#it is what it is sure. but what it was was shit :) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 3 days ago

Text

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss.

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway.

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual.

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant.

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own.

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly.

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side.

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned.

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now, his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.”

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you.

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing.

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence.

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin.

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach.

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back.

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest.

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind.

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch.

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need.

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency.

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours.

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss.

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness.

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth.

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you.

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure.

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts.

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits.

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

769 notes · View notes

babyleostuff · 3 days ago

Text

― FIRST SNOW

there is a superstition that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you like, true love will blossom between both and it will be long-lasting.

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, cuddly and in love love gyu 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!mingyu x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 518

💌 natalia’s note: ik it may be a bit early for winter fics but recently we had first snow in poland and i just had this urge to write something about it [edit: and now korea also had its first snow so yippie]

“look!”

you hummed and nodded weakly, though instead of opening your eyes you snuggled further into mingyu's warm chest, basking in the softness of his sweater and the steady beat of his heart underneath your ear.

days off were the best.

“baby,” your boyfriend murmured excitedly against your temple and ran his cold finger along your cheek. “it’s snowing!”

with mingyu’s arm holding your waist in a tight grip; not that you complained, the afternoon teddy bear cuddles, especially in the colder weather were the best, it was a bit difficult for you to actually move to see the supposed snow.

“it’s so pretty,” he said in awe, as if it was his first time seeing it. “look, look!” he said and pointed at the window that was behind you.

“gyu?” you mumbled and propped yourself on his chest as much as you could. “i’d really love to see it, but you’re holding me hostage and my neck is too sore to turn it all the way around”.

mingyu’s eyes widened, and a small pout appeared on his face. “oh shit, right. sorry.”

you cupped his chin and placed a kiss at the tip of his nose. "'s okay," you said, before sitting all the way up and turning around towards the window.

and your boyfriend was right. even though your view of the city below was very blurry due to mingyu's apartment being on a high floor, you could still imagine how pretty the streets must look now, covered in the white fluff.

“i can’t wait to beat your ass in a snowball fight,” you said and turned back to your boyfriend.

you weren’t sure if it was due to the bad lightning, since mingyu insisted on turning all the lights off and lightning some candles, but you could’ve sworn he was blushing, but before you could ask him about that he took a hold of your hand and pulled you back to his chest.

“you know what the first snow means, right?” he asked after a beat of silence.

nodding, you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face.

“we’ve been together for five years, gyu. i don’t think that superstition counts for us anymore.”

he hummed and nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head. “maybe,” he said. “but i like to believe that every first snowfall we witness in this life will allow us to meet our next ones,” you felt his hand brush the hair from your neck in a gentle manner, “and i hope to witness as many of them as we can.”

not really knowing what to say, because who the hell says things like that, you lifted your head from the crook of mingyu’s neck and looked at his ruffled dark hair and shiny brown eyes that were looking at you with more love than it should be legal.

“you’re impossible, kim mingyu,” you shook your head with a laugh.

all you got in response was an irresistibly devastating grin, before he leaned in and sealed your lips in a kiss that could melt any amount of snow.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot @iamawkwardandshy @icyminghao @heeseungthel0ml @goyangiiwonu @bath1lda @ruurooozz @ny0sang @luuxian @onerubii @hurrican3-insert-nam3 @mekuiikore @luvseungcheol @thenotoriousegg @yuuyeonie @soffiyuhh @svtficsarchive @hyperdramas @huen1ngk41 @lesuneczka @oc3anfloor @gyuguys @fr-freak @bewoyewo

721 notes · View notes

queerclarkkent · 2 days ago

Photo

i hate zombies. J fucking hate zombies. This twink made me reconsider. I should spite myself. This beautiful whore of a man is my gizelda and im that freak from notredamne

RESIDENT EVIL 4 REMAKE (2023) dev. Capcom Leon Croft - Osiris

#cunt.#Not sure if thats me or thats what he's serving #gay #meme post #shit post #resident evil #Zombies #Zombies in fiction #cyprus #the hunchback of notre dame #Hellfire song #You know the one #digital art

40K notes · View notes

synvil · 2 days ago

Text

can’t swim // rafe cameron

a / n : rafe cameron thoughts. btw this was actually an anonymous ask i sent to a writer, i don’t know if she’ll write it but im sure if she does, it’ll turn out amazing. @rafeysbunny i’m 🧋 anon, hehe.

fun fact, i cannot swim.

synopsis : in which, rafe overhears that you can’t swim and during a party out on the docks, some of the kooks push you into the ocean to loosen you up.

warnings : reader can’t swim. kelce being an ass, peer pressure, etc.

“are you serious, [Name]?”

The raised tone of her voice causes you to shush her as you tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and purse your lips faintly. “Not so loud, sare..” You let out a small breath and frown, leaning back against the headboard of her bed.

Sarah nods in understanding, lowering her tone as she sighs softly and crosses her legs on the bed in front of you. “That’s crazy- i mean, everyone here in Outer Banks are either surfers or decent swimmers.”

“Except me..” You trail off, shutting your eyes as you bring your hands up to your face. “It’s pretty humiliating, you know.. Seeing everyone in their swimsuits and able to swim in the ocean or go surfing, without the fear of drowning.”

“Wow, no wonder you wouldn’t ever go into the pool or go swimming with us during the boat parties on the dock..”

Unbeknownst to you two, Sarah’s door was open and a passing Rafe Cameron was on his way downstairs when he overhears your conversation.

“It’s not like I haven’t tried, but each time, I feel my body sinking and it terrifies me. Plus, y’know, with the whole nearly drowning as a kid trauma and shit.” you force a laugh while Sarah shares a bittersweet smile.

��It’s alright, stay by me tonight and I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

“Thanks, Sarah, I appreciate it.. and you can’t tell anyone either, okay, especially not Rafe.” You warn pleadingly and she chuckles and nods. “wait, why specifically him?”

You feel your cheeks warm at her question as you turn away. “Your brother just seems like the type to make fun of me for it, and besides, it’s just embarrassing to have a guy i think is hot, to know that about me.”

Sarah scrunches her nose and shudders. “I think your crush on my brother is more embarrassing than you being unable to swim.” she teases and you playfully push her away from you as she breaks into a laugh.

Rafe peeks into the room and thinks for a moment as his eyes examine and take in your form. He has already known long ago of your developed crush on him, and to say he has a mutual infatuation with you may be an understatement.

Every time you come over, Rafe finds every excuse to be in the house, sometimes even in the same room, just to get a look at you.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you feel shy, the way your eyes light up when you laugh, everything entices him, intrigues him. You were just so perfect.

Rafe quickly pulls away when he hears movement and leans against the wall beside the doorframe for a moment.

Despite being a little surprised at the newfound information, it brought a little smile to his face. You can’t swim? How cute.

“Come on, we should get ready for Topper’s party tonight.” Sarah says and you sigh softly, but get up anyways with her as she heads over to her closet. “It’ll be fun, come on.”

Rafe lingers for a second longer as he imagines what you’ll be wearing before taking his leave downstairs.

It’s around ten at night when the two of you arrive at the docks, the night sky surrounding the area with only the lights of Topper’s large boat illuminating the place.

“I don’t know, maybe i shouldn’t be here..” You go to turn around but Sarah stops you, pulling you to her side. “Come on, it’ll be okay, i promise. Besides, you look super cute, so flaunt it, okay?” She winks and you huff a breath before following after her.

The closer you get, the louder the partygoers become and the music blasting is enough to stimulate the senses.

Once you get on board, Sarah is engulfed by her friends, while you remain on the sideline with a weak smile and awkwardly hugging your arms. Despite being a kook, you weren’t among the popular ones but that wasn’t enough to get you on their bad side at least.

You rub your arms, the thin fabric of your cardigan doing nothing but add to Sarah’s fashion sense of your outfit tonight. In her baby blue, cropped cardigan, a matching spaghetti strapped solid colored tank and dark washed, high waisted denim shorts.

You help yourself to the bar, grabbing a red solo cup and letting the bartender fill the plastic cup with some beer before bringing it to your lips, hoping it would do some good to alleviate some anxiety, while you keep an eye on Sarah from nearby, who’s talking with her friends.

The scene brings a smile to your lips when you recall her saying she would keep an eye on you earlier in the day but you were happy to see her enjoy herself.

However, you didn’t get to enjoy much time alone as Topper and his friends make his way over to you.

“Hey, [Name]. All alone again?” Kelce smirks and you merely offer a small smile in return. “Not much of a party kinda girl.. but it’s nice.” you mention the last part to Topper who dismisses you, understanding you meant no offense.

“Where’s Sarah?” Topper asks, looking around the area and you gesture over a little ways nearby.

“She’s talking with some friends.” You reply, tapping my fingers against my cup as you shift your footing, feeling the anxiety come back, causing you to take another sip of your drink.

You let your eyes wander around the group, briefly catching Rafe’s, who let his eyes trail up and down your form for a moment, taking in your appearance. The way the baby blue color popped against your skin, the way your hair was styled for tonight’s party. Even the way you shyly held your cup to your chest, fingers still tapping against the sides.

Feeling your cheeks warm from Rafe’s intense gaze, you turn away and look back to Kelce.

Kelce and some of the other guys step closer and you give a small smile to them. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Come on, [Name]. We notice you always come to these parties but you don’t do anything,” Kelce mentions and you force a chuckle. “I’m an observer.” but some of the other guys don’t take that answer. “All we’re saying is, you should loosen up a little. Come on, some of the girls are taking dives off the tail, you should join.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you wave off the idea. “No, i think im good tonight, im actually pretty tired..” You say and Kelce scoffs lightly as his hand goes down to grab your wrist. “Don’t be a buzzkill, [Name], the water will wake you right up.”

“Kelce, i’m not really in the mood to-“ Rafe places a hand on Kelce’s shoulder, stopping him. “Let go, dude, let’s just leave her alone.” But Kelce doesn’t listen as he drags you along to where the other girls are, and the commotion causes all the partygoers to look over, Sarah looking your way.

Your eyes meet Rafe’s and he notices a look of fear and anxiety in them as Kelce brings you over and you try to pull away, the other guys surrounding you all, cheering Kelce and You.

“Yeah!”

“Come on, loosen up, girly.”

“Kelce, I really don’t—“ Despite your futile attempts, Kelce just takes the cup from your hands while Sarah pushes her way through the crowd. “Hey, Kelce, leave her alone!”

Rafe purses his lips and pulls Kelce away. “Hey, seriously, that’s enough.” He warns, pushing Kelce back, who just furrows his brows and scoffs. “What the hell? Why are you getting in the way, man?”

Sarah manages to get to your side, standing over you protectively. But the other girls now get in the way.

“Come on, Sarah, let [Name] do it.”

“it’s not scary.”

You shake your head again, as the girls pull Sarah away, leaving you alone with the kook surrounding you.

Rafe is pushing Kelce away, who’s confused and pushing Rafe back in retaliation. Meanwhile this leaves the other Kooks to act freely and the guys seem to share the same idea and go over to your body.

“Hey, hold on—“

But it’s too late, as the guys pick you up with ease and toss you overboard, a wave of laughter and cheers erupting from them.

“[Name]!” Sarah shouts from the girls hold and Rafe widens his eyes as he whirls around at the sound of your scream and a splash from the impact.

“Shit-“ Rafe curses as he roughly shoves Kelce into Topper as he rips off his shirt before taking a leap off the deck and into the water with you.

You flail, panic surging into you as you begin to hyperventilate. “S-Sa-Sarah—!”

“What the hell?!” Kelce scoffs with furrowed brows while Sarah feels tears brimming her eyes. “[Name] can’t swim!” she cries out as she rips away from the girls and shoves two of the guys out of her way before leaning over the railing. “[Name]!”

Topper’s, Kelce’s and the other kooks’ eyes widen in shock at the revelation. “What?”

They all rush over the rail to peer into the ocean as Rafe is diving under to find you.

Rafe manages to find your sinking body, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you up to the surface, your body already unconscious due to the lack of air and your panic flailing.

“[Name], [Name], are you okay?” He gasps as he reaches the surface and uses a hand to caress your cheek while the other props you up under your back. “No, no, come on, [Name], wake up.”

Sarah rushes around down the boat and on the boardwalk and leans down. “Rafe, Rafe! Come on, bring her over here!”

Rafe clenches his jaw when you still don’t respond and swims his way over towards Sarah as quickly as he can, panting before lifting your body up, Sarah doing her best to help you onto the wooden docks, laying you flat on your back.

“[Name], please! please wake up!” Sarah cries as she jostles you, Rafe climbing onto the dock next to her and looking down at you. She begins doing chest compressions, tears streaming down her cheeks faster. By this time, everyone on the boat is out on the boardwalk surrounding you body on the ground.

Rafe stands up straight, his clothes soaking and dripping but he doesn’t pay it any mind as he tries to catch his breath, staring down at his sister trying to wake you.

He contemplated for just a minuscule of a second, about beating the shit out of Kelce, but he prioritized your wellbeing first.

“Rafe- she’s not waking up.”

Sarah inhales sharply, trying not to think the worst and her older brother kneels down, pinching your nose closed before bringing his lips down to yours.

The kooks are whispering amongst each other, surprised by Rafe’s sudden leadership actions.

Rafe pulls away, continuing Sarah’s chest compressions before going back to pressing his lips against yours, providing CPR.

Please, not like this. wake up, wake up for me, [Name].

Suddenly a choked noise erupts from your lips as you turn to your side and spew out bits of water. Your throat becomes sore as you cough roughly.

Sarah immediately breaks into a smile, a gasp of relief coming from her and Rafe pulls back, a sigh coming from him. “H-Hey, take it easy, you’re alright..”

You look around, feeling dizzy and nauseous as you spit up the last of the water you nearly drowned in, as Sarah pulls you to her chest, engulfing you in a tight hug. “[Name], i’m so glad you’re okay!”

Meanwhile, Rafe stands upright, looking up at the sky, trying to relax his rapidly beating heart, as he takes slow steps to turn around.

“H-Hey, look, I didn’t know-“

Kelce, already knowing what was coming, raises his hands in defense as he backs up.

However, Rafe doesn’t hesitate his fist swinging into Kelce’s cheek, succeeding in knocking him down. “You son of a bitch!”

Rafe clenches his jaw tight as he looks to the other kooks. “Party is fucking over, get the fuck away!”

Topper tries to talk some sense into Rafe but Rafe shoves him. “You hear me? I said get away! go fucking home, now!”

Everyone is stunned into silence as they share looks, before quickly scrambling away and off the dock, not wanting to argue with the Kook King.

