#Just a fucked up kid and his three fucked up dads

[ilikeevilblondes]

World’s Worst Chauffeur

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Joel Miller, your dad's best friend, ends up getting roped into picking you up from a party. Without the key to unlock your house or anybody to let you inside, Joel offers to let you sleep at his place for the night. Needless to say, the both of you don't do a lot of sleeping.

TL;DR: You convince old man Joel to dick you down.

W.C: ~6.2k

Warnings: dbf!Joel, unprotected p-in-v sex, praise AND degradation (whoops), big fat age gap (Joel is around 50, reader is 21), daddy kink for a sec soz, aftercare, slight size kink, cunnilingus through panties, cunnilingus, dry-humping, couch sex (no outbreak!)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62586064

Note: hey y'all, trying my hand at joel miller smut because i saw an edit of pedro pascal and literally licked the fucking screen protector, so i guess that's god's sign of telling me to write filthy shit. anyway, hope you enjoy! wrote this instead of a politics essay #yolo

“C’mon, Joel.” Your dad sighed, meeting his best friend’s eyes with a pleading gaze.

“Look, I—”

“Just this once. Please. I really can’t get out of this meeting, the board would kill me. Especially with the damn FTC breathing down our necks.”

You were visiting your hometown for Spring Break. Tomorrow night, there was going to be a party in a town fifteen minutes away from your own—one that you had been invited to. Your dad was supposed to give you a ride home, but as always, there was some last-minute work emergency. So, Joel was his solution.

The aforementioned solution frowned, crossing his large arms over his plaid torso.

“I got better things to do than chauffeur your little girl.” Joel shrugged.

That was, in fact, horribly untrue. His agenda for that night consisted of re-watching one of the Die Hard’s and drinking a nice, cold Coors.

“I’ll owe you one.” Your dad insisted.

“Desperate ain’t a good look on you, buddy.” Joel cracked a small smile.

Your dad ignored this jab.

“Joel, we’ve been friends for almost two decades. You’ve let me borrow your car, helped me paint my house more times than I can count, and even bailed me out of jail when I sped down the interstate.” He counted the feats off his fingers. “But picking my kid up is where you draw the line? Come on.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth.

The real reason he maintained his firm stance on not giving you a lift home was, really, a bundle of three smaller reasons.

One, ever since you turned eighteen you’ve made it painstakingly and increasingly clear you wanted to get in his pants.

Two, you were a huge flirt.

Three, he wasn’t so sure he could keep on resisting. But he had to. For god’s sake, what kind of a friend would bone his friend’s daughter?

Hopefully, not him.

“I–” Joel began but was shortly interrupted.

"I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer. You’re picking up my kid. She has no one else, and I don’t trust her friends to be sober enough to get her home without getting in some kind of drunk-driving accident."

He levelled Joel with a firm look.

"So, are you picking her up, or should I expect to see her name in tomorrow’s obituary because one of her little buddies got behind the wheel after doin’ a keg stand, or a gazillion games of beer pong or I don’t know—fuckin’ ‘Cheers to the Governor’?”

Your dad stared him down with an expectant look.

Joel took a second to process this.

He rubbed a hand over his face, squeezed his eyes shut, and then met his friend’s stare with a sigh.

“Fine.” Came through gritted teeth.

Your dad patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He chirped happily.

———

And so, there Joel was.

Leaning against his old Chevrolet, idly spinning his keys around his finger, and staring at the front door of the party.

Several kids filtered out; stumbling into worn Honda Civics with disgruntled parents waiting in the driver’s seats, or with their arms interlocked and their sides almost melded together, giggling off to god-knows-where.

When you came out, you were part of the latter group.

Some blonde-haired boy—tall, but not too tall—was holding you close to him with a stupid smile on his reddened face. You mirrored it with a stupider smile of your own.

He whispered something into your ear that made you laugh and was promptly leading you in the opposite direction of Joel. But Joel was both keen and quick to intervene.

“Goin’ somewhere?” Joel called out, crossing his arms.

You froze and turned your head to lock eyes with none other than Joel Miller. Your neighbour, your dad’s best friend, and more importantly, your long-time crush.

“What are you doing here?” You arched a brow, slipping away from your friend and nearing him and his truck.

Your friend followed after you and settled by your side, resting an arm that hung a little too comfortably around your shoulder.

“Evenin’ to you, too, sweetheart. And to answer your question, I’m pickin’ you up.” Joel stated simply, then tossed a quick surveying look to the guy next to you. “Who’s blondie over here?”

“Daniel.” Blondie blinked and stuck out his free hand, glancing at you. Under his breath, he muttered, “you told me your dad couldn’t give you a ride.”

“He’s not my–” You started, but were immediately cut off by Joel.

“Get your hand off the girl, will you, Derek?” Joel narrowed his eyes at him, a dangerous look underlying his seemingly casual tone.

Daniel immediately did so, going so far as to step a pace back from you.

“It’s Daniel.” He coughed awkwardly. Then added, “sir.”

Joel ignored him—or, at least, didn’t show any sign that he had heard his correction—and turned around.

“Time to go home, young lady.” Joel said lowly. He opened the front passenger door, and upon finding you in the same spot as you were standing before he had turned his back, continued with, “that wasn’t a suggestion.”

You mumbled a quick ‘goodbye’ to Daniel and hopped inside the truck.

“Good girl.” Joel sighed, closed the door with a bit too much force and walked around the front of the car. He spared a few seconds to glare at your friend before sliding into the driver’s seat.

Suddenly, the engine thrummed to life and the two of you were headed down quiet suburban streets in the late hours of the night, leaving what's-his-name in the dust.

The air had been thick with a tension neither of you could describe and was further blanketed by a heavy silence broken only by the hum of the engine, the faint skid of tyres against asphalt, and your own rapid heartbeat pounding insistently in your ears.

Not five minutes had passed before Joel spoke up.

“Who was he?” Joel asked casually, his eyes still focused on the dimly-lit road ahead.

You sank further into the cracked leather of the front passenger seat.

“A friend.” You shrugged, not looking over at him.

Joel hummed a non-committal noise as he carefully took a turn into a side street, the truck slowly crunching over loose gravel. His grip on the wheel remained firm, but his eyes flickered over to you.

“Your daddy let you out of the house like that?”

You huffed out a short laugh and looked down at your choice of partywear; a low-cut top and some tight-fitting jeans. Not necessarily the most vulgar apparel, in your humble opinion.

“No, actually, he called the cops on me for indecent exposure, but I managed to escape.” You spat out sarcastically.

Joel didn’t find your comment funny. Or rather, there was no indication on his unwavering poker face that he had found it funny. Or was experiencing any emotion at all other than slightly tired.

The two of you sank into yet another silence.

“I’m not a kid, Joel.” You said after a minute or two.

“Like hell, you ain’t.” Joel scoffed.

“I’m in college, I can dress how I like.”

“Is ‘how you like’ a prostitute?”

You turned to face him fully, your arms crossed and your brows furrowed.

“That’s both slightly misogynistic and completely off-base, don’t you think?” You snorted, then smiled smugly to yourself. “Plus. Admit it, you like it.”

That threw him off-guard.

For the first time that evening, Joel showed a sliver of emotion. His eyes widened slightly as he opened his mouth, quickly closing it, and then opening it again to say, “what the fuck are you going on about, kid?”

“You were definitely staring at my tits.”

Joel was even more taken aback. First, by your absolute gall, and second, by your accuracy. He may have snuck a peek at your cleavage, but in his head, it was very discreet. But, fuck, did they sit perfectly.

“You’re drunk.” Joel shook his head.

“You didn’t deny it.” Your smile grew. “But yes, I am a little tipsy. Not drunk, though.”

“I noticed.”

“Just say the word, Miller, and I’ll flash you the twins anytime you like.” You leaned over the control arm, your eyes travelling along his tensing frame.

“Fucking Christ.” Joel breathed. He kept his eyes fixed on the road but released a hand from the steering wheel to rub the lower half of his face.

This. This was why he didn’t want to do this favour for your father. You were already a handful while sober. And you had been a handful ever since you started college—making throwaway yet entirely flirtatious comments, pressing your tits against his chest a bit too much while you lingered after a hug, and wearing the tightest clothes known to man.

And now drunk? You were literally throwing yourself at him.

The worst part was that he couldn’t control his body’s reaction to you. In fact, his jeans felt a little tighter the closer you got.

Fuck, he was more than twice your age and here he was getting a hard-on—

Joel was suddenly violently snatched from his internal monologue when he felt your hand ghost over his lap.

“That’s ‘cause of me, isn’t it…? I can help with that.” You whispered, your tone almost pleading as your fingers gently traced over the front zipper of his jeans.

“Honey, sit back down.” Joel said slowly. His eyes remained intently glued onto the road.

Jesus Christ, he was fucked.

“Joel,” You practically whined.

Jesus Christ, he was so fucked.

“You’re drunk,” Joel said, more to himself than you as some sort of ill-justified dismissal.

“Tipsy.” You corrected helpfully, yet not retreating back to your seat. “But not really.”

Before he knew it, Joel was pulling up in front of your driveway, his grip on the steering wheel deathly tight.

Joel sighed. “You’re home.”

You glanced out the window disappointedly.

“No shit, Sherlock.” You replied.

Joel muttered something to himself under his breath and got out of the car, quickly appearing by your side and opening the door for you.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He nodded toward your house.

You got to your feet indignantly and marched up to your porch. Joel followed after you, leaning against one of the support beams of your front awning as he watched you dig through your purse.

After a few moments of your struggle, Joel cleared his throat.

“What?”

“Can’t find my key.” You frowned.

“I’ll call your dad.”

“Not home. And won’t be, ‘till tomorrow morning. He’s in the city for some work emergency, remember?”

Joel ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, visibly mulling something over, judging by the crease in his forehead.

“And you don’t got a spare key lying around somewhere? Under a flower pot or a welcome mat or shit like that?”

You shook your head.

If Joel were a better man, he’d have caught the glimmer of an ulterior motive dancing in your mischievous eyes. He would’ve brought up the spare key given to him for emergencies—this would’ve constituted as such. And he certainly wouldn’t have said what he had next.

“You can stay the night at mine.”

You blinked up at him, your hand frozen in the opening of your purse.

Joel straightened up, taking his weight off the support beam.

“Or you can sleep outside. Up to you.”

“I’ll take option number one.”

A few minutes and a trip across the road later, Joel had wriggled his key through the entrance lock and opened the door, inviting you inside.

