really hoping that was what had you so distracted.

she laughs at your obviously annoyed answer. you walk over to grab a plate from the cabinet, setting it down on the counter right next to her. you reach for the bread, ellies eyes following your every movement, they have been since you entered the kitchen.

she shrugs. “could’ve fooled me. you were in there like it owed you money or something.” again with her dumb jokes, does she seriously think she’s funny?

you shoot her a sharp glance, but it only makes her grin widen.

“or maybe you were just buying time. needed a minute to cool off,” she adds, voice lower, more pointed. “you always get like that when i’m around?”

you continue trying to make your toast, putting the bread in the toaster pulling the small lever of it down watching the two pieces of bread disappear.

“bet it’s exhausting,” ellie continues. “pretending you’re not obsessed with me.”

“you’re delusional.”

“mm, probably.” you didn’t dare to look at her, to look at that grin of hers that makes you weak in the knees. “still doesn’t change the fact you’re thinking about that night every time you look at me.”

is she crazy? you slam your palms onto the counter very lightly though, afraid your brother might hear.

“what do you want, ellie?”

she leans in just a little moving behind you now, enough for you to feel her breath on your cheek and you could still see her from the corner of your eye, but still keeping your gaze on the toaster before you.

“you.”

you almost choke out a gasp, it wouldnt really sound like one anyway, more of a silent gag. you push it all down, can’t be feeding into her ego too much. and before you could respond you feel ellie’s hands grip your hips.

as soon as her palms make contact with you, your eyes fly up to look at your brother. what if he sees? is she serious right now?

her face peaking from the side of you shoulder, right next to your face. your butt is right in her crotch pressed firmly against her.

ellie leans in, her voice dropping to that stupid low whisper she knows gets under your skin.

“y’know, if you keep pressing back like that, i’m gonna start thinking you want something.”

how did i get here??????

you exhale sharply through your nose, refusing to flinch. “get your hands off me.”

“say please.”

you whip your head toward her, eyes narrowed, and for a second, she just watches you with that insufferable half-lidded gaze—like she’s already won, like she always wins.

“ellie. i’m serious.”

her grip tightens just a bit, thumbs rubbing slow circles against your hips. “so am i.”

the toaster pops.

“you’re lucky he’s got those headphones on,” you mutter, trying to pretend your hands aren’t shaking as you reach for your freshly toasted bread when you feel ellie’s hands move upward from your hips to your waist.

she snorts behind you.

“yeah?” she echoes, voice laced with something smug and hushed. “i’d be luckier if he wasn’t here at all.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, grab the toast with a little too much force to put it down on your plate. “and what? you’re still doing the same shit with him right if front is us.”

she hums, dragging her fingers just beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing the skin there. “you’re right.”

you stiffen. your breath catches.

“but i’d just be less discrete about it.”

her voice is low and honey-slick, curling against your ear like smoke. palm by palm creeping upward under your shirt more, brushing warm fingers over bare skin.

“ellie…” you warn, but it comes out breathless.

“mm,” she hums, all mock innocence, fingers dragging lightly over your ribs, “what? just warming you up. kitchen’s cold this mornin’.”

you hate how you don’t push her away. hate even more how your stomach flutters when her thumbs graze the curve of your under boobs.

you roll your eyes, lips curling in something like a smirk. “you’re so full of shit.” you almost whimper as you speak.

“maybe,” she murmurs, ducking in closer, lips brushing your jaw now, “but you’re letting me touch you.”

you scoff, but it’s weak. you’re trying not to arch into her palms when her fingertips press into your hardened nipples. and you also can’t bark anything back at her when her fingers start to play around with the buds of your nipples, pinching them, twisting them, trying to get a noise out of you.

and it works.

you moan in shame as your head looks the opposite way from ellie, who's now kissing down your neck. her palms go to grip your breasts, messaging them, needing them like dough.

“so soft…” she whispers out against your pulse.

ellie’s hands now start to make their way back down your body, feeling the hem of your bottoms dipping her thumbs under to feel the lining of your panties.

and before things could escalate any further your brother sneezes, causing you to flinch.

your body feels empty all of a sudden as ellie moves her hands off of you. you turn your face to look at her as she’s moving away from you and grabbing her plate of food and leaving you, but not before whispering “you gonna let me finish that later, or are you just gonna keep playing pretend?” into your ear.

all empty and unfulfilled. so hot and bothered, worked up, your face flushed with heat. how could she just do that and walk away like nothing happened?

but truth be told, ellie is freaking the fuck out right now. face red, mind going crazy. all she hopes for is that you let her finish later.

