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gutsby · 11 months ago

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Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

��I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

#NO ONE SPEAK TO ME FOR AT LEAST A WEEK #THIS IS DISGUSTING #I AM DISGUSTING #DO NOT PERCEIVE ME PLEASEJE HAHAHAHAH #brain rot ❤️#joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fic #joel miller x you #dbf!joel

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k-hotchoisan · 6 months ago

Text

active recovery

sore thighs suck after leg day. thank god Yunho is there to offer his help to ease the soreness 🤍

genre/warnings: pwp, smut, contributing to the big cock!yunho agenda, leg day aftermath (soreness), it starts from an attempted massage and… yeah, size kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation, mating press position, breeding, fingering

a/n: haven’t written Yunho in a hot minute + my attempt of distracting myself from my leg soreness from leg day 😒

wc: 1.8K / apply for taglist here 🤍

You wake up and you feel like lightning struck your legs, especially your inner thighs. You groan, feeling the soreness shoot up your muscles every time you move.

And to think you didn’t do enough squats the previous day. Your legs tremble slightly too even though you try to minimise any movement to the best of your ability.

Your hand combs through your messy bed in search of your phone. You find it and immediately scroll to your chats, tapping on the first one with Yunho’s name on it.

[you]: I’m tapping out on gym today. My legs are fuckin toast.

[yuyu🐶]: sounds like a skill issue.

[yuyu🐶]: I’m joking please don’t block me.

[yuyu🐶]: I’m coming over with food and some help ok?

You manage to muster the strength to leave your bed to wash up at least, forcing yourself to get used to the electricity running through your legs.

The doorbell rings shortly and despite the jerks your legs were giving you on the way there, you manage to reach to the door to invite Yunho in, who has his hands busy with food like he promised.

He sets up the table and he ensures you’ve eaten well before the both of you go to your bedroom to hear what he’s suggesting.

“Which part of your leg is sore?” He asks, kneeling before you, giving your legs soft squeezes. You flinch and squeal when his fingers press against your thighs. Guess he’s got his answer.

“Lie down for me. I’ll stretch you out”, Yunho instructs, and you do.

Yunho starts with a slow massage, kneading against your sore muscles, ignoring your soft whimpers when his fingers press against a sore spot. It’s kind of working, but you still feel the sensitivity bursting through your nerves, and it makes you involuntarily twitch against Yunho’s touches.

You groan when Yunho applies pressure on your thighs. He pushes your legs towards you, and he leans in. You try to ignore the suggestive position of Yunho’s crotch just pressing against yours while he’s stretching out your thigh, focusing on hoping to relieve any ounce of soreness at least.

Unfortunately, your soft groans aren’t helping with the situation. Try as Yunho might, ignoring you only seems to have your moans go straight to his dick.

“Y/n, as much as I adore your voice, I’d appreciate it if you kept it to a minimum. It’s distracting.”

“I can’t help it if I’m this sensitive”, you pout, not realising you ticked something in him. “And also your reactions are cute with your ears all red like that.”

Yunho narrows his eyes, ignoring your words , and instead focusing on trying to finish your massage. When he’s done with one side, he switches to the other, doing the same action of folding your legs against your chest, his thighs getting dangerously close to your pussy once more. Your thoughts are starting to float to a less pure space.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. You and Yunho are just simply gym buddies—well, gym buddies who have some sort of funny tension going on recently. And now that he’s just this physically close to you—touching, pressing, stretching you, you can’t seem to get your mind out of the gutter.

It wasn’t until Yunho’s palm spread over your thighs once more, massaging against your thick flesh that you let out another sudden moan at the pressure, that Yunho seems to hit his limit. It’s enough that he’s holding back considering that his hands are getting dangerously close up further your thighs, the way he had himself pressed against you at a rather interesting position, but you, moaning at every touch he’s applying onto you? He can only hold back so much.

“Sorry Yun. It’s just… it feels so good when you do it like that.”

Then, Yunho has you under him, he towers over you on your bed.

“They say active recovery is good for soreness. Lucky for you, I know a pretty good form of active recovery. Your thighs are gonna be doing a lot more stretching though.”

You swallow hard, wondering if you should take on what he’s trying to allude. Seems like you pressed a little too much of his buttons. Oops. Not that you wanted to complain though.

In the most twisted ways, you always wondered how Yunho would compare—his build wasn’t large, but he’s still big. His hands are big—and he makes carrying dumbbells look like toys. You always wondered where else would be big.

And now, you’re about to find out.

“Now, keep your legs open like this for me”, he instructs. Your bottoms are peeled off you in seconds, and you have your legs spread open. Yunho’s fingers pry your lips open to get his pretty fingers wet enough, then he trails down your wet cunt, circling your clit slowly.

“You gotta relax for me, baby”, he coaxes you in a tone that’s sending you butterflies in your stomach. “If you can’t take my fingers, my cock is gonna snap in you, y’know?”

That’s all the warning he gives before his slender fingers plunge into your wet heat, and your brain completely melts at the feeling.

“Good girl”, he comforts. His other hand is gently rubbing and massaging against your thigh once more, ramping up the sensitivity before he trails down to accompany his other hand, fully rubbing circles on your clit.

Your back is arched from how much Yunho is pressing against your g-spot on top of stimulating your clit. It’s making your toes curl and your mind go blank.

“Gonna cum Yun,” you mutter through heavy breaths. Yunho is kissing up your neck to your jaw before his lips are on yours, the movements of his fingers encouraging you to release all over them.

“Cum for me, baby. It’ll feel so good, I promise”, Yunho whispers into your ear, snapping the knot in your stomach.

He eats up your moans with his kisses, taking advantage of your mouth when your orgasm rakes through your whole body leaves your eyes rolled back and your mouth hanging open.

Yunho’s cock is soaked and hard underneath his shorts—it’s throbbing and pushing against the fabric of his apparel. So when you’re getting off your high, he has his pants off quickly too. His cock is thick and heavy, covered in precum, looking like the perfect thing to fill you up with.

His wet cock rests on your equally wet cunt, and Yunho strokes himself against your drenched folds, making sure his tip brushes against your clit every time.

“Yunho, please”, you mutter, your pussy fluttering against nothing, aching for Yunho to just fuck you.

“Not too sore to take my dick right?” Yunho teases, his gaze darting between your desperate eyes and the way cream from your pussy is decorating his big cock.

“I’m gonna be stretching you in more ways than one, babe. Be a good girl and take it for me, yeah?”, he smiles.

For some strange reason, you don’t feel the soreness in your inner thighs, or maybe you’re just so horny that it’s not the soreness that’s your main concern now.

You bite your lip, then your mind completely coming undone when you feel Yunho push his cockhead into your pussy, stretching your hole open as he accommodates his thick cock in you.

“Fuck. Look at your tight pussy trying to fit all of me in. I should fill you in for size training after our next sessions. Extra stretching sessions shouldn’t be much of a problem, right baby?”

Maybe you should take up on that offer.

The thought of Yunho fitting his fat cock to stretch you open just so your tight pussy can mold to his cock size after your gym sessions sounded way too fucking tempting, especially in your current predicament. You’re imagining the way he would coax your pussy to take more inches of him, and the thought of doing it right after your training sessions—being pumped full of endorphins and just Yunho’s fat cock—your pussy is just dripping and taking more of his cock by the second. Way too fucking enticing.

“Mm. That’s it, baby. Fit me in like this, yeah?” Yunho sighs when his cock finally bottoms out in you, your walls hugging him like a glove.

You gasp at the fullness. His cockhead is pressing against your g-spot but you feel it in your fucking throat, and any small twitches his cock is making in you is a contender to make you cum any second.

Your fingers grab onto his tensed biceps to give yourself some leverage, and Yunho is kind enough to wait for you to adjust, or maybe because he feels like he’s about to cum any second from the way your pussy is just squeezing him.

“Jeong Yunho”, you pant, trying to catch your breath. “You’re so fucking big. Fuck. Oh my fucking god, I feel so full.”

He chuckles, rubbing slow circles from your inner thighs and clit. “All the more we should train for that.”

Yunho and his fat cock are gonna be the death of you. You didn’t even need leg day to do it for you.

“God, Yunho, just fuck me already.”

“Gladly.”

Your head is thrown back the moment his cock pulls out of you and thrusts back into you. You’re not gonna survive this, you swear.

The moans slipping out of you grow louder and more lewd, and Yunho is gradually losing the ability to hold back when he hears his name in your high-pitched symphony paired with the way your pussy is just creaming all over him. He watches the way his cock pushes a bulge whenever he slides into you and it’s taking him everything to not to just rearrange your guts.

The pressure soon wears off, only pleasure flooding through your veins when Yunho fucks the daylights out of you. And now you’re growing greedy.

So is Yunho.

“You’re driving me crazy, baby”, Yunho is growing breathless whenever he feels your cunt sucking him in. “Keep doing that and I’ll guarantee you’re not walking straight tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a plan, Yuyu. Then you can come over to take responsibility, right?”

Yunho groans. God he fucking loves it when you’re like this for him.

So he responds by grabbing you by your thighs and lifting your hips slightly to make sure his cock fills you up all the way. His eyebrows are furrowed in pleasure, mouth slightly open as he listens to your voice climbing up in pitch at every thrust he gives you.

“So good. Ah fuck. You’re so fucking thick”, you cry through your fucked out delirium.

Yunho bites his lip, his thrusts growing more desperate and erratic with his cock just twitching for his release.

He settles your legs down, only to fold them so that your knees are almost pressing against your chest, making sure you fucking see stars while his cock fills you up over and over in that position, hitting your g-spot so fucking easily. You’re choking on your moans at this point, your orgasm just being dangled over your head.

“Fuck, right there! Gonna cum, Yunho. Oh god, that’s it”, you sob, your orgasm hitting you through shots of dopamine filling up your brain and flooding all over your cunt, pulsing against Yunho’s dick.

Yunho has his eyes rolled back when you’re squeezing uncontrollably against him, deciding to fuck you through your orgasm, listening to your cries like it’s his favourite sound for the rest of the day.

“Shit, I don’t think I could ever get enough of this pussy”, he mutters through pants. “So fucking perfect to cum in.”

Yunho squeezes your legs as he stills in you, making sure every drop of his thick cum is filling your pussy to the brim.

He jerks slightly before pulling out, still holding your legs open for him to watch his cum seep out of your pussy and onto the towel below. You squeal when you feel his long fingers push his cum back into your pussy. Yunho is never telling you, but it’s his silent way of putting his mark on you.

He soothes your thighs a little more even though he’s still finger fucking his cum back into you while kissing and biting the soft flesh of your thighs. ignoring your cries of overstimulation, before he closes your legs to lie them down.

“See, this is a form of active recovery too”, Yunho says matter-of-factly, looking up at you with a pretty deceptive smile with his head on your lap. You narrow your eyes, grabbing him by his scalp.

“I’m gonna blow your phone up tomorrow if I can’t feel my legs, Jeong Yunho.”

Yunho continues to smile, his fingers easily removing yours from his head.

“I guess that’s a yes to the extra training sessions then?”

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steddiealltheway · 19 days ago

Text

Steve's not really sure when it became a thing.

Maybe it was while Eddie was in the hospital recovering from his injuries, and the kids had forced Steve onto the visiting schedule. Maybe it was after Eddie got out of the hospital, and the kids insisted they continue to honor the schedule. Maybe it had nothing to do with the schedule and everything to do with the fact that Steve and Eddie had become... friends.

This is also a big maybe in Steve's head because he's pretty sure Eddie just hangs out with him from time to time because he's allowed to drink and smoke around or with him - and he's found that Eddie doesn't like to be alone for extended periods of time.

Steve can't blame him. But with his parents' seemingly permanent absence, he's kind of grown used to it whenever the kids and Robin are forced to go back to school.

But right now, Steve is grateful that Eddie has continued their "thing" in which he shows up at Steve's house at 9pm every Thursday - the same time as one of Steve's assigned "Eddie shifts" - with a six-pack in hand.

Only, this week, Eddie shows up with two bottles of wine.

Steve raises his eyebrows at him as he lets him into the house, shutting the door quickly to keep the cold air out.

"I just thought you'd like to change it up today," Eddie comments nonchalantly as he heads to the living room. Steve wonders for a moment if he knows the secret he's been keeping from everyone, but he figures he doesn't especially when he blabs on, "So, what movie are you blessing me with this week?"

Steve rolls his eyes as he goes to grab the tape and put it in the VCR, but he hesitates for a moment, straightening up to point at Eddie. "You will absolutely tell no one about this, got it? Also, I'm expecting a phone call, but you're not allowed to listen in on it."

"Got it. Scout's honor," Eddie replies with a wink and a salute.

"You were not a boy scout," Steve huffs as he decides to bite the bullet and put the tape in.

Eddie frowns and puts a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Steve. How could you say that?"

"Because I was a boy scout, and we would've been in the same troop."

Once Steve sits on the couch, Eddie leans in and nudges his shoulder. "What I wouldn't give to go back in time and meet a young Steve Harrington. I could've corrupted you sooner."

"I'm afraid Dustin beat you to the corrupting. He's the one who made me watch Star Wars."

"I can always corrupt you in other ways, Steve," Eddie comments, obnoxiously batting his eyelashes.

Steve laughs, used to the blatant flirting during the trailers at this point. "Is that why you brought the wine? To set the mood?"

"Something like that," Eddie says with a soft smile before switching back to his dramatics. "But I'll have you know, I'm a gentleman. Plus, I would like you to remember the first time I blow your mind."

"Blow my mind?" Steve asks, reaching over to grab the bottles. "How would you do that?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Eddie says with a wink before uncapping his wine.

Steve glances at his own bottle for a moment, distracted. "It's a screw top."

"It's cheap," Eddie explains. He raises his bottle and tilts it Steve's way. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Steve answers, screwing off the top and taking a swig. Tastes like wine. And it also tastes like... a bad idea.

"So, what movie are we watching that has you so defensive?" Eddie asks, throwing his arm along the back of the couch.

To that, Steve takes a longer drink. "One of my mom's favorite movies. We used to watch it together whenever my dad went out of town for his business trips. But then my mom started getting more suspicious of him staying at the office late, and then she started to go on those business trips with him. Which now seem to... never end." Steve sighs and settles back onto the couch a bit more, head resting right on Eddie's hand. He quickly gets the hint and starts gently playing with his hair.

Steve's not sure when that became a thing either.

After another sip of wine, Steve finally confesses, "It's The Sound of Music."

A few expressions pass over Eddie's face before he quietly says, "That was one of my mom's favorites, too."

The two of them share a similar look of understanding and painful longing for a time they'll neither get back. They both drink at the same time as the opening notes of "The Sound of Music" ring out.

As the movie plays, the two of them drift closer - as they always do - and Steve notices that he's slowly but surely getting a bit wine-drunk. Which is what Robin calls the "worst type of drunk Steve." Maybe he should've taken her up on her offer to stay the full day.

As the last scene plays, Steve finds himself glancing toward the phone more than the screen.