Joel’s two-story craftsman was cosy and lived-in. The leather couch facing a moderately-sized flat-inch was slightly worn, the coffee table was cluttered with magazines and empty cans, and standing by its lonesome in a forgotten far corner of the living room was an acoustic guitar. More importantly, his house smelled like him; like warmth and vetiver and wood.

You had been a guest at his house on several occasions, but such instances had always been with the company of your dad.

That evening you found yourself free of his presence and, coincidentally, free of a conscience.

However fortunate your moral freedom was, it was only partially incited by your father’s absence. The four lukewarm cans of Lone Star you had chugged at the party may have had more of an influence on your risqué behaviour, because you sure as hell weren’t pushing Joel down on his leather sofa and straddling his lap with complete sobriety.

Joel let you take control, placing his big hands on your waist like they were always meant to be there while you moulded yourself against him, and met your lips with equal fervour when you smashed your mouth against his.

He sighed into the kiss and gripped your waist tighter as you slipped your tongue past his lips, ignoring the slight scruff of his greying stubble rubbing against your jaw.

But it was when you began slowly rocking your hips against the tenting figure in his jeans did he suddenly remember himself and wrench his face away from yours.

“Shit.” He panted, his pupils dilated and his chest heaving as he zeroed in on your kiss-swollen lips and your half-lidded, desperate eyes.

Why the fuck did he just do that? ‘That’ being the act of letting you kiss him, but he was just as equally angered with himself for stopping.

“We shouldn’t.” He shook his head, but his eyes were focused on your pretty, slightly parted lips.

“Why not?” You sighed, leaning closer.

Joel took your chin in his hand and held you at a safe distance.

“You know fucking well why.” Joel’s voice rumbled deep with frustration.

“Give me a reason.”

“I’ll give you three: you’re drunk, you’re barely eighteen, and your father is my best friend.”

You huffed out a noise of annoyance.

“I’m a little tipsy at worst, I’m twenty-one, thank you, and my father doesn’t have to know.”

Joel’s lip twitched. You were very persistent. He didn’t even know why he was arguing with you, he just knew he had to resist whatever fucking temptation this was.

“I’m old enough to be your father, too.” Joel frowned.

“But you’re not.”

“You should want someone your own age.”

“But I don’t.”

Joel inhaled through his teeth, subconsciously nearing your face once more. “This is so wrong.”

“Just once, Joel.” You pleaded, your eyes flooded with need.

“Fuck,” Joel shook his head, his brows furrowed as he once again lost himself in how pretty your lips looked; all puffy and raw. All because of him. “Honey–”

“Just this once.” You whined prettily.

At the sound, Joel unconsciously rocked up into you. Your hands immediately went to grab his shoulders to steady yourself; feeling a little lightheaded from the mere singular action.

Joel’s grip on your waist tightened.

“Fuck.” He said again, breathing slowly.

Being as old as he was, Joel never expected to relive the days of his brazen youth when his only major problem in life was cumming in his pants after a pretty girl had barely touched him.

His dark eyes finally met yours.

You held your breath.

“Just this once?” He said.

“Just this once.” You confirmed.

“You won’t … you won’t try anything again?” Joel’s eyes dropped back down to your mouth and his thumb gently traced your bottom lip. His other hand slipped from your waist to the bare small of your back from underneath your blouse.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, but you shakily nodded your head.

Joel didn’t believe you.

But, fuck it, he captured your mouth in another hungry kiss anyway, closing his eyes and holdiing you against him.

He was definitely going to hell, but he would gladly do so just knowing he had felt heaven against his lips.

And, fuck, was that an unforgettable taste.

Joel gently trailed his chapped lips down your jaw, your neck, and lingered on your pulse point, all while one hand held you by your nape and the other against the skin of your lower back, idly caressing the base of your spine with his thumb.

Instead of the white-hot passion that had initially been the catalyst for this heated night, this moment was charged with an underlying tenderness. And all you could do was throw your head back and accept his tentative indulgence.

Though by the way Joel unintentionally bucked his growing bulge against your clothed mound as he peppered the crook of your neck with open-mouthed kisses, you could tell his delicacy was largely imbued by whatever ounce of restraint he inexplicably retained and was, by no means, a testament to his true nature.

He was holding back.

“Joel?” You whispered, carding your hand through his hair.

“Mmm?” He hummed into your skin, his eyes closed in bliss.

“I want…” You began, the words dying in your throat.

What did you want?

Well, his cock, definitely. More specifically, inside of you, but you’d cross that bridge when you came to it.

“Words, baby.” He pressed a final kiss onto your neck and pulled away the slightest distance to meet your gaze. His eyes were wrecked with lust; half-lidded and almost entirely swallowed by his dilated pupils. He softly took your face in the hand that was formerly resting against your nape. And when he spoke, his voice was low and rich with that sweeter-than-molasses Southern drawl. “Try that again. What do you want, honey?”

“You.”

“And you have me, don't you?” Joel said distractedly, his thumb lightly tracing your lower lip. His soft, umber eyes momentarily dipped down to your mouth as if he was debating on kissing you again.

And he was. Fuck, those lips of yours.

“No, I…” You breathed, your hand coming down in between your two bodies and palming his rock-hard erection through his denim. Joel hissed. “Can I suck you off?”

Joel’s eyes widened. You certainly held no room for subtlety.

“Fuck, honey.” He huffed. “Really know how to get to the point, don’t you?”

“Can I?”

Joel hummed.

“Can I be perfectly candid, sweetheart?”

“You have my blessing.” You arched a brow.

“If you so much as breathed on my dick right now, I think this night would come to a quick and rather … anticlimactic finish.” Joel sighed, breaking into a small smile. In true dad fashion, he then added, “pun not intended.”

You granted him the reward of a snicker for his antics. Then, you leaned close to his ear, letting your breath tickle his skin.

“If I had known that all I’d get from you was a dry-humping makeout sesh, I’d have stuck with Daniel.” You sighed, as casually as you could.

Without even looking at him, you saw the jealousy morph onto his aged face.

“Get on your fucking back.” He said, his voice measured, yet somehow equally unhinged.

You stilled, not expecting that much of a reaction from him.

“I said,” Joel met your gaze, his eyes holding a dangerous promise. “Get on your fucking back, young lady.”

And that was how you found yourself lying against the arm of a sofa older than the Great Depression with your jeans discarded in a wrinkled pile somewhere and your legs spread around the owner of said ancient sofa.

Joel crouched down in front of you, with one of your legs perched on his shoulder. He pushed your shirt up past your belly button and kissed a path down to the waistband of your panties.

His hand slid up your knee, then your thigh, and then stopped right against a particularly damp spot in your underwear.

“This for me or Daniel?” Joel hummed against your lower stomach, his stare flickering up to your face.

You bit your lower lip.

“You.” You said softly.

And then Joel lowered his head and kissed the patch of arousal. And then he kissed it again and again, basically frenching your cunt through your underwear. You could feel the pressure of his tongue against your swollen clit, sliding, only by a small margin as restricted by your godforsaken panties, in between your folds—

“Say that again for me, honey? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Fuck–” You gasped at the feeling. “You, Joel!”

“That’s what I thought.”

To your displeasure, Joel stopped whatever the fuck he was doing and his eyes found yours once more.

“Need me to eat your pussy now, sweetie?”

Yes, fucking please.

You might’ve said that out loud, judging from the pleased chuckle Joel let out.

Before you knew it, Joel slid your panties off your legs (pocketing them secretly—only to wash them on your behalf, of course, nothing dirty at all on his part) and then consequently salivated at the sight of your bare cunt.

Fucking gorgeous.

“Oh, honey.” Joel sighed, barely hiding his eagerness.

“It hurts…!” You breathed, your eyes flickering down to your pulsating core; dripping wet and throbbing in anticipation of him.

“Aw, it hurts, does it? I’ll kiss it better, hm? Is that what my pretty girl wants?” Joel cooed in a falsely-sweet tone.

He then held you still by the firm grip on your waist and leaned down right in front of your slick seam.

Joel tutted as he took in your desperate scent.

“So wet for me.” He mumbled, more to himself than you.

Without warning, much less another word, Joel dipped his head down to plant a kiss directly on your swollen clit, lapping at the swelling bud.

You gasped and a hand flung down to grasp his salt-and-pepper curls.

Joel smiled against your cunt and moved further down, his tongue lazily sliding through your folds and flicking inside your velvety walls.

In response, your grip on his hair tightened and you whispered something close to his name. Or God’s. Or anyone’s, really, you were teetering on the edge of unconsciousness from the sheer intensity of the situation, you could’ve been reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, for all you knew.

“Mmm... fuck, you taste good, baby.” He mumbled against your heat.

Suddenly, Joel pulled away with a wet ‘pop’ and his eyes met yours. Upon seeing your lust-blown face, he smiled through his scruff—a slight shine evident around his mouth from your slick.

“Good?” Joel mused, his thumbs tracing gentle circles on your hips.

You nodded deliriously and pulled him back up by the collar of his shirt—why the fuck was he still fully dressed—to taste yourself on him.

His lips moved hungrily against yours as he licked into your mouth. You were so consumed in the kiss, you barely noticed the sound of his belt unbuckling or his zipper sliding down.

It wasn’t until you felt the tip of his cock nudge against your seam that you noticed you were, very possibly, actually going to fuck your dad’s best friend.

Or rather, he’d fuck you. As long as you were fucked, you were fucking happy.

Your eyes flickered down to his length.

“Shit.” You gasped.

You always knew Joel to be a big guy; from his broad shoulders to his massive hands—no doubt incredibly useful in his line of work as a contractor. But seeing his fucking cock? You were still somehow surprised.

“Joel, I…” You blinked. “You’re so…”

Big. He was so big.

“Oh, c’mon baby, I know you can take it,” Joel said against your lips, his breath warm against your skin. “We’ll go slow at first. That sound good?”

You nodded.

In hindsight, he should’ve worked you with his fingers first. That would’ve been the first thing he’d done after tasting your delicious fucking pussy, but he got lost in how good you felt against his mouth, he was too excited to feel how you’d stretch around him.

“That’s my good girl.” Joel hummed, satisfied. “I’ve got condoms upstairs, if–”

“I have an IUD.”

The four little magic words which really meant, please Joel, fuck me raw.

Being ever the gentleman, Joel planned on doing exactly that.

“Then eyes down, sweetheart. Want you to watch how I fuck you.”

Obediently, your eyes dragged down to the sinful sight of Joel taking his cock and slapping it a few times on your pussy, before just barely sliding inside. His weeping tip easily disappeared inside you, along with an inch or two, aided by the arousal coating your entrance.