[headmastersapprentice]

Ellie Williams fucking you post-patrol (c/w: 18+ content, missionary, strap-on sex with jackson ellie)

Still in that old, grey hoodie of hers, tiny frayed holes along the lined hem. She is completely naked from the waist down, save for the strap she pounds into your pussy, her hips grinding against yours from above, her lanky sides hugged tight by the softness of your thighs; you always love wrapping your legs around her while she fucks you senseless.

"Ellie," you gasp her name, and your tone is contradictory in itself. She can't pull it apart even if held at gunpoint demanded to. Everything is happening so fast, and all she knows is that you said her name. Was it a warning that you were close, an exclamation, a plea for more?

But then you grasp at the ratty fabric of her hoodie, at her shoulder. You pull her down against you and bury your face into her shoulder, and she melts. Her thrusts can't keep up with you, growing sloppier and more like pathetic, greedy grinds into your hole than deep strokes. It's embarrassing how Ellie, your girlfriend who is supposed to be the one making you cum, is about to soak the both of you because of one cute action.

When she regains control over her lust-driven mind, you feel the silicone glide into you in a deep, slow pace. It sends you into more of a frenzy than if she were simply jackhammering into your cunt. No, she takes the time to make you feel the print of her dick slide and press into your sensitive insides. You try to hold in your soft whines and gasps, and it's a bit easier when you've got all sound muffled into her hoodie. Strategy.

Ellie drives you crazy without even knowing, though. You inhale through your nose, and all you can smell is Ellie's last patrol—the earthy compound of tree bark and dirt or soil, probably the former. There is the slight note of old cologne she put on this morning or last night, and it makes you dizzy in the head. But behind it all, when you take a deeper sniff, you can smell just Ellie. Her flesh, her sweat. It clings to her. You almost forget the moment, just getting lost in the comfort. You don't realize how close she brings you until she snaps you out of your daydreaming.

"Are you gonna stop sniffin' me and tell me how good I'm fucking this pretty pussy?" Ellie questioning teasingly. It makes your pussy wetter, not only because of her words, but because they’re strained and come out in an awkward, low cadence you’ve grown familiar with. Ellie is a loser at heart, even when she is deep inside you. It’s your weakness and she knows it, but can’t bring herself to use it against you because her own face reddens at the way her words jumble from her mouth. You know she means them.

Your answer is a half-moan, half blabber of incoherent words. She thrusts into you so hard it knocks your head back into place.

"Y-Yeah...fucking me so good..please don't stop, gonna cum for you, Els." You ramble on, one of your clammy hands trailing underneath her hoodie to grope at her tits. Ellie has something equivalent to mosquito bites which make them so easy to hold and roll in your hands until her rose-tinted nipples rise. Above you, Ellie's face scrunches up as she tries not to lose her rhythm again. It doesn't matter, though. You're too far, about to cum and coat the plastic she spoils you with after each and every assignment she is handed.

Ellie lets herself completely lay on top of you, her warm overbearing in the best way imaginable. Every inch of her moves as her hips do most of the work, and she lets out a little sigh of relief when you finally tense up and your legs shake against her sides.

Your orgasm is followed by only the confectionate feeling of love. She holds you tight in something reminiscent to a bear hug, her arms wrapped tightly around your body. Ellie isn't typically the sweetheart, rather the sardonic talk of Jackson wrapped up in a freckled package. But here in bed with you, she smothers your face with wet kisses and squeezes you like you can't possibly belong anywhere but here.

taglist: @sawaagyapong, @vixxxen, @prettyinpink69, @usuck, @s7nburn, @witzs, @bewareofmyglock, @ferxanda, @ruelezz, @aceywaycy, @hellokittyfeenie, @ssijht, @starberr1, @ruevu, @abbysbutch, @littlefallenangel111, @prwttiestbunny, @eriiwaiii2, @starrycherie, @evoscancelled, @human-cacti, @tphmnv, @fruitit00tie, @x0x0xkimara, @hotpinkskitties, @mars4hellokitty, @jhyoos, @elliesngirl, @moonfloweredprincess, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @l0veylace, @abbysmeatrider, @aviixol, @vahnilla, @plasticl0v3r, @g4ys0n want to be tagged? Click here!

[headmastersapprentice]

joel learning how to knock

cw: smut

first instance after he let ellie move into the garage he had a bad feeling. he stands proven right when he walks in to see you sitting on ellie’s desk topless at that. ellie standing in between your thighs which were intimately wrapped around her waist, and her face buried deeply in your neck with your head thrown back. the sight alone couldve given the man a stroke. before the either of you could even register what was happening you both hear the door slam shut cutting you both out of your steamy trance.