"You okay?" Eddie asks gently, the hand in his hair moving to cup his face.

Steve can feel the way the wine flushes his cheeks and sits heavy on his stomach when he asks, "When do you realize your parents have given up on you?"

Eddie swallows heavily before grabbing Steve's nearly empty bottle and putting it on the coffee table. He sits back and fully turns to him. "For me, I fully realized a month after I stayed with Wayne. I still hadn't unpacked the cardboard box my things were in, hoping that maybe since my dad had dropped me off my mom would pick me up. But I hadn't seen her in years." He looks back at the TV where the end credits are rolling. "She left promising me she would come back and make a better life for the two of us eventually. I thought with my dad out of the picture, she'd be back. But as soon as I unpacked that box, I gave up on the idea."

Steve shifts closer and grabs Eddie's hand. "I'm sorry."

Eddie looks at him and tilts his head down so he's looking him right in the eye. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too. And..." he hesitates for a moment before resting his forehead against Steve's and whispering, "Happy birthday."

Steve's eyes close tightly. It's the words he had been waiting for all day but in hopes that they'd be coming out the mouths of at least one of his parents. Preferably his mom.

There's pressure behind his eyes, and Steve reaches out to squeeze Eddie's hand gently, warning him in his own way that he might fall apart. But Eddie stays where he is.

"This is the first year they haven't called," Steve whispers, feeling one tear fall down his face. "I know they're assholes but... I didn't think they'd be this much of an asshole. God," he breathes out, breaking away from Eddie to lean back against the couch, hands covering his face as more tears fall.

A familiar arm drapes itself around Steve's shoulders tugging gently until he winds up with his head buried in Eddie's neck.

They sit there for a while, Eddie holding him and running a soothing hand through his hair that reminds Steve of the first time Eddie had opened up to him about the nightmares that never went away, and they had ended up in a similar but swapped position.

Maybe that's when this became a thing.

It's a while before Steve speaks up to ask, "Hey, how do you even know when my birthday is? The last person I told was probably Tommy Hagan in the eighth grade. And Robin, of course, but I swore her to secrecy."

"Oh god," Eddie says in a way that makes Steve pull back to look at him fully. Eddie's head lulls to the side as he looks at him with an adorably embarrassed and caught expression. "So... don't hate me for this, but this happened a few years ago. And... do I really have to tell you?"

"It's my birthday, you have to tell me," Steve replies.

Eddie huffs, ever so dramatically, and grabs Steve's hands before confessing, "So, I stole your wallet a few times."

Steve can't help but laugh at the absurd confession. "When?"

"It was back in your sophomore year probably. We had some horrible science class together, and you sat right in front of me, and well... My friends and I made this hypothesis, very scientific, that some rich kids, including you, wouldn't notice if a dollar or two went missing from their wallets." Steve snorts, and Eddie smiles. "And you had this horrible habit of leaving the front pocket of your backpack open so..."

"Occasionally you would steal anywhere from one to five dollars from my wallet? And one time you managed to swipe ten," Steve fills in for him, vividly remembering something he hadn't thought about in years.

Eddie's eyes widen. "So, my hypothesis was wrong."

"No, you're just less subtle than you think you are."

There's a moment where Eddie just stares at him incredulously. "You're telling me, you let me steal from you? And you didn't beat me up for it?"

Steve shrugs, thinking about the first time it had happened, and he had truly considered it, but he realized. "I knew you needed it more than I did. But that's not what we're talking about. How did this lead you to finding out about my birthday?"

"It was on your driver's license, and I ended up memorizing it in case you had a big party that I could sell at. But then it just... stuck." Eddie looks down at their hands for a moment before he looks up and states, "And we're not about to breeze past this. I must've stolen at least thirty dollars from you!" He lets go of one of Steve's hands to grab his wallet off the coffee table. "For your birthday, let me pay you back."

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "You are not giving me thirty dollars for my birthday. And don't fight me on this, or I'll end up telling Dustin you gave me money without hesitation."

Eddie frowns at him and reluctantly puts his wallet back down. He leans over to Steve and cups his face as he plants a kiss onto his forehead. "You're never who I think you are, Steve Harrington."

"Is that a good thing?" Steve asks as his eyes glance down at his lips.

"A very good thing. It means I'll never give up on you," Eddie says with a teasing lilt but Steve knows that he means it.

"Same to you."

Eddie's teasing smile falters as he looks at Steve. One of his thumbs swipes at a remaining tear trail.

Steve's heart beats a little harder and he can't stop staring at Eddie's lips. He wonders when that became a thing.

"There's one thing you could do for me for my birthday," Steve breaths out.

"And what's that?" Eddie asks quietly.

Steve doesn't answer him, he just leans in slowly, closing his eyes when his nose brushes against Eddie's. But then he feels Eddie gently pull away.

"Earlier, I said I wanted you to remember when I blow your mind, Steve."

Steve's eyes flutter open. "I'm not that far gone."

Eddie sighs and mumbles, "I can't believe I'm doing this," and raises his voice to say, "I'll kiss you when I can't smell wine on your breath, deal?"

"Deal," Steve says, holding out his hand.

Eddie laughs as he shakes it, then grabs it to pull them both up.

"Bedtime?" Steve asks. Eddie nods, turning off the TV before leading the way to the kitchen to get two glasses of water before heading to Steve's room.

Steve knows exactly when that became a thing - the second time Eddie was over at his house, and he had a nightmare in the guest room. Steve now insists that he sleeps with him anytime he's over.

When they get into bed on their by-now-established sides, Steve can't help but say, "I think this is the best birthday I've had in a long time." He sighs and reaches out to grab Eddie's hand laying between them. "Maybe next year I'll tell everyone."

"Or we can make up a fake birthday for you that happens to fall sometime next week, and next year we'll pretend that everyone remembered the wrong date."

Steve laughs and squeezes Eddie's hand. "Or next week, I can take you on a date."

"Shh," Eddie quickly shushes him, "This definitely means it's time for you to go to bed."

"I can't wait for you to blow my mind in the morning," Steve says instead of trying and failing to fight Eddie on the fact that he's more coherent than he thinks he is. Besides, the faster he falls asleep, the sooner tomorrow will come.

"Goodnight, Steve," Eddie says, slightly amused.

"Goodnight, Eds."

Much to Eddie's surprise, he wakes up to Steve asking for a kiss. And he very much blows his mind.

#the steddie bug is back and it bit me hard #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie ficlet

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poguehearted77 · 23 days ago

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Portugal Nights

Pairing: Actress! Reader x Drew Starkey

Portugal Nights-> The day was tense. Rehearsals were much more heated than the lines intended and the thin rubber band of restraint holding you both apart was bound to snap, and it finally does.

This belongs to my OBX Season 5: Payback For Maybank Series

These can be read in any order!

smut: lots of making out (they've both needed this forever lol), oral sex (f! and m! receiving) , heavy petting, hickeys, shower sex, hand holding, protected sex and unprotected :( , drew is so pussy whipped omg, just passionate sex tbh, sex everywhere?? lmao.

"Action!"

Rafe paces back and forth in the abandoned dungeon-like room with his hands on his head, plotting desperately. You're surrounded by nothing but eroding walls, stained with foreign substances. There's dried blood on the floor that adds slight resistance with every lift of his heel.

You fume silently every time you look at the tall blonde who can't seem to stand still. You reflect on how he got you both in this mess in the first place and your eyes roll reflexively.

Earlier today, a little before dawn you and the pogues had just docked in Portugal, wasting no time to try to find Finch's fortress so you could find Groff, but you were being followed.

You noticed it first around sunset but kept it to yourself not wanting to distract the pogues from the objective of the mission in case you were wrong.

You'd all set up camp a little outside the city, not wanting to catch the attention of any civilians. However, you didn't rest. Not when you knew trackers tend to get a little careless as the sun slips below the horizon. Relying on the shadows of darkness to conceal their footprints and hide their silhouettes.

"I'm gonna scope the area a bit," You said, flipping your signature steel weapon up in the air and catching it coolly as you entered the darkness of the shrubs and out of sight. "I'm goin' after her." Rafe declares, already trailing behind you as Sarah calls for him but it falls on deaf, determined ears.

He's trekking closely behind you, so you stop walking and convey your message without even turning to face him. "Another step closer Rafe and I swear to god they'll have to dislodge steel from places you can't even name." He doesn't back down, nor does he step closer.

"I don't trust you." He says, and you scoff. "I don't care, Rafe," You finally turn, "Why don't you do us both a favour and go back to the others, yeah? I got this." For a moment he goes silent, almost like he didn't know what to say.

"No comeback? No insult?-" You start, always looking for a fair fight with him.

"Shut up." Rafe snaps back, stepping closer to you and your arms crossed while you plant your feet firmly where they are, refusing to let anything about the rich boy intimidate you.

"Looks like I finally got under your skin-" It's all a blur when he suddenly cups a hand over your mouth to silence you, "Will you shut the fuck up?" His words are delivered in a harsh whisper as his eyes scan your surroundings suspiciously.

At that moment, there was no Piper and Rafe. It's you and Drew. He met yours with a wild gaze, something unhinged about the way he was looking at you. Not as sincere and admirable as the longing stares from across the room that you're used to--no, this was something much more perilous.

"You hear that?" He whispers, softer this time. There's another rustle in the bushes around you. Shit.

With your backs turned and the area being so dark, the opposers use the darkness to their advantage and strike you both in the back of the head, knocking you out cold.

Which brings you to where you are now.

"For the love of god, will you stop the back and forth? You're driving me insane." You exclaim from where you rest against the contaminated walls.

"Listen," He now stalks to you slowly, like a predator approaching its prey. "I'm a proactive type of person. I'm not just gonna sit on my ass all day and let Finch come back and kill us!"

"Us? This didn't have to involve you! Maybe if you'd just taken that stick out of your ass for once and stayed with the group you could've saved yourself the trouble." Kicking yourself off the wall, you shout as loud as you can but he doesn't flinch.

Rafe's chest heaves rapidly, trying to calm himself down. "Well we're here now, and If I'm ever gonna make it back home, I have to get out of here alive."

You stand still, silent. Analyzing his features and expression, but your silence makes him uncomfortable and it etched across his face,

"Who is she?" The question is simple, and straightforward, yet far too complicated for Rafe to understand.

"What?" He questions.

Over the last few days you'd spent near the pogues, you'd gotten to know most of them quite well. All except Rafe that is.

"Your dad is dead, your little sister and your money are under your stepmother's possession. What do you have to go back to? Who is drawing you back?" He gulps, his defences crumbling evidently as his shoulders slumped.

For once, he didn't fight you on it.

Sofia. That's the name he shares with you and a little about their recent argument.

"Jus' don't tell anyone, alright? I don't need the others knowing more than they should." You shrug, "I have no reason to tell them about your cute wittle wove story." You couldn't stop yourself from teasing him.

Rafe charges towards you in anger with a glint of jest. You try to run backwards, away from him but your shoe is bound to the floor credit to the various adhesives meant to replicate stains and puddles.

By the time Drew realizes you aren't moving, it's too late and his body is already colliding with yours. Tangling together and sending you both tumbling to the ground with Drew between your legs and his head buried in the side of your neck.

You can hear the blood pumping in your ears. Drew's body completely covering yours on set in front of the crew should have you rolling out from underneath him and returning to reality, but no. There you lay, daring to glance into the piercing blue eyes that were already staring at you.

You take into account the notes of his cologne as they intermingle with the detergent of his clothes. The combination clouds your judgement and sends you reeling into a headspace you've been avoiding for the last three months.

You're in deep. Too deep.

"Cut!" Drew gets up like a kid caught red-handed before offering you a helping hand that you take graciously meanwhile the other guides you at the waist so lightly you'd barely notice it was there had your body not been burning at a thousand degrees.

Something is off. Usually, the two of you would be in knots of laughter after something like this, instead only the crew had giggles to go around but you both stood still. Unmoving, eyes locked on each other, looking within.

Could he see you? You wonder, does he know what you're thinking?

You swallow hard, your lips parting to say something, but no words come out. Instead, your gaze flickers to his mouth, and you catch him doing the same thing, just for a split second before he looks away. His jaw tightens as he shoves his hands into his pockets, stepping back, but the tension doesn’t break.

The day progresses into a warm summer night as the cast and crew gather at a charming Portuguese restaurant perched high in the city's hills. Lanterns nestled among lush potted plants cast a warm glow, while fairy lights drape elegantly from flowers cascading down from the ceiling, creating a dreamlike ambiance.

The long table overlooks the rolling hills below, their silhouettes dotted with the golden lights of the nearby city. Beyond, the navy-toned ocean stretches out, its gentle waves shimmering under the moonlight, completing the serene view.

The laughter is bubbly as the champagne flows between the tables. The cast looked amazing tonight, everyone had put on their best outfits for a fun night out with their castmates.

While Madelyn and Carlacia posed for a selfie together, Chase helped himself to the last bread roll left in the baskets the waiters had left earlier.

"Did you--" Drew titls the basket towards him so he can analyze the full damage of Chase's consumption. They both laugh, realizing the basket is completely void. "Maybe if we weren't waiting on JD and Y/n, we could get some real food going around."

The sole mention of your name has Drew on edge. He's recently lost the ability to control his own reactions around you as his body surrenders to the very mention of your name.

"Speak of the devil," Chase says as you and JD enter the restaurant side by side, a little embarrassed. "Fashionably late, as always." Madelyn remarks and you giggle.

"I'm sorry guys! I couldn't find my shoes and I extorted Jonathan for his kindness, so don't get mad at him." Your voice is sweet as you make your way around the table. Drew felt as though there were noise-cancelling headphones blocking out any surround sound.

His eyes fulfill their god-given purpose and stay glued to your frame--a very well-dressed frame might he add. You look stunning. He notices that you styled your hair differently. He's unsure if it's personal preference or a maintenance concern, but you rarely wore your natural curls out.

You're always opting to straighten them or put them up, but he thinks it amplifies your allure tenfold. Maybe he's just biased. That must be the case when he realizes he hasn't taken a breath since you walked in.

You situate yourself in the last empty seat between Madelyn and Chase, directly in front of Drew. Oh, this should be fun.

He clears his throat behind a closed fist, glancing up at you by chance and catching your gaze by luck. He does a double take and straightens up. "You look, just--" The words fade on him and he prays the ground would burst open at the seams and swallow him.

"Thank you, so do you." You return the half-finished compliment. However, it's for the best you don't say much about how Drew looks tonight. You're not sure you'd be able to conclude the sentence without the words 'edible', or 'sex on legs'.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the table, JD leans forward to whisper to Madison. "Remember that bet we made for Drew and Y/n, you predicted they'd get together within three months, and guess what? It'll be three months at midnight."

Madison giggles with a playful roll of her eyes. "What? Do you have this on your calendar or something?" JD does in fact proceed to show her his calendar with a marked date that says "Pay Day." Her eyes squint at him, "You are so ridiculous do you know that? I'm not backing down. The night is still young." She grins, and JD just shakes his head at the girl in clear denial.

