#i enjoy him but he's on thin ice
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hikennosabo · 1 year ago
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i think watching stampede before everything else was the right choice, it let me experience the anime without preconceived notions about what trigun “is,” but it also gave me a not-insignificant amount of sympathy for knives, which makes reading the manga A Bit Difficult. like. girl (gender neutral). you’re really not giving me anything to work with here.
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ipatrichor · 1 month ago
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dead boy detectives episode four thoughts
hey remember last post where i said last episode gave me everything I wanted. HOW ARE WE FEELING NOW BOYS. WE GOT THE BREAKDOWN!!! THAT MAN HAD AN EMOTIONAL OUTBURST AND COLLAPSED WE LOVE TO SEE IT!!!!!!
okay so i was wrong and charles' dad did not kill him. that's fine tbh I like this a lot, that he was essentially accidentally killed by his friends bc he stood up to them when they were bullying someone (? i think that's what the scene was implying. idk i was really excited about seeing him have a mental breakdown i might have missed something 😭). not to say that what they were doing was an accident, i just don't think they were trying to kill him i think they took the bullying too far and then maybe panicked when he died and covered it up, and that's why his death is unsolved? anyway very interesting! they truly do not miss with charles everything we've gotten from him is so great it makes me even more excited for edwin backstory haha
GOD CHARLES' BREAKDOWN.... that is everything i've ever wanted from a character repressing their emotions do u understand that. he got slammed into some of his worst memories, the most painful and traumatic moments of his life, and then with all those emotions back on the surface he went apeshit!!! i Love him getting aggressive to protect his friends (because that's really what he does, isn't it. he's the brains, i'm the brawn. god.) and then breaking down crying because he can't keep pretending like things are fine anymore, there's too much all at once for him to shrug it off. PHENOMENAL stellar acting stellar writing i love all of this i am eating it like soup!!!
and just. the things he was saying, about how he has to keep being positive he has to keep it together because if he doesn't who will? who else have they got to keep spirits up and stop the group from self-destructing? god it's. so good. i am not going to elaborate on some of that striking a nerve but. god. they gave me everything i wanted to see i love it so much!!! that is everything i hoped for from this story beat you understand!!!!
i wonder if maybe jenny is going to get an episode? or like a b-plot focused on her, something like that. the love letters seem like a plot thread that's going to be pulled on later, it just doesn't seem like this show to establish a mystery and then have it only be a background detail. we'll see tho ^^ i love jenny, i'd love to see more of her she's so fun. reminds me of a friend of mine tbh so i am biased, but also i deeply appreciate a woman with knives on a societal and also personal level 👍
okay can i just say. the night nurse (thank u noble for telling me her name <3) is kind of an asshole right. like i don't think she's evil she's doing a very necessary job, but it's actually delightful how ruthless she is about it. oh these two souls are refusing to move on? throw them into their worst traumas and the most painful moments of their lives to convince them there's nothing worth staying on earth for. sure, it's cruel, but who cares? it's efficient, and that's what matters. these are just children acting out to her, who don't understand the importance of what she does to keep everything in order. i love ruthless characters, and she's done so well she's so fun to watch
also. i do not think this is the last we've seen of her. like yeah she got fed to a sea monster but also she's literally from the afterlife and can travel back to earth wherever as long as she gets the permits. so. i think they bought some time, but that won't last long and they're still stuck in the town so i think she's far from done with them, and we'll see her again probably sooner rather than later (especially since she knows where they're staying)
crystal. my girl. beloved. PLEASE stop almost dying every episode it's bad for my blood pressure. you don't understand you're a living person which means they can kill you while still having you as a character on the show by making you become a ghost. you and niko don't have that safety net Please be more careful 😭
we got some really interesting lilith lore this episode, and it's got me thinking. a goddess of blood and wronged women... what about esther? she's been kidnapping and killing little girls, is that not wronging them? has it just not caught up to her yet because she's been making sacrifices, and if so what happens now that the squad has stopped her from kidnapping more kids? is she on some kind of time limit? this is So interesting I am deeply intrigued by the possibilities here...
the cat king was... there. okay i will admit the scene where he shapeshifted into monty and then charles was interesting. the implications are Fascinating, especially the order- he shifts into monty first and only briefly, but it doesn't seem to affect edwin until he shifts into charles. and then, edwin seems almost entranced until the yellow eyes show through which is. there are certainly implications! idk if it means anything besides instinctively trusting charles more bc they've known each other longer or something like that- especially considering this is netflix we're talking about, but then again the show got cancelled so maybe things did get gay! they've also set up edwin possibly having a crush on monty, or at least being unsure how he feels about him so. no idea but i am Keeping An Eye On That 👀
also. him saying he's never really been interested in/seen the appeal of kissing but now isn't sure whether it's something he wants... clutching grayro/demiro edwin to my chest. this is mine now he's one of us 👍
speaking of edwin, his moment there with niko at the end was really sweet. they're watching scooby doo together 😭 it's the perfect blend of their interests bc it's a detective cartoon.... their friendship is so cute holy shit. the simplicity and genuineness of their dynamic is so sweet, how edwin praises niko's detective work (telling her she's good at something very important to him!) and niko offers a listening ear without judgement as he works through what looks like it's shaping up to be a sexuality crisis. they mean so much to me... they're friends your honor!!!!
oh also charles and crystal kissed. idk man i don't have many thoughts on that. good for them 👍 I think the framing was sweet, in that the show sets up the kiss as the 'something real' crystal wants, but i will admit that part of me is disappointed because i wanted crystal and niko to get together. idk i thought they balanced each other out well, with crystal being subtle where niko is blunt and niko having hope where crystal is cynical, but. that's fine. i wasn't super invested. it's fine. no lesbians for me i guess... sad! oh well
all silliness aside, this episode was yet another Banger they simply do not miss!! the lighthouse ghost was such a fun character, and i love niko's kindness shining through again as she offers edwin red sea glass for courage and the walrus man green sea glass for emotional stability after telling him how she found the washerwoman. niko sasaki the woman that you are.... anyway i'm starting the next episode and then afterwards we'll see how i feel i might need to break for dinner lol
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voskhozhdeniye · 2 months ago
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.........
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latinokaeya-moving · 2 years ago
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idm ppl i don’t know liking/rbing my random genshin posts like idk how u find them months after i’ve made them but like sure go wild however do NAWT follow me bc i will inevitably expose myself as the biggest diluc hater ever and i am not reasonable abt it at all. this is my only warning god bless
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aliens-took-my-iwa-chan · 1 year ago
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I made a tier list for fictional characters and. I was having a hard time choosing between the top tier (my literal favorite) and the bottom tier (I will throw hands) for Henry Wotton-
look I have very strong feelings about him theyre just a little conflicted
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mommynott · 10 days ago
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Thin Ice
Theodore Nott x Reader
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Summary: Your friends drag you to a hockey game, but halfway through you lock eyes with Theo. You can’t help but feel a strong pull toward him. Deciding to shoot your shot with the player.
Warnings: 18+, MDNI, SMUT, Chars 18+, Hockey AU, flirting, tons of tension, explicit language, hockey!theo, dom!theo
A/N: Starting this series for my babe @amiableness I hope you enjoy it because this is just the start! Also BIG shoutout to my girl @westcanaan82 for the hockey!theo render. Definitely go Check out her page because she makes me DROOOOL
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The arena was packed, and the noise was overwhelming as you sat in your seat, begrudgingly dragged there by your friends. You were scrolling through your phone, totally uninterested in the game unfolding before you.
But then… it seemed out of nowhere. A tall and muscular figure on the ice caught your attention. Fuck he’s hot. It was player number 13, Theo, whose piercing eyes were fixed on you through his helmet.
You felt a smirk growing on your lips before he nodded his head up at you and skated along the ice. Shuffling a puck with his hockey stick with ease. The game going on. Fuck maybe this game isn’t too boring. You held your phone in your hand but your gaze settled on him on the ice. Suddenly gaining an interest in this sport.
After he shot a puck into the goal he pumped his fist in the air but you swore he looked over at you. Throwing you a flirty wink. And trust me, he fucking did. At this point, Theodore was trying to show off for you. Hoping he would get your attention. Craving your attention.
The game ended, and his team had won the match. But after all the eyefucking you two did you wanted to stay back in hopes to see that same player. “I’ll catch up with you guys later!” Your friends gave you a knowing look while they walked out. You slowly moved around the now quiet arena.
A few minutes later, you started to feel defeated, thinking he must’ve left but that’s when you heard a low and deep Italian accent. “I noticed you in the crowd…Seemed to be pretty glued to that phone of yours.”
Bright cherry red painted across your cheeks as you turned around. Quickly tucking your phone away in your purse, you gave the hockey player a small sheepish smile. “Uh…Yeah, sorry…It’s just not really my thing I guess.”
But when your gaze settled upon the player, he wasn’t in the same gear from on the ice. Oh no. he was now in a tight under-armor top, showing off his muscular and toned torso along with a pair of black sweatpants. Freshly out of the shower, his brown locks clung to his forehead. The smell of his body wash was rich and intoxicating as it wafted all around you. Fuck me.
“Not your thing, huh? What is your thing then?”
Theo asked, his taunting tone hinting with flirtatiousness. Feeling the way your heart skipped from his words. His deep voice. Fucking hell. You hesitated for a moment, your fingers anxiously playing with the rings you wore. “I don’t know…Reading…Movies.”
Replying to the Italian, he ran a hand through his wavy hair, slicking it back and giving you a charming smile. “A reader. Interesting….” Theodore said in the same teasing tone before sticking out his hand and you matched him, giving your own and shaking it. The second your hands met, a spark pulsated through your body.
“Nott. Theodore Nott. But you can call me Theo, Cara.”
The charming accent rolled off his tongue smoothly as you both exchanged names. You crossed your arms over your chest, shifting your weight to one leg. Bringing your confidence out. Something you always had. “Anyways…What’s interesting about me reading?” You asked, giving him a bratty little grin.
Theo cocked an eyebrow, scoffing under his breath as he took a step before you. Eyeing you up and down fully. “Ah, I’m not sure. Just interesting…What do you like to read?” He questioned as he casually leaned closer toward you.
You tried to focus but his voice, his words were so smooth it sent little shivers down your spine. "Umm… mostly romance— Stuff like that." You mentally chastised yourself for sounding so fucking cliche. He seemed very interested in you…Maybe even so much so that you could get some hockey player action.
Theo gave you a lazy smile and your heart fluttered, feeling the tension building between you both. "Romance, huh? That’s fitting." You raised an eyebrow, confused. What the fuck was he on about? “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, leaning even closer towards you. “You look like the romantic type….Soft…sweet— Y���know?.” Your cheeks burned again. Was he flirting with you? This couldn’t possibly be real. This was something out of the novels you’d read.
“Oh— Thanks I guess?” A sea of giggles freed from your lush lips. The same ones Theo’s eyes were burning into now. He stalked toward you as you walked back until you were pinned against the white brick wall of the ice rink.
He carefully took a strand of your hair, wrapping it around his pointer finger while his tongue poked the inside of his cheek. “Can I get the pretty girl's number, hm?” He asked, remaining not only charming but… cocky. Drawing you to him even more.
It seemed that your confidence exuded his own to creep out. But fuck did you like it. A confident man like this? Damn. “Huh…I’m not sure. Can you?” Teasing him right back you subtly bit your lower lip to fight back the giggles that wanted to escape from within.
“Fuckin’ tease. Isn’t that right?”
Theodore now pinned both of his hands above your head, practically towering over your tiny frame. “Perhaps just a little bit…” Breathing out your words, your gaze danced along with his ocean eyes. Feeling your heart thump hard against your chest.
“I like a tease…A challenge…” His tone now held something of mischief, giving him a different vibe. And fuck, your whole body was fucking feeling it. “Yeah?” You asked, bringing out more of your sultry tone, keeping your lips slightly parted as you glanced down to his own.
That was it. Theo was going to come in hot. Make his move. Smash his lips to yours. But just as he was millimeters away from ravishing you a loud shout was heard. “—Nott! Back in the locker room!” His fucking coach. What a cock block. Theo rolled his eyes and cursed in Italian under his breath.
“We aren’t finished here…” He replied to you lowly, throwing up his pointer finger to his coach. He reached into his pocket. Pulling out a pen and taking your arm. Feeling the tickle of his scribbling, He wrote something on it as you sat there dumbfounded.
Once he was done, you scanned over your forearm. In sloppy handwriting was written his number followed by “Text me, Tesoro ;)” giggling at his little winky face as you nodded your head.
With that, he walked off with his coach to the locker room. That night you got home thinking of everything and anything that could have happened if his damn trainer didn’t interrupt you two. That’s when you decided to send him a flirty yet risky text…
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Ahhhh the start of hockey!theo 🏒🥅⛸️
Really hope y’all enjoyed im too excited to continue on with this au! ATP I have so many and STILL have some In the back of my mind help lol
As always asks and requests are open my sweet peas 💋
Divider pinned in my masterlist🌙
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transmunsons · 2 months ago
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Steve Harrington had known for a while that he was on thin ice. His parents let him change his hair and clothes and name after a harrowing night that ended with him in a hospital bed.
So he tried to behave. They couldn’t complain as long as he played the perfect son. He did everything right. He excelled at sports, he didn’t make a fuss, he even fell in love with a wonderful girl.
Though, things got a little rocky when his dealer left town and handed things over to the local freak show. When he went to pick up his bottles, Loudmouth Munson tried to get under his skin.
“Y’know I always had a feeling you were doping.” Munson said, leaning against the picnic table.
“Would you just hand it over?” Steve held out his hand for the containers Munson was keeping hostage.
“This is a lot, Harrington, you’d think Hawkins would have actually won a championship by now with you on this stuff.”
Steve resisted the urge to rip it from his hands. Munson grinned an insufferable smile, like he enjoyed how much Steve was glaring at him.
“I’m not taking it because of basketball,” Steve said.
“So why then?”
“I don’t have to tell you shit.”
“Dude,” Munson raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Relax, I’m just messing with you. Call it fair play. Didn’t think you’d be so sensitive about it.”
Steve’s hands were still itching to grab it. Munson seemed to notice how antsy he was, following his anxious gaze flickering between the package and Munson’s face.
“Don’t ya trust me, Harrington?” He said.
“Not even a little,” Steve replied. He felt a tendon jump in his jaw.
“Can’t handle the thought of not having your steroids? Some people actually need these hormones to survive, rich boy.” Munson’s tone switched from teasing to something more somber, or maybe bitter. It was hard for him to tell those things.
Under normal circumstances he would have never said what he ended up saying. Munson had a way of pushing his buttons.
“I need them.” Steve watched an ant crawl around a knot in the wood in front of him. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Nobody in this town would understand.”
Steve looked up at a shocked Eddie Munson and held out a handful of bills. “Give me my drugs, take your money, and don’t tell fucking anybody about this. You got it?”
Eddie didn’t move for a long moment, carefully studying Steve and his outstretched hand. His rings flashed as he pushed the package over to Steve’s side of the table and grabbed the money in one swift movement.
“‘Course, Harrington. You get dealer-dealee confidentiality just like everybody else.”
Steve was glad the transaction was over. He grabbed his hormones and stood up to leave when Eddie’s voice stopped him in his tracks.
“You’re not the only one.”
Eddie looked very serious, dark curls brushing the tops of his furrowed brows. It was a good look on him.
Steve felt his hopes rise. There were others like him in town. But, how could he be sure that Eddie was talking about what he thought he was talking about?
“Munson,” Steve said cautiously, “I don’t think we’re on the same page.”
Eddie, still seated, crossed his arms. “I guess there’s no way to know for sure unless one of us says it plainly, and I’m sure as hell not going to. I don’t want to end up on the news.”
“You don’t trust me?” Steve echoed, quirking up the side of his mouth.
It got a small smile from Munson. “You don’t even know who it is; dealer-dealee confidentiality goes both ways. I can’t go around blabbing about what drugs everybody’s on, I’d alienate my customer base.”
“Then I guess we’re at a standstill.”
Eddie looked at him with a curious expression. “I guess so.”
Steve took a few steps away from the table, leaves crunching under feet, before turning around. He hesitated. Eddie looked at him with those dark brown eyes of his, which didn’t help his resolve.
“Eddie,” the man’s eyebrows raised at the use of his first name. Steve continued, “if you ever feel like blabbing, you know where to find me.”
Eddie stayed quiet for once, the sounds of the woods surrounding the two of them as they lingered.
“Same to you, Steve,” He finally replied.
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ajdrawshq · 2 years ago
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i know every time i try to talk abt or liveblog p5 i Cannot physically shut up abt Akechi but contrary to what that may make u believe. he is not actually my favorite. hes in 2nd place on a good day
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whorelaud · 17 days ago
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꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 untouchable ¡
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pairing experienced¡roommate¡rafe cameron x innocent¡reader
sunmary rafe guides you through your first masturbation after you told him you've never touched yourself before, his offer tempting you in ways you've never experienced before. your curiosity grows as well as your desire, leading to an intimate moment that changed things between you two.
contains smut! first time masturbating, guided orgasm, fingering, lots and lots of kissing, dirty talk, nipple play, needy reader, player rafe, hes a tease!! he also interrupts reader, uhh thats ab it (i think). wc; 4.2k
a/n hi !! this took two days to write and at least 1-2 months to get out of my notes blaahhh hope you enjoy!!!!
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“Have you ever had someone go down on you?” 
You choked out a snort of disblief, taken aback by the question. Rafe, who was seated inches away from you, chuckled, turning his head in your direction, causing the smile on your face to instantly vanish. 
He wasn’t joking. 
You cleared your throat, feeling heat crawl past your neck, until it eventually settled on your face. You’ve had your fair share of embrassing moments with your roommate, but this? You wanted the ground to split and swallow you whole, too ashamed to respond. 
Truth be told, you’ve never involved yourself in any sexual activities, let alone had someone go down on you. Hell, you’ve barely ever touched yourself before, brushing off your random bursts of arousal whenever you were sexually frustrated
So, the question here was, how were you supposed to tell him that? Reveal that you were a virgin at heart, and that you’ve never had someone touch you intimatly; not that you’ve done it. 
You were painfully aware of how experienced Rafe was, with the latter informing you all about his hookups; and that was besides the amount of girls he brought over. The walls were thin enough to give everything out, their loud moans and whimpers echoing through your ears. In conclusion, you didn’t need him to break down what he was up to. 
“Not that I remember.” You muttered, brushing off the question. 
“What?” He cocked his head to the side, snatching the spoonful of ice cream from your hold. “Who doesn’t remember getting eaten out?” 
“People are busy, Rafe.” You scoffed, licking the drop of ice cream off your thumb. “Not everyone has the time to fuck around.”