Sarah sniffles as she pulls away and looks up at Rafe, who kneels down and tucks an arm under your legs and the other under your back, before lifting you up carefully, bridal style.

“R-Rafe?…” Your hoarse voice calls out, hands pressed to his firm chest but Rafe hushes you. “Shh.. it’s alright, just get some rest.. you’ll be fine.”

Sarah watches her brother carry you towards his truck, wiping her tears as she follows after them, exhaling gently.

Tears brim your eyes as your chest swells with warmth, despite your freezing body.

You stare up at Rafe weakly, feeling your chest grow weak as your eyes flutter close and you press your head into his chest more. “Thank you.. Rafe.. You saved me..”

Rafe’s hold on you tightens, securing you in his arms.

“..I’m so glad you’re okay… i’m so sorry..”

a/n: welp, this could’ve been sooo much better but i rushed this at work hehe. outerbanks is playing on the tv at work so i thought id get a little smth out :3 this is sooo bad though 😭

not proofread or edited. i’ll go back and edit some other time.

synvil™️.

580 notes · View notes

no-144444 · 3 days ago

Text

farm girl- o.piastri

summary: what's a better way to a guys attention than shouting at him for being too slow?

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! clarkson farm, farm-hand!! reader

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

You weren’t the biggest fan of Jeremy’s reality show, but you enjoyed working the farm, so, as per your agreement, you wouldn’t be featured in episodes as much as possible. You were so far removed in fact, that you didn’t even know that someone else was driving the tractor when you shouted for them to ‘stop being shit’ at driving it.

“Y/n!” Jeremy shouted. “Stop being rude!”

“What?” you scoffed. “I swear to god, if Finn doesn’t fucking speed up I’m going to-” you started, but stopped yourself when you saw none other than Oscar fucking Piastri in the driver’s seat with an embarrassed and guilty smile on his face. “Sorry,” you offered, internally cursing yourself. “Continue on!” you announced before turning back and continuing on with more of your duties.

Oscar looked after you as you walked, an amused smile on his face. “Who’s that?”

“Y/n, one of our farmers,” Jeremy explained, a chuckle on his lips. “She’s… fiery.”

“She’s damn good at her job!” someone from off-camera chimed in, making everyone chuckle.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

As his day went on, he caught glimpses of you. You were tending to animals, or showing someone around, or just generally being beautiful and mysterious. He was desperate to know more. He asked a million questions about you, and he was sure everyone was aware of his not-so-secret crush on you.

“You should ask her out, she likes F1,” Jeremy advised as they sat down to lunch. “You’re one of her favourite drivers.”

He still got surprised when people knew him, forgetting sometimes that he is, in fact, a public figure. “Yeah?”

Jeremy laughed. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Kids these days…”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

When his day of hard labour came to an end, he made it his plan to seek you out, humoring Jeremy’s theory.

“Hi,” he smiled, standing just behind you.

You startled, jumping up from whatever it was that you were doing and cursed. “Fucking hell! Announce yourself!” You let it slip before you could really stop yourself, but you didn’t feel all that bad, he should have announced himself.

He laughed. “What did you think I was trying to do?!”

“Scare the shit out of me?” you scoffed. “I don’t know.”

“I’m Oscar,” he held out his hand to be shaken. “Nice to meet you.”

You took his hand,shaking it quickly. “Y/n. Sorry about the whole… tractor thing.”

“Nothing but a bruised ego,” he chuckled. “So what do you do around here?”

You shrugged. “A bit of everything, I guess.”

He nodded, and you both stood in silence for a minute.

“Did you need something?” you questioned. “-Not to be rude, or anything, I just… I've got to get back to the rest of my stuff so… yeah.”

He smiled, enjoying the fact that you were as awkward as him. “Can I get your number?”

You stared at him for a second, then you broke out into one of the most beautiful smiles he’d ever seen. “Why?”

He stepped closer to you. “I think you’re really pretty,” he explained. “And I want to get to know you more.”

You nodded. “Give me your phone.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

766 notes · View notes

my-castles-crumbling · 3 days ago

Text

cinnamon - November 27 - wolfstar - microprompt challenge - word count: 273

"It's not Moony," Sirius insisted for the thousandth time that day, looking around the path nervously to make sure nobody heard. "Drop it, Prongs, I'm-" he cut himself off, sighing. "Just drop it."

Smirking at the joke neither of them told, James just plowed right on, stumbling a bit in the snow. "Sirius, for a smart bloke, you're so thick. It is Remus. And the sooner you admit it to yourself, the sooner you two can fall into sweet, gay love together!"

Blushing crimson, Sirius looked around again, making sure nobody was listening. "Three things," he said, holding up three fingers. "One. I don't love Moony-"

"Sure, sure."

"Two," Sirius continued, frowning, as they entered the outskirts of Hogsmeade, "Remus doesn't love me. And three," he said this quickly so James didn't interrupt again, "what about the cinnamon?"

"Cinnamon?" James asked, leading the way towards the Three Broomsticks.

"I didn't just smell chocolate and the Forest. I smelled cinnamon," Sirius nodded.

But before they could continue their conversation, they saw Remus and Peter in the window of the bar, and found themselves hurrying inside to meet their friends. The subject was dropped until they ordered drinks. Sirius, James, and Peter all ordered a normal butterbeer, but when Remus went, he said, "Can I have some cinnamon on mine?"

Immediately, James exclaimed, "Cinnamon, you say?" eyeing Sirius as he spoke. Sirius, however, just looked down, feeling himself go red again.

"Yeah," Remus shrugged obliviously, paying the person at the counter. "I've become a bit obsessed with it lately."

"Oh," James said casually, but he was grinning ear-to-ear, nudging Sirius roughly. "Interesting."

Well shit. That explained the cinnamon, then.

616 notes · View notes

syrinq · 3 days ago

Text

no one tells you this but betterdiscord just uninstalls itself for the lolz every now and then (likely due to discord pushing out some hotfix). so keep that installer .exe thang somewhere accessible, i use it about once a week at least :')

and if you are Sick of NEW! SHOP! RED SHINY FLAIR! shit you can also dive into betterdiscord's css bit. and slam in this beautiful thing https://github.com/CroissantDuNord/discord-adblock (i personally use a different code but it should functionally be the same. gets rid of shop, nitro bits, server boosts, etc. in the entire client. NO MORE SHITTY PROMOTIONS IN PROFILE SETTINGS! WOOHOO)

and if you're even pettier like me & can't deal with the newer font. here's this beautiful thang :) https://github.com/snappycreeper/OldDiscordFont/releases/tag/v1.0.2

We've lost a lot to the onslaught of enshittification but I can think of none more brazen than Discord getting rid of the send button

#i also love the favoritemedia plugin but that one dies so often each time discord updates and it makes me :(#there's some stupid shit abt betterdiscord/custom clients technically being against discord tos but i personally haven't had any issues #i'm. not sure what exactly you have to do to get noticed by discord and get banned for using it. but. oh well #anyway. save me betterdiscord. save me #atp i literally can't use discord without it. the android version is fine since they reverted the layout but still less desirable #and downloading an old apk version for that makes stuff like media shit itself functionally. pain!

42K notes · View notes

five-one-two-station · 3 days ago

Text

At this point I am convinced some people are watching this show solely via the subtitle files, because that's the only thing that explains drastically misunderstanding everything that's not spelled out in dialogue to this extent.

Honestly some of the most embarrassing mass failure of media literacy I've ever seen. It's not even complicated stuff, it's basic text comprehension and story fluency.

- No, Caitlyn's "I know!" is not anger at being called out; she's saying she is very, very painfully aware of what she's done wrong. Watch it again.

- No she didn't take the guards away or go to the cell to have sex with Vi. TF?!?

It was Vi who initiated; Caitlyn was surprised she did.

She pulled the guards away to help Vi if/when she chose to do what she knows her well enough to know she probably would. Vi makes her choice - Caitlyn doesn't "let" her, she just supports it, because it's Vi's choice to make.

Vi has no idea she's done this until after, it doesn't affect her "agency" at all. That's not what any of those words mean!

- She did this as a direct acknowledgement of and response to Vi's previous criticisms.

You are supposed to be able to make the very, very minimal leap of imagination required to understand what the show is telling you here; that she is genuinely sorry, genuinely committed to getting her shit together, and that she has heard and received every word that Vi has told her.

The reason this gesture is so important is that it demonstrates she's now going out on a limb to put herself, her resources, and her privilege to work for the greater good.

And the reason Vi reacts the way she does is that she understands all of this immediately.

You should not need the show to sit you down and spell this out to you step by step Barney the Dinosaur style.

- She works very hard and sacrifices quite a lot to try to do right by people after fucking up so badly before, but not before very explicitly acknowledging that she can't undo the harm she's already done. And this isn't even an inference thing, she actually even says this bit out loud twice, and you still somehow missed it.

- For $5, what do you think the show was suggesting by having Sevika take up her seat, her final costume have no Enforcer uniform elements, and having her allude to an ongoing struggle. Come on, guess.

I am loathe to call people stupid just because some tv show stuff sailed over their heads, but... y'all are legitimately testing that. This is not exactly The Holy Mountain or something, it is very straightforward storytelling.

And just... I mean why would you be this loud about anything without making sure you didn't have it ass backways first?!? In public!?!? 💀

You guys, you have to watch shows to know what is happening in them.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #caitlyn #caitvi #caitlyn kiramman #vi arcane

787 notes · View notes

random-thot-generator · 2 days ago

Text

Simon's drunk and just wants to go to bed with his sweetheart.

cw: MDNI- gets a wee bit hot spicy , possible dub con (or is it?) 😏

>>>>>

It's after one in the morning when a heavy knock at the door startles you out of a sound sleep.

You sit up in bed, still half-asleep and confused, and squint at the clock on your nightstand. Not sure what woke you, you're about to lie back down when you hear the knock again. That's never a good thing this late at night.

Now wide awake and scared out of your wits, you slide out of bed and throw on your robe. Creeping through your flat, you tiptoe up to the door and peer through the peephole, seeing an all too familiar face blinking blearily at your door.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you unlock the door, but leave the chain on, and open it just enough to peek through the gap. "Jesus, Simon. You scared the shit out of me!"

The big Manc is standing on your stoop, swaying in place, his dark brown eyes bloodshot and drooping. "'M sorry, sweet'art. Know it's late. Had a few wiff the lads an' now I can't find m'keys." He inhales a deep breath then hiccups and makes a face. "Will ya let me in?"

He's obviously drunk, but that pitiful, hangdog face gets to you. You slip the chain and open the door. "C'mon in."

Simon shuffles inside and immediately stoops to unlace his boots, nearly pitching face-first onto the floor. "Simon!" you gasp, grabbing his arm. "You're going to hurt yourself. Go sit on the couch."

Unsteady, he stumbles to the couch and basically falls onto it, grunting as he rights himself and drops his head back on the cushions.

"'M s'sorry, love. Shouldn't uh woke ya. Jus' missed ya. Needed t'see ya."

You quirk a brow, smirking. Yeah. Totally wasted. Probably best to let him sleep it off on the couch, then give him hell in the morning. You'll help get him comfortable then let him pass out.

"Let's get your boots off, Si."

Kneeling at his feet, you start working on the laces when you feel his big hand rest on the top of your head. You glance up and smile at him, amused. His hand slides down to cup your cheek, his dark eyes watery as he stares down at you.

"Yer too good t'me, sweet'art. Bess day uh my life is when I met ya."

That actually makes you melt a little. "Aw. That's sweet, Simon."

His brows scrunch together. "'S true, love. Knew the moment I saw ya, you was meant t'be mine."

"What?"

"'M gonna take care uh ya, sweet'art. Gonna take a post at base, trainin' recruits. No more leavin' ya all alone. Worries the hell outta me, doin' tha'."

"Simon, love, you're drunk, talking out of your head. You and me aren't—"

"I know, love. I know," he murmurs, cupping the back of your head. "We're not married yet, but we're gonna be. Be proud t'have ya as my missus. Olready think uh ya like m'wife, anyway. An' one day, ya'll be the mother uh my kids. Yer gonna make a damn good mum, sweet'art; I can tell."

You huff out an exasperated laugh. "Whoa, Simon! This is getting a little too—"

He presses his thumb over your lips and chuckles lowly. "I know, sweet girl. Gettin' ahead uh m'self. Don't worry, love. We'll find a nice place t'settle, first. One uh them quiet li'l villages near the base. Need t'put my pretty wife in a proper home a'fore we start makin' babies." He smirks. "Don't mean we can't practice, though, yeah?"

He reaches for you, but you crab walk backwards. "Si, you've been drinking. We can't—"

You bleat out a startled yelp when he grabs hold of your ankles and drags you back within his reach. Big hands gripping your waist, he picks you up off the floor like a toddler and plops you on his lap, then proceeds to kiss you stupid. Hands kneading and groping, tongue shoved down your throat, you can feel his erection pressing up into the thin material between your legs.

Oh, mercy!

Finally breaking the kiss, he stands in one swift motion, making your already spinning head reel. Pupils blown wide, he smirks down at you with a feral light smoldering in his eyes. "Never too drunk t'give my li'l woman a proper fuckin'," he purrs darkly, then his lips latch onto yours again.

Lying limp as a ragdoll in his arms, he carries you back to your bed and shows you just what a proper fucking is. Several times. He must not have been as drunk as you thought. Come to think of it, he didn't taste like alcohol at all.

The sky is beginning to lighten with the approach of dawn before he finally turns you on your side and curls himself around you. One hand wedged between your legs, the other holding onto your tit, he nuzzles the back of your neck until he eventually drops off into an exhausted sleep.

You blink tired eyes at your bedside clock, remembering you're scheduled to work. Your head flops back down on your pillow. There's no way you're making it into work in the morning. Hell, you're not even sure if you're going to be able to walk tomorrow— not normally, anyway. Even so, you can't be mad about it, not after all those orgasms. Simon truly had a gift; the man is a giver.

Feeling sated, safe and warm, you snuggle back into Simon, ready to fall asleep. Still, your hazy mind can't help but wonder...

What's he going to think when he wakes up next to his favorite barista and not in his own bed?