He wasn’t even halfway in, but the thickness of his cock was unlike any other you’ve felt before. And, possibly, too much for you to take.

“Too big.” You whined.

Above you, a wicked smile grew on Joel’s face.

“Too big? D’you just say it’s too big? Well, tough luck, sweetheart, ‘cause I ain’t stoppin’.”

Joel continued to push forward, thrusting shallowly in, retreating, and then feeding you a little more of his length at a relaxed pace.

“My good girl can take it, can’t she?” He murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. He mumbled indifferently in between tasting your sweet skin, “after all, you were the one begging me so sweetly to fuck you a little while ago. Would be a damn shame if you couldn’t follow through with your own request…”

“I can.” You affirmed, squeezing your eyes shut from the overbearing sensation of being filled by him.

“Attagirl.”

And then, to test your claim, Joel finally buried himself all the way to the hilt, his balls slapping obscenely against your ass from the movement.

“Daddy–!” You gasped, your nails digging into his back.

Joel’s lip quirked upward in a small, amused smile.

“‘Daddy’, huh? Should’ve figured.” He tutted, gently caressing your cheek with his thumb. “You want daddy to stop?”

“N-No!”

“Then take it—” Joel thrust into you, his tip deliciously kissing your cervix. “—like a good girl.”

And then he began a steady pace. Not too slow, but fuck, did he hit deep.

You could’ve sworn you were seeing little cartoon stars dancing around your vision from the plane of pleasure you found yourself on; otherwise known as being dicked down by Joel Miller, apparently.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Joel winced, his hips stuttering.

He really should’ve stretched you out with his fingers first, but there was no way in fucking hell he was going to pull out now. Not with how perfectly your cunt was wrapping and crying around him.

In fact, you felt so good, Joel was starting to feel a familiar sensation in his lower stomach that alerted him of how close he was to prematurely spilling inside you. Turns out, his unintentional celibacy (circa the fucking creation of MySpace) had a bigger impact on him than he would’ve liked.

“Yeah? Do I feel good, daddy?”

Fuck.

Joel’s dick twitched.

If this really was going to happen ‘just once’, Joel was damned set on, firstly, fucking your brains out without coming early, and secondly, making you reach your end before he reached his. Ladies and gentlemen, chivalry was alive and well in the twenty-first century.

Thinking intently about the starting lineup for the Cowboys game that Sunday, Joel began to pick up the pace, reaching places you’ve never been aware of until that precise moment.

Mesmerised by both the slight outline of his dick in your stomach and the sheer sensation of his heavy length, you took it upon yourself to encourage a quicker speed and moved your hips in time with him.

“Mmm,” Joel inhaled sharply, locking eyes with you. “Look at you, prettly little slut. Tryna fuck me back too, huh?”

Your walls clenched around him at his words. Mean as they were, his tone was still as sweet as honey.

“‘S okay. You take what you need, babygirl.” Joel dipped his head down to suck at your pulse point as he continued sawing into your drooling cunt.

“Need more. Please.” You all but whimpered.

“My baby needs more, hm?” Joel muttered against your neck, nipping at a freshly-made hickey. You yelped in response, but Joel only grinned as he muttered to himself, “she’ll get more. Filthy fucking whore.”

And then Joel sped up his thrusts, going in and out, in and out, at a brutal pace. Salacious, wet sounds filled his living room every time he shoved his fat cock inside you. That, combined with the unabashed moans spilling from your mouth, made the whole affair seem borderline pornographic.

Not that Joel was complaining, because you sounded pretty as a peach.

“Joel!”

“Fuck, that’s it, Joel!”

“Oh, Joel, you’re fucking me so well!”

Your moans came in tandem with every stab of his cock, blabbering desperate words of praise as your walls fluttered around him.

Joel sucked in a breath.

“Yeah, that’s it, baby, scream for me. Let the neighbours hear who’s fucking you so well, hm?” Joel lazily kissed your jaw. “You close, pretty girl?”

Unable to sound anything other than nonsensical syllables or his name or ‘daddy’ upon nearing your climax, you simply shook your head in an eager nod.

So Joel kept on mentally listing the fifty states to keep from joining you, and maintained his rapid pace.

“Go on, sweet girl, come on my cock. Let go, honey, I’ll catch you. ‘M right here.” Joel murmured sweetly, caressing your flushed cheeks. A total juxtaposition to the ruthless pace his hips were setting.

In and out. In and out.

In. And. Out.

And then his hand trailed down your bare stomach, lightly spidering over the faint outline of his dick jutting in and out of you, and settling on your very sensitive swollen bundle of nerves. His hand then began generously swiping at your clit as whispered sweet words of praise into your ear.

You clutched his bicep with an iron grip as you felt your high approach.

“Joel, I’m…!”

“Yeah, come on daddy’s cock. You’re so close, baby, just let go.”

And so you did. With a scream that reached God in the high heavens above, your walls clenched around him and you were nearly knocked out from the overbearing sensation of your intense orgasm.

Joel fucked you through it, unrelenting in his devoted momentum, his tip finding your cervix with every other thrust. And he continued fucking you through it, even after the last waves of your high, letting out low groans of pleasure.

When he saw your eyes refocusing, he slowed down for a moment, as reciting the ABC’s backwards was hardly working to calm his hard length.

“Don’t stop…” You mumbled, a bit sadly.

“Baby, I got no plans of stopping anytime soon, don’t you worry.”

And to prove his point, Joel kissed your right ankle and hitched your other leg over his shoulder, practically splitting you in half as he reached deeper inside you.

If he was gonna come, so were you. If the last thing he’d get to do on this godforsaken planet was send the pretty girl bent in half underneath him into two soul-shattering orgasms, he’d die a satisfied man.

Did he also want to show off and possibly ruin you for all men? Maybe.

Fuck, yes, he did.

He wanted you to be fucking addicted to the way his cock stretched your velvety walls, because he sure as hell was.

Screw the ‘just this once’ bullshit. He was gonna fuck you every damn night from now on, if you’d let him.

“Feels so good, Joel…” You whined pathetically.

Joel hummed in a self-satisfied sort of way and began pushing up your shirt to reveal your bouncing tits and leaned down to take a pebbled nipple in his mouth, licking and sucking at the nub, and nipping at the surrounding sensitive skin.

“Oh!” You gasped, jerking your head back.

Joel took it as a sign to continue, showing the exact same attention to your other nipple and maintaining his deep and rapid thrusts, causing the springs of the couch to whine in protest with every jut of his hips.

You let out a strangled moan.

“Joel—! Joel, it’s so…!” You panted, tears collecting in your eyes from the overstimulation.

“Shh, it’s okay. Almost there. Almost there, baby.” Joel tutted, gently swiping away your tears with his thumb as he continued to fuck you like he was an interior designer from the way he strived to rearrange your guts. “You gonna be good and come around daddy’s cock a second time?”

Your walls tightened in response and you let out a breathy whimper.

“Good girl.” He smashed his mouth against yours and swallowed your moans, his lips moving in time with his hips. “Where do you want me to…?” He mumbled against your lips, his breath mingling with your own.

“Inside.”

“Fuck, babygirl, you sure?”

“Miller, I said, inside.” You made a point to fuck yourself onto him with deep movements of your hips, displaying your intent.

“Yes ma’am.” Joel smirked, absolutely fucking pussydrunk.

With that, Joel caught your lips in another searingly intense kiss, licking into your mouth as his thrusts continued to ram into your cervix while you held onto the couch for dear life.

And if that wasn’t enough sweet torture to your poor body, Joel moved one hand above you, gently laced his fingers with yours, and brought it back down to lay flat against your clit.

“Play with that pretty pussy, baby.” He whispered against your skin, his hand moving yours encouragingly. “Need you to give me another.”

With a shaky nod, you acquiesced, toying with your clit like you had a million nights before.

Except this time, instead of imagining it, you really had Joel fucking Miller in between your legs, sawing into your cunt like he wanted to break it.

“That’s my good girl,” Joel’s mouth twitched into a slightly proud smile against your skin.

It took Joel half a dozen more stabs into your slick mound before his hips began to stutter.

And then it took three more before he buried himself completely inside, and, with a gasp of your name accompanied by an appropriate expletive, painted your walls with hot ropes of his come.

“Fuck, daddy!” You moaned, your back arching off the sofa.

At the same time, for the second time that night, no less, you felt yourself reach another mind-blowing orgasm, your walls greedily sucking him in further and shaking around his thick length.

He continued to fuck his come into you with a few more slow, but deliciously deep rolls of his hips, before he stilled inside you and fell on top of your heaving chest, letting your legs fall back onto the beaten old couch, too.

It took a few moments for both of you to steady your breaths.

“Was that … okay?” Joel breathed, staring at you with furrowed brows, and gently tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I think I blacked out for a second there.” You smiled.

Joel laughed and kissed the corner of your mouth. Smug as ever, he muttered, “I take tips.”

“That’s funny, since I just took yours.”

You almost felt Joel roll his eyes.

Joel slowly sat up, gazing down upon the absolute fucking mess the two of you made; both your arousals leaking out of your mound and coating your thighs in a sheen coat.

Tenderly, he began to pull out, wincing from both the feeling of leaving your warmth as well as the sight of your come and his collecting around his cock in a shiny ring.

“Sit tight, baby, I’ll get you something to clean you up.” Joel pressed a kiss to your collarbone, tucked himself haphazardly back in his jeans, and disappeared off into another room.

If he had stayed a second longer, you would’ve said something that testified to how hard he had fucked you, since you weren’t sure you could move anyway.

Joel returned a minute or two later with a damp towel and began to softly wipe away the remnants of your dalliance, delicately caressing your hip with his other hand.

“What a gentleman.” You purred, watching him with a stupid grin on your fucked-out face.

Joel threw the towel aside.

“You think so, sweetheart?” He hummed, leaning down to give you a quick, affectionate kiss.

“Never had this level of aftercare.” You admitted, laughing slightly.

Joel gently manoeuvered the two of you so you laid on your sides facing each other on his surprisingly roomy sofa.

“Still regret not goin’ with that Daniel boy?” He smirked, taking your chin in between his fingers and tilting your face toward his.

You swung your bare leg over his hip and pulled him closer. “Not at all.”

“‘S what I thought.” Joel hummed happily, bumping his nose against yours.

“And … y’know what I said about this being a one-time thing?”

“Mhm?”

“We’re definitely doing this more than once.”

“Thank fucking God.”