“You’re not busy,” he muffled out, tossing the spoon back in the tube of ice cream on your lap. “You don’t go out, all you do is lay around the whole day, then proceed to complain over the fact that you did nothing all day.”
You rolled your eyes, faking an annoyed expression at his words. Rafe adjusted his position, manspreading on the sofa, until his knee was hovering over yours, the contact ceasing the distance between you. 
“I mean, come one…” he trailed off, tone slightly teasing. “I’ve never seen you bring anyone over, are you really not interested in any of that stuff?” 
“How about you mind your business?” You huffed, feeling your ears burn with heat. “Why do you wanna know so bad?” 
“What?!” He defensively shot back, “I’m jus’ curious, besides, you never tell me anything, it’s always me talking.” 
“It’s ‘cause there’s nothing to tell you,” you mumbled under your breath, avoiding Rafe’s gaze. “There, you happy?”
Silence seeped through the air, atmosphere heavy with tension. Rafe‘s lips parted with disbelief, speechles by your blunt response. That was… new, you never brought up your sexual life to the latter before, so to think you were admitting to being a virgin over a silly argument struck Rafe to his core. 
"You're not like, serious or anything, right?” He attempted to laugh it off, smile fading when your expression remained the same. “Shit, you’re being serious.”
Your gaze settled on your hands in your lap, too embarrassed to glance over at Rafe, whose eyes burned holes through your flesh. You could envision the look of disbelief on his face, not having to look to know that he was shocked. 
“Why are you surprised?” You giggled, brushing off the heavy tension seeping through. “You said it yourself, i’ve never really brought anyone over.” 
“I was messing,” he swiftly replied, “I didn’t think you were you know… a virgin.”
“Okay, if you word it like that…” You tilted your head to the side, a tight-lipped smile spreading across your lips. 
“Have you never like, engaged in anything?” Rafe muttered, trying to play off the question as something casual, though you knew it wasn’t. “You know, never gave a guy a blowjob before?” 
Nothing about your roommate asking if you’ve given a guy a blowjob was casual. 
“No.” You shook your head, a snort escaping your throat. 
“You’ve kissed someone before though, right?” He asked, voice lowering with hesitation. 
“I’ve kissed someone before.” You exclaimed, leaning your head back on the sofa. “You already knew about that.” 
“You did tell me,” he nodded his head, “Have you never like…”
“What is it now, Rafe?” You question, teasing hinted through your tone. “Why are you investigating me?”
“‘M not; jus’ curious.” He muffled out, voice barely above a whisper. “Have you never pleased yourself?”
“What?” You ask, coming to a halt. 
The question filled with temptation, something you both chose to avoid for the sake of your friendship. Rafe always playfully flirts with you, using every chance he could to tease you. Those usually end in you brushing it off, not thinking too much of it. 
However, this was personal. He was asking questions that shall be private, not for him to hear, nor know about.  
“Have you never touched yourself before?” He elaborated, gaze flickering to your lap. “You’ve touched yourself, right?” 
You remained silent, blinking far too many times for your liking. You fidgeted with the rings hugging your fingers, busying yourself with the movie displayed on the tv, now long forgotten with the ongoing conversation. 
“Fuck.” Rafe muttered under his breath, throat going dry. “That’s so…” 
“Embrassing,” you cut him off, playing off your embarrassment. “I know.” 
“It’s hot; somehow turns me on,” he corrected, continuing his statement. “Knowing you’ve never touched yourself before.” 
Your head shifted in his direction, a flustered expression spreading across your face as you felt heat settle on your cheeks. You swallowed around your throat, mouth gaping to speak, met with utter silence in return. 
Shivers ran down your spine, the sensation like feathers on your skin. Rafe’s blank expression made things worse, displaying how serious he was being. He wasn’t fucking around, even with how swift the conversation took a turn. 
“Shut up,” you mumbled, clearing your throat. “Quit messin’ around.” 
“Did that get you?” Rafe choked out a giggle, easing the tension between you. 
“That wasn’t funny!” You huffed, lightly shoving his shoulder. “Don’t joke around like that.”
“I mean,” he said, teasingly fidgeting with his tongue. “It wasn’t a joke, but–”
“Rafe!” Your face heat up, flustered expression spreading across your face. 
“Sorry!” He chuckled, drifting off for a moment. His gaze trailed down your body, a sly smirk finding his lips once again. “You need help? I’ll guide you through it.” 
You paused, considering his suggestion for a moment, even if he meant it as a joke. Your lips quivered into a thin line, feeling your throat dry up when his hand found your bare thigh, action teasing, tempting you in ways that were forbidden. 
And before you got time to process the gesture, he grabbed the ice cream tube from your lap, instantly scooping a bite with the spoon inside. It took you a moment to catch on with what he did, attempting (and failing) to snatch it back from his hold. 
“Hey, that’s mine.” You muttered, gaze shifting up to Rafe when he stood to his feet. 
“What’s mind is yours, remember?” He winked, walking backwards to maintain eye contact with you. “We both pay the bills around here.” 
“I paid for that, though.” You argued, mimicking the latter’s action as you followed in his steps. 
“From whose wallet?” He reasoned, causing you to go quiet. 
Right, you did steal ten bucks to buy that from him; though the boy didn’t mind. 
Your shoulder relaxed, defeated by the boy’s response as you watched him enter his room, letting the door shut behind him. 
That was that.
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Later that night, you found yourself slipping under your convers, tempted by Rafe’s words from earlier. Your hands traced down your body, halting around the sliver of skin in between your shirt and shorts. 
Your fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts, teeth digging through your bottom lip as your hand tumbled beneath the thin cloth, the sensation of your cold fingers brushing over your heat sending shivers throughout your body. 
Your digits lightly traced over your heat, sliding down your folds, inaudible gasp escaping your throat when you noticed how wet you’ve gotten from earlier. Rafe’s words echoed through your ears as your eyes fell shut, imagining him guiding you through your masturbation with his words, the thought spiraling pleasure through your body.
You collected your juices with your fingers, gasping as you traced them back to your clit, the sensation overwhelming you whole. You started off with slow rubs to your cunt, letting your pleasure build up within every touch you committed to. 
You imagined Rafe’s hand instead of yours, rubbing your clit while he whispered praises to your ears. The thought washed guilt over you, aware you were going to regret your pathetic thoughts once the pleasure wears off. 
Imagining your roommate going down on you was your last predicament tonight, yet, here you were, touching yourself while pretending it was Rafe, his words never leaving your mind. You would’ve been down for whatever, the least he could’ve done was push through with his teasing, and you would’ve gladly accepted it. 
But he didn’t, and that made you want him even more. The idea of not being able to have him, not even for a moment, because it was forbidden. You were well aware of that, barely holding back before, whether Rafe stood too close, or said something tempting. 
“Hey, uh, have you seen my green–” Rafe burst through the door, freezing in his tracks once he noticed the state you were in. “Sweatshirt?” 
The covers weren’t much of help, as Rafe instantly realized what you were doing. He gulped, feeling himself twitch in his pants, as his fingers clutched around the doorknob. You immediately jumped out of your position once you spotted him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. 
Your eyes trailed down to his torso, feeling heat crawl to your face when you noticed his bare chest, out on display. Right, that was a norm, you should’ve been used to it by now.
“What the fuck, dude?” You shot back, heavy breaths escaping your throat. “Can’t you knock?”
“Hmm?” He hummed, too hazed up to process what you were saying. “Right, sorry, I– I should’ve knocked.”
You felt so exposed under his gaze, tugging your bottom lip with guilt as you caught sight of his face. Maybe that was meant to happen, a sign that you shouldn’t have crossed the invisble line you created, pleasing yourself over the thought of your best friend. 
“What do you need?” You muffled out, gulping when his eyes flickered down to your lips. 
“Well, I was jus’ asking if you’ve seen my sweatshirt, but…” He trailed off, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “You seem busy.” 
“I was sleeping.” You replied, though the excuse was not much help. “You– you interrupted.”
“Clearly,” He cocked his head to the side, seeking your gaze with his own, a desperate exhale escaping his parted lips when your eyes wouldn’t meet his. “I’ll leave you to it, then…”
He trailed off, hinting something with his tone. He hesitated to leave, still clutching into the door handle while he stared at you, waiting for you to at least say something, stop him before he does anything stupid and ruin your friendship in the process. 
However, you didn’t, leading the latter to shut the door, the gesture causing you to wince. You gulped, observing as Rafe came to a halt, his back to the door, with his hand yet wrapped around the doorknob. His lips parted with an exhale, fingers finding his jaw as he busied himself with his chin. 
And if you didn’t know him any better, you would’ve thought he was nervous. But he wasn't. You knew Rafe, he was your roommate, after all. 
“What are you doing?” You questioned, voice low enough he could barely hear you. 
Rafe remained silent, leisurely approaching you with haste. Your gaze followed his every move as he came to a halt around the edge of the bed, now towering over you. You fluttered your eyes up at the latter, breath hitching when you noticed the look of despair on his face. 
His fingers hovered beneath your chin, thumb slightly tracing your bottom lip, the fraction causing your mouth to part. He tilted your head with the fingers around your jaw, cursing under his breath once he caught sight of your hazed state, too far gone to comprehend your surroundings. 
“You need help with that?” He questioned, gaze flickering to the shorts that hung low on your waist, able to see them now that he was in your presence. 
“Huh?” You questioned, vision going blurry when his thumb grazed over your teeth. “What do you mean?”
He groaned when your tongue darted out, licking a stripe of his finger, the gesture bold, encouraging him to continue. And he did, inserting his thumb inside your mouth, the sensation of your hot spit coating his finger earning a shuddered exhale out of the boy. 
You swirled your tongue around the digit, driving Rafe over the edge. He imagined your lips wrapped around his cock instead of his finger, the dirty thought causing him to twitch in his pants, fully hard hard by now. 
“You’re so fucking hot,” he whispered, withdrawing his finger from in between your lips, and replaced it with his own as he captured your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. “Can’t believe you’ve never let anyone touch you before.” 
“Is it that hard to believe?” You hushed, lowering your tone to match his. “Are you gonna tease me over it?”
“While that does sound tempting right now,” he smiled over your mouth, littering wet kisses in between his sentence. “I’ll pass, ‘rather focus on you, doll.”
Your face heat up at the pet name, too flustered to respond. You were still in disbelief over this, whatever it was, not expecting anything like this to happen between you two. Fuck, Rafe was kissing you, and you were totally in for it, in fact, your body was speaking faster than your mind, following your needs before you could process it. 
“I’ll guide you through your first time, baby.” He muttered under his breath, knee finding the space in between your legs. He captured the corner of your lips in an open-mouthed kiss, one of his hands toying with the strap of your bra. “Let me make you feel good.” 
“You know,” you trailed off, enjoying the sensation of his fingers tracing the bare skin around your shoulders, the contact like feathers to your flesh. “We shouldn’t be doing this.” 
“Why not?” He asked, hands shifting down to your waist, barely above the hem of your top. “It’s not like we’re doing anything wrong, ‘m only helpin’ you.”
“Jus’ shut up n’ kiss me.” You slurred, wrapping both arms around his neck as you ceased the distance between you. 
A content hum left Rafe’s throat, pressing you down to the bed with the hands around your waist. The latter hovered over you, angling his head to the side to deepen the kiss. A gasp escaped your throat as he nibbled on your bottom lip, the unexpected gesture causing you to part your mouth. 
Rafe saw a chance, and took it, tongue invading the inside of your mouth with the access you granted him, your fingers toyed with the bozzed hair at the back of his head, almost yelping when his cold fingers made contact with the sliver of skin around your stomach. 
You’ve never been touched by a man like this before, Rafe was exploring parts in your body that were meant to be hidden, not for his gaze to admire. Multiple times he had to hold back, watching you innocently walk around the house with a set of pajamas that barely covered anything, revealing all your curves. 
You drove him crazy, with everytime you moved, slightly teased him, told him things no one should know, he wasn’t able to handle it, not with how oblivious you were to the hints he kept dropping. And if he rubbed one out to the thought of you, he wasn’t mentioning it; not to you, that’s for sure.
His fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts, withdrawing from the kiss to glance down, making you feel shy under his gaze. He tugged the elastic down your side, hissing when his fingers made contact with the warm skin hidden underneath. 
“Fuck, baby.” He groaned, “Get these off, need to see you s’ bad.” 
You moaned at the remark, letting your eyes fall shut as he tugged your shorts down, levelling them with your knees, until he could get a good view of your dripping cunt. A shuddered sigh escaped his lips, fingers instantly finding your folds. 
You gasped at the sensation, arching into the touch, chasing after your pleasure when he moved his hand up your sides, pressing your hips down to the bed. 
“Stay,” He whispered, lips ghosting over yours. “I’m supposed to be helpin’ you, ‘member?”
Right, that skipped over your head. 
“Well then, hurry up and do it.” You whined, almost yelping when his hand hovered over your heat. “Fuck, Rafe, please.”
“Please what?” He question, a teasing grin forming on his lips. “Use your words, baby.” 
“Touch me.” You demanded, words slurring out of your mouth. 
“You know I can’t do that.” He chuckled, retrieving one of your hands from around his neck. “S’ supposed to be your job.”
He guided your hand down to your heat, pressing your fingers to your clit. You moaned, leaning your head back as Rafe moved your digits over your cunt, using his hand to lead you through the rhythm, slow and steady, not too much, in case you grew sensitive to it. 
You desperately shuddered under the touch, gasping when Rafe pressed his hand over yours, the gesture spiraling pleasure throughout your body. His face nuzzled into your neck, littering wet kisses to your throat as he continued pleasing you with his guided hand, leisurenly picking up his (your) pace. 
“Fuck,” you whined, nails digging into the blade of his shoulder, well aware he was waking up with bruises with how much pressure you were applying. “Feels s’ good.” 
“Yeah?” He muffled against your neck, teeth grazing over flesh, before he nibbled right under your jaw. “Am I making you feel good, baby?”
You hummed, too accompanied with your pleasure to respond. You arched into the touch, muffled whines the only thing leaving your throat as Rafe’s fingers traced over your folds, until they found your entrance. 
“Fucking hell,” he grunted, withdrawing from the crook of your neck. “You’re so wet for me, doll.”
Your face heat up at the words, turning your head to the side to avoid looking at the latter. One of his hands slid underneath your shirt, kneading your boob with his fingers. Everything felt overwhelming, whether it was the hand guiding your fingers on your clit, or the one squeezing your breasts, it was too much for you to comprehend with a hazy mind and a blurry vision. 
He managed to get your shirt off with a bit of shuffling, and a bit of help from you; of course, leaving you in only your bra. His mouth salivated at the sight of your breasts, now half on display, only for him to see. 
He swallowed around his throat, fingers toying with the thin material of your bra, using the digits to tug it down, until it exposed your nipple to the chilly air, causing goosebumps to break out across your chest. He rolled it with his thumb, fascinated with how perfectly your boobs sat. 
You jolted under his touch, becoming sensitive to the finger flicking your nipple, growing even more surprised when he leaned down, taking your tit in his mouth. His tongue swirled over your now hardened nipple, letting his spit coat a stripe of your chest. 
Your back arched into Rafe’smouth, eyes forcing shut as his hand found your back, unclipping your bra with a swift gesture. He let the cloth hang loose around your chest, finger dipping beneath the straps around your shoulders, letting them fall down your sides. 
“God,” he grunted, his hot breath fanning over your boob, while his hand toyed with the other, squeezing and kneading the plump flesh. “You’re a fucking mess for me.”
You whined in protest to his words, feeling your pleasure build up, sensing your climax in the process. Rafe’s mouth found your lips once again, capturing them in a lustful kiss. He licked into your mouth, tongue gliding over yours as it met his half way through. 
“I think I’m…” you spoke in between kisses, “Rafe– fuck!”
An audible gasp escaped your throat when Rafe circled your entrance, lining his finger up with your hole. And without a warning, he slipped a finger inside, the new found pleasure mixed with pain alluring you into his trap. 
This was exactly what he wanted, to have you a flustered mess under his touch, show you how good he could make you feel, even if it was wrong, forbidden; in your words.
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, parted lips ghosting over yours. “Wanna fuck you so bad, doll.” 
You whined over the statement, picturing the idea of Rafe fucking you stupid, until you no longer were able to remember your name. His finger moved inside you, letting you get used to the digit moving in and out of you. Your hand was back to your side by now, letting Rafe lead you through your built orgasm. 
The latter lined another finger with your hole, slowly letting it insert inside you, using his thumb to rub your clit, merely to distract your mind off the pain, and focus on pleasing you. His pace was slow, steady enough it drove you crazy. 
His fingers continued pumping in and out of you, with you relaxing into the touch once you slightly got used to the digits stretching you out. Rafe picked up his speed when he noticed that, hand growing sloppy inside your dripping hole. 
“Rafe–” you whined, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I’m so fuckin’ close.”
He hummed, littering open-mouthed kissed to your lips as you gasped into his mouth when his fingers hit your g stop. And you were so closer, with his fingers inserting in and out of you, while his thumb rubbed your clit, chasing after your pleasure. 
Your legs trembled as you came undone, shuddering in Rafe’s arms as he walked you through your orgasm. He slowed down his pace, chuckling as a content hum escaped your throat, pulling him down for a quick kiss.
It was sweet, lingering for only a moment before Rafe pulled away, smug smile ghosting over your lips. He withdrew his fingers from your entrance, with you already missing the warmth of his fingers inside. 
He traced his hand over your figure, coming to a halt when he reached your mouth. He parted your lips with his fingers, a silent demand that you shall not deny. You took the digits in your mouth, gliding your tongue over each one, tasting yourself on them. 
Rafe smirked, watching you with despair, a look of want you only got to experience whenever he was hitting on other girls. Yet, here he was, fucking you with his fingers until you came undone. 
He withdrew his fingers, replacing it with his own mouth as he pulled you in for another kiss, this time to taste you on his lips. He smiled against you, satisfied now that he’s able to savor you whole, having explored every inch of your body; though he knew that wasn’t enough. 
“That felt good,” he started, rubbing his thumb over the corner of your face. “Yeah?”
“Mhm, I must say…” you trailed off, slightly growing flustered by his gaze as it burned holes through your skin. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You think?” He snickered, thumb brushing over your lips. “Should we give it another go, now that you lost your jerk-off virginity?”
“That’s lame,” You chuckled, a knowing smile suppressing its way across your lips. “Hmm, who knows, maybe that’s not the only virginity I’ll be losing tonight.”
“Okay, that’s a lame way of telling me you want me to take your virginity.” He grinned, amused by the embarrassed shove you gave to his shoulder. 
“My god, shut up!” You blushed, hiding your face with your hands. “That’s not what I was sayin’.”
“No yeah, definitely.” He nodded, attempting to get your hands off your face. “Don’t be a brat, baby, look at me.” 