The night flows on, filled with warmth and familiar laughter circulating the tables as everyone enjoys their conversations. You glanced down into your lap while Chase recounted a funny moment from earlier today on set.

You're anxiously considering if you should succumb to your sinful nature of greed and steal another glance at the breathtaking man sitting across the table.

You shouldn’t glance up—you know you shouldn’t—but you do anyway, and there he is, already watching you. The corner of his mouth curls into the faintest, most maddening smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You hate to admit it but it intimidates you. The weight of his gaze sends an electric chill down your spine, prompting you to shift in your seat. Drew reaches for a sip of water from the crystal glass on the table while you shift in place.

You cross your legs and your left heel accidentally brushes the inside of Drew's leg and he chokes. He quickly shields it behind a cough and you look like a deer caught in headlights as his ice-blue orbs are piercing through you.

Your foot hasn't moved, but you decided not to provoke him any further and retract it back within your bounds. Your heart is racing and suddenly you're the one reaching for a glass of water to satiate your thirst, but you both know it's an impossible task since there's only one remedy and he's sitting right in front of you.

By midnight the cast made it back to their rooms, ready to unwind from a long day and eventful night meanwhile you're stuck. Your mind is bouncing between the walls that seem to get closer the more you pace back and forth.

You've been at it for the last 5 minutes since you made it back to your room. Any normal person would be putting the night behind them and getting ready for bed--but no.

You're not normal. You're obsessed.

Pathetically hooked on the idea of a man who's just 3 doors down the hall--completely oblivious to the trainwreck Drew was making of himself because of you.

You're chewing at your fingernails, contemplating just knocking on his door. Is that crazy? What if it's all in your head?

The latter possibility didn't weigh enough to hold you back from any impulsive decisions as you're stepping over to his door with your heels still on and all it takes is one deep breath before you're raising your hand to knock but it swings open before it makes contact.

Drew looks like he hadn't taken a seat since he got back either. He looks restless, frazzled, and maybe even frustrated. His chest halts on the incline as he holds his breath, startled to see exactly who he'd been looking for standing right in front of him.

His eyes rake over your figure frantically as if trying to decipher if you're truly standing in front of him.

"Hi," You breathe out, your head angled up to admire his perfect features while he stares down at you.

"Hey," His voice is soft, struggling to mask the undertone of sheer need.

Your mouth gapes, hesitating to say something but you decide to let your body speak for itself. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck and tug him down so your lips crash against his.

The dam finally bursts and Drew's hands fly to wrap around your waist and pull you inside, swiftly closing the door behind you before he has you pinned up against it. His lips worked desperately along the expanse of your neck, trying to be mindful about his marks but he couldn't help himself. He's wanted this for so long-- Needed you for so long.

"Drew-" You gasp as he sucked particularly hard just below your ear, it sends you reeling and your eyes roll back with the little bit of your sanity that remains. "Hm?" He hums into the sweet scent of your skin, the same scent that's taunted him for months.

"Never mind." You dismiss yourself and resume the heated kisses that were paired with your desperate hands. You hastily unbuttoned his shirt while he unzipped the back of your dress, all while never breaking the kiss.

It's intense. Your hands ghost over the definition of his abs and he tenses a little as he curses under his breath. Every ounce of contact you made with his body, lit his skin on fire.

Your dress puddles around your ankles once it meets the floor and Drew wastes no time before he's slowly sinking to his knees, your head shakes repeatedly but no words escape.

You're not even sure why you're denying it, your body wasn't functioning correctly--but could you blame it? You had thee Drew Starkey on his knees for you, and he was about to put his mouth to good great use.

Your point is proved once he had your panties on the floor and one leg hooked over his shoulder. His tongue lapped over your folds, languidly at first, as if to test the passion-infested waters.

"Drew--please." That's all it takes. One airy breath from you and he's consuming you from the core. His nose brushes against your clit every so often as his warm, wet tongue slides over your cunt with an unnatural hunger.

Your hands reach out to hold on to something, anything, but you're left to scratch at the door desperately as he works you to till you're tight-roping across the edge. Drew's just as turned on as you are, the rock-solid boner he's sporting beneath his dress pants a true testament to it.

His focus finally shifts to the pearl of your pussy, and you almost wish he'd never moved to it. X would never recover if they knew Drew Starkey ate pussy with his life.

Your legs are beginning to shake and it's a telltale sign that within seconds his name will be the only word falling from your lips. Once it finally hits you, the world crumbles and you feel like an angel falling from heaven. His mouth had pulled you down into the depths of hell, right into his arms and you couldn't be happier.

You make this clear when you pull him up to meet your gaze, he towers over you but you distract yourself from the effect it has on you by taking his thumb and wiping your slick off his swollen pink lips and sucking it off, wrapping your tongue around his thumb until he snaps.

Within the same second, he moves his hands to grab at the sides of your face, kissing you deeply. It's nothing but tongue and there's spit rolling over your bottom lip by the time you're both pulling back, chests heaving, lungs filled with each other's air, but it still wasn't enough.

He's holding onto you like he can never let you go. "You've got no idea how long I've needed this, needed you." He says and it makes your heart stutter in its rhythm. "Oh please," You dismiss him but his left hand stays on your waist while the other gently cups your cheek.

His eyes scan to search for yours in the dimly lit room, the only source of light stemming from the lone lamp beside the bed. "I like you, Y/n. It wasn't a secret. How could it be? I can't help myself around you." His words put a cheesy grin on your face.

"I like you, Drew. Always have. Big fan of your work, by the way." You giggle, referring to the almost degrading acts he'd just committed between your legs, but it evokes a breathy chuckle from him.

"Yeah?" He teases, stepping towards you and you take one step back, but he surprises you and scoops you up into his arms. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he leads you to the bed, tossing you onto your back and he crawls between your legs.

There's one last soft glance between the two of you. No more yearning, no more stealing glances from across the room. Finally, you're in his arms and you fit more perfectly than he could've imagined.

"What?" You say blankly, wondering what had him warped inside his own mind for so long. A smile stretches across his lips, "Nothin', just happy to be here." It's corny, but you laugh anyway. Moaning into the sweet kiss he dropped down to your lips, holding himself up with those big strong arms of his.

The rest is a blur of strong hands and intoxicating kisses that are used to distract you from the sweet burn that engulfed your body into flames as he rolled his hips into yours, letting his cock push into you for the first time.

The gasps you both let out are innocent, shocked and full of bliss from the moment he bottoms out. "Just l-let me know if you want me to slow down at any time, okay?" The sentiment comes out through clenched teeth as he refrains from any sudden movements.

The heat of your velvet walls convulsing around him is driving him to a point beyond insanity. "Oh god, start moving--please," you whine and Drew's body shudders.

"Fuck, don't beg. I'll give you anything you want, baby." He seals his promise with an accelerated pace, his cock driving in and out of you at a steady rhythm that had you arching into him, eyes screwed shut and unable to meet his gaze."

"Hey, hey, look at me." He deepens his thrusts and it makes the requirements of his words that much harder to meet. Struggling, your eyes flutter open but you shy away under his piercing gaze.

He looked too good for a man fucking your brains out. The way his jaw worked, locked in place from concentrations. His body was coated in a thin sheet of sweat that made him glisten under the rays of the lamp.

"God, you look perfect. So gorgeous." He flatters you and it heightens your high tenfold. Your hands reach out to grab onto the sheets of his bed but he offers you his hand instead. Giving it an assuring squeeze as you tumble into a vortex of euphoria. "I'm-" Interrupted by your own orgasm you short-circuit and the sight of you unravelling underneath him is enough to make him cum.

"Y/n-- shit!" He groans, hips stuttering rapidly until he blows his load and holds his place over you. The room goes quiet, filled with nothing but the consistent attempts for you to catch your breath. When you're ready, he pulls out slowly, tying off the condom and tossing it out.

"I'm gonna head to the shower," It falls from your lips suggestively but Drew waits for you to make your intentions clear. He licks his lips as he watches you strut your way to the bathroom, stopping once you're in the frame.

There's a charming grin you flash him from over your shoulder, "You coming or what?"

He was in fact coming. Twice, in the shower, you made sure the first time you repaid the favour with your mouth that was too talented for him to handle. His palm held your hair tight in a makeshift ponytail, holding onto the glass for his life before he fucked you up against it.

Sensically, there were no condoms available in the shower and you both recognized the risk you'd be taking but anything was worth the risk if it involved you. Besides, you both swore this would be the first and last time you fuck raw.

What a lie.

The minute you felt the unfiltered length of his cock slip into you, you knew it was a done deal. This was going to be a very big problem for both of you in the near future. He's your new addiction and you'll never quit.

The following morning the cast was expected to meet each other downstairs at 11 am for brunch, but here you are, tangled up under Drew's sheets at 1 in the afternoon after waking up only 20 minutes earlier. Your excessive sexcapades from the night before had worn you both out.

The blankets are covering your bodies as Drew slides between your folds with leisure, taking his time and fucking you open intimately. "You think they noticed we're missing?" Drew breathes out and your arms go to wrap around his neck as you answer. "Definitely. I'm not sure, but I think Madison was betting on this."

"Give her whatever she's owed. She wins, and god I'm so glad."

Taglist: @percysley, @lilithblackkk, @rafegf-real, @eternallovers65, @drsza, @wearemadeofstardust0, @cadhlabear, @thepopcultureaddict, @citr0us, @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account, @madi44444,@willowpains, @riaras-everthroner, @iteuosav, @rafeycameronsgf, @moonlitunicorn, @thepopcultureaddict, @livinobx, @rafeycameronsgf.

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allpiesforourown · 4 months ago

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Silly idea: since we know Binghe is needy and clingy, whenever shen yuan picks up a book he goes "if shizun isn't paying attention to me, can he at least sit on my lap while he reads...?" And Shen Yuan sighs and says yes and gets all comfy as he settles in

Of course this lasts like 5 minutes tops before binghe starts trying to distract him by feeling up his thighs or kissing the back of his neck (this was his plan all along) and after another 5 minutes shen yuan just gives up and sets the book down and lets binghe do whatever he wants

They do this so often that shen yuan has the bamboo house to himself one day and as soon as he picks up a book he immediately gets a boner. Binghe pavlov'd him into getting horny every time he reads.

Shen Yuan: NEW RULE! You are NOT allowed to touch me while I'm reading anymore! Because of you, I got hard looking at someone's training manual! I had to cancel the lesson halfway!

Binghe: oh? :) then shizun should just stop giving lessons to other students :) to be safe :) shizun spends too much time with them anyway... this is for the best :)

Shen Yuan: YOU... YOU PLANNED THIS??

#jealous binghe should ruin every day to day action for shizun tbh #svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #bingqiu

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heartmix · 2 months ago

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Spoiled - LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x gn!reader

Word Count: 800+

Warning: making fun of the british (slightly), expired food

A/N: the idea popped into my head after watching max's stream a few days ago. Also i'm pretty sure its Lando's birthday already somewhere in europe!

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

Some days you wondered how Lando was still alive. Never mind driving a rocket ship on wheels for living, no, it was because he decide to put anything in his body without a second thought. Despite spending millions on cars and watches and other material items he didn't give a second thought about something he needs to survive, food. You blamed it on him being british and the fact that they don't have anything good to eat. You knew about the sweet potato incident, even if it was before you knew him. Finding out he went and ate spoiled food again was enough to give you the ick and put your foot down.

The plan was simple. Buy new groceries, do some meal prep and clean out the fridge for Lando while he was playing Tarkov with his friends. He mentioned that he was going to play all day and that max was going to stream later on in the night. That gave you enough time to run to the store and cook some easy meals so you could surprise him with a full fridge.

After waking up early and sending a text to Lando that you were going to drop off something later tonight, you headed to the grocery store to pick up everything you needed. A bunch of fresh produce to meal prep and some snacks that can last on the shelf for a few months. With Lando's strict diet (or lack of there) you pulled out all the stops for a healthy and tasty meal.

As night time crept up you packed everything in bags and made your way over to his apartment. You got a notification that max started his stream a few ago so it was the perfect time to sneak in and fill his kitchen while dropping off some dinner. Any noise you made wouldn't be too out of the blue seeing as he knew you were coming and that you already had a key.

While entering the house you could already hear the screaming and weird random sounds coming out of your boyfriends gaming room. That should keep him distracted for awhile. First you started with cleaning and sterilizing his fridge. Doubt he didn't have much which is probably why he ate expired chicken, but one could never be too careful. Once that was over with you packed away all his food that should last for the week. Seeing the finished product brought a smile to your face. At least he was going to be eating good for the week.

Once his current raid ended you quietly made your way into the room being aware that his mic was on and that possibly a couple thousand fans could hear what could be said, even with this shit mic. When his door opened he saw you and an immediate smile was plastered on his face.

"Hey baby." He smiled taking off his headphones and motioning you to come by him.

"Hi. I just came to drop off dinner. Don't want to keep you long." You smiled placing the plastic bag on his desk before he pulled you onto his lap.

"It's okay, raid just ended and the mic is off. Stay for a few seconds."

"Alright. I made you my famous stir fry. There's another serving in the fridge for tomorrow." You said bringing out the food and fork setting it up for him.

"What would i do without you."

"Eat expired chicken."

"Haha i get it." He gave a fake laugh making a real one erupt from your throat.

"Yeah you seriously gave me the ick. This was going to be a surprise but i stocked up your fridge and did some meal prep. You just have to heat it up in the microwave, although i'm scared you'll even mess that up." You laughed at another joke your boyfriend seemed to be the butt of.

"Move in with me." All of the joking mood went out of the room as he looked at you with a serious almost pleading expression.

For you it came out of the blue. Sure you've been together for almost two years and you've spent a good portion out of the year traveling with him to races, but moving in together never crossed your mind. It seemed like the next logical thing in the relationship but neither of you brought the topic up till now.

"What?"

"Sorry, i was either going to blurt out that or marry me. I figure it's best to go in order." The words came out like it wasn't the most bizarre thing he could say in the moment.

"You're crazy."

"Yeah, for you. So what do you say?" How could you say no to that adorable smile.

"Well someone needs to keep you alive." a smile slowly crept upon your face liking the idea of seeing with him more and being closer to him. Also it would save you money, monaco wasn't cheap.

"Perfect." He said leaning in for a kiss before you pulled away.

"I'm not kissing you after you just ate expired chicken."

"That was yesterday!"

#f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 #formula 1

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enhalouv · 6 months ago

Text

hyung line - when you want his attention while he's on the phone

a/n: another lil easing in w some pov !! hope u enjoy hehe

pairing: enha hyung line x fem!reader

warning: SMUT!, corporate!enha hyung line, derogative language (c!nt), oral, unprotected sex, voyeur, public-ish sex, a mention of a foot, cursing, lil dub-con

w.c: 1,541

Heeseung

“Well, I’ll be in the office quite late, so there shouldn’t be a problem with finishing it.”

Heeseung’s playing with the papers on his desk, a contract awaiting his signature. He knows it’s important, but it’s 3 hours past work hours and he’s finding it difficult to concentrate on the vital information dump.