“was that joel?”

“i think so..” ellie gives you another kiss before telling you to put your shirt on, she opens the door to see joel standing to the side face in his palm contemplating what he should even say after what he witnessed.

another instance joel didn’t see ellie at dinner so he insisted on bringing her a plate to make sure she ate. maria also asked joel to find you and bring you something since neither of you were there. joel shouldve been able to put two and two together after witnessing what he has, but it sure didn’t click in his mind fast enough.

the two of you thought you were going to be safe after being more cautious then you were before, taking the time where everyone would be gathered eating to get laid. this ultimately once again came to an embarrassing end after joel walks in two plates in his hands, not having an extra one to knock. the sight before him left him utterly flabbergasted. your legs thrown in the air with ellie’s face between your thighs going to town on her own dinner. hearing the door open ripped ellie from between your legs covering up your nude bodies with the nearest blanket. joel didn’t stay to chat setting down the plates on the nearest surface he could find with no explanation and leaving as fast as possible.

the next day joel knocked on the door early in the morning. ellie crawled out of bed throwing a hoodie and sweatpants on before opening the door. joel stands there looking as nervous as ever but ellie could tell there was something on his mind. her mind trails back to the night before and her face turns beet red. joel looks past ellie on accident of course into her room to see you peacefully still asleep in her bed topless thankfully you had enough sense to but your bra back on; the rest of your body covered by the thick blanket. she notices what joel sees, and she walks outside and closes her door. let’s say they had a chat.

final instance was completely ellie’s fault he most definitely learned to knock from the last incident. you were sitting on ellie’s lap both of you once again topless you were suckling dark spots on to ellie’s neck and chest as her hand was shoved in your panties playing with your clit. ellie had a slow R&b song playing loudly on her radio causing you both not to hear joel’s knocks on the door. after knocking 3 times joel let himself in. huge mistake. joel felt like he was having a stroke witnessing this once again. slamming the door shut he breathed to himself before walking off. he didn’t even remember what he came there for.

[headmastersapprentice]

⇢ ˗ˏˋdouble sided dildo w/ ellie࿐ྂ

˗ˏˋellie smut !!´ˎ˗ mdni, smut, lowercase intended, sub!ellie x reader, f!reader, mentions of: tribbing, dildos *ೃ༄ pls leave reqs !! had to give this to you guys early i couldn't help it˚୨୧⋆

your sweet girlfriend had her poor eyes rolled to the back of her head, shallow breaths left her mouth as you ground against the cock you both shared.

it was easy for poor ellie to get cock-drunk when you took out the double-sided dildo. the sight for her was just too much, your legs tangled as your hips rutted, cunts softly hitting each other with every rock. you were in complete control, in a tribbing position with your hands wrapped around her thighs as you fucked yourself and ellie with the pretty pink dildo.

"wanna feel you" was all ellie could get out from her state of bliss and thankfully you knew what she meant. with slow movements you push yourself farther onto the cock pushing it deeper into both you and ellie, but you know thats not what she's asking for. her wishes are received when your soft pink cunt presses against hers.

"oh fuck baby" ellie moans out, her eyes closing for a split second just to open them again so she can get a look at where you two are connected. the image of your cunts kissing, each other's slick mixing together, the pink cock spreading each of you deliciously sends her into a spiral. her legs began to shake against yours as you feel her come against you, her juices adding to your mess,

"oh fuck" she calls out, coming against you.

her orgasm doesn't stop your relentless rocking against her soft, wet cunt. you push yourself harder onto her, feeling the tip of the dildo kiss your cervix as your clit kissed hers.

"you feel that baby? how wet i am for you?" you tease your poor girlfriend, unaware if she can even hear you in her state of bliss.

"too much.." ellie mumbled out as you chased your own orgasm.

"you're not done till i am, selfish girl" you tease, pressing yourself further into her slick. you continue your relentless rocking, catching your clit against her quivering puffy one, fucking yourself and her with the dildo.

"oh fuck.." ellie whispers out, coming for a second time, this time feeling it in a much deeper part of her. the sight of her second orgasm pushes you over the edge and you ground your cunt to hers as you come against her.

"that's my good girl" you moan out, circling your hips on her, riding out your orgasm. you open your eyes to find hers completely closed, looking liked she passed out, face in bliss.

slowly you pull away from the dildo and her sweet cunt, wincing at the odd feeling of not being so full. crawling onto your knees, you gently pull the dildo from ellie's sensitive pink cunt. you watch her face contort for a split second and relax once the dildo is gone.

you quickly grab a small towel from the bathroom to wipe her off, climbing onto the bed next to her delirious state. you softly giggle and give the corner of her mouth a kiss and clean her off.