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #call of duty

569 notes · View notes

vampiefemme · 1 day ago

Text

modern!vi who’s down horrendous for you. she gets home from the gym, sweat-damp and sore, ready for a much-needed shower after hitting a new pr and kicking her own ass during her workout. she’s undressing in the foggy bathroom when her phone pings from the counter, your name lighting up the screen. she tosses her shirt to the side and unlocks the phone to see your message.

missing you sooo bad right now, you’ve texted her. attached is a photo of you, shirtless, with your perfectly manicured nails delicately cupping your tits. might have to touch myself… help me out?

vi scoffs at your message, but she clicks on that photo again, zooms in and analyzes it until she’s sure she’s memorized every individual pixel.

fuck, you’re perfect. fuck fuck fuck.

steam from the shower has fogged up the mirror entirely, and it’s deathly humid in the bathroom. but vi’s got a soft spot for you - she’d do anything you asked her to, even if your version of asking is merely suggesting… no, bribing. that photo was definitely a bribe.

vi messes around with a few potential angles, propping her phone up on the counter, then on the floor, even on the back of the toilet. nothing looks right, and she’s so sweaty and frustrated that she almost decides not to send you anything at all. she rips open the shower curtain, huffing an annoyed sigh before her eyes land on the shower head.

huh, that’s an idea.

fifteen minutes later, as you’re lazily dragging your fingers through your cunt, horny and annoyed that vi hasn’t texted you back, you get a notification. it’s a video, you realize with a giddy whir of excitement, and you click play without a second thought. one hand cradling your phone, the other between your thighs, you watch as vi settles the camera down on a shelf by the window. her scarlet locks are damp with sweat, droplets of water from the shower rolling down her inked skin. fuck, you’ll never get used to that body - she’s all lean muscles and sharp edges, so dangerous until she’s holding you with those calloused hands and curling her frame up against yours.

and now? she’s biting her lip, trying to make a show of trailing a hand down her abdomen - she stops short, though, reaching off to the side instead. her hand returns with the running shower head, and you draw in a sharp, excited breath. as if she could hear you, vi lets out a little chuckle and says, “i know, unexpected. i haven’t done this in years.”

she fiddles with the shower head, flicking a switch at the neck until the water flow changes to a more… optimal setting. the stream’s a lot more focused now, more intense.

“worked myself up a bit before this. hope that’s okay, princess.” vi flashes a smirk at the camera, but with her cheeks painted that pretty pink shade, you know she’s a little embarrassed. uncertain.

you’re grateful that the camera angle lets you see every detail of what vi’s doing - how her body moves. she hitches a leg up against the shower wall, just high enough to spread herself open. the soft curls between her legs are untamed and wet, and your cunt twitches at the sight of vi’s pink, pink cunt, spread beautifully - you only get one glance, though, before the silver shower head blocks your view. vi hisses through her teeth and her hips twitch. you sigh, your fingers playing in the wetness between your legs as you watch vi toss her head back in pleasure. every moan that passes her lips goes straight to your clit - you’re needy, gushing wetter every time you see vi’s tits bounce or her jaw clench.

“fuuuuck,” she cries out, her face a vision of pleasure. mouth hung open, brows knitted together, eyes foggy with lust. “gonna come, shit, baby…”

water drips from vi’s hair down to her shoulders, rolling in beads down her tense chest. she’s heaving, panting, gasping your name as her orgasm slams into her, tatted biceps flexing as she forces the shower head to stay in place. her orgasm seems to last forever, streams of water gushing from her pussy down to the shower floor - and then she’s done, spent.

it’s almost like vi forgets about the camera for a moment. she hums in pleasure, still panting a bit as she comes back down from her high. she licks her lips, then her eyes meet the camera - and oh, she looks wrecked.

“hope that’s enough material for you, pretty girl,” she says to the camera, winking playfully before the video cuts out.

#i’m consumed by thoughts of modern!vi at the gym likeee she would be my gym crush #and oh to see her jerk it with a shower head…#vi arcane #vi arcane fanfic #vi x reader #vi x reader fic #vi fanfiction #vi fanfic #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi arcane x reader #arcane fanfic #modern!au #modern!vi #my writing

508 notes · View notes

rafesangelita · 14 hours ago

Note

rafe + predator/prey with bambi?

warnings: dark!rafe (he’s nice at first), bratty behavior, dom/sub themes, slight arguing, shouting, manhandling, fear play, rafe chases you around tanneyhill, hide and seek, oral (m. receiving), face fucking, dacryphilia, unprotected sex, rough sex, hair pulling, choking, overstimulation, slapping, impact play (?), asphyxiation, lots of dirty talk, squirting, size kink, breeding kink, baby trapping threats, degradation

link: read more of bambi!reader here <3

w/c: 2.2k

rafe knew the second you slammed the door shut in his face that you had forgotten your place. all the soft, sappy sex you two had been indulging in had officially altered your brain chemistry into thinking you could lock him out of his room in his own house. “open this door, y/n.” rafe hadn’t raised his voice at you in a long time, and while he didn’t want to, it wasn’t long before he felt his patience running thin as you continued to ignore him and give him the silent treatment. you stood on the other side of the door, a pout gracing your lips as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“i’m trying to sort this out with you, baby, but you’re making that really hard for me right now..” rafe spoke gently, his fists balling up at his sides. “you know.. the last thing i wanna come home to when i’ve had a rough day is an attitude and a temper tantrum.” he attempted to twist the door knob, your heart beating in your ears when it started rattling against the hardwood. “i’ve been so good with you, i think you’ve forgotten just how fast things can change, bambi.” his words sending a shiver down your spine.

of course you didn’t want to be on his bad side, but something about the way his voice dropped a few octaves as if he was giving you a warning made you step closer to the door. “open it or i’ll do it myself.” for a moment there, you almost did as he said, your hand reaching down for the door knob before you heard him whisper something underneath his breath. “fuckin’ brat.” you froze just as your fingers grazed the cold metal. he wasn’t going to like what you did next. taking a step back, you shuddered as you watched the shadow of his feet. “n-no.” you whimpered, your heart beating in your chest.

rafe laughed, his jaw ticking as he felt anger boiling underneath his skin. “what was that? what did you say?” surely he wasn’t hearing right. “i said no, rafe!” you yelled back, running to the corner of his room that was furthest from the door. that did it. rafe said goodbye to any kind of restraint he had left, deciding you were going to learn your lesson about saying that little two-lettered word to him. rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, rafe let out a breath before backing away. “are you near the door?” your eyebrows knitted in confusion at his question. “no—”

before you could say anything else, rafe barged in, knocking the hardwood off of its hinges as your hands shot up to cover your ears. you stared at him doe eyed and terrified, his eyes finding yours as he rolled his shoulders back. “i didn’t want to do that..” he stalked over to you, wrapping a hand around your throat before pressing you against the wall, “why do you have to make me be the bad guy, huh?” you gasped, clasping a palm around his wrist. “please— i’m sorry!” rafe stared you down, his eyes nothing but two black holes as his grip around your throat tightened.

“are you? it seemed like you just wanted to piss me off back there,” he dragged you towards his bed, throwing you down before pinning your elbows to the mattress and slotting himself between your thighs, “that goddamn silent treatment, you know i can’t stand that shit.” his face was centimeters away, his breath fanning your cheek as tears welled in your eyes. “you know what i have to do now, right?” you shook your head, fear bubbling in your chest as you remembered the last time he had to ‘punish’ you. “please! i’ll be good, rafe! ‘don’t want to make you mad anymore..”

closing the distance between you two, rafe kissed you softly, wiping away the stray tear that managed to roll down your cheek. “i’m gonna give you a ten second head start to run, and if you decide to hide instead, you better make sure i don’t fuckin’ find you,” he whispered against your lips, “now, get the fuck outta here.” rafe moved aside, your chest rising and falling as you slipped out of the room, your feet skittering across the floor as you started running away from him. you swore your heart was beating a million times per second, the fear of being caught making your blood run cold.

you had barely made it to the bottom of the stairs before you looked up and saw rafe making his way out of the room. he was far too fast for you to outrun him, panic setting in as you started scouring through the halls of tanneyhill. coincidentally, all of the rooms were locked. rafe must’ve did that when you first mouthed off to him, having known how this night would end. “please, please, please!” you struggled trying to open the door to each room only to fall short when the knobs didn’t even budge. “come on..” you whined, rounding the corner of the hallway.

“you look so pretty when you’re scared.” you spun around on your heels, a half scream leaving your lips as rafe started jogging down the long hallway. running across the kitchen, and into the living room, rafe’s laughter echoed throughout the house as he chased you around the couch. “you’re gonna fuckin’ get it.” as a last resort attempt to throw him off, you grabbed one of the pillows from the sofa and threw it at him so you could run up the stairs. just as he caught it, he tripped over his own feet before you made your way into his study, crawling underneath his desk.

clamping a hand over your mouth, you panted softly through your nose as rafe’s footsteps sounded up the staircase. “so you decided to hide after all, huh?” your heart was slamming against your ribcage as he got closer. “i was really hoping you didn’t do that.” he almost sounded apologetic as he stepped into the room next door. you removed your hand from your mouth, fiddling with the ‘R’ pendant on your necklace. “if i get my hands on you.. god, you might just hate me.” just as it sounded like he walked past the room you were in, your heart dropped to your stomach when the door suddenly opened.

rafe walked around, stopping right in front the desk. “one of my favorite things about you is your perfume. it’s so sweet, it’s almost like you leave a trail behind you everywhere you go..” you didn’t even get to react before he was pulling you out by your feet, your screams echoing in his ears. “you make it so easy, baby, it’s like you wanted to be caught.” he pulled you up by your arms, dragging you out of the study and back to his bedroom. he forced you down on your knees, grabbing ahold of your chin as he fumbled with his belt.

“wanna talk back when i’m being nice to you? fine. i’ll just put your mouth to better use.” he said through gritted teeth. clasping your hands behind your back, you gazed up at him through your eyelashes. “listen to me when i say this, yeah?” he slipped his thumb between your lips, “right now you’re not my pretty little girlfriend, alright? you’re a slut.” your skirt rode up your thighs as you spread your legs, sitting back on your heels while you waited for rafe to stuff your throat full. upon his cock springing out of his pants, you whimpered pathetically at the butterflies fluttering in your tummy.

he stroked himself, a groan leaving his lips as he tapped his hardened cock against your tongue. “open that mouth, baby, you know how i like it.” you licked the tip, wrapping your lips around the throbbing head as he threaded his fingers in your hair. “i work all day, deal with my dad’s shit, fuck— all just to come home to that bratty behavior of yours..” he cursed under his breath as you took him deeper into your mouth. “ungrateful sluts like you deserve to be used like this.” you moaned around his length, your eyes widening when he hit the back of your throat.

“oh, my god,” rafe’s jaw went slack, his head tilting to the side as he watched you take him in and out of those pretty lips of yours. “look at me, give me those eyes.” you pulled away for a moment, gasping for air as you flashed your teary orbs at him. rafe didn’t know the logic behind it, but seeing you cry, so drunk off of his cock, he swore it was the hottest thing he’s ever seen. “holy, fuck!” he smiled down at you, his hips stuttering as you took him inch by glorious inch. “my greedy little cock whore, ‘doing so good for me.” you batted your eyes innocently, the action making him hiss.

“i wish you were good all the time, now i have to hurt you, bambi.” he pulled you up, lifting you off of the ground before slamming you down on the bed. you gasped at the impact, your boyfriend sliding your bottoms off before giving you a light smack across your cheek. “you’re so wet down here, baby. shit, you’re just glistening.” rafe tore your thighs apart, unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off as you ran a foot down his toned stomach. he pinned your thighs to your chest, his hands resting on the back of your knees. “you want this?” he ran his cock between your folds.

your eyes fluttered shut, his tip grazing your needy clit. “please give it to me. ‘wanna be good for you again!” you cried, a sob ripping itself from your throat as he thrusted into you without warning. “fuck!” rafe covered your mouth, ripping your top off so he could watch your tits bounce underneath him. the slick sound of your cunt filled the space of rafe’s room, your cheeks heating as you listened to yourself make a mess on his cock. “so fuckin’ tight, you’re pulling me back in,” he groaned, “i might just fill you up, ‘trap you with my baby..” you moaned, unintentionally clenching around him.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he pulled your hair, forcing you to look down at where you two were connected. you moaned, your lips parting as you watched him pull out and slowly slide back in. “this cock looks like it’s splitting you wide open,” he brought a hand down and started rubbing hard circles on your clit, “my pretty little thing.” you cried out, your back arching off of the mattress when you felt the familiar tension building in your core. his hand was damn near the size of your head, your eyes rolling back as his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust. “gonna.. oh, my god!”

rafe groaned when your orgasm hit you, a piercing scream leaving your lips as a stream of wetness soaked his lower abdomen. you laid there shaking, your nails raking down rafe’s chest as you sucked him in impossibly tighter. taking his bottom lip between his teeth, rafe didn’t slow down the work on your sensitive bundle of nerves, overstimulation setting in when you started taking the pleasure with the pain. “no more!” you gasped, your thighs closing around his waist as you attempted to squirm away from his touch. he slapped you across your cheek, forcing you to keep your eyes open.

“you’re gonna fuckin’ take it. this is what you wanted when you decided to act the way you were acting earlier, huh? shut the fuck up and take this cock.” he shoved your head into the pillows, the entirety of his palm covering your face as he chased his own high, ignoring your screams and cries. rafe watched the tears flow down your cheeks, his fingers becoming wet as he groaned at the sight. “keep crying for me and i’m gonna breed this fuckin’ cunt— ah fuckkk!” rafe leaned down, pressing wet kisses to your neck before his hips stuttered, his mouth falling open in a silent moan.

“fuckin’ hell!” he uncovered your face, admiring the pretty curve of your lips while he came, those gorgeous eyes just twinkling up at him while he filled you to the brim with his seed. rafe nestled himself deep inside of you, stilling his movements as you two reveled in the feeling of his cum painting the softness of your walls. looking into his eyes, you could see the exact moment he switched into being your boyfriend again, his gaze softening as he cupped your face, his cock still twitching inside of you. pulling out with a curse, rafe was quick to pull you against his chest.

“you okay, bambi?” he pecked your cheek, rubbing a hand against your side as you blinked, still unable to form thoughts as your body occasionally jolted with the aftershocks of your orgasm. you didn’t answer, instead you snuggled into his skin, your eyes shutting as sleep pulled at your lids. you were going to be so sore tomorrow, your muscles already aching as rafe pulled the comforter over the two of you.

539 notes · View notes

eff4freddie · 3 days ago

Text

Sittin'

Joel Miller x F!Babysitter Reader No outbreak Joel Miller AU - Words: 10k

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI

You're working your way through medical school, supporting yourself by taking the occasional babysitting gig. One local single Dad needs someone to look after his 10 year old daughter Sarah on nights when he's late back from the jobsite. And it's all fine and good until your neglectful boyfriend decides to crash the party. Warnings: small age gap (Joel is 32, reader is in medical school), reader is babysitting Sarah as a side hustle to support her studies, Sarah is cute, reader has a shit boyfriend, Joel is trying really hard to resist, exhibitionism, thigh-riding, praise, dirty talk, thigh-humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, general defiling of a perfectly good granite countertop, Joel has opinions about how a woman should be treated as is not afraid to demonstrate them.