Nonetheless, he tries his best. Soon enough, he finds himself absorbed in hearing what his colleague says regarding a business deal they’re both working on.

He’s so distracted, he almost misses you walking in.

Almost.

It’s hard to miss you when you’re in the lingerie set he brought you back from his business meeting in London. You look beautiful. Heeseung leans back on his chair, hand gripping the armrest as he shifts his legs forward to relieve the pressure of his growing erection.

The set was something he noticed in the shop window of a high-end sex store. Heeseung imagined your beautiful body gripped tight by the material of the lingerie. He hadn’t even hesitated to buy it, disregarding the quadruple-digit price tag entirely. The lingerie was barely concealing anything. Mesh and lace exactly hugging your skin the way Heeseung knew it would. God, he’s drooling.

“Well, the client needs to confirm the fee estimate before we can get started. But he’s barely responding…”

The voice of his colleague flows in one ear and out the other, his attention solely on the way you stroll into his room. His breath hitches when you drop onto your knees in front of him.

“Pay attention to your call, Hee. It must be important.” You’re being cheeky. Lips pulled into an innocent smile like you’re not working to unbuckle his belt.

Heeseung’s straining through his slacks, his grip on the armrest of his chair tightening as you palm his cock.

“Heeseung?”

His attention gets drawn back by the call of his name. “Yes?”

“Were you listening?”

“Sorry,” Heeseung chuckles, a hand going to grip the back of your head as you mouth at his cock through his underwear. “Just got a bit distracted there, what did you say?”

“I was saying…”

The call drifts out of his mind, his phone dangling precariously in his fingers. His business partner continues to update him on something- Heeseung doesn’t care. All he cares about is the warmth your wet mouth provides as you suck his cock down your throat.

Jongseong

You’d been acting up. Whined and tugged at Jay to give you attention while he answered an important work call.

You were being a brat.

Jay wasn’t so nice when you acted out. So, now you’re on all fours, being pounded by your boyfriend from behind. A hand firmly covering your mouth to prevent any noise from coming out, less the person on the other end hearing how Jay makes your head spin.

He’s relentless with his thrusts, a hand pushes your back into a deeper curve, and the other holds a phone to his ear. He’s responding with a steady voice, one that doesn’t give away the way he’s got you unravelling on his cock.

“Actually,” Jay cuts the other person off, slowing down his thrusts and pushing in deeper. “Can you relay that to my assistant, she’ll be much better at ensuring this job gets completed.”

You’re barely paying attention, the new pace making you drool from how deep your boyfriend is going.

“She’s here right now, let me pass you to her.”

Without hesitation, Jay leans forward pushing deeper into you and puts his phone against your ear. You begin to panic as Jay shows no signs of stopping. What the actual fuck is he thinking?

“Hello?”

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck!

“Go on, love,” Jay’s voice is low as he speaks to you, careful to not let it get caught by the phone’s microphone. “Answer him.”

You grip the phone hard against your ear, trying to breathe deeply to steady your voice before responding, “Yes, h-hello, I’m Jay’s assistant. Please c-continue.”

The voice on the other end filters in and Jay’s being kinder and slowing down his thrusts, hips resting against your ass as he pushes shallowly into you. You’re thankful that he wasn’t being heartless, and you try your hardest to listen to what’s being said.

But before long, your hand slaps against your mouth as Jay pushes your back as deep as it curves and grips your hips and thrusts in so deep, you see stars. Jay begins a brutal pace, uncaring of how hard you’re trying to be quiet.

You’re absolutely fucked.

Jaeyun

He should be listening to his colleague on the other end of the call. This was an important business deal that would cost his company thousands if he fucks it up.

But you’re right in front of him with two fingers deep in your cunt, and his attention was otherwise occupied. There’s no way his eyes, let alone mind, could drift from the way you play with your pretty pussy.

You’re spread out on his desk, one leg up and the other hanging between his own. The heel of your foot presses against his hard-on, the pressure not being enough for his cock. His hips subconsciously grind up into it, his slacks straining against his thighs at the motion.

“Will you be in tomorrow? I want us to delegate some tasks to the team.”

Jake hums absentmindedly, lips tucked between his teeth as you slip your fingers out and lead them up to your mouth. He tries his best not to groan into the receiver as you lick your fingers clean, spit dribbling out your mouth in an obscene mess.

Fuck this.

He puts his phone on speaker and places it on the other end of his desk. With his now free hands, he grabs your hips and pulls you closer to the edge of his table and immediately shoves his face in between your thighs, desperate to taste your sweet cunt.

Your thighs wrap around his head, hands gripping his hair tightly as his tongue flicks against your clit and slides against you. His fingers creep up your leg making you shiver. You're straining hard to be quiet, biting onto the palm you've clasped over your mouth.

Jake's fingers circle your hole, huffing out a laugh when your whole body jerks at his teasing, and slides two in. He works two digits into your cunt, cum squelching as he pushes in deep. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking the sensitive nub into his mouth, loving the way you tense in his hold.

“Jake, you there? What was that sound?”

Parting from your clit, Jake still fucks his fingers into you. Uncaring of the way you're gripping his dress shirt, eyes squeezed tight as you're nearing closer and closer to orgasm. There's no way he's going to stop now.

“Yeah,” Jake sighed, his voice strained. “I'm listening. Just getting ready to head to the gym. Uh- stretching and stuff.”

“oh, okay… anyways-"

Jake doesn't hesitate to get his mouth onto your cunt just as you shake in his hold, cumming straight on his tongue. So worth it.

Sunghoon

Sunghoon’s barely paying attention to his boss in the other line as it is, but the moment you walk in with the cute loungewear set he bought you, his attention entirely zeros in on you.

The shorts are tiny and ride up your thighs as you walk towards him. There’s a cheeky smile on your face, and Sunghoon should know by now that’s never a good sign. But really, he can’t find his attention deterring from how glorious your legs look.

With no words being exchanged, you perch yourself on his lap. Sunghoon’s free arm immediately wraps around your waist, and he pulls you in close. He stretches his arm out with the phone so the microphone doesn’t pick up the chaste kiss he leaves on your lips.

“Hi there, darling.”

Sunghoon is infatuated with you, eyes never straying away from your face. He can’t find himself caring about the possible reprimanding he’ll get tomorrow for not listening to his boss’ instructions. His girl is in his lap, looking unbelievably gorgeous and grinding down into his half-hard cock.

Wait.

His mind short-circuits as you continue to roll your hips, a devious smile on your face as you watch Sunghoon’s reactions.

You pull his pants down until they’re halfway down his thighs, gripping his cock to stroke him a few times. Sunghoon’s hips jump at the contact, thighs tensing at the feeling.

You eventually lift yourself up with Sunghoon’s help, pulling your shorts to the side to show your dripping cunt. No panties. Good God.

Your hips circle the tip of his cock, teasing. He hisses when you slide down on his cock, you’re tight and so, so warm it has his head tossing back in pleasure.

“Sorry? What was that, Sunghoon?”

His boss’ voice filters through and Sunghoon has to remind himself he’s actually on a phone call. But the way you’re rolling your hips in his lap is making it a difficult task to remember.

“Ah, sorry, I just got a paper cut,” he lets out a fake chuckle, gripping your ass harder.

You continue to bounce on his cock and Sunghoon continues to lose his mind.

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angelic--kitty · 5 months ago

Note

dilf arlecchino stretching out a virgin reader on her fat cock

dom!dilf arlecchino x sub!fem reader

warnings: smut (minors/ageless blogs dni), wlw content, transfem!arlecchino, virgin!reader, age-gap (arle is in her late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), size kink, fingering, penetration, handjob

a/n: tagging my favorite silly @myfriendscallmebun who i hope enjoys this ♡ this is so long

she first hired you merely as a form of entertainment for her children. someone eager to please who wouldn't require such a large salary. someone who, at least, would never ask someone like her for more than she offered.

it's a surprising decision, on her end, to select a college girl to watch over her precious children. though, you presented yourself so nicely at the interview, and your references and resume did you well.

besides, it might be nice for the children to be around someone closer to their age for a change. they often spent time with arlecchino herself and occasionally her coworkers.

and, you had grown on her.

it's been nearly two months since you started working for her, and a few weeks since you began passing flirtatious remarks to one another.

the thing that finally melted her heart was an evening she worked late. she was already irritated her children would be asleep when she got home, but she felt guilty making you stay hours late at her home.

much to her surprise (and inner delight), when she came home, she found the children tucked into their beds, and you standing so sweetly at the door.

you had slipped her jacket off, hanging it up and tugging her into the kitchen. sure enough, you had saved her a plate of the spaghetti you made, along with a glass of her favorite red wine.

that was the day when she finally asked you to accompany her on a proper date.

and, now, here you are, standing in front of your mirror, fussing with your dress and jewelry. the dress she had bought for you special for tonight. it was black, falling just below your knees- rather classy for someone so young.

20 minutes. in 20 minutes she was picking you up.

nervous as you were, you couldn't believe you were going on a date with her. especially to somewhere so expensive and exclusive.

it was some sort of upscale bar with expensive alcohol and food. somewhere arlecchino claimed to frequent often when she needed alone time.

you almost broke out into laughter when she admitted she hired childe, her younger coworker, for the evening to watch her children.

"oh, i'm not concerned for my childrens' safety. if anything, he should be afraid for his own." was her reply, a small smirk on her lips that you nearly missed.

she lead you into the restaurant with confidence, turning heads, eliciting whispers as she kept her hand on the small of your back while the waiter brought you to your table.

"what do you think so far?" she asked, her wine glass already being filled, no need to speak her order.

"it's...definitely different than what i'm used to. but it's really nice. i like having an excuse to dress up a little." you smile at her and she raises her glass to her lips.

"i want to spoil you for the evening. for not only treating my children so well, but because you are an exceptional woman. i only hope my gestures come off as genuine as i intend." she sips her wine, setting it down to begin rambling to you about the menu.

but you're not quite listening, distracted by her hands, her lips, her eyes. how could someone be so perfect?

she's quite a bit older than you, probably much more experienced. does she truly feel the same way you do? and-

"sweetheart?" she breaks you from your thoughts and you stiffen up.

"i'm sorry- i'm listening!" you squeak, but she sees right through you.

although, she finds it rather cute. she's noticed before, obviously. your wandering eyes, the way you bite your lip when she picks up something heavy like it's nothing, or how your thighs press together when she takes a stern tone.

she simply wants to know the depths of your affection for her. after all, she has similar thoughts of you.

"which dish would you like then?" she asks pointedly, allowing you to hold the menu with shaky hands.

"ah...um..." the words blur together, not registering. "what do you recommend?"

she tilts her head, taking the menu back. "allow me to order for you then."

you like when she takes control. she knows what she wants, and she will have it. you wish it a quality you embodied more, though she fascinates you. it is almost natural to her.

dinner goes rather smoothly, and you get to taste test a few different wines, but not nearly enough to get you even remotely tipsy.

"i much prefer coherent company." her lips quirk up as she says this, and you laugh behind your hand.

she's funny, you admit. her dry humor is one of your favorite things about her.

it's a shame when dinner comes to an end, but you two mutually draw it out as long as you can. you share a dessert, and plenty of good conversation about yourselves. you learn things about her you never would've thought, and likewise for her.

the ride back to your place is just as pleasant, though you feel nervous inside. you want to make a move. you want to ask her to come inside. to stay...

but you couldn't possibly. that would be absurd... right?

regardless, she walks you in, ensuring you get into your place safely. she's a gentleman in how she holds your bags and all the doors at every stop.

the little bit of wine in your system has you feeling bold, stopping her in her tracks before she could put her shoes back on. "wait! why... don't you stay for a little? i could make us some tea. herbal! so you won't...uh... be awake all night."

she merely tilts her head, nodding either way. she listens to your rambling about the tea and the coffee mugs you have, her eyes wandering your walls when she sees familiar art.

"did the children draw these?" she interrupts, taking one off the wall.

it's a rather rudimentary stick-figure drawing, but she can tell who each one represents. this is one of lynette's drawings. she's drawn herself with pretty blue bows, along with her brothers, and, of course, their father.

and you.

there you are, standing on the other side as if you were the mother to complete their family portrait.

"oh- those? yeah, the kids drew them for me... i thought they were really cute, so i kept them." you smile and her heart flutters.

she skims her fingers over the papers, pausing when she sees one from freminet. he's drawn a flower field of green scribbles and rainbow dots, the children playing on a swingset while you and arlecchino watch.

with the words 'mom' and 'dad' written above your heads.

she can hear you nervously talking to fill the silence, and she turns to you. "they really do seem to enjoy having you around." she murmurs. "as do i."

you look up at her, feeling her lean in, gently holding your waist. "am i being too forward?" she asks, breath fanning over the side of your face as you shiver.

"not at all-" you breathe out, trembling as she lifts your chin gently. she can see your anticipation.

"you're not phased by our gap in experience?" she asks. "it's inevitable. i cannot change it, but i do not want you to feel forced."

"i actually like it. i really like it." you blurt, catching her off guard.

"oh?" her voice is low, sultry as she cups your jaw. "is this alright with you, then?"

"please-" and that's all she needs to connect your lips, kissing you so softly at first. her tongue gently prods for entrance, and she can instantly tell you truly are inexperienced.

she pulls away, gently swiping a thumb over your cheek. "is this your first time?"

"you could tell?" you groan, and she nearly melts.

"it is not shameful to wait. i only want you to be sure this is what you want." she explains, stroking your cheek as your eyes flutter shut.

"i want you. please? i want you to take it." you leave it open for interpretation, but she knows exactly what you're referring to.

"if you're certain, then i'd be honored, sweetheart." she says so gently you'd think she was someone else.

you bring her to your room, cringing at the mess. "i know it isn't what you're used to but mmph-!" you whimper when she kisses you, pulling you onto her lap on the bed.

she trails kisses down your neck, watching you tilt your head back instinctively. you pant, overwhelmed so quickly she almost feels guilty.

keyword: almost.

instead, it makes her twitch within the confines of her expensive suit slacks.

her hand tangles into the back of your hair, tugging you firmly so she can nip at your jaw. she takes it slow, easing you into things until you're practically begging her to go further.

your dress slides off slowly, a treat waiting when she sees the pretty matching lingerie set beneath. it's white and lacy, delicate, something she could easily tear right off, and it drives her mad.

"aren't you full of surprises? naughty ones at that." she tuts, squeezing your jaw as you gasp.

she unclips the bra, her gently squeezing your breasts as you moan for her.

she teases your nipples until they go pert, wrapping her tongue around them as you arch up into her.

you're being vulnerable with her; she knows this much. she holds you steady, ensuring you feel safe on her lap before pulling away with a soft 'pop.'

she unbuttons her shirt, tugging it off to match you. she watches your eyes go wide, eager yet embarrassed as she tosses her bra aside with the shirt.

"you're so...pretty." you gasp quietly, eyes wide.

