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posh--bee · 2 months

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hotel room revelations || Spencer Reid

pairing → Spencer Reid x Reader

summary → While on a case, you have to not only share a hotel room but also a bed with the BAU's resident genius Spencer Reid whom you have had a crush on since he first joined the FBI. When you wake up during the night with his arms wrapped around you, previously hidden feelings come to light and you realize that your unrequited feelings for him might not be so unrequited after all.

warnings → sharing a bed, love confessions, early seasons!Spencer, insecure!Spencer, misunderstandings, friends to lovers, reader is part of the BAU, no descriptions or pronouns used for the reader, no y/n used

author’s note → I love the "there was only one bed" trope so of course I had to write it with my beloved genius. I'm so happy to finally finish another fic again so let me know what you think about it! <3 (forgot to post this fic and now my cm obsession fizzled out, oops. But I know it will come back to haunt me sooner or later)

word count → 5.2k

When you wake up in the middle of the night, you’re not too happy about it and not sure who or what to blame for it.

You grumble your dissatisfaction without opening your eyes and the warm body behind you freezes.

Now you’re a little confused and you try to fight off the urge to just drift off again so you can actually form a coherent thought because you don’t remember going to sleep with someone else by your side last night. But thinking is still a little difficult when you’re half-asleep and it takes you an embarrassingly long time to even remember if you’re in your own bedroom right now or in another state in some sort of hotel room because of work, so your memory is not the most reliable source of help at the moment.

The someone behind you still holding you in their arms seems to get a little impatient and tries to slowly move away from you again but you don’t let them, instinctively grabbing their hand that is resting softly against your stomach and interlacing your fingers with theirs to keep it there. You hear a startled little sound close to your ear and feel the someone behind you going rigid, even holding their breath in surprise. Feeling bad about spooking your bedmate so suddenly, you apologize by soothingly stroking up and down their arm that is draped over your waist before going back to holding their hand. You don’t want them to let go of you even though you’re still not quite sure who exactly they actually are—but you’re still working on that.

What you do know, however, is that they’re warm and holding you in a gentle embrace and that you feel very safe and secure in their arms. And that you don’t want it to end.

You smile to yourself in satisfaction when you feel the someone gradually relaxing against you once more and you can finally pick up that derailed train of thought of yours to figure out where you are and why you’re not alone in bed.

But that’s when the someone behind you decides to speak up and solve the mystery at last.

“I… I’m really sorry, but I have to move. My arm’s completely fallen asleep…”

Oh. That’s right.

His voice is quiet, timid even and still laced with sleep, and suddenly you’re feeling a lot more awake than just moments before, your heart immediately picking up speed as you remember how you and Spencer ended up in the same bed together.

You’re currently in a little hotel room in a city halfway across the country because of a case JJ had presented you the day before. Five bodies with a sixth person still missing and the local police had decided to ask for the BAU’s help to stop whoever is responsible for these crimes. Spencer and you started to work on the geographical profile while the rest of the team drove to the scenes of crime and talked to the victims’ families. After working until the middle of the night but without making any considerable progress anymore, Hotch decided it was time to go to the hotel, rest, and return to the case after a good night’s sleep.

The hotel was pretty booked already when you boarded the jet so when you arrived at last in the lobby, exhaustion already weighing heavy on your shoulders and your eyelids dangerously heavy, the team was told they had to share rooms and even ended up with a room with a double bed instead of two single ones.

When JJ first announced this little circumstance at first, you really couldn’t care less. Somehow, your tired brain didn’t really consider that you would be one of the people staying in the room with a double bed and much less who would be the other person with you. But when Morgan sauntered over to you, letting the key ring spin around his finger, a wicked gleam in his eyes, you knew nothing good would come of it.

With a smirk he pressed the keys into your hand and announced that you and Spencer would be the lucky pair to share the room with the double bed, giving you a wink that made you want to kill him just a little bit. Morgan knows very well about your little, not all that serious crush on your coworker and makes a point to tease you about it whenever he can, which, unfortunately for you, is very often. Your only consolation is that Spencer is too oblivious to pick up on it even though Derek makes sure everyone and their mother knows how you feel about the young doctor. He obviously claims it’s only because he’s playing cupid and can’t stand the two of you dancing around each other for eternity, but you know for a fact that he’s obviously doing it for his own entertainment as well. Besides, playing cupid only gets you so far when only one person has feelings for the other one—which you’re painfully aware is the case for you and Spencer.

With an especially dirty eyeroll you grabbed the keys and turned to look at Spencer who gave you one of his signature tight-lipped awkward smiles. He didn’t look very happy at the prospect of having to share not only a room but also a bed with you and you tried your hardest not to take it personally. You know Spencer values his personal space so having to spend this and the following nights with another person next to him is nothing to look forward to for him—even if it’s with a good friend.

You masked your disappointment and bruised feelings with a small smile of your own and led the way toward the elevators at the end of the hotel lobby, pointedly ignoring Morgan’s teasing voice telling you to have a good night. You silently swore to yourself that you would get back at him for all of this when the case was solved and over, but right now you were more worried about surviving the next few nights of having Spencer so close to you yet completely out of your reach.

Dealing with your unrequited feelings for the young doctor on a daily basis wasn’t always easy for you but you contended yourself with being his coworker and friend even though it hurt more than you cared to admit. In the beginning, you hoped that your feelings would go away if you just ignored them—after all, it was just a stupid little crush on your adorable and dorky new coworker. But as time went on, and you were still plagued by an eruption of butterflies in your stomach whenever Spencer smiled at you, or accidentally brushed your hand with his when handing you a pen or a cup of coffee, or just stood near you for an extended period of time, you had to admit to yourself that your feelings for him were far more serious than you anticipated at first. The thought of just confessing to Spencer had crossed your mind a lot at this point, to get it off your chest, but the possibility of him rejecting you and losing one of your best friends in the process scared you too much to actually go through with it.

And before you knew it Spencer went on a date with JJ and made out with a gorgeous blonde actress in her pool and flirted with pretty barkeepers, and that was proof enough for you that keeping your feelings to yourself was the right course of action which didn’t mean it saved you from heartbreak or feeling sorry for yourself.

You started to distract yourself with alcohol and attractive strangers between cases, collecting fleeting memories with partners who never really helped you forget the one person who was always on your mind and in your heart. You went on like this until you could hardly look at yourself in the mirror anymore, feeling disgusted and ashamed of yourself, knowing that it would only get worse but still not stopping, telling yourself it was the price you had to pay for not having to spend the nights all by yourself. It was until you drunkenly stumbled into the apartment of yet another stranger, hurriedly opening buttons and zippers, carelessly tossing clothes to the floor, giggling when the stranger’s lips connected to yours despite feeling sick to your stomach. You saw it only when the stranger moved to press open-mouthed kisses to your neck; a photo of the stranger’s family, beautiful children and an adoring partner smiling brightly for the camera, and you wondered if you would ignore this too now that you have seen it, like you ignored the noticeable mark on the stranger’s finger where a wedding ring was clearly missing.

You felt faint when you pushed against the stranger’s shoulders, almost falling over your own two feet leaving the apartment only to find yourself in a part of town you were completely unfamiliar with in the middle of the night. Not knowing what else to do, you called Morgan who picked you up sitting on the curb, looking and feeling pathetic with tearstains on your face. He simply raised his eyebrows at you and wordlessly helped you into his car before driving back to his place. There, he gently wrapped you up in a blanket and cuddled with you on his old sofa for the entire length of three feel-good chick flicks all while alternating between handing you spoons of ice cream and tissues to dry your tears, listening to you in the early hours of the morning spilling your guts to him.

Thankfully, he never talked to you about that night again and you were grateful for it; otherwise, you would probably die on the spot from all the shame and embarrassment it would trigger in you. You had still apologized for inconveniencing him like this, staring at his shoes while stumbling over your words, fingernails biting into the palm of your hands. But Derek acted like he didn’t know what you were talking about, flashing you one of his defeating handsome smiles and you knew that all was good between you two, he was still your friend and didn’t think any less of you, so you pulled him down to press a grateful kiss to his cheek.

It didn’t however save you from Derek wiggling his eyebrows at you whenever Spencer and you sat pressed shoulder to shoulder absorbed in case files or when the two of you would share headphones on the jet while returning home. You are used to it by now, simply sticking your tongue out at him or giving him the finger when Hotch and JJ aren’t looking, earning a good-natured laugh from Derek and a confused glance from Spencer, who, to your relief, never quite understands what the constant teasing between you and the older agent is about.

So yes, after seeking pointless comfort with strangers until the point you almost didn’t recognize yourself anymore, you now are at a point where you would say that generally, you are just fine with knowing that Spencer would never see you as anything other than a good friend and coworker.

But after an exhausting day working on a grueling case, having made close to zero progress on it, and having to share a hotel room and a bed with Spencer only to wake up to him holding you in his arms, you really wish the universe would give you a break one of these days so you could take the time to get over your feelings for your genius friend once and for all.

You sigh quietly, willing your racing heart and those malicious butterflies in your stomach to calm down before letting go of Spencer’s hand, trying your best to ignore the pang of disappointment. The feeling only worsens when Spencer moves away from you, carefully putting some distance between yourself and him, taking all his warmth with him and you can’t help but to curl into yourself at that.

You feel him settle on the other side of the bed, already missing his touch even as fleeting as it was, feeling wide awake and wondering how you will ever fall asleep again tonight after that—and the nights still to come.

“I’m so sorry for ambushing you like that,” Spencer’s quiet voice cuts through the silence of the room, his bashfulness palpable with every word. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t, Spence. Don’t worry.” Quite the opposite, but you keep that thought to yourself, opting for lightening the mood instead. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I mean, I had to share a bed with Emily before and I woke up to her having me in a chokehold so I prefer having you as my bedmate by a mile.”

You’re blessed with a little laugh from Spencer, your body relaxing against the unfamiliar mattress but still missing his closeness from before. You feel him shift on his side of the bed and can’t help but wonder if he too was more comfortable with holding you in his arms. But you quickly dismiss this silly thought of yours, knowing that indulging in false hopes and wishful thinking doesn’t save you from the reality that Spencer just doesn’t feel the same way as you.

“But I’m serious. You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you reiterate after a moment of silence between the two of you, slowly turning around for a more comfortable position which isn’t in the slightest related to the fact that like this you are facing Spencer now. You can’t really make out his features in the darkness of the hotel room but maybe it’s for the best. Otherwise, you probably would give into the temptation of reaching out and brushing a few unruly curls of his behind his ear, your fingers softly lingering on his face just a tad too long.

“That’s—I’m glad…” His voice is quiet, almost distant, and you wonder if he’s already drifting off to sleep again. You couldn’t blame him for that. The day the two of you had was long and wearying, coming into work just to be presented with gruesome pictures from various crime scenes, discussing the UnSub’s profile and MO while being on the jet before being introduced to police officers and grieving family members alike, getting to work without a single break on your mind. If it wasn’t for these inconvenient feelings of yours that caused your heart rate to resemble that of someone who just ran a mile, you would probably feel as exhausted as Spencer is. But in your case, sleep is currently not really something you can think about when all you want is to curl up in his arms like before, feeling warm and safe and happy until the harsh reality of the next morning catches up with you again.

“Still, I’m sorry,” Spencer then whispers into the darkness, your name leaving his lips in a soft sigh, and you frown. There’s really nothing he has to apologize for and you want to tell him as much, but he’s faster than you, his words coming out in a self-conscious rush.

“I’m sorry that you are stuck here with me. I know you’d prefer being with Morgan instead and I’m sorry that he’s being such an idiot about all of this.”

Now you really don’t know what he’s talking about. What does Derek have to do with anything? But Spencer doesn’t let you voice your thoughts, only to confuse you even more.

“I-I know you like Morgan so you were probably hoping that he would just assign this room to himself and you, and I really don’t get why he’s so set on acting like he doesn’t have feelings for you as well. I get he’s not really someone who does relationships but he’s lucky that someone special like you is in love with him so—”

“Spencer, stop—” you suddenly interrupt this agitated rambling of his, trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s somehow convinced you have feelings for your fellow agent. “Wha-What are you talking about? I’m not in love with Derek Morgan. We’re friends, but that’s really all there is to it. What on earth makes you think that I like him like that?”

You push yourself up on your elbow in your bewilderment, the sheet that covers you and Spencer falling from your shoulders in the process. You quickly turn around, turning on the light by your bedside, not believing what nonsense you just heard. Dumbfounded, you look at the genius lying beside you, his expression confused and apologetic in return.

“I’m—sorry?” he starts while sitting up slightly so the two of you are at eye level, his voice hesitant and uncertain. “I just thought… The two of you are always together, even outside of work, on the weekends. And you have all these little private jokes with Morgan and conversations that always stop whenever someone else gets closer. And he always makes you laugh and flustered, so I just figured—you know, that you like him more than just a friend or a coworker.”

He takes a deep breath and looks away, his fingers fiddling with the hem of the stiff hotel sheet while you can only stare at him open-mouthed.

“And I figured that he’s an idiot for not realizing that he’s the luckiest man on earth to have your heart.”

The silence in the dim hotel room stretches on while Spencer pointedly avoids meeting your eyes and you continue to stare at him, your mind still trying to process that he is convinced about your feelings for Morgan when your heart only belonged to Spencer for a long time now, when you wish for nothing but to wake up in his arms like you just did every day for the rest of your life.

You reach for him and grab his face, holding him in place when he’s startled by your sudden action and the intense eye contact, his eyes widening in confusion and shock but you don’t care. You can’t. There’s a sudden need in you for him to understand how wrong he is about your alleged feelings for Morgan, to make him see the truth that was always right in front of him.

So you resolutely look into his eyes, ignoring the subtle trembling of your fingers against his soft skin and the ringing of your own heartbeat in your ears. You’ve experienced explosions going off right next to you, you’ve cornered armed serial killers and ran into possibly lethal situations without a second thought, but somehow you’ve never been as fucking sacred as you are right now. You could ruin everything you have with Spencer with what you are about to say, but you can’t keep it in any longer. You need him to know how you feel about him, how you’ve felt about him for so long now.

“Spencer Reid, you listen to me. I am not in love with Derek Morgan, I never was and I never will be. I can’t believe you’d think that when I’ve been pining for you for literal years now! It’s always been you, I need you to know that. From the moment I saw you standing next to Gideon with that stupidly adorable sweater and that awkward smile of yours, I knew I was done for. So I never want to hear you say that I have feelings for Morgan when I’m in love with you!”

Your voice is shaking throughout your little speech, but you make it to the end, intently staring into Spencer’s eyes who looks back at you with such a stupidly shocked expression that you would’ve laughed at him if not for your heart beating so wildly against your ribcage that it physically hurt.

The silence that follows your confession is oppressive and all-consuming, and you let go of Spencer’s face so he doesn’t fall victim to your nervous urge to sink your fingernails into something. Instead, they bite into the skin of your forearms as you hug your midsection, watching the young genius open and close his mouth multiple times without making a sound, his eyes blinking rapidly.

Dejectedly, you nod to yourself, already putting together a list of romantic comedies in your mind Morgan will have to endure together with you while you pathetically sob into his shoulder, tissues and ice cream keeping you company on your little coffee table in front of the TV.

You didn’t really expect it to end any differently, but it still hurt more than you anticipated. Your eyes begin to sting and you close them, stubbornly fighting the urge to cry. You have enough time for that later, preferably when you’re not sharing a room with Spencer anymore and the case is over, so you take a couple of deep breaths to calm yourself before opening your eyes again.

Spencer is still looking at you with wide eyes, a noticeable blush adorning his cheeks. Any other time you would find this discovery incredibly endearing, but right now, with your heart in pieces and dangerously close to crying, it only reminds you that you can’t take your words back, that now he knows how you feel about him and that your relationship with him will never be the same again, even if the two of you stay friends.

You manage a meek smile that Spencer doesn’t return, and you wonder if his silent reaction to what you revealed to him could be a blessing in disguise after all. You want him to say something, anything, to you but at the same time you don’t know how well you and your bruised heart would handle hearing him say that he doesn’t feel the same way about you out loud.

What you do know is that you can’t stay here any longer, you need to get out of this room, out of this situation, now.

With one last look at Spencer, you avert your eyes, your voice quiet, tinged with regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper before sitting on the edge of the bed, your back now to him, only tilting your head back to speak in his direction. “I’ll ask the others if I can stay in one of their rooms for the night.”

You move to stand up and that’s what snaps Spencer out of his daze at last, hurriedly reaching for you before you can get up, much less process what is happening, one of his large hands on your arm while the other is cupping your jaw tenderly, almost hesitantly. The kiss he pulls you into then is the opposite of that. It’s urgent and desperate and completely steals your breath away, your heart leaping into your throat and your stomach lurching in confused delight. Still, it takes you a moment to kiss him back, entirely too overwhelmed to react, but when you do it’s just as urgent, just as desperate. Your teeth clank together slightly but you ignore it in favor of meeting Spencer’s tongue with your own, your head beginning to spin. You’re not sure if it’s from the kiss or the lack of oxygen but you really can’t care less about that at the moment, especially not when you swallow the appreciative groan that falls from Spencer’s lips as one of your hands finds its way into his curls and pulls not all too gently on them.

The kiss only breaks when you’re certain the two of you are running out of air completely but still Spencer whines quietly at the sudden loss of contact, following your lips until the hand in his hair tugs him back. You placate him with a quick peck to his nose before concentrating on calming your heavy breathing and frantically beating heart, your forehead softly resting against his.

You don’t protest when Spencer starts to pull you closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around you and guide you to settle in his lap, your head now resting on his shoulder, humming in contentment at the kiss he presses to the top of your head. You don’t say anything for a while, having no need for words, not when you feel Spencer’s heart mirror the rhythm of yours as you place your hand on his chest.

You look up at him when he covers your hand with his own and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the palm of your hand that makes your skin tingle pleasantly. His eyes swim with emotions but he doesn’t look away as you try to decipher all of them even though his blush reaches from the tip of his ears to somewhere underneath the soft shirt he wears. Your fingers itch to pull the collar of the shirt down a little, just to see how far that blush really goes when he quietly clears his throat, the bright smile on his pretty lips faltering slightly.

“I’m sorry for—for not saying anything just now. I couldn’t—I wasn’t sure you really meant what you said, I just couldn’t believe it wasn’t some sort of joke.”

You shift in his embrace, ready to repeat what you have said, to express what you feel for him until he is sick of hearing your voice, but before you can even open your mouth, he quickly steals a kiss from you, and then another one, effectively shutting you up and looking quite proud of himself too when he meets your eyes again. So you have no choice but to let him finish what he has to say like you always do, always giving him time to collect his thoughts and listening to him when he is ready to share them with you.