Your hold fell loose around your face, letting Rafe move your hands off, revealing the smile tugging at your lips. He mimicked your action, expression switching into something serious, all while maintaining a teasing grin still. 
“You know, that wasn’t such a bad idea.” He pecked the corner of your lips, leisurely trailing down to your throat, until he nuzzled in the crook of your neck. “Maybe we should test it out.” 
“Test what out, idiot?” You grinned, tilting your head to give Rafe more access to the side of your neck. 
“Lots of stuff,” he muffled, “I don’t think I’ll be able to hold myself back, now that I got a taste of you.” 
“So, don’t.” You shot back, mouth moving faster than your brain as you responded. “Don’t hold yourself back, ‘m all yours.”
And that was the only sign Rafe needed, ceasing the distance between you before capturing your lips in a kiss, one you don’t think you’ll be able to forget.
1K notes · View notes
wholoveseggs · 8 months ago
Note
Also I need a major size difference one shot. I’m talking princess treatment, belly bulging, Elijah just being able to pick up the reader like it’s nothing. Maybe standing sex
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Princess
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... BRB DROOLING
18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}
You and Elijah have a night of kinky fun.
♡♡ Thanks for the request @elijahmikaelsonsboy !! & anon(s) - this is the wildest thing I've written (except maybe any of my poly works) - this also goes out to the anon who asked for spanking! I see you and I appreciate you! enjoy ♡♡
5.1k words - Warnings: this is pure 100% pulp free smut, dom!elijah, sub!reader, size!kink, daddy!kink, choking, some serious spanking, lots of praise & a little punishment, tinsy bit of bdsm, ice play, oral sex, face fucking, squirting... Elijah being sweetheart even while being dom ♡
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"Eli- I don't know," you whispered as his large hands gripped your waist tightly, keeping you underneath him. He was so big and broad that when he held you, there was no way you could squirm out from under him, even if you wanted to.
"What's wrong?" his warm breath fanned across the nape of your neck, eliciting goosebumps in their wake. He slowly pulled off the delicate bra you had put on that morning, exposing you completely for him. He loved it when you were bare underneath him; all shy and submissive.
You gave him a nervous look, all wide eyed and fidgety. "My-" you cut yourself off and your cheeks blushed in a fiery red blush. He took your hand and gave it a squeeze, encouraging you to speak. He knew how hard it was to sometimes get a sentence out. You were so shy and sweet, new to the whole submission thing. But Elijah, the softie that he was, loved to shower you with so much attention and care. So he kissed along your collarbone and rubbed along your sides, making you giggle shyly.
"It's okay, princess," his voice cooed along your sensitive skin, the pet name doing wonders in giving you an extra bit of encouragement. "I just wanna know what you're worried about."
You pushed down the urge to bury your face in his neck to avoid the topic completely and spoke up a little more confidently. "Your um... you're really..." you sighed in mild frustration at how bad you were at this whole talking thing. The fact that his intense eyes were watching your every move didn't help you either. But, with a soft, warm hand placed at your thigh, he helped ground you again, calming your mind enough to actually talk.
"You're just... so big... a-and I-" his eyes widened at what you were implying. This would definitely be fun. 
"Is my love worried I'll be too much for you?" he questioned as his fingers grazed against your wet panties. "Hmm? My fingers are a lot thicker than yours, baby."
You whined as his fingertips rubbed back and forth so gently along the material. It wasn't nearly enough friction to get you off. "Yeah," your chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. "You're the biggest I've ever had."
He leaned closer, his fingers moving the flimsy material aside. "Are you afraid I'll be too rough? Or hurt you?" His voice was so low and hot against you that the small vibrations of his deep voice were enough to make you arch against him. But Elijah kept your back against the bed, trapping you so you wouldn't wiggle too much.
"Just a little," you confessed. You're never had rough, really kinky sex. So it was a pretty big jump.
"If it gets too much, just say stop." His smile was warm and kind, giving you all of the comfort in the world. It's not like you didn't trust him completely and fully, you were just nervous about having his entire cock in your tiny little pussy.
You gave him a timid little nod, urging him to keep going. Your chest felt light and fluttery, and the dull throb in between your legs was getting stronger.
"I'm going to take my time, just for you," he peppered warm, soft kisses along your tummy, stopping at the waistband of the thin, silky thong you decided to wear just for the occasion. "No rush whatsoever. This is all for you and no one else.” 
He slowly stripped your bottoms off until there was nothing left to take off. Then he pulled back and stood up, you reached out towards him but he only smiled reassuringly.
 "Be right back, keep your legs open," his demand was quiet but very effective as you obediently spread them apart so he could have a full view of what belongs to him and only him.
Once he left his bedroom, you began to relax once more, trusting Elijah to take care of you. He wouldn't dare leave you unsatisfied; and if something got too much, he would know, even when he was giving you commands.
You laid still, wondering what was taking him so long until your head picked up once more at the sound of the door opening and closing. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip when his form reappeared, holding something in his right hand. 
A bowl of ice.
"Eli?"
"Yes, angel?"
His endearing nickname made your chest tighten with so much warmth. It also brought another kind of heat to the space right in between your thighs.
"Ice?"
Elijah kneeled, one hand caressing your right thigh as the other grabbed a cube and began to slowly roll it along your navel, eliciting shivers to travel across your back at the cold sensation. He simply smiled and continued to let the freezing cube trace along your stomach, enjoying every movement that made you squeak and twitch.
He put it back in the bowl and slowly pulled off his tie, looking as breathtakingly attractive as ever. You knew what this meant and you immediately put your wrists above your head, grinning up at this beautiful man you were so lucky to call yours.
Once he had tied your wrists and made sure they weren't too tight and you weren't uncomfortable at all, his thumb brushed along your lower lip. His touch was warm and careful, the way you liked it the best.
"Look at you," he sounded absolutely entranced by you; eyes gazing all over your form. The bed dipped a bit under his weight as he rested over you once more, his body casting a shadow that almost covered all the light. "So gorgeous... so amazing," his praises filled your head with pure honey, turning everything warm and lovely.
"Keep your eyes closed," he pressed an ice cube along your breasts, leaving a burning trail behind it. You whimpered and shuddered as the cold made goosebumps rise on your body and caused your nipples to pucker into little, sensitive buds. It was quickly warmed by his mouth, but the sensation still shocked you, causing a rush of pleasure to flood between your thighs.
The ice was melting with all of the body heat. Droplets of melted water rolled down along your sides and soaked into the blankets beneath your naked body. More water dripped right down the center of your neck, his lips trailing after it and slowly lapped at your skin. His lips were warm, soothing the sharp sting from the frozen cube.
You struggled in your restraints, the sensations a little overwhelming and just- so damn good. You had never been teased and played with like this before, it made you feel a sort of freedom that you had no idea you were missing. You wanted him so badly that it made your legs tremble. And the fact that your eyes were closed just heightened everything else. You could feel him smiling against your skin, loving how responsive your body was to his touches.
The hand not holding the melting piece of ice traced along your right side, skimming down the curves of your body until it reached your lower stomach. Making you squirm a little at how ticklish your lower stomach was.
The ice cube rested above the apex of your thighs, the water dripping down your pussy lips until it touched along the entrance of your slit.
"Eli," you whispered, trying to keep your eyes closed just like he asked you to. It was so tempting to open them, to see him looming over you while using the freezing ice cube against your burning and needy body. "Please... stop teasing.."
He seemed satisfied at the desperation lacing your sweet voice, chucking the ice back into the bowl so he could move on to the next phase.
"Look at me," the deepness of his voice snapped your eyes open and you could hardly breathe at the raw desire swirling in his dark eyes. They looked absolutely glazed over with want, yet still maintaining their sharp edges.  
"Eyes on me the entire time," he whispered, his middle finger eased into you, not stopping until he was completely buried in your heat. You pulled on your restraints, wanting to wrap your arms around his shoulders but he tied them well, just how he likes them.
He chuckled at your struggle, moving his fingers agonizingly slow in and out of you. "Something tells me that if I untied your wrists right now," he continued to pump them in and out, watching intently at how you couldn't stop your tiny cries from escaping. It was clear that he was driving you crazy, you couldn't hide the trembles or the tugs at his restraints. "You would reach down and start touching yourself... would you like that?"
Your face turned so hot it made you feel dizzy. Your legs bent up, feet planted on the mattress, he didn't like that, forcefully spreading them wider apart, his eyes stern. "Would you?"
"Y- yes-"
"Hmmm?"
"Yes... daddy," the last part was said just above a whisper, your words coming out a bit fast and shyly. It made you so embarrassed how much the name excited you. It didn't help that it fit Elijah so well, he was always taking care of everyone else that it made sense for you to give him the title.
He reached up and untied your restraints, eyes intently watching as you reached right in between your thighs. "Good girl... keep those legs open,"
You rubbed your clit slowly, your eyes locked on his the entire time. Your fingers moved quicker as your hips ground in little circles, desperate for some sort of relief. He hummed in approval, adding a second finger that stretched you wonderfully.
"Such a dirty little princess aren't you?" his palm curled upwards against that spongy spot inside you as he spoke, causing you to shake so hard you almost forgot his question.
His eyebrows arched, mirroring your expressions as your eyes went unfocused. You tried to form coherent words but it was hard when the only thoughts going through your mind was how damn good his fingers felt, so much bigger than your own.
"Answer my question,"
You swallowed past the lump in your throat and shook your head. "I'm only dirty when it comes to you,"
Your heart almost swelled right out of your chest at the blissful smile he gave, he leaned down and kissed all along your cheek and neck, whispering just how proud of you he was. His words pushed you a little bit over the edge, making your walls clench desperately around him, not wanting the pleasure to fade away.
"That's it, cum on my fingers," he growled against the shell of your ear, biting softly.
His voice was so primal that you couldn't do anything but obey, falling completely into his world while the heat in your tummy erupted like a bomb, pleasure tearing through your muscles, and you saw bursts of white across your eyelids.
"That's it," he cooed as you continued to moan, his fingers gently working you down from the high. "There's my sweet girl,"
His lips met yours and you immediately pulled him closer, his body blanketing you comfortably as he kissed you like a starving man. His hands gripped your waist, holding you still while his hips rubbed his hard bulge right against your wet slit. You whined into his mouth, feeling his erection slide back and forth, rubbing against your clit.
He pushed your thighs a little wider, pulling his lips away from yours so he could lean over you. His forehead rested against yours, both of you trying to catch your breaths. He continued to grind against you, his eyes closing and jaw clenching as he groaned, his sounds deep and rough. You could tell he was holding himself back, trying to be as gentle as possible, but you were so turned on, you just wanted him to unleash himself on you.
"Daddy," your small hands tugged on his hair, making his hips stutter a little bit. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, lips brushing his ear. "Fuck me."
He growled at your words, the vibrations from his chest traveling through his body. He wasn't the kind of man that needed to be told twice. His hands hooked underneath your knees, pushing them up and out as far as they could go.
"Keep them open," he commanded, pulling back just a little to unbutton his shirt. He slipped it off his shoulders and undid his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. You bit your lip, subconsciously rubbing your thighs together in anticipation.
He raised his eyebrows, giving you a disapproving shake of his head.
You giggled, but did as he said and opened them, keeping them as wide apart as you could.
His eyes softened just a little, his fingertips trailing up and down your soft skin. His other hand undoing his belt, slowly pulling his pants down along with his briefs, letting his thick cock spring out and brush against the smooth skin of your tummy.
"You've been so good," he praised, lining himself up with your entrance. He slowly rubbed his head in a circle along your slit, gathering your wetness. 
He kept his eyes locked with yours as his hands slid down, holding your hips steady. You were already starting to feel a little nervous, he was definitely the biggest you've ever had. He eased in slowly, his breath hitching as he felt just how tight you were.
Your heels dug into the sheets, your hands scrambling for something to hold on to. Your body instinctively tried to pull away but he held you down, keeping you firmly in place. He pushed deeper, groaning lowly at the feeling of you surrounding him.
"Daddy-" your voice cracked, your legs closing automatically, the sensation almost too much for you to take. But Elijah held you tightly in place, leaning down so he could whisper into your ear.
"Relax," he kissed right underneath the shell of your ear. His soft lips felt good against your heated skin. "Don't fight it."
Your toes curled and your fingers clenched, but you managed to take a few deep breaths. Once he was completely sheathed, you felt so full it was a little hard to breathe.
"So damn tight," he groaned, his grip on your thighs bruising, his eyes locked on the sight of your stomach bulging slightly with the girth of his cock.
"You fit me so perfectly, baby girl," his hand running over the bulge, his words making you blush so deeply. "It's like you were made for me,"
His hips pulled back before snapping forward again, making you cry out and dig your hands into his strong shoulders. His pace was slow and deep, letting you feel every inch of him, the stretch of his cock was addicting.
His hands ran all over your body, caressing your sides, kneading your breasts, tracing along the column of your neck, just touching and exploring every inch of you. You barely registered these touches, so distracted by the pleasure between your legs.
"God- you're so big," you panted out, your voice barely louder than a whisper.
"You like it don't you? Being split open by me?"
His hand wrapped around your throat, not choking, just applying enough pressure to make your head spin.
You swallowed against his hand, finding it hard to even form any sentences at the moment. Your eyes rolled back into your head, your legs spreading as far as they could, wanting to feel him even deeper.
"Say it," his hips snapped harder, making a strangled noise rip from your throat. His grip tightened a bit more, causing everything to feel even sharper.
"I love it Elijah," you whimpered, your eyes rolling back. "Fuck-"
Your body felt like it was floating, his hands the only thing grounding you. He could tell you were close, your little body shaking underneath him and your whimpers getting louder and higher in pitch. You were such a vision. So beautiful. But he didn't want this to end so quickly, not when he had waited so long to have you like this.
"Cumming already?" his hips slowed, making you groan and claw at his forearms. You could tell he was close to, the restraint in his tone was a dead giveaway.
You shook your head, clearly lying, and his expression hardened a little. His hips were torturously slow, his fingers tracing along the side of your neck.
"Liars get punished," his thumb and forefinger pinched your chin, his eyes dark and intense. "Do you understand?"
His hips stilled and he pulled out, his hardness laying heavily against your lower stomach.
"Y- yes," you stuttered, your entire body buzzing with the need for release. Your pussy felt so empty, clenching around nothing.
He stood, pulling his pants back up, making sure to not be too obvious about the large bulge pressing against the front of his pants.
"Up." he held out his hand, waiting patiently for you to gather the strength to move.
The moment you sat up he grabbed your hair, yanking you up until you were standing. You stumbled forward, he pulled your face to his, his breath ghosting across your lips.
"On your knees,"
You didn't even hesitate to sink down, his hand guiding you to where he wanted. The hardwood floor was a little uncomfortable, but the way Elijah was looking at you, it made everything worth it.
You opened your mouth, your tongue lolling out, just waiting for him. He smiled, running his thumb along your lower lip.
"That's a good girl," he murmured, his voice rough and deep, filled with pure lust. His cock was shiny with your slick, a small drop of precum leaking from the tip. You couldn't help but lick it off, tasting yourself on him. He groaned, his grip tightening a bit.
"Open wide,"
You did as he said, looking up at him with innocent eyes, the sight made him growl, his cock twitching right in front of your lips. You smiled and opened your mouth, his hands resting on top of your head as his hips jerked forward, sliding into your mouth.
You loved when he fucked your mouth, feeling him lose control like this, it was so sexy. Your eyes were watering, a tear falling down your cheek as he hit the back of your throat. He wiped it away, still the gentleman even in the most carnal of moments.
You relaxed your jaw and bobbed your head, trying to fit as much of his thick length as possible, but failing a bit, gagging slightly. He groaned loudly and pulled you off of him by your hair, the sting making your head swim with need.
"You can do better than that," his tone was playful and teasing, making you blush deeply. He was so big, his girth was almost intimidating, you could hardly fit him in your mouth. But his tone made you try harder, opening wider and swallowing down, the taste of him making your thighs clench together.
His grip was bruising, holding you in place while his hips rocked back and forth, using your mouth and throat for his own pleasure.
His eyes were hooded and his breathing was uneven, but he was still composed. That's what you admired about him, no matter the situation, he was always calm and in control.
He was Elijah Mikaelson after all, and you were just a little human, yet you held so much power over him. It was thrilling. You wanted to see how far you could push him, to see just how deep his possessive side really ran. Just a tiny bit. You wanted to see what it would take to make him crumble.
"What a perfect princess you are,"
Your eyes snapped back to him and you smiled a little, the corners of your mouth turning upwards around his cock. Your tongue pressed flat against the underside, your head starting to move a little faster, taking him a little deeper each time.
You were being so good, doing everything he asked, and it was turning him on to no end. You could tell from the way his jaw was clenching and the little noises coming from the back of his throat. The way his eyes couldn't look away from your lips, his hand holding you in place.
He was starting to get a little rough, his hips rocking in and out, making your eyes water again. He groaned as his cock slid to the back of your throat, his other hand joining the one already tangled in your hair, both holding you still as he thrust deeper. Your tongue flattened against his shaft and he started to fuck your mouth with earnest.
His grip on your hair turned painful and your nose was pressed into his dark curls. Your eyes began to water as you gagged, the head of his cock buried deep in the back of your throat.
He didn't let you pull off until he felt you really struggling, letting you catch your breath before pushing you down again. He was a little rougher, his hips giving short and hard thrusts.
"You're doing so well," he sounded a bit wrecked, his breathing uneven and his voice deeper. His hips were moving a little faster, chasing his own high.
"Just like that,"
You moaned around him, his hips starting to shake a little, and that's when you decided to act, you wanted to make him cum.
You reached behind him, grabbing his ass to pull him impossibly close, taking him to the back of your throat the final few times. The sudden action startled him a little and his self control slipped. Your name was choked out from deep in his chest. The sound sent a hot spike straight to your core, the primal desperation in his tone made your heart race.
The noise went straight through him, his self control shattering like glass, his grip tightening around your skull. You couldn't breathe, couldn't pull away, so you took him down as deep as you could, feeling his release shoot straight down your throat.
His body was shaking, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing was uneven, but it didn't last long. He looked down at you with a stern expression.
"Did I say you could do that?"
He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him, his thumb brushing against your lips. "No... I didn't."
You couldn't help the smile that crept up, his eyes were practically black with lust. He was surely going to punish you now.
"On the bed." he growled.
You didn't waste any time, hopping onto the plush comforter, kneeling in the middle and waiting for his next command.
He grabbed his belt from the floor, slowly walking towards the bed, his eyes locked on yours.
"Turn around and bend over,"
He watched intently, his belt folded over in his hands.
Your cheeks flushed as you moved to get on all fours, arching your back a little, swaying your hips a bit, showing off your curves.