"you can touch me, sweetheart." she pulls your hand to her chest, allowing you to explore. your fingers clumsily rub her nipples and she grunts, guiding them into place.

"does it feel good?" you ask her so hesitantly, and she kisses the top of your head.

"you're doing well." she watches your gaze slide down, eyeing the growing bulge in her pants. she dryly grunts, lifting your chin up. "something catch your eye?"

"i... i'm sorry- i didn't mean to stare-" your words are mumbled, your face hot as your mouth goes dry.

"you're curious. that's alright." she brushes a thumb over your lips, coaxing you to open up.

she slides her thumb over your tongue, gently easing it a little further until you gag, keeping you just like that. your eyes are so wide and pretty, glazed over with untapped lust.

she hums thoughtfully before withdrawing, using the thumb to brush over the front of your panties. you gasp, thighs snapping shut as she pushes them back apart.

she lightly smacks your thigh. "keep them open." she rubs gentle circles on your clothed clit, your body clearly unsure how to react. she can see it doesn't take much to bring you to the edge, and she lightens her touch, able to control her own desires with ease.

her hand comes back to your lips, sliding your wetness over your tongue while her free hand slides your panties to the side.

something you've missed before, but she's filed her nails down on this hand. just for you, though only she knew that.

she gently slides her fingers through your folds, hearing you whimper and squirm on her lap. she tucks your head under her chin while she eases a finger into you, feeling you squeeze so tight around just one digit.

she gives you time to adjust, feeling you clutch her wrist. you're such an angel, aren't you? holding so tightly to her, so cute, all while you fidget right above her confined cock, inevitably making her grow harder.

her second finger slides in slowly, with an intent to stretch you out enough to take her cock more comfortably. she curls them inside of you, hearing you whine loudly into her neck.

"ah- that feels-!" you squeal when she brushes against your g-spot. her finger pads rub into it, and you tremble, thighs clamping down on her hand.

"relax." she reminds you, pumping her fingers in and out, slick sounds filling the air. she stretches you out every so often, spreading her fingers slightly and hearing you whimper so sweetly.

your hand clumsily rests on her bulge and her fingers still as she inhales sharply.

"i... want to- try and make you feel good too..." you whisper, looking up at her.

and who is she to deny such a sweet girl?

she pops open the button, unzipping her pants and freeing her cock, allowing you to see her.

your eyes go comically wide, shocked by the size. "that's... i-"

she can feel your walls fluttering around her fingers and she nearly moans. "it's alright. don't be nervous." she practically reads your mind, soothing your concerns as her free hand unwraps itself from your body, collecting some of the messy slick from your thighs, sliding it over herself.

"you haven't done this before, i presume?" she's met with a shake of your head. she proceeds to guide your hand in wrapping around her cock. she hisses through her teeth. "archons-" she groans lowly, her fingers resuming their gentle in and out motions while she guides you to stroke her cock.

"tighter." she tells you, feeling your hand grip more firmly, her pre-cum oozing over your hand, spreading across her cock. "good girl-" she praises and you clench around her fingers once more.

she says nothing, but she knows exactly how her words affect you. such a sweet little thing you are, curled up on her lap, fingers stuffed inside of you while your hand wraps around her cock.

her hand covers yours still, dwarfing your hand and guiding you into her preferred rhythm. "that's it. you're doing well-" she tips her head back, hips grinding into your hand as she lets go.

she allows you to move your hand on your own, finger-fucking you faster. she knows you're losing focus, too overwhelmed by your own need to cum, though she doesn't mind too much. you're just so sweet with how your moans pick up in volume, your eyes closing as your hips chase her hand.

"go on." she tells you, her voice stern as you release around her digits like such a good girl for her.

she slides her fingers out, admiring the webbed slick coating them, cleaning them in her own mouth as you shyly hide in her chest.

she pulls you away, laying you on the bed. "wait! you didn't get to..."

she shakes her head, pushing her hair back. "hush." she simply says, spreading your thighs, pushing them up to your chest. it exposes you perfectly, allowing you to feel shy, yet unable to cover yourself as she studies your twitchy cunt.

arlecchino uses one hand to guide herself through your slick, sensitive folds, gathering the remnants of your orgasm. she is gentle when she slides into you for the first time, a thumb on your stiff, swollen clit to ease the stretch.

she watches your eyebrows furrow, nose crinkling as she stretches you out. "so big-" you whine, chest arching up against her own.

your moans are melodies to her, feeling you flutter around her was like heaven. she lifts you up to sit on her lap while she leans back, guiding you to slowly take more of her in.

"too much!" you whine, looking down.

"you haven't taken all of me yet." she hushes you, easing you down to swallow her all in your pussy until you're mewling incoherently.

"full-" your head falls back and she grabs your hips, her nails leaving sharp little indents as she guides you to shallowly fuck yourself on her cock.

"such a pretty little thing." she coos, slowly growing more harsh, grinding up into you.

and, oh, you sing for her the rougher she gets. you urge her to grow bolder, now using your body as a toy while you desperately try to match her tempo.

you're inexperienced, but oh, so eager to please, aren't you? what a good girl.

she grabs your ass, fucking you on her cock while you keep a vice grip, your tits bouncing with each thrust. "oh- archons!" you squeal.

arlecchino picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, settling you beneath her instead, fucking into you with boundless energy.

she knows the right spots to fuck, where and how to grind herself into a woman, she knows exactly when to speed up and slow down. yet it seems you don't even know your own body fully.

and the thought of helping you explore with her is enough to have her twitching inside of you.

your incessant mewling and moaning of her name is driving her mad for you. her hand wraps around your throat, earning her breathless gasps as she urges you to cum for her.

"be a good little pet and cum." she orders, slick sounds penetrating the air, the smell of sex coating you both. "cum for me."

she rubs your clit harshly, watching you shake as you do cum, tightening up around her cock, sending her eyes rolling back into her head.

the moment you loosen up, she pulls out, cumming onto your tummy, creating a filthy mess as she moans deeply for you.

"fuck..." she sighs, squeezing her cock to ease the rest of her cum onto your skin.

you pant, looking up at her. your eyes are blown wide, but you look exhausted as you lay limply beneath her.

and, well, you'll soon learn her cock may need time to recover, but her mouth and fingers certainly don't...

#꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱─ 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 #ฅᨐฅ─ 𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐲'𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 #ʚ♡ɞ─ 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 #arlecchino x you #arlecchino smut #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino #arlechinno genshin #arlechinno x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #arlecchino x y/n #genshin wlw #wlw #🐇─ 𝐛𝐮𝐧

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agreeeeeeeeeee · 5 days ago

Note

PLEASEEEE MORE POSSESSIVE JELOUS DRACO🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️YOUR BAD SANTA FIC WAS LITERALLY EVEYTHING. POSSESSIVE MEN GOT ME WEAK

thank you for the request!! hope this is satisfactory 🫶🏻

Flutterby Baby | D.M.

feat. Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Draco finds out another student sabotaged your Herbology project.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, draco’s pov, established relationship, possessive!draco, bullying, hurt/comfort, men suck, sort of rough fingering & piv, affectionate degradation if you squint (he refers to her as a plant), blood/fighting

Draco watched as you pushed your pasta around your plate, staring absently at the whirls of sauce on the porcelain. You’d been quiet the entire meal, only speaking when directly spoken to by your group of friends, and even then, it was half-hearted, brief answers.

Both were unusual for his talkative, carb-loving girl.

He placed a light hand on your thigh, leaning closer to you. The warmth of your skin, the sweetness of your perfume, beckoned him even closer, but he ignored his impulses. “Everything alright, darling?” He asked, low enough that your friends couldn’t hear.

“Yes, just not very hungry,” you said in your pretty little voice, placing your hand over his and pecking his cheek.

He didn’t buy it. “I can track down some takeaway and we can eat in my dorm, if you’d like,” he offered, wondering if the commotion in the Great Hall was a bit too much for you.

You shook your head, another stunning development. You never turned down takeaway. “I’m fine, baby. Thank you, though.”

“Well, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll make one of these sod’s fetch it for you,” he teased, hoping to get a smile out of you. He didn’t.

Draco sighed, pressing a kiss to your temple before turning back to the conversation he was in the middle of with Theo and Pansy. He continued to watch you in his periphery as you started to play with his fingers, twirling his signet ring around and around. As much as he enjoyed the mindless contact, the delicate brush of your skin, he knew this was a nervous habit of yours.

He had half-a-thought to excuse you both, but he knew that would only draw more attention to your melancholy state, which would likely make you feel even worse. He could pick your brain later. Right now, he needed to make sure you were fed.

Casually, he picked up his fork, twirling a bit of his own pasta around the tines. Without breaking away from his conversation, he held the fork up to you, hoping you’d take a bite without really thinking about it. It was a small ritual the two of you developed during lengthy family dinners, something you often did automatically if he offered food to you. He felt you shift forward, your mouth wrap around the small bite, and you ate it.

He squeezed your thigh, a flare of affection making his heart pound. Good girl, he thought, but refrained from saying aloud.

The rest of dinner continued like that, Draco keeping your friends talking and distracted while he fed you small bites of his own dinner, your fingers twined with his in your lap. When he held up a bite and you gave small shake of your head, he knew it was because you were actually full, and he set his fork down, satisfied. For now.

That night in the common room, you were curled up in your chair by the fire, a book open in your lap while everyone pretended to study around you. He watched your eyes, your hands curled around the cover, and you were motionless. No pages turned, no lines devoured.

His worry deepened. Blaise seemed to notice as well, and gave him a curious look, dark brow raised. And of course, Theo caught the exchange, but turned back to his work, pretending he didn’t.

A prickle of suspicion climbed Draco’s neck. Typically, Theo was the first one to make a fuss over someone being in a sour mood due to his inability to tolerate negative emotions, but this time, he stayed silent.

Very odd, indeed.

But he could worry about Theo later. Draco lifted himself from the couch and walked over to you, dropping onto the floor in front of your chair. He tilted his head back, resting it against your shins. You reached down, dragging your fingers through his hair while you continued “reading” your book. He let his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and tried to think of a way to draw you out of your head.

Lips pressed against his forehead, your perfume wafting over him, and he hummed in appreciation, reaching up to cradle your face. You leaned your cheek into his palm, and he titled his head back a little further to connect your lips in a soft kiss.

Your lips moved against his, brief and tender, and some of his tension unwound. It didn’t seem that you were upset with him, which was a relief. But, he wasn’t any closer to figuring out what exactly was troubling you.

“I’m going to go to bed,” you murmured in his ear, and he blinked in surprise, checking his watch.

It wasn’t even nine o’clock.

“So early, love? Are you feeling alright?” He turned to face you, rising to his knees. The group noticed, but he was too concerned to care. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead, your cheek, your neck, but you waved him away.

“I’m fine, D. Just tired,” you said, averting your eyes from his and rising from your chair.

“Baby—”

You leaned down and kissed him again, cutting off his protest. “I love you, I’ll see you in the morning,” you said, pecking his cheek one more time before walking towards the girls dormitory and ascending the stairs.

Draco slumped back to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“What did you do to her?” Pansy accused after a moment of tense silence.

“Nothing,” he snapped, though it was mostly toothless.

“She was acting strangely at dinner too,” Blaise noted. “She didn’t even have dessert.”

“Yeah, and she loves those chocolate things—what are they called?” Theo chimed in.

“Cauldron cakes,” Draco answered, glaring at them, irked that they were paying that close of attention to you. That was his job.

“Are you going to follow her?” Blaise asked, glancing at the stairs.

“No, he should give her some space,” Pansy said, giving him a pointed look.

“I’m perfectly capable of managing my girlfriend’s needs. Thank you,” he bit, and they fell quiet. He would leave you be, for now, but if you were still in a funk tomorrow evening, he’d be forced to intervene.

You were decidedly still unlike yourself come the following morning, and when he saw you during your shared Potion’s class. He continued to monitor the situation, trying to be patient like you often asked him to be, but that went out the window when you returned from your Herbology class with Theo in tears.

As soon as Draco saw your red and puffy eyes, he was on his feet. You ran straight into his chest, burying your wet face in his robes and digging your chilled hands into his back, trembling as your tears returned in earnest.

“Darling, what’s happened? What’s going on?” He cooed, wrapping his arms around your shaking torso, petting your hair in an attempt to soothe you. You didn’t respond, just held him tighter as you cried.

Theo tried to slip around the two of you, but Draco pinned him with a glare.

“What happened?” Draco hissed at him.

“Her Flutterby bush is dying,” Theo whispered, and you started to cry harder.

Shit. You’d slaved half the semester over this Flutterby bush in Herbology, it was your pride and joy, and you often stayed after hours with Professor Sprout to tend to it and the rest of the greenhouse. You had the greenest thumb Draco had ever encountered, and that plant was your baby. There was no way it would just suddenly die.

Draco raised a brow, and Theo made a ‘tell you later’ face. He nodded his head to dismiss his friend and turned his attention back to you, his poor, sensitive girl.

“Baby, it’s going to be alright. I’m sure you’ll figure out what’s going on—”

You shook you head. “It doesn’t make sense,” you sniffled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “It was perfectly fine. There’s no bugs or blights, I don’t understand.” You lifted your face, cheeks streaked with tears and lashes spikey, your eyes rimmed with red. The state of you made his heart ache.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispered, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs and pressing a kiss to your nose. “If anyone can save it, you can. You’re brilliant, love.” He used his sleeve to wipe your eyes and your nose before bundling you into his side. “Come on, relax for a bit with Pansy. That’ll help you think a little more clearly, yeah?”

You nodded, letting him deposit you on the couch beside your friend, who immediately abandoned what she was doing to fuss over you.

He kissed the top of your head, satisfied that you were well looked after for the time being. “I love you, I’ll be right back, okay?” He murmured, and you nodded again.

Theo was waiting for him in the hall. “Okay, so don’t get mad,” he said, holding his hands up.

Draco’s anger instantly flared. “Don’t give me a reason to get mad then.”

“She told me not to tell you because she knew you’d get all—” Theo gestured vaguely at Draco. “All…this.”

“Out with it, Nott,” he growled, fully prepared to punch his best friends nose through the back of his skull. What could you possibly want to keep from him?

“We think someone poisoned her plant,” Theo said, grimacing.

Draco froze, rage flaring so suddenly it darkened his vision. “What?” he snarled.

“We can’t say for sure yet,” Theo said hurriedly, trying to get ahead of the oncoming storm. “But there’s this one guy—”

“Who?”

“Reinhardt? Renfield? Something like that, I don’t know, he’s a Gryffindor. But he—Draco, where are you going?”

Draco was already halfway down the hall, formulating a plan in his mind about how to find this guy, and how to make him wish he’d never been born.

Theo grabbed his shoulder. “Listen, I have a better idea than storming the Gryffindor common room,” he said, and Draco paused.

“Go on.”

Draco loitered outside the Greenhouse, hidden by some trees, a stupid plastic ear in his hand. Theo had the other tucked into his robes, and Draco could hear Sprout beginning her lecture through their connection.