“But I know you would never lie to me, especially not about something like this and only then did I realize we could’ve been doing this years ago if I hadn’t been such an idiot and too blind to see what was in front of me all along because—because I’ve been in love with you for a long time now too.”

The smile that spreads on your face is so big it hurts your cheeks, radiant enough to challenge the whole sun and you have to twist your fingers into the front of Spencer’s shirt to pull him down to you so you can feel his lips on yours again. They’re soft and warm and real and when you part again the laugh that bubbles past his is like music to your ears, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You lean further into him and his arms around you tighten in response, enjoying the comfortable silence in this unfamiliar hotel room for a little while longer before gently speaking up again.

“You’re not an idiot Spencer. How could you have known when I’ve always been too scared to say anything? But now I did and we’ve finally found each other, and from now on we can make up for lost time. What do you say, my pretty boy?”

The adoration shining clearly in his brown eyes tells you everything you need to know and you move in to kiss him once more, preferably without ever stopping again, but suddenly Spencer tenses against you, making you look up at him with a quizzical look.

You can’t stop the little groan that escapes you at his next words.

“You and Morgan—did you really never—?”

As your genius worries his bottom lip between his teeth you really wish Morgan would finally stop being a part of your conversation.

“I—I believe what you’ve said, that you don’t have feelings for him,” Spencer continues, “but I’d understand if at some point, you know—because the way you are around each other—"

“Spencer. Let’s not do this again,” you have to interrupt a second time this night, but not unkindly. “Yes, even though I have feelings for you I have slept with other people, but it never meant anything to me—in fact, it just made me feel so, so horrible. And when it comes to Morgan—he and I are friends and that is all there is to it. It’s true I spend a lot of time with him, that we have a lot of little inside jokes and private conversations just for our ears, but do you want to know what the one common factor is with all of these things? It’s you, Spence.”

You emphasize your words with a kiss to his jaw, easing the tentative look he gives you by gently running your fingers through his soft hair.

“Most of the time I spent with Derek was just me whining about how much I wish you were mine and how unfair it is how adorable you look whatever you do and how smart and kind and pretty you are, and that you probably tried to kill me when you wore your glasses to work every day for some time. It’s honestly a miracle Morgan didn’t also develop a crush on you by sheer proximity to me, like through osmosis. He had to listen to me for years pining about you so he gets back at me for it by teasing me relentlessly about you, so I’ll have you know that all of our funny little private jokes are actually at my expense. My point is, even if Morgan would’ve wanted to start something with me—which he never did by the way—, he, and those other people too, never stood a chance because I only ever had eyes for you, Spence.”

“Oh.”

Spencer shakes his head in disbelief but he’s grinning like a fool with his cheeks and ears painted cherry red. He’s quick to hide his face in your hair, too overwhelmed by the sincerity in your voice and you think that now your genius finally, finally understands. But still, you would continue to reassure him about your feelings if his insecurities should get the better of him again, understanding that he doesn’t doubt you but that the voice in his head sometimes isn’t the kindest to him and that everything about this is very new to him.

You close your eyes, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder until you’re on the brink of falling asleep, the comfortable and content silence of the hotel room and the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest steadily lulling you to sleep. After the long day you’ve had and the excitement of this night, exhaustion has now caught up with you and if the big yawn that escapes Spencer is any indication, he is feeling its effect as well.

You’re vaguely aware of Spencer reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp before moving the both of you to lay down together, shifting and coordinating limbs until you’re both comfortable with him holding you in his arms, his hand resting softly on your stomach and your fingers interlacing with his.

You smile to yourself, knowing that from now on you’ll have the privilege of falling asleep like this every night—in the arms of your beloved genius.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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hearts4johnwick · 2 months

Text

— CASUAL.

SUMMARY. you’re mad at tyler after an argument, he decides to win you over by bringing in your favorite food and taking you to a rodeo, when you think that his charm was working, an EF-4 tornado strikes.

WARNINGS. angst (happy ending though), tornado attack.

WORD COUNT. 1.2k

you were lying down in your bed, attempting to go to sleep or at least take a nap given that it was 8:21 p.m. you found yourself staring at the ceiling, listening to the music and people singing outside.

you can’t help but toss and turn around as you overthink about the argument you had with tyler. tyler was your best friend, childhood neighbor, situationship, you don’t even know at this point. and although tyler and you were always risk takers, some risks are too hard for you to handle, but boone and tyler are a dangerous duo.

when you graduated high school you went straight to college and studied meteorology, you didn’t waste another second of your life and did everything that it took to where you are now. but, tyler and you were separated for college, you were halfway across the country while he stayed in his hometown. but when you graduated college, you went back home.

the both of you caught up on everything each other missed, and next thing you know, you ended up joining tyler’s storm-chasing team, the thing is, by something that happened to you in the past, you always rode alongside Dexter and Dani, there were moments where you rode with tyler, but you were always harnassed up even if you weren’t inside the tornado yet.

your train of thoughts were so rudely interrupted by the knock at your door. you sit up and take a breath before walking over to the door. before opening it, you were thinking to yourself that maybe it was going to be your mother, or your sister, not tyler owens. he sees the expression on your face and smiles, attempting to cheer you up.

“hey…” your nose flares, he notices and chuckles. “i brought your favorite… Tina Mae’s chocolate pie…” he hands it over to you and you take it. “maybe if you let me in we can sha—“ his words were cut off by the door slamming on his face. his eyebrows raised and he froze.

you put the pie on the desk next to your bed and open the bag, and it is indeed your favorite chocolate pie. you smile to yourself and head back to the door, as expected, tyler was still there.

“if you think you’re always gonna take me back with my favorite food, you’re wrong.” i inhale sharply and tap on the door.

“well, i wanted to do it another way if you’d let me show you…” you raise your eyebrows and cringe. “no—no, not like that, well…” he cocks an eyebrow and glances at you, you were about to close the door again but he stops it. “no, hey, i’m serious. get changed i want to take you somewhere.” he smiles. you hum and close the door gently so you can get changed.

“you can’t be serious. do you want me to forgive you or hate you more, tyler owens?” you say as you take your seats in the rodeo’s benches.

“bit of both.” he smiles, and you chuckle whilst shaking your head. “look, y/n, i’m sorry.”

“you’re apologizing here? rea—“ tyler touches your knee softly, cutting you off.

“i’m sorry, sorry for what i said earlier. i shouldn’t have said those things. you’ve been through so many things i can’t even begin to imagine, and it wasn’t my place to say anything about that. you know i would never do anything to hurt you, i am sorry.” the soft glow in his eye made you feel the truth he was saying. you nod and smile.

“and why would you ever think i wouldn’t forgive you?” tyler smiles at your words and so do you. “i think i should be the one apologizing, i tried to stop you from doing something you gave years of experience, and that was out of place and overprotective and unnecessary.”

“no, no, it’s okay. you of all people know about these stupid risks i take, i was a bull rider for God’s sake! I know you hated that.” you laugh.

“yeah, i think i hated that more than storm chasing.” he chuckles and glances at you, there was a small silence until you broke it. “i just… i don’t want to lose you, ty.”

“you’re never going to lose me.” you look over at him, your eyes stinging as you feel some tears coming. he wraps an arm around you and holds you. “you won’t.” he reassures you nod and after a while, let go.

“you and that stupid face…” you look away, trying to hide a smile.

“wait what?”

“every time i was cleaning blood off of you, whenever you got knocked off your bull, you would always make that stupid face, or like look at me some way like you were trying to get me to kiss you.” he raises an eyebrow and you look at him again.

“oh, you mean my charm? i already come with it, it’s not something i do on command.” you roll your eyes and click your tongue.

“well, “your charm” has never worked on me. never has, never will.” the two of you share a soft smile, all while maintaining that potent eye contact.

you don’t know if it was the tension, but you had sudden goosebumps and started getting chilly. although your hair was in a ponytail, your bangs were getting in the way, you never took your eyes off of tyler’s but you could see his hair starting to get messy too.

“well, i don’t know about you but, i think it’s working pretty well now.” he moves the strands of hair out of your face and tucks it gently behind your ear before cupping your cheeks.

“about time.” you manage to let out seconds before his lips are on yours. your heart was racing the whole time, but you felt it could come out of your chest any second now.

the kiss started slow and gentle, but the moment you smiled into it, tyler deepened the kiss, you placed your hand behind his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, which made you notice how much his hair was moving around, as much as it pained you doing it, you pulled away and saw people walking away from the stands. you look around and pick up a leaf from the ground.

tyler notices and the two of you exchange a look. you both stand up and head for shelter, you feel the winds get stronger and that’s when you start to run, helping some people who have tripped along the way, but not wasting more than a second.

tyler and you managed to find a motel and in that motel an empty pool, where you sought shelter until the tornado passed over you. at that moment tyler had to help a man that had twisted his ankle, and a vending machine was blocking his way, due to the man panicking, he was gone.

tyler hid with you and another family of a mother and her daughter. the grip you had on tyler and that he had on you was like no other. you felt tyler plant kisses on your head to calm you down as you felt the tornado right above you, you held onto some pipes and his arms tightly, fearing for your life at that very moment.

when the tornado passed, you didn’t even want to let go of tyler, you hugged him and stayed with his arm wrapped around you the whole night, even when you shared your bed with him.

❛i know, “baby, no attachment.” but we’re… ❜

i have a ‘Twisters’ fic on wattpad if y’all wanna check it out! https://www.wattpad.com/story/374563132?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=hearts4johnwick ᥫ᭡

#tyler owens #glen powell #twisters #tyler owens x reader #glen powell x reader #tyler owens fanfiction #glen powell fanfic #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 4 months

Text

What Happens in Cars, Stays in Cars

dbf!jake seresin x fem!reader 9k words

summary: After a month-long deployment, Jake is finally coming back home. Well, not home home. You're too desperate to wait until you've actually got him home. But who needs home when there's a perfectly good car anyway?

a/n: porn with plot. a lot of plot. and a lot of porn. 18+ obviously. reader is twenty-five in this, jake is forty-seven. as always, a list of things to watch out for:

nudes. mentions of masturbation. pet names used in an unholy way. the word 'brat' is dropped twice. safe sex (yess they still have a condom!!! i feel like i deserve a round of applause for not forgetting it). car sex, so a tiny smidge of exhibitionism. dom!jake. a lot of begging, as always. a tad bit dry humping. first finger sucking, then fingering. any more, uh....? i don't think so. there's not much space in a car for anything else.

top gun masterlist | dbf!jake seresin masterlist

(the gif has nothing at all to do with the fic, but tell me that's not dbf!jake working out in his backyard knowing you're watching him istg)

It's a one time thing. That's what they told him. A one time thing.

He isn't supposed to do these anymore. He's supposed to be stationed permanently, sitting in his office and doing what an admiral does. Important work, surely. It's a high honour and he's proud, of course. But office work... Office work has never really been his thing. And if they'd deployed him for this mission four months earlier, he would've been thrilled.

He's the best of the best. The navy knows. He knows. Which is why he's an admiral by now. And also why they want him coaching the new hotshots for a month, halfway across the country.

And, yes, he would've been thrilled - four months ago.

Four months ago, when you'd not yet moved back home. Four months ago, when he hadn't yet met you. Four months ago, when he hadn't known what it was like to hold you, to touch you, to miss you.

His phone chimes and momentarily distracts him. It's not that he didn't mute it - he's standing in front of a bunch of twenty-something year olds who he does try to be a role model for - it's just that you'd tampered with it once and ever since then, you've had a personalised ringtone that still somehow works even when everything else is muted. (He could totally turn that off if he wanted to, though. Definitely. Ab-so-lu-tely. He just... doesn't.)

His jaw clenches and he has to restart his sentence, but other than that, he manages to pretend nothing happened. Nonetheless, he has to glare at the snickering wannabe-pilots in the first row, who remind him very much of a young version of himself.

You're three hours ahead of him and probably just got off work. It's likely nothing but a sweet "having a good day?" message or maybe a photo of you all dressed up, ready for dinner with your friends like you'd planned.

Either way, knowing your message is sitting unopened in your chat has him talking quicker. He finishes his lecture half an hour early and fishes his phone from his pocket before the first of his pupils have even got up from their seats - which turns out to be a horrible, horrible idea, because the photo attached to "don't know how long i'll stay out, have a nice night, admiral" with the winky face emoji is not one of you all dressed up for a night out with your friends, but one of you in just a pair of panties in front of the mirror. The mirror in his bedroom.

Fucking god-

He seems to let out some kind of choked up groan or something of the sort, because a few of his pilots turn to look back at him. One even has the audacity to ask if he's alright, which he certainly isn't. But that's absolutely not their problem.

So he grumbles something about how they should all use their free time to go to the gym instead of bothering him before he collects his things and flees to his room. One of the many advantages of being an admiral, of course, is that he doesn't have to bunk anymore, which is always the greatest nuisance for anybody who's ever looking for privacy. The times he's had to listen to guys jack off a foot away from him- fuck, the times they'd had to listen to him.

No, right now he is incredibly thankful for the privacy of his bedroom as he locks the door behind him and opens his phone again. Goddamn, why were you in his house? His fingers hover over the call button for a few seconds, but then he decides against it - you're going out with friends for the first time in months, he doesn't want to bother you.

He's popping the button of his jeans and sitting down on his bed right as you come online.

"Like the pictures, baby? I've got more"

And before he can even respond, you've sent a bunch more selfies, half of them in front of his mirror, the other half on his bed and none of them decently clothed. Fucking hell, in one you've got your fingers down your panties and Jake is really thankful for the privacy of his room then because he groans so loudly that a bunkmate would definitely have heard.

"Are you still at dinner?", he asks, his fingers flying over his keyboard while he tugs at his zipper with his left hand.

"Yeah, won't be home soon", you write back. "Sorry"

"Don't be", Jake responds, as quickly as he can, because he definitely does not want to make you feel bad for spending time with your friends. "Have fun"

"Have fun with the pics", you send. Jake can picture your grin, sitting all dressed up in a restaurant and ignoring your friends to text him. "Thought those could maybe make up for no phone call tonight"

He swallows hard as you log off, leaving him with those pretty pictures of yours that certainly improve his night by a lot. Hell, he's already moving his briefs out of the way and clicking on your photos again. Just seeing you half-naked in his room - fuck, the thought of you sneaking over there only to do a goddamn photoshoot... You're really unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. And he can't wait to get back home to you.

...

"I miss you", you mumble into the phone, blinking at the alarm clock on your nightstand. It's eleven thirty, not nearly late enough for you to feel as exhausted as you do.

"I miss you too, darling", you hear Jake drawl on the other end of the call. "I'll be back soon."

"Not soon enough", you whine - god, you sound pathetic and miserable to your own ears already, you must sound ten times worse to him. You fall back onto your pillows and let out a deep sigh. "Would it be rude to say I hope the mission gets cancelled?"

Jake chuckles. Fucking hell, you miss that chuckle so much. You miss him so much. You miss cuddling up to him under the covers and tucking your head under his chin. You miss running your fingers through his hair and having your hands on him. You miss seeing him, standing in the kitchen or working out or tinkering in the backyard or fresh out of the shower. Shit, you even miss sneaking around with him, because at least then you'd gotten to watch him from a distance, maybe steal a kiss when your parents hadn't been looking or spend a night at his house pretending to be at your friend's.

Now he's halfway across the country and absolutely, completely out of reach. You'd barely gotten to see him at all - twice it had worked out to video-call during a lunch break, once he even managed to show you around his office after work. The camera quality is hardly any good, of course, which means video-calls aren't all that great, plus the connection never seems to really be stable, so with a few exceptions, you've only seen Jake in pictures over the past two and a half weeks.

His deployment would take another one and a half and then, finally, he'd be back home. Back home with you.

"I won't answer that", Jake says, and you can almost hear him grin. "But I wouldn't mind either if they moved the mission up."

You have to bite down on your lip to hide a smile.

"So you think you're good to go?", you ask softly, not wanting to bring the mood down further, instead opting for the non-classified work questions. You've already been bringing down the mood enough back here at home - you don't need to fill the few minutes a day you get with Jake with your whining as well. Your parents already hear enough of that. Of course, they don't know why you've been in such a bad mood ever since Jake left. And they can't know, either. You can't tell them. You can't tell anyone.

You can't tell anyone because no one knows that you've been sneaking around with your dad's best friend for the past three months. So you resign yourself to moping around and keeping out of everybody's way as much as you can. For one and a half week more, one and a half...

...

Exactly one and a half week later you're standing at the airport in your best heels and a little yellow sundress and are positively buzzing with nervous energy. Jake's plane would get in at half, he'd said, when you'd last spoken to him six hours earlier. Then the plane had taken off and so had his wifi.

You're playing around with a strand of your hair and doing your hardest not to start chewing off your nails, which proves more difficult than you'd thought (even though you'd put on nail polish).

You're just so excited.

It's been a month since you'd last seen him. A month. And at the early stage of your... relationship, if you could call it that, that's basically half a year. God, how long it's been since you've run your hands through his hair, since you've felt his arms around you.

You miss him so much.

Your phone chimes and you fish it out of your pocket with trembling hands, only to be disappointed when it's not a message from Jake. It's not like you'd told him to text when he'd landed, just... A part of you is kind of scared you're waiting in the wrong place. Maybe he's on the other end of the airport - it's not a particularly small one. It'd take you hours to find each other if you were waiting in the wrong place.

Then again - maybe the plane is late. Maybe he's had to wait for his luggage.

You check the time, just to be safe. It's 11:46. For all you know, Jake is still in the air. Or less than a door away.

You bounce on your feet, nervously shifting back and forth before checking your phone again. The text you'd gotten is from one of your friends, who you text back only to distract you. It barely works anyway. You can't put it away again quickly enough.

It's not even that you don't want to distract yourself. You just physically can't pay attention. You've been a nervous wreck for the past three days, ever since you'd made the plan to pick him up from the airport. Which is probably why you almost don't spot him.

Almost.

He walks through the opened doors with his suitcase rolling behind him, his backpack slung over his shoulder and at least five other people rushing past him.

He sees you before you see him.

But then, then when you see him-

You're already sprinting towards him before your mind even tells your legs to move. You can't control it and you can't be bothered to. Why would you?

You don't care about the people glancing at you with raised eyebrows. You only care about Jake, about Jake who's standing there, pulling his hand from the handle of his suitcase and grinning at you. Grinning at you as you run at him and throw yourself into his arms.

He catches you effortlessly and steadies you as you cross your hands behind his neck and press your lips to his.