A/N: My attempts at writing PWP almost always end up like 10k lol. Whatever, I like a good slow burn. If you enjoy, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you - Freddie x

It was a hot night, the latest in a long line. You knew you were lucky getting to spend some of your evenings over at the Millers, simply because it meant you got to sit under Mr Miller’s air conditioner, the box wedged firm into the window in the living room, little droplets of water condensing and running down the pane of glass underneath it. You’d put a dishtowel down to protect the carpet.

You knew you were lucky, too, because once Sarah went off to bed you could spread your books over Mr Miller’s kitchen table, listening to the buzzing of the fridge as you tried to memorise the functions of the lobes in the brain. In class, your biomedicine professor had blown up balloons and handed out sharpies, inviting her students to draw the lobes in the right place, and yours had popped when you pressed too hard on the occipital lobe, and your lab partner had laughed and said that it was ironic, but you couldn’t figure it: the motor cortex would have been ironic, this was just startling.

You cracked your neck, rolling your shoulders and looking over to the clock on the wall. Nearly 10:30 PM. Mr Miller would be coming back soon.

Sarah was a good kid, and some nights she stayed up to ‘help’ you study, mostly by pointing to pictures in your textbooks and asking you to explain them to her. She’d hated the full-page coloured illustration of the eye, but had been fascinated by the heart, trailing her finger along the arteries, into the chambers, tracing the pathway in and out again. You’d make a cardiologist of her, yet.

Tonight, she’d only made it to twenty minutes past eight, her eyes growing heavy as she turned the pages of your book. This one didn’t have as many pictures, and you could sense her fatigue in the stuffy air.

‘What kind of doctor do you want to be?’ she’d asked, and you’d pulled your hair up off your neck to try and get some air on your skin. You weren’t sure how to explain it without sounding gruesome, without giving her nightmares. She was only 10.

‘When people have emergencies and they have to go to the hospital right away, they need to see a doctor to patch them back up again…’ you’d said, and she’d stared at you with a tiresome expression on her face.

‘I’m not a baby,’ she said, disapproving. You smiled at her.

‘Trauma surgeon,’ you replied. She nodded her head, deeming your answer satisfactory, and taking herself up the stairs to bed.

She was one of the easiest kids you’d ever babysat for, and over the years you’d racked up quite a roster. You’d started in high school, first saving up enough for the prom dress right in the storefront window, and then later keeping yourself fed during your undergrad. When you’d moved to Austin you’d rented a studio apartment in the back garden of a little old lady, a woman who had revealed herself to be an excellent cook if militant about her hydrangeas. You’d letterboxed the neighbourhood and picked up a few odd jobs but nothing lasting, until the evening you’d got a call from a very frantic Mr Miller, who was so beside himself he only asked how quick you could get there and didn’t even ask about your rates.

It turned out Mr Miller got caught up at the jobsite some nights, staying back later than he expected with his little brother to finish framing, or guttering, or wiring. He was running out of favours with his neighbours, he’d explained, and Sarah was still too little to feed herself. You hadn’t minded, his deep southern drawl doing something to you even over the phone, such that you found yourself cancelling plans just to go and sit on his couch that very evening, textbook over your knees.

Some nights with Sarah tucked up fast asleep you’d stand and stare at the pictures of the two of them, her holding up a soccer trophy nearly twice her size, him standing with his hand in his pocket, his other over the shoulders of a younger man you assumed was Tommy. If you were feeling particularly bold, or were procrastinating especially hard, you’d extend a finger and run them up and down the strings of Joel’s guitar, resting sentinel against the windowsill. You imagined his fingers pushing into the fretboard, the strings indenting the flesh.

It wasn’t even that he was handsome, although he definitely was. He was a young father, doing it almost entirely alone, and on any other man that would have made for grumpy, for overly tired, for entitled. On Mr Miller it made for kindness, for a nurturing type of strength, corded tight under his skin. For a single dad always thinking about his daughter, only ever wanting the best for her. For a man focussed on doing right for his family, small as it was.

You rolled your shoulders, the pre-frontal cortex just about beating you for the night. Just as you were wondering if the Millers kept any ice cream in the freezer, you heard the key in the front door. You listened as Joel followed the same routine, first toeing off his boots, letting out a little grunt as the second one hit the floor. You heard him huff as he stretched his back, rolling his hips in a little circle to try and get some stretch into them, before dropping his keys on the table and padding, surprisingly light on his socked feet, into the kitchen.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said, his pet name for you emerging on only the second time you’d sat for him and still, even after this many months, causing your stomach to do a little flipper.

‘Evening, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he tutted at you, moving over to the fridge and extracting a beer.

‘Told ya not to call me that,’ he muttered, but you could see the grin behind it. ‘How was my girl tonight?’

‘Perfect, as always,’ you said, smiling at him as he poured you a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge without bothering to ask if you wanted any. You accepted it gratefully, suddenly noticing how dry your throat had become.

‘She’s a good kid,’ he said. He sat down, heavy, in the chair opposite you. The ceiling lamp buzzed above you both, and the light bounced off the fine sheen of sweat accumulating on his arms, on his cheeks. He glowed, even if it was under a layer of exhaustion.

‘You look tired, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he cocked a little grin.

‘You sayin’ I look like shit, Sweetheart?’ he asked.

‘No, never,’ you said, instantly regretting how quickly, how fervently, you had responded. He continued to grin at you, lopsided, the dimple on his right cheek popping out to greet you.

‘What is it tonight?’ he asked, and you held up your book to him. ‘The bio-mech-an-ics-of-thought: phys-ee-ol-o-gee of the brain,’ he intoned, before letting out a low whistle. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said.

‘It’s interesting,’ you defended, unsure why. ‘So long as there are diagrams,’ you added.

‘So that’s where the magic happens?’ he asked, gesturing to the illustrated image of the brain in the centre of the page you had been working from.

‘This is where thought happens,’ you nodded. ‘Kind of like…where decisions are made.’

‘Must be a woman’s brain,’ Joel deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. ‘Can guarantee men make their decisions someplace else.’

You caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes as he glanced over you. You blushed, swearing it was just the heat, and furious with yourself. This wasn’t like you; you weren’t some shrinking violet type. You’d had boyfriends, you’d had fun in college. You had no idea what it was about Mr Miller that made you immediately go all giggly, all girly, but whatever it was you wished it would fuck off.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You were used to this from him, the way his mind seemed to drift, the way he seemed content enough to let it. Gently, so as not to jolt him out of his thoughts, you closed your book, gathered your pens together. Everything tucked away in your bag you were surprised when you looked up to see he was watching you.

‘Apparently Sarah’s taken an interest in science,’ he said after a moment, his warm eyes watching yours for a second. You felt a tingle of pride in your chest.

‘Oh yeah?’ you asked.

‘Mmhmm, apparently after she pushed Simon Strzelecki off the monkey bars, she offered to patch him up again.’

You grinned before you were able to catch yourself.

‘That’s…very, umm…’ you trailed off and he huffed out a little laugh.

‘It’s very Sarah,’ he agreed.

‘M’sorry, Mr Miller…’ you started, but Joel stood up, waving you off.

‘Don’t be, Strzelecki’s a little shit’f the highest order,’ he said. ‘You gonna let me give ya a lift this time?’ he asked, and this time you shook your head at him.

‘No, I can walk it.’

‘Y’know I don’t like ya walkin’ around out there on yer’own,’ he grumbled, and you felt the insane urge to reach your hand out to rest on his bicep, to ease his evident discomfort.

‘I can handle it,’ you said, instead.

Something stole over his face for a moment, a sharpness in his eyes. For a moment you gazed up at him, the furrow in his brow deepening, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed over your face. Standing this close to him you were reminded how tall, how broad he really was. You dropped your eyes to his arms, crossed over his chest, and imagined him holding you with them, circling them around your back as you leant, safe, into his skin. You blinked yourself back to reality, worried for a second he could read your thoughts.

‘Know you can handle it,’ he said, his voice low, ‘just don’t like it, is all.’

You did this every time, this stand-off. You worried one night you would waver.

‘G’night, Mr Miller,’ you said, over dry lips. He nodded, once, at you, still evidently displeased something dark, something haunted, passing over his features before he brought them back into line.

He stood on the front porch, light still on, until you rounded his driveway and disappeared past the oak tree by the front lawn.

Mick was a guy from your Tuesday morning bio class, and you only realised he was your boyfriend when he introduced you to a few of his friends that way. You’d just gone with it, because it had seemed easier, and he was nice if a little full of himself at times. He was the son of the one the big ranching families, had been almost guaranteed a position at whatever college he chose on the day of his birth, hadn’t ever really considered that money was something you saved, something you worked for.

But he would never let you pay for dinner, and often he showed up to class holding a coffee just for you. You’d been on your own for a long time, had been self-sufficient well before you had any business to, and it was kind of nice to let yourself be cared for, if that’s what this was.

On nights when you had to work he would pout and complain, and you told yourself it was because he cared about you, because he wanted you around, even if some part of you knew he just didn’t like to be alone. Every once and while he would ask if he could come with you, ‘feel you up on the couch like it’s eighth grade’, and it made you feel exactly fourteen years old, like this was a summer job you had failed to grow out of. It didn’t help that he more than once referred to your sitting job as ‘cute’. His mother had stayed at home the moment she fell pregnant with Mick’s older brother, and as far as you could tell was yet to leave. You never asked about a future with Mick, terrified of what kind of picture he would paint.

On one such evening, after he’d been particularly insistent that you blow off your job and come and hang out with him and his friends, he’d starting blowing up your phone just as Mr Miller sat down beside you, weary-boned and sleepy-eyed, at his kitchen table.

You ignored the calls, tried to carry on reading even as Mr Miller arched his brow at your insistently vibrating device. You huffed, knowing at some point Mick would get bored.

‘You’re popular tonight?’ Joel prompted after a while, making you lose your place in the paragraph you’d read over at least ten times already.

You huffed out a sigh, reaching out and scrolling through the stream of notifications. He’d started texting, sometimes just sending a single emoji, sometimes entire paragraphs about how badly you were letting him down. You felt an ache bloom behind your right eye socket, and you reached up to your temple to try and massage it away.

‘It’s my boyfriend,’ you told him, and with your eyes still closed you didn’t see him scowl. ‘He wants me to come out to some bar with him and his drunk friends.’

Joel considered this for a long moment. When you opened your eyes they blurred under the sudden light, and you blinked away sleep to see him clearly again.

‘You should be out with your friends, it’s a Friday night…’ he said, almost looking guilty for a moment, and you rushed to reassure him.

‘No, no trust me…this is better. They’re boring when they’re drunk. And also when they’re sober.’

Joel smiled, straining just slightly, at this.

‘He a good man?’ he asked, and you scoffed a little.

‘He’s barely a man at all,’ you said, automatically. Later you’d reflect on this moment, feel it turn you inside out and scold your skin with the heat of your own shame. For now, though, you were too tired, and it was too hot in the kitchen, for you to catch it.

Joel caught it, though. He cleared his throat.

‘We met at college, and he’s…well, he’s kind of set up for life. He doesn’t have to worry about grades, or proving himself. He’s almost guaranteed his residency.’ You were aware you were starting to sound bitter, and maybe you were just a little. Something about Mr Miller, sitting at his kitchen table late in the evening with a beer, muscles wrapped in a plaid, his soft brown eyes watching you carefully, made you think he’d understand.

‘He doesn’t make you feel good enough for him?’ he asked, after a while.

You considered this, eventually shrugging your shoulders. ‘I don’t know if he makes me feel anything,’ you said, truthfully.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand as he watched you, gazed at your face.

‘What do you want him to make you feel?’ he asked.

‘Seen,’ you said, without hesitation.

‘Just seen?’ he asked. His voice was deathly quiet now, almost entirely gravel. His eyes were burning, sharp. You watched as they darkened, stealing your breath out from under you.

‘Desired,’ you almost whispered. He dropped a hand to the table, his fingertips only inches from yours, resting casual on your textbook.

‘What man’s out there runnin’ round this town not desirin’ you?’ he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, and you felt scorching heat on your cheeks, rushing down your sternum, pooling heavy in your core.

You blinked, terrified to move in case you broke whatever spell had befallen him. He turned thoughtful, his eyes dropping to the woodgrain of the table.

‘Y’been working a lot here…can’t imagine hanging out with me and a ten-year-old girl is the same as bein’ out there, living your youth…’

You felt something heavy shift in your belly, something essential curdle and erode.

‘I like it here, Mr Miller,’ you said, all big eyes and almost quivering lower lip. Joel moved away, sitting up straight and peeling the label off his beer.

‘Pretty thing like you, shouldn’t be spendin’ all night waitin’ on us,’ he said, almost to himself. You shook your head again, but he was closing off on you, you could see it in the way his shoulders were folding, the way his mouth was tugging down at the corners.

Without even considering it, operating almost entirely on instinct, you reached your hand out to rest on his bicep. You watched as his eyes drifted close, a long exhale through his nose. He grimaced, almost like you were hurting him, until he lifted his hand and held yours fast to him, wrapping his paw around you.

‘I really love spending time with Sarah,’ you said, just over a whisper, as he stared hard at the table. You could sense he was avoiding your gaze, and you wanted to say something to draw him to you, wanted to give him a little nugget of truth that he could take into himself, hold deep and quiet in his depths. ‘I love spending time with you,’ you said.

He raised his eyes to yours. His hand was so warm over yours, your cheeks so pink in the sleepless heat of the late evening. You saw his eyes fall to your lips and you slipped your hand from under his, reaching up to trace the contours of his jaw with your fingertips.

‘Baby…’ he whispered, ‘I been’ resistin’ you so long, don’t know if I can…’ and you pushed a finger to his lips. You didn’t want him to break whatever spell you were both suddenly under. Didn’t want him to take this from you both, whatever it was turning out to be.

‘Don’t argue,’ you instructed, quietly. With brows saddled, he nodded his head.

And he didn’t argue. Not when you moved your finger from his lips and traced it down over the hollow of his neck, over to his pulse where it thundered under your tough.

Didn’t argue when you leant forward, pressing your nose to his, giving him time to pull away, to move from your lips.

Didn’t argue when you pressed them to his, a little soft and quiet thing, earning you a wanting gasp from him, a prize you would hold in the cavity of your chest so long as your heart stayed beating.