[kazrz]

TEN YEARS TOO LATE ⛥ sirius black

ten years ago, bellatrix lestrange’s child was thrown onto your doorstep without warning. ten years later, you’re not sure if you’re living the life you’d wanted — but you do know that mattheo is your son, and no one else’s. [1.6k words]

TAGS: sirius is harry’s godfather, reader is a single mum to mattheo riddle, hurt/no comfort, angst, lovers to strangers/borderline enemies ngl, voldemort died after the first war, reader and sirius are both meanies

🐦‍⬛ — everyone say hi to my baby mattheo! I wrote this fic smiling and all but best believe I’ll never have a child in the future. too much work.

p.s. this fic is inspired by ‘he looks like his father’ by @/marauder-misprint! that fic changed lives and one of them was mine.

“He’s not your kid.”

You’ve endured many offensive questions about Mattheo’s parentage ever since you took him in. They sent you spiralling downward into the deepest depths of your mind, wondering why everyone needed to have their noses in your business. They made you second guess your parenting skills, doubting how you raised Mattheo and whether he truly is the boy you nurtured him to be.

While you weren’t normally so tongue-tied in these situations, it didn’t help that your old, repulsive Hogwarts fling was standing right before you — closer than he’d ever been in more than a decade — confidently claiming that your son wasn’t yours.

It was a huge, fucking relief that the kid had inherited his biological mother’s shamelessness.

Mattheo pushed past only a few irritated students and parents on his way to you. Sirius’ words were as clear as day to him. They ignited a flame that wasn’t known for its swift ceasing.

“Who are you to be the judge of that?” he gritted out, fingers clinging onto yours by habit. You smiled down at him, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “Last I remembered Mum telling me, you ditched her after graduation and never reached out. You have no right to even be speaking to her.”

Your son’s words sizzled a hole into your heart. You hadn’t expected him to remember the measly details about a man who was irrelevant in his life. The last time you’d mentioned Sirius, Mattheo was merely five. He’d asked, “Mama, why don’t I have a dad?”

How could you not answer him?

Eighteen years ago, you would have laughed if someone said you’d be a single mother. Sixteen years ago, you would have laughed, along with Sirius, at the prospect of being parents.

Ten years ago, you held in your distaste for children and took in a three-year-old.

And you wouldn’t let the man who’d left your heart in pieces disregard the hard work you’d put in.

Sirius’ dry laugh left you clenching your teeth, hands itching to curl into fists and punch him square in the face. “Stay out of this, kid,” he snapped, not even bothering to glance at Mattheo.

You sent him a right hook straight to his chiseled jaw, hearing a soft crack sound at the impact.

Silence fell over the courtyard like a thick, suffocating blanket, but not before gasps echoed from every corner of the open space. Sirius held trembling fingers to his left jawbone, lips parted in absolute bewilderment. He stared off into the empty space beside Mattheo.

A few rustles sounded as someone shoved past students clad in their black robes. Harry froze, halting just before he ended up in the middle of the ongoing catfight.

A dazed Remus materialised from behind him, eyes widened as he took in the scene.

“YN,” the lanky man rasped, eyes flitting between you and his best mate. Sirius still had his hand pressed to the side of his insolent-looking face, but now he was glaring you down, brows virtually stitched together. “YN, you’re here.”

Mattheo tugged on your arm and you stepped back, the greater distance between you and your ex clearing the haze from your mind. You tried not to roll your eyes at Remus’ quite apparent observation.

“Yes, I am, Lupin.” The edge in your voice gave way to pure rancour, eyes hardening when Sirius righted himself with a groan. You had half the heart not to utter the next few words. “You’re not the only one with a child.”

By now, the prying eyes of passers-by had redirected somewhere else, no longer interested in your dispute with two of the Marauders.

Remus’ gaze lingered on Mattheo — his dark curls, his defined brows, his nose, the scar that marred his cheek intimidatingly. He looked close to nothing like you, save for his body language, graceful yet sharp, and his clothing choices, casual yet sophisticated.

Even if the kid wasn’t your blood, it was painfully blatant that he was raised by you.

The professor swallowed the lump in his throat. “Riddle’s yours?” The question was stupid, but he was too dumbfounded to think of another one.

Sirius groaned, running a hand down his face. You relished in seeing him wince at the pain that struck his jaw. Mattheo, on the other hand, seemed more than ready to rip him apart.

“You might wanna stop there, Moony, or she’ll have you puking out your guts,” Sirius sneered, the unfamiliar sound sending a tremble down Harry’s spine. His godfather had never been so agitated before. It might’ve just been your presence that irked him, given the woeful tone Sirius would adopt whenever he shared stories about your relationship back then.

You couldn’t help the scoff that left your lips. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to have someone claim your son isn’t really yours, would you? Because Harry isn’t your son. He’s your dead best friend’s son.”

A brief flicker of hurt crossed Sirius’ grey eyes. It tugged at your heartstrings, but you shoved the feeling aside. You had no compassion for him. He’d shattered you — how could you possibly go back to him?

Mattheo turned to you with a plea in his eyes. While he normally would contribute with some snarky comments of his own, he didn’t want you getting into a brawl. Especially when this was the topic at hand.

“Mum,” he tried, voice firm but holding a semblance of vulnerability he’d only ever show around you. “Don’t do this. He’s not worth it.”

At that, Sirius whipped out his wand and jabbed at your chest with the tip. Mattheo almost broke the man’s ribs, but you pushed him aside before he could get caught in the altercation.

The former Gryffindor looked nearly like a rabid dog with the way he snarled and growled, wand tip digging painfully into your collarbone.

“Not worth it? That’s what I was to you? What you told your son I was?” His voice sank deeper than the depths of the ocean. Harry didn’t recognise the man who looked like his godfather.

You gripped his wand tight, nearly snapping it in two if Sirius hadn’t yanked it away harshly. “The moment you abandoned me on my own doorstep, you became a stranger!” you raged, keeping your volume in check before another crowd formed. “When you didn’t call, or even send a bloody letter, I gave up waiting on you. What could I do? Cry all night because you weren’t there to hug me? Trudge around my house blindfolded because everything reminded me of you? I knew better than that. I moved away, and you weren’t there to stop me. So why are you here now, claiming my kid isn’t mine and acting offended that he thinks you’re of no worth to me?”

Mattheo held his breath when you spat the words you’d been holding in for years. He knew you were tenacious and resolute in all your glory, but he’d never witnessed you so livid. He had little to no knowledge of how Sirius had left you so wounded and exposed, though now, your words began assembling the puzzle pieces he’d collected over the years.

He noticed whenever you stopped for a moment, looking longingly at an object that meant nothing to him, but a lot more to you. You would sometimes, subconsciously, style his hair differently when it grew too long. Right now, as he glanced between you and Sirius with his waves, he realised why.

“Seriously, Sirius?” He heard the crack in your voice when your ex didn’t respond. Out of guilt or fury, he didn’t know. “You made your decision, and I have made mine.”

You shoved the dark-haired man off of you, causing him to stumble backwards and lose his footing. Remus darted forwards, barely managing to catch Sirius in his arms, sparing him from the unforgiving impact of the ground. Hushed whispers were exchanged as the latter righted himself, sending you a glare while holding his injured jaw.

It was only after a quiet, indignant huff that you turned to your son and placed benign hands on his shoulders.

Leaning down slightly, you brushed a stray hair away from Mattheo’s forehead, smiling as tenderly as you could. “Are you ready to leave, Theo?” you murmured sweetly, a stark contrast to your previous bite. The sudden shift in tone induced whiplash.

Mattheo flashed a charming grin that reminded Remus of your own. Whatever Sirius had said about the Slytherin boy not being your son was possibly the most erroneous statement ever uttered.

You mirrored his expression, though yours was gentler and didn’t reach your eyes. Your son’s enthusiasm flickered for a moment, but when you stood to your full height and led him away, Mattheo began cheerfully rambling about the recent happenings at Hogwarts and his own escapades.

Sirius couldn’t believe that he’d just seen you for the first time in more than a decade. He especially couldn’t fathom the fact that it had gone terribly.

He shouldn’t have said Mattheo wasn’t your kid. That isn’t something you say to your ex you’ve been thinking about for sixteen years after you ditched her. Now that he’d put it that way, he realised how horribly he had acted towards you and your son.

Your son. It was a foreign term to him, principally when it came to you. The you he’d known in Hogwarts had an unyielding repugnance for children. But, he figured, you were really only averse to the toddlers who didn’t listen. You must have raised Mattheo well.

“That was awful,” Harry quipped, raising an eyebrow at his godfather. Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face and wincing when his jaw decided it was too much.

He sighed, brows stitched together. “I know.” But what did it matter?

Remus patted him on the back. “If you’re lucky, you might see her again,” he reassured his friend, though skepticism snuck between his words.

“If she even wants to see me again.”

Harry had a feeling that you didn’t.

navigation ⛥ sirius black

[apomaro-mellow]

Corroded Coffin ransoms Steve Part 1/?

From this post

Steve couldn't really see who was attacking him. But that didn't matter.

"Grab him! GRAB HIM!"

"Shit! AH! Fuck!"

He wasn't gonna let a bunch of random guys get the best of him. Who cared that it was four on one? They had the element of surprise, sure. Steve hadn't expected to get jumped in the space between the Hawkins gym and his car. Serves him right for trying to get extra basketball practice, he supposed.

Steve felt pretty good about holding his own. Two of them were holding themselves where he'd landed a good blow. He could finish this. There was only one guy left (the other must've bolted) and his car was in sight. Steve threw one more punch and booked it, reaching for his keys in his jacket pocket when pain bloomed on his entire left side. Then his right decided to match it when he hit the ground.

'Did I just get hit by a fucking car?'

There was screaming coming from above him but it was cut off as Steve's world went black.

------------------------

Eddie took a deep drag, holding it in before releasing his breath.

"You don't like it", Gareth said, half finished beer in hand.

"Didn't say I didn't like it", Eddie said.

"Dude, we can tell when you approve and when you don't", Jeff pushed up from the crate of whatever Doug's dad kept in the garage.

Doug was nursing a beer too. His second one. "What don't you like about a battle of the bands? We've got the sound."

"And the personality!", Gareth added.

Eddie nodded. "All solid points. But we're missing the money."

"Entry fee's only fifty bucks, man", Jeff said. "I know you got that much."

"$50 to get it", Eddie began to list off his fingers. "Gas money to get us all the way to Chicago-"

"It's like three hours away, Eds", Doug griped.

"Not done! Plus food, plus hotels, plus fixing up our equipment. Jeff and I both need new strings if we're gonna have any chance of winning."