God, how you've missed him! How long you haven't kissed him!

His palms flatten against your back and he holds you tight, so tightly to him. You push even closer. He's here. He's back.

You don't realise you're crying until you taste the tears.

That's when Jake pulls back.

"I've missed you", he mutters, raising a hand and brushing the tears off your cheeks. You lean into the touch and tighten your arms around his neck. You're really touching him. He's really here.

"I missed you too", you try to say, but you're choked up and crying and it somehow comes out a blubbering, stuttering mess that you're not quite sure Jake can even understand. "Missed you so much."

He smiles one of those gorgeous smiles that you haven't seen in far too long before he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your fingers trailing up the nape of his neck. His breath mingles with yours as he draws you in again and catches you in another kiss, tugging gently at your bottom lip as if he has all the time in the world to do it - slow and languid and real. Finally real again.

He pulls you in by your waist, his hands splayed wide and so, so big against your thin sundress. Your nails scratch against his neck and he lets out a groan and suddenly, he's got his hands on your thighs and you're wrapping your legs around his middle and tightening your arms around him and his lips are working against yours feverishly, heavily, messily. You're crossing your feet behind his back when one of them hits something hard. You've flinched away from him even before you can hear the dull crash of his suitcase kissing the airport floor.

There's blood rushing in your ears and you're sure if someone measured your heart rate right now, you'd be sent to the ER immediately. You probably look like a tomato with all the redness in your cheeks. But Jake stares at his suitcase silently for two seconds too, breathing heavily as his grip on you tightens further.

As much as he likes having you in his arms, his suitcase reminds him that you're still very much in the middle of a well-used airport. So he turns back to you and lowers his voice.

"I think we should get out of here, darling."

Your lips tug up into a grin and you lean in to give him just one last, quick kiss.

"Yeah", you breathe, carefully jumping back down onto your own feet. Jake lets go of you only reluctantly - if this wasn't a public airport, he'd never have let you go again. But it is, so he swallows hard as you brush your palms down your dress and blink up at him with a smile.

You're wearing heels. You're still shorter than him by quite a bit.

His amusement melts into a frown when you grab the handle of his suitcase.

"I've got that", he says, reaching his hand out to take the suitcase from you, but you're already maneuvering it away from him and starting to walk in the direction (you think it's the right direction) you'd parked your car in.

"I want to do it for you", you hum.

"Sweetheart, you're already doing enough for me", he says, and he really does mean it. You've driven all this way to come pick him up, you'd watered his plants while he'd been away, you'd even cleaned. That one mostly because you'd desperately needed something to do and Jake's house had always smelled like him, but still.

"Doing enough to you, you mean." Your grin borders on lewd as you dig your teeth into your lip.

"Yeah, that too", he sighs, but he has to grin as well. You're absolutely unbelievable. Instead of trying to argue (he knows it'd be fruitless anyway), he wraps an arm around your back and pulls you into his side, his hand resting on your waist again.

You glance at him.

"I'm not letting go of this suitcase", you warn, even as you lean into his side and swallow. God, he looks so good. And he smells so good. And he feels so good.

"Got it", he chuckles, brushing a kiss to your temple and pulling you even closer into him. He can't have you close enough. Does this fucking airport not have an end? He just needs a little more privacy, a little more space-

"This way", you say and point right. Jake smiles at you as you guide him down the halls. He can't help but watch, can't help but stare at you, at your dress in that soft shade of yellow and your matching heels. Autumn doesn't seem to have caught up with you yet. Then again - autumn hasn't caught up with this place yet. And he's used to Texas heat, he likes that it doesn't get cold here. Also, those sundresses... Yeah, he certainly isn't complaining about the weather.

You speed up when you finally catch sight of the doors, dragging him along with you, almost falling into a jog. The suitcase rumbles against the airport floor, the wheels click-clacking over uneven ridges and bumps and then, thank god, you feel the sunshine on your skin. His hand tightens around your waist.

"Home sweet home", you grin as you take the first step onto concrete. You swivel around and steady both palms against the handle of his suitcase behind your back, bouncing on your heels and looking up at him. "After about a three hour drive."

Jake chuckles and looks back at you with raised eyebrows.

"You'll drive?", he asks. You hum.

"Maybe", you grin as you turn away again and walk over to your car, parked only three rows away for whatever holy reason. You'd been incredibly lucky. And you'd almost run over a grandma. "Or maybe not."

Jake follows you with another low chuckle that sends a pleasant tingling sensation down your spine. It's been so long since you heard that chuckle behind you.

He's next to you again within a few long strides, reaching out for you and you slow your steps to intertwine your fingers with his.

His hands are so big. He's holding onto you so firmly. Fuck, you've missed him so much.

You squeeze his hand and walk a little quicker. Car, home. Car, home. That's it. Then you've got him all to yourself. You can see the car glinting in the sunlight already - and then it's three hours. Three hours next to him in an enclosed space before you've truly got him back.

You stop and let go of his suitcase to fish the car keys out of your pocket without dropping his hand. You push the unlock button and open up the trunk before you turn to Jake and grin at him.

You want to say something, really. It's on the tip of your tongue, still running through your mind, but you've completely forgotten it when you look up at him.

Because while you'd been dragging him to the car, he'd pulled his sunglasses out and put them on and for whatever reason... That kind of does it for you. Holy shit.

"Are those new?", you ask hoarsely and swallow hard, the car keys digging into your palm as you tighten your fist around them. Maybe it's just that you haven't seen him in a month. Or maybe it's the way the sunlight catches his hair, slightly longer than when he'd left. Maybe it's just that with the sun behind him, you've got no choice but to squint at his broad shoulders.

"The other pair broke", Jake explains, letting go of your hand only to wrap his arms around your waist. Fuck, you're just standing there, doing absolutely nothing and he already can't keep from touching you. He has to touch you. He's got to put his arms around you and pull you close. "Why? Don't like it?"

You steady your palms against his chest and let out a breath as your eyes drop to his lips - he's got that cheeky look on his face that's not really a grin but not really not a grin and that nobody but him can do.

"I do", you counter, because it's the truth, and there's no way you can lie to him. "I very much do."

"Very much?" Jake does grin then, raises his eyebrows and pulls you fully against him. "That's more than just a yes."

Your fingers fist his shirt, the car keys digging into his chest just as firmly as they're digging into your palm now. He doesn't seem to be too bothered. He really isn't too bothered.

"They look good on you", you mutter, pulling him even closer. It's been too long since you'd pulled him close... And he feels so good, smells so good, looks so good. Fuck, he's so big and broad and-

"Thanks", he mutters, his grin all cheeky and self-assured and god, is it really this hot? Do you just feel this hot? Because you feel really, really hot. Your skin is burning. How the hell are you supposed to manage a three hour car ride?

"Jake", you whimper, without even meaning to. It's barely above a breath, barely above a whisper, and still too much of a whine to sound anything close to appropriate. A sort of grunt leaves his lips before his arms tighten around you, before he slots his mouth over yours hard. His thumbs drag circles against the small of your back, catching on the fabric of your dress. Your fingertips dig into his shirt, into his chest.

The sun beams down on you, warming your thighs and your arms and every exposed inch of skin, brightness behind closed eyelids as you push further and further into him. He's so sturdy, all hard abs right in front of you, broad arms around you.

You don't even notice the breathless moan that escapes your tongue. You can only feel the heat boiling inside of you, the desperate heat inside of you crawling up your body, every inch of you burning. Burning with want for him. With need for him. Fuck, he's been gone for way too long.

And then he pulls back.

You need a few seconds to even blink yourself back to reality.

"Home?", he suggests, even though it's less of a suggestion and more just a fact. He's getting you home. Now.

"Please", you whine, already halfway through pulling back and dropping the car keys into his palm. Three hours. Three fucking hours, you... You simply won't manage to sit down behind the steering wheel with your skin crawling and your underwear soaked through.

You'll barely manage sitting in the passenger seat.

Jake presses another kiss against your temple before he grabs his suitcase and leaves you standing there, trying to pull yourself together. He's breathing hard and his muscles are tight, his jaw clenched as he heaves his suitcase into the trunk and drops his backpack into it right after.

You force your legs to work, to carry you to the passenger side, force your arm to raise and your hand to close around the handle. It's heavy and hard work. Your body feels leaden, entranced. You let yourself collapse onto the seat and close your eyes.

Fuck.

You'd forgotten how much... how easily...

"Seatbelt, darling", Jake reminds you as he climbs into the driver's seat and adjusts it. You swallow hard and strap yourself in, trying to even out your breathing and pull yourself back to reality while you fumble for the confirmative click.

"Three hours", you remind yourself breathily.

"Three hours", Jake agrees lowly and turns the key in the ignition.

You settle back in your seat and close your eyes, clenching and unclenching your jaw as the radio starts playing and the car rolls out of the parking lot. You just have to relax. Just relax. Relax.

So you breathe out deeply and open your eyes again. Jake glances over at you as you lean forward, flick through the radio channels and then adjust in your seat - it's touching too much, too little of your skin, and the way you're rubbing against it somehow doesn't help in the slightest.

Before you can tuck one of your legs under the other and press the heel of your foot against your core, Jake puts his hand against your thigh. Against your bare thigh. His big fucking hand against your bare thigh.

You bite down on your lip and look up at him.

God, he looks so good. His features are chiseled, his hair that sunny, beachy kind of blond-

"Stop that", Jake grunts, his eyes trained on the road in front of him. It takes you two seconds to even realise he's talking to you. You'd kind of lost yourself in staring at him there.

"Stop what?", you ask, voice hitching as his fingers tighten on your thigh. Damn it, he needs to stop that. He's hardly been driving five minutes, he can't already be teasing you.

For once, actually, he doesn't even mean to tease you - not that you know. He just can't help but touch you, not when he hasn't touched you in a month, not when you're sitting so deliciously, tauntingly next to him.

"Stop looking at me like that", he says, taking his hand off of you to change gears before grabbing even tighter onto you again. "Or I'll have to pull over."

You brush your fingers along his wrist. Your chest feels tight, so tight. It takes everything in you not to push his hand further up your thigh. And you'd actually thought you'd manage a three hour car ride.

"I'll stop", you breathe, even though pulling over doesn't seem like the worst idea. "If you want me to."

A muscle twitches in his jaw.

"Don't do that", he warns, his voice staggering into that indecent gruff of his that has you clenching your thighs together, trapping his fingertips between your legs.

"Don't do what?", you ask, trying your best to sound somewhat innocent while you continue this little taunting game, not as though you're deliberately riling him up. You aren't, really. It's more just a reflex.

He turns his head to you then. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw is clenched and honestly, the way he's meeting your gaze all serious, as though he's trying to reprimand you just by looking at you - for no more than three seconds, of course, before he drags his eyes back to the road - has your lips tugging up in a teasing grin.

"Jake", you whisper, drawing your nails slowly up his arm, all the way from his wrist to his elbow. "Baby. You've been away for so long. You know how lonely I've been, right?"

Jake glances at you again and grunts his agreement, eyebrows raising as he starts to realise what you're doing.

"You can't blame me for looking at you", you go on, digging your fingertips into a spot right above his elbow and drawing one, two circles there. "Or for touching you."

Then you shift in your seat, spread your legs a little and run your fingers down his arm again. You grab his hand and brush his fingertips against the soaked spot on your panties.

"Or for being this wet", you whisper, your breath hitching from the sting in your stomach. He lets out a low curse. "I've just missed you so much."

He sucks in a breath then and trails his fingertips up your panties once, just once, before he jerks his hand back and clenches it hard around the steering wheel, so hard that his knuckles turn wide. Fuck. Fuck! Fuck! You're driving him crazy. You're driving him fucking crazy.

He's supposed to be responsible here. Somewhat responsible. You're young, you've got that risky twinkle in your eyes that he knows so well because he'd seen it in the mirror himself for over twenty years. He knows the thrilling buzz that's running through your veins. He still feels it whenever he's in the air. And he feels it around you.

Which is why he's not responsible, not when it comes to you. Not when you're sitting next to him in that pretty dress, with no shorts on and completely fucking soaked through.

You grin to yourself as he pulls off the highway and bite down on your lip, shifting in your seat once more, fighting the urge to trail your own fingers into your panties.

You haven't even asked how his deployment had been.

But goddamn, you'll have enough time to do that once you've got home. Or got off. Or got him off. At this point, you don't fucking care.

He pulls into one of those parking lots that mainly trucks use, one of those where there's hardly ever a toilet and if, then one that hasn't been usable since the last century. Right now, there's two trucks right at the front that Jake just brushes past. He parks your car at the far end and turns the motor off.

The silence is heavy.

Your breath comes much too quickly. Your eyes are fixed on him. And every inch of your skin is crawling with heat. But you don't move. You can't move.

He rolls his seat all the way back.

"Jake-", you whisper, catching on his name when he looks up and meets your eyes. There's a ghost of a grin on his lips, but... Maybe you're wrong.

"Yes, darling?", he asks, raising his eyebrows and leaning back in his seat. You have to strain your neck to keep looking at him. Instead of an answer, you just softly shake your head. You're suddenly unsure of what to say. His eyes weigh you down. You're painfully aware of every inch of your skin under his watchful gaze.

"Come on", he drawls, the grin that's growing on his lips more obvious now. "You were all eager to talk just then, baby."

Your teeth catch on your lip as you let out a breathless sigh. Your fingers hover over the buckle of your seat belt. Can you? Or...

"I missed you", you whisper, letting your fingertips glide over the hard plastic. "Can I-"

You swallow.

"Can you what, darling?", he repeats, grinning widely now.

You chew on your lip as you push down and unbuckle yourself slowly, your eyes still trained on Jake, who simply watches you with raised eyebrows.

"Can I touch you?", you whisper, your breath disappearing into the thick air of the car, the seatbelt still caught between your fingers. The corners of his mouth only tug up further.

You look angelic with your wide eyes and rosy cheeks, so obviously desperate to feel him - but still you don't move. You sit there and wait for him to tell you what to do. To allow you to do something. Anything. It's almost endearing how well behaved you are in moments like this.

"Go on, darling", he drawls. "Come here."

Without hesitation, you reach over the centre console and grab onto his shoulders, steadying yourself against him as you throw one of your legs over his and climb into his lap. His hands find your waist, grab onto your sides, hold you softly against him. Your teeth dig into your lip as you sink down, your fingers trailing along the outline of his collarbones over his shirt, your dress riding up and pooling around your hips. You suck in a breath when your panties drag against his jeans.

Fuck. It's been so long. It's been way too long.

"Jake", you mutter as you lean in, pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, brushing your nose against his cheek. "You look good."

He lets out a breathy chuckle, his grip on you tightening.

"I know, darling", he can't help but say with a grin. "Thanks."

You giggle onto his skin as you trail your lips down his jaw. Sometimes he's incredibly unbelievable. I know. How cocky. Not that he shouldn't be - goddamn, he should be! You can't even fault him. And confidence is sexy. Especially on him. Though, then again, anything on him is sexy.

"I've missed you", you mutter, pressing another open-mouthed kiss against his skin, this time against the spot between his neck and his ear. "Missed looking at you. Missed touching you."

"Yeah", Jake breathes, digging his hands into your hips and pulling you harder onto him. "I've missed you too."

He's missed you so fucking much that he's hurting, straining against his jeans so hard that he feels like he might combust. And you're kissing down his throat, pressing your lips against his skin, wanting, needing to touch him, to feel him-

A month away from each other. A month too long.

"I need you, Jake", you whimper into his ear, all breathy and desperate, rocking softly back and forth in his lap and letting your eyes fall shut.

"You need me, baby?", he echoes, grabbing you as tightly as he can and dragging you against him, his head thumping back against the seat.

A filthy moan slips past your lips as your hips roll against his, finally, for the first time in weeks. God, yes, you need him so badly. You need him now. Here and now, in the driver's seat of your car.

"Please, Jake", you breathe, steadying one palm against his chest and grabbing one of his hands with the other. You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug it off of you, but before you can drag it down to your panties again, drop it between your legs and beg him to fuck you, before you can do any of that, he's turning your grip around and taking your hands in his instead.

"You're getting ahead of yourself, baby", he chuckles, settling your hands against your thighs. He's painfully hard by now, yes- But that doesn't mean you can just drag him to where you want him. "Seems like you forgot your manners."

You're already shaking your head before he can finish. No, you haven't, you haven't, you just need him so badly... and you can feel him, you can feel that he needs you too, so why doesn't he just take you? Why doesn't he-

"I haven't, Jake, I promise", you whisper, looking at him and forcing yourself to still on his lap. It won't help you if you move. It definitely won't help you if you move.

"You haven't?", he asks with raised eyebrows, looking all but amused at you. You keep shaking your head no, no, no. "So if I'd told you to stay in your seat and wait, you would've?"

You bite down on the inside of your cheek and look away. He's grinning. He knows. He's not even really asking. But if you've learnt anything, anything at all about him, it's that he doesn't like to be ignored. If he asks a question, he wants it answered. So you'll answer.

"No", you breathe truthfully, because you most definitely wouldn't have managed a three hour car ride next to him. There's no way you would've managed a three hour car ride next to him. No fucking way.

His grin widens.

"No", he repeats lowly. "No, darling? You wouldn't have listened?"

"Couldn't", you correct, fighting the desire to rock against his thighs that's growing with every passing second. He looks so fucking good. He smells so fucking good. He feels so fucking good. And he'd fuck you so good, you know that, if he'd just finally get to it.

"Couldn't", he echoes, his fingertips rubbing circles onto the bare skin of your thighs. "That desperate."

It's just that he's that desperate, too. Desperate to feel you wrapped around him, desperate to hear you whimper and moan. He needs you as much as you need him.

"You want me to fuck you, baby?", he asks, all smooth and casual and your fingers dig into your thighs to feel something, anything. It's unbelievable how easily something so dirty slips off his lips.

"Yes", you gasp. "Want you so bad, Jake. Please. I'll be so good for you. I'll be perfect."

A muscle ticks in his jaw.

"You are perfect", he breathes, even though that hadn't been his plan at all. But he has to say it. He has to tell you. You've got him wrapped around your little finger, even if you don't know. And he's not all that sure you don't know anyway.

Your teeth catch on your lip, your hands dig harder into your skin and-

And Jake's thumbs trail along the inside of your bare thighs, brushing up naked skin, drawing a shallow breath from your tongue. A shiver runs down your spine as you clench your legs around his and force yourself to keep still. He's touching you. You have to remind yourself of that. He is touching you. There's no reason at all for the urge to defy him, to pop open his jeans and just sink down on him. He's touching you, he's touching you...

Yeah. Barely.