Later, when you had gathered yourselves, when he had gazed at you and you had felt the want in him mixing with the regret, with the necessity of the un-having corrupting the want to take and take and take, you had simply gathered your books, tucking them quiet and neat into the bag at your feet. He didn’t argue with you about driving you home that night, suddenly quiet in a way that set your teeth on edge, and you felt an ache in your belly you couldn’t account for when he closed the door. You waited behind the trunk of the tree at the end of his driveway, counting the minutes he left the light on for you after you’d slipped from view, giving up when you got past 15.

You were unsettled. Joel hadn’t called for two weeks, and you were starting to worry that you’d ruined things, your silly little kiss bubbling corrosive at the base of your spine. You couldn’t help going over the whole evening again and again in your head.

You should have told him you preferred spending the nights at his house, that the way it smelt like play-dough and sometimes sawdust, sometimes pine, was so unique to the both of them that you felt your nerves settle the moment you stepped over the threshold. That the house was warm and quiet, that you could spread out your books and something essential to you, that in this space with them you felt more yourself than anywhere else on the planet, even locked away in your little studio apartment, even just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

You wanted to tell him Sarah was funny, and smart, and kind, and being around her made you nostalgic for the childhood you never had but ached for, that you felt all that time with her she was giving you something precious and absent, something simple and something sweet. That there were nights you weren’t sure who was sitting who.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t expect anything from him, that it didn’t matter to you if nothing ever happened, if he regretted letting you kiss him, if it had just been that it was too awkward in the moment to say no. Just that you wanted to keep sitting for him, just that if all you got was a casual conversation at the end of the evening and an argument about driving home that would be enough for you, because it would have to be, and so you could make it so.

You begged off seeing Mick for the second Friday night in a row, wanting to be available in case Joel called. You felt silly but you could use the cash. Your textbooks were $400 a piece, and next semester you were taking three classes. Just feeding yourself was enough to stop your studies in their tracks.

Two things happened in the span of ten minutes. A knock at your door stirred you from your lecture notes, and your phone rang. By the time you had it in your hand you were holding Mick back from your face, your palm to his chest, as you craned your neck away from him to speak.

‘M’sorry, Sweetheart, it’s just…I know, it’s a Friday…’

‘It’s fine, Mr Miller,’ you said, ignoring the way Mick was making smoochy faces over your shoulder. ‘I don’t have any plans.’

When you got off the phone Mick was pouting again, and you sighed.

‘I thought I was your plans?’ he said, and you shrugged at him.

‘It’s good money for easy work, babe,’ you said, the nickname sitting heavy on your tongue.

‘I can give you money,’ he said, pulling you towards him by your belt loops and nipping at your jaw. You cringed away from him.

‘That would make me your whore, right?’ you said, and he grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

‘Never seemed to bother you before…’ he said, and you bristled against him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’

“Oh, fuck me, babe, make me yours…” he imitated, his voice high in a general approximation of yours. You blushed, furiously. ‘You think good girls beg like little whores?’ he asked, and you knew he was kidding around, knew that he wasn’t smart enough to do it without outright insulting you, knew that you’d put up with this shit before so there was no reason why he wouldn’t assume he couldn’t get away with it now. You knew the way he spoke to you was basically your fault, and you couldn’t yell at him now that the precedent had been set. You felt yourself crumple, landing with a thump on the edge of your bed.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he was saying, grinning at you like he’d won his prize. ‘You put the kid to bed, and I’ll come by and keep you happy ‘til Dad gets home.’

You hated the idea, the thought of Mick in that space you’d almost come to think of sacred making your stomach churn.

‘No,’ you said, and you watched as he arched his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You can’t come in…’

‘Say no more,’ he said, grinning again, and for whatever reason, you didn’t.

He arrived, just after 9 PM, already drunk. You winced as he parked his car in the driveway, right in Mr Miller’s spot, worried for a moment he was going to swipe the mailbox when he took the angle too fast. He skidded to a stop mere inches from Mr Miller’s garage door and you exhaled, realising you were bracing for the sound of splintering wood. He ambled over to where you stood on the front porch, tugging at your shirt sleeves in the cool night air.

‘Babe!’ he called, and you shushed him almost instantly. He was carrying a sixpack of beers, three of them already gone. His breath reeked and you wrinkled up your nose when he slung his arm over the back of your neck and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

‘This feels like high school,’ he said, and giggled.

‘This is my job, y’know,’ you corrected him, but he wasn’t hearing you, backing you up against the side of the house. You thumped into the brick, wind temporarily knocked from your lungs before he was on you, slipping his entire tongue into your ear in a way that made your skin crawl.

‘Easy…’ you said, and he ignored you, his hand not holding the beers rising up to paw at your breast over your shirt.

‘Mmm…such a tasty little slut,’ he said, and you closed your eyes. ‘Little naughty baby-sitter.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ you stage-whispered, not sure how well your voices wouldn’t carry over the breeze in Mr Miller’s cul-de-sac. He leant down, resting the beers on the front porch so that he could grope you with both hands.

He groaned as he rubbed his cock at your clothed centre. You moved your face to the side, letting your eyes slide closed again.

You tried to think of a romantic movie. Tried to remember some of the fragments of the romance novels your mother had kept stowed under the bed and that you snuck into the den to read to your giggling friends. Tried to imagine a different man, a stranger’s hands on your chest, a stranger’s fingers pinching at your nipples. Tried to imagine what it would feel like if they found the sweet spot, if they sent electric shocks into your belly, into your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the sound of Mick’s heavy breathing out of your mind, focusing instead on rough and calloused fingers, the scruff of a beard teasing along your skin. Heavy accent and sweet pine, a groaned little ‘Sweetheart…’ as he slipped your shirt up over your shoulders.

‘The fuck’s going on here?’ you heard a gruff voice as your eyes sprang open, pushing Mick from you hard enough that he stumbled, backwards, landing on the grass.

‘Mr Miller!’ you exclaimed, shame burning bright on your cheeks as you righted your clothes. ‘M’so sorry, he just dropped by…’ you started but Joel was striding up his driveway, as you realised with a new flash of guilt he’d had to park on the street.

‘Hey, man…’ Mick was saying, his hands up in front of his face. ‘Just checkin’ in on my girl…’

You cringed, this particular pet name always feeling more like ownership when it came from him.

Joel looked up at you, his brows saddled. ‘You OK, Sweetheart?’ he asked you, and you realised for the first time he wasn’t angry but concerned, his fists balled up like he was ready to spring to your defence.

‘It’s Mick,’ you explained, glancing down at him as he tried to climb to his feet, getting as far as his knees and settling there for a second to plan his next move. ‘He…he wanted to…’

‘Yeah, I saw what he wanted to,’ Joel huffed out, reaching down to pull Mick upright by the back of his shirt. ‘Saw the way you were bracing away from it too,’ he said, looking directly into Mick’s grinning face.

‘What else you see, old man?’ he asked, and Joel dropped him back onto his knees.

‘You got your keys?’ he asked him, and waiting for the younger man to root around in his pockets.

‘Don’t steal my ride,’ he said, handing them over and not noticing when Joel slipped them into his pocket.

‘M’going inside, and I’m gonna call you a taxi, and you’re getting in. She can drive your car back to you tomorrow mornin’…if she doesn’t decide to drive it off a cliff,’ he said, abandoning Mick on the front lawn and coming towards you, grabbing your wrist gentle but firm in his hand and pulling you inside. ‘C’mon, darlin’,’ he said, and you followed, almost entirely on autopilot.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller,’ you started but he waved you away, placing a call for the taxi while keeping you fixed in your spot with his glare. When he was done, he rolled his shoulders, sighing.

‘You sit,’ he said, striding into the kitchen and emerging moments later with two glasses of sweet tea. You realised, as you lifted your hands to take your glass from him, that you were shivering.

‘I didn’t know he was going to do that,’ you said, and Joel shook his head. You felt the waves of disappointment rolling off him and you worried for a moment you might cry.

‘He always touch ya like that?’ he asked, palming at the back of his neck.

‘Like what?’ you asked, your cheeks burning again.

‘All…clumsy and…disrespectful,’ he said, quiet. He stared at the floor between you while you perched on the edge of the couch.

‘Well…’ you started, but you weren’t sure how you wanted to finish that sentence. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to touch me at all, you thought.

Joel scoffed, his jaw squeezed tight. ‘Guys like that are all the same, Sweetheart, just…selfish. Even in the bedroom. No lady should be touched like she’s a piece of meat.’

You considered, for one crazy moment, if Joel wasn’t so much disappointed in you as he was in Mick’s prowess. Suddenly you had to stifle a giggle.

‘What’s so funny?’ Joel asked you, surprised.

‘Just…I mean, they all go to such fancy schools, get all that college for basically free…’ you started, trailing off when you saw him starting to smile. ‘He can’t even boil an egg, and I don’t mean mine,’ you said, and he laughed then, free and loud, and the sound of it made a little fizzle of joy spark up your spine.

This was fun, you realised, shitting on your terrible boyfriend with the most handsome single Dad you’d ever laid your eyes on. This was really, really fun.

‘So, I take it he don’t make you breakfast in the mornin’,’ Joel joked, and you snorted. ‘What you eat for breakfast, anyway?’ he asked, turning to you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You swallowed. ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘let me guess.’ He pretended to look you up and down, his brow arching as he considered. ‘You’re not a waffles kinda girl,’ he said, thoughtfully. You grinned and shook your head. You’d never liked the sponginess. ‘But you’re too fun for plain old oatmeal,’ he said, and you felt a blush crawling across your chest. ‘You’re a pancake princess,’ he decided, finally. ‘Am I right?’

You pretended to consider it for a second before nodding happily at him. ‘Maple syrup and berries,’ you agreed.

‘Maple syrup and berries,’ he said, grinning in his victory. He paused, something passing between you. Suddenly he shifted forward, his knees just barely brushing yours. You found yourself mirroring him, leaning in enough that you had to put your hand out to steady you, landing it on the cushion only inches from his thigh. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he whispered in your ear, ‘tart…but a little bit of sweet for m’sweetheart.’

You felt heat scorch its way up your chest, reduced to kindling beside him.

‘Bet he don’t kiss ya like ya should be,’ he said, and you thought for a second of Mick, grinning and drunk out of his mind on the front lawn. You wondered if the taxi had come for him yet, and had absolutely no interest in going out to check on him.

‘Mr Miller…’ you whispered, and he groaned, then, his eyes rolling back in his head.

‘Please, baby, when you call me that…’ he trailed off, eyes blown wide and you felt, then, the thundering in your chest. From this distance you could see his racing pulse in his neck, the same pace as yours.

‘Mr Miller…’ you said, again, staring now at his lips. You wanted to reach out and just take a little nibble.

And he was on you, grasping the back of your head and bringing it down to him, crashing his lips into yours as you gasped, swallowing the echo down into his throat. His tongue, scorching hot, exploring your mouth as he teased it open, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheeks.

‘Thought about you…’ you said, without even thinking, and Joel pulled back a second to appraise you; your swollen lips, your doe-eyes gazing up at him.

‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.

‘When he’d take me, I’d think about you,’ you said, and you watched as his eyes fell shut, taking the moment to glance down at his heaving chest, the aching bulge between his legs. ‘Thought about your hands on me, Mr Miller, about your mouth.’

‘Fuck, Sweetheart…’ he said, almost as if it pained him, before his eyes snapped back open to gaze at you.

‘Kiss me?’ you asked, sweet as you could for him while you tried with both hands to hang on to the moment, to stay here in it with him. You would need to remember this, every corner of the room, every detail. Would spend nights reconstructing his face in your mind, the way he was looking at you now, wanting and red-cheeked, dark eyes and a hot little huff as your words landed their blows on him.

‘Canna touch you, baby?’ he asked, and you were nodding, pulling him towards you as he slid his hands over your waist. Threading your hands through his hair he brought you over him, straddling him on the couch as he stared up at you, brows arching high, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. You smiled at him, feeling like his prize, as you brought your hips down on him and watched his eyes ease shut, heard his breath stutter. He was big, you could feel it even as the seam of his jeans rubbed at your core. You could feel yourself aching for him, hot and pounding where you ground yourself down.

‘Fuck, Mr Miller…’ you gasped as you felt him push his cock up into you, his hands on your hips and pulling you down.

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he whispered, reaching up with one hand to cup your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers that, even through your shirt, shot lightning bolts to your cunt. You gasped, a high-pitched little sound you were sure you’d never made before, and he soaked it down into his skin, kept it held tight and precious in the core of him, to keep him warm on cold evenings.

You felt yourself shivering, even as his warm fingertips dropped to lift the hem of your tee and trace their way back up to your tits along the skin. His enormous hands almost completely captured it, and you felt small, then, and shy, but when you looked down into his warm, brown eyes you saw only safety there, only naked desire for your pleasure.

You let your hips roll, that building ache in your core. You’d only ever felt this alone, had never had another person bring it out of you, and you felt the sharp edges of it as you felt a shard of panic slice through your gut. No one had ever done this for you, before. You weren’t sure if your body would allow it, weren’t sure if you could let go enough to fall.

‘Hey…’ Joel said beneath you, his eyes roaming your face. ‘Relax, Sweetheart,’ he whispered, reaching his hand from your hip to your jaw, pulling you down to rest your forehead on his. ‘Just you n’me, baby,’ he whispered as you rocked on top of him. ‘You can take what you need,’ he promised. ‘I got you.’

‘Joel!’ you gasped, the shiver in your body now ratcheting up your spine, your thighs burning as you rolled your hips on his lap, his cock still tucked away in his jeans. ‘I don’t know if I…’

‘Sssh…’ he cooed, raising a thumb to your lips and slipping it between your teeth. You sucked instinctually, swirling your tongue over the tip and letting your eyes drift closed. ‘Just feel it, baby,’ he said, ‘don’t force it. Let it grow.’

Never in your life had you felt like this. You took his thumb between your teeth as you ground, the spark of fear in your belly engulfed by the roar of your desire. You could feel your hips stuttering, could hear yourself starting to pant.

‘Good girl…’ Joel encouraged, slipping his thumb from your mouth now and smearing it across your lips. ‘Right here for ya, baby,’ he said. ‘Wantchya to feel so good.’

You cried out, smacking your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. He was going to kill you, and you would let him again and again, let him bring you back to life just to kill you this way all over again. You had no idea bodies were made to feel this good.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, all the warning you could muster as he grabbed your hips with both hands, slamming his bulge up into you as he pulled you down, the seam of his jeans rubbing hard into your clit. ‘Yes!’ you whispered, your body shuddering as you felt yourself crest, the pleasure roaring from your cunt to your chest, exploding out of your skin as you rolled, roiled, boiled on top of Mr Miller.