You glanced over your shoulder, making sure he was watching, and the sight made you whimper. His eyes were hooded and his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, the belt was held tightly in his fist, a little vein protruding from his hand.
"Eyes front." he snapped, the sound of the leather sliding against itself made your heart race.
The anticipation was almost too much. You had never done this before, had no idea how it would feel, but you were aching to find out.
"How many do you think you deserve?" his hand ran along the curve of your spine, his touch light and warm, making you shiver.
"F-four?" you questioned, your voice was soft and hesitant, you could practically hear him smile.
"I'll give you eight, and you're going to count each one."
His hand smoothed over your backside, squeezing and rubbing softly. You could feel his cock resting on the curve of your ass, heavy and thick, already half hard again.
He raised his arm, the belt folded in his hand. The anticipation was killing you. You could barely breathe.
His hand caressed the swell of your ass one last time before raising the belt, a sharp crack rang throughout the room. You cried out, your body jerking forward, the pain seared right across the soft skin.
"Count." He snapped, his tone sharp and impatient.
"O-one."
Another hit.
"Two,"
A third.
"Three."
By the fourth hit, you were shaking, gripping the sheets to keep yourself grounded, but his next hit almost knocked you over.
"Four!" you squeaked out, your voice cracking as tears stung the corners of your eyes.
"I'm not even using my full strength," he sounded amused, his tone gentle and soft. His full strength would probably send you flying into the next room and you giggled at the thought.
"Don't laugh." he scolded, the belt slapping down on your skin, the sting even sharper.
"F-five!"
Another hard hit and you were whimpering, but you still tried to be as good as possible.
"S-six."
You could feel yourself growing wetter, the pain was so sharp, so searing, it almost felt like it was turning into pleasure.
"Seven!" you cried, burying your face in the sheets, the pain was starting to blur.
The belt came down one last time, leaving a dark red line right across the backs of your thighs.
"Eight," you sobbed, your entire body shaking.
"You did so well." He cooed, his fingers running along the welts, soothing the ache. "I knew you would."
You were trembling, his fingers dipping between your legs, gathering the slick that had collected on the inside of your thighs.
"So wet." he sounded amused. "You like being my little slut, don't you?"
You whimpered, unable to answer. His finger was circling your clit, sending hot sparks through your veins.
"Tell me," his hand landed on your ass again, the sting even sharper. "Tell me you like being my little slut."
You gasped, your body writhing. "Y-yes daddy, I love being your little slut,"
He chuckled, his other hand running along the curve of your spine, his fingers tangling in your hair again, pulling you towards him so your back was arched.
"That's what I thought," he let go of your hair and turned you around, scooping you up into his arms.
You gasped and wrapped your arms around his neck, a little surprised by the sudden change. Your legs wrapped around his waist, his hands gripping your ass tightly, his lips pressing against the soft skin of your neck.
You could feel his hardness pressing into you, and your legs clenched around his hips. You could feel every muscle shifting underneath his skin, his strength and power was thrilling. He was one of the most powerful creatures in the world and here he was, holding you so gently.
You kissed him softly, running your fingers through his dark hair, his stubble scratching against your skin. He lowered you down onto his cock, your nails digging into his shoulders, letting him swallow up your gasps and moans.
His pace was slow and deep, savoring the moment, letting you feel every inch. His strong hands supported you, making sure you didn't fall, lifting you up and down his length.
You were a mess. Whimpering and clinging to him, so desperate for release. He was using you just how he wanted, holding you tight and fucking you hard. You were both so close, so on edge, his pace started to falter and his breath was becoming more uneven.
"Eli," you gasped, burying your head in the crook of his neck, your hands in his hair, his arms tight around your waist.
He pressed you back down into the bed, his hands intertwining with yours, pinning them above your head. His hips snapped forward, and his pace became brutal, pounding into you hard and fast, his eyes never leaving yours.
Your legs shook around his hips, you couldn't stop the whimpers and cries from pouring out of you. His forehead was pressed against yours, his eyes closed and his brow furrowed.
Your back arched off the bed, your legs trembling uncontrollably. Your orgasm came crashing down, making you cry out, your pussy gushing and clenching so tightly  that it pushed his cock out. He groaned at the sight, spilling his release all over your pussy and stomach, watching in awe as your walls clenched around nothing, soaking the sheets.
Your body went limp, your eyes fluttering closed, your breathing labored and uneven. You were exhausted, sore and spent.
He leaned down and kissed you, so sweet and gentle, his hands cupping your cheeks.
"Are you okay? Was I too rough?" he looked a bit worried, his thumb brushing along your cheek.
You giggled and nodded. "I'm fine, more than fine." you leaned into his touch, pressing your lips to his palm. "That was perfect."
"Good," he sighed, a smile spreading across his lips. "You did so well,"
"Thank you,"
"Do you need anything? A drink or-"
"I'm fine Elijah," you cut him off, giggling again. He was so sweet, so considerate. "I promise."
He smiled, leaning down to kiss you again, his hand cupping your jaw. "Let me clean you up,"
"Okay," you whispered, a content sigh escaping your lips. He pulled back, his hand smoothing across your forehead, moving the stray hairs from your face.
"Stay here,"
You nodded and relaxed into the bed, your limbs like jelly, your eyelids starting to droop.
By the time he returned you had fallen asleep, curled up in a ball, snoring softly. He smiled and gently cleaned you off, pulling the blankets over you, watching for a few minutes, admiring the way your chest rose and fell with each breath.
 He kissed your forehead softly, "Goodnight princess, you were perfect.”
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artdcnaldson · 6 months ago
Text
Tie Break || Art Donaldson x Reader ; Patrick Zweig x Reader
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this can be read as a sequel to changeover or as a standalone :) enjoy <3
Rating: E (18+)
Word Count: 7.7k
Warnings: SMUT (p in v smut x2, f!recieving oral, handjob, creampie, cum eating), angst with a happy ending, infidelity, toxic relationships, everyone in this is kind of a horrible person, language obviously
Summary: It’s summer in Atlanta, 2011. For the second time in your life, you’re the clear second choice. When the opportunity arises, you find a temporary distraction in Art Donaldson.
A/N: FINALLY here it is! The 2011 Atlanta fic. They’re back, they’re older, they’re even more toxic. Let me know if you’re interested in a part 3!
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It was hot, even though the sun had long since dipped beneath the horizon. It was a cloying, oppressive heat that made the stupid, business-casual top you wore stick to your skin. 
The article you were working on was halfway written, something you could knock out in the next hour if you really tried. Your drink was watered down from the heat, weak when it hit your tongue. A frown turned your lips, but you really shouldn’t have been drinking anyway.
"Working late?”
The voice was so familiar that you could’ve recognized it anywhere, any time. Art Donaldson was one of the most recognizable men in the country, but to you, he seemed so different. The boyishness was still there, but it lay beneath a new level of confidence.
You took a sip of your drink, trying to appear nonchalant, like it hadn’t been four years since you last spoke. “I’m on deadline. I’m writing a feature on Anna Mueller heading into the US Open next month.”
Without asking, he sat down across from you at the small bistro table. He was so close you could smell the minty gum he had been chewing. It nearly made you smile. Old habits die hard.
“So you write about tennis?” He asked, meeting your gaze. 
“I write about athletes,” you corrected. “I was going to be here anyway, and since Anna is heading for a Grand Slam, I thought it would be easy enough. Grab a couple of interviews, watch a few matches.”
He nodded, leaning back in the chair, trying his best to be causal in a situation that definitely wasn’t. You sipped again at your drink, peering at him over the edge of the glass. 
“You have a match tomorrow,” you said, as though he needed reminding. “Shouldn’t you be listening to shitty pop punk to get yourself psyched right now?”
A smile spread across his lips, and he looked so much like the guy you knew from college that it made your chest tug uncomfortably. Same hair, the same smile, the same crinkle at the edges of his eyes when he was amused by something. You couldn’t help but smile along with him, like the past four years were nothing. “I don’t do that anymore,” he said with a laugh. “Do you want another drink?”
You looked down at your glass, mostly water and thin ice cubes. “Rum and coke?” You asked, giving him a tiny smile. He nodded and disappeared towards the bar.
It felt strange, sitting there in the quiet, your article the furthest thing from your mind. Four years. It felt like yesterday and an eternity ago that you’d last spoken with him. He was a familiar stranger, nearly unknowable. 
Your cursor blinked a few more times before you shut your laptop and slid it back inside your beat-up work bag. 
“Running off?” He asked, catching you in the act of packing your things. You shook your head and accepted the fresh drink with a smile. “You said you were going to be in Atlanta anyway,” he said as he sat, spreading out, making himself comfortable in the shitty bar seating. “When you were talking about writing about Anna.”
You nodded. “Mhmm, I did,” you replied, chewing the inside of your lip nervously. His gaze was intense, falling just on the other side of casual. You felt tiny under that gaze, like you were guilty of a crime you didn’t know you’d committed. 
“And you’re here for Patrick?” The words were nonchalant, but you could hear the accusation beneath them, the history of the two of them just in one sentence. It turned something in your stomach, the possessiveness in his voice. You could hear it, even four years out.
The new drink was strong, but it was the perfect way to hide the distaste in your expression. The burn of liquor into your chest grounded you back in reality instead of the easy allure of nostalgia. “Yeah,” you said after a beat. “I try my best to go to all of his matches.”
Art narrowed his eyes, just slightly. There was still an element of exaggerated friendliness, the casual smile on his lips, the open body language. All of it masking the lingering resentment and hurt that was buried beneath mountains of nostalgia. Deep enough that neither of you had realized it was still there until you found yourselves face to face. There was an unspoken question, one that he didn’t want to ask, one that you didn’t want to answer. 
How long?
You took another drink. 
“Where is Patrick?” He asked, glancing around like he might materialize out of thin air.
“He went out for a smoke, or to walk around and clear his head, or something,” you said with a shrug. “I’m not his keeper. Where’s Tashi?”
His jaw clenched and he looked away— a sore spot. A scab you wanted to pick at until it bled, dig your nails in. Maybe that was your eighteen-year-old self talking. 
“You never used to let her get too far away from you,” you noted, mirth dripping from each syllable. “Bet you came down here looking for her. Your leash must’ve been just a little too loose this time and she slipped it.”
You took a long drink, nails tapping against the glass as you considered your words. Tashi wasn’t the type of woman who let a man hold her back. If you were trying to be more accurate, rather than just piss him off, you might’ve fixed the analogy. Art was the sad little puppy following her around. She tied his leash to a lamp post for a fucking break.
“Do you remember the day Tashi got injured?” He asked, changing the subject suddenly. 
You blinked slowly, appraising him. But his expression gave nothing away. “I do.”
A wry smile spread across his lips, and he met your gaze with a coldness that you didn’t recognize. Mean in the way injured animals like to snap at the nearest hand. “It was Patrick in your room that night, wasn’t it?”
Your brows furrowed, face falling at his words. “What?”
He made a face, something akin to skepticism, but crueler. It made your stomach turn. 
“You were fucking someone in your room,” he said plainly. “And I’ve always had a suspicion that it was Patrick. Was it?”
That didn’t do much to clear up your confusion. “You were there?”
He laughed, mirthless, and nodded. “I was, uh, sitting by the door like an asshole. I came to apologize, to beg for you back, but instead, I spent the night listening to my girlfriend getting fucked on the other side of the door.”
Annoyance flickered in your gaze. He knew of a wound of your own, and he relished in picking at it the way you’d relished in digging your fingers into his. “I wasn’t your girlfriend, Art.”
“Right, you weren’t. But you’re Patrick’s girlfriend now, is that it?”
Heat burned in your cheeks. Your relationship with Patrick was… tempestuous to say the least. Most of the time he was your boyfriend, but others he was just a friend that you could count on for a good fuck, sometimes not even a friend. At the moment, he was the former, but that could always change.
It wasn’t easy, being with someone whose emotions ran on an equally short fuse. You’d sound too much like his parents, or he’d devalue your work, or Patrick would forget to take out the trash in your apartment and you’d snap, or you’d mispronounce a word one too many times and it would drive him crazy. Insignificant things could feel big with him, because of him. For better or worse. 
“At the moment, yes.”
“At the moment.” He echoed, laughing like he was in on some joke you were painfully unaware of.
”That’s amusing to you?” You asked, raising a brow. 
He shrugged, picking at his jeans. “Your choice of words is interesting.” He lets that hang in the air before he meets your gaze again. “Do you think Patrick would’ve even noticed you if it hadn’t been for me?”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Does it matter?” You asked. “You realize that we’ve been together going on four years now, right? Broken up, dating, fucking, whatever. You realize that there may be more important things in our life than you?”
“Maybe, but I doubt it. I think you know that whatever you have, it’s built on the fact that you were a warm body when he needed it. Just like you were for me.”
That arrogant expression, like he actually fucking knew anything about you anymore was the last straw. You stood suddenly, grabbing your bag. You weren’t Art Donaldson’s little lapdog anymore— you didn’t have to sit there and take all the shit he doled out. 
“Goodnight, Art. Thanks for the drink.”
It was funny, how your weaknesses were still so exposed. Art’s was Tashi, and it probably always would be. His desire to be seen, to impress, painted upon every lovely feature. And yours, raw and bleeding and obvious— the unbearable, visceral need to be wanted.
You made it to the elevator before you felt his presence behind you. Wordless, but so close it was suffocating. You jabbed the up button over and over in frustration, knowing it wouldn’t speed anything up. 
Art stepped into the elevator with you, so close you could feel the body heat radiating off of him. He always burned hot, like a human furnace. 
It was silent as the lift lurched upwards. You pressed against the back corner, watching the number of the floor increase one by one. 
“Patrick is with Tashi,” Art said without looking at you, just as the elevator opened on the floor of your room. You froze, swallowing hard. “I saw them in the hotel bar, then they left together. What do you think they’re doing right now?”
You shook your head dumbly, pulse thrumming in your throat. “Go fuck yourself, Art,” you said weakly, because what else was there to say? You stepped into the hallway— lit with dim yellow light so you couldn’t see where the wallpaper peeled and the carpet was stained.
“If you need somewhere to wait them out, and you will, I’m in room 13 on the seventh floor.” The elevator doors closed, and you were alone. 
The hallway was winding, and you felt a bad sort of anticipation of what you might find, like a sick feeling in your gut. You stood in front of the room, 306, and froze.
The door to your room was closed, no light shone from beneath the door, but you could hear them. Muffled, but clear enough. A pretty voice and breathy moans. Patrick’s laugh, the thud of something falling off the dresser.
Your room key was in your purse— you could’ve gotten it out and stopped it, but what good would that have done? You’d still spend the night humiliated, facing opposite walls as Patrick, lying in the same sheets he’d just fucked her in. 
You dropped the bag by the door and took a slow, shaky breath to calm yourself down. 
Tashi Duncan. She had lingered on the edges of your relationship with Patrick too. She was Patrick’s first choice, just as she’d been Art’s. You’d never blamed them for that, you knew where you stood, and you chose them anyway. 
It was easy to choose them when you thought that the threat was nonexistent— when distance made you feel safe. You could hear her and him, but it felt like mere static in your brain.
You knew how Art felt, back at Stanford. Sulking outside the door, unable and unwilling to stop what was happening on the other side. 
You were in the elevator before you realized you’d walked away. Shitty soft rock played over the speakers, and a poster on the wall advertised a continental breakfast. Your stomach turned uncomfortably. 
You knocked on the door— room thirteen, an unlucky number. Maybe it didn’t bode well. As you waited for the door to open, your nails tapped a staccato rhythm against your thigh.
Art opened the door like he’d been expecting someone else. Maybe he had half-expected you to interrupt and send Tashi back upstairs, but no. He got you standing at his door with fiery eyes and an expectant expression. 
Second choice, second choice, second choice.
Art kissed you for the first time in four years, and you let him. Not because you wanted to hurt Patrick or Tashi, but because you knew it would hurt you. His tongue pressed between the seam of your lips like he belonged there, licking into your mouth like he wanted to reclaim every part of you that Patrick had touched. You pushed him with a firm hand on his chest and he stumbled backward into the room. Despite everything, he smiled. 
His hotel room was nearly identical to yours and Patrick’s. But you didn’t have time to really take in the details when he had his tongue in your mouth, kissing you hungrily.
That afternoon, you kissed Patrick after he lost his match. You wondered if Art could still taste him on your tongue then, if he wanted to drown out the taste of him. 
It was different than you were used to. Four years with Patrick meant that you’d grown accustomed to certain ways that he did things— the intensity behind each kiss, each touch. His emotions— good, bad, in between— were never masked, never repressed. 
When Patrick kissed you, when he touched you, when he fucked you— both of you were laid completely bare. 
Art was different. When he kissed you it was through a certain level of performance, like he’d learned how from a searing romance film. In college, you’d believed that he kissed you like that because deep down, he did love you. Even at that moment, years out from your relationship with him, it muddled your brain.
Your sensible work heels had long since been kicked off by the door. Art’s fingers undid the button and zip of your jeans deftly, with a confidence that had only doubled since Freshman year. They wound up in a heap against the hotel dresser. 
In his haste to remove your (also sensible, and very business casual) button-down, he popped about half of the buttons off completely. 
“Sorry,” he said. The grin on his lips made you wonder if sorry was really how he felt. “I’ll buy you a new one.”
“Stop talking.” You pulled off your bra and lost it somewhere across the room in your haste. Art was pulling off his clothes— his hoodie and the shirt beneath. His jeans and shoes toed off and left to be dealt with later. 
He kissed you again, guiding you exactly where he needed. Your knees hit the back of the mattress and he eased you down without moving his lips from yours. When your head hit the sheets, you smelled perfume so sweet that it was nearly intoxicating. You turned your head, breathing deeply. Tashi. In this same bed, in this same spot. It made something stir inside you— right in your chest. A hint of wrongness, a hint of hurt. 
Art pulled back, moving his lips along your jaw, down to the junction of your throat. 
“Stop thinking,” he murmured against your skin, kissing down to your tits. “I don’t want you thinking about Patrick. Not when you’re with me.”
The words were mumbled against soft, supple skin. His eyes were intent as they looked up at you, the demand of momentary fidelity in his eyes. You wanted to slap that expression off of his face, or run your thumb along his cheek and hold his face in your hands. 
How was it fair that he asked you that when he’d lingered like a ghost on the edges of whatever it was that you and Patrick had? How was it fair for him to look at you like that?
He took a nipple into his mouth and you gasped as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin. Soft kisses before he suckled softly. “Okay,” you gasped, lying through your teeth. “I’m only thinking of you.”
His hair was still long, kept the same way he wore it in school. Your fingers tangled in his hair like muscle memory, scratching against his scalp as he kissed along your skin with wet lips, treating your other breast with the same, hungry attention.