"Let me feel you", you beg, drawing your hands away from your thighs and trying to put them against his chest - but before you can, he's pulled his hands away from your thighs as well and grabbed your wrists. Again.

"You're not in charge here, darling", he chuckles, pushing your hands back down. He grabs for your waist again. "If you can't behave, I'm gonna put you back in the passenger seat and keep on driving, got that?"

You nod.

You want to be good for him. You will be good for him. God, there's no fucking way you could have managed the car ride already, and if you had to sit through it now, after this- No. You'll be good for him. You'll be so good for him.

He flashes you a grin and goes back to dragging his thumbs along your thighs.

"Ask nicely", he says. "Maybe I'll-"

"Please", you blurt out, your hips involuntarily bucking into his touch. "Can I kiss you?"

His eyes drop down to your mouth then.

"Yeah, baby", he mutters, his thumbs catching on the hem of your dress. "You can kiss me."

He expects you to jump at him, to slot your lips over his and lick into his mouth eagerly - but you only steady your palms carefully against his chest and lean in, your eyes focused on his, your breath meeting his skin. You kiss him softly, lightly, with your lips just so grazing his and your eyes fluttering shut. His fingertips run down the soaked spot on your panties.

That's when your teeth catch on his lip. You sink them into his skin gently and tug, your heart missing a beat as he groans into you. He hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them to the side just like you'd hoped, just like you'd begged for.

Jake's right - you're not in charge. But that doesn't mean you don't know what buttons to push to get what you want.

His fingertips trail through your wetness for the first time in a whole fucking month. It's long overdue. So long.

You moan into him, pressing your chest right up against his and fisting his shirt, and push closer. You need to be this close. You need to be even closer. You need him to fuck you, now, not only to drag his fingers up to your clit.

But he's too focused on you, getting too drunk on the feeling of you. He's finally got you here again, finally on his lap again, finally kissing him again, finally eager for him again. He's finally touching you again. And he has to touch you.

You're so fucking wet. You're soaked. He wants to take his time to notice that. He needs to take his time to notice that. He needs to touch you, to feel you. He doesn't even mean to tease you. He doesn't even realise he is teasing you. Not until you rock into his hand and let a whine slip into his mouth.

You really don't intend to. It's an accident. You don't want to rush him. What you want is to be good for him. But you can't help yourself.

And he knows you can't.

Which is the only reason he doesn't pull back and leave you high and dry. Well, that - and his desperation to have you.

So instead, he pushes two fingers into you and catches the languid moan you let out. Fuck. You sound so sweet. You feel so perfect. It's been so fucking long.

"Jake", you whimper, just because it's also been that fucking long since you've whined his name into his mouth. Into the low-quality mic of your phone, yes. But with his lips on yours? With his fingers thrusting inside you so precisely, hitting the right spot immediately? No, that's been too fucking long.

It's dirty. Not quick, like the other times neither of you had been patient enough to look for a better spot to have each other and had opted for the car instead. No, it's just dirty, with his fingers pumping in and out of you, his tongue running along yours and your knees rubbing against the seat.

Maybe it's because the radio had turned off alongside the car, or maybe it's just the long month you'd spent apart - either way, all sounds are louder than they should be, your ears ringing with your moans, your wetness around his fingers and his lips against yours.

Goddamn.

He's working magic. You don't know how he hits the right spot again and again and again, his fingers curling, his thumb catching on your clit - but he has you clenching around him, warmth pooling in your core, wetness dripping down your thighs and onto his jeans within minutes.

You pull an inch away from him, your eyes still squeezed shut, your palms flattening against his shirt, and the only reason he knows he isn't just dreaming of you again is because you're warm and wet around his fingers. Everything else about you is unreal.

You're gorgeous. You're so damn stunning, rocking your hips back against him and moaning his name, your lips parted and your skin sweaty.

"Fuck", you pant, your chest rising and falling so tantalisingly that his eyes drop right down to your cleavage. "Just like that."

He has to grin to himself, but he lets it slide, if only because you're looking so pretty holding onto him as he pushes his fingers into you and circles your clit - just like that. Again and again, until you're digging your nails into his chest and catching your lip between your teeth and moaning his name, Jake, baby, fuck, fuck, fuck, until you're clenching around him and shuddering in his arms, until you're reaching your high not on your own, but on his fingers for the first time in four full weeks.

"Attagirl", he mutters, straining so hard against his pants that it hurts. "I've got you."

You press your lips against his jaw sloppily as you come down, your breath shallow, your skin burning, just needing to get your mouth on him. You can feel your heart beating, every thud, thud, thud against your chest. God. You hadn't come like that in a month. You'd come, sure, to the low rumble of his voice over the phone, calling you all sorts of sweet names and telling you just how to get off for him. But nothing could ever possibly beat the way he works you.

And still - even as you come down from your orgasm, you already crave the next, long and lust and hunger for him inside of you, not his fingers, but his cock.

"Jake", you mewl, slotting your lips over his and desperately dragging your tongue over them before you draw back an inch, your breath meeting his. "Fuck me? Please?"

He pulls his fingers out of you and raises his hand and before you can even really realise what you're doing, you're parting your lips and watching as he grins and presses his fingertips down on your tongue. God, he fucking tastes like you. You suck his fingers into your mouth obediently and lick them clean, looking at him out of lowered, half-lidded eyes and he fucking grabs at your waist with his other hand like his life depends on it.

Goddamn, it's been too long since he's watched this. Since he's had this sight in front of him. And holy mother of hell, what a sight that is.

Your cheeks hollowed out, your gaze caught on his, your lips wrapped around his fingers. His jeans are too tight. Too fucking tight. He needs relief. Now.

So he pulls his fingers out of your mouth with a low grunt and fumbles with the button of his jeans, quick and hurried. He's barely popped it open before your hands slip between his and push them out of the way. You drag down his zipper, reach into his briefs, finally, finally, finally! and he lets you, steadying his palms against your thighs and watching you tug your lip between your teeth.

"Condom", you breathe, then you glance up at him and blink - once, twice, thrice to get yourself back to reality. Condom. Condom, fuck, you're sure you've got one, you know you've got one, somewhere-

Jake takes his hand off your thigh and reaches for his pocket, pulling out a condom before you've even finished thinking.

You grab it from him almost reflexively, your fingers closing around it, tearing it open - quick and frenzied now, because you're not sure how much longer you can hold out. How much longer you can manage without having him.

You glance up at him before you roll it onto him, waiting, checking, if you can, if he'll let you- And how could he not? Fuck, he's got to clench his jaw and grab onto your waist just to hold back, to stay still. He hadn't meant for it to be like this. He'd meant to fuck you back at home, slow and steady, preferably in bed where he could really see you, where he could see every inch of you, not in the front seat of your car that he'd probably have to get cleaned tomorrow. But he can't fucking help himself. He can barely fucking wait until you've rolled the condom onto him, already grabbing at your bare thighs, slipping his hands below your dress, grasping at your stomach.

You steady your palms against his chest and breathe out a whine as his fingers slide across your boobs, pushing the fabric of your dress up, up, up, circling your nipples and damn, you've missed him. You've missed him so fucking much. It's been so fucking long. And you're so fucking desperate.

So you slowly sink down on him and let out a moan, rolling off of your tongue so filthily that he has to groan. Shit, shit- You hold yourself against him, drop your head against his shoulder and an open-mouthed kiss onto his skin.

"Fuck", he grunts, his fingers working frenzied circles onto your boobs, trying, desperately, no, needing to touch you, to feel you. God, you feel so good around him. Finally around him again. You take your time sinking down on him, catching your breath and pressing your lips against his neck, your eyes squeezed shut. Inch by inch, you take him - and the only way he can keep from bucking up into you is by trying not to concentrate on the way you feel around him (so, so fucking perfect), but instead do his best to breathe. Just... breathe. It's been too fucking long. And you're too fucking pretty. And he'll go fucking crazy.

"Jake", you mewl, your lips dragging against his jaw.

Instead of an answer, he turns his head and catches you in a kiss.

You whine into his mouth, your legs clamping around his, stilling as you adjust, your tongue running along his lips, his teeth, your hands fisting his shirt, clenching and cramping and pressing against his chest.

"Go on", he urges, pulling away no more than an inch, his breath shallow, mingling with yours. "Take what you want, darling."

"Fuck", you breathe, arching into his palms and steadying yourself against him, your teeth catching on your lip as you move - up, slowly, steadily, then down, faster, quicker, and again, and again. Holy hell. Moan after moan rolls off your tongue. He feels so fucking good. You're so fucking full of him. You find a rhythm, then that spot inside of you. Your head tilts back, your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt, your nails scratch against his skin.

He watches you, every inch of him tensing. You're gorgeous, so damn gorgeous, bouncing in his lap like this. You're stunning, your dress pooling around your hips as he drags his hands back down to your waist, thumbing at your stomach, circling and drawing against your skin. He's touching you. Now, here. It's not just a dream. It's not just his imagination. It's you, you, wrapped around him, moving up and down him, your palms against his chest, your eyes fluttered shut, your teeth digging into your lip.

"Just like that, keep going", he encourages, all low and deep, smooths his hands down your body and can't help but grin as you let out a soft mewl. It's been so long since he's heard you whine for him - so long since he's heard it without hundreds and hundres of miles between you, without the microphone ruining what have to be the sweetest sounds he's ever known. "Feeling good, baby?"

The air is heavy, heavy and sticky. It presses down on you, pushes against your skin, settles on your body and flattens your breath. Every single one of your nerve ends is on fire.

"Yes", you gasp, your eyes fluttering open to take him in, him in all of his very, very real glory right in front of you. He looks so handsome, so fucking handsome. Your thighs tighten, clench. You can feel yourself growing closer and closer and closer with every stroke, with every time you sink down on him. Fuck, he doesn't just feel good, he feels heavenly. He feels like everything you need. "So good, Jake."

The grin on his lips sends sparks through your body. It's confident, self-assured... Yeah, you're on top of him, you're moving, you're taking what you want - but he's in charge, you can see it in his eyes. He's in control. It's in the way he breathes, in the way his hands grab at your hips, in the way he palms at your skin. If it weren't for the red on his cheeks, for the sweat beading on his forehead, you wouldn't even have guessed he's all that affected. But he's hard, he's hard as a rock, and it's taking everything in him not to just buck up into you and come right on the spot.

He prides himself on his stamina. In all his years, he's always prided himself on his stamina - on how he can keep going long enough to make you come twice, thrice. And he'll hold out now, too.

But you're gorgeous. And you feel perfect. And you're close, you're clenching around him as you lean in to press your lips to his, to slot your mouths together and kiss him with all your might.

So you're not making it easy for him. Not at all.

He brushes his hand down to the inside of your thigh, leaves a trail of tingles on your skin before his finger finds your clit. You breathe out a whine that he easily catches on his tongue, your nails digging into his chest as he draws circles on your clit, on that sensitive bundle of nerves that has you melting, your eyes squeezing, squeezing, squeezing shut.

Fuck, fuck, you're close, you're close-

Just for a fleeting second, Jake debates pulling his hand away again and leaving you there, on this edge you're teetering on. Not forever, only until you'd got home or so. But he's too desperate to come, too wound up already, too close himself, and there's a much bigger part of him that wants to just fill you up in the driver's seat of your car, in this random parking lot, a month after he'd last had you. The part of him that will revel in knowing that you'll be sitting in the passenger seat for the next three hours with soaked panties, probably leaving behind a wet patch when you'll get out, the evidence of two orgasms right there-

"Fuck, Jake", you gasp and your head rolls back, your lips parting as your entire body clenches, every single muscle cramping and tightening at once, your nails digging hard and harder into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut. His finger on your clit doesn't still, just keeps drawing circles, keeps guiding you through your high, through the foggy haze you're swimming in as your body writhes and tingles.

Jake is too entranced, too enamoured, too captivated by you to even realise he's spilling inside the condom, coming as you do. He can't feel, can't see, can't touch anything but you - his hand grabs at your hip, it palms at your thigh. Anything to feel you. Anything to be with you as you unravel.

"Jake, fuck", you breathe, a lot more softly now. Your grip on him loosens. He'd barely noticed how your nails had still been digging into his chest, but now that you're pulling them away, stretching your fingers and steadying your palms flat against him, he can't help but miss them. You blink at him with the sweetest smile, your lips plush and kiss-swollen, and the view of you is so disarming that he can just so resist opening his mouth and letting those final three words roll off his tongue. But it's too early, it's way too early, even as you're sitting in his lap, even as you're squeezing his cock, even as he draws his finger away from your clit. He's never been the type to say it early. He won't now.

No, instead he raises his hand and rests his fingers against your lips. Once more today, you part them obediently and wait until he's pushed them onto your tongue. Then you close your mouth around them - he still tastes of you faintly - and suck, slathering them in saliva in that sloppy, messy, dirty way you know he likes, your head bobbing as you clean them off. You pull back just far enough to dig your teeth into his fingertips and bite down on them playfully.

Your lips tug into a grin as he draws his hand back, eyebrows raising, his gaze settling on you - still so very heavy, so intense, so fucking full of sex.

"You're a brat, darling", he chides, but he's already brushing strands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ears and then wrapping his arms around you to pull you even closer, even tighter to him. Your grin only grows as your fingers clench into the collar of his shirt.

"Maybe", you laugh breathily, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his lips, one that's so addicting he thinks he might need to stay in this car, in this parking lot for the rest of eternity. "But you love it."

Jake chuckles as he chases after your lips.

"Such a brat."

#x reader #dbf!jake seresin #dbf!jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #dbf!jake seresin smut #jake seresin smut #jake hangman seresin #top gun #top gun x reader #hangman x reader

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tieronecrush · 9 months

Text

secret santa

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

summary: your parents throw a christmas party every year, and this is your first time in the “adult” secret santa exchange. the last few times home, you’ve found joel, your dad’s friend, staring a bit too long, flicking away when he’s caught. for the game, of course, you get joel’s name. and you’re going to make sure it’s the best gift he’s ever received.

rating: E

wc: 5.6k

warnings: daddy kink, age gap (sorry folks but i did want to try my hand at dbf!joel lol i pictured him around 50, reader around mid-late 20s), alcohol consumption, mentions of food, distant relationship with parents, party, christmas, gift giving, secret santa game, bit of deception on reader's part just to get joel alone, lingerie, body worship, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, restraints (using clothes/undergarments), daddy!joel, soft!dom joel, praise, a few instances of degradation, dirty talk (as always)

a/n: (images in moodboard do not convey what reader looks like, only the vibe! no descriptions of reader) my first dbf!joel…milestone moment lol <3 hope y’all enjoy my take on the dbf trope! and tysm to my babies for beta-ing @northernbluess and @kiwisbell love you both 😚

dividers by @saradika

Twenty years. This same godforsaken party has been happening every December for the last twenty years of your life, full of overserved middle aged parents, and never has it been less enjoyable than since you’ve been an “adult”. An adult still treated as a child, chastised, fawned over, always told to follow the golden rule. No, not treat others as they wish to be treated. Your family’s golden rule was speak only when spoken to.

And your father was the enforcer. Always required you home for the party, even away, out of state for college, away for the semester studying abroad halfway across the world. You were flown home and called upon to do the heavy lifting — groceries, liquor runs, cleaning the house, decorating to make it all feel magically festive.

At times, it felt like Cinderella had nothing on you. At least she had a prince.

The only time that this party has ever been remotely improved was when Joel Miller moved into the neighborhood. He’d snuck in under your radar due to the fact that it happened the few months you were living abroad, but coming back for the party and Christmas break, you were quickly introduced to him by your father. His new “best friend”. One among many. Each serving a unique purpose to get your dad ahead.

Upon meeting Joel, you were drawn to him immediately. Skeptical over the fact he found company with your dad, but much to your surprise, he was different. Maybe lonely and looking for a friend; you’d found he was living alone, his adult daughter, Sarah, in her final years at the University of Chicago — a choice that was hers but Joel admittedly feared, you learned. He only encouraged her, regardless of the fact he was anxious about losing his kiddo.

Not the same sentiments your dad had when dropping you off to school in the farthest, cheapest corner of the country you could find. He was nearly jumping up and kicking his feet together in glee to get you out of the house.

Joel, though, Joel was kind hearted and patient. He was curious and caring, asking you about school, work, your life every time he saw you over the years. Warmth radiated from him despite his more shy demeanor. Comfortable. You felt so comfortable with him.

Which is what made the smallest of lingering glances or the slightest of smiles turned smirks that much more exhilarating.

Maybe you were being naive or projecting your burning desire for him onto every interaction, but as you stitched yourself tighter into Joel’s life over the years, you haven’t been able to help but notice him checking you out at times or slipping a subtle flirty comment into conversations between the two of you. You would give it right back, and that would usually pump the breaks, bringing things back to surface level.

There was one time this past summer, after a neighborhood barbecue that your parents left early from, that you and Joel really had a moment. It was loud, music drowning out the back and forth you were having to the point where you couldn’t quite make out every word, and Joel must have felt the same because he made sure you heard his next words clearly — “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

Agreeing immediately, he pressed his large hand into the midpoint of your back, guiding you out of the confines of the party and to the open air of the street. He led you to his place and around back, pulling two lounge chairs next to his pool closer to each other.

That night, thanks to the alcohol buzzing in your system, you confessed more about your home life and your feelings around it. Joel was surprised, given the picture-perfect image your father paints for everyone, but he was comforting as always. Even as far as offering you his spare room if you ever needed a break.

That’s when you knew you were done for. Never in your life had you wanted to just kiss someone that badly. Let alone all of the thoughts that came along with it.

Harboring this crush for your dad’s friend, fifty plus and a father himself, you attempted to keep things growing closer when you came back. Friendly, polite, reciprocating any amount of flirty banter he threw your way. Even initiating it yourself.

You were so incredibly into Joel Miller. And returning home this time, you decided it was high time you acted on those feelings.

The noise of the bustling party dies down enough for your dad to introduce the game, as if the attendees haven’t been participating for nearly as long as you’ve been alive. But your dad loves the attention on him, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes while everyone else gives him a laugh. Always so focused on himself. How everyone else sees him. Image obsessed enough to forget to assign anyone as a Secret Santa to his own daughter but not forgetting to give her someone to gift to.

Granted, you weren’t that upset about who you’d drawn.

Watching from afar, you see Joel survey the empty space under the tree, only the deep cherry red skirt laid out on the hardwood. Nothing for him. Everyone opens their presents, laughter and excitement bubbling across the room as the point of the game begins. Partygoers start to guess their gifters, hoping to nail down their Secret Santa in one go. Conversations are struck up as people meet their pair, ‘thank you’s exchanged along with the gifts. Joel observes from his spot with a few of your neighbors, also friends with your dad, and the sight of him shifting his weight on his feet is enough to draw up the courage to approach him.