‘Jesus, there she is…’ he whispered, and you opened your eyes to gaze down at him, your breath still coming in gasps as he watched you, awe and desire on his face. ‘There she is,’ he said again, like a prayer, a benediction.

You woke slowly, the dappled light streaming in through the oak tree beside Joel’s window. It took you a moment to orient yourself, to remember that you were in his bed because he’d considered it too late for you to take yourself home, even if you had Mick’s car. Because the pleasure he’d wrung out of you on his couch had left you boneless, because the idea of ripping yourself from his smell, from his heat, was unthinkable in that moment.

You stretched, noting that the other side of the bed remained made, that he had spent the night on the couch. You remembered that you had wanted to ask him to stay, that the words had formed on your lips, and that in that moment you saw the regret on his face, the longing to tuck himself in beside you and pull you into his chest, let the weight of the night take him and you with him, but that he wouldn’t allow it, that he was holding back. You weren’t sure why, but you assumed out of decency, out of respect. Out of some vague employee-boss professionalism you would both cling to in an attempt to paper over the grasping maw of desire opening up between you.

You had wanted him, and you had denied him, allowed him to deny you. You rolled to your back in a frustrated huff, surrounded by the scent of him, of his cologne and the scent of his skin imbued in the sheets beneath you.

After a while you heard noises in the kitchen and you left your cocoon, pulling your clothes on and padding down the stairs constructing a cover story for Sarah as to why you were still there. When you rounded the corner, though, you saw only Joel –in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, standing at the stove.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said casually, as if you hadn’t come on his lap less than twelve hours before, ‘Sarah’s headed off to soccer practice, so you and me’ll have to take care of all these.’

He gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen table, where a stack of cooling pancakes stood proud. You felt a shiver of shock run though you at the sight of them, turning to Joel with the curl of tears tickling the back of your eyes. ‘No berries, sorry darlin’,’ he said, without looking up. ‘But we got enough syrup to make it up to ya, I hope.’

You weren’t sure anyone had ever done anything like this for you. You wanted to sob, wanted to walk over to the table and pick up the pancakes in your fists and mash them into your skin, wanted to drown them in syrup and eat until your belly distended, wanted to force feed them into Joel. Instead, you stepped forward, your arms opening all of their own accord, wrapping yourself around his back like a Koala. He huffed out a surprised laugh, growing serious when he turned you in his arms to face him, seeing the gathering tears at your waterline.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ he asked, and you grinned, watery, up at him.

‘No-one has ever…’ you started, catching your words before they spilled too much of the truth. Understanding passed over Joel’s face.

‘Oh, my sweet girl…’ he said, and you glowed for a minute, the words reaching down into your chest and igniting something long extinguished.

He leaned down towards you, pressed his nose to yours, his forehead resting gently on yours. You inhaled him, his scent and the sweet smell of the pancakes on the stove, tried to imprint the memory deep in your DNA.

‘What the fuck is this?’ an angry voice sounded from behind you, and you snapped away from Joel, taking several steps back. Mick, still in his same clothes from the night before, stood furious in Joel’s kitchen.

‘The fuck, you let yourself in?’ Joel asked, matching Mick’s anger with his own. ‘This is a private residence, man.’

‘That’s my girlfriend, man,’ Mick spat, his face twisting into an ugly mask you weren’t sure you’d ever noticed on him before. ‘The fuck you doing feeling her up? You stealin’ my car and my girl?’

‘Mick…’ you started but he was ignoring you, advancing on Joel. You stepped towards him, hands up to placate, but Joel was suddenly beside you, tucking you behind him and shielding you with his broad chest.

‘Back up, buddy,’ Joel said, a whispered warning.

‘Me, back up?’ Mick seethed, about to go on before Joel interrupted him.

‘Yeah, you back up. You need to sit your arse down and learn yourself somethin’,’ he said, advancing on Mick so that the younger man took several steps backwards, heading towards the kitchen table. You wondered if anyone had ever actually stood up to him, if usually his wealth was enough to make people cower. He backed into a kitchen chair, slamming down into it with a thud as he stared up at Joel, the older man red faced and pointing a finger at his chest. ‘You think that little display last night was any way to treat a woman?’ he grit out. You watched as Mick shook his head no. ‘You think she enjoyed that, being pawed at in the dark like a fuckin’ street walker?’ he asked.

‘She looked pretty whorish a few seconds ago,’ Mick responded, petulant and stupid. You could see by the way Joel braced his shoulders, his back expanding in resplendent fury, that Mick had made the wrong fucking choice.

‘Ya little shit,’ Joel said, stepping back from Mick and towards you. He held his arm to you, beckoning you into his chest and you went to him, tucking yourself against his side.

‘You have a woman like this, you fuckin’ cherish her,’ Joel muttered, tracing his fingertips along your side and making you shiver. ‘Look at these pretty little tits,’ he said, moving to cup them as you blushed, tucking your face into his neck. You heard Mick’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring your own as Joel rolled your nipples through your shirt. ‘The way you were grabbin’ at ‘em last night, you think that felt good? You make her groan like this?’ he asked, applying just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nubs, eliciting a moan from you, unbidden.

‘Listen, man, this is…’ Mick started but Joel cut him off with just a look, stern and disapproving, before his face shifted back to adoration when he turned to you.

‘Let’s show him, baby?’ he asked, his brows saddled high. You knew you were safe with him, that at any moment you could call it off, but you wanted this. You wanted Mick to see what Joel could do to you, the sounds you could make. Wanted him to feel small and insignificant in the presence of a real man, of real pleasure. Wanting him to see what money couldn’t buy.

You nodded your head at Joel and watched as the grin bloomed over his face. ‘M’good girl,’ he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it, and you felt the bolt of want shoot down into your core. Your cunt already aching, already dripping for him.

‘Show me where,’ he said, stepping back as you surveyed the space. You nodded towards the kitchen island, the bench just above your hip height. Joel nodded, lifting you up easily to perch on the edge, your body facing Mick as he sat, frozen, at the table in front of you.

‘Slip these off, baby,’ Joel said, tugging at your sweatpants and you lifted your hips as he slipped them, your panties along with them, out from underneath you. The granite countertop cold on the top of your thighs you revelled in the sensation of it, the hard, cold surface so different to Joel’s hot body as he hovered at your side.

‘Show him,’ he said, tapping you on the knee. You spread your legs, hooking one thigh over the edge of the counter and the other widening out to your side, your cunt unfolding before the two men in front of you. You watched as Mick’s face turned pink, sweat appearing on his brow. You turned to look at Joel, the hunger in his eyes as he devoured every inch of your skin. He reached over, running his fingertips over the inside of your thigh, moving closer to you, leaning over your body to whisper into your ear.

‘You’re dripping onto my countertop, baby,’ he said, and you could hear the glee in it, the wanting.

‘For you, Joel,’ you clarified. ‘Not him.’

‘Nah, never for him, I reckon,’ Joel agreed, his fingers slipping further towards your slit. You felt totally exposed and wanton, whorish, as Mick had put it, and your cunt was pulsing, aching from the desire of it. You felt like a priceless piece of art admired in a big city museum, like a stripper opening up her legs for hoards of braying men, like a girlfriend letting her disappointing boyfriend know in no uncertain terms he would no longer neglect her. You felt power coursing through your veins and into your cunt, your slick pooling on the top of your thighs as the most beautiful man you had ever seen stood beside you and teased the pleasure from every nerve.

‘Fuck…’ you whimpered as Joel’s fingers landed light and dexterous on your clit, the little bundle of nerves sending the pleasure roaring through your core and into your chest. You bucked your hips, nearly slipping from the countertop, Joel coming forward again to brace you against his chest.

‘God, look how much she wants it,’ Joel said over your head to Mick. ‘Bet you’ve never made her jump like that.’ You opened your eyes, not even having realised they’d closed, to watch Mick swallow hard and heavy. You beamed back at Joel, letting the pride in his face radiate warmth down upon you.

‘So good f’me, so good t’me,’ he said, spreading your lips apart with his fingers and pushing a fingertip inside. You gasped, shock on your face at the intensity of the need for him burning where he touched.

‘Please…’ you whimpered, just wanting more and just wanting him to never stop, just wanting him to reach inside you, to wring the pleasure out of you, to make you come so hard you forgot your own name.

‘Sshh…’ he cooed to you, ‘your boyfriend needs to concentrate so he can learn.’

You emitted a squeal of frustration, bucking your hips on his hand to try and draw him in, earning you only a chuckle from Joel.

‘Ok baby, m’sorry. Just like teasin’ ya,’ he grinned at you, before sliding two fat, rough fingers hard into your cunt.

For a second you lost touch with reality, your head flying back to the ceiling as sensations strong enough to take your breath roared from your cunt. The stretch was delicious, the heel of Joel’s hand rubbing hard at your clit as his fingers reached deep inside you, opening you up for him, your slick gathering in his palm.

‘Look how wet she gets,’ Joel noted, over his shoulder to Mick. ‘Such a shiny little cunt when she’s drippin’ like this. You ever work her up like this?’

You heard Mick grunt, a pleading note of displeasure, and you sighed as Joel started pumping, stoking the fire in your cunt that threatened to eviscerate you and everyone within the vicinity.

‘Joel!’ you gasped, rolling your hips again, trying to shove him deeper into your greedy little cunt as it grasped at him.

‘Could lick ‘er up, whatchyu reckon?’ Joel asked, already getting down on his knees as you groaned, certain now he was going to send you into the stratosphere. ‘Can I, baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, frantic, unable to form words.

‘Bet she tastes sweet,’ Joel said to Mick, who was inching closer in his chair, peering over Joel’s shoulder as your cunt swallowed his thick fingers. ‘Like watermelon on a hot summer day. You ever taste her, Mick?’ he asked. You watched as the shame bloomed over Mick’s face. Joel scoffed. ‘Course not, ya fuckin piss weak little prick,’ he spat before turning, diving in to lick a fat stripe at your folds, settling in to lap at your clit as his fingers worked you.

You screamed, sucking in huge lung-fulls of breath just to let them keen out of you, your hips slamming shut on Joel’s head as he sucked at you, every nerve ending screaming now as you felt the blooming heat of release.

‘Oh, he’s gonna make me…’ you said to Mick over Joel’s shoulder, watching you with owlish eyes.

‘Don’t talk to him,’ Joel admonished you, pulling your focus down to him as he perched between your legs, ‘you talk to me,’ he said.

‘Sorry, Mr Miller,’ you said, watching as his eyes rolled shut, a shiver passing over his shoulders.

‘Be the death of me…’ he muttered, returning his attentions to your pulsing cunt. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips on his face and rocking into him, chasing the release now gathering at the base of your spine.

‘Jesus…oh, fuck…’ you cried, trying desperately to warn him, your eyes slamming shut only to open in shock as he found new ways to wring the pleasure from you.

Joel worked you up, his tongue never fatiguing, setting up the perfect rhythm to hold you just on the edge. You could feel your sweat pooling on your skin, the heat in your cunt spreading down your legs, the pull of the knot in your belly.

To your utter dismay Joel stopped, lifting his face to address Mick at his shoulder. ‘You ever make her squirm like this?’ he asked, and you cried for him, then, scrabbling to grip his shoulders, his chin, to push him back to your desperate cunt. He laughed, nipping at your fingertips as they passed by. ‘Look at her graspin’ for me. You seein’ this? This is what real pleasure looks like.’

You cracked open an eye, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain control of your limbs. You saw the look of shame embedded deep into Mick’s face now, the sight of it somehow intensifying your pleasure, the building pressure in your cunt.

‘Fuck me,’ you gasped, turning your attention back to Joel, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Show him how to fuck,’ you groaned, pushing off the countertop and spinning up onto your toes, laying chest down on the granite now hot to the touch from your writhing body on top of it. You spread your legs a little, knowing that your puffy little cunt lips would be revealed to them both, and you heard them both groan, Joel’s chesty moan full of grit, Mick’s high pitched and brimming with regret.

‘Don’t do this, man…’ he pleaded, and you heard Joel’s little scoff.

‘That’s the thing, buddy, the lady always gets what she wants.’

You felt him come to stand behind you, heard the rustle of his sweats as he pulled his cock over the waistband. It took everything in you not to turn and admire it, knowing in that moment you would have plenty of opportunity.

‘Fuck, she’s got me weepin’,’ Joel said, and you heard the unmistakable sound of skin on skin as he wrapped his hand around himself and tugged. ‘Got me harder than a railroad spike, this little cunt…’ he muttered. You whined, swivelling your hips to try and entice him, begging him to move faster as the walls of your cunt fluttered for him. You heard him sigh, a happy little sound. ‘Ok, baby, I’m here,’ he said, running a hand up your spine to hold you gentle and firm at the back of your neck, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. ‘Gotta be gentle with my sweet little pussy,’ he said to you, leaning over you to place a chaste kiss in the cup of your shoulder blade.

‘Please, let him see it stretch me,’ you said, and you felt Joel shudder, notching himself at your entrance.

‘Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll chain him up in the basement, make him watch me fuck you every day,’ he muttered, pushing gently at first, the tip enough to make you gasp.

He was big, you realised. All of this time working you up he’d been leading to his moment, preparing to tease you open. ‘Oh, shit…’ you gasped as he pushed.

‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, pausing until you nodded, frantic, hands gripping at the edge of the counter for purchase as you pushed back into him, sliding in a few extra inches, as Joel moaned.

You were dimly aware that Mick was moving, coming to stand in front of you, a look of sorrow and unabashed heat on his face.

‘Please, can I?’ he asked, rubbing himself through his pants and you swatted him away.

‘No, fuck you,’ you said, emboldened by Joel’s desire for you, by his cock currently splitting your folds. ‘You never get this pussy again,’ you hissed at him, and you felt a bloom of pride at the look of hurt crossing his face just as Joel cheered from behind you.

‘That’s my beautiful girl!’ he gasped, bringing a finger to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it, making you gasp as you let your head fall, resting on the countertop. ‘So good f’me.’

The burn in your cunt from the way he stretched you abated, the pleasure Joel was giving you from your clit causing more slick to gather, your cunt grasping him again, your walls fluttering as you felt the ache turn to sweet pleasure, to a blooming rapture.