“Still so fucking hot,” he mumbled against your skin. “Should’ve— fuck— should’ve kept you. What do you want, huh? Tell me.”
Your mind swam with possibilities, but you didn’t even know where to begin. Your mind was stuck on his previous words. Should’ve kept you. What the fuck was that supposed to mean?  “I don’t know,” you replied, completely honest. “Whatever you want.”
He accepted that easily— it was so similar to how you’d been for him in college. You gasped as he kissed down your sternum, then your stomach. His lips found the waistband of your panties and he grinned, tugging at the lace with his teeth, letting it snap back against your hip. 
He peeled your panties down slowly, letting his hands trail down the expanse of your legs. The possessiveness of the touch sent a thrill up your spine. His lips grazed along your skin, from your ankle, up your calf, then your knee. Your legs spread instinctively, welcoming him right back where he knew he belonged. His pretty lips trailed wet kisses up your thighs, stopping just where you wanted him. 
You expected him to rush. He’d seen Patrick and Tashi leave, which meant they’d finish before you two, more likely than not. There was every reason in the world to make things quick— to fuck you and make you leave. 
Instead, he took his time with you. Soft, teasing kisses peppered on the supple skin of your thighs before he nuzzled into your cunt. The first delve of his tongue was slow and exploratory, tasting the arousal that had pooled at your core. 
”God, you still taste so fucking sweet.”
Another thing you’d nearly forgotten about Art— in all things, he was methodical.
He started with kitten licks at your clit— light brushes with his tongue that made you whimper needily for more. His tongue circled you there, and he relished in the way your fingers tugged on his hair at the sensation. 
Then he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, sucking with more pressure until a strangled moan squeezed past your lips. Your thighs tensed on either side of his head, holding him there as he alternated between slow, soothing licks and firm suction.
It was frustrating, how wet you were. Art had brought out the worst in you, turned you into something that left you feeling genuinely embarrassed. And still, you were slick, dripping down to the sheets. A mess of arousal and Art’s spit. 
When he eased a finger into your cunt, it slid in like your body was made to fit whatever he could give you. At that point, you very well could have been. What were you, if not an object orbiting in the atmosphere of his life?
He looked up at you, seeming so fucking intent on making it feel good for you as he crooked his finger. It rubbed against the soft, spongy spot within you and you cried out, eyes rolling back. 
“That’s it, huh?” He cooed as he pressed a second finger inside of you. Your arm was slung over your face. You couldn’t let yourself keep looking at him when he was looking at you the same way he had in college. The same fucking expression that got your head all mixed up in the first place. 
He pressed a soft kiss to your clit and you whimpered. “I know it feels good, baby, just relax.”
His fingers thrust within you with a slow, deep pressure as he continued to make out with your clit. It was always so good with him— you’d nearly forgotten how easy it was for him to bring you to the edge. 
When you came, it wasn’t like what you had grown used to with Patrick— sudden and overwhelming, like it had been ripped from some secret place within you. It was intense, but slow to build, seeming to last forever as Art’s fingers and tongue worked you through it. Your breath was shaky as he pulled back, pretty mouth wet with your arousal.
“Do you want to stop?” He asked, looking up at you expectantly. 
You should’ve stopped— rationally, you knew that it was best to turn back and quit before you fucked up the situation beyond repair. 
But it was Art. He could’ve had anyone else, but he wanted you. Maybe not forever, or even longer than that night. But for then. 
You shook your head softly. “No. Do you think we should stop?”
His fingers moved between your thighs, circling your clit. “We definitely should. You’re with Patrick.”
You sighed, eyes fluttering as he caressed you with featherlight touches. “Don’t fucking talk about him,” you said, but your words came out with no bite. How could they, when he was playing with your body like a favorite toy?
“No?” He asked. He was wearing a smug sort of expression. “You don’t want me to talk about your boyfriend, huh? Too personal?”
You moaned as he applied more pressure at the apex of your thighs, making your cunt clench and ache to be filled. 
“Does Patrick know how much you’ve missed me?” He asked. Your breath caught in your throat, and he just smiled. “I bet he does. I think he knows that if he just drops my name in a conversation, your pussy gets wet.”
You moaned softly at his words, chest heaving with soft pants. You weren’t even sure if it was true, but it felt like it could’ve been then. He leaned down, his words spoken close to your ear.
“I can go slow. Make it last for you.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver. 
You nodded eagerly, turning your head to capture his lips with yours. The kiss was slow, like you had all the time in the world. His tongue against yours, the weight of his body on top of you, the feel of him hard, pressing against your thigh. 
He sat back to strip off his boxers, and you relished in the sight of him laid bare before you. You’d nearly forgotten how pretty he was— big and flushed nearly red with need. It made your heart hammer with nerves; your excitement and shame and need rolled into one messy, electrifying tangle. 
His hair flopped into his eyes as he held himself over you, just like you remembered. You reached up, brushing it out of his eyes with a tender hand. His lips brushed against the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse thrummed in your veins. 
“Tell me you’ve missed me.”
Heat flooded your entire body, as you repeated the words. “I missed you, Art.” You reached between your bodies, wrapping your hand around his cock, and guiding it towards your entrance. He moaned and bucked instinctively into your hand.
”Tell me you want me to fuck you, no one else.” You could hear the implications in his words. Tell me you want me, not Patrick. 
“I want you to fuck me.”
Art pressed himself inside of you, sinking into the welcoming warmth of your cunt. You wrapped your legs around his waist, squeezing him closer, deeper, until his balls pressed firm against you and there was nothing else to give.
He thrust shallowly, rocking against a spot deep within you, one that made your eyes flutter with each brush against it.
“You’re so tight still,” he moaned, lips moving against your throat. “Pussy’s made just for me.”
He touched you like he hadn’t forgotten how you felt or what you needed. Spoke to you like you were one of his possessions.
You lost yourself in it— the sweet, filthy words spoken against your skin, and the rhythm of his body moving against yours. His lips captured yours with a hungry insistence, like he could convey four years' worth of unspoken words with a few brushes of his tongue against yours. 
When he pulled back, lips spit slick and looking so pretty, you thought maybe there was a sort of understanding between the two of you.
His head fell back as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his release. There wasn’t time to stretch it out, to spend as much time as you could with each other’s bodies. 
“Need you to cum,” he said, sliding a hand between your thighs to rub your still-sensitive clit. Your cunt was squeezing him tight, body aching for it, for him, brought to the edge simply because he’d asked for it. “C’mon— you get so tight when you cum, need to feel it again.”
It was like your body was hardwired to give him exactly what he wanted. You came with broken moans of his name and legs squeezing him closer, deeper. Your chest heaved with shaking breaths and punched out whimpers as he kept fucking into you.
He was practically crushing you with his weight, pinning you down, groaning into the junction of your shoulder. 
“Gonna make me cum, baby,” his words vibrated against skin tacky with a thin sheen of sweat.
”Want you to.” Your arms slung around his back, holding him close to you. “I’ve got an IUD, so you can— you can cum.”
His lips met yours as he came, with a pretty moan into your open mouth and slow, messy kisses that made you want to just melt into him and stay that way forever. 
Spent, he rolled over and turned on a lamp at the bedside. The alarm clock announced the time in a dim red glow— five past one.
You lay there, damp between your thighs from the mixture of your releases, unsure of what to do. It was cold beneath the hotel AC. He was peering over at you, wearing an expression you were scared to dissect.
When his hand touched your arm, you nearly flinched. Your breath caught in your throat as he ran his thumb along your skin, so sweetly that you felt that same discomfort tug at your chest. 
“C’mere,” he said, an offer. His arm was splayed over the pillows, giving you the perfect spot to lie down and press yourself against his side. To pretend like you belonged there.
But you didn’t belong there. You belonged four floors down with Patrick. That’s where you had belonged for four years. The reality of what you’d done had set in quickly, and you knew you needed to get out of Art’s room. 
”Art,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I have to go.”
He nodded and sat up against the headboard. You watched him grab his boxers and pull them back on, a strange smile on his face. He must’ve sensed your confusion, even without you saying. 
“It’s funny how things change,” he said. “Here I am, asking you to stay for once.”
You didn’t say anything as you picked up your clothes from around the room, redressing as you recovered each piece from its hiding spot around the room. Your shirt was unsalvageable, so you grabbed Art’s. He had plenty of brand sponsors that would jump to replace it, and Patrick wouldn’t recognize it.
“I loved you, I think,” he said suddenly. “Back in college.”
You froze, arms crossed over your chest as you looked at him. “Art—“
“No, I did. I loved you, I just did it all wrong.”
“Art, just stop,” you said firmly. Embarrassment hit you all at once— the guilt of what you’d done, and the shame over who you’d done it with. Your eyes stung as you looked at him. “Why the fuck would you say that?”
His lips twitched, dipping into a frown, then back into as close to a neutral expression as he could manage. “I just thought you should know. It’s only fair.”
You laughed mirthlessly. “Fair? Jesus Christ, you really haven’t changed, Art.” 
His expression fell completely. It looked like it had back in the hotel bar— icy. “I haven’t changed? What’s that supposed to mean?”
You sighed as you looked at him. “It means that if this were Stanford, that would’ve made me crawl right back into bed, lay by your side, and daydream about what it could mean for us. If one day I might be Mrs. Art Donaldson. It means that you say these sweet things to me every time you can feel me slipping away, but they mean absolutely nothing. We’re not nineteen anymore, Art. I’m not leaving Patrick to be your plaything again.”
His jaw tensed, and he looked down at the bed briefly while he picked at loose threads on the sheets. “You think that’s what I want?”
You frowned. “I think you want what Patrick has.”
He scoffed. “Patrick doesn’t even want what he has,” he said, relishing in the wounded look on your face. “If he did, he wouldn’t be fucking my fiancée right now.”
Fiancée. You felt stupid for not knowing it, but you swallowed down your hurt and met his gaze. “I guess we’re both going to have to be content with being the second choice.” You slipped on your shoes and went for the door. “Good luck with your match tomorrow, Art. I sincerely hope that I never have to see you again.”
The hallway felt colder when you stepped outside of the room and shut the door firmly behind you. A very big part of you wanted to go back, to knock and apologize and grovel like you might have when you were a freshman.
Maybe you hadn’t grown up that much after all. 
The elevator was playing Billy Joel. You leaned against the side of the elevator, relishing in the cold against your sticky skin. When the doors opened on your floor and you stepped out, you blinked in surprise. 
Tashi stood in front of you for the first time since college, looking just as stunning as you remembered, probably more so. Her hair was pulled up, slightly damp at the ends. Her eyes flicked down to your shirt, Art’s shirt, you swallowed as an understanding passed between the two of you— wordless, because what was there to say at that point?
”You left your laptop in the hallway,” she said, skipping formalities. “I took it inside so it wouldn’t get stolen.”
“Okay,” you said, chewing on your lip. She stood there like she expected something more. You felt her surveying you, and froze as she reached forward and rubbed at your bottom lip.
“He could’ve at least cleaned you up a bit,” she said. Her fingers delicately fixed your hair, tucking it back into place. She wiped a smudge of lipstick from the side of your mouth. Once there was nothing left to fix, she looked at you one last time and nodded. “You should be fine now.”
Before you could process that, she stepped into the elevator, and you were left alone in the hallway. When you made it to the room, the door was cracked open, so you let yourself in.
Patrick was on the balcony smoking a cigarette, a towel slung low around his waist. The bed was a fucking wreck, not that he seemed to mind. 
When the door clicked shut, he stubbed out the cigarette he was smoking and joined you back in the room. 
“Are we going to talk about it?” He asked. His jaw tensed as he looked at you, like he was ready if you were going to start a fight.
“I just want to go to bed, Patrick,” you said, annoyed by how wobbly and pathetic you sounded. 
He stepped forward and kissed your forehead. “Okay. We’ll go to bed.”
You kicked off your clothes, but left on Art’s hoodie. Patrick didn’t ask where it came from, or what happened to what you were wearing earlier. You knew he already knew, that he could tell the moment you walked in. He dropped the towel onto a heap on the floor, climbed into the bed, and held out his arms for you.
A stronger person would’ve told him to fuck off, but you weren’t a stronger person. You nestled into his side and felt the hot sting of tears in your eyes. 
He rubbed your back soothingly and kissed your forehead. The sheets smelled like Tashi, he smelled like hotel soap, and you smelled like Art’s cologne. 
“Do you want room service in the morning?” He asked softly.
“Patrick—“
“I’m serious. We can have breakfast in bed, do some tourist-y shit, maybe we’ll go watch a couple of matches, then come back and—“
“Are we supposed to just forget what happened?” You interrupted.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it.” He kissed your forehead, tender, sweet. “I’ll tell you everything if that’s what you want.”
You met his gaze. “Do you… do you want to know? About Art?”
He went quiet as he played with the ends of your hair. “Did it make you feel any better?” He finally asked. 
“Yeah,” you said softly. “Then it didn’t.”
He kissed the crown of your head. “No?”
You shook your head, sighing softly as his kisses trailed down, over your nose, to the sides of your mouth. “No. It was a mistake.”
”Tell me about it,” he said, murmuring against your jaw. “Tell me how he touched you.”
You shivered, tilting your head to give him more access. Your nails scratched softly against his scalp as he sucked bruises onto your throat. 
“He was desperate,” you said, heart hammering as you began recounting it to Patrick— your boyfriend. There was no world in which he should’ve wanted to hear about it… and yet. He moaned against your throat, encouraging you, wanting to know more. “Kissed me like he wanted to taste you in my mouth, like he wanted to overpower you.”
Patrick moved his lips to yours, kissing you with a sloppy brush of his tongue against yours. “Like that?”
You shook your head and leaned in, deepening the kiss with slow laps of your tongue into his mouth. He moaned softly, matching your pace in a way that was rare, but made butterflies dance around in your stomach. He pulled you on top of him— hands roaming from the backs of your thighs to squeeze your ass as he deepened the kiss. It was just as slow and sweet as before, but you could sense the need and hunger behind it.
You pulled back, just enough to remove your lips from his. Both of your breaths came in needy pants. You weren’t sure why you were enjoying this, but you were, so you kept going. “He took off my clothes, and laid me down on the bed.”
Patrick moaned, chasing your lips. You sat back and just looked at him— lying there with still-damp curls, his pupils blown with lust. His cock was hard, resting against his stomach, precum beading at the tip.
You pulled off Art’s hoodie and tossed it across the room, relishing in the way Patrick’s eyes raked over every bit of exposed skin like it was the first time he’d seen it. “He ate me out, made me cum on his fingers first, then again while he was inside of me,” Patrick’s breath caught, just for a moment. Desire, or jealousy, or both flickered across his gaze. “He fucked me like he wanted me to fall in love with him again.”
Patrick’s chest was heaving as you moved a hand between your bodies, grasping his cock in your hand, stroking slowly. “Is that how you fucked Tashi? Like you wanted her to pick you instead of her fiancé?” He moaned as your thumb ran over his slit, smearing the precum that had begun to dribble out. 
“No,” He groaned. You nodded encouragingly, squeezing him tighter in your fist. “Fuck. I fucked her like I wanted her to know she made a mistake. Made her cum until she tapped out”
You ran a thumb over his bottom lip, tugging slightly. “With this pretty mouth, huh?” He nodded, wordlessly. “And with this?” You gave a slow stroke of his dick, making him buck up into your fist. Another nod. 
“Show me.”
Patrick’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “Show you?”
You nodded and continued stroking him. “I told you about Art, so I want you to show me how you fucked Tashi.”
You recognized the fucking insanity of what you were asking, but you didn’t care. It was a strange form of closure— closing the circle, or whatever. 
“Fuck, okay. Lay back,” he said, patting your thigh. You slid off his lap and settled atop the sheets, watching him expectantly. 
His fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down slowly. “Fuck.” Your cheeks flooded with heat as he held the sodden fabric up, wet and sticky with Art’s cum. He groaned and hooked your thighs over his shoulders. “That’s… god, that’s really fucking hot, baby.”
Oh. The mix of embarrassment and desire was something new— burning hot in the pit of your stomach as Patrick licked at your pussy, tasting the evidence of your arousal mingling with Art’s release. He moaned against you, holding you so tightly that his fingers dimpled your thighs. 
His tongue lapped at your entrance, pushing into your cunt as deep as he could manage, then back to licking at your clit. It was messy— a combination of spit and cum and your juices.
“Fuck!” You cried out, tugging his hair as he sealed his lips around your clit. He moaned loudly against you, encouraging you to do it again, the fucking masochist. 
He redoubled his efforts, pulling you closer, moaning against your cunt. It was like he wanted to devour you, to lick up every bit of Art that was left inside of you. You wanted him to try— you wanted him to replace every part of Art that was left in your body and soul.
“Patrick,” you gasped. He murmured an mhmm against your pussy. Eyes closed, right at home between your thighs, lost in the taste of you. “Need you inside.”
He planted one, two sloppy kisses to your clit before he pulled back, his lips shiny with your arousal. He wiped the mess away with the back of his hand, smirking down at you. “You need me, huh?”
You nodded, chest heaving with each panting breath. Patrick sat down at the headboard and patted his thigh. “Prove it.”
You sat up, crawling up the bed until you were straddling his lap. “You made her do all the work?” 
He laughed, running his hands up your thighs to squeeze your ass, tug you closer. “I didn’t make her do anything.” Patrick had a hand wrapped around his cock, and you moaned softly as he guided it between your thighs to notch at your entrance. 
You sank down slowly, forehead pressed against his as you took inch after inch. “Fuck,” you breathed. You leaned forward, brushing your lips against his as you gave a slow roll of your hips. “Fuck. You’re so deep, Pat. Feels so good.”
His head fell back against the headboard as you began to ride him in earnest. “Fuck, just like that,” he groaned, still wearing that fucking smirk, even balls deep inside of you. “That’s it, baby, take what you need.”
And you did. The way he was looking at him was proof enough, he was eating up every fucking second of you fucking yourself on him, using him like a toy. 
Your noises were near-pornographic— Right there, fuck, you’re so big baby, so fucking deep.
The poor soul next door slammed on the wall, begging for you to just shut the fuck up. Patrick silenced you with a hungry kiss— a mess of tongues and spit. His fingers moved on your clit, pulling you towards the edge with desperate need. 
“Close,” you gasped. 
He nodded, moving his fingers faster. “I know you are. I’ve got you.” 
You collapsed on top of him as you came— hips canting weakly as he worked you through it. He thrust up into your tight walls, groaning at the feeling of your cunt spasming around his cock. 
“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he groaned, burying his face into the junction of your throat. “Gonna cum— fuck—“
You moaned softly at the feeling of him spilling inside of you— the soft pulse of him, the warmth of his cum flooding your cunt. You stayed on his lap, kissing his freckled nose, his eyelids, his mouth. 