Crossing the room, flashes of him checking you out, lingering in conversations with you about work and your new apartment in the city, seeking you out each time you visit home flood your mind, reassuring your choices the closer you get to him. The closer you get to completely jumping into the deep end, the last few steps teetering you at the edge.

Slowing to a stop next to him, a finger of yours gingerly taps his strong shoulder a few times, pulling his attention away completely. Joel turns his body to face you, away from others to solely focus on you in front of him. The subtle sign of his attraction to you has your nerves tingling, clearing your throat when he speaks up in greeting.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Y’alright?” he asks, eyebrow raised. Always so goddamn sweet.

You sigh, a tinge dramatic but attempting to sell the dismay and toying with the flute glass in your hand. “Lame surprise, but I’m your Secret Santa and I stupidly left your gift upstairs. It’s a bit obnoxious to bring down so d’you mind coming up to open it and you can grab it at the end of the night?”

Joel agrees with a jolt of nervous excitement down his spine. Shuddering out the feeling subtly, he clears his throat and nods, awaiting your lead. He thinks he catches the slightest drag of your eyes up and down his body, lingering at the expanse of his shoulders and the sliver of his chest that is exposed from the two undone buttons of his red flannel.

When no one’s paying attention, you bring Joel upstairs into your old room that you’re staying in while you’re back in town for the holidays. He stands around a bit awkwardly, sticking out like a sore thumb with his broad shoulders stretching his red flannel, thick thighs straining deliciously against the perfectly worn material of his Levi’s. Stark against the frilly softness of your room, with its bright white furnishings, and feminine touches. He’s all man. Nothing like the guys your age who think they’re like him.

Joel glances about the room before he asks, “So, what was so difficult to get under the tree, sweetheart? You didn’t have to get me anything so major.”

“I wanted to. I mean, noticed you eyeing what I got you for a while so figured the least I could do was give it to you…” Joel’s face twists up in confusion, perplexed by the riddled clue before you’re standing in front of him, reaching to the side of your plaid skirt and dragging down the zipper. Joel stutters out nonsense at your actions, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Doll, I think—you don’t—” His mumblings die in his throat when you drop the material to your ankles, revealing red satin panties. When you turn around, a bow sits at the top of your ass, tying up the material to stay on your hips while elasticated bands run along the outline of your cheeks to connect to the crotch. Very little of your bum is covered, showing off the supple flesh to Joel. He’s rendered speechless, averting his gaze after a second too long of staring, the mumblings starting up again.

“S’not a good idea, shouldn’t be up here right now…” Joel looks around, looking over his shoulder toward the door. One of your hands reaches up to gingerly cup his chin, turning his flushed face to yours again. His pupils are blown wide, eyes darkened with desire. Your own gaze flicks down between the two of you, smirking at the bulge growing at the crotch of his jeans. So desperately trying to fight against what he really wants. Even when you’re serving it up in a pretty little package.

He makes no movement toward the door, which you take as a sign of letting go of at least some of his apprehension. Fingers grip the hem of your sweater, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it on your carpet along with your skirt.

Matching red satin material, the bra you’re wearing has a similar structure to your panties. Held up with straps and the usual clasps at the back, the front is a large gift bow, pulled tight when you tied it earlier this evening to push up the flesh of your breasts. One tug at the tail end of both the ribbons, the one at your chest and at your ass, would fully expose you to Joel. Something you’re desperate to propose to him.

“Aren’t you gonna unwrap your present, Joel?” Picking up each of his hands in yours, you guide one to your lower back and one to your chest, coaxing his fingers to wrap around the ends of the bows. “Or do you not like your gift? I thought you wanted this…”

“No, no, no. I like it. I really fucking like it, sweetheart, I just…Everybody’s downstairs and—”

“I can be quiet. I’m a good girl, Joel.”

That flips a switch in him, hearing those words from you. His eyes darken further, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips. A burning stare combs over you, head to toe, alighting flames in your gut that lick against your insides. Heat crawls across the back of your neck, pooling in your collarbone, and craving oozes between your ribs and between each of your vertebrae. Joel’s right hand lifts from his side, skating up the length of your left arm and leaving goosebumps rising in its wake. Fingertips ghost over the strap of your bra, down to the center of your collarbone, and sitting there. That lasts only a second before his long, thick fingers wrap around the base of your throat, raising his loose grip to settle underneath your jaw.

The silence is heavy, airy breaths the only sounds passed between the two of you. His hand at your neck coaxes your head to tip back, staring up at him looking down at you. A flicker to your lips. A low, curious hum. Arousal pools in between your thighs as you wait with bated breath for something, anything to happen.

“You’re dangerous, doll.” His whisper is coated in lust, his gaze greedy as it drinks you in once again.

“I’m a gift,” you correct sweetly, feigning innocence as a smirk grows on your face at his dark chuckle.

“A gift that keeps on giving?” he questions. His hand twists to allow his thumb to find your bottom lip, dragging across its glossy, cherry surface.

“I guess you’ll have to find out…” Your mouth stays open after speaking, tongue slipping out to lick the tip of Joel’s thumb. He presses his finger further, pushing between your lips as you welcome it, sucking gently. Joel sighs, shoulders relaxing while his eyes flash with need.

“Christ…” he hisses under his breath, shaking his head subtly before clearing his throat. Speaking sternly, unwavering, he says, “Can I unwrap my present, babydoll?”

His thumb leaves your mouth with a quiet pop, hand finding its place again at the slack of the bow at your chest, other arm wrapping around to find the bow at your ass. A gentle tug moves the satiny smooth material a few centimeters, not enough to pull it fully undone.

“All yours, Joel. Picked out ‘specially for you.” Joel smirks at your candied reply, eager to give him exactly what he’s been wishing for. What you’ve caught him staring at the last few times you’ve come back home. What you have been wanting for just as long, if not longer.

“Such a sweet girl. Beautiful girl.”

The words send a tingle down your spine, stoking the flames inside of you. Your eyes stay trained on Joel’s face while his fingers draw the bow at your chest undone, the lengths of material hanging at your sides and exposing your breasts. He licks his lips at the sight of your pebbled nipples, rolling out a stifled groan from his chest.

“Fuck, baby…S’pretty.”

Joel’s hands fan across your lower back, holding your hips against his, pressing his bulge into your covered mound. His broad frame folds forward, draping you backwards in his arms as his mouth attaches to your chest. Humid, open-mouthed kisses are littered across your skin, nips taken at the tender flesh of your breasts. Closing his lips around one of your nipples, he sucks strongly, pulling a whimper from your throat.

“Thought you could be quiet, doll?” he rasps, raising an eyebrow as he looks up at you from your sternum.

Nodding furiously, you pout your lower lip out, whispering back, “I can be, I will be. I promise.”

“You promise? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, baby.” Joel stands up straight, pulling you with him to press against his torso. Catching your lips in a deep kiss, Joel breathes a sigh into your mouth, melting his tongue against yours and drinking in the taste of you.

Dripping with saccharine sugar. Coated with syrupy goodness, plump and succulent like a maraschino cherry. A toothache, or maybe even a heartache waiting to happen.

He’s fucking screwed, but damn if it doesn’t feel good as he nails himself to his own persecution from whoever may find out about this.

Handfuls of your undulating curves fill his palms as he kisses you, groaning into your mouth as he grabs at the swell of your ass. Silky satin brushes against his hand, reminding him of the other part of his present to unwrap. Pulling away from your mouth with one last lick of your candied taste, he has the mind to imagine what the rest of your flavors all across your body might be.

Joel turns you in his arms, back flush to his chest as he grinds his bulge against the lustrous fabric, smirking to himself as you whimper quietly, so hushed he can barely hear it over his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Lips coast over the shell of your ear, nibbling your lobe before pressing a kiss right below.

“Can I undo your other pretty bow, babygirl? Unwrap the rest of my present?” Joel nips again when you breathe out consent. He walks you closer to the bed, hitting your knees against the frame before he takes one step back, touch still lingering on your skin. From behind you, he sighs appreciatively as he drinks in your form, licking his lips as his eyes devour you.

Pinching the ribbon between his thick fingers, he flicks it against your skin, satisfied with the way you react with goosebumps raised. One gentle tug unravels it all, exposing your cheeks to him fully and with the drop of the material from between his fingertips, your panties fall to the floor. One hand wrapping around your thigh, Joel coaxes you to step out to the side with it, kicking the fabric from your ankle.

He kneels behind you, pressing his lips against the swell of your ass. Flooded with the scent of your skin, vanilla and cinnamon, the smell of Christmas. Nose smashed into the supple flesh, teeth sinking into the curve, a gentle bite stealing another taste of you. A curse is mumbled against you, a sweet kiss pressed on the tiny birthmark on your ass, tongue tracing into the fading bite mark.

“Joel…” you whine above him, hand reaching back and nimble fingers tangling into his messy, gray curls.

“I know, doll. Got lost there for a second. You’re so perfect…”

He sighs again, standing up with a quiet crack in his joints. A blatant reminder of the difference between you two. Young versus old. Sprightly versus verging on doddering. Even if he is eager, there’s no denying the difference.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Joel’s about to be more of a gift to you than you are to him. The way he’s touching you, delicate worship before he’s even gotten to what he truly wants, taking his time despite the pressure of the party downstairs. Serves as a reassurance that he wants this as much as you do, wants to take his sweet time if this is going to be his only chance.

You pray to god it isn’t. Even before you’ve even laid eyes on his cock, you just know. He’s going to fuck you senseless. Ruin every other man for you.

In a blur, he guides you to fall forward onto the mattress, hooking fingers to remove your panties from your other ankle while you scoot toward the center. He finds solace between your legs, propping your hips up into a kneeling position to give him easier leverage.

“Think this might be my favorite present I’ve been given, doll. So fucking gorgeous. Looking delectable…Can I have a taste, darling? You as sweet as you seem?”

Your head is turned sideways, laying against the plush comforter, opening your mouth to whisper to him in the same moment he swipes his tongue through your folds, groaning into your inner thigh before he dives back in, working to devour you like a man starved, quenching his thirst on your arousal. Flicking his tongue against your pearl, coated in your translucence, suckling at it with pure need. Turning to press the front of your face into your bedding, it muffles your moans and whines, raising in pitch as he fucks your tight cunt with his strong tongue, lapping at you with the same fervor he’d lick the color from a candy cane.

“Fuck, Joel, fuck fuck fuck!” you shout in a scouring voice, scratching your vocal chords together with a strain. Curling your fingers into the softened, washed fabric, you gasp when one of his solid fingers slips into your walls. He groans, holding back his louder reaction to your gripping walls, hypnotized by the way you even stretch around his fingers when he adds another.

Head against your thigh, he studies the way you take his middle and ring fingers, the velvety slick of your pussy, and the spongy spot he finds, curling his digits to press into it and watch you squirm helplessly from the sensitive pleasure.

“Talkin’ all well mannered and pretty. So quiet and polite all the time. With your ‘yes’sir’s and ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s. You think about saying those to me while you’re under me like this?”

“Yes, yes’sir. All the fucking time. Every time I—I looked at you, felt myself…felt myself gettin’ so fucking wet. Was always dripping around you, waiting for something to happen. For you to take me so I can be a good girl for you, sir,” you confess, obedience and need sitting every word so prettily into his ears. “M’so—Fuck m’gonna come, Joel.”

He nods slowly, taking last looks at your cunt before he moves his fingers in and out quicker, dipping his chin down for his mouth to find your clit against, lapping at your dripping wetness and sucking hard. At the next press of his fingers against that spot inside of you, your vision grows blurred, white haze painting everything with a dreamlike filter. You bite into the linen fabric of your comforter, gagging yourself to keep quiet as you come, digging the balls of your feet to the mattress to push yourself away from Joel who continues to work you through it. He grabs at you, tugging you back to get his fill until you sob, overstimulation drawing tears up to the corners of your eyes.

“All kept and composed and ladylike. Been taught to behave, haven’t you? Bet you fucking love to be such a little slut. Anybody ever let you? Such a dirty girl, aren’t you, babydoll?” Joel’s voice sounds distanced at first, senses falling back into place in your body as you come down completely. His work-worn hands coast over your body, roughening against your soft skin like sandpaper moving with the grain. Little resistance but catching in places it favors.

“Just—Just for you, Daddy.” It slips out smoothly from your mouth, the weight of the title heavy against your tongue in the same way you imagine his cock would feel. Filling. Satisfying.

Joel rises slowly from where he’s bent behind you, letting one leg fall behind him as he stands, the other propped on the bed. His eyes narrow in on yours, lips parted and tongue darting out as he replays what you said.

Daddy.

First, you’re already on his mind and years younger, yet he couldn’t stop picturing you in this exact position. Next, you’re the one to make the first move, dragging him away from this Christmas party and presenting him with a Secret Santa gift that feels way out of the budget. You’re priceless. And now, you’re laid out for him, already nearly at the level of fucked out from him only using his mouth and fingers, and you’re fucking calling him Daddy.

Best Christmas of his goddamn life.

“Now, darlin’, were you saving that to be the cherry on top of the cake? ‘Cause that’s just about the sweetest thing. My pretty lil’ babydoll saying she’s Daddy’s dirty girl,” he scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head while his fingers work his button open on his jeans, dragging the zipper down against his throbbing bulge. “Gonna have to be quiet, yeah? Gotta keep your sweet mouth closed while Daddy fucks you, doll.”

“I’ll be quiet, promise. Please, Daddy.” Your pleas widen Joel’s smirk, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips once again. He pushes his denim down with his cotton boxers in their wake, sighing softly when his hard cock is fully freed. His tip is aching and red, leaking precum and leaving a wet spot on his underwear. With one hand, he starts to slowly stroke himself, holding in a moan enough that it leaves his lips as a soft exhale.

“Good girl…” he mumbles, studying your form. “Move back toward me, babygirl. Hands behind your back.”

Complying with his direction, you inch back until Joel places a hand on your lower back. At that, you lay forward again, the side of your face pressing against the duvet as Joel steps back from the bed and searches the floor. A dribble of drool drips from the corner of your lips as you watch him, one large hand around his cock, spreading his precum along his length. Part of you has the mind to beg for him in your mouth, to completely disregard the need pulsating your cunt at the moment, and to feel his warm spend coating your throat as he finishes fucking it.

But you’re fucking selfish. This is also a gift for you, so win-win.

Pressing your wrists together at your lower back, you observe as Joel locates what he is looking for, standing up with a devilish smirk. Your panties.

He towers over you again when he steps back to you, one hand coasting over the curve of your ass, a gentle smack delivered that makes a quiet yelp escape from your lips. The same hand skims back up your skin, easily grabbing both of your wrists in his long fingers and holding them closer while he slips the silky material behind. In a quick motion, he has your arms tied together with a bow, a content smile on his face as he makes eye contact with you.

“Wrapped all up again, babydoll. Such a pretty gift for me.”

“Well you’ve got a pretty package, Daddy,” you reply with a mischievous giggle, earning a breathy chuckle from Joel behind you. He grips the knot of your makeshift restraint, tugging taut to arch your back and pull your hips closer. His other hand wraps around the base of himself, dragging the head of him through your drenched folds, circling your clit, and chuckling again at the jump of your thighs.

“Please, Daddy, I need—” you start pleading, muffled into linen before you’re cut off by the stretch of Joel’s cock filling your tight hole, a gasp escaping your lungs with a punch. Your mouth is stuffed with the duvet from your bite down, nursing your tongue against the material as he slowly presses into you, inch by inch. There’s an ever-so-slight pain candy-coating the pleasure, melting away to get to the gooey, oozing center that spreads over your entire body.

Pausing when he reaches the hilt of himself, Joel sighs, rolling his head back as he internally thanks whatever Christmas magic must be out there for this moment.

“So fucking tight, baby.”

Your dampened whine shoots a wave of intense need throughout him, growling low as he holds your restraint tighter, dragging his hips back before he starts a punishing pace. Control escapes him, desire taking over his actions as he starts to properly fuck you. His cock teaching you how to take every single inch of it.

Messes of his name and your moans are stifled and stuttered into the comforter gagging you, chest hovering over the mattress as Joel holds tight to the knot in your panties.

“Can’t hold back any longer, baby, jus’—fuck—jus’ gonna take Daddy’s cock like a good girl, aren’t ya?” The only precision remains in the soft cracks of skin on skin, not loud enough to draw any attention from the party downstairs. Poppy carols play faintly in the background, the only other soundtrack being the vulgar mumbles slipping from Joel’s lips.

Drawing you closer and closer, the edge is tasted on your tongue, so close but barely in reach as the man behind you rocks his hips, the tip of his hard cock brushing that same spongy spot inside of you that he managed to reach with his fingers, bruising into your cervix with each snap.

At the next drag-out, Joel pulls away from you completely. When you whine with protest, he’s tugging you to stand up on your knees, whispering in your ear amid his quick movements, “Need to see your face when I make you come all over my cock…”

Before you can be left with any thoughts to a response, he’s flipping you onto your back, hands tied still, and tugging you near again. He steals a pillow from the top of your bed, shoving it under your hips to lift your pelvis, gifting himself the perfect angle to thrust into you again from the height he stands at.

The new angle punches out moans from your chest, Joel’s name littering the empty room as you try so hard to remain quiet.

“Shh, I know, doll, I know. Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Y’love bein’ Daddy’s little slut.” Nodding furiously, another louder moan leaves your mouth, brows knit together with worry as you hurtle closer and closer to the edge.

A large palm moves to cover your mouth, shaking his head slowly to remind you of your promise to be his good girl, his quiet girl.

“Pleasepleaseplease, Daddy…” He feels the vibrations of your voice against his hand, the words muddled into slight nonsense from pleasure clouding your brain. Joel holds onto one of your legs, pulling it up to hook onto his shoulder and press forward to get deeper inside of you. The switch has you screaming into his palm, eyes squeezing shut as you squirm under him.

“Eyes on me, babygirl. Keep your eyes on Daddy.”

Joel’s hips pound into you, chasing his own climax. Your eyes snap open at his instruction, mouthing at his hand and moaning loudly behind it, nodding your head furiously. Your tight walls squeeze around his hard cock, his grunts held back to keep quiet despite the noise of the party downstairs growing in volume.

“Come on, doll. Come on my cock…Fuck, you gonna let Daddy fill up your pretty little cunt?” The quick, speechless nods answers his question, both of you toeing the edge.