You lost touch with the ground, Joel’s harsh thrusts pushing you further up the counter, completely at his mercy as your legs hung useless beneath you, hands braced against the granite to give him purchase. In this moment, spread out on his cock, your cunt open and dripping for him, the pleasure ripping the words from your brain, gasps racking your throat, you felt completely under Joel’s spell, his touch, his heat. Mind-numb, thoroughly fucked out, gripped in this moment between the build up and the threshold of release.

‘Oh, you’re gonna make me…’ you warned but Joel had you, was there already with you.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he grunted between thrusts. ‘Can feel it, can feel that sweet little cunt grippin’ me.’

You cried out, nodding your head furiously, entirely at his mercy now. ‘Yes, yes…Joel, it’s gonna…’

‘Let it go, baby,’ he moaned, and you felt none of the panic, none of the terror at your impending release, wrapped up safe in Joel’s body, in his groans of rapture, in the pull of the knot as it threatened to snap entirely.

‘Watch me make her come,’ he spat out over your head, and you were only dimly aware of what he was saying as your release sped towards you.

You writhed, your breath stolen from you by the roar of the wildfire across your chest. The push of your orgasm slipping you under, crashing your body into the shore, rolling and quaking underneath it as indescribable lust coursed through your veins.

‘Oh, fuck, there she goes,’ Joel spluttered, his hips stuttering as he started to deepen his thrusts. ‘Gonna fill up ya girl,’ he grit out, his final movements sloppy and desperate as he approached the edge.

‘Do it, baby,’ you whimpered beneath him, words finally able to escape the cage of your throat. ‘Need you.’

He did, then, his come exploding into you and washing you clean, cleansing you of Mick, of all your disappointments, of all your fears. You looked back over your shoulder at him as he crested, his eyebrows saddled and his eyes trained on you, a look of reverence and hunger, of sweet shock, as though he couldn’t believe how good it felt either, as if everything for him was also slotting into place, as if he knew in this moment he would never let anyone separate you, would never let anyone take you from his side, that in his moment you were his just as much as he was yours, that this was a forging of something solid and essential, something vital and something precious, something that was just for you.

You didn’t remember Mick leaving. Didn’t care to say goodbye.

Joel had peeled you off the counter and carried you upstairs, drawn you a bath and lowered you gently into the water, sat beside you and washed your body as you lulled in and out of a light sleep.

Drying you off he wrapped you up in his clothes, swamping you in cotton and his scent, before promising to make you a fresh batch of pancakes. You hadn’t let him, whimpering when he tried to leave your side, pulling him down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

Later you would figure out lunch, and then Sarah, and then the rest of your lives. For now, you had each other, and cool sheets, and the light patter of rain as a welcome cool breeze blew new life over the garden beneath Joel’s window.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

777 notes · View notes

jjunieworld · 2 days ago

Text

BODY ELECTRIC ˒˒ 투바투

❝ 𝗶 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗼𝗱𝘆 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗿𝗶𝗰, 𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 𓈓 𝗍𝗑𝗍 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗏𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗈 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗄𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌!

p ‎⸝⸝⸝ 투바투 𝑥 fem!reader ꔛ g ‎⸝⸝⸝ headcannons, video links, smut, established relationship ── dom!txt, sub!reader, mostly unprotected sex, oil / lube, various kinks (breeding & daddy kink hehe), creampies, housewife!reader / traditional gender roles, food play?, some mean & hard dom elements because i truly can’t help myself, some roleplay, probably others than i’m missing ╱ ❨ 𝓶.list ❩

✉️ ⦂ never posted twt links before but this was kinda fun lmao ^^ i might post more sometime soon. like maybe an enha (hyung line) one?? hmm… not completely sure. anyways, i hope you enjoy!!

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ︵͡ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (⌒‿⌒)♡

𓍼 ˋ✮ YEONJUN

ʬʬʬ — him fucking you so good that your cum just spills out of you. would angle you in a way that didn’t let any escape until he’s done with you and filled you up completely. he would start fucking you again just at the sight of how messy he made you, shushing you and telling you how your spent pussy could take another round. 100% has a breeding kink.

ʬʬʬ — hates your bad attitude and how he constantly has to fuck the brattiness out of you so you remember your place and who’s in charge. slaps your ass to make sure you’re listening to him and to punish you for talking back in the first place.

ʬʬʬ — like soobin i feel like he would like to use oil too! loves watching how easily his cock slides in your needy pussy and swallows it whole. also loves taking you missionary so he can see your pretty face all twisted up in pleasure!!

ʬʬʬ — idk what it is about this but it’s just so yeonjun to me?? would eat you out after to taste the slight bubblegum flavor and then would continue eating the cum-covered lollipop like he wasn’t just fucking you with it.

𓍼 ˋ✮ SOOBIN

ʬʬʬ — would beg you to dress up as his favorite anime and video game characters!! the two of you would roleplay a little before he’s fucking you and filling you up with his hot and sticky cum (>人<)

ʬʬʬ — loves seeing you in lingerie but hates the fact that it gets in his way!! it makes him too hard and he just wants to fuck the shit out of you without having to pull back straps and lace. definitely would keep on the thigh high stockings tho, it’s his favorite!

ʬʬʬ — honestly you should know to not wear short skirts around him… immediate hard-on and he’s fucking you against whatever surface is the closest to him. doesn’t even care that you were only quickly dropping by to give him something, you’re not leaving for the rest of the day.

ʬʬʬ — the type to drench you in oil so he can watch the way you glisten all prettily while getting dumb on his cock!! loves seeing your shiny tits bounce, bonus if you have nipple piercings. i feel like he would be the type to record it all so he can get off to it again later. cowgirl is for sure his favorite position for you!!

𓍼 ˋ✮ BEOMGYU

ʬʬʬ — interrupting him playing his game was a bad idea… of course he’s gonna bend you over his gaming chair and fuck you. leaves his mic on and let’s all his discord friends hear how much of a slut you are. (/ω＼)

ʬʬʬ — love love loves sitting back and having you fuck yourself on him. gets off to your pretty little moans and the sight of his cock disappearing inside you.

ʬʬʬ — cuddling with him always turns into you feeling his bulge against your ass, to him sliding his cock inside of you “i just need to feel you,” to him pulling your hips towards his so that he can fuck you. you’re constantly sticky with his cum!!

ʬʬʬ — this. definitely how most of your nights would go when you’re super horny for him. would laugh in your ear at your whines for his cock and would tell you to get yourself off on his thigh or bulge instead.

𓍼 ˋ✮ TAEHYUN

ʬʬʬ — you begging him to fuck you without the condom on,,, he’s always so careful and you just need to feel him inside you completely, feel the way his thick load fills you up and drips out of you!! you don’t want him to pull out ♡

ʬʬʬ — him teasing your needy and wet clothed pussy. just loves how wet he can get you without even sticking his cock inside of you.

ʬʬʬ — quick morning fuck before the two of you go to the gym!! you told him “just the tip…” but you both can’t control yourselves! ended up going later that morning hehe

ʬʬʬ — his little housewife (⋟﹏⋞) you let him do whatever he wants to you whenever he wants. taehyun wants you to suck up off while you’re making dinner? you’re on your knees with his cock shoved down your throat in an instant.

𓍼 ˋ✮ HUENINGKAI

ʬʬʬ — kai needing you so bad that there isn’t even enough time to put his cock in you. would completely miss the mark and end up fucking your thighs instead!! you’d go crazy from only having stimulation at your clit and not where you need him the most. would leave your thighs covered with his cum while he bends you over for more. this video as well hehe

ʬʬʬ — so needy while he’s trying to practice. his long fingers aren’t enough so now he his to fuck you with his cock too… definitely didn’t finish practicing after this >///<

ʬʬʬ — would always have you sitting on his face. watching a movie? he can eat you out like a starved man and watch the movie at the same time. always wants to be pleasing you in some type of way.

ʬʬʬ — you’d be a good girl for daddy and let him fuck your wet pussy right? so wet that kai’s big cock keeps slipping right out!! loves hearing your moans and repeatedly asks you how much you like daddy’s cock. loves how you beg him to put it back in and fuck you deeper.

∿ [ continue on to . . . masterlist , taglist , request ] ︵͡ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙙𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 (⌒‿⌒)♡

🏷️﹙ want to be added to my permanent taglist? click here ﹚ @jjunberry @gothgyuu @gyuuberries @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka @dani-is-tired @riaawr @nxzz-skz @jakeswifez @ghstzzn @jenn-ieverse @rapmonie2047 @aaa-sia @won4me @skaterhoon @usnve @jeonghaniehaee @todorokiskitten @xylatox @lovzwoni @minaateez @onlyhyunjin @lilyuwon @aduh0308 @chaconadine @who-tf-soddhi @americanojake @missychief1404 @in-somnias-world @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @riribelle @hyukascampfire

627 notes · View notes

fushiguho · 1 day ago

Text

Curiosity & the Poor, Unfortunate Cat ⭑.ᐟ

ᯓ★ Synopsis Toji Fushiguho — an absent father, a college dropout, and a panhandling loiterer who just so happens to be your father’s best friend. Obviously you have to fuck him... out of pity, of course.

Wordcount 4k

Warnings fem!reader, age gap, toji is kind of disrespectful but so are you, so much teasing it’s insane, toji has a filthy mouth (duh), rough sex, unprotected, spanking, abrupt ending, brat taming??

Author's Notes this was inspired by an anon request for toji as your father’s best friend which was so freaking fun to write (everyone say thank yew anonnnn) and this was supposed to be a drabble but i know no limits... i was also channeling a lot of my own desires here #needthat p.s. this blog is under construction, i’m in the midst of transferring my work from my previous account which was marked as explicit boooo :/

Your sheets ruffle as you discontentedly toss in bed, the silken fabric bunching haphazardly while you writhe, empty stomach caving in a ravenous hunger. Internally, you curse yourself, wishing you had eaten the dinner your father prepared earlier, but now, it’s definitely too late. You’re sure Toji has already scarfed whatever was left of it down into that perpetually endless gut of his. You’ve never stood a chance. Alas, you must eat, so with a groan of annoyance, you roll out of bed, padding to the kitchen on the hunt for satiation.

It’s the dead of night. The sacred time of day when nothing is expected of you. When everyone you have ever known is fast asleep and you’re all that remains. Darkness consumes the lifeless house as you shuffle across the carpeted floor. A night light that’s tucked at the end of the long hall flickers like a dwindling torch in the depths of a dark, endless forest. As you creep down the steep staircase, you sigh, taking notice of overhead microwave light already casting a soft, amber glow — there is someone else that too remains.

Toji.

“You can’t keep eating all of our food.” You huff, abruptly announcing your presence as you near the final step, observing the burly, sable haired man that raids your barren fridge. “I don’t even know why my father puts up with you.”

He smells your sweet, gourmand perfume before he even registers your voice. It’s utterly embarrassing how painfully his cock aches from a mere whiff of you, the sound of you. Unabashed, Toji shrugs, stuffing three, large strawberries into his greedy mouth, eyes narrowing on your pretty frame. “Your father loves me, sweetheart… couldn’t have raised your bratty ass without me.” His ravenous gaze lingers far too long, sharp eyes shamelessly flitting across your soft, exposed skin, sizing you up. “And hello to you too. What’s wrong with you young people? Does no one respect their elders anymore?”

“Oh, brother, here we go.” You grumble, bracing yourself for yet another fruitless lecture, arms crossing over your chest as you sit into your right hip. His keen eyes follow your subtle shift in stance. “And your son? Where is he?”

He scoffs. “With his mother, thank you.” Toji rolls his eyes, reaching for another strawberry. “You sure you don’t have homework to do or something? Always pesterin’ me. I’m old, damnit!”

“I graduated three years ago, thank you… though you can’t say the same,” you snide, rudely pushing past him to peer into the refrigerator, “and you're like forty-five… you should've gotten your shit together yesterday.” You add, growing progressively annoyed with his lingering presence. “Did you drink all of the milk again?”

“Heh, oh yeah. Whoops,” he goads, popping the p, “and I’m not that old, you brat.” He mumbles, esteem crumbling at your assumption.

He’s grown accustomed to your biting criticism, though in the beginning, he would almost always quarrel back, which inevitably led to the two of you in a needlessly heated and borderline flirtatious feud. Now, he’s learned to actively ignore your insults but god, he would only be lying if he said your petty, condescending remarks didn’t rewire the chemistry of his brain.

Alas, all he offers is another irritatingly indifferent shrug, a sly smile tugging at the corners of his scarred lips — his own twisted version of remittance. Toji doesn’t give a fuck, not one. He knows your father will replace it by the end of the week like he always does, so why should he?

It has been nearly a decade since your father has all too graciously granted Toji loitering rights to your childhood home. Never has he paid for groceries, for bills, for anything. He is penniless, indolent, and baselessly forthright, but god, is he the finest man you have ever known.

After both your father and Toji’s untimely and coincidentally synchronized divorces, the two have been inseparable ever since, wallowing in their shared pity together. During his unnecessarily messy divorce, Toji lost the house and your father was gracious enough to offer him a place to stay until he secures a stable job.

That was nine years ago.

Weirdly enough, Toji has known you the entirety of your existence, but not you his. From as early as you can remember, he was always just… there, but as time passed and you grew older, things changed; the way you thought about him changed. Before, you thought of him as just one of your father’s degenerate friends from undergrad who fell through the cracks. Today, that notion still holds, but now you want to fuck him, bad.

For years, you’ve imagined what Toji is like behind closed doors, what he would feel like, what he would fuck like. If he’s the type of man that plays with his food before eating it, if he even likes to eat his prey anyway. Maybe he’s the type of predator that prefers stringing his meals along, toying with and teasing them like some cruel, one-sided game and he’s got the unfair advantage. Either way, you don’t think you’d mind.

Countless nights you’ve found yourself sprawled apart with his name on the tip of your tongue. Bare, perspiring body bowing as you brainlessly fuck yourself against one of his sweatshirts that you snagged from the laundry he doesn’t do. There is no doubt that Toji has heard the desperate cries of his name that pour from beneath your paper thin door, your pretty whimpers so incredibly loud and slutty and all for him.

If he wanted, you’d let him have in the worst possible way. You would let him pry you apart and gut you out completely, leaving you nothing but a shell of your former self — drooling, stuffed, and defiled. The utter heinous things you’d commit for a mere taste of his skin is a direct contradiction of who you are and everything your father believes he’s raised you to be. You’re no angel.

Defeated, you close the refrigerator, a deep, irritated sigh dragging from your lips. This man is useless, you think. If not for his maddeningly beautiful face, you’d sock him in it, sending him tumbling to the floor so that you can finally mount him and —

“Do you wanna fuck? Is that it?”

A long, deafening beat passes. You swallow thickly. “… what?”