When you finally moved off of him, you whimpered at that loss of fullness, and of the slick mess seeping out between your thighs. If you were smart, you would’ve gone and cleaned up, but there was nothing more you wanted than to lay there in Patrick’s arms and fall asleep. 
Whatever. You’d leave housekeeping a very generous tip. He sighed contentedly as you lay there— like you were made to fit against him perfectly.  A warm hand rubbed comforting circles on your back, and you felt so at home, even in an Atlanta hotel. 
“I love you, you know that?” He asked.
You looked up and nodded. “I know. I love you too.”
You found yourself staring up over at Patrick with a stupid, persistent smile on your face. He turned to watch you watching him, wearing a matching grin on his face. It was hard to tell who started laughing first— you or Patrick. At the absurdity of it all, at yourselves. 
“God, we’re so messed up,” you said, with another laugh.
He nodded. “Really messed up, but whatever. Apparently your brain isn’t even fully developed until you’re 25.”
“Great, so we have one more year until we’re normal, rational adults.” He laughed, holding you against his chest. 
He reached over and kissed your forehead. You were so sticky and gross that you really needed a shower, but, again— it was a tomorrow problem.
It fell quiet, and you could feel yourself slipping into comfortable drowsiness when Patrick finally spoke up. “Are we going to be okay?”
You blinked slowly. With your hand resting on his chest, you could feel his heart thudding just beneath your palm.
When you were twenty, you met Patrick’s parents. Crowded into his childhood bed with your head resting against his chest, his heart pounded as he apologized for the intense grilling you’d received that night at dinner. It was the first time you ever felt like his bravado had been shaken, like you were seeing through to the core of him. 
You always knew you would be the one to say you loved him first— it was just the way things went. “I don’t care if they like me,” you had assured him. “I love you.” His heart beat harder, faster. He didn’t say it back until two days later, when he was fucking you in that very same bed— forehead to yours, skin sticky with sweat. “I love you,” breathed into your mouth like air. 
When you were twenty-two, you moved into an apartment in Manhattan and Patrick followed like a housecat— no rent, no job, just company and a mouth to feed. The tour wasn’t going well, and you were working for a shitty, clickbait news site that hardly covered the cost of your place. 
Things were good, mostly. Comfortable, domestic. Patrick tried to be a good boyfriend, you tried to be a good girlfriend. Both of you were trying to figure out what that meant for the other as best as you could. Patrick would bring you flowers from the corner store and take you out for drinks and dancing on weekends. You’d drive out on holidays to visit his family and wind up leaving early to go back to the comforts and peace of your apartment. 
When you could, you’d follow him out to tournaments. If he won, he’d take you out with the prize money. If he lost, you’d take him back to the hotel to cheer him up.
On rough days, one of you would come home to the apartment and pick a fight over laundry, or a dish left in the sink, or even what he’d left on TV, and the other would give it back tenfold. Your neighbors would beat on their walls in annoyance as you yelled at each other, until one of you slammed a door and sulked in another room for a few hours, or you had make-up sex that gave the neighbors another reason to bang on their walls. 
The breakups were infrequent but severe. You’d kick Patrick out, he’d live out of his car, or in a motel, or fuck off to some tennis tournament that you’d previously promised to go to. One of you always broke first, returning to the other with promises of love, and to do better.
You did love each other, really. And things usually got better. It was just easy to live with your feelings dialed up to a ten where Patrick was involved: bigger good moments, worse bad ones. 
Your career had vastly improved. Patrick had moved up in the rankings, only slightly, but it was something. You could afford a bigger apartment in a nicer area, maybe get a dog. And you didn’t just want those things alone, you wanted them with him. 
You pressed a kiss to the center of his chest and nodded. “We’ll be fine,” you assured. It felt like the truth.
He nodded, looking down at you. His freckles were so much more pronounced after tournament after tournament in the blazing sun. “Yeah, probably.”
The next morning, you both got the continental breakfast you’d seen in the elevator while housekeeping dealt with the aftermath of the previous night. You did tourist-y shit— went to a museum, found a nice spot for lunch.
At the end of the day, you sat in the oppressive Atlanta heat with Patrick and watched Art Donaldson win his tennis match. You and Patrick left early, fucked in the backseat of his car, and decided to head home early. 
As you started the drive back, you held his hand over the center console and listened to a shitty mix CD with songs he’d ripped off of LimeWire. You gave him shit when Kelly Clarkson followed Lil Wayne, but you both sang along to every fucking word. 
You were right. You and Patrick would probably be fine.
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joeloverture · 8 months ago
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snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader
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masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n] word count: 12.3k a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.
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“Looking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight – measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. It’s hard to get snow here in central Texas – if only, huh? We’re seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerous–”
The radio in Keith’s Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. It’s one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keith’s in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if it’s just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenter’s wet dream of a store. Right now, though, it’s neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.
You’d known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and it’s real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.
For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. You’d sworn you’d seen a splotch of sun when you’d tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.
Now, though? It’s fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as you’d told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldn’t handle it, he’d insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.
Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.
Joel Miller, your dad’s buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie you’ve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct – and you like to think they are – what’s between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isn’t bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out —
Liz hops up on the check-out counter where you’re counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldn’t expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which you’re thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keith’s, you finally have someone to talk shit with.
“Those heart eyes aren’t for fuckin’ Alexander Hamilton,” Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. “Although I wouldn’t be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.”
“Joel isn’t that old,” you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. “He’s just an… acquired taste.”
“Sure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era booze–”
“What the fuck,” you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.
Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, “You’ll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heart’s giving out.”
“It is not,” you say, voice still strained with the laughs that won’t stop punching out of you.
She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Hey, it’s not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.”
“Liz!” You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. “You’re nasty. Fucking nasty.”
She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. “You know you love me.” She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, “Any particular reason you’re fantasizing on the clock?”
“Not fantasizing,” you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. “My dad talked him into picking me up today so I don’t drive into a snowbank.”
“Sounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.”
“Don’t give me hope.”
“I’m just saying,” she grins. “You can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.”
“You have such little faith in me.”
She purses her lips. “Mkay…. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.”
“Liiiiiiiz,” you say. You’re about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. “Shit, speak of the Devil.” You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. “Can you finish closing tonight? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“No problem, no favors necessary.” She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. “Use protection!” she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.
A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joel’s passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.
You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. “Are you tryin’ to catch your fuckin’ death, girl?”
“No death to catch. It’s not that cold.” The way you’re shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.
Before you know what he’s doing, he’s groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin – or maybe it’s just being next to Joel that’s heating you up. “Thanks,” you grumble.
When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.
“Tax deductions,” he shrugs. “Gotta eat on the job.”
“And a…” You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. “$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?”
Joel grunts, “Tommy’s order.”
You smirk. “Sure it is.”
“Quit shit stirrin’ and put on your fuckin’ seatbelt.”
You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldn’t make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.
Now that you’re all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that he’s only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that you’ve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.
He’s slowly peeling out of Keith’s parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. You’re starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streets–
“What the hell are those?”
Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which you’re used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing… fur-lined crocs.
“These here? Yeah, got ‘em recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me they’re ‘all the rage’ with the youth–”
You can’t help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joel’s coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. “‘All the rage’? Oh my fucking God– Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.”
“Hey, now–” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isn’t dangling over the wheel. “Zip it, I don’t needa justify my shoe choices to ya.”
“Does she do anything other than give you shit these days?”
“You’re one to talk about givin’ shit, y’know,” Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesn’t matter where – loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while he’s picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.
He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, “She’s picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team can’t match her collapse dive.”
“Of course they can’t,” you say. “She’s got better reflexes than a house fly.”
Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe they’d do the same between your legs—
“So how’s work?” you blurt out.
Joel mumbles something that you can’t quite make out.
“Huh?”
“Fuckin’ ‘big shot’ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.” He shakes his head, his lips thinned. “I tell ‘em terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell ‘em that orderin’ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberin’ all ‘bout how long it’s takin’. And it’s fuckin’... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ain’t had so much trouble buildin’ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doin’ lines.”
You think you’ve seen Sarah’s dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like it’d been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know he’s too sentimental to leave it on the curb.
“How bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?”
“With a five year old yellin’ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.”
You pout at him, “Wah wah, I’ll bet you loved it.”
“Was a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlin’ with some ‘a the dolls I’d gotten her. Don’t think she knew I was watchin’, had gone to put ‘er to bed ‘cause it was a school night. She was readin’ this book I always read to her. Something about… a stuffed bear with a missin’ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I don’t fuckin’ know–” “Corduroy?”
“Yeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usin’ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I don’t think I loved it until then.” There’s a glistening in his eyes at the memory.
You smirk, “Sentimental bastard–”
The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. It’s a long stretch, and you can’t even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when you’re looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.
“Shiiit,” Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.
“Tell me you’re not going to drive through that shit.”
“I’m not,” he says.
“Then how the fuck are we getting home?”
“Chill it–” “That’s the last thing I need to do,” you huff.
“I’m takin’ the detour.”
With that, he jerks the wheel — a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion – and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.
You’re not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. You’re looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. “You usually have that many lights on?”
“Ain’t your truck, ain’t your business.”
“I’m ridin’ in it, ain’t I?” you mock his accent. 
Joel sighs heavily. “Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall.” His hands clench briefly around the wheel. “Auto repair shop’s been price gouging, I’m tryin’ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Anton–”
“Won’t be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.”
Joel’s voice is dry as bone. “Ha ha. You get off on bein’ a smartass?”
It’s three words – that’s all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t even realize he said. If it were anything more, you’d know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. You’re about to make another quip that’ll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.
His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.
Eight to six.
Six to four.
“Motherfuckin’.... shit,” Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while they’re still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.
It’s the loudest silence you’ve ever been in.
“...So do you get off on letting your truck break down or–”
Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. “Thin ice, missy.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give Tommy a call.” He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.
“No service?” you ask.
“No service.”
“Let me try mine,” you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it won’t work, you press your dad’s contact. It goes straight to voicemail. “Well, shit.”
“Shit,” Joel echoes.
It’s unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and… no heater.
“Hang tight,” Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truck’s interior.
You can’t really see what he’s doing – the snow’s too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truck’s viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it won’t be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.
Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat. 
You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. “What’s wrong with it?” You ask. 
He lets out a frigid breath. “Don’t fuckin’ know, snowin’ too damn hard to tell.”
“Ten bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,” you say.
Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.
“Got some… hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.”
You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and –
“When’s the last time these saw daylight?” you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms. 
Turns out, snow isn’t the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. It’s the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.
He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Jesus. Forgot those were in there.”
You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. “August 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?”
“Put ‘em back,” he grumbles. “Pain in my ass.”
You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. They’re unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joel’s keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. “Happy?” you toss them over your shoulder.
“No.” He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.
“Dick,” you grumble.
More tearing. “Brat.” Another warmer lands in your lap.
“Oughta get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while,” Joel says.
“And whose fault is that?” You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.
“Pipe down. First thing in the mornin’ I’ll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ain’t ever roughed it before?”
You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. “Never had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?”
Joel shrugs. “Tough.”
The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldn’t be complete without his signature scowl, so you’re sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.
“Didn’t know you were an artist,” Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. “Looks nothin’ like me, by the way.”
You smirk, “But you knew it was you.”
Because there’s nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind — hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.
Reality only settles in when you’re done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. You’re stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer would’ve loved during his heyday. With your dad’s best friend that you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on.
And it’d be impossible to forget that it’s freezing fucking balls.
“Joel?” you say into the dark truck.
“Hm?”
Always one to speak your mind, you say, “It’s freezing fucking balls.”
A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. “Here,” Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him – like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline. 
You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but they’re full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesn’t work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but it’s cold enough to give you a brain freeze. 
“Jesus Christ,” Joel snorts. “Get over ‘ere, you wuss.” He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before you’re crushed against Joel’s side. “Can’t have ya gettin’ hypothermia,” he jests.
You don’t know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.
Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all you’ve got.
Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesn’t help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isn’t producing more of it.
Joel sort of… flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.
“Who’s the wuss now, old man?”
Joel tenses up behind you. “Funny,” he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. “This is the best you’re gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.”
It should be a joke. But the way he says it… doesn’t sound like a joke.
You go still, lifeless, not even sure if you’re shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, too…. Your clit twitches at the thought.
You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. “So what, we’re gonna fuckin’ huddle for warmth?”
As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping — and that’s just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than you’ve ever been before. With no panties in the way, it’s not a stretch to say you’d be dripping down his thighs. You’d hate to have that conversation.
“Would you rather freeze to death?” Joel asks. You look up at him from where you’re curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isn’t just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.
“I’d rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!”
“It works,” he says, nose flaring. “They do it in those fuckin’... action movies all ‘a the time.”
“I didn’t know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervs–”
“God, you’re a piece ‘a work, ya know that?” His eyes flick down to you, and maybe it’s just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. “Listen, I ain’t tryna perv on ya. I also ain’t tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missin’ from frostbite.”
There’s no way you’re actually seriously considering this. You’ve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dad’ll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. You’re certain Joel won’t try anything – he’s not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, he’d never take advantage of you. What you aren’t certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.
This is practical. It’s only supposed to be practical. He wouldn’t be suggesting something this drastic if you both weren’t shaking like a rattlesnake’s rattler.
“Fine,” you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, “No peeping, Miller.”
Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keith’s uniform – a blue polo and jeans. Joel’s eyes are respectfully trained on the truck’s floor mats, which you’re only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it. 
Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that it’s hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.
Fuck it.
You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel you’re decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained,  “All good.”
“Alright,” Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.
He doesn’t tell you to look away, but since it’s implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesn’t notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.
Just an hour ago, you’d been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, he’d call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night. 
The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.
“I’m ready when you are,” Joel says.
Since you’re already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joel’s side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.
Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.
And, fuck him, he’d been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.
The silence is cruel – it’s much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when you’re naked. Only the wind’s sibilance keeps you company.
You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joel’s shoulder and hope that you don’t drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.
But then, as if you’re the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, you’re shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, “C–cold, Jesus fucking… Christ that’s cold.”
Joel pouts down at you, but you don’t miss the way his lip quivers. “Should I call the wambulance?”
“Should I call the r–r–r–retirement home to pi…pick up a ru–runaway resident?” It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.
“Drama queen,” Joel mutters into your ear. “Can’t do anythin’ more about it. Sorry–”
“Can I sit on your lap?” you blurt out so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.
Joel’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”
You’re already half doomed. Why not go all the way? “Listen, it’s just fucking… fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.”
“That bad?” he chokes out.
“You’d be warmer than the seats,” you defend. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.”
Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where you’re furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. “Alright.” You nod in return, heart in your throat. “–But you better mean it when you say best behavior. Can’t have any ‘a this shit gettin’ back to your dad.”
Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joel’s lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though he’s as flaccid as can be, he’s big. Apparently your imagination isn’t too far off. Joel’s sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when you’re warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.
Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers you’ll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anything–
You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joel’s cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.
You whine.
Your body immediately locks up once you realize what you’ve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadn’t noticed how wet you’d gotten, and you have no idea how. It’s smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joel’s dick had dragged through it all.
Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit–
Chancing a look over your shoulder, you’re surprised to find the tips of Joel’s ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adam’s apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.
You’ve flustered him.
For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. There’s no such thing as a bad accident, right?
Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you ‘accidentally’ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, you’ve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.
“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.
“I didn’t mean to,” you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you he’s going to say no to your next suggestion. “Maybe you should put the coat between us, instea–”
“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, girl?” Joel’s voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. “And take away the whole point of stayin’ warm? Now quit it. Ain’t that hard to sit still.”
You try your hand at listening – for all of two seconds.
You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care — you’re both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.
“What, you got rocks rattlin’ around in your brain?” Joel scowls. “You’re real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.”
Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. It’s enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. “I’m not,” you say.
“Not a cocktease, huh? Not even when you’re rubbin’ all over my lap?”
You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joel’s, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.
“Not happenin’,” Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like you’re nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. “Jesus, girl. Poor thing, gettin’ all hot and bothered. Don’t blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushin’ like a sprinkler.”
“S–sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry,” you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.
“Nahhh,” he says. “I don’t think you are, baby.” Maybe it’s the condescension he’s purring in your ear, maybe it’s the pet name; most likely, it’s a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. It’s like he’s found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier. 
His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what he’s doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t gonna be, though.” He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.
“Joel, what the fuck are you up to?”
“Teachin’ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlin’. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindin’ on me like I’m some kinda… frat boy.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Pullin’ that shit with your pops’ friend. Real fuckin’ classy.”
“Like you’re so different. Who’s the one that’s tying me up? Huh, Mil–”
You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joel’s chest. His forearms hold you there. 
“Guess I’ll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lil’ head ‘a yours is havin’ some trouble. My truck, my rules. You’re ridin’ in it, ain’t you?” You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. “That was a warnin’, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty ‘fuck me’ eyes an’ get away with murder.” He fucking tsks at you.
He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and you’re both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers. 
“Got a whole goddamn slip ‘n slide down here…” murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. “Oughta just…” he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. “Stop ya from ruinin’ my seats. Cork you right up.” You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, you’re certain he’s already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.
“But that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it? Givin’ ya what ya want so early on…” Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.
And then he does it again.
And again.
And agai–
“Joooooel,” you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.
He backs his hips up “What? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettin’ at it earlier.”
You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.
“So you can deal, but you can’t play?”
“I think you’re just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,” you grit out, knowing damn well he’s stiffer than titanium behind you.
Joel hums. “Ah, she’s got jokes.” His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and you’re almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.
With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like he’s just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joel’s scarce ministrations.
When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. “See this?” he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesn’t even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. You’re mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.
Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you can’t hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. “Need a bib, baby?”
He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, you’re faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.
He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.
You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. “Joel!” you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.
“Really, oughta give standup a go one ‘a these days. Be a real hotshot.”
“Oh yeah?” you pant, light headed and woozy.
“Mhm. If the whole crowd’s drunk.” His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.
“Assh–”
Right as you’re about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. It’s harder than the others – makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest. 
“Ain’t what you should be sayin’ if you’re plannin’ on gettin’ what you want, sugar,” Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. “Don’t wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.”
You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesn’t last long. Joel’s hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. “You’re pushin’ it.” He loosens his grip.
“As if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, you’ve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesn’t matter how much lip I give you, you aren’t gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.” Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.
Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you can’t tell if you’re crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him – the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.
“How many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?” Joel’s palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. “See, the thing about havin’ ‘pre-Cold War condoms’ is that I’ve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Don’t matter if you’re waterfallin’ down my seats or not, pretty girl. I’m giving you exactly what ya deserve.”
You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joel’s unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You can’t stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.
At a snail’s pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And that’s just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.