There’s a moment when both of you seize up, muscles tense and eyes burning into each other’s. It only lasts a split second before it explodes with a pop, at the same second a champagne bottle pops downstairs. Joel breathes out your name, over and over, mingling with your whimpers of his name and Daddy switching back and forth in your mind. Interchangeable to you.

Pleasure fizzes over your bodies like bubbles in the flutes being filled, the bubbling aerations trickling up up up to your head, making you feel lighter than air as pure bliss overwhelms you. Tingles aftershock across your nerves, a shiver sent down your spine as Joel pulls out.

Quietly, he groans as he watches his excess spend drip out of you, mixing with your come and glistening against your folds. One thick finger swipes at the spot, pushing the swirl of you back inside of your walls.

A soft whimper slips from your lips and Joel’s eyes meet yours in a flash, a gentle smile stretching across your face. He coaxes you to sit up and unties your hands behind your back, slowly massaging your wrists with his thumbs and kissing where the skin rubbed against the fabric. The tender touches accompany the soothing, comfortable silence.

Redressing you, Joel attempts to tie the bows of your bra and panties, huffing softly in frustration. You giggle when he’s working on your bra, taking his chin gingerly between your fingers and turning his head to look at you. Leaning in, his lips catch yours in a sweet, sugary gumdrop kiss.

It’s another moment before both of you are fully dressed again. You study yourself in the mirror above your dresser, smoothing your hair down. Joel steps up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder through the knit sweater. He turns you around to face him again, grinning shyly as his eyes comb over your face.

The two of you share another kiss, his calloused hand cradling your cheek when he pulls away.

“You gonna be under my tree again on Christmas day, doll?”

“Depends…Were you naughty or nice this year?” you counter, earning a quiet laugh from Joel as he shakes his head.

“Think what just happened has put me on the naughty list for a long time, babygirl. And you, too.” He shoots you a cheeky wink and you laugh, shaking your head as you lock your fingers together in front of you.

“I did actually get you something though…” you admit shyly, rocking back and forth on the heels of your feet.

Joel grins, eyes flicking down to your anxious hands. His thumb brushes against the skin of your cheek, eyes meeting yours again as he replies, “You have another gift for me? Didn’t need to do that, doll.”

“I mean…Kinda needed a backup plan if this whole thing didn’t work out.” A chuckle is shared between both of you before you continue, “Sorry for spoiling the whole guessing game of Secret Santa.”

“Darlin’, you could spoil any games for me if it ends up with this kinda surprise.” Joel smirks before stealing another quick kiss, pulling away when you step back to fish out the small, meticulously wrapped giftbox from the top right drawer of your dresser.

Handing over the square package, Joel’s eyes glitter with boyish excitement. The corner of his mouth pulls up to one side while his thick fingers slip under the creases of the paper to rip the tape, undoing the festive wrapping to reveal the lidded giftbox that he opens quickly. Inside, Joel studies the contents. Small triangles with rounded corners made from thin nylon plastic. A deep emerald green, all sitting like precious gemstones. His initials are branded into one side with gold paint, the flip side emblemed with the silhouette of an owl.

“Sweetheart…Thank you. These are real nice…” he speaks softly while he picks one up between his index and thumb, turning it between the tips of his fingers. “They’re perfect. Gonna be sad if I end up losing one of these like all my other picks.”

You smile sweetly, stepping closer again and resting your hands on his biceps, “Guess you’ll have to take good care of ‘em.”

As he looks at you, he mirrors your smile, sharing one more gentle kiss before whispering against your lips, “Can think of another something I have to take good care of.”

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chelseeebe · 6 months

Text

we can’t be friends.

a little fake dating situation in which eddie must pretend to be your boyfriend to keep up pretences, but then feelings start to become hazy and now he’s not sure if you could ever be just friends again.

a/n: i’m reading this back and actually not liking it as much as i first did hahahaah but i hope you enjoy!! i just wanted to reiterate my hate for the duffers and the fact that they didn’t give him any other t-shirt other than that dang hellfire one>:(

18+. mdni. smut. mentions of bad parent/s. modern au i guess but it’s hardly mentioned. no use of y/n!

eddie wasn’t expecting to walk in to you so stressed.

it was the usual thursday movie night but you’d answered the door with a green complexion and the look of a deer in headlights.

“what’s wrong?” he perplexes, shutting the door behind him as you continue to pace the living room floor.

you sigh, blinking at him as you stop for a few seconds. you’re contemplating something, sizing him up with your eyes narrowed. it makes him a little unsettled if he’s honest.

“next week, are you free?”

“what?” wondering what the hell that had to do with your nervous exterior.

“are you free?” you press.

“uh.. probably, why?” not an inch of sense in your words.

“you wanna come on vacation with me? i mean- it’s not so much a vacation but a family reunion, but can you come?” chewing on your fingernail.

“when? what? why?” rattling through all of his questions all at once.

you sigh again, frustrated with his lack of understanding, “family reunion, i can’t do it alone eds..” your hands cycle around the air, “josh was supposed to come with me but obviously.. that’s not happening so can you come?”

eddie’s face finally un-scrunches. it all made sense now.

you’d spoken enough about your crazy parents and subsequently just why you’d moved halfway across the country to get away from them to understand why you didn’t want to go on your own.

he’d also been elated when you’d told him that you and josh had broken up. eddie had never liked him, in fact, if were given the chance, he thinks he’d punch him square in the face.

that hadn’t really helped you of course, so he kept it mostly to himself. but if the opportunity were ever to arise, he’d do it. no shame.

“oh, shit, why didn’t you just ask me in the first place?” he laughs, rolling in his eyes in jest as he collapses on the couch.

“i’ve asked everyone.. and i mean, everyone and they couldn’t, i was scared!” your body relaxes, coming to join him on the couch.

“oh thanks,” eddie scoffs, “so i was the last resort?”

“no,” you prod him in the side, “i didn’t think you’d wanna come, that’s all.”

“yeah right,” chuckling as you hand him a beer, “i don’t mind, i’ll suffer for you,” popping the lid off and taking a swig.

“thank you,” you exhale, leaning back against the couch, “really. it means a lot.”

“so what are we doing? skiing? sightseeing?” eddie probes, making himself comfortable.

you scoff, “oh no, it’s at my aunt’s beach house in illinois.. it’s big enough for you to have your own room and shit, you’ll just have to pretend to like craft beer and talk baseball with my dad.”

eddie’s head hits the back of the couch, groaning loudly, “baseball? man, i dunno if i can make it anymore.”

you throw him the dirtiest glare, “you’re not funny.”

despite your words, he falls into a fit of laughter truly not making your scowl any lesser. he knows you appreciate him deep down, given the fact that you hadn’t hit him yet.

the drive across indiana isn’t too bad, eddie only wishes he hadn’t let you control the music for the entirety of the journey.

“just..” you exhale, glancing warily over at him from the passenger seat, “just be normal, okay? don’t let them piss you off,” nodding with every word.

“you don’t trust me?” he grins, earning a deathly glare. “i won’t piss them off.. don’t worry,” turning his sarcastic mocking into kindness.

your eyes squeeze shut before you slide out of the door, doubting your choice to bring eddie along.

your parents open the door with a wide smile and their arms extended, pulling you in before looking over at eddie, obviously slightly taken aback with the man at their door.

he offers his hand out, “i’m eddie, nice to meet you sir,” feeling very judged and not at all surprised, not with all your horror stories.

your dad takes his hand, gripping on tight as he eyes him up and down, “so this is the boyfriend,” humming quietly, “it’s good to finally meet you, son.”

eddie freezes, eyes sliding from your parents to you to find you in the exact same position.

boyfriend?

“uh..” you fumble, mouth opening and closing somewhat like a fish, “yes! yes.. this is him,” chuckling nervously.

oh shit.

his week of rest and relaxation was about to become a week of performing and lies.

you watch eddie anxiously, your eyes speaking a thousand words. praying he doesn’t mess up, doesn’t embarrass you in front of them.

“yeah.. yeah, that’s me,” he nods hurriedly, going to shake your mom’s hand, “lovely to meet you.. miss.”

now eddie wasn’t opposed to pretending to be your boyfriend but fuck, really? he needed at least a week to prepare and rehearse, rather than you throwing him into a week of improvisation at a whim.

the literal second the door to your shared bedroom shuts, eddie spins on his heel, jaw clenched with an exasperated expression.

“what the fuck?” he whispers, rather loudly.

“i’m sorry!” you hush back, eyes wide, “i- i.. i didn’t have a choice! fuck, i’m really sorry,” anger turning to regret as you flop onto the bed, head in hands.

well great. now he feels guilty. you’re almost sobbing when he joins you on the bed, pressing his lips together in frustration.

“hey! it’s fine.. it’s fine,” he assures, “shit, it’ll be fun,” bumping his shoulder into yours playfully.

you sniffle pathetically, looking up at him with tearful eyes, “i’m really sorry.. i panicked,” bottom lip wobbling.

god, you look like the reincarnation of bambi.

his heart pangs, guilt wracking his chest for the slight overreaction.

“i know,” nodding slightly, “it’s okay.. it’ll be funny, you know?” he’s not sure that it’ll be anymore funny than it’ll be stressful, but he’s prepared to see this week through.

for you.

it’s the little things that make a relationship a relationship. things eddie hadn’t ever considered.

like the seemingly insignificant touches and the casual kisses. all things he now had to meticulously plan and prepare for.

nothing was ever too much. a gentle peck on the cheek or a graze of the knee. things no one would really notice unless you weren’t doing them.

you grab his hand walking to the table for dinner and he almost starts cackling until he remembers, now hoping that his palm wasn’t sweating too much.

that night in bed, you turn to face him, tiny smile creeping onto your face, “i think my cousin likes you, i mean- did you see the look on her face when you walked into dinner?”

eddie lets his phone fall onto his chest, flabbergasted at your suggestion, “what are you talking about?”

you hit his arm, furrowing your brows, “c’mon, she was totally checking you out, don’t pretend you didn’t notice,” rolling your eyes in jest.

if he’s honest, he really didn’t notice.

he’d been too preoccupied by you in that damn dress to care about anyone else at the table.

eddie didn’t get to see you dressed up often and the dress was sitting just right, he couldn’t exactly focus on much else.

“oh, are you getting jealous?” he mocks.

you tut, shaking your head, “maybe after we’ve fake-broken up you two can get together.”

“you are jealous,” he laughs, sliding his phone onto the nightstand and settles into bed, “what if i don’t wanna fake-break up?” only half-serious as he says it.

“well then i’ll get a fake-restraining order against you,” poking your tongue out before turning the lamp off. “goodnight, eddie,” he can hear the smile in your voice as you roll over.

there’s a quiet, niggling little voice somewhere in the back of his mind. or maybe it’s his heart speaking.

whatever it is, he doesn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. at least not right now anyway.

eddie supposes that a vacation at your aunt’s beach house would entail seeing you in little clothing but he can’t help the little woah from leaving his mouth when you walk out of the bathroom in a tiny bikini top.

“don’t be fucking weird,” you frown, eyes trailing down to his hot dog swimming trunks.

“i’m not!” he exclaims, still trying to draw his eyes away from your chest, “i’ve just never seen.. them,” eyes widening at your revealing bikini.

your eyes roll to the back of your head, expressing your disgust with a small groan.

the entire day is made significantly harder by your top, or lack thereof. eddie finds his gaze slipping downward and every so often has to remind himself that he’s not actually your boyfriend and he doesn’t have the rights to ogle you.

it’s just hard to focus on a thing your dad says to him when you’re sat in front of him like that.

his limits are tested when your cousin suggests a game of tennis. already calling eddie for her team as you get into position on the opposite side of the court.

perhaps you were right, her unnecessary, constant touching sent alarm bells ringing in his head. not that he’s paying it any mind, too distracted by your chest as you bound around the court.

so much so, he completely misses the ball, letting it bounce off of the court and into a hedge somewhere.

“eddie!” she shrieks, running off to collect the ball.

your eyes lock from over the net, your brows threaded together, “how about we swap teams? you join me,” pointing your finger at his face, gesturing for him to join you, which he does with a smile.

mostly just glad to be away from her wandering hands but also, he gets to prove a point.

“you are jealous,” eddie smirks, hushed tones as he speaks into your ear. you’re so close now, enough to touch.

he wants to.

he wants to so bad.

even if it were just to make your cousin seethe with envy.

“me? never,” smacking your racket gently at his leg, earning a nasty glare from your unhappy cousin who smacks the ball far too harshly towards him.

he’s too hot and bothered to do much after such an exciting game of tennis, walking in stride with you as you enter the large house. blabbering away about something or nothing when your mom announces her presence rather loudly.

“oh god,” pulling a face as she eyes your outfit, “you really should coverup sweetie, nobody wants to see that,” cackling away to herself.

eddie’s floored, utterly stunned that she’d ever say something like that, let alone to your face. your despairing expression stabs him in the heart, choking him from the inside out.

“well i do,” grinning at the lady in front of him.

“of course you do, you’re a man,” the older woman sighs, “i think it’s a little disgusting to just.. have everything out there,” gesturing to your chest, “women should have pride in their appearance, you know?”

you blink, chewing the inside of your lip as you nod. shrinking into yourself as you glide up the stairs. in an ideal world, he’d call her a bitch and move on with his life, however, he supposes that probably wouldn’t be wise.

she tuts, shaking her head at the stairs, “she’s always so offended.. can’t say a thing to her.”

eddie bites his tongue, diverting from what he truly wanted to say to offer some mild criticism, “maybe you shouldn’t have said anything at all,” shrugging as he flies past her and up the stairs, hot on your trail.

the bedroom’s empty though the en-suite door is closed, a muffled sniff coming from the other side. he hates that she’s made you cry, that she’s capable of even making you feel bad when you had absolutely zero reason to.

his knuckles rap against the door, pressing his cheek to the wood, “it’s me.”

there’s a small scuffle and then the lock clicks though the door remains closed. having to console you after the amazing afternoon you’d had feels wrong.

he creeps inside, closing the door behind him. you’re slouched on the toilet, tears leaking down your warm cheeks. it’s a punch to the gut to see you like this. all those harsh stories you’d recalled to him suddenly made a shit ton of sense.

“you okay?” eddie asks, the answer already overwhelmingly obvious.

“yeah,” you sigh, wiping your sodden cheeks, sniffling for good measure.

“you shouldn’t listen to her,” he affirms, perching on the bathtub, “don’t let her upset you.. it’s not worth it,” although his words probably fall on deaf ears, you already know this.

“i know..” staring up at him with your puppy dog eyes, “i’m sorry, she just.. ugh,” snarling your lip, “she knows how to make me feel like shit.”

“what the hell are you apologising to me for?” eddie jokes, poking you in the arm, “she’s just jealous,” choosing wisely where to go from here, “she doesn’t look as good as you do and she doesn’t like that.”

his words crack a tiny smile on your lips, mission accomplished.

“thanks,” you nod, “i mean that. thank you for even coming with me.. i couldn’t do it without you.”

his heart swells a little, or a lot really.

this is a dangerous game, he thinks. wanting nothing more than to cradle you in his arms.. blur the boundaries a little more.

how much more blurred could they possibly get before eddie had to admit to his feelings?

he’s not sure he wants to find out.

on reflection, it had been a pretty good week. at least eddie thinks so, pretending to be your boyfriend wasn’t exactly normal or anything he’d ever pictured himself doing. but he’s enjoyed it nonetheless.

despite a new found, deep hatred for your mother, he doesn’t think the rest of your family were that bad. willing to volunteer for any other vacations you might be forced to drag him on.

nowhere near as testing as he once thought it would be. in reality, the hardest part about it all was that he had to go home alone tomorrow.

as both of you lounge on the bed, the tv prattling on in the background, he smiles, gently elbowing you in the side.

“y’know this week has been fun,” reminiscing on all the stupid things he’s had to do to sell this story.

one night, you had helped yourself to a little too much wine. stumbling all over the vast garden as your family watched on in horror. so eddie did what any good boyfriend would do and slung you over his shoulder, giggling into his back as he manoeuvred his way up to your room.

not only the public displays of affection come back to him, but also the seemingly minuscule ones. where only you were involved. sneaky laughs and glances that only the two of you could understand.

“mhm,” you hum, sliding your bookmark into your book, “it has, thank you for doing this,” before leaning over to place your book onto the bedside table.

“i’ve enjoyed it,” he meets your eye, that same uncomfortable fluttering starts again in his chest, “being your ‘boyfriend’ i mean.”

you shuffle, turning to face him properly, “well.. i’ve enjoyed being your girlfriend,” lips twitching into a smile.

there’s something in the silence, a tension that feels ready to burst.

eddie does something he might live to regret, something so idiotic and foolish that put your entire friendship at risk.

he leans forward, hastily connecting your lips in what must be the world’s most awkward kiss.

you hesitate for too long of a moment, jerking your head back to stare into his eyes.

he’s done it. he’s ruined the single best thing he had left.

an apology begins to form on his tongue but your lips silence him, your hand finding his cheek to bring him closer. eddie’s eyes fall shut, slowly accepting this, that you wanted it too.

he repositions himself, at your mercy as you tug on his hair, now hovering above your body, elbows sinking into the mattress.

he can feel you now, your chest brushing against his, the way your heart rate seems to match his, thumping away in your chest.

“we should.. we should stop,” eddie pulls away, breathlessly panting with your lips still tracing over one another.

“no.. no,” you shake your head, your eyes shiny and full of something he can’t place.

“what?”

“kiss me again,” you demand.

he’s not quite certain he’s hearing you right. fear had forced him to tear himself away but now you were asking for him to do it again?

eddie falters for a second too long, forcing you into kissing him, smashing your lips to his as your fingers scramble to find the back of his neck under his hair.

oh my god oh my god oh my god.

your entire family are in this house and he’s going to desecrate this innocent bed with you, his fake-girlfriend.

he feels your knee slide up his thigh, allowing him more space between your legs. now it’s more than just your chests meshed together, his poor sweatpants tightening with every slight buck of your hips. blood rushing to his cock as you gasp and sigh into his mouth.

he has to pull himself back into the room when your hand slides from his neck to his crotch, lightly tracing over his throbbing cock.

making out could be easily laughed off but this- this was serious.

“you.. you wanna do this?” he asks, gasping for breath as you continue to kiss at the side of his mouth.

“i want to do this,” you reaffirm, dipping your hand into the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out a hoarse groan from his throat.

your hand wraps around the base of his cock, leaving a trail of kisses to his jaw.

his eyelids flutter, struggling to stay open as you start pumping your fist, thumb circling his leaking tip.