Draco sighed. This was ridiculous, he should just waltz in there and figure out exactly who this—

“Hey, y/n,” he heard someone mutter, an unfamiliar male voice, and he immediately held up the ear to listen. “Flutterby’s not lookin’ so good. Maybe I could help clear away some of the dead stuff?”

Draco's ears started ringing so loudly, he almost missed your response.

“I'm killing it just fine on my own, Renley, I don't need any assistance from you.”

He heard Theo snicker in the background, and Draco smiled. Atta girl.

“My mandrakes are thriving, thank you,” Renley replied, his voice tight with indignation. “It's a real shame about yours, though. Probably would have gotten you top marks.”

You didn't respond, and Draco gripped a tree branch to stop himself from charging through the glass to get this audacious fucker.

“Fuck off, Renford,” Theo warned, the feed clouded by his robes rustling.

“It's Renley,” the prick corrected, his voice a little louder, and Draco could practically hear Theo roll his eyes. “So, what do you say, sweetheart?” Sweetheart? Oh, this fucker was a dead man walking. “I'm willing to stay after and help you out. I'm good with poisons—”

“Poison’s?” You asked, a snarky lilt to your voice, and Draco loosed a relieved exhale despite the implication. For the first time in days, you sounded like yourself. “Who said anything about poison?”

“Oh, I—uh—”

“Reindeer, how did you know her plant was poisoned?” Theo prodded, his smirk audible.

“I don't! It's obv—it’s probably not p-poison!” Renley stammered.

“What's this about poison?” Sprout interrupted at the same moment Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle emerged from the treeline.

“Check fucking mate,” Draco mouthed, grinning.

“Professor Sprout, I do believe Renley here just confessed to poisoning y/n’s beloved Flutterby bush,” Theo said.

“Is this true, dearie?” Sprout asked you.

“Yes ma’am, it explains the strange phenomena we noted, as well as the sudden nature of the ailment. Renley’s been taunting me for days, and finally his mouth got ahead of his brain,” you said, poised as a Queen, and Draco was so proud of you it hurt.

Sprout gasped. “Mr. Renley! To Dumbledore's office this instant!”

“Crabbe, Goyle, grab him,” Draco ordered, stuffing the ear into his robes.

The two of them lumbered over the door, staying out of sight until the culprit stepped out into the sunlight, and Goyle grabbed Renley by the shoulders and started to drag him back around the Greenhouse.

“Hey! What the fuck—” his words pinched to a strangled whine when he saw Draco and Blaise waiting a few feet away, arms folded over their chests, completely hidden from the rest of campus.

Goyle shoved him to the ground at Draco's feet, and the coward was already sniveling.

Draco crouched down, nose to nose with the fucker that made his girl miserable, and smiled. “Was it worth it, Renley?” Draco asked, his voice low.

“Look, Malfoy. I didn't mean to—”

Draco didn't give him a chance to finish his paltry excuse and cocked his fist back, slamming his knuckles square in the side of his jaw. The bone crunched under his fist, sending Renley flying sideways in a spray of spit and blood, and Draco rose, clenching and unclenching his aching hand.

Normally, he'd step back and let the others get their hands dirty, but you were his girl. And if anyone was going to defend your honor, it would be him.

“No, no please!” Renley begged when Goyle hauled him back up. Draco punched him again, dead on the nose, then the temple, then the sternum. Goyle let Renley fall, groveling and weeping as blood ran down his face, his eyes already half-swollen shut.

Draco grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head up so he could whisper in his ear. “You're lucky it wasn't poison,” he snarled, and dropped Renley’s head into the dirt. “Leave him on the front steps of the castle,” he said to Crabbe and Goyle, who immediately pulled the boy up and started dragging him back towards the castle.

Blaise chuckled. “That was fucking brutal, mate.”

Draco looked down at his bruised and bloody knuckles, the pain bright and deliciously satisfying, his signet ring splattered with red. “Like I said, he's lucky I didn't decide to poison him.”

The chatter of students filled the air, and he looked up to see the Greenhouse emptying. Theo headed straight for them, glancing at Draco's knuckles and the blood in the grass before breaking out in a wild grin.

“Sorry I missed it,” Theo laughed.

“Where is she?” Draco asked.

“Staying behind to administer the antidote. Sprout is leaving her to ensure Renley is dealt with accordingly.”

“Well, she certainly won't be disappointed,” Blaise snickered.

“So she’s alone?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. He was hoping to clean himself up before seeing you, but wasn't sure he could resist the temptation. Not with his blood still running hot and your smart little voice echoing in his mind.

“Yep.” Theo smirked. “See ya’ back in the common room.” He and Blaise turned and started heading back to the castle, leaving Draco alone.

He rounded the greenhouse, knocking with his sore knuckles so he didn't startle you.

“Draco? What are you—saints, your hands!” You cried, rushing over to open the door for him. You grabbed for his hands, face pinched with worry.

“I'm fine, love,” he cooed, letting you fuss. The air in the greenhouse was thick and warm, coaxing him in like a embrace. It smelled fresh and lush, sweet soil and green leaves, like you.

Merlin, he couldn't think straight with you looking at him like that.

“Who did—” you paused, eyes narrowing. “Renley?”

He smirked. “Maybe.”

“Draco!” You huffed, dropping his hands. “I had it under control!”

“I know you did! You were amazing! I just...accelerated the consequences.”

You glared at him, but he could see you softening by the second.

“Baby, I'm fine. And he'll be fine in like, four to five business days.”

“Draco!” You shouted, but you were smiling. He fucking loved what you called his name in that exasperated but undeniably affectionate voice. “You don't have to get involved all the time. I'm perfectly capable of fighting my own battles, and Professor Sprout was working with me to solve it and—”

Draco reached out, pinching your cheeks with one hand, pursing your pouting lips and dragging you closer to him. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No one fucks with you so long as I'm breathing, is that clear?”

You nodded, eyes round and sweet like honey.

He released your face, sliding his hand into the hair at the nape of your neck and craning your head upwards. “Can I kiss you now? Or would you like to keep telling me off?”

You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his in a playful, smiley kiss. “Anything for my hero.”

“Anything?” Draco purred, walking you back into the long work table. You gasped, arching against his chest, and he caught the sound with another kiss, slipping his tongue past your lips to taste you.

Your tongue tangled with his, so eager as you pulled his tie to bring him closer. He guided your tongue into his mouth, sucking lightly before releasing you to bite your lip, toying with your mouth like he owned it.

And he could feel how much you loved it, your hips pressing against his as your hands wandered his chest, unable to pick a resting place.

He smiles, moving his hands to grip your hips. In a quick movement, he spun you around. Your hands slapped onto the table to catch yourself, your perfect ass pressing back against his rapidly hardening cock.

“Draco,” you whined, trying to look over your shoulder at him.

He tsked, sliding up your skirt, admiring the way his ruined knuckles looked against the soft flesh. “Do you want me to be gentle with you, darling?” He already knew what your answer would be, especially after a few stressful days, but he felt inclined to double check.

You shook your head side to side, pressing your ass back into his hands. “No.”

He smiled, squeezing the ample flesh, then delivered a swift slap that made you gasp. “That's my girl. You want me to scare away all those bad thoughts? Turn your brain off for a bit?” He slid his right hand between your legs, gliding two fingers over the damp spot on your panties.

You nodded, nails scratching along the wood when he applied a little pressure, moving his hand in a slow circle.

“Words, love,” he said, pausing his movement.

“Yes, baby. Please,” you whined, and his cock gave a painful lurch against his thigh.

“Colloportus,” he murmured, flicking his wand to lock the Greenhouse door. “Don't move,” he ordered, then walked over to the sink, washing the blood from his hands and muttering a quiet episkey to fix most of the damage on his skin. Some cuts remained, and his hands were still sore and slightly bruised, but it wasn't nearly as bad.

Satisfied, he turned his attention back to you, where you remained perfectly still, nibbling at your lower lip. In quick movement, he pulled down your panties, letting the fall around your ankles, and kicked your feet further apart, forcing you to lay your chest against the table.

“There we go,” he purred, bringing his hand back between your legs.

You were already soaked, hot and slick as his middle finger swiped through your sex. He started massaging your clit, quick, light circles that had you moaning breathlessly.

“Better, darling? Nothing to worry about besides being my good girl.” He moved away from your clit and eased his middle finger inside of you, his signet ring kissing your entrance before he curled his finger up. Your walls fluttered around him, sucking back against his finger when he pulled it out, only to graciously stretch for him when he added a second.

“Fuck, D,” you moaned, rocking your hips against his hand. “You said you wouldn't be gentle “

He smirked, enraptured with the way your pretty little cunt yielded for his battered hand. “Just so pretty,” he hummed, leaning down to whisper in your ear, pressing you harder against the table. “Can't help but worship you a little.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he slammed his fingers inside of you, drilling into your channel with sloppy, punishing strokes. You cried out, feet sliding around on the floor, but he had you pinned and at his mercy.

“This better, brat?” He growled, nipping at your ear when you keened for him, unable to formulate a response. “Oh, how that fucker wishes he could see you now,” he drawled, straightening while his fingers fucked into you. “What'd he call you? Sweetheart?” He chuckled. “Sweet doesn't begin to cover it.”

“How did you—”

He slipped his fingers out to work your clit, the bud swelling under his touch as your orgasm built, and your words twisted into a moan. He tried to stay focused, keep you on the edge until he was sheathed inside of you, but couldn't bring himself to stop just yet.

“Are you sweet, baby?” He asked, swatting your ass cheek, enjoying the way your flesh rippled.

“Only for you,” you gasped, starting to tremble as that knot wound tighter and tighter.

“That's right,” he praised, undoing his trousers and taking his cock in his hand. He was insanely hard, the head a deep pink, pearly precum beading from the slit. He pumped himself twice to relieve some of the ache, then notched himself at your entrance, not pausing his assault on your clit for a moment. “All fucking mine,” he growled at the same moment he thrust inside of you, burying himself to the hilt.

You cried out, muscles contracting hard around him, and he groaned low in his throat. You were so fucking tight, gooey and supple when you weren't squeezing the life out of him. He drew back a few inches before snapping his hips forward, gripping your ass cheek in his free hand to keep you spread for him as he pounded into you.

He felt your orgasm hit the second before you did, your cunt clamping down on him a heartbeat before you screamed, your whole body locking up before going completely limp. He didn't let up, no matter how much you shook, how much you begged. Your tears left damp spots on the wood, your knees trying to buckle inwards, but he planted his feet on the inside of yours, forcing you to stay upright.

“Good fucking girl,” he rasped, snaking a hand up your spine to grip your hair and pull your head back. “Doing so well for me, sweet thing.” He was panting, the heat of the greenhouse coupled with the exterior making sweat collect around his hairline and drip down his spine. His knuckles burned from the salt, hands ached from being used long past when they should have been bandaged, but he didn't give a single fuck.

“Draco, shit—fuck me so good.” You reached back for him, nails dragging along his forearm, and he felt himself teeter on the edge of release, his balls drawing up tight as liquid heat spread through his pelvis.

“Give me one more, baby. I know you can. Then I'll water my favorite plant.”

Your pussy clenched at his words, a wanton moan falling from your lips, and he smiled. You were such a little freak, his little freak, and he loved you all the more it.

“You like being my pretty little houseplant? All mine to take care of?” Fuck, he was close, rambling in an attempt to distract himself and spend just a little longer in the delicious heat of your body.

“Yes, yes—fuck!” You were coming again, your whole body convusling as it ripped through you, and he was done for. He came with a yell, hips stuttering against your ass as he pumped rope after rope of release into your spasming cunt.

“Bloody hell, baby,” he moaned, bracing his hands on the table as he came down, his hips involuntarily rocking into your greedy warmth. You, poor thing, were left drooling and trembling, completely boneless, held up entirely by the table and his hips. He leaned forward, pressing kisses into your hair. “Did so good, love. So fucking perfect,” he murmured, throat tight with affection.

“Squishin’ me,” you giggled, squirming beneath him, and he straightened, nearly toppling over himself at the weak feeling in his knees.

“Sorry, darling,” he chuckled, and you groaned, pushing yourself up on trembling arms. He moved his feet, letting you close your legs, and he hissed through his teeth at the new tightness around his softening cock, stealing a final thrust before slipping out of you.

“Mm, how did you know he called me sweetheart?” You asked, peeking over your shoulder at him while he grabbed his wand to clean you both up.

“I have my methods,” he replied, righting your clothes and helping you stand up, relishing in the lingering tremble in your limbs.

“Were you spying on me, Draco Malfoy?” You teased, tugging him down by the tie so you were face to face.

He smirked. “Perhaps.”

“What a horrible invasion of privacy,” you snickered, giving him a playful peck.

“You want to punish me for it?” He nipped at your lower lip and you grinned, pushing lightly on his chest.

“Enough you, I have to administer the antidote before my plant gets any sicker.”

“Good thing I already cured mine,” he teased, and you swatted him before slipping out of his arms.

“You're insufferable.”

“And you're adorable.��

You grabbed some items from the shelves and a watering can, then paused, turning to look at him, a deadly serious look on your face. “Can we get takeaway after this?”

He snorted, his heart doing a giddy little flip. “Of course we can.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy one shot #draco x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut #slytherin boys fanfiction #slytherin boys #draco malfoy imagine

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annewithaneofthegreengable · 3 months ago

Text

Kinktober - Day 4

4th — cockwarming, Max Verstappen

The previous day I The next day I Kinktober masterlist I Main list

Prompt: You are an actress and have been in a relationship with Max for a while. You have been trying to learn all your lines in the upcoming movie, and since this time of the year is off-time, which means no racing for a few weeks for Max, he volunteered to help you remember your lines and practice it with you.

You and Max sat on the couch together in their comfortable living room. Max had a script in his hand, and the other one was in yours. "Okay, ready to start?" Max asked, a slight smile on his face. You nodded, a look of determination on your face. "Ready as I'll ever be," you replied. Max chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll help you remember your lines. You've got this."

Sometimes you would stumble over a word or phrase, but Max was there to help you through it. He would gently correct or repeat the line if you forgot it completely. "Schatz, there’s another fun way to rehearse all these lines, and you can even memorise it faster. Take a break and meet me in the office.”

Max's proposal piqued your interest and curiosity. You couldn't help but wonder what new method he had in mind to help you remember your lines more effectively.

With a nod, you got up from the couch and headed towards the office. You found Max already there, waiting for you.

He waves you over to where he’s sitting on his desk chair, motioning for you to sit on his lap. You look at him, confused for a moment, before doing as he wordlessly asked.

“What are we doing? I thought you would help me with the script.” you half laugh, half ask curiously.

You can feel Max fumble his hands behind you, his cold watch brushing against the warm skin of your tailbone that’s exposed from your dress.

“I’m helping you to study it better with some motivation.” He whispered to your ears.