You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldn’t have agreed to your dad’s ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldn’t have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldn’t have gotten naked on his lap, shouldn’t be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building he’d been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds out–
“Joel, please, please – plea…” you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. You’re running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then you’ve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. It’s just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.
Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body can’t even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. “Shhh, shhh, quit runnin’ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.”
You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.
“See? All nice ‘n quiet when she’s gettin’ what she wants.” You wouldn’t even dream of mouthing off to him now.
“I want – I need…” you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything you’d pretended not to want.
“Go on,” he coos. “Tell daddy what you need.”
You don’t even hear him say that word. You’re too hooked on begging, begging, begging. “Please – Joel, oh god, please – I need… I need… please please please, fuck, it hurts–”
Joel clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox ‘cept for when I need ya to be.”
“Wha…?” you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that you’ve come to crave more of.
“Tell daddy what you need,” he repeats, words molasses slow.
You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.
“D–D… D-” you start stammering out, but you’ve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. “Da– Da… pl–”
“Any day now,” he scoffs.
“Daddy!” you spit out all at once. “Please, please, daddy, fuck – fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts… please, ngh– daddy!” Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place. 
“M’kay, baby,” he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. “Daddy’s got ya.”
At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. It’s a lot compared to what he’s been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesn’t have to do much work to stretch you out — you’ve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. He’s all too quick thrusting them in and out of you – the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.
“I know you ain’t a virgin, but you’re soakin’ like one. Too damn cocksure to ain’t have had a cock in ya before. Prancin’ around like a glorified dick trap.” You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joel’s condescension. 
He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. “Gonna get you all sore baby, make you regret beggin’ for this dick like a horny ‘lil bitch that ain’t ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard you’ll be cryin’ for daddy’s cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.” He’s too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.
The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. “Daddy–” you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt. 
“Ever been fucked here before baby?” He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. “Don’t get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Still, he replaces his tip with his free hand’s thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything he’s willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. “Would love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight ‘lil pussy’s anything to go by… Christ. You’d look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, baby–”
“Daddy!” You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joel’s hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.
All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.
“Didn’t tell ya you could cum, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.
“‘M sorry, daddy,” you pant. His hands go up to 
“‘S okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldn’t help it when I was talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ your ass, huh?” His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.
You hum into his bicep, “Mmmm.”
“That’s alright. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ away with a slap on the wrist though. C’mon, up,” he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.
You moan as he presses against your entrance, and it’s not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but – Joel’s size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. “You’re on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.”
Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you don’t want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as he’d promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morning’s frost on the shingles outside.
Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. “Attagirl,” he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. It’s a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. You’re brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, he’s still and solid inside of you.
“Go on,” Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. “Gotta prove you deserve to cum again.” He taps your thigh as if he’s telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.
You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. You’re still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. “Daddy… I can’t…” 
“Ain’t no different than fuckin’ y’self on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuck’s in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy ‘lil fucktoy somewhere.” His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. “Oughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.” At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.
Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that you’re both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joel’s smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you. 
Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. “C’mon,” Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. “You can do it. Make daddy proud. I’ll even give you a boost.” Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.
You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joel’s cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.
He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. It’s pleasure like you’ve never had it before – too much, not enough, painful, so good. “Please, Joel – I can’t… can’t handle it.”
“I’ll decide what you can handle,” he says.
“You’re– you’re so fucking mean,” you rasp.
“Gets you this soaked, baby. Don’t see your pussy complainin’. You love bein’ treated like a piece ‘a meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.”
You clench, tight. “Ah!” Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.
Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joel’s cock. And, shit, it’s a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? That’s an entirely different animal, one that you hadn’t expected to have to handle.
You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.
���Mmmm, yeah, that’s it. Daddy’s ‘lil wannabe pocket pussy. Doin’ a ‘lil better baby. Keep doin’ that. Jus’ keep doin’ that.”
You’re shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. “Daaaddy.” Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and he’s quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like he’d wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.
His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. You’re letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that you’re talking.
“I fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ain’t ever had much of a knack for listenin’. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.” He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.
The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. “Feel good?”
“So… so fu–fucking goo… good daddy,” you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.
“Swallowin’ daddy’s dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundin’ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.”
You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joel’s wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, it’s the beginning of a punishing pace.
You don’t even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. “Droolin’ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddy’s pretty cockslut.” You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn. 
Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. You’re boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. “Damn lucky we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Joel growls on another thrust. “Someone woulda been knockin’ on the window long time ago with how loud you’re bein’.”
“Mmph,” you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.
“Daddy please please please plea–” you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again. 
Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. “Ain’t gonna make ya beg this time. Can’t wait to feel ya creamin’ ‘round me… maybe I’ll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.”
“Joooel, oh fuck, please…” you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.
The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. There’s nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach – all you can do is take it and whine for him. “Takin’ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittin’ your whore cunt in two, jus’ like you were askin’ for.”
He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, “Mhm, daddy!”
Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell he’s chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. You’re burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, “Come on, baby, know you’re close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezin’ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?”
“No, daddy,” you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. He’s rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. “P-please daddy, can I come?” You practically scream it out.
“Go ahead,” he says. “Come for daddy’s, come allll over daddy’s cock.”
The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like there’s fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. “Thank you daddy!” you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore – it’s just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.
And fuck into you he does – roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. “That’s my girl,” he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. “Lettin’ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.” He can’t hold back his moans, that’s how you know he’s close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. “Daddy’s close, where do ya want me, baby?”
“Tits,” you whine. It’s a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. “Come on my tits, daddy.”
“Fuck!” Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.
You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each other’s jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. You’re both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dad’s proclaimed bestie’s cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.
You’re the first to speak up, still winded. “That was… that was good.”
Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.
You don’t notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.
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There’s better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isn’t the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joel’s behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him – his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.
You’re stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. “Shit!” you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like ‘what?’. 
You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. “Get dressed!” you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.
“What the hell’s gotten into ya–” he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. “Motherfucker,” he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.
“Joel?” Tommy shouts outside. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty!” He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.
“Fuckin’... dumbass,” Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. “How’d you find us?”
Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. “What happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is ‘thank you’.”
“Thank you,” you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing you’re feeling is grateful.
“Her daddy threw a hissy fit, y’know? Told him you were fine and we’d go lookin’ for ya in the mornin’. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. ‘Course my dumbass brother would take this route… hey, you’re truck’s a fuckin’ mess.” Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if you’ve been scalded with boiling hot water.
Joel starts, “Tommy–”
“What the fuck is this shit?” The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when he’s peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like they’re a thousand pounds. You can’t even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. “Joel. You dirty dog!” He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like it’s the most impossible thing in the world.
Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get outta here, you little shit.”
Tommy’s hands go up. “Hey now, I ain’t doin’ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.” He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. “So, uh, truck break down?” Joel grunts in affirmation.
“Been tellin’ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop… C’mon, I’ll get y'all home,” Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. “Call a tow on the way.”
Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommy’s passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.
“I hope you didn’t let ‘im stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. You’re smarter ‘n that.”
“God, no,” you huff out.
“I dunno what’s stupider, lettin’ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettin’ a UTI–”
“Okay!” you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommy’s truck. “Conversation over.” You’re still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.
Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.
3K notes · View notes
targaryen-dynasty · 5 months ago
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THE GREATEST TEMPTATION.
Modern!Aemond Targaryen x cam girl!Reader
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"Keeping your boyfriend waiting for too long is always a dangerous game, and when he finally has enough, he deems it most fitting to give your audience a real show."
WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MDNI; p in v, semi public sex?, rough sex, manhandling, size kink, possessive and jealous Aemond, kinda submissive reader
WORDS: 2.6 K
NOTES: This is an older story, and although I have edited it, I didn't want to change too much from my older writing. I‘ll now work on new stuff with Maegor, Aegon and Cregan. The movie „cam“ was my inspiration for this!
❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!
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“Come on, guys, stop it,” you say, your hands running over the curve of your hips. A short riding crop is clasped between the fingers of your right hand while the ones of your left hand pull the thin strap of your lace thong to let it snap back against your flesh, making a show for the audience as you squirm at the impact. “You know, if you don’t get to the cum show, I’m going to have to go off cam to do it without you, so…" 
You kneel on your bed, sitting on your haunches with the ring light and camera positioned so only the parts from your neck down are visible for your viewers. 
“And nobody wants that, right?” your words are accompanied by a feigned pout as you drag the tip of the riding crop from the valley between your breasts down to your navel, dragging it around it slowly. “But seriously, guys, I need it, so hurry up.”
It’s a ping! that alerts you of a received donation, and you clap your hands in excitement upon seeing the bright red $450 popping up on the screen. 
“Ah, RoguePrince81, thank you so, so much,” you hum with a smile. “Alright, ten spanks for you.”
You turn around and position yourself closer to the camera to give them the perfect view of your ass, but before you’re able to start to deliver ten spanks to it, your boyfriend barges into the room. 
Learning from past mistakes, the camera isn’t recording more than your bed, Aemond’s presence remaining unknown to the viewers. With your microphone not muted, you can’t do more than mouth a ‘five minutes’ to him still standing in the doorframe. 
The pout on his lips is barely there, already gotten used to the way his girlfriend earns her money, though he doesn’t necessarily approve of it. Sighing quietly, he closes the door behind him and sits down in the chair at your desk across from the bed. 
You barely watch him, focusing back on the audience. One slap after another is served to your ass, and you yet again make a show out of it by moaning, squirming and wiggling your ass. 
“My butt’s gonna hurt tomorrow,” you whine. After the tenth slap, you rub your asscheeks, sighing an ‘and one for good luck.’ With the eleventh slap, you throw the crop aside.
Five minutes turn into fifteen, and with all your attention on the audience, you don't notice the set jaw and furious gaze of your boyfriend, a blaze of jealousy flickering in his eye. At least not until he stands up to approach you. 
Being quick to mute the chat, you turn towards him, sitting on your haunches and looking up at him. A crease has formed between your brows, knowing that you have kept him waiting for too long. 
It’s a fruitless attempt to calm him as you rub the palms of your hands over his thighs, squeezing them just slightly in the way you know he enjoys. 
“I’m not here to waste my time watching you fuck around with other guys,” he remarks coldly. 
The coldness of his voice makes a shiver run down your spine, a contrast to the heat growing between your legs. As your eyes meet his ice-like gaze, you swallow hard. “I know,” you reply, continuing to brush your hands up and down his thighs. “But you know I need to make money, Aem.”
He scoffs at your response. “You can make money in other ways,” he replies, his hands capturing your wrists tight enough to indicate his disapproval. “You don’t need to show off your body for strangers.”
Your heart is racing now, and you feel a flutter in your chest at his words. But you can’t deny that his possessive side only makes you want him more. “But this way is easy,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light. “It’s quick and pays well… plus, I enjoy it, you know that.”
Aemond’s nostrils flare ever so slightly at your words, his jaw setting firmly. In one fluid motion, he pulls you up on your feet. He’s tall and strong, and his presence looms over yours. “I do,” he says. “But you’re mine, and I don’t share.”
Running your hands over his chest, you take a step closer and press yourself against him, and he uses the proximity to rest a hand at the back of your neck. “And I’ll only ever be yours.” You start to play with the buttons of his shirt. “But this is just a job, Aem. It doesn’t mean anything.”
His expression betrays no emotion as he regards you, but his grip on your neck tightens. “If this doesn’t mean anything, then this won’t bother you at all,” he states, using his grip to force you towards your desk. He pushes you over it, and with you having relocated all your stuff to film the bed, there’s not much left on it that topples onto the ground. 
Your hands fly to the desk to steady yourself upon impact, a gasp leaving your lips. Your heart rate picks up, your blood thrumming with a mixture of arousal and a hint of fear. The sudden manhandling sends a thrill down your spine. “Aemond,” you breathe, your voice trembling slightly. 
His breath is hot against your ear as he leans down, chest pressing against your back while his arms cage you in. It’s clear he’s the power right now, and it’s making you feel all the more vulnerable under his control. “What?” he asks, his voice soft yet commanding. “Do you want me to stop?”
With your body reacting to his husky voice, your hips press back against his. “No,” you answer softly, looking over your shoulder at him with wide eyes. 
His lips curve into a smug smile. “Good, because I had no intentions of stopping anytime soon,” he replies. Prowling toward the dresser, he grabs the laptop. “This will be the best show they’ve ever seen.”
Several pings! echo off the device, the viewer’s comments filling the chat box with messages you’d die to read right now. Aemond has seen you set everything up plenty of times before, and he knows all too well where to put the laptop so that it doesn’t show anything else than the parts below your faces, and quickly unmutes the chat. 
His outburst is nothing new, he’s confessed his jealousy often enough, but it’s the first time he willingly participates in one of your streams. It’s clear it’s his way to mark his territory, to claim you in front of everyone to show who you belong to, and his possessiveness does little to diminish the fire in your body, the ache between your legs only becoming more prominent. 
His hard bulge presses against your ass as he approaches you again, shoving you against the sturdy desk with his hands gripping your hips. It catches you by surprise and you release a choked moan at it. 
Nimble fingers hook under the thin straps of your thong, pulling it back enough the snaps against your skin have you wincing for real. “You’re even wearing my favorite lingerie, hm?” he taunts, large hands roaming over your asscheeks. “All this for some horny bastards and their dirty money?”
You shiver at his touch and the dominance in his deep voice, too zoned out to give him an answer. His impatience runs thin with how quickly he serves a slap to your ass, palm landing exactly where you have hit yourself before. The pain is sharper, stinging, and causing tears to brim in your eyes. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Gods, well…” you whimper. “I… I have to make my viewers happy.”
“Is that the only thing you care about?” he challenges. “Making them happy? What about making your boyfriend happy, mh?”
Licking your lips, you look at him from over your shoulder again. “You know you’re the only one I care about,” you breathe out. “Only you.”
Aemond’s hand smooths down your back, his touch gentle but firm. “Do they know you belong to me?” he asks, a hint of possessiveness in his tone. “Nah, fuck this, go on and tell them now.”
“They… they know I have a boyfriend,” you admit. 
But it’s a sharp slap served to your ass that makes your head snap towards the laptop quickly, taking in a shaky breath before you address whoever’s behind the screen. You merely know them by their usernames, RoguePrince81, MrSunfyre, thereal_heir and so on. “I… I belong to my boyfriend,” you say, your voice clear yet laced with a tremble that betrays your submission to him. “And only him.”
Aemond’s hand runs over your asscheek in response, soothing the stinging pain. “That’s right,” he purrs, the possessive tone evident in his voice. “You’re mine, and I don’t like sharing.”
“All yours,” you whisper, though there doesn’t come a reply from him. You merely hear shuffling coming from behind you, and judging by the haste of the sounds, it’s clear he’s desperate and impatient. Aemond enjoys teasing, and maybe even punishing you, but there always comes the point where he can’t take it anymore himself. 
It’s the elongated groan of him that has you pushing your hips back, growing just as impatient and desperate, and it’s the cue for him to tug the lace of your thong aside, easing two of his fingers inside of you. You moan wantonly at that, yet the stimulation doesn’t last long enough for you to truly enjoy it, fingers withdrawing almost immediately after the intrusion. 
With his fingers coated in your arousal, he smears it over the tip of his cock and therefore mixes it with the few beads of precum. His hand glides up and down his cock with ease, before he eventually aligns the tip with your entrance. Sheathing himself inside of you slowly, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein of him, you quickly rise on your tiptoes to adapt to his height and make accommodating his size easier, although you’re all but used to it by now. 
A renewed wave of your arousal drips down your thighs at his intrusion, allowing him to slide into you with little to no resistance. As you both moan in unison, yours is slightly muffled by your teeth sinking into your bottom lip, reveling in the slight burn that accompanies the pleasure. 
Aemond seizes a fistful of your hair, pulling you back as his hips thrust into you harshly once as a clear warning. Brushing your sweet spot so expertly, you arch your back like a cat, pushing back against him with another muffled moan making its way past your lips.
“Oh, don’t act all shy now,” he coos, his other hand finding its way to the back of your neck. “Let them know how good I’m making you feel.”
His words make you nod meekly, and he takes it as a silent invitation to move, the pace starting slow but becoming much more intense in a matter of seconds until he’s recklessly driving his hips into yours. Aemond is always fairly rough with you, but the jealousy and possessiveness do make it even better. 
A breathless gasp falls from your lips in an attempt to catch your breath through his ruthless pounding, and your fists clench around the edge of the desk again, bracing yourself for the way his cock bullies your sweet spot and drives your whole body back and forth.
“Gods, please… use me,” you whine, eyes squeezing shut as you are overwhelmed by the different sensations overcoming your body.  
“Fuck,” he groans. “You like that? You like being used by me while those miserable bastards watch you getting split open by my cock, hm?” His words are punctuated by several harsh thrusts, knocking the air out of your lungs and causing his balls to slap against your sensitive clit, sending shivers down your legs. 
His thighs are heavy as they press into your frame, applying pressure to where your hips meet the edge of the desk. While it hurts, you barely have time to focus on the pain, overwhelmed by the soaring pleasure inside of you. The building tension inside of you spreads through your core, your walls fluttering as furiously as Aemond’s relentless onslaught on your cunt. 
“Don’t stop,” you whimper. 
“Or what?” he taunts. “You’re gonna come for me already?”
Despite him mocking your despair, he pulls your hips back a little and brings his hand down between your legs, dragging his nimble fingers over your clit to give you the last blow that’s meant to push you over the precipice. Every attempt to give him an answer dies in your throat at the sudden burst of pleasure, your mind hazy and your eyes glossy. 
Parting his legs and slightly bending them at the knees, he curls his hips in a manner that all but forces his cock into you at an angle that has stars dancing across your vision, prolonging the intense orgasm that ripples through your core. The tension you hold in your legs from the position causes them to shake uncontrollably, making your body rely on the firm grip of his hand now resting at your hip.  
His own orgasm nears with how forcefully you clench around and convulse all over him, his pace more erratic as he leans down to press his chest flush against your back, pinning you to the desk and planting a searing kiss to the crook of your neck. His thrusts grow sloppier thanks to the position, but that doesn’t mean they don’t fill you deeply enough anymore. 
Bringing his hand from your hair to the wall in front of the desk, the veins in his hand and arms bulge from the exertion. “That’s it,” he rasps into the crook of your neck. “Be a good girl for me and take everything I give you.” 
“Hm-Hm… yes,” you whimper, pushing back against him. Your body is pressed flatly against the wooden surface of the desk, his weight on top of you not allowing you to take any deep breath – yet the throbbing of his cock inside of you definitely makes up for it. 
A strained groan announces his orgasm, muffled by his lips pressed against your skin. A relieved moan leaves your lips as soon as his twitching cock spends itself inside of your still spasming walls. He keeps thrusting into you, though his thrusts become gentler and even slower than before due to his stamina decreasing, eventually stopping.