“oh my god,” eddie breathes, jolting his hips into your fist.

this entire week he had been internalising all of these intrusive thoughts and feelings about you and now it felt like he might genuinely cum all over your hand, not even five minutes into this.

it doesn’t at all help when you’re panting and writhing around underneath him, delicate fingers making him feel like he’s flying.

“f-fuck,” he stutters, grabbing your forearm, “you have to stop,” regaining just enough composure to reopen his eyes.

“why?” concern rippling through your voice.

now he falters, gazing into your lust filled eyes, pupils all blown out and crazy. it would be despicable if he were to divulge his embarrassing secret to you.

so he takes your arm, pinning it above your head before starting his descent, a paper chain of kisses and light grazings down your neck and chest.

it’s entirely too intimate for just friends, fake relationship or not.

“oh,” you sigh, head rolling back onto the pillow.

eddie has control now, regaining power without a damn clue of what to do with it. your shorts come down with his free hand with a little help from you, your ankle now comes to rest on his shoulder.

he should feel stronger than he does, rather more intimidated and fearful that he’s going to disappoint.

“please..” you pout, “please touch me,” he wonders if you can sense his anxiety.

he lets go of his grip on your wrist, trailing down your quivering body until he meets your lower stomach. this new position allows him access to your heat, wet and waiting for him.

“shit,” he mutters, sliding a solitary finger between your slick folds, watching as your chest heaves in response. “you’re so pretty,” he can’t help but blurt out.

“shut up and touch me,” you snap, chasing his touch with your hips.

eddie’s not going to deprive you of that now, is he?

circling around your clit, noting the way you groan and grab onto his arm. not that he thinks that there’ll ever be a second time for this.

your eager hands grab at his sweatpants, hoping that that’ll be enough of a hint.

he’s not going to last long, that’s for certain.

fed up with his stalling, you tug his sweatpants down, aiding him in sliding them off and onto the floor with a muffled thump.

your arms fan out across the mattress, glancing down at the minimal space between your bodies and then back into his eyes.

his entire body shudders as he slides into your eager cunt, bumbling through all of the profanity in his vocabulary. watching as your jaw falls slack, wary that you couldn’t make too much noise.

perhaps it was the fact that he’d been brushing off any even slightly sexual thought for an entire week or maybe it was just true but eddie swears that no one had ever felt this good before.

“fuck,” he wails, hips slamming against the backs of your thighs, digging his fingertips into the soft, mailable flesh of your hip.

just the way you grip onto the blanket makes him dizzy, letting his eyesight go hazy, a blurred picture of you sprawled underneath him.

the pleasure is insurmountable, something snapping in his stomach when your hand reaches out for him, gripping onto his forearm.

“eds,” you gasp, just loud enough over his barely contained grunts, “more,” sickening eyes doing all the work for you.

there’s not much more of him left to give, already nudging against your soft spot, repositioning your calf higher on his shoulder to allow him deeper, receiving a sweet whimper in return.

“yeah,” you pant, over and over, fingernails latching onto his skin. his arms start to shake, still holding himself up over you as his orgasm begins to catch up with him.

“shit.. i don’t- i don’t think..” eddie swallows, struggling to stay composed as you tighten around him, looking up at him through batting eyelashes.

it makes his stomach twist, barely able to move as his high comes crashing down, overtaking his senses, sweaty bodies colliding as he collapses on top of you.

“oh shit.. oh my god,” he whines, release painting your thigh, the sheet and even your fucking t-shirt.

he’s not ready for a child but he’s certain that’d have been worth it.

eddie glances at you, subsequently moving from your body onto the mattress. the entire high he had been feeling comes tumbling down, now faced with the reality that you were no longer just friends.

the ceiling becomes incredibly interesting, both of you avoiding eye contact as the silence somehow grows louder.

for a room that was just full of lewd, filthy noises, it sure is quiet now.

the blanket rustles and eddie dares a peek, you stand at the edge of the bed, disheveled and still slightly flustered.

you look down at the stain he had left, tutting quietly, “thanks a lot.. gonna have to change now,” adding a soft chuckle.

“sorry.. cheaper than a baby though,” adding to your banter, it’s indescribable the relief he feels.

eddie watches as you rummage around in your suitcase, no longer shying away as you pull your shirt over your head, shimmying into your clean clothes.

when you rejoin him in bed, the tension is mostly gone, the lamp clicking off, encompassing the room in total and utter darkness.

there’s a further moment of silence wherein eddie isn’t sure if he should bolt and hide or embarrass himself further and say something stupid.

something- someone, brushes against his ribcage as you shuffle, your hand coming to rest on his stomach.

there’s not a word exchanged between you but eddie takes the hint, sliding your hand further over his midriff. it’s a pathetic attempt at cuddling but it makes him flutter all the same.

eddie wakes up sprawled face first across the bed, blinking at the bright light, not a trace of you in the room.

he fucked up. he fucked up so bad that you’ve decided to find your own way home and left him here.

shit.

he clambers out of bed, pulling his hastily discarded sweatpants back on, remembering every last detail of your night last night.

the guilt comes in waves, and then embarrassment and shame jump in to make it worse.

years of friendship down the drain and for what?

he just about builds enough courage to leave the room and venture downstairs, creeping out onto the hall when you come bounding up the stairs, meeting him in the cramped corridor.

“hi,” smiling coyly, playing the oblivious game.

“hey,” he nods, reciprocating the smile.

nothing was ruined. you’re fine.

“i was just coming to wake you..breakfast’s ready,” you fiddle with your thumbs, a completely different version of yourself than the one he saw last night.

“oh good,” eddie blinks, “i’m starving,” wanting to smash his palm into his face the second the words come out.

“great!” you exclaim, the painful cringe coming through on your face too.

the two of you walk down the stairs in silence, sitting at the table with a small knowing glance.

this house is huge. he’s sure no one else would’ve heard.

he’s midway through his coffee when your dad leans across the table, probing the two of you, “so, will you be trying for kids anytime soon?”

eddie damn near chokes on the searing hot liquid, coughing his gulp back up into the mug, combatting the burning sensation travelling down his throat and also up into his cheeks.

why would he ask that? over breakfast no less.

“uh no.. nope,” you answer for him, thankfully.

“that’s a shame,” your father stands from the table, sliding his plate into the soapy water before making his way over to eddie, clapping him on the back, “you’re gonna have to make an honest woman outta her first son,” before shuffling off into the living room.

he wants to die. in fact, he’d much rather the ground open up and swallow the two of you alive than to be sat at this breakfast table.

judging by the look on your face, you share the sentiment.

he’s going to tell you. he’s going to tell you. he’s going to tell you. he’s going to tell you.

he’s just not sure when or how. it’d be unfair for him to unload his feelings unto you at the beginning of the journey, not to mention also extremely inconvenient if you didn’t feel the same.

but then he’s also acutely aware that if he doesn’t force those words out soon, that they may never come out.

he’s just finished loading your bags into the back of his van, admittedly a little sad to be leaving.

it’s like, he could no longer pretend that what was going on was real. that last night might’ve just been a mistake and you want to cut ties here.

your phone blares from your hand, holding up a finger as you walk away to take the call.

eddie rehearses what he’s going to say to you. well, tries to.

i think you’re super cool, how about i become your boyfriend for real?

he cringes at the thought of it, it wasn’t really the declaration of love that you deserved.

the door opening startles him, your demeanour had done a complete one eighty, your shoulders slumped as you slide into the seat in silence.

“you all good?” eddie asks, wondering what had changed in such a short time.

“uh.. yeah.”

“y’sure?” he probes, not entirely convinced by your change in attitude.

“that was josh,” you swallow, looking straight ahead out of the windscreen, “he wants to see me when i’m back.. to talk.”

“oh,” he replies flatly, “wow okay.”

the life he had dreamed slowly crumbled before him, it was foolish to think that you’d just want to settle down with him now. he’d gotten ahead of himself and now had to reap the consequences.

“yeah..”

eddie doesn’t utter another word, instead, turning the key and starting the long, painful drive home.

maybe he’ll throw himself out of the van on the interstate. punishment for letting himself even slightly believe that you’d be interested in him too.

josh is waiting outside of your building when eddie pulls up, smug grin in tow.

tempted to just keep driving, smash into the side of his expensive shiny car and then reverse over his spindly little body.

that doesn’t happen of course.

instead, eddie keeps his head ducked low, muttering a low see you later before you clamber out. there’s so much left unsaid, even a complete idiot could see that.

he doesn’t watch as you walk over to your ex, certainly doesn’t want to see how his hands meet the small of your back and the way you seem to relax into his touch.

not a chance.

it’s eating him alive. even with the windows rolled down entirely, he’s sweating. as if it’s gnawing at his skin, trying to find a way out.

fuckfuckfuck.

tyres screech along the tarmac, his hands shaking as he turns the wheel. something otherworldly and dangerous overtakes his senses as he tears off back down the same road he’d just traveled.

and maybe he’d regret it and maybe it’d ruin your friendship forever but this week couldn’t have been for nothing.

you had to at least know.

eddie’s palms are wet, holding onto the steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip. he doesn’t recall the journey to your apartment being so fucking long but he feels like he’s in this stuffy van for an eternity.

the moment he pulls onto that familiar street, bile rises in his throat.

maybe josh would have sweet talked his way back into your life and he’d get his ass beat. or maybe you’d laugh him out of there, telling him to never contact you again.

he supposes that there’s not much left to lose now.

eddie hops out of his van without so much as a look back, bounding up the short path as the door swings open, nearly knocking him for six.

“eddie,” you remark, phone gripped in your hand. your jaw hangs open, what looks like tears stain your cheeks. “i was trying to call you.”

frankly, he’s still out of breath from the exhilaration of it all, struggling to find his words as he stares gormless at you, “my phone’s dead.. i didn’t- didn’t know.. what’s wrong?” mind immediately jumping to josh.

what had he done?

“nonono.. nothing’s wrong, i just..” you trail off, your gaze not once breaking, “why are you here?”

eddie’s mind goes blank, why was he here?

to tell you that he thinks he’s in love with you? he can’t say that.

“you.. left something- in the van.”

idiot.

total fucking fool.

“oh!” swallowing the shock of his arrival, “what? what is it?”

why are you both dancing around this? he’s sure you feel it too. maybe. that could be the adrenaline speaking.

“nothing.. you didn’t leave anything- i don’t know why i said that.” shaking his head, if he weren’t so nervous, he’d have been crippled with embarrassment. “look, i have to tell you something,” biding his time, hoping your crazed ex won’t pop out of a bush and pummel his head into the ground.

“eddie..” you start, that solemn tone he was dreading to hear.

“no, let me say it,” he tries again, clearing his throat, “i need to s-“

“-eddie,” cutting him off mid-sentence, bounding up to him with your arms extended, throwing them around his neck as you press your lips to his.

it’s almost enough force to knock him on his ass, his hands coming to meet your waist in an attempt to stabilise both of you.

you pull away, lips still pouted slightly, “sorry.. what were you gonna say?”

eddie can’t recall a word of the speech he’d halfheartedly rehearsed. “well shit.. doesn’t matter now,” once again pressing his lips to yours, swaying in the evening breeze as everything seems to fall into place.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader

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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years

Text

...

#somewhere halfway across the country my parents r at a Halloween party #and im laying here wracked with guilt bc im very tried and wasting time by not doing anything #bc its like: draw! but i cant draw until i finsih these things i have to write and i have to look up some stuff and do some research #so i cant draw bc i have things to do. but im too tired to do things. so i should just go to sleep at like 8pm lol #but my brain hates that idea bc no sleep. we cannot sleep. sleep is a waste of time #so ill just lay here too paralyzed to do anything. at least im kinda sore from yesterday so it actually feels nice to lay down #sigh... the exhausting ordeals of exostance #and im like if i were doing something like being at a Halloween party i wouldnt b so stress abt not doing something bc id b like making #memories and not just adding to the blur of days i dont remember bc theyre basically identical. tired. tired #this is truely my burnout phase. im all washed up at 25. nothings interesting enough to hold my attention #i just want to draw and draw and draw all day everyday. draw until my hand hurts. that's what i want to do #but i cant bc there r things that need to be done and i should just sleep so i can go to the store tomorrow #sigh. stupid irrational brain. stop it.#whatever. sorry im v chatty when i dont sleep. im just like fuck it everyone gets to hear my thoughts bc i dont care #blah. tomorrow. tomorrow i will do things. i say again like i do everyday #and everyday my attention avaids focus #but maybe. maybe. maybe #unrelated

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johnbrand · 1 month

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Little Brother

With @next-pharaoh

“Eh, dirty Arab,” Markus muttered to himself, squeezing into the aisle seat next to the younger brown man beside him. He could only hope his suit would not get filthy while next to the fellow. Markus was on his way to a meeting across the country, hoping to be promoted to an associate at his law practice.

“I’m sorry, what did you say, zalameh?” Markus’s new acquaintance asked innocently. Markus grimaced at the hair that seemingly covered every exposed part of the young man’s body, and the musk that naturally wafted off of it.

“Nothing, nevermind.” Markus did not want to get into an argument. He was not worried about the other passenger’s size–Markus's hobby of weightlifting would definitely make it an even match–but he was on a plane. They were going to sit together for at least three hours.

“Picking a fight with me is rather bold,” the man beside him warned. “Just because we are in public does not mean your big brother Khalil won’t put you into place. I’ve had no problem doing that in the mosque, remember?.”

The second half of the comment caught Markus off guard. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Do not play dumb, zalameh,” Khalil smirked. “Although I guess skipping that post-secondary education may have slowed you down.”

“N-no, I’m smart…and I’m not Muslim.” Markus struggled to regain his footing, which was surprising for the lawyer of almost ten years. But then, something else began to alarm him. “Wait, what’s happening to my suit?!”

Right before the pair’s eyes, Markus’s suit had begun to dwindle away, pulling back towards his core. The jacket disappeared completely, while the starched button-up softened into a basic graphic tee. Markus’s pleading eyes searched for help but no one seemed to notice his pant legs curling up, becoming sweat shorts that reached halfway across the thigh. Finally, as his premium loafers morphed into beaten sneakers, Markus switched to the offensive.

“You’re doing this aren’t you, you camel-”

“Shh, brother,” Khalil placed a brown finger to Markus’s lips, shushing him. “You don’t want to make a scene, do you?”

Recovering fast, Markus ripped Khalil’s hand away, but then he noticed a new problem. “My-my arms! Why are they…”

“They’ve always been brown,” Khalil stated as they both followed the wave of melanin that flushed over Markus’s arms. “They’re as hairy as mine, but if you joined me in the gym more often than they’d be as buff and strong as mine too.”

Markus’s arms shrunk under Khalil’s comments, now more toned than muscular. “Wha-”

“And that runner’s build too,” Khalil commented. “Sure you have abs and that thick treasure trail, but it makes you more boyish than man.”

“No, stop it!” Markus exclaimed. And yet no attention was given to him from the other passengers as his frame thinned out into a figure appropriate for a runner.

“At least you have that fat, bushy, Arab cock our family name takes pride in!” Khalil suddenly grabbed Markus’s crotch, both of them noticing the heftier weight. Markus did not understand how, but he could feel his white sperm rapidly evaporating within Khalil's grip.

“B-but I’m not Arab…and I’m a lawyer…and I’m-”

“You're my little brother,” Khalil finished, grabbing Markus’s face. “Praise Allah I have patience for your misunderstandings.”

Markus was going to comment, but instead was distracted by a foreign feeling on his chin, “Since when do I have a goatee…?”

“Since you could grow one, zalameh. You’ve wanted to be like me ever since you were little.”

Markus groaned. “I don’t...ow, my head...”

“By Allah you practically are like me at this point,” Khalil chuckled. “One could even confuse us for twins.”

“No…that can’t be…true.” Struggling, Markus got up. To his surprise, Khalil did not stop him–nor did anyone else for that matter–as he stumbled towards the bathroom. He had to see if it was true. Markus had to know if…

“Subhanallah!”

With the mirror in front of him, Markus was able to witness what Khalil had meant. Reflected back was a young Arab man, no older than 25. Attractive in a boyish way, but still held that Arab hair and funk that many brown men were proud of. Markus’s eyes began to water, but before he could cry his phone received a notification.

“Marwan, what’s taking you so long! We are about to take off!!"

Marwan shook his head, what was he just thinking about? It probably did not matter anyway. Luckily his older brother Khalil was looking out for him once again. Admiring his own brown, masculine beauty and quickly thanking Allah for it, Marwan left the bathroom to return to his brother. Khalil was beaming from ahead, eagerly awaiting him.

#male tf #male transformation #dumbification #arabization #Arabophile

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strang3lov3 · 1 year

Text

For Science

Soft!Joel Miller x Fem Reader

Summary: Joel’s heart breaks at your misery when you’re on your period, so he does what he can to alleviate your pain.

Warnings: Fluff, smut, blowjobs, fingering, awkward Joel and Reader, period cramps, period sex, unprotected PIV. sweet sweet joel. Mutual pining

W/C: 4k

A/N: For all the menstruating Joel girlies, this one’s for you. And me too, because this shit fucking sucks. Admittedly this is very self indulgent. This isn't my favorite fic, but I hope you guys like it anyway. I feel like it's devoid of a lot of typical period fic tropes so I am unsure if y'all will enjoy. Have a great weekend!

btw, send me an ask or comment if you aren't tagged and would like to be! mwah kisses love you all <3

masterlist

as always, please leave me a comment or reblog if you liked the story! i am desperately in need of validation

Knock knock knock. “You okay in there? Haven’t seen you at all today, honey,” Joel asks as your door swings open slightly. His brows are knit together and his soft eyes are big and worrisome.

Joel hates seeing you like this. You’re huddled with your knees curled into your chest on your bed, trying to will away the pain. Your hands are clutching your stomach, you’re quietly moaning in agony.

“I think I’m getting sick,” you rasp out, your voice weak. It started with a dull ache in the pit of your stomach that didn’t seem to leave. Then came the nausea.

“Sick, hm? Can I come in?” Joel asks you. You nod yes, and the door opens wider. His footsteps are soft towards the bed as he sits next to you. “Let me check you for a fever?”

You nod again, not having much energy to use your voice. Joel places a palm first on your forehead, then your cheek. Not satisfied with the results, he repeats the action with the back of his hand. It’s such an unexpectedly sweet and caring gesture, your eyes prick with tears.

“Not terribly warm,” he mumbles. And then it catches his eye: that rusty bloodstain on your bed, heavy and concentrated to a few square inches. He leans over to check your backside, where he finds the stain mirrored on your pants. “Think you started your period, honey.” he whispers.

The cramps and nausea feel all too familiar now.