You hear his zipper come undone, and that’s when you realize what he’s wanting. Max adjusts you on his lap so you’re hovering, and he aligns his length with your clothed entrance, teasing your clit through your underwear. He pushes the fabric to the side with his fingers, allowing his tip to brush against your wetness. You slowly push yourself onto him, and Max guides himself into you at a snail’s pace. You aren’t quite wet enough yet, so he takes his time. Once he’s wholly sheathed inside your warmth, Max grabs your hips so you can’t move.

“I want you to just sit here and be a good girl while learning, alright?”

“That’s kind of hard with you inside me, Maxie .”

“You can do it, baby. You’re so good for me.”

You aren’t sure what you’d do if you had to act normal while Max’s thick, now-throbbing length is being squeezed by your walls.

He grunts softly as you shift a little, and he kisses your neck, nipping and sucking on your skin. Max's trying to distract himself by reading the script. "Act 1, Scene 1... Oh, god, you're getting wetter, aren't you?"

He starts moving his hips slowly, pushing himself in and out of you, his thick length stretching you open with each movement. He keeps his hand on your hip, holding you in place as he sets a slow, steady pace. "Focus, baby... Focus on the script..."

Max thrusts into you, disguising it as a minor shifting in his chair, and you have to clear your throat to stifle a moan, “Uh … Oh, a chapel. Do…Do you think dad will be able to cross the threshold,” you try to read the line outloud.

“You are doing great, Schatzi. Can you go on.”

“Of course,” you nod your head, rubbing your palm along Max’s thigh out of sight.

Max's breath hitches slightly at your touch, but he keeps his face neutral, continuing with the script. "That’s a good question…" He punctuates each phrase with a measured thrust, maintaining the facade of simply coaching you through the scene. His voice grows huskier.

You begin to feel restless on Max’s cock, wishing for nothing more than to fuck him senseless. You want to end your learning session, spin around, and bounce on him for hours. But of course, until he gives the word, you can’t move. Max's intense gaze bores into you as he slowly trails a finger along your jawline.

“Please,” you whimper, “Let me move.” “Then move.”

With his permission, Max's hands move to your backside, gripping firmly as he helps guide your movements. His hips thrust up to meet yours, the two of you finding a rhythm together. The sound of your labored breaths and wet, slapping bodies fills the room, the script is long forgotten on the desk.

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wonjns · 3 months ago

Text

a dip — l.cy

⌗ pairing. . . anton lee x male reader

⌗ genre. . . smut

⌗ summary. . . you went with your fuck buddy to the pool… that was your first mistake.

⌗ includes. . . sub!reader, fwb!swimmer!anton, semi-public sex (pls don't esp not this one), unprotected sex (also don't),

⌗ wc. 2.5k

°A/N. . . sorta requested but also not really,, also not proofread nor very pretty or as descriptive as i like to be im so sorry this is just what you get when im horny bc these pictures ruined my life

you knew much better than to agree to joining anton lee at the pool of all places.

being a lifetime friend (occasionally with benefits) of his, you knew the swimmer could spend hours upon hours at the pool and not feel an ounce of exhaustion. he'd often convince you to stay long after you finished swimming yourself, just to wait for him to complete his cool down routine before driving you home.

the worst thing of all, though, was that you were constantly reminded just how much he had hidden underneath those oversized sweaters and jeans that he always wore. behind that whole shy boy aesthetic he had going on, was the physique of what you could only compare to a greek god, and even he knew it.

you never got used to it - seeing anton's chiseled body exposed in the aquatic habitat that felt like a second home to him. no matter how sweet his smile or how loud his laugh, nothing could distract you from drooling over a body like that cutting through the water with such ease. it was even worse because the sweet boy knew exactly what he did to you.

he tried to cut you some slack, though, respecting your effort to seem unbothered every time he'd peel his layers of clothing off before jumping into the pool, wearing nothing but his tight blue swim trunks that suffocated his muscular thighs.

one time he even pretended not to notice how you were so worked up that you had to go not-so-subtly get yourself off in the community bathroom.

in your defense, it was a heated indoor pool, and at the time he had completely annihilated you in a race. that proud smirk paired with the steam rising from his rippling back muscles had you biting back moans from the sight alone.

so naturally, it was to no one's surprise once things turned physical between you both.

the adrenaline that swimming gave anton put him on cloud nine, and being the stubborn ass that you were, you were determined to somehow beat this pro swimmer in a race - only for it to end with you losing miserably and somehow hornier than when you started. things would always end one way or another, a taunting comment directed at you leading to his bare back pressed against the cool tile walls of the changing room while you yanked his shorts low enough to take his throbbing cock into your mouth.

but today you were going to be good.

you hadn't hooked up with anton for a while, and were truly only tagging along because he needed a friend to time his laps for the upcoming season.

however, it'd be a lie to say you didn't have to give yourself a prep talk as you set your things down on the pool chairs, noticing nobody was there tonight. it was business as usual, though. anton always convinced the coach to let him have later access while the rest of the team went home so he could focus. you just found it harder to control yourself around him when left alone like this, but tonight you had a new type of dedication to simply swim, help your friend, and go home.

besides, why would it be so difficult for you to keep it in your pants for just one night?

‘oh, thats why.’ you groaned internally as you watched anton strip his shirt from over his head.

fuck, had he been bulking up?

you pretend not to notice how his biceps flex as he runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair while you stripped down to your swim trunks as well. god, his skin was practically glowing even from the dingy indoor lighting.

your head whipped around back towards his direction when you heard a low hiss, watching his face scrunch slightly as he stepped down the pool's ladder. your dick twitched a bit at the sight of his furrowing brows and low groan as he sunk deeper into the water, but you mentally slapped yourself back to reality.

"what's with you?" you questioned approaching the steps, getting ready to enter as well.

"i forgot to remind coach to turn the heaters on tonight," he responded. "shit, its freezing."

you thought he was being dramatic, but the chilly water indeed bit back when you lowered your ankles in. you decided against submerging for now, simply swirling your legs in circles while you spun anton's stopwatch in your hand.

anton began a quick warm up, stretching and dunking himself under water several times and adjusting quickly to the temperature. his wet hair splaying out around his face made him even more gorgeous than he already was, and you felt your cheeks gain a sickening warmth.

"alright bro, let's get started." you cleared your throat, speaking up to hurry the process along before your resolve crumbled.

"sure, bro." he mocked before sending a wink your way. shit, he was already on to you.

anton held eye contact with you as he hoisted himself out of the water to walk over to the swim lanes, causing your breath to silently falter. your instincts made you the first to break contact though, as your eyes followed the droplets that slid down his broad chest. they each trailed down past his perked nipples, over his abs that you could never steal long enough glances at, and eventually disappear into his waistband before leading to — that.

to say the least, anton was generously endowed when it came to the size in the south. the ‘quiet man with a fat cock’ stereotype was only proven true with him, if the way you struggled to fit all of him in your mouth was anything to go by.

anytime anton wore those small trunks or, god forbid, the uniform speedo during his meets - it was impossible to tear your eyes away from how the soaking cloth material clung around his massive length when he emerged from the water.

and boy was he massive. that was a fact you could never forget but somehow still surprised you each time to this day.

you were such a pervert. and he loved it so much.

only 30 minutes into his laps you found yourself desperately missing the shy boy act that he would put on for every body else. once he was in athlete mode, the confidence in his demeanor made your self control fly out the window. it didn't make sense how someone as massive as him could practically fly through the water, flexing every inch of his muscle like it was nothing.

it forced you to reminisce on how he was in bed, constantly taking you with his immense stamina. he could toss and turn you in any way at any given pace, making you see stars like it was nothing — even when you were the one to start things, he made sure to finish them. you remembered the way his biceps would tighten and ripple in your grasp, holding on for dear life as you begged for him to thrust into you harder or squeeze you tighter. you missed the sore feeling those big hands of his would leave on your hips and thighs.

get it together, y/n.

if you had a dollar for every time you had to yank yourself out of the gutter in just the span of one hour, you'd be rich enough to drop out of school entirely.

you had allowed yourself to sit calf-deep in the water at the end of the racing lane, but it wasn't until he reached you after knocking out 3 laps in a row that you regretted your decision. he emerged from the water with a big splash, throwing his head back and letting out the most erotic sigh you could imagine as he finally let air reach his lungs.

a lump formed in your throat, watching anton's buff chest rise and fall in tune with his breaths while both long arms gripped the edge of the pool on either side of your legs.

"what was my time for those?" the swimmer finally asked you once he had stabilized his breathing.

"oh! right, uhm...." you snap out of your trance, gut dropping when you looked down to the stop watching still ticking in your hand.

"you forgot to stop it, didn't you?" anton asked, a tone of more amusement rather than annoyance seeping through his smirk. "don't tell me you got distracted?"

"fuck, i'm sorry." you groaned, annoyed with your own sexual frustration overtaking your ability to play it cool.

"it's fine." anton shrugged, pulling his body out of the water and plopping on to the ledge next you, making you flinch as copious amounts of water splashed around the concrete. "just let me fuck you."

your eyes widened, damn near choking on the breath you gasped in. when you looked up to see his mischievous eyes, you swore you felt him leaning closer.

"what the fuck, ton?" you exhaled, slightly punching his arm, savoring the split second of contact you made with his warm skin.

"god, its been like a month, y/n. i can't focus on conditioning and you can't even click a button for me, clearly." anton chuckled. "lets just do it so i can have a good season. you know you’re my charm.” he teased, gently nudging you back with his elbow.

you couldn't believe the causality he was saying all of this with. but he did always call you his good luck charm, somehow managing to break his own personal record anytime you'd let him hit the night before or suck you off right before a meet, swallowing your cum like it was his own lewd type of protein shake.

it would also be a lie to an insane degree to say you didn't miss the way his soft skin felt gliding along yours whenever he would grind into you, his huge hands giving you a sense of stability in the way he would hold you down.

anton could tell from the way you were shamelessly biting your lip that you were thinking about it. he took the initiative to push your shoulders down until your back was flat against the concrete.

he had barely let you utter out a desperate "okay" before he was rolling over on top of you, not hesitating for a second to drop his hips directly over yours so you could feel how hard his thick bulge had already gotten. you moaned aloud, hips immediately bucking up to meet his as he lowered his head to your neck, feathering wet kisses along your column.

the water dripping from his body was cold, but the warmth of his torso easily overcame it all when you needily reached out to pull the entirety of his weight onto you. you didn't realize how much you missed the rippling of his shoulder blades beneath your palms until you felt his body rolling in perfect tune with yours. you ran your shaky hands all over his chiseled back as you felt his hardened nipples brush against yours, and while you hopelessly wanted more you also didn't want this feeling to end.

you felt a little pitiful, just sitting there allowing yourself to moan in pure bliss as your wet bodies press into each other, gripping anton's wide shoulders as his kisses picked up in heat. he was sucking hickeys into the sweet spot of your neck while his swim trunks tightened more and more as he humped against you, making you dizzier by the second.

"you sound so fucking hot whimpering for me like that." he moaned, licking a long trail up your neck to your jaw.

you didn't have any time to respond before he was pulling you into a searing kiss, his plump lips sloppily devouring yours while groaning into your mouth. you remembered how much you loved the way he tasted, and silently cursed at yourself for going this long without him.

when your lungs began needing air, you broke apart to moan out his name, just for him to grab your jaw and bring you back in for an even more overwhelming kiss. he was taking over every sense you had, filling your entire consciousness with nothing but thoughts of him. your hips bucked up incessantly, your body begging for him since your mouth couldn’t.

the hard concrete beneath you was starting to cause your limbs to ache as anton's mass pressed deeper into you, and he seemed to have read your mind, because before you knew it he was lifting himself up and dragging you into the water.

your mind was much too hazy to even register the vast difference in temperature, especially when you were clinging to anton like you needed him to breathe. it was as if something had taken over you and put you in the passenger seat of your own movements - all you could feel yourself doing was mumbling endless pleas for him to fuck you before pulling him in to reconnect your lips.

you could feel anton's shit eating grin against your lips as he backed you up against the ledge, slightly lifting his leg against the pool wall in order to guide you grinding your clothed cock against his thigh. he took advantage of your loud moan to suck on your tongue, loving the way your fingers curled into his wet hair.

there was only so much you could handle before you were reaching below the water to pull your own swim trunks off, deciding that if anton didn't fuck you right then you might actually explode. anton helped you discard the shorts and send them flying somewhere atop of the water. the second you were free, you felt your cock on his abs, causing your hips to take action and grind against the muscle before you could even think about what you were doing.

some combined variant of a choked laugh and moan left anton’s throat as he watched you throw your head back, obsessed with the way you were using his body to chase the pleasure you craved. he decided that he had his fun, slipping free from his trunks as well and lining himself up against you.

"deep breaths, baby." anton whispered, trying to sound confident but the words coming out as a tremble. you would normally laugh at how it almost sounded like he were advising himself, but you were too far gone.

when he finally bottomed out in you, his size and the pressure of the water had your mind in a different realm. you clung to anton's round shoulders as he held you securely, giving you time to adjust after not having him in you for a month.

"this little ass still so tight and ready for me, i knew you missed me." he sighed out, giving you small experimenting rolls of his hips.

when you gripped him tighter and started fucking yourself on his cock, he knew he was in the clear to send you to oblivion, and thats exactly what he did.

between the desperation in anton’s thrusting and the feeling of your member rubbing along his built torso, it didn't take much for either of you to approach your highs rapidly. you were soon announcing them to each other while you clung your slippery bodies tight together, the once still water around you turning into nothing less of a tsunami.

"'m cumming, ton." you cried out, just for him to groan deeply in agreement.

he held the back of your neck, pushing your head down to make eye contact with him as you both reached your climaxes at the same time, an oddly intimate feeling settling over you in the moment and making your skin buzz.

panting against each other's faces, anton leaned in to claim your lips once more before you were both giggling like a couple of fools, padding your hands around the water as you brought yourselves down to earth.

it took a couple of moments for you to gasp horrendously at the realization of what you both just did, looking to anton with so much terror etched in your eyebrows that he couldn't help but laugh.

"did we just- the school's pool- we-" you sputtered aimlessly, only stopping once anton's hand emerged from the water to cover your mouth.

"don't worry about it, coach will handle it. he won't mind, because after that i'm about to bring this school three new medals."

#anton x reader #kpop x male reader #riize x male reader #riize x reader #anton smut #riize smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #riize hard hours #riize hard thoughts #kpop hard thoughts #male reader smut #kpop male reader #riize fanfic

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mioons · 7 months ago

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단숨에 알아볼 거야, that feeling when

pairing. enhypen ot7 x fem. reader (hcs)

genre. fluff, est. relationship wc. 598 warnings. falling down, bruises, skinship

— enhypen when you trip/fall down. extra. none

LEE HEESEUNG would laugh at first but after seeing you actually in pain he stopped and immediately knelt down next to you.

“hey baby, you okay? can you walk?“ he’d ask while his fingers gently caressed the bruise to try and ease the pain. his demeanour was different from a few seconds ago.

he’d press his lips against the bruise to ‘kiss it better’ he says. honestly he was just trying to find excuses to have his lips on your skin.