It’s unlike Aemond to pull out of you so shortly after, and you wince at the sudden loss, your assaulted core clenching around nothing to adjust to the emptiness. Turning your head to look at him, sweaty and heated cheek pressed to the cold desk, you can’t hide the blissed out expression that’s written all over your face. Aemond prowls towards the set up, picking up the laptop with the camera filming nothing but his chest, still heaving with ragged breaths.  
“Now, did you like that?” he asks as he walks back to you again, obviously speaking to the part of your audience that stayed for the show. “Then you’ll definitely love this.” 
Bending forward slightly, he points the camera to your cunt, blessing the viewers with the sight of his seed slowly oozing out of your cunt, running down your folds and quivering thighs. You stay still, too focused on the multiple pings! that bounce off the device, indicating that your little show has earned you a big deal of money.
“Is this the kind of cum show you expected, hm? I bet the fuck not.”
He then abruptly shuts the laptop with a thud, carelessly throwing it onto your bed. 
You push yourself back, standing on wobbly feet as you adjust your thong, holding onto the desk. You turn your head to look at him, the smirk on your lips matching the wicked one on his. “You know you’re gonna be a regular now,” you tease. 
“And I thought you’d never ask.”
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bunnys-kisses · 3 months ago
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Hiii I’d love to place an order! I’d like to order Angel food cake with a savory pastry and a side of iced tea and pina colada served by Lando💕
bakery menu
want to place an order? check out the menu! there's tons of things to choose from so please, hit me up! i'd love to hear from you! thank you, thank you! for this order! thank you lovely anon, i hope you enjoy it!
angel food cake ("if he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you.") + savory pastry ("let your brother find out.") + ice tea (accidentally launching relationship) + pina colada (pregnancy)
cw: smut/pwp, verstappen!reader, pregnancy, phone calls, protective!max, cowgirl position
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max didn't want you seeing any of the guys on the grid. it never sat right with him. he knew all of their dirty secrets and didn't need you getting involved with them.
but you and lando connected quite well, he was always sweet to you. he slowly grew to know you inside and out. you were perfect for him, it was just a shame that you had to keep your relationship private.
"this is silly." you shifted from one foot to another. you were currently in one of lando's t-shirts with a certain pair of underwear underneath, "where did you ever get this?"
lando was resting on his side with his head propped up by his fist, "the internet is a beautiful place, love." he beamed at you.
you'd barely call them panties, it was more like a strip of fabric held together by thin shoelaces. it was one step below a thong at that point. but it was neon green with your boyfriend's logo printed on the front.
you had refused to wear them to the dutch grand prix, but if he won, you'd wear them. you made the bed, now you must lie in it. you knew lando was still running off the high of the win, so you couldn't blame him. he beat your brother on his home turf, now he wanted to fuck his sister.
"do i have to wear these when i leave?" you asked.
he shrugged playfully, "sure. let your brother find out that way. if you leave them on the hotel room floor when he comes to pick you up... i can only imagine the look on his face." he knew that you had a habit of leaving things in hotel rooms. he had a decent collection of your make up that he had collected over your time together simply by taking home what you left behind.
it wouldn't be a stretch for your brother to find that thong, as embarrassing at it would be.
you crossed your arms and huffed, "couldn't i have gotten like a pair of boxers or even a bikini cut. this is shit that strippers wear." no offense to the hard working girls of that business, but that wasn't your line of work.
lando winked at you, "well, maybe you should put on a show for me."
you narrowed his eyes before you got on the bed with your boyfriend, "right, right." you ran your fingers through his hair and looked into his eyes, "you're a funny guy, norris." then went in for a kiss.
he got his arms around you and laid you out on the bed, his eyes raked your body. he admired your beauty and was eager to get the shirt off of you. which only left you in the thong.
"you know. if he fucks with me again, i'm finishing inside of you again." and watched you squirm under his grasp. oh, you were so beautiful. the prettiest thing ever put on his earth, and you were wearing his logo.
in all fairness you were going to be eventually be a norris, if his plan went well. he wanted you to be his wife. the pretty mrs. norris around the garage. all smiles and maybe a few babies.
a sick part of him liked the idea of taking max verstappen's sweet sister and putting a pretty ring on your finger. that he took the championship and his sister.
it pained him to take the thong off, but he wanted what was underneath. he wanted to see that slick pussy that he yearned for. he got the scrap of fabric off and gazed at your pussy before you took him by the shoulders and got him onto the bed.
he eyed your naked body as you straddled his waist, he helped you sink down on his cock. his expression changed as he felt himself nudge against the back of your pussy. almost took the breath out of him.
you breasts bounced with each thrust of your hips. he met his pace and held onto you. he eyed your beauty from the angle he was out. you looked painfully adorable. sweet little thing taking his big cock, letting it nudge up against the softest parts of you.
lando loved you, it was a infernal need, like the claws of hell gripped into him when he thought of you. he felt like a little devil when he got you into positions and rutted up against you. you were the ultimate prize, verstappen's little sister with the gentle eyes and sopping wet cunt. it was hot, that was all that lando wanted.
he'd never admit it to anyone (except maybe you), but if he had the choice between the championship and your sweet cunt for the rest of his days. he'd take you. there were a million prizes and trophies to win, but there was only one of you.
"lando." you gasped, your back arched a little as it hit just the right way. you felt tense as the pleasure lapped at your core. you were soaked and it felt hot all over.
"you're beautiful. you got all the beauty." he chuckled as he gripped onto your hips to meet your thrusts, "i can't believe you and max are siblings."
you whined, "lando. don't talk about my brother." your pussy sounded soaked from the movements you made. you were so wet for him and it made him shudder with want.
"sorry, sorry, baby girl." he said, "no more track talk, no more sibling talk." he leaned forward to kiss your chest as a promise as the two of your rutted against one another. the pair of you felt so good.
you moaned a 'thank you' as you placed your hands on either side of his chest to get a better angle to ride him. the feeling bloomed in the back of your head, it clouded your thoughts with that of hot, hot need. lust was a current in your system as you bounced on his cock.
"i love you."
"i love you too." you arched your back a little as you felt lando in your abdomen. a wave of lust went over you and made you run hot. your brother's rival was deep inside of you with little to no protection. it excited you.
but just as quickly as the pleasure rose in your body, it ran cold in a quick second.
your phone rang on the nightstand. while you ignored it, you caught the sight of the screen and saw that it was from your brother. you scrambled a little, with lando's cock still inside of him.
you felt ice in your stomach as you stopped for a moment. your breathing was heavy. it continued to ring.
"stay quiet." you said to lando before you answered the phone, "hey! max." you said, your voice was tight.
there was moment of silence with you still rolling your hips against lando's cock. letting it fill you. the bed squeaked a little and your breathing was heavy.
max sighed, "are you with lando?"
your breath got caught in your throat and you stopped your movements. you swallowed back the panic, "n..no. why would i be with lando.. i'm at my hotel!" you almost felt the air out of your lungs as lando's cock was painfully deep inside of you.
max said, painfully calm, "i know you are... don't lie." that was the thing about your older brother, he always knew when you lied. he could lie through his teeth, but you cracked under the pressure.
you felt lando's hands hold onto your hips. you said meekly, "surprise...."
your brother replied, "we'll talk about this after. i suggest you be more careful around the paddock, unless you people to talk... be safe. please. and tell lando to look at the driver's group chat."
you hung up the phone and put it down on the bed before lando moved you onto your hands and knees to plug his cock deep into you. he curved your back and rutted against you. you whined and tried to say something but lando spoke first.
"guess the cat has come out of the bag." the rush of it made him more excited as he rammed his cock into you. with a few more heavy thrusts, you came around his cock. and then with a few more, he finished inside of you. you came soon after as he rubbed his cock deep into you some more. the pressure made orgasm wash over you.
"lando."
"i've got you, baby girl. you look so good, all fucked out for me."
he loved the sight of you on your chest, hips up at the perfect angle to cream your sweet pussy. he slowed to a stop and pulled out, the base of his cock had a white ring around it from the mixture of your cum and his.
"what about max?"
"oh don't worry. i'll talk to him. gotta play nice with my future brother-in-law." lando said as he curled up further to you.
-
max didn't kill lando. he also wasn't happy. not only was lando dating you, he had also gotten you pregnant. he didn't even need to say anything and lando was already promising a ring and a life together. max was honestly a little impressed. seeing lando step up to the plate.
he could also see how affectionate lando was with you. how he was there for you every chance he got. he didn't throw you to the wayside because he got what he wanted. max only wanted the best for you.
"i'm fine, lando." you said as you pinched his cheeks, "go do you press stuff, i'll be here."
"alright, alright. but if you need anything you tell someone. i'm not having my wife getting lost or hurt out there." he tapped you on the forehead.
max chuckled into his fist and you glared at your brother.
but when you came to the paddock in mclaren orange near the end of the season, your brother was less impressed. you were with the mclaren driver, but you were still a verstappen.
"next time." max said, "you're wearing red bull, the idea of a verstappen in mclaren clothes isn't right. you're not married to him yet." some habits died hard.
maybe you should've thought this over better before you started dating your brother's rival. <3
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eudaimaniacs · 2 months ago
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bedsheets (logan howlett x female reader)
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character/universe: logan howlett/wolverine (x-men/marvel)
word count: 947 words
warning/s: full-on smut (minors, dni).
notes: i am back after a week of stressful preliminary exams. i can't wait to write again. and also, happy birthday to the handsome hugh jackman. have a good day, and enjoy!
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The Texas summer was different, requiring you to change your clothes and bedsheets constantly. You had to wear little to none because of the excessive sweating. While you were melting under the sun, Logan enjoyed the view. He loved the short shorts you wore that you would discard later. The sight of the thin, transparent strap accentuating your ass made him crazy. There wasn’t one day where Logan would almost rip your underwear to shreds before fucking you like an animal.
This day was no different. However, you had to change the bedsheets after having them for a week. The mixed sweat and fluids of yours and Logan let out a foul smell. It was disgusting to sleep and have sex on it. Logan wouldn’t admit it, but he loved it. The combined scent of the love you two had for each other drove him crazy.
Dressed only in your t-shirt and underwear, you removed the soiled bedsheet and put on the newly washed one. The sweet, lavender smell overcoming your nose made you smile. You couldn’t wait to lie down and sleep on it. It was extra special since Logan decided to fix the air conditioner that broke down one searing day. He was wearing his signature white tank top and those tight jeans. The cat-haired man was focused on ensuring the air conditioner was in good condition.
After putting on the new bedsheets, you went to the kitchen to eat some ice cream. You turned on the electric fan as the inevitable sweat began to drip. You cursed the cruel Texas summer as you ate spoons of chocolate ice cream. The clacking and boom of Logan fixing the air conditioner filled the air. As much as you hate the loud sounds, you are relieved that both of you are going to sleep in peace without sweating through the night.
“[Y/N], check the air conditioner,” Logan shouted from the bedroom.
You stood up and put the ice cream tub back inside the freezer. Almost removing your sweat-filled shirt, you made your way to the bedroom. The cold air surprises your hot body. The sensation of getting cooled from the cruel summer felt nice. Finally, you and Logan won’t sweat every night, so you won’t have to change the bedsheets constantly.
You kissed Logan and remarked, “Nice job, darling. Now I won’t tire myself changing disgusting bedsheets.”
The older man smirked and massaged your exposed butt. You see the outline of his penis hardening in his tight jeans. You sighed as you knew the bedsheets were getting soiled, not by the combined sweat but by the fluids. Logan groaned as he caressed your breasts and made your nipples perk up. You moaned as you squeezed his jeans, making Logan elicit a loud growl. You giggle as you break the kiss and remove your shirt.
“You don’t mind messing the new bedsheets, princess?”
You lie down on the lavender-scented bedsheets. Your tits bounce as Logan begins to unbuckle his belt.
You smirk and giggle before begging him to mess up the newly changed bedsheets with you. You spread your legs, and that made Logan even crazier. The transparent fabric is now wet with your arousal. The glisten of it invites Logan to let out his animal. Even with his penis wanting relief, Logan wanted to taste your pussy first.
He kneeled at the end of the bed and began to eat you out. You grabbed the sheets as the sensation of Logan’s tongue sent you to ecstasy. You whined and called out Logan’s name. Logan licked your pussy as if it were an ice cream on a cone, melting under the sun.
“You taste so sweet, [Y/N]. Already wetting the bedsheets, you naughty girl,” Logan grunted as he rubbed his penis against the mattress.
As you felt your high crashing over, Logan stopped eating you out and discarded his jeans and underwear. You groaned at the sudden halt of your pleasure. However, in exchange for its absence was his dick finally entering you. Logan lifted your legs and put them over his shoulder. He slowly entered inside you, and you felt the outline of his penis growing in your stomach.
You moaned as Logan started pounding away. Your boobs bouncing at Logan’s sheer animalistic power. He growled as he saw your flushed face overwhelmed with pleasure. Logan squeezed your tits as he continued to thrust inside you.
“Logan, it-i-it feels s-so good!”
You try holding on to the headboard or anything at all. Your legs were tired already. However, you wanted to chase your high. Logan kissed your legs as he quickened his pace.
“L-Logan! I’m, fuck, I-I think I’m c-close to c-c-cumming!” You shout as you feel your stomach twisting at the upcoming wave of pleasure.
Logan growled and whispered, “Fuck, come on, princess. Cum. Cum on my cock.”
He picked up the pace as he wanted you to orgasm. Your eyes roll at the back of your head as the overwhelming sensation of his penis fills you. Logan relaxed his thrusts as he fucked his fluid inside you. He pulled out and lay next to your shaking and sweating body. You sensed Logan’s warm cum flowing out of your pussy.
Logan kissed your forehead as he took care of you. You smile and put your face in his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.
“Sure, you don’t care about the messy bedsheets, princess?” Logan whispered as he massaged your back.
You softly smile and look at his eyes before replying, “I am always happy to mess them as long as you fuck me, Logan.”
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eudaimaniacs - 2024
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fanfictionismyaddiction · 2 months ago
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Six Times Toto Pushed His Luck (Part1)
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Part 2
word count: 888
Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife reader
Summary: When Toto Wolff's antics push his wife to the brink, she resorts to calling him by his full name, "Torger," reminding him who's really in charge in their playful yet loving relationship.
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You never really called him by his full first name. Toto was just easier, softer, and it fit him—most of the time. But sometimes, just sometimes, he pushed you to the edge, and then ‘Toto’ wasn’t enough. That’s when ‘Torger’ came out, a signal that he was skating on thin ice. And on very rare, very special occasions, when things were absolutely out of control, it became ‘Torger Christian Wolff.’
1. Monaco Apartment - Breakfast Disaster
It started off as a calm morning in Monaco, the sunlight streaming into your apartment. You’d barely woken up when you heard the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen. Toto’s cooking. You sighed, knowing exactly where this was headed.
As you entered the kitchen, you were greeted by the sight of him attempting to scramble eggs in the smallest pan possible. Half of the eggs were sticking to the pan, the other half still runny, and he had the heat turned up too high.
“Toto,” you began gently, “maybe I should—”
“I’ve got this,” he said, his voice confident.
Seconds later, the eggs flipped awkwardly, some landing on the stove, some… on the floor. You pinched the bridge of your nose, exasperated.
“Torger,” you finally said, crossing your arms. “You need to stop before we end up with a fire.”
He froze, the name cutting through his concentration. “Torger? It’s not that bad.”
“Torger. Step away from the stove.”
2. Silverstone Garage - Headphones Drama
Silverstone was in full swing, the race just as intense as you expected. Things weren’t going Mercedes’ way, and you could feel Toto’s frustration brewing from across the garage. Then, as if on cue, it happened—the dramatic slamming of the headphones. He ripped them off his head and threw them down onto the table in one swift, angry motion.
You sighed. How many pairs had he gone through this season? Too many to count.
“Torger,” you said, louder than usual to cut through the tension. “If you break one more pair of headphones…”
He looked at you with raised eyebrows. “Torger?”
“Yes. Torger. Those things are expensive, and you’re going to run out at this rate.”
He chuckled, the tension easing a bit. “Alright, alright. I’ll be gentler.”
3. Vienna - The Overpacking Incident
Packing for a quick weekend trip to Vienna should have been simple. Should have been. But when Toto decided to take the lead, you knew you were in for trouble. You opened the suitcase and stared in disbelief. There were four pairs of shoes, multiple shirts, and enough clothes to last a month.
“Torger,” you called from the bedroom. “Come here.”
He appeared in the doorway, clearly proud of his work. “I packed for us.”
You pointed at the suitcase. “Torger, why are there four pairs of shoes? We’re gone for two days!”
“I thought options would be good.”
“Torger, we don’t need options. We need space. Unpack this now.”
4. The Paddock - PDA Overload
The paddock was bustling, as usual, cameras and fans everywhere. You and Toto were walking through when, out of nowhere, he decided it was the perfect moment for an over-the-top kiss. In front of everyone. The photographers snapped away, and you could practically feel the internet lighting up with memes.
“Toto,” you whispered, trying to pull away.
“What?” he asked, his grin devilish.
You shot him a look, but he leaned in again, clearly enjoying himself. That’s when you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Torger. Not in front of everyone!”
He laughed, finally pulling back. “What? Can’t I show my wife some affection?”
“Torger, not when the whole grid is watching.”
5. Home Gym - The Training Competition
One of Toto’s favorite pastimes was working out, and today, he had challenged you to a little ‘friendly’ competition. At first, it was fun—some light weights, a few squats—but as the session went on, his competitive side started showing. He kept pushing, adding more weights and insisting on extra rounds.
By the time you were on your third set of squats, you’d had enough. Your legs felt like jelly, and he was still going strong.
“Torger,” you panted, dropping the weights. “I’m not a Formula 1 driver. This is insane.”
“One more set,” he said, completely ignoring the exhaustion in your voice.
“Torger,” you warned, “if you make me do one more squat, you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”
He chuckled, finally letting you off the hook. “Fine, fine. You win.”
6. Baku - The Meltdown
Baku was not going well. The race had been a disaster, and Toto’s mood was even worse. He spent the entire evening pacing, ranting about strategies, tires, and everything that had gone wrong. You had tried to calm him down, but nothing worked.
Finally, he stormed into the hotel room, still mid-rant, and that was when you’d had enough.
“Torger Christian Wolff,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you’d ever intended.
He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide. You never used his full name unless you were seriously upset.
“You need to stop this. It’s done, the race is over. Either calm down or I’m calling Christian Horner to tell him you need a break.”
Toto blinked, stunned. “You wouldn’t…”
“Try me, Torger Christian.”
He stared at you for a moment before letting out a deep sigh. “Alright, I’ll stop.”
“Good.”
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