You hadn’t had a period since the beginning of your trek across the country with Joel and Ellie. Not that it was a super regular occurrence before that, but you often gave your food to the younger girl. Being so malnourished, your period disappeared. It was a welcome exit, your period was always exceptionally painful and miserable for you.

“Oh,” you move your hand to your ass and press your fingers into where you think the bloodstain should be. And yup, there it is. “Shit.” you grumble, looking at the matching bloodstain on your blanket. The last thing you wanted to do today was laundry.

Your cheeks heat up slightly. Hiking halfway across the country with someone, modesty is usually thrown out the window. You and Joel have seen each other in all sorts of intimate states, too intimate for the type of relationship you share. But still, you can’t help but be slightly embarrassed.

He must see your blush. “Hey, it’s alright,” Joel assures you softly. “I was gonna go over to Tommy and Maria’s anyway to do some laundry. Why don’t you let me wash your blanket and those clothes, hmm?”

“You really don’t have to, Joel,”

He ignores your gentle protesting. “Nonsense. I’m gonna give ya some privacy for a second, leave what you want washed outside your door. I’ll be back in a few hours,”

You smile gently, scolding him in your mind. He doesn’t need to be doing all of this for you. He smiles back, warm and shy, before exiting your room and shutting the door behind him.

You strip, changing into some sweats and fresh panties. In the bathroom are some reusable pads made from old towels that Maria gifted you when you first arrived in Jackson with Joel and Ellie. She gave the last menstrual cup to Ellie, who’s at school today. You put on a pad, toss your soiled clothing outside the door, and curl up with a book on your bed.

Joel lets himself inside Tommy and Maria’s home. Yes, there’s a community laundromat. But those often require socializing, which Joel is not much a fan of. Tommy and Maria generously offered you and Joel their to use washer and dryer instead.

He places the basket of laundry on top of the dryer and begins filling the washer with your clothes and blankets, none of his own, and sprinkles in some detergent.

Joel lied. He did his laundry yesterday. But he knew how ill you were feeling, and Joel, ever the gentleman, decided to take it upon himself to take care of this for you. The grumpy asshole did have a heart after all.

“Back so soon?” A voice interrupts. Joel turns to look, it’s Maria standing in the kitchen with her baby on her hip. “Didn’t you do laundry yesterday?”

“I did, yeah,” Joel responds.

Maria notices your soiled panties sitting on top of the blanket she recognizes as yours in the washer. “She got her period, I’m guessing?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, figured I’d take care of the laundry for her,” “Well aren’t you kind,” Maria says, impressed. Not many guys would take care of washing a woman’s period-bloodied clothing. “I thought she might be starting soon. Noticed yesterday at the dining hall she was complaining of cramps and such. She also seemed a little moodier than usual.”

Joel shuts the lid and turns on the washer. “I thought so too,” he agrees. “She was a little irritable.”

Maria puts on a pot of coffee and offers Joel a cup, to which he accepts. For a while they talk about Tommy, then their new baby. When the washer finishes, Joel moves the clothes and blanket to the dryer.

“I can drop those off for you if you’d like,” Maria offers. “You may wanna get back and make sure your girl’s doing okay.”

“That’d be great, I was actually thinkin’ the same thing,” Joel thanks Maria. “You don’t have any pain meds, do you? Poor thing looks terrible. She’s all curled up into herself, barely speakin’ to me.”

“No, I don’t, unfortunately,”

Joel sighs. “How do you deal with it, then? Cramps and all that,”

“Well, a warm bath always helps. So does a heating pad if she has that,” Maria says.

Joel nods his head. “Is there anything else? Tea? Somethin’, anything. I mean, this girl is absolutely miserable,”

“Well,” Maria starts, unsure if she’s ready to reach this level of personal with her brother-in-law. “Orgasms.”

Joel sputters into his mug as he chokes on the coffee in his mouth. “Pardon?”

“Yeah, orgasms. Have sex with her. It’s what I recommend to all the women here. It does help the cramps subside, at least for a bit,” Maria says. Joel’s face drops, his eyes go wide. “What, are you afraid of blood or something? You’re washing her bloody clothes…”

“No, no. It’s uh, it’s not that. We aren’t…we’ve not…”

Maria stops Joel, understanding. “My apologies. I thought you guys were together like that. Well, God gave women fingers for a reason,” she says, very matter of factly.

Joel blushes, images of you and your wandering fingers flooding his imagination. “Got it,” is all he says. No fucking way in hell he’s going to tell you to masturbate to alleviate your cramps. That can most definitely be a conversation between you and Maria another time, when Joel is far away from you both.

He awkwardly says goodbye then, making his way back to your shared home. Maria sends him home with some potato soup, instructing him to heat it up for you. It’s good comfort food, she says.

In your bedroom, you look to be in about the same position as you were before. Whimpering in pain, rocking your body back and forth in the fetal position. Anything to shake the hurt away.

“Hey darlin’, Maria gave me some potato soup to heat up for you. Can I make you some?” Joel’s back in your doorway, his tall frame leaning across the rickety old wood.

“No, thank you,” you whisper. “Not really hungry.” “Figures. That’s alright. Anything else I can do?”

No, you tell him. Not unless he’s willing to be your human body pillow. This entire time you’ve been bleeding, you’ve been aching for comforting touches. Strong arms wrapped around your torso, warm hands pressing on your lower tummy. The other hand holding your own, thumb tracing back and forth on your skin. Soft kisses on your forehead, your hair. You just want to be loved, gently. The way you so deserve.

Joel turns to leave then, just about shutting the door behind him.

Maybe…

“Joel?” you call out.

“What’s up, honey?”

“I was just wondering if you’d maybe hold my hand. Just for a second,”

Joel smiles sadly through the crack of the door. “Of course,” he says tenderly, like it shouldn’t have even been a question on your mind. Of course he’ll hold your hand. He meets you at the bed, sitting awkwardly next to you. He offers you his hand, which you take in both of yours. It’s dry and calloused, but so warm and comforting. “Squeeze me as hard as you need, alright? I can handle it.” Joel adjusts slightly so he’s laying next to you, his other hand stroking your hair. He smiles to himself, small and genuine.

A wave of ache overtakes your body, beginning in your abdomen and spreading up your chest and down your thighs. Your breasts are heavy and swollen and aching angrily. You groan in agony. “Fuck,” you whimper.

“What hurts? Where?”

“Everywhere,” you cry. Your hands leave his, and they find their way to his torso. You grasp his sides in your fists and squeeze, but he doesn’t complain. It doesn’t hurt, and even if it did, you’re hurting worse. In truth, he’s savoring the warmth your bodies create together. He loves being able to comfort you like this.

Joel wraps his arms around your back, dragging his fingertips up and down your spine. “You’re breakin’ my heart, honey,” he whispers. “Let me help you. What can I do?” he asks, hot breath tickling your ear.

“I don’t think you want to,” you murmur.

“Try me,”

You sigh, sitting up on his chest slightly. “Can you…massage me? My chest?”

Joel’s breath hitches and he shuffles awkwardly. “I suppose,” he starts.

“I’m sorry. I just need your strong hands, I tried doing it myself but–”

“No, yeah. Of course,” Joel interrupts. He’s at a loss for words, more filthy images of you flooding his mind. Just like before, at Maria’s. “It’s what friends are for, right?” He cringes inwardly at the word he uses. Friends.

“You’re too good to me,” you mumble.

“Nonsense, honey,” he hushes you. “Sit up, turn around. I’ve got you.”

You trust Joel completely. He can be rough around the edges, but you know how soft and nurturing he is on the inside. Joel is meant for this, taking care of the people he loves.

He spreads his legs and you lean back into the soft warmth of his torso, holding onto his denim clad thighs. He’s awkward to start, still unsure of how to do this, exactly. You take his hands and drag them up, up your tummy, stopping for a second to savor the heat from his palms radiating through to your abdomen, then continue pushing them up your body. You stop just before your breasts, his thumbs lightly tracing the soft flesh of your tits.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice steady and calm but slightly nervous. He wonders if you can hear the way his voice is wavering slightly.

“Mhm,” you mumble.

And then he gets to work. Gently, timidly, he runs his hands over the soft flesh of your breasts, then your nipples. You groan at the contact on your sensitive buds. He squeezes gently, then increases pressure experimentally. He can feel how swollen you are as he explores every inch of your chest.

“Doin’ alright?” he asks, fingers and thumbs digging deep into your breasts. He massages you intently and with such tenderness, his gentle caretaking instincts taking over.

It hurts so fucking good. The ache is amplified yet dissipates with each motion of his palms. “Yeah, harder. Don’t stop,” you plead desperately.

Joel swallows thickly and increases pressure again. “Like this?”

“Just like that, Joel. So good,”

God, how sinful you sound. Whimpering and moaning for him, begging for more. Shit, not now. Not fucking now, he thinks as his cock begins to harden under you. “Fucking moron,” he whispers.

“What?”

Joel freezes. “Shit. I uh, wasn’t callin’ you a moron. Sorry,” he apologizes gruffly. “It’s me. I’m the moron.”

“Why are you a moron?”

“I’m gettin’ a bit hard. I’m sorry,” he mumbles. He feels heat rise up his neck and to his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to.”

“My tits are in your hands, Joel, I get it. I don’t mind,” you assure him. You feel his cock half hard, pressing into your lower back and you shift a little. You both notice how he grows harder at your adjustment.

Joel chuckles awkwardly, trying to break the tension. “I’m only a man, hon. Can’t help it,”

“You’re okay, Joel. I promise,” You chuckle with him, sighing and resting your head back on his chest again as he starts massaging you once more. The stubble on his jaw tickles your face, his chest rises and falls with every second. You share a moment in the silence, made slightly awkward by Joel’s arousal. You wince as another strong cramp overtakes your body, and you curl up into Joel.

“Cramps?”

“Cramps,” you mumble. “I don’t think you can massage those away, though.”

“No, probably not,” he mumbles. “Not with my hands, at least.”

“With what, then?”

Did he really just say that? You really are a fucking moron, Miller.

“At Maria’s today, she told me a way to alleviate cramps,” he starts, speaking slowly, like he’s whispering a secret that’s not his to tell.

“How?”

“Orgasms,” he whispers stiffly. He presses his lips together in a thin line and looks up towards the ceiling.

“Oh,”

“I could give you some privacy if you wanted to try that out,” he mumbles.

“Why would you do that?” you turn to look at Joel, who is bashful and looking down. He looks at you with an eyebrow raised, and you continue, “Didn’t you just say you could make the cramps go away, just not with your hands?”

“W-well, yeah, but,” he stutters.

“I have been so fucking horny. And you’re hard too, so,”

Joel’s eyebrow is still raised, he’s eyeing you suspiciously. “Are you askin’ what I think you’re askin’?”

“You already washed my bloody panties. I’m guessing blood isn’t an issue for you,”

“No, no. ‘Course not. You want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah, you know. For science. For the sake of experimentation,”

Joel smirks mischievously. “Nothin’ wrong with a little experimentin’,” he agrees. You smile at the twang of his Texas accent.

You share another awkward moment, both unsure of how to continue this scientific endeavor. Joel makes the first move this time. “Come here,” he breathes, lifting you into his lap. “Kiss me.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, intertwining your fingers in the grey-brown curls at the base of his neck. His hands are on your waist, holding you steady with your thighs straddling his. He leans forward to capture your lips in a kiss, his lips are slightly chapped but so deliciously soft and warm against yours. He tastes like himself and nothing more, but his taste is addictive nonetheless.

You grind your pelvis into his bulge, whimpering at the contact on your sensitive heat. You’re craving more than his kisses, needing to feel all of him. His weight on your body, his skin on yours. His member deep inside you, massaging that spot that makes your head spin. “More,” you whine.

He hums in amusement against your lips, thrusting his hips into yours. Cheeky motherfucker.

You swat his arm lightly. “Don’t tease, Joel. I need you,”

“I know ya do. Let’s get you warmed up then, hm?” you nod hurriedly, leaning back. Joel pulls you back in for a kiss, his hand snaking under both your sweatpants and panties. “This alright?”

“Yes, fuck,” you whine, bucking your hips into his hand. His fingers dip further, gathering your wetness and circling back up to your clit. He traces slow, steady circles into your bud, taking his time with you. He pushes his middle two fingers deep inside you, fingers curling up and hitting that sweet spot. You gasp and whimper into his mouth.

Joel loves taking his time with you. Playing with your body like a musical instrument, eliciting moans and whimpers from deep inside. Watching you dance for him, falling to pieces under his touch.

“So pretty like this,” he praises you.

You kiss him again and hop off his lap, he pulls his hand away from your core, quickly hiding it from your sight. He doesn’t need you feeling any shame or embarrassment of your body doing what it was meant to do. “Get a towel?” you ask him.

“‘Course, honey,” Joel sits up and grabs a towel from the linen closet, then walks back to your room. He shuts and locks the door behind him before laying the towel down on the bed. You stand up to meet him, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling off his shirt. He does the same to you, helping you out of your sweats and shirt. You quickly sit down on the towel and he stands before you, cock rock hard, admiring all of the curves of your figure. “Jesus, you’re beautiful.”

You blush and reach forward to pull him to you. “So are you,” you tell him earnestly. He steps toward you and pushes you back, getting ready to enter you. You put a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Is everything okay?” his dark brown eyes are big and full of worry.

“Of course,” you say. “I’m not ready yet. I wanted to taste you,” you admit.

Joel smirks. “You’re the one bleedin’ and cryin’ in pain, and you wanna taste me?”

You smile back. “For science, right?”

“Sure, sweetheart. For science,” Joel sits next to the towel, you lean over his lap and get ready to take him into your mouth. “Ah ah ah,” he tuts, “Like this.” Sitting next to him on the towel, he instructs you to face him and spread your legs. This way, he says, he can take care of you too.

You lean over, making sure your heat is still accessible to him. Joel leans back onto the pillows and lets you get to work, his fingers tracing up your thigh before meeting your center once more. Your lips part around his member, tracing the soft and warm skin with your tongue. You moan when his fingers enter you again, voice sending vibrations through his cock. “Fuck, honey,” he groans.

You play with each other like that for a while, Joel working you open with his fingers and you taking him further and further down your throat. His cock twitches, engulfed in the wet heat of your mouth.

“Stop, stop,” he begs. “Not gonna last.”

You pull off of him with a pop, and his hands leave your body. You whine at the loss.

“I know,” he soothes. “C’mere.” Once again, you’re in his lap, hovering over his cock. It’s held loosely between his fingers, tip prodding at your entrance. “Ready?” he asks you, his sparkly brown eyes are looking up at you, his eyebrows raised in anticipation.

“I need you,” you whisper desperately. And with that, Joel notches the tip at your entrance, carefully studying your features to make sure it’s not too much, not too fast, not painful. You steady yourself on his shoulders, fingernails indenting his skin. He pulls your hips down slowly, letting you savor every inch of him. He bottoms out with a deep sigh, and you lean forward to rest your forehead on his.

“Wait,” he interrupts. You frown with concern, and he bucks his hips up. You let out a yelp, partially in pleasure, partially in surprise. Joel pulls the towel under you both. “There.”

You giggle. “Good idea,” you whisper. You stare down at him, a slight smile on his lips. You start to roll your hips, letting your clit brush the thick tuft of dark hair at the base of his cock. You whimper at the feeling.

“Feel good, baby?” Joel asks expectedly.

“So good, Joel” you assure him. “You feel so good,”

Joel pulls your body down to his, letting you rest on your knees. He thrusts into you rhythmically, letting you relax against him. “Fuck, you feel nice, honey. Knew you would,”

You moan and cry, kissing and whimpering into his neck. Using your sounds and the way your body reacts to his touch, he fucks you hard, intently, but gently at the same time. It’s delicious.

You rock your hips, bouncing on his cock to match each of his thrusts. He hits that sweet spot in you repeatedly, he can feel your walls squeezing him, hear your moans becoming quicker, more frantic. “God, you’re sensitive,” he says. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Fuck, yes,” you whimper. “M’close, need t-to come,”

“You can let go,” he speaks softly, voice low and gravelly. “Come for me, baby,”

You lean back, lifting your hips slightly to give his fingers access to your clit. He takes the hint and begins circling your sensitive bud once more. It doesn’t take long before you’re falling apart on his cock, your cries and moans muffled as you bite into his shoulder.

“That’s it,” he coos, fucking you through it.

You try to take a second to catch your breath, steady yourself, only Joel has something different in mind. He doesn’t stop fucking your pussy, overworked and overstimulated. Within minutes, you’re coming again, your pussy making a beautiful crimson mess on his pelvis and fingertips. Still fucking you, he watches you come like you’re a work of art in a museum. Taking in every detail, every twitch of your face, the way your mouth drops in pleasure, how your tits bounce with each thrust.

“Too much, Joel,” you cry. “S’too much, please.”

“You give me one more, baby. C’mon now, want you to come with me,”

“I can’t,” you pant. “I can-”

“Yes, you can,” he encourages firmly. His voice is sweet but stern, and it is clear your pleasure is not to be negotiated. You will come again. “One more, one more. S’all you gotta do.”

“Fuck, Joel,”

“I know, you’re doin’ so good f’me,”

It’s almost painful, but you focus on the pleasure building once again deep inside you. You rock your hips, grinding your clit on the pads of Joel’s calloused fingertips. Right there, right there…

“You’re makin’ such a pretty mess of this cock, darlin’. Wanna fill you up, baby,”

His sweet talking sends you reeling, you love the way he praises you. “M’close again,”

“Right there with ya, baby,” he soothes. His thrusts are frenzied, cock throbbing inside you. “Now, baby,” he commands. “Fuck, need you to come now.”

Moans and cries spill out of your mouth like liquid sugar, thick and sweet and slow. You come on Joel’s cock for a third time, your body melting into his own. He comes with you, his own grunts and moans mixing with yours to create the most beautiful sounds to fill the room. His voice is deep and desperate, sounding like pure sex as he paints your insides with rope after rope of his seed.

You slink on top of him, focusing on catching your breath. His skin is sticky and sweaty as he holds you in a tight embrace, his heaving chest lifting you up and down. He pulls out of you, a mess of your fluids dripping onto the towel. You curl up next to him, your head on his chest.

“Cramps?” he asks.

You shake your head. “All better,” you pause, then speak. “But hold me some more? Please?”

“‘Course, honey. For science, right?”

You smirk. “For science,”

You lay like that for what feels like hours, Joel stroking your back tenderly. One of his strong arms wrapped around your body, his warm hand pressing into your back. His other hand is holding your own, fingers squeezing you comfortingly, thumb tracing back and forth. He presses soft kisses to your forehead, your lips. He’s loving you gently, sweetly, the way you so deserve.

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