PARK JONGSEONG would not let you fall. his hand would be holding you so tightly; so close. why would he ever let his precious baby get hurt?

if he ever saw you trying to keep your balance, he’d stop in his tracks to make sure you wouldn’t fall while doing so.

the thought of you getting hurt made his heart hurt, he never wanted to be the reason you got a bruise or anything of the sort.

“don’t worry baby, i got you. i won’t ever let you fall.”

SIM JAEYUN would fall along with you. purposely.

the moment he saw you fall down he’d pretend to fall as well and sit down beside you, grinning from ear to ear to try and distract you from the pain or the embarrassment.

if you were going to fall he was going to do the same. he would never let his favourite girl go through the embarrassment alone. he vowed to be by your side; even when you fell.

“i guess we fell for each other right?” he’d chuckle and kiss your forehead before helping you up.

PARK SUNGHOON would stare at you for a moment before registering that his girlfriend literally just fell onto the ground.

he’d go over to you and lift you up, carrying to a nearby bench before setting you down and inspecting your body for any bruises. he’d use one hand to stroke your cheek to calm you down and the other to stroke the bruise.

“you okay baby? i’m so sorry, i should’ve been more careful, my pretty girl almost got hurt.”

KIM SUNOO would be rolling his eyes and placing both his hands on his hips. how could his girlfriend be so clumsy? but he found it cute.

“you’re so clumsy baby,” he’d sigh before pulling you up from the ground and rolling his eyes once again, “that’s literally why i told you to hold my hand, but obviously you didn’t listen.”

you’d giggle and place a peck on his cheek, causing his face to turn red, “s-since you’re so cute.. i.. i guess i’ll let it slide.”

YANG JUNGWON would be the one tripping on his own and falling down.

you told him to tie his shoelaces before going out of the house but he didn’t and he ended up tripping on his own shoelaces.

you couldn’t help but laugh and thought of how undeniably adorable he was. “jungwon, i already told you to tie your shoelaces right?”

“i was just showing you how i fell for you the first day i met you!”

NISHIMURA RIKI’s face would contort into one of amusement. he’d be laughing his ass off the moment he saw you fall; wiping the tears with his sleeves.

“god when did i start dating a clown?” he’d chuckle and hug his stomach.

without another second, you grabbed him by the ankles and pulled him down with you. “who’s the clown now?” you’d say and pinch his cheek playfully.

he’d shove you playfully with his shoulder and laugh as you two sat on the ground. “we’re both fools for each other hm?”

luvlyhee 2024 :: taglist open ,, send as ask to be added!

tl: @en-gelic @dioll @ohmydollie @luvvsim @chaewonshoney @jakesangel

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moonstruckme · 3 months ago

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hiiiiiiiii mae <3 i have an idea for thawing out series. what about if reader has a 'moment' w one of them and the other boy gets slightly cranky bc of it but then is also confused bc he doesn't know if he wants r or the other boy.........and then EPIPHANY 😈

Thanks for your request! The mood of it got altered some but I hope you like it :)

collab with @ellecdc

cw: modern au, chronic pain, some hurt w/o comfort but dw we'll fix it down the line

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 2.6k words

“Pads!” Remus shouts across the ice. “Focus!”

Sirius’ cheeks pinken slightly as he tears his stare away from the Russian soloist practicing her quads. You laugh and say something to him that makes him pinch your waist meanly, as if you’ve been acting any better.

You and Sirius are completely starstruck. Remus wants to be irritated at your distractibility, but it’s sort of adorable. You nearly fall on your bum watching the Austrian team run drills, Sirius is too busy eye-flirting with a Swedish skater to remember he’s supposed to be going into a turn, and you both stop your routine entirely when the Canadian duo steps out onto the ice.

You and Sirius draw plenty of stares yourselves, though naturally only Sirius appears to notice. He shoots a wink at a skater admiring him and a glare at another looking too closely at you, his hand possessively on your lower back anytime you’re not running your routine.

Altogether it means you have to spend a couple of extra hours learning to work through this specific brand of stage fright and running your drills again after you all get your heads turned multiple times, but Remus lets it slide. He remembers being just as dazzled during his first Olympics, seventeen years old and feeling like he’d somehow snuck into the hall of fame, an imposter among legends.

Part of him hopes that the embarrassment of having to do a half-ass death spiral in front of so many professionals will make Sirius finally go all the way, but no such luck. He keeps you firmly above where you ought to be, expression impassive even as Remus can see you pleading with him with your eyes. Still, the rest of the routine goes well, and Remus tries not to let it get under his skin. He hopes you’re right and Sirius really will pull through in the final hour; your faith in your partner is absolute, and Remus finds it easy to put his faith in you.

He lets you loose to spend the afternoon as you’d like, but it comes as no surprise when he sees you both on the ice again. Remus knows you’ve likely got plenty of nerves to work off. It’s one thing to compete in your home country, another entirely to represent your home country while competing amongst the best figure skaters in the world. He calls you off the ice before one of you can overexert yourselves and pull something. Sirius swears up and down that his ankle hasn’t bothered him since the day after he hurt it, and Remus hasn’t seen anything to make him suspect differently, but he knows better than to take risks with a healing injury. You spend the rest of the afternoon playing cards and gambling for candies in Sirius’ room.

Eventually you disperse to go to bed. Remus’ hip has been bothering him since the flight the previous day, so he goes on a walk to stretch it out. It’s odd, he thinks, how easy things have come to feel between the three of you. When he first arrived, Remus had every intention of setting up strict professional boundaries, of knowing you only as your coach and seeing you only during practice times. And then you started practicing together, and it seemed like his boundaries wouldn’t even be necessary. Sirius hated him, and besides that the two of you existed in a bubble no one could penetrate, intimate and trusting only each other. Now, after learning about what your former coach did to you, Remus understands why that was necessary. You were protecting each other, safeguarding your partnership and your careers. It would have made sense for you to keep Remus at more than an arm’s length, taking his coaching with grains of salt and keeping him well away from your private lives.

But then there have been days like today. Still bickering with Sirius, still watching the two of you interact with a familiarity only years of history can grant, but feeling warm and welcome despite it all. It feels easy, to tease Sirius and let him snipe back. To let you lean your shoulder into his and not move away. It feels good.

Remus’ hip is feeling fairly good too by the time he gets back, sore from the exercise but not so stiff. As he makes his way to his room, passing Sirius’ and then yours on the way, he sees light sneaking through the crack underneath your door.

He frowns. It’s late, and you’re meant to practice again early tomorrow morning, your last day of practice before you compete. You should be well rested. As he approaches your door, he hears sound coming from inside. Low, crackling voices, and a song that tugs at the fringes of his memory. Then a sound he knows too well, the shushing of skates on ice.

Remus knocks. The door is thin enough that he hears your little gasp and a quiet snap, and when you say “come in,” it sounds like a question.

He suppresses a smile, opening your door cautiously in case you didn’t really mean it.

You’re sitting on your bed, one hand atop your shut laptop. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he says, leaning against the doorway. “It’s late.”

“I know.” You look almost shy. Between that and the pajamas you have on, plaid little shorts and a bulky sweatshirt, Remus has the urge to pinch your chin between his fingers. “Sorry, I was just watching some, um…”

“Figure skating videos.” Your lips part, and he says, “I could hear them from outside.”

“Oh.” You laugh. It’s a nice sound, one Remus can happily say he’s come to know well, but this one is woven through with nerves. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Why is it embarrassing?” he asks honestly. “It’s normal to want to study your competition. And they’re fun, I still watch them all of the time.”

“It’s not…” You give him a tentative look, then scoot over on your bed. “Do you want to see?”

Remus can’t imagine you’re watching anything he hasn’t seen a million times, but he is curious which are your favorites. He’s careful to sit on top of your covers, a few inches between your leg and his. The bed doesn’t allow for anything more.

“Fuck, did they really have to go back to making them out of cardboard?”

That gets another nervous laugh out of you as you open your laptop screen, playing the video. And Remus knows then where he’s heard the music before. It’s his music. You’re watching his old routine, a niche one from a small competition back in Wales. Remus was fourteen when this was filmed.

He glances at you, and you’re watching the video with your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, the colors of the screen dancing across your eyes.

“I’ve always admired how tight your form was,” you say. “You were so young, but it was obvious you were putting the work in.”

“I practiced a lot,” Remus agrees. “Too much, really.”

The nostalgia he feels for figure skating is bittersweet when he watches videos like this. He remembers spending all his time in the rink, every hour he wasn’t in school or at home, nothing spared for friends or hobbies. He did love it, but in loving it he forgot to build a life outside of it. Life was constant motion, training and competitions and awards whirling around him like the rink during a spin; by the time he had his accident anyone that might have been his friend had their own friends, and Remus realized he may have been lonely for years.

“I’m really glad you agreed to coach us.” You’re still watching the video, young Remus doing a camel spin. “You’ve made us a lot better, both of us. I know Sirius is going to end up fixing the spiral, and I’m going to try my best, and…I really hope we can make you proud.”

“You will,” Remus says, instead of you already do. It feels wrong to take any credit for how incredible you are, either one of you, but that is what he feels when he sees you out on the ice. Proud. He looks at you carefully. “You’ve seemed wound pretty tightly lately.”

Your eyes drop, no longer looking at young Remus but not at the older one either.

“It’s alright to be nervous,” he says gently, “so long as you know that you deserve to be here. You’re going to do great.”

You rub your lips together. “Were you nervous during your Olympics? Is it okay for you to talk about?”

“Yeah,” Remus says, a bit surprised, “it’s fine. I was nervous. I was…” he chuckles “I was freaking out, honestly. But when I got out there, it was really just like any rink. The music and the routine were the same, so I just let myself get lost in it. I almost forgot where I was until it was over, and people were waving flags at me and all that from the stands.” He feels his lips curve with the memory. Bumps your shoulder lightly with his. “It’s not so bad. Anyway, I think it’s got to be better to go through it with someone else. I was on my own, but you’ll have Sirius with you.”

You give him a little sideways smile. “And you, right?”

A fond warmth blooms in Remus’ chest. “And me.”

“Has it been difficult for you to coach us?” you ask him tentatively. “I mean, to come back?”

Remus takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” he says after a minute. “At first, it really was. I’m not proud of it, and I don’t think I really knew it at the time, but I was jealous of both of you. Anytime you did something differently than I would have, I got so frustrated that you were throwing away these opportunities I would kill to have again. It was easy to look at either one of you and wish I was in your place.”

You’re nodding, not a trace of hurt or offense in your expression. You look at him like you understand.

“But that stopped a long time ago,” he says. “After I worked with you for longer, it became clear you’re both very different skaters than I was.” You huff a laugh, and Remus nudges your shoulder admonishingly. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I think early on I wasn’t a very good coach to you because I couldn’t see your individual strengths. But now I think I can, and it’s really a privilege to watch you skate together. It’s lovely. And I’ve loved getting to know you and Sirius, too. So, yeah, it was difficult at first, but I’m really glad I came on. And I’m glad you were patient enough to let me stay.”

That got a bit more earnest than he intended. Remus feels heat rise to his face, but you’re still nodding, thoughtful, like you’re trying to wrap your head around it. He sees you rub your lips together again.

“I really want to do well,” you say softly, “but I’m not the skater Sirius is. I don’t have his natural talent, and I don’t flourish under pressure the way he does. I—that’s usually when I mess up.” Remus’ chest aches at the vulnerability in your voice, his hand moving unconsciously to cover yours on the bed. Some of the tension goes out of you at the touch. “I’ve tried my whole life to keep up with him, but I’m never quite there, and you guys, you’ve both been these incredible, talented skaters…” Your eyes meet his, timid and ashamed. “I’m afraid I’m going to let you both down.”

“Are you kidding?” You drop your gaze, and a surprised little laugh trips off Remus’ tongue as he ducks his head to follow, holding your hand more securely. “I’m sorry, that was rash, but really. How can you think that? You’re one of the most talented skaters I’ve ever seen.”

You’re still avoiding his gaze. He takes your chin in his hand, gentle, an encouragement more than anything, but you let him turn you towards him.

“I don’t care how much of it comes from natural aptitude,” he says firmly. “You’re an incredible skater. Even when I didn’t know you at all, it was obvious that you care about this more than Sirius or I likely ever have. That’s important. You can see it in how hard you train, and in how you move on the ice.” Remus shakes his head, expelling a breath. “It’s mesmerizing. You’re beautiful to watch.”

You’re not shying away from him now, but Remus doesn’t let go of you. Your expression is wide open, diffident but curious. He goes on.

“The way you skate, it’s not just about the motions or the art of it, it’s joyous. Anyone can see how happy you are out there. That’s what makes you so good. You really love it.”

“You did, too,” you murmur.

His voice softens in kind. “I did. But not the way you do.”

Your eyes lower, but this time he allows you it. Remus is suddenly acutely aware of your leg where it's pressed up against his, of his own heartbeat. He’s still holding your hand.

You wet your lips. “Do you really mean all that?”

“Why would I give you a whole speech I didn’t believe?”

You crack a smile. “Some coaches call it a pep talk.”

“You’re beautiful to watch,” he says again, voice dropping to a murmur as he realizes you’re staring at his lips. He breathes in, and the distance between you lessens. “You’re beautiful.”

Remus knows he’s judged you rightly when your hand comes around his waist, pressing into the softness of his jumper to glean an impression of the skin underneath. You kiss like you skate, with a sweet eagerness, ready to explore and wanting to learn. Your lips part, inspiring a similar parting in Remus, and you let out a breath with a soft humming sound.

Remus' nerves are alight underneath your hand on his side. He angles his torso to get you closer, free hand coasting up your thigh. Your fingers bunch in his jumper, kisses picking up heat as he lets his hand settle at the small of your back, an echo of how Sirius touched you this morning when—

Sirius.

Remus draws away from you so suddenly he hears you gasp. He still has your face in his hand, can feel the flustered warmth of it before he removes that too, putting distance between you.

“Sorry.” His voice is hoarse. Guilt burns in the back of his throat. “Sorry, it’s not you. I just, I—”

Sirius. Sirius. Sirius.

“I didn’t think that through.” He can feel his heartbeat in his mouth. Sirius is in love with you. Remus is only just starting to feel like a part of your team, but this could send you all back in time. Kissing one of his skaters, who the other is in love with? His stomach hurts. “I’m your coach, and you—we have a big competition coming up. I shouldn’t have done that.”

He edges off your bed, looking at you while he does. Your lips are still parted, eyes wide.

“It was a really shit idea,” he says, “and I’m so sorry. It’s my fault.”

You rub your lips together. Remus feels it like you’re still moving them against his own. “It’s fine,” you say on a breath. “We can forget it.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says again.

“It’s okay.” You’re shaking your head, and he’s backing away, both of you like deer caught in headlights. “You’re right, it was silly. We’re professionals, we can get past it.”

Remus feels himself nodding, feels the handle of your door in his hand.

“Practice in the morning?” you ask weakly.

He pushes out a breath as he opens the door. “Yeah. Six thirty.”

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