"mmm c'mere already" ellie whines from the bed as you change into one of her band tee's and boxers. you crawl into the bed pulling her into your arms, ellie instinctively rolls into your chest with her face in your neck.

"you know you're fucking crazy right?" she mumbles sleepily into your neck. you giggle and press a kiss into her head,

"you'll get used to it" you whisper back to your girlfriend, closing your eyes.

this is how every night ended when you used that pretty pink double-sided dildo; with ellie completely wiped out having been fucked to sleep. your pretty girl can only handle so much till she breaks.

[ellie masterlist]

[headmastersapprentice]

loser ellie being down bad for mean!reader please like maybe shes a popular girl that kinda makes fun of her

obsessed

sypnosis; you were the popular girl—mostly known for making fun of people but there was one girl in particular you always made fun of on the daily. however, with you thinking she hated your guts because of how you treat her, little did you know how secretly obsessed she was with you when she shows another side of herself. warnings; smut, sub!fem reader, dom!ellie, semi-public fingering, slight cum play, not proofread, mdni. a/n; sorry for the wait…i’ve been sick😭 but here i am powering through💪 i looooved this idea so tysm for ur req! (sorry if it sounds rushed, better ones will come soon💔) hope u enjoy! reqs are always open so send as many in i looove seeing them! also if you wanna be on my taglist drop a comment or dm me!

➝ masterlist

you sat at your table with your friends, just a regular wednesday. everyone who wasnt your friend saw you as the mean girl. the popular girl. the one everyone would kill to be like or even sit with. you had to admit, you loved the feeling of being drooled over. you were mean to alot of people, you enjoyed teasing. but when it came to that one girl? ellie williams? oh you enjoyed teasing her more than everyone—your go to was the fact that everyone knew she was a lesbian, mostly because of the fact you knew you could say something as you were straight. or…so you thought.

you laughed with your mates, till at the corner of your eye you see her, her backpack slung over her shoulder as she trails past your table, not even making eye contact and you could sense the fact she knew you’d say something when she turned her head the other way.

“look, guys. its that lesbian weirdo.” you laugh, thinking you were somewhat funny as your friends laughed too. you never let a day go by where you wouldn’t tease her. after all, in your eyes it was just banter. she shot you a look of disgust, which only made you smirk when you realised she wasnt trying to look away.

“what’re you starin’ for? hm? did you wanna kiss me or something?” you joke, your friends laughs echoing behind you. she rolled her eyes and walked off before you could make another joke, shooting you a side glance as she exited the cafeteria. you smiled to yourself, thinking your teasing was successful for today.

that was until after lunch had ended, you had 2 more lessons left before you went home now so you got up and said bye to your friends, walking towards the hallway to your next lesson.

you stopped at your locker for some things, but before you could close it a rough hand gripped around your arm and dragged you to the nearest empty classroom. you couldnt even react it was so fast, all you could do was try and scream but even that was abruptly cut off by a hand covering your mouth.

the classroom was pitch black as the blinds were down, but an open window blew one of the blinds slightly, letting some light in and illuminating who dragged you here. your eyes widened in confusion, but then you were just completely dumbfounded once you recognised the memorable features…of her.

“you—” you began, but your sentence was yet again cut off when she took a step closer, her firm hands wrapping around your naked thighs due to your short skirt, and she placed you on top of one of the desks. she looked at you with those eyes. that same look that you knew all too well.

“you get off on making me look like a fool all the time. don’t you think its my turn now?” she whispers seductively, her breath fanning across your lips as she leaned in, her palms resting on your thighs. this was the complete opposite of what you’d expected from her, and to add on—you’d never really heard her talk before up until now.

you gulped loudly, her words leaving you completely speechless. you silently cursed yourself as you felt your thighs involuntarily spreading a little further, letting her stand inbetween them which is exactly what she did when she saw the opportunity.

she gripped your thighs harder, her lips leaning in and brushing against your ear, her voice low. “hmm. this doesn’t seem like straight behaviour to me. the same girl who makes fun of me for not being it,” she whispers, her hot breath touching your ear.

“spreading those legs for me, huh? yeah, seems very straight, doesn’t it?” she teases. repeatedly mentioning the whole straight thing considering you constantly made fun of her for being lesbian. so many thoughts clouded your mind and you were partly confused, but she was able to read that part. “let me clear that mind of yours, mhm?” she mumbles breathlessly, pressing a warm kiss to your cheek before one of her hands slowly began reaching up your skirt.