"Well fuck me, I guess", Doug rolled his eyes.

"Dude, the bass guy always gets the most puss at these things. You don't need new strings", Gareth said. "If anything, my drums-"

"If I don't need new strings, why should you get new drums?", Doug argued.

"Ladies, ladies, you're both beautiful", Jeff came between them. "And need I remind you, we're trying to get Eddie on board? Not double our expenses?"

"We're already over budget", Eddie said. "'Sides, we'd be taking my van to get there and old Bessie needs some work done too. 'Specially if she's gonna be hauling our stuff."

It wasn't that Eddie didn't want to go. He just wasn't particularly keen on following pipe dreams. Chicago wasn't far-far. But what were the odds of them going all the way there and hitting it big? It wasn't strictly a metal competition. There'd be rock and probably pop, maybe even country too, who knew. The point was, metal wasn't much of a crowd-pleaser unless the crowd was already primed for it.

He snuffed the joint in his hand and then lit up another one that they all passed around while coming up with get rich quick schemes. It started innocent enough with the suggestions. Blood donations (Doug hated needles, Eddie hated hospitals), garage sale ("Nobody wants our shit."), and even if they all somehow got like three part time jobs by tomorrow, they wouldn't earn enough to get Eddie on board with this whole idea.

The more they talked about it, the more Eddie got riled up. Why should they be left out of something just because they didn't have the money for it? That was bullshit! There were people out there drowning in money and between the four of them they couldn't scrounge up enough just to get them over the state line?

"Blame whoever you want, but the fact is, money's been in the wrong hands for too damn long!", Eddie said, jumping to his feet. "They tell us all the goddamn time that kids are starvin' in Africa but are they doing anything about it?"

"Not a damn thing", Gareth shook his head.

"Meanwhile, there's kids over here that are starving! And they're still not liftin' a finger to help", Eddie gestured with the joint in his hand, half finished between him and Jeff. "No, the rich fucks of the world don't give, they only take. So we've gotta take it back somehow."

"What? Rob a bank?", Jeff snickered.

The others snickered in return at the absurdity of the idea but Eddie was thinking. Of course not a bank heist. But there were people in Hawkins with money...yeah...for sure there was.

"Not a bank", Eddie said, starting to pace around. But there's a couple of rich bastards in town who could stand to part with their cash."

"You wanna rob the mayor's house or something?", Doug offered. He was on his third beer.

"Eddie's got the stealth of a newborn deer", Gareth said.

"Bad analogy, Gare-bear. Prey animals are notoriously stealthy, even from birth", Eddie grinned.

"Still though. If it's really valuable, we wouldn't be able to pawn it without painting a target on our backs", Gareth sighed.

"Wait, what if we did a ransom?", Doug said.

"Yeah, yeah", Jeff nodded. "We get somethin' valuable and basically sell it back to 'em."

Eddie grinned. "A ransom, huh? Now, stay with me boys, but what if-what IF we took someone. Someone important enough that his folks would go through hell or high water to get him back?"

The other three were silent as the realization dawned on them. Eddie could only be talking about one person.

"You're crazy man...", Jeff said, taking the joint from his hand to use it for himself.

"Like a fox", Eddie smirked.

----------------------------

When they talked about it after sobering up, it still sounded like a good idea. The target: Steve Harrington. Rich enough to have a big house, a nice car, and always have the newest things. Dumb enough that he should be easy to get. Sure, he probably had some muscle, being a jock and all, but Harrington notoriously didn't get into fights. Which probably meant he couldn't. But Eddie and his friends had been in scraps before. The perks of being an outcast, he supposed.

Getting him alone was probably going to be the hardest part of all of this. But Eddie happened to know that sometimes Harrington would come to the school's gym early to practice. It was the perfect opportunity.

It meant they had to wake up early on break and take Bessie and sit in the lot without the heat on, freezing their tits while they waited on Harrington to come out of the gym.

"Why are we w-waiting?", Gareth asked, shivering.

"Need him fatigued and all that", Eddie said. Despite the layers, his teeth were clacking. But if the motor was on, Harrington would hear and they'd lose the element of surprise. He reminded himself that this had to be the hardest part - waiting in the cold, especially when they left the van to be closer to the door of the gym. The masks they were provided only minimal warmth.

But after grabbing and bagging Harrington, they'd leave the note, his parents would get it and they'd have their money and return their hostage by Christmas. Easy peasy.

They didn't count on Steve actually being able to hold his own against all four of them. Maybe it was the fact that they'd been out in the cold, maybe it was the lack of muscle mass between them or general lack of coordination. Whatever it was, somehow, Harrington was wrecking their shit single handedly.

Eddie wasn't the best thinker when he panicked. But right now Gareth was holding his nose and Jeff and Doug wouldn't be far behind. So he ran. To his van.

He saw Harrington making a break for it and stomped down on the gas.

Eddie didn't really register what he'd done until he heard Gareth screaming.

"Shut up! Shut up man!", Jeff shouted back.

"Get him in the van!", Doug screamed.

"The note! Shit, the note! Put it in his windshield!", Eddie reminded him.

It was chaos until they were a good distance away from the school. Nothing could be heard but their panting. Steve Harrington was limp and unconscious in the back of his van. Eddie didn't stop until they were at Gareth's.

"How long are your parents gone for?", he asked as they tied Steve down to a chair in the basement.

"They won't be back until New Year's. My aunt just had a new baby." He was holding his nose again now that Steve was secure.

"How long until he wakes up, do you think?", Doug asked.

Steve's gasp as he suddenly sat up straight and struggled against his ropes answered that question. Thankfully, they all still had their masks on.

"Munson?"

"Well, fuck, these things don't work for shit", Gareth said as he pulled his mask off.

"Who the hell are you?", Steve raised a brow.

Eddie just barely held back the bark of laughter. This was stupid, this was so stupid! But they were in it now. And apparently Steve Harrington knew him by...by some defining characteristic.

"How'd you know it was me?", he asked as he took the mask off.

"Your hair's pretty distinct", Steve said. "What the hell is this? What's going on?"

Eddie grinned and bent over, getting into Steve's face. "Well, Stevie dearest, all you need to know is that you're going to make us very rich."

Part 2

[winchesterwild78]

Glitter and Green Eyes

Master List

Characters: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Warnings: language, angst 

A/N: Just a short story. An enemy to lover kinda thing. Jensen is a single parent and so is the reader. They meet at a single parent support group. Reader and Jensen can’t stand each other to start, then they find some common ground. 

This does not depict real life and is a work of fiction. Don’t take my work, reblogs and likes are welcome. 

Minors DNI 18+

The church basement smelled of stale coffee and lukewarm desperation. I adjusted my son's dinosaur backpack, the plastic spikes digging into my hip, and scanned the room. "Single Parents: Finding Our Way." More like, "Single Parents: Trading War Stories and Lukewarm Despair."

Then I saw him. Jensen Ackles.

Yes, the Jensen Ackles. Broad shoulders, piercing green eyes, that jawline carved by a vengeful angel. And he was glaring at me. Not the smoldering, "I'm a TV heartthrob" glare, but the "you parked in my spot" glare.

He walked across the room and stood over me, eyes full of anger. 

"You're the one who let your kid bring glitter slime last week," he accused, his voice low. "My kids are still finding it in their hair."

"And you're the one who brought those sugar-laden 'organic' cookies that sent everyone into a hyperactive frenzy," I retorted, tightening my grip on my son's hand. "At least my slime was contained." My son winced in pain and wiggled out of my grip. 

Thus began our monthly ritual. The parent support group was a minefield of passive-aggressive comments, eye rolls, and thinly veiled insults. He thought I was chaotic and irresponsible. I thought he was a rigid, overbearing control freak.

Months passed. We argued about everything: screen time, bedtimes, the merits of co-sleeping versus separate rooms. Our kids, however, were oblivious to our animosity, happily creating elaborate Lego cities together.

Our animosity hit a head one night and tempers flared. “You think you’re better than everyone, don’t you Jensen! Why are you even in a support group for single parents?! We all know you’ve got at least 2 nannies and a fucking maid!” 

His eyes filled with rage and his jaw tightened, “I won’t apologize for having a fucking career. You have no idea how hard it is to be a single father and do the job I do. I can afford nannies and a maid, that doesn’t make me less of a father.” 

The two of us were inches away from each other. Chests heaving and nostrils flaring. 

“You’re only here to get laid. I’ve seen you flirting with the other moms. It’s pathetic. You show up here under the guise of wanting to be a better father so you can sleep with every woman in there.”

He stepped closer to me, “What are you, jealous?” He smirked and I scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Ackles.” 

By the time the other group members pulled us apart we were both fuming. I didn’t know what infuriated me so much about him. I’d always heard he was a sweet guy, kind and giving. This man I’d spent the last few months with was the total opposite. 

That night I laid in bed, staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep. I couldn’t figure out why I was so angry with him. He is a great dad. I’ve seen him with his kids. What is it about him that makes me so angry? Have I been too hard on him? It can’t be easy being a single father to three. Hell it’s hard for me with one. Then my mind drifted to his piercing green eyes and his full plump lips. I found myself biting my bottom lip as my mind spiral. I ran my hands down my face, “Shit! Don’t do it. You can’t be falling for this man….” 

Across town Jensen laid in bed and stared at the ceiling too. Why do we hate each other so much? Our kids like each other. Maybe it’s the dynamics of the group. Maybe she really is jealous that I've been flirting with the other women. She’s not bad looking. In fact she’s gorgeous. Her y/e/c eyes sparkle when she laughs. She’s an incredible mother and she’s really sweet to my kids. 

Jensen let out a frustrated sigh and ran his hands down his face. Sleep finally washed over both of us. 

One particularly grueling meeting, where we'd bickered about the appropriate age for a child to watch "scary" movies (his youngest daughter was apparently traumatized by "Hocus Pocus"), I found myself alone in the kitchen, furiously scrubbing a coffee stain from the counter, left probably years ago. 

Jensen walked in, "Look," his voice softer than usual. He leaned against the counter, a weary sigh escaping him. "This… this is ridiculous."

"Tell me about it," I muttered, still scrubbing.

"We're both exhausted. We're both trying our best. And we're both… alone." He looked down at his hands, the lines etched into his palms suddenly stark. "My ex… she made me feel like I was always doing it wrong. Like I wasn’t good enough. I see that in you, that same look."

I stopped scrubbing, my hand hovering over the damp cloth. "My ex… he wasn’t present. Always working, always somewhere else. I was always the one left picking up the pieces."

We stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the fluorescent lights filling the void.

"Maybe," he said, his green eyes meeting mine, a flicker of something new in them, "maybe we're not so different after all."

The next meeting, he brought sugar-free, gluten-free, organic (but still delicious) muffins. My son and his children shared a giggle over a shared drawing. And when my son spilled juice down my shirt, Jensen handed me a napkin without a single snide remark. I gave him a nod and a weak smile. 

Weeks turned into months. We started sitting together, not across the circle, but side by side. We shared childcare tips, swapped recipes, and even, dare I say it, laughed.

One rainy afternoon, after a particularly chaotic playdate at my house, we found ourselves huddled on the couch, the kids asleep upstairs.

"You know," he said, his voice a low rumble, "you're not as chaotic as I thought."

"And you're not as rigid," I admitted, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips.

He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "Maybe we should try… not arguing for a change?"

"Maybe," I whispered.

He reached out, his hand brushing mine. A spark, a connection. Not the fiery clash of our initial encounters, but a warm, steady glow.

We sat on the couch talking while the kids slept. Our hands brushing against each other carefully and unsure. 

I felt something I hadn’t in a long time. When I looked into his green eyes I was met with a soft expression. His eyes filled with something other than rage and anger. It made my breath hitch. 

The sound of the kids bounding down the stairs pulled us away from our gaze. “Mommy can we have a snack?” My son asked, breaking the silence. 

I swallowed hard, “Um, yeah sure. You four go play and I’ll call you when it’s ready.” 

The kids ran into the playroom as I stood. Jensen followed. “Would you like some help sweetheart?” 

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Jensen pulled out some juice boxes from the refrigerator as I plated some snacks on individual plates. 

Setting them on the table I turned and collided with Jensen’s strong, broad frame. 

My hands rested on his chest. “I’m so sorry Jensen. I should have been watching where I was going.” 

He chuckled, deep in his chest, “it’s okay. I’m not hurt. In fact, I kinda liked it.” 

Heat filled my body as I felt his warmth surround me and his hands on my hips. I looked up at him and really looked into his eyes. It took my breath away.

His face leaned down, his lips inches from mine, waiting for an invitation to kiss me. 

I leaned forward and our breath mingled as he softly kissed me. The kiss was soft and slow then Jensen’s hands slid up and into my hair it turned deeper and needy. 

I moaned into his mouth as electricity and heat flowed through my body. The months of anger and frustration melting away as our lips connected. 

When we finally pulled away our chests heaved from the need for air. My lips were on fire and my body was drunk from his kiss. 

He smirked and I smiled. We knew this was the beginning of something new, something we’d both been fighting for months. 

The next time the church basement smelled of stale coffee, it also smelled of something else: something like possibility. And maybe, just maybe, something like love.

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[billthedrake]

LINEAGE (PART FIVE)

This chapter riffs on Peterbilt's and A4F's ideas. Here's hoping imitation is the best flattery.

Braden and I never took vacations for just us. It was always family trips with our kids. Two weeks at the beach in summer, and camping trips when the boys got older. Brade and I would each have a trip with Junior for one-on-one time with our eldest, and together we took Evan and Keith on an amusement park trip while Junior was at golf camp.

But it was me and Brade's 15th marriage anniversary, and we realized we'd never done the whole wedding ceremony. For us, incest marriage was a private thing, by necessity but also because my son and I had each other regardless of our love was sanctioned or not.

We were celebrating now with a stay down at a Caribbean resort. The Connors men were looking after our sons, and I told my work that any urgent matters could wait.

I don't think we realized how much we needed this. Time to reconnect, to rekindle that spark in the relationship. Braden and I had a good, healthy marriage, and we made a regular sex life a priority, but it could be tough to keep the romance while raising three boys. Parenting was a full-time job and involved a lot of routine.

I could sense Braden's eyes on me that first day. We'd had a quickie as soon as we'd checked in to our room. A hot missionary fuck. Braden knew I craved variety in bed and loved doing different positions. But Brade craved seeing my face and making out as we mated. So usually it was Brade's way. Not that I was complaining.

As I pulled on my swim trunks over my sated, soft genitals, I could see my son's eyes on me as he stepped back into the room after taking a post-fuck piss.

"Fuck, Dad... you still got it going at 52."

I paused and puffed out my chest a little. I'd been self-conscious about aging and all the gray hairs coming in. But the last few years I'd really hit the gym. I'd never match Braden's muscle perfection, but I wanted to fine tune the middle aged build I had.

"I won't lie, son, sometimes I worry about getting too old for you."

Braden was still naked, his hunky brawn on full display as he stepped up to me. "Jesus, Dad, you know I'm wired for you. For my father."

We'd just gotten off but were still chubbed. I could see my son's thick meat swing stiffly. I loved how he's shaved smooth for the trip, he looked like a porn model. His hands reached forward and felt up my chest. "The silver fur coming in is way fucking hot, sir..."

We kissed, more softly than just now. "Oh buddy..." I muttered.

Braden cocked his sexy grin. He was in his mid-30s now and was all man, but still seemed young to me. "I'm serious, Dad, you're as hot as you've ever been... I can see why Junior's so crushed out on you."

I gulped and pulled back, almost instinctively. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "You got to notice, right? He's as into you as I was at that age. Maybe even more so."

"Brade..." I admonished.

Braden patted my bare arm in an affectionate way. "Come on, Dad, I know you're not gonna do anything inappropriate."

"No, I'm not," I replied curtly. "Besides, I don't think of Junior in that way."

Braden rolled his eyes and stepped away. He dug out the skimpier speedo he had in his suitcase. I wasn't sure if I was actually mad at him, but I knew I couldn't stay mad as I watched his thick muscled body fill out that swimsuit.

"Ready to hit the beach?" I asked in an are-we-OK kind of tone.

"Yep," Braden said.

The water was warm and still refreshing. I slathered sunscreen on Braden's back once we got back to our towel and he returned the favor.

"Feels nice, son," I said, leaning into his strong hands.

I heard a chuckle. "Need to go back to the room, Dad?"

Brade was right, I could go again, already. But I shook my head. "It's tempting, but let's save it, OK?"

"We got all week, Dad, right?"

"That we do."

We each lay on our towel and I dozed a little. I woke to find Braden sitting up, looking out on the water. He looked over at me and smiled. "I love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Sport," I said. "Sorry if I was short with you earlier."

Braden shrugged. "It's the reaction I expected, honestly."

"Yeah?" I didn't know what he meant by that.

"I know you pretty well, Dad. For what it's worth, I'm glad you're a stand up father... it's just, well, you can be oblivious sometimes. I felt you should know."

"About Junior?"

"The kid fucking idolizes you, Dad. Not that I blame him."

I sighed. "How do we handle this?"

Braden chuckled. "I figured you'd have some experience in that department."

"Please tell me I'm not gonna have a rebellious teen on my hands again," I said with a wink. Braden and I could talk seriously about the bumps in our familial dynamic, but we also joked about it.

That got a real laugh from my son. "Junior's a good kid, Dad. We'll see how the others turn out when they hit adolescence."

I got a little quiet. "I know we said three was enough, Brade... but... you ever think about having more?" I was nervous bringing it up even. But the idea had been in the back of my head for quite a while.

"All the fucking time, Dad," Braden said.

"Damn," I hissed. I was boning up in my swim trunks.

"Dad... you're 52 and in your prime... and I'm still fertile..."

I gulped and turned toward him. Braden could certainly see my hardon now. "How many kids is too many?"

"I dunno, Dad. I know you'll do the budget spreadsheet and be all practical. But I want another son with you. More than one."

I nodded. Then in my parental tone, I said. "Then I want you going off the pills."

"Done," Braden said, and I was rewarded with a huge smile on his face. It made me realize I was doing the right thing. We were doing the right thing.

"Back to the room?" I said, standing up from my towel. My hardon was obscene but I didn't care who on the beach saw it.

"I thought we were waiting," he teased, lazily scratching his pec like he was just relaxing on the beach.

"Fuck that, son. I need inside you."

We raced back to the air-conditioned quiet of our room. I thought nothing could be hotter than Brade in his fucking skimpy speedo, but seeing the lycra slide down his meaty buns and over his thick hamstrings had me leaking in my own trunks. I'd barely started to slide them down when my studly son bent over on the bed, spreading his legs for me. It was Braden in full heat, and I let out a grunt.

"God fucking damn, Sport, you need your daddy?" I fisted my meat to smear the precum on its length. If Round One was Brade's way, Round Two was gonna be Bill's treat.

"Please, sir..." he said, his masculine voice deep as it was needy. "I'm still loaded up from earlier, but I need that potent dad semen inside me. He looked back at me, horny and a little nervous. "Just add extra lube, Dad."

I picked up the bottle where we'd left it from earlier and slathered a good deal on. I got off on seeing my son eye it with awe. I tell ya, if you ever have a son that looks at your cock that way, you'll never get sick of it. "We gonna make another kid, Braden?" I asked. It had been a long while since we'd worked preg talk into sex. It was overdue.

"Uh uh... maybe two. You think your sperm is powerful enough to give me twins."

I was on him now, kicking apart his legs wider and angling my hips down. "Tell me if I got too hard, Sport."

"Fuck me, Dad," came the ready reply. "Put that bare father cock inside me... ooof!"

It was a quick entry, rough, but Brade's hole was loosened from earlier and we were both crazy horned. "Hot fucking fertile, son womb." I was fucking him, fucking Brade. Steady, deliberate thrusts.

"You're the stud, Dad.... first Junior... then Evan, and Keith. Gonna go for number four."

"You've given me amazing kids, Brade... and grandkids. Fuck!" I was glad we'd mated earlier, since no way would I be lasting more than a minute now otherwise.

Braden gripped the sheets and arched his back. Taking me, despite the roughness. "Making incest kids, Dad. Best of our DNA."

I pulled out and actually gave him a smack. OK, I was out of control, but Brade didn't object. "Up on the bed, kiddo," I growled. "All fours." I needed a better angle.

I stepped and back and rather than immediately do as I asked, my son slid down to taste my hard cock, slurping my own earlier seed of it. "Fuck, Dad... I can practically taste my next brother."

He gave my meat one last kiss then rose up.

I took it easier this time, enjoying the extended session. No worrying about our sons knocking on the bedroom door to interrupt us, no time we had to finish by to pick the littlest ones up from school or drive them to some little league game. No need to be quiet.

For the next two hours, Braden and I enjoyed pacing out this incest fuck, going hard then soft, fast and slow, me guiding my hot son in multiple positions on the bed. Until I finally pounded us both off into a simultaneous orgasm as he talked about what our fourth kid was gonna be like.