“You heard me. I asked if you want to fuck.” He reiterates, voice eerily calm as if he couldn’t care less about the proposition at hand. “You’re always so pissed with me, thinkin’ that’s maybe what you need... a good fuck, heh.”

His blatantly unprovoked inquiry is jostling you back into reality, because what? What the hell is wrong with him? Why did the question roll off of his tongue so quickly? So smoothly? As if it’s no big deal, as if this is just another one of his usual, overly prying questions. Is he serious?

“Toji, wha—”

“You don’t think I’m stupid, do you?” His head is falling to the right, a sleazy grin marring his slick lips. “You don’t think I see the way you look at me, sweetheart? Not a very discreet girl, I’ll tell you that…” a dark, gut wrenching chuckle rumbles from the depths of his chest, “maybe a noisy one though, hm?” He hums, quirking an omniscient brow.

Guiltily, your gaze is falling to the tiled floor, thighs pressing together as you mumble. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Sure.

He laughs again. “You’re not a good liar either,” he’s creeping closer, the warmth of his breath like kindle to a rampant flame, “but you’re a pretty little thing… you know that already though, huh?” A curious hand is creeping around your waist, slyly reeling you in, the redolence of his cheap, inebriating cologne permeating the sinisterly thick air.

You expel an audible breath, taking a cautious step backward, yet he follows, taking a larger step forward, a step closer. Your skin burns, cheeks warming with crimson. He’s too fucking close and he knows it. What if someone sees? You don’t think you can bear the consequences that’d unfold if your father were to ever find the two of you like this. He would kill Toji, then you, and finally himself for good measure.

But god, do you want to find out. When it comes to human nature, curiosity always seems to prevail and fuck, are you one curious cat. There is something innately deep and pressing within your soul that craves satiation. It yearns to be known, to be explored. A deep, perpetually endless hole that aches — it longs to be filled, to be stuffed. None of your peers can do that for you, you’re convinced.

Your dark, repressed desires are only concerning your stance on feminism, but you don’t care, that’s the very thing. You want to find out. You need that, undoubtedly. Is what they say about older men true? The thought lingers as you contemplate the looming proposition. Yes, he’s your father’s closest friend. Yes, he’s far older than you with a child of his own. And yes, your perpetual obsession is only growing increasingly worrisome by the ticking clock, but truly, who can blame you? Look at him.

“C’monnn, you won’t even look at me, doll?” He frowns, a big hand cupping your chin, pulling your gaze upward. “Thought your father and I taught you better than that, no?”

Another loud, incredulous breath escapes your parted lips. “I’m sorry.” You whisper, cunt drooling.

Just the sweet, innocent quaver of your voice alone makes his cock twitch. His plaid pajama bottoms growing near uncomfortable as the fat, mushroom head leaks against the dampening fabric. What’s left of his dwindling resolve is slipping from his fingertips when you’re finally peering up at him, the coy bat of your lashes so perfectly slutty. Pretty, pleading eyes all wide and glossed over with your evident lust. God, he knows you need it.

Toji groans, conflicted for half a beat before growling a strangled and defeated, ‘fuck it’ then, his lips are slotting against yours in a delirious, haphazard kiss. Large hands blindly creep around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer. “This… this is your fucking fault.” He grouses, warm tongue delving so shamelessly inside of your honeyed mouth, greedily licking his way to the source.

“Fuck me then,” you’re pulling away just barely and he can’t help but to follow, subconsciously chasing your fleeting lips, “make me sorry.” It’s quiet, breathless, your pretty lips ghosting his.

And maybe you shouldn’t have said that, but it’s still not too late to end this — to push him away and say no, this isn’t right. It’s not too late to head to bed and forget any of this ever happened, but the way he’s twirling you around to push you over the marble countertop might be a step too far and damn sure too late.

“Sweetheart, you’ll be so fucking sorry,” a singular hand is peeling your lounge shorts down, down, down your plush thighs until there’s nothing but a pool of silky fabric surrounding your ankles, baring your syrupy folds, “spread those fuckin’ legs for me like a good, obedient girl. Let me see how wet that sloppy pussy is.”

With your face snug against the marble, all you can manage is a weak, fruitless gasp of his name, the warmth of your frantic breaths condensing the frigid countertop. You’re craning your head to the side, rising to the palms of your hands to observe the burly man that looms behind you. Fuck, he’s going to kill you.

He simpers, trailing several, curious fingers from your swollen clit allll the way down to your visibly tightening hole which drools endlessly. Pearlescent gossamers of arousal cling to the pads of his fat digits, kissing his skin in a beautiful sheen of your bountiful essence. The warm, abrupt stretch of his careless fingers as they sink deeeeep inside of your slobbering hole is peerless, prying your jaw open in a pretty, guttural moan — so raw and primal and all for him.

“Thaaat’s it, let me hear you, girl… sound even prettier up close,” he’s leaning down to better observe your desperate wails of rapture, pressing his clothed cock against the rear of your bare ass in the process, “got me fucking my hand like an idiot to the sound of you. How rude is that?” His breath hot and laden with lust against the crook of your neck.

Another wanton moan is belting from your gaped mouth at his confession. You can hardly help the pathetic buck of your hips, weakly fucking yourself against the stocky hand that cups your pretty pussy. The gnawing stretch of his fingers set your skin ablaze and yet, it’s not enough. You need more.

“Just f-fuck me… please? Before he gets home.” God, you are so fucking cute, bottom lip quivering in… fear? Anticipation?

Toji frowns feigndly. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re scared now, sweet girl?” A warm, calloused palm is splaying across the thick of your hip, pulling you closer to the edge of the marble. “Sure doesn’t feel like it…” he taunts, dragging his fingers out of you to smear your prolific arousal between your swollen lips and the slit of your ass, soon bringing them up to your stupidly gaped mouth, “doesn’t it taste like it either, huh?” He prompts you to taste yourself, his long, drooling digits hanging before your subconsciously parting lips.

And god, you could fucking cum right there, cunt throbbing embarrassingly around nothing but the fleeting memory of his fingers. You hardly have the time to loll out your tongue before he’s rudely stuffing his fingers into your warm, obedient mouth. A synchronous, drawn out moan echoing from both of your slacked jaws, yours muffled by his fat digits and his so careless and plainly conquered by his ineffable lust.

You hum contentedly around his thick fingers, cleaning your own arousal from them like the good whore he always knew you’d be. Drool spills from the corners of your lips and down his burly knuckles, coating his hand in an obscene mess of your sweet saliva. His fingers are deliberately creeping farther down your slutty little throat, forcing a proper gag from the pit of your core, more of your saliva consequently cascading down his palm.

Like the nasty slut he is, he’s pulling them out of your mouth, only to plop them inside of his own, sucking and drooling down those very digits, his cruel gaze holding yours. A guttural groan belts from the depths of his chest, sable eyes fluttering shut as he hums in satisfaction. Your mouth falls wide, jaw slacked as pretty little pants of incredulity pour from it, poor cunt aching in your ever growing arousal. What. The. Fuck.

“What? Nothing else to fuckin’ say, huh?” Those same fingers are running along your cunt once more, messily smearing the sinful amalgamation of married saliva. They’re sweeping across your swollen clit before slowly sinking back inside of you, preparing you. “Always talkin’ so much shit to me. Gonna shut you up real soon, sweetheart… swear to god.”

A stupid gasp parts your lips, stomach caving in arousal at the sound of him hastily slipping out of his plaid bottoms. A greedy hand is latching to the back of your right knee, pulling your leg up to pin it against the cool marble. The sight of your pretty pussy in all of her sloppy glory makes his cock twitch, the head dripping in sinful rivulets of pearlescent arousal.

You can barely stand the way he takes his cock into his fist, idly pumping his pretty erection, a slutty grin spreading across his scarred lips. From his girthy base allll the way to the fat, leaking head, he strokes himself, but not before swiping the pad of his thumb across the drooling opening, spreading his arousal down the expanse of his monstrous length. You fucked up. Royally.

“God,” you mumble, turning back around to stuff your face into the crook of your arm in utter horror, “god, I am s…so sorry.”

And he fucking laughs. Laughs at your apology; it’s loud and obnoxious and so clearly intended to piss you off because you’re not sorry, you’re scared and he knows it. He can see the way your body trembles atop the counter, drooling cunt shamelessly exposed with your leg hiked up so rudely. The way your big, pleading eyes widen in fear as he creeps closer. Even your futile attempt to scoot away when he begins to drag the head of his cock between both of your slutty holes, almost as if he can’t decide which to ruin first.

“Nuh uh… c’mere,” he nearly growls, impertinently pulling you back before him by the flimsy fabric of your night shirt, a disapproving grunt ensuing, “tryna run away from me, huh?” Two, large hands are groping the fat of your ass, brazenly spreading you apart. “Oughta’ teach you some fuckin’ manners… such a mean little thing. Hell’s wrong with you?”

The head of his cock rests so heavily against your sloppy hole, hot precum oozing against the mess of slick that adorns your pretty pussy. Toji slaps the dense head against your lips once. A droning, helpless mewl pours from your gaped mouth, only for him to do it again, and again, and again. A lewd and deafening plap! plap! plap! reverberates throughout the dimly lit kitchen, sticky gossamers of married arousal tethering you as one.

“Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he admits, briefly dipping the head of his cock inside of you, dragging a wanton whimper from your lips, “such a shame y’er so mean to me… would’ve had you like this years ago if not for that nasty little mouth of yours.” He’s sinking inside of you yet again, but only to pull out when he’s gone too deep.

If your father were to walk into this kitchen at this very moment, he’d be utterly appalled. Horrified. You’re writhing beneath him, hips bucking so sluttily against his teasing cock. God, you have never craved something so horribly in your life; you could just die from the sheer deprivation and it’s hilarious to him. He’s taunting you like it’s some cruel fucking game and he’s got the upper hand.

Again, he laughs. “Oh, you want it bad, huh?”

“Yes, fuck.” You growl, evidently frustrated.

“Awwww you mad, sweetheart?” He irritatingly coos, leaning down to press a wet, openmouthed kiss to the nape of your neck. “Is that poor pussy frustrated huh?” Another sloppy kiss between the valley of your shoulder blades, the head of his cock gliding between your glossy lips, spreading you apart. “Heh, she’s cryin’ for it, such a messy girl… drooling all over my cock like that.”

“Please,” it’s a broken, shameless plea as you crane your head, beautiful tears of desperation pricking your eyes, your pride somewhere so far gone, “pleasepleaseplease.”

A dark, breathy chuckle parts his lips, aching cock jerking against your awaiting hole. For years, he’s imagined you just like this — begging and crying for his cock like some insatiable whore. If anything, he’s denying himself; though, what’s left of his restraint quickly perishes at the sight of your sobbing hole tightening around nothing, kissing his shaft in a gleaming, warm mess.

He almost can’t help but to sink inside of you again, instead this time, he’s giving you everything, all of his twitching cock. The abrupt intrusion forces an incredulous gasp past your lips, a low, throaty groan dragging from his slack jaw in tandem. And just as he thought, your greedy pussy is swallowing his fat cock to the base effortlessly, almost as if it was hand tailored for you.

You’re fighting the gnawing urge to run — to clamber across the countertop and cower in fear, but you can’t fucking move. He’s got you pinned to the marble, a heavy hand at the rear of your neck, the other splayed across the thick of your hip, pulling you back onto his cock. It aches. The delirious stretch of his cock and how it steals your breath away, your mouth sagged, yet nothing is uttered. For once in your life, you’re speechless.

“Is this really all it takes, huh?” His hips are reeling back, the shiny essence of your arousal sheathing the entirety of his cock. “God, is this all it fucking takes to shut you up? A cock in this slutty little pussy, huhhh?” The bruising snap of his hips as he pummels forward nearly has you gushing down the length of him all too soon. “Answer me… and use your big girl words, c’mon sweetheart.”

A loud, desperate gasp of air is all you can manage, bottom lip trembling as you attempt to say something, anything. The hand that holds your neck is threading throughout your mussed hair, forcing your gaze onto his and he can’t help but to laugh at your stupid expression — drool spilling from the corners of your mouth, thick brows knitted so tightly as your pretty eyes threaten to cross. Of course you can’t fucking speak, you’re drunk.

“My goodness, I wish you could see yourself… you’re so stupid on it,” he admires almost endearingly, a warm, mindless thumb grazing your bottom lip, “that perfect fucking face, god. You are so pretty taking it, such a goooood pretty slut for that cock, fuck.” The near possessive growl that belts from the depths of his lungs is like nothing you have ever heard — so filthy and shameless and ridden with his unbearable lust.

Toji is completely losing himself in the wet, endless abyss of pleasure that is you. Babbling nothing but loud, reckless praises, your pretty name spilling so willfully from his slutty tongue. He can hardly help the way he’s subconsciously jerking you back onto his cock. His big, greedy hands tighten so possessively around your pretty waist, meeting himself halfway. The obscene plap! of his achingly full balls beating up your quivering clit with each ensuing thrust.

“Thaaat’s it, you’re so good, that pussy is so fucking good… takin’ it soo deep for me.” He mindlessly blabbers, a large hand creeping beneath the thin fabric of your shirt, the calloused pads of his fingers sweeping across your soft, perspiring skin.

Every coherent thought you have ever had is long forgotten, poor mind completely barren. He’s the only thing you can hear, think, feel — the greedy hands that wordlessly command you, the warm stretch of his drooling cock as it wholly splits you apart. Even the fat, curious thumb that’s sinking inside of that other poor, neglected hole of yours is prying your lips open in a helpless mewl of pleasure.

“It’s sooo good… sooofuckingooood, oh my god.” You snarl, teeth bared and his jaw nearly unhinges — you sound so fucking pretty. “I love it, I love it, I loveee your c-cock.”

“Yeaaah, sweetheart?” He coos, heavy head deliriously falling back to dangle between his broad shoulders. “God, you needed this, didn’t you? Look at your hips buck like such a nasty slut.” A loud, ear splitting smack! lands against the fat of your ass. “Do you dream about it after you fuck yourself and cum all over my clothes, huh?” Another smack! to the other cheek, your poor cunt consequently squeezing down the base of his cock. “No fucking shame either.”

You possess half the brain to respond, not sure whether to shake your head or nod, too far gone to even make sense of anything anymore. Moan after unrestrained moan spill from both of your raptured tongues, the two of you sharing a few synchronous gasps of air or delirious cries of overwhelming pleasure. It’s the most debauched, yet utterly erotic thing you have ever experienced, but then, there’s a loud, roaring voice that’s stilling Toji’s hips.

“What the fuck is going on here?!”

Fuck.

465 notes · View notes