“you were right, y’know. i do want to kiss you.”

your breath hitched, her lips inching closer to yours and pressing a soft kiss to them. her tongue slipped over your bottom lip—seeking entrance and you complied, parting your lips for her. her tongue slipped into your warm mouth, sliding against your own in a desperate kiss as both of your breaths were heavy. for some reason, you weren’t pulling away. god, what was she doing to you? you started questioning yourself. wondering wether you made fun of her just to cover up the fact that you could potentially…like her. so many thoughts clouded in your head, but her next movement quickly swiped them all away.

she broke the kiss—her middle and ring finger slipped up your thigh, and past your panties, gently running through your folds. fuck sake. in a classroom. seriously?

you arched forward as you felt her warm fingers rub your folds, your forehead meeting with her shoulder as a needy whine fell past your parted lips. her eyes widened at that, however. she lifted her other hand from your thigh, getting her pointer finger and middle finger and gliding them across your bottom lip, wanting to slip them in. “be quiet. suck.” she commanded, ordering you to suck on her fingers to keep you silent.

your eyes flashed open, but all you could do at this point was comply. you opened your mouth further, taking her digits into your mouth as you began sucking on them. her face fell, her teeth finding her bottom lip as she bit down on it, urging her other hand. she began circling your clit which caused you to bite down on her fingers that were making your mouth feel so full.

she loved the feeling, seeing the girl who made fun of her looking like a fool beneath her. “thats it, thaaats it. suck, sweetheart.” she teased, her voice still that low and seductive tone that you’d gotten used to by now.

she wasted no time in slipping her fingers inside of your clearly aching pussy. she could feel your walls clench around them as she slipping them in fully. you bit down harder on her fingers, your eyes completely rolling back as you arched further.

“ohhh fuck…look at you,” she whispers, moving her lips to your ear again, her voice lowering even further as she spoke. she layed soft kisses to your temple, her soft lips grazing against your skin. her fingers continued to move, pumping in and out of your sobbing hole at a fast pace. so fucking ruthless.

you could feel it now, your stomach tightening and your walls clenching around ellies fingers, she could feel it too. one of your hands reach to her forearm, gripping on for dear life as you could feel yourself on the edge, your teeth biting down harder and your tongue swirling around her fingers in your mouth. she swore she could feel your juices surround her other ones before you’d even came yet, beginning to smirk as she saw you unfolding for her.

“i-i…im gonna—” you almost gag on your words, your mouth completely full with saliva and surrounded by her fingers. your ankles wrap around her waist, trapping her in. “shh, i know, i know.” she whispers reassuringly. she knew you were teetering on the edge and she wanted to get you there, purely to see the sight and for you to feel pleasure. with a couple more pumps, her fingers curling up and stroking against your spongey spot, and her thumb finding your clit, circling it gently, you felt your whole body begin to shake before finally jolting.

your cum flowed out of your aching pussy, onto the desk below you and covering her fingers. you give one final bite on her fingers in your mouth, but you couldnt help but whine as your back arched once more. why was that so good…and why did you want more? she grinned, slipping her fingers out of your mouth with a pop.

then came her fingers from your wet cunt, slipping them out. she smirked at the sight. “i knew your cum would look good on my fingers,” she whispers, looking you dead in the eyes. but then she raised her fingers to her mouth, inserting them in and licking up every last bit like it was liquid fucking gold. she let out a content hum, all the while your eyes widening as you watched her lick your juices up.

her words lingered in your head. well fuck. she’s thought of this happening before.

she reached her hand back down, gathering more of your release back onto her fingers, causing your hips to move against them slightly and your teeth finding your bottom lip. she really didnt care by this point, how desperate she looked for you, she just cared about showing it. this time though, she inched her fingers to your mouth, caressing your lips and letting your own cum drip onto them.

you’d never experienced anything like this before but you knew what she wanted, and you couldnt help but want nothing more than to comply with it. your tongue darted out, licking up your own cum off your lips that she’d put there. she eyed your every movement, smirking as she watched you like she was watching a damn porn video—completely mesmerised.

she pushed your panties back to where they should be, licking her fingers a few more times like she’d just enjoyed and was full from a good meal. she leaned into you, her lips brushing against yours now which caused your heart to jolt.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow then?” she whispers, her words hitting you like a fucking truck. see you tomorrow? oh no she did not.

your eyes shot open in fury, about to physically yell at her for acting so nonchalant now. but before you could even protest she’d already began walking to the classroom door, opening it and closing it behind her, not even having the courtesy to give you a glance before she left. you sat there, completely dumbfounded and angry that she’d left you in a damn classroom in a state like this.

but something tugged in your stomach, silently cursing yourself that you were actually excited for tomorrow.

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