Everything about it was magical, but the topper was the grateful look on Braden's face as we lay sweaty and naked, side by side on the hotel bed.

"You know it's gonna be two or three weeks before I'm actually fertile," Brade said. He was all grown up and in his 30s, but there was something innocent and youthful in his face just then, like he was 18 all over again and I'd just taken his cherry. My prick jerked at that thought.

"I figured," I said. "Consider that a down payment for the actual conception fuck."

That got a laugh from my son. "Damn, Dad, if that's the down payment, I don't think I can survive the breed session."

"You'll do just great, Brade," I grinned, leaning forward to claim a kiss.

***

Day One was honeymoon style sex, Day Two was a lazy recovery day.

Day Three was a huge surprise though. Braden and I had gone on a snorkeling activity organized by the resort. These things can be awkward but we made small talk with a father and son from the Midwest. At one point Brade pulled me aside and whispered. "You can't keep your eyes of them, can you?" I started to object, but he added," It's OK dad, they're smoking hot, both of them."

That was an understatement. The father had blue eyes that sucked you in and a killer smile. He was maybe five years younger than me an a total DILF. Graying temples, pumped and toned muscle, body hair trimmed to a neat half inch length. And his son was a chip off the old block, a tall, muscled jock looking kid somewhere on the cusp of high school and college. I enjoyed looking at these guys and later, Brade and I enjoyed talking about them as we fucked.

"Who do you think is the top, Dad? Father or son?" Brade asked as I slow pumped him doggy on the hotel bed.

"Oh, Daddy's the top for sure," I hissed.

"Fuck yeah," Brade hissed, getting into the fantasy. "Hope he sends Eric off to college with an incest baby in his belly."

"Fuck, Brade!" I growled. The idea had me cumming inside my son. Braden wasn't far behind, either.

We dressed for dinner, then afterwards decided to enjoy the hotel pool.

"Beats winter back home," Brade said as we lazily swam around and treaded water.

"I'll say."

Braden treaded over and leaned to whisper. "I wish I could kiss you right here, sir."

"Me too, buddy," I croaked.

I had to get out of the water or I really would start making out with my son in public. Since this was not a gay resort, we'd made the decision to travel as father and son rather than as husbands. I was now regretting that decision.

"I'm going to get a drink... want one?"

Braden didn't drink much at home, but we were on vacation. "Oh, yeah, a margarita. Thanks, Dad."

When I got back to the pool area with our drinks, Braden was in the whirlpool area.

"To vacation, Sport," I said clinking his plastic cup with mine.

"Happy anniversary, Dad," Brade whispered.

"Damn," I hissed.

"What?" Braden asked, concerned I was upset he'd said it in public.

I leaned in. "You just gave your dad a boner, that's what."

Braden smiled and leaned back in the bubbles. "You're giving me one now, too."

God, we were going to get in trouble here, for sure.

Only a booming voice interrupted the sexual thoughts getting out of controle. "Bill! Braden!" There was Doug Newcomb, the daddy from the snorkeling outing, in boardshorts, flip flops and a towel over his shoulder. Two paces behind him was his football jock son. "Mind if we join you?"

I had a moment of surprise then recovered my senses. "Please do."

I watched the Newcomb men toss their towels down and kick off their flip flops. "I would say it's a nice night," Doug said, "but who am I kidding? Every night is frickin paradise here."

It was weird to see the son be so quiet when the dad was so talkative, but I enjoyed getting a good view of his muscle... bulky but not overly beefy. Eric Newcomb may be young, but he was jacked, even more than Braden was at that age.

I felt self conscious, but I could see Brade's attention on both these guys as we all made small talk. Turns out Doug was an airline pilot, and Eric was a graduating high school senior who'd committed to play football at Nebraska.

"This is kind of his celebration trip," the father said, playfully mussing his jock son's hair. "I won't like that we wanted him to stay in state, but Nebraska's a better team, and I'm super proud of him."

I wondered if there was a Mrs. Newcomb but didn't see a wedding band on the father's left hand.

Normally quiet Eric spoke up. "The Gophers suck, Dad. You know that."

Doug shrugged, like he was conceding a sore point. He looked at me and Brade. "At least the kid's a Vikings fan."

It felt like we were witnessing a conversation they'd had many times. A ritual to keep from talking about the thing they wanted to talk about. Or maybe my imagination was getting away from me.

After the wine with dinner and the margarita, I was feeling a gentle buzz and maybe my inhibitions were down. I reached my arm across Braden's shoulder and let it rest. Passing it off as a normal paternal gesture, it was still forward. "Brade here's the sports guy in the family. I follow the local teams but don't get passionate about much besides golf."

That got a laugh from my son. I felt Braden's hand rest on my thigh. It was beneath the water and these guys couldn't see, which only added to the naughty thrill. My son was DEFINITELY on the same wavelength as me in being turned on by these guys. I gentled ran my fingers along his delt muscle but kept my attention forward.

Still, Doug could sense something. "So... are you guys actual father and son?" There wasn't disapproval in his tone but something curious and maybe a little freaked out.

I thought of switching our story, but we'd already committed to being on this trip as dad and son, not as partners. But before I could answer Brade piped in.

"Oh yeah... We look a lot alike don't we?"

Now it was the son's turn to react. "Oh yeah, definitely. I mean you have more muscle, Braden, but the face..." He blushed as soon as he said that.

There was something weird going on, but I wanted to see how this played out. I watched Doug slip his own arm around Eric's strong upper body, resting it on the shoulder like I had with Braden.

"That's cool," the father said. "I guess you never know."

I looked eyes with him. Fuck, those steel blue eyes were hypnotic. "I guess not." Then I gulped, trying to act normal, as I took a chance. "You guys, um, actual father and son."

That got a laugh from the dad and a smile from Eric.

"We are," Doug said. He looked over at Eric. They were silently trying to communicate with each other. The father's expression was more serious as he turned back to us. "Listen, I think we're gonna call it a night. Maybe we'll see you around?"

"Um, yeah," Braden said. I could tell he was trying to hide his horniness. "Have a good one, guys."

We watched these Midwestern hunks get out and reach for their towels. Their looser trunks clung to their ass and upper legs and I decided to memorize the view for later.

We were finally alone and Brade whispered. "Fuck, Dad... what just happened?"

I shook my head. "I don't know. I mean, I have an instinct, but definitely can't be sure."

That night Braden and I enjoyed sex without cumming. We wanted to save up that load and, well, it was awesome to try something new. All foreplay, lots of making out, lots of naked body contact, until we were too tired.

***

The Newcombs were on our mind the whole next day. I felt guilty, until Braden confessed he couldn't stop thinking about them.

"I just feel bad, Brade," I said. "This trip is supposed to be about us."

He patted my thigh like he had the night before. "It is, Dad. But even the idea of another father-son team.... it brings out the best in our own incest."

I gave my son a soft kiss. "The Connors aren't enough?" I teased. We hooked up with those guys maybe once every three months, enough that we had an easy familiarity as a two-team incest foursome, but not so often that it felt like too much.

"The Connors aren't here, Dad," Braden answered with a smile. "I just love showing off the love and physical intimacy we have. That I have with my own father."

I nodded down at my crotch. "Look what you did, buddy." I had hope to save sex for later that day, but my prick had a mind of its own.

"Show me, Dad," Braden hissed. "Show me the dick that made me 36 years ago."

I undid the draw strings of my trunks and pushed them down over my dad boner.

"Hot," Braden said in awe than got down on the floor, between my spread legs.

I wish I had the willpower around Braden, but as he leaned forward to take me into his mouth, I let him. I let my own son blow me slowly, and lovingly, to completion. And once he'd swallowed most of my sperm I gave him a deep, soulful kiss.

Braden had a proud satisfied smile as he pulled back. This blowjob had been about me and my release. "Damn, Dad, your sex drive is off the charts on this trip," he laughed.

****

I thought that would take the edge off. Maybe Braden did, too. But after dinner we were both a little quiet as we walked back to the room. "Wanna try the whirlpool again?" I asked.

Braden knew what I was thinking. He wasn't upset at the suggestion, just the opposite. "Definitely."

So we change back into fresh swim trunks and grabbed towels on the way out to the pool area. It was dark with the glow of the pool lights making the Caribbean evening more magical. There was a newlywed couple swimming in the larger pool. And in the shallow whirlpool area were the Newcomb men, father and son.

Eric's face lit up when he saw us. "Hey," he said. Maybe the jock would never be the talkative one, but he was in a more social mood for sure.

"Mind if we join?" Braden asked.

"I'd be offended if you didn't, guys," Doug said with his killer smile. He held up his plastic cup. "Eric and I were just enjoying a couple of beers... 18 is the drinking age here, and even if it wasn't, well, like I say this is a celebration."

I set down my towel. "Maybe we'll join you," I said. "Can I get you another?"

Doug held up the cup, which was low. He seemed to be weighing whether he should. "Hell, it's vacation. Yeah, I'll have a beer, whatever's on draft." He turned to Eric. Again the silent communication, leading the son to say, "Yeah, Dad.. if that's OK"

"Two," he said to me.

I felt a strange thrill and naughtiness. I don't even know what I expected to happen. This was a normal resort, a mix of families and young couples. These guys were just being polite, I told myself. Minnesota nice.

When I came back to the pool with four drinks, the small talk was especially small. Talking about possible excursions for the next day, Brade asking Eric all about his football plans at Nebraska. Doug rambling on about the Big Ten.

But a half hour went by and that honeymoon couple left. It was just us in the pool area, and Doug's Minnesota nice shifted to something more direct.

"Sorry if we were rude last night," he said. "I just got a little freaked out."

His eyes were on me, then on Braden.

I knew to be cautious. "No need to be freaked out. And we didn't find you rude."

I could sense Eric nudge his father's arm. It was charming in a way. Doug blushed. "Eric thinks we should have stayed."

Maybe I couldn't read between the lines entirely, but I wanted to see. I placed my arm on Braden's shoulder, like the night before.

"Fuck," Doug swore, then copied me. Eric even scooted into the embrace. "It's nice to see a father and son who are close."

"Dad and I are real close," Brade chimed in.

"We had a sense," Doug said, almost whispered. "Didn't we son?"

"Yeah Dad," Eric said. He was shy but somehow not as embarrassed as his father.

I ran my fingers along Braden's shoulder. Not trying to be surreptitious like the evening before.

I watched and could tell Doug copying me.

"Fuck!" Eric swore softly. That got a chuckle from his father.

Doug gave his son a look, then looked back over at me and Brade. "I don't know about you guys, but this is still new for me and Eric.... we're figuring stuff out."

Goddamn, we were talking about incest as much as we could without outright saying it. I gave an encouraging nod. I didn't want to spook these guys, but I wanted to push the conversation forward. "That's the best part," I said. "Except for the stuff that comes after."

I felt Braden's hand on my thigh once more, only it didn't rest there but slid up to explore the hem of my trunks and paw at my crotch.

Doug gulped. "How much stuff?"

I gave a slight shrug. "The full monte," I said. "As much as you could imagine."

Doug was silent but Eric had a big smile on his face. "We couldn't figure you out," the teen said. Looking at me, he said. "You seem too young to be Braden's dad, Mr. Drake."

"Bill," I corrected. "I had Brade when I was 16."

"And you, um," Doug started to ask. "When did you guys....?"

I looked at Braden. He was horny and very thrilled. "You OK with me talking about it, son?"

"Yeah, Dad," he gave a nod.

I looked back at the Newcombs. "Maybe this would be better to discuss somewhere private?"

I could see Eric nudge his dad again, and Doug let out a small, nervous laugh. "I know, buddy," he whispered. Then looking at me he answered. "Your room work, Bill?"

I was hard when I got out of the pool. We all were. But we toweled off and wrapped the towels around our waists as we made our way to the room.

We were all quiet and there was tension and anticipation in the air. Once we were indoors, I paused. "I guess we should get out of the wet swim suits," I said. "I don't want to make you guys uncomfortable."

Doug looked at his son, who was now noticeably taller than the father by a good inch or two. More silent communication before he answered for both of them. "We're all men, here, Bill."

Braden went first, slipping down his suit. It wasn't his speedos but a lycra square cut suit. My son was somewhere between chubbed and erect, and my own dick was getting more in the hard state as I stripped down.

"Sorry," I said. Wanting these men to be comfortable.

"I'm the same way, Mr. Drake," the jock said. As he pushed down the trunks I saw his rigid erection stick up. His skin was pale, though he had a slight tan line from the time down in the sun.

"Here goes," Doug said, following suit. I took their wet trunks put them all in the bathroom. As I came back in, Braden had taken a seat in one of the chairs, with the father and son on the bed. I smiled because Brade had a good intuition, too. Letting this play out without pushing it more than we already were.

I took the free chair, sitting down and enjoying the thrill of being naked like this. "I need to answer your question, Doug," I said. "Braden and I have a sexual and romantic relationship. We have since he was 18."

The father nodded. But it was Eric's reaction that was amazing. "See, Dad, I told you."

I saw Doug's dick finally rise to full erection, getting past his nerves.

"The full monte?" the man said back, repeating my words back to me.

"The full monte," I said.

Brade chimed in. "We'd love to show you guys... if you're interested."

Doug looked over at Eric. The kid was in full horned mode and his thick tool was actually jerking up and down. "I know Eric is," the pilot said. He seemed emotionally torn as he explained. "We've just been experimenting.... jacking off together, that kind of thing."

"Jacking off is fun, too," I said. Wanting not to push these men too far.

Doug gave me a grateful smile. "Since he was 18 huh? You ever feel guilty?"

"Nope," Braden said with a laugh.

I looked over at my son with a smile. It was true Brade was all in, never looking back. "I felt guilty at first... maybe a couple of months," I explained. "Then I realized it was right for me and Brade. Those guilt days are long behind us."

"Cool," Doug said, in a tone he wished he didn't feel the guilt pangs himself.

I looked at Eric, whose eyes were on me, lusting after me. "If it's not an inappropriate thing to say, Doug, you have a very attractive son." My eyes swept back to meet the father's blue eyes. "No disrespect."

"None taken," Doug said with a smile. "I very much agree with you."

"You attracted to your dad, Eric?" Braden asked. He leaned forward and I could see he was rock hard now, and dripping. But his tone was cautious and respectful.

"Oh yeah," the jock said, with a smile. "Dad's like the hottest guy in the world."

I could see Doug's flattered smile.

"What about him turns you on, bro?" Braden asked. "If you don't mind sharing."

I was watching Doug closely to see if he'd object, but he had a silent, horny expression grow on his face as his son responded.

"I mean, you see it, right? Dad's a total DILF." It was wild seeing the shy kid get talkative all of a sudden. "But it's more than that his body. I don't know, maybe cause he's my idea of what a man should be."

"I hear ya, bro," Braden said. "I'm that way with my dad." It was like they were talking and bonding without me and Doug there.

He gave Eric a wink then turned to the father. "Your son is hot to trot for this, Doug."

I watched the father reach over and place his arm on Eric's bare shoulder, drawing his son closer. Eric complied, and now that both men were nude I could see how hard they were for this, for each other.

"I try to put the breaks on sometimes," Doug said, softly, to Eric as much as to us. "But I'm hot to trot, too."

I watched them lean forward and tilt their heads. Father and son were now kissing, softly but fully, with tongue.

I expected a swear word from Braden. I expected one from myself. But we didn't want to break the spell of the incest kiss.

But once they broke, Braden was getting out of his chair, kneeling down. I kissed him, feeling up his outer arms as we got into it.

"God, Dad," I heard.

Braden pulled off and I gave him a nod. He bent his body down and began taking me into his mouth. My eyes watched him swallow several inches in loving slowness before I looked up at the Newcombs. They were watching and crazy excited.

"You like watching this?" I asked.

"Hell yes." This time it was Doug's turn to show enthusiasm. "How often does he...?"

"Once a week on average," I answered. "But we prefer fucking to just about anything."

"Hot," Eric said.

I expected a response from Doug, but both guys watch as Braden got into it. My son's really good at giving head, but the audience had him making a show of blowing me. Alternating pace and pulling off to lick my nuts some. I loved watching him, but I loved watching the father and son team watch up. Eric's hands were now on his dad's dick, touching it, exploring it, feeling his father's hardness while his own teen dick stood up angry and hard. The jock leaned to whisper in his dad's ear.

"Yeah, buddy," Doug whispered back.

I watched excited as Eric got off the bed and copied the position Braden was in.

"Fuck!" the father hissed as his teenage son began licking his cock. He looked up at me.

"You enjoy watching this?"

I nodded. "You have no idea."

"I do actually."

We both enjoyed our incest blowjobs, alternating where we looked, getting off on our sons but also on having an audience.

Doug's face was getting flush and his upper body was tensing. "Oh damn, Tiger... you're getting your Big Man close." It felt like I was witnessing some private nicknames.

Braden moaned around my cock, suggesting the words were getting to him too.

"Gonna cum in your son's mouth?" I grunted, giving into outright sex talk at last. "Down his throat?"

He looked at me, almost with pleading eyes. "Uh uh. Fuck!"

"My son's gonna get me off," I added. "Any second."

I then watched Doug have an orgasm. Eric choked some on the sperm then gulped.

I held Braden's head down gently as I shot my wad, too. As hot as the fourways were with the Connors, something was special about how spontaneously this evening had developed.

But as Braden licked my dribbles and kissed my dad cock, I saw Doug dart up and run to the bathroom. He stepped back in and tossed Eric his suit. "Let's go buddy," he said curtly, already stepping into his trunks.

Braden wasn't comprehending what was going on. He pulled off. "What?"

I patted his cheek in a signal. "Sorry guys," I said.

"It's OK," Doug said, guilt and anger in his eyes. "Just we better go."

Eric seemed frustrated, sexually but emotionally as he followed his father out. He gave one last look at us. Wistful and grateful at the same time.

Braden sat on the bed now, his hardon long gone. "Is everything gonna be OK, Dad?" he asked, concerned. I couldn't tell if he was concerned for the Newcombs or worried they'd talk about our relationshipt to someone else.

I didn't worry about them making anything public. That was the last thing Doug Newcomb was going to do. "It'll be OK, son," I said. "They just need some time to figure the incest thing out."

I stood up and walked over to pat Braden's head. My son seemed grateful to the gesture and leaned in and nuzzled my soft cock with his face. I ran my fingers through his hair. "Want a little cuddle time, Sport?" I asked. "It's our belated honeymoon, after all."

Braden chuckled against my genitals. But he patted my leg. "Yeah, Dad. Sounds perfect."

[warning-heckboop]

I like to think in the Gifted au, Peri legitimately blames Dev for everything going wrong in his life until Irep or someone slaps some sense into him like "my guy, that is a barely ten year old child"

[lee-scribbles-and-doodles]

Mother effing Spongebob being the only full-grown adult (if you don't count Cosmo and Wanda, who can't really do anything anyway because their magic is on the fritz) in the Nicktoons Unite gang is, objectively, the funniest thing about the crossover and I don't think the Fandom does enough with it tbh

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Part of mes like wondering about yuta nanami bonding time and my minds settled on yuta (plus second years) bake nanami a loaf of bread or something and yuta gives it to him in a very clear i wish to run away now way and it freeze frames nanami for like five minutes

No one told him it was for Yuuta specifically to give to Nanami until they were shoving it in his hands and kicking him through a door. Sometimes Yuuta reconsiders this friends thing.

Nanami had to go lie down after.

[geee-three]

here's my overly complicated shinonomes/hanasatos/tonos/hayakawas headcanons. btw.

[werepuppy-steve]

had my stepdad's funeral today (not my current stepdad) and hoooooo boy the abandonment issues are in full swing :)

[chisungie]

.

[goblins-and-gloves]

Angry at parents hour!

Undiagnosed autistic fuckers are delulu.

[limelocked]

Things I’m currently working on against my better judgement

- dcxdp fanfic where I don’t know any of the components only the crossover fandom

- isekai erased now in round 5 of revisions to the structure/planning that’s gotten to the point that I’ve forsaken the spreadsheet I’ve been working in and am writing in a zine-like booklet instead

- volleyvolleyball, don’t worry about it

- straight up legitimately new norse myths

Backburner;

- like 4 different gay isekai stories in the same universe (solen and his duke, accidentally married the archduke and duchess, I was reincarnated into another world as the northern duke in an adoption story, and a 4th one that’s just kinda brewing)

[hauntingblue]

YAMATO NEW NAKAMA PLEASE 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️LUFFY PLEASE!!!!

[magdaclaire]

someone tell me i don't need to write the father!jamie tartt fic that just sprung into my head whole cloth

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

i hate going “hey i might not be up to hanging out im just not doing well mentally” but also i know if im either constantly panicking or completely out of it while we’re hanging out then it won’t go well