#its just one random thing after another
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He's blond. He's Australian. He has a complicated relationship with God. He has daddy issues. He had been implied to be semi-familiar with the BDSM scene. He has mommy issues. He's the most commited man on the planet. He's an ass-kisser.
#Chase is such a wierd chracter#i love him#its just one random thing after another#its hilarious#house md#hate crimes md#robert chase
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fake ep idea + doodles
#i was thinking abt how funny it would be if there was a shiftythrifting blog equivalent in lmk. and half the stuff on there is#submitted by wukong. so i thought a yard sale ep would be funny lol#basically the hoard becomes problem one way or another and wukong figures the best way to get rid of his junk is thru ebay#somehow ends up selling world ending artifacts to random megapolis citizens so mk mei and redson have to scramble to find em#purposely meant to mirror the weekly shenanigans s1-2 style eps that are really goofy (dumpling ep noodles ep etc)#but it gets darker and darker because MK is not fucking ok after that whole thing with the scroll and some unchecked identity crisis#for me id want him to kind of. freak tf out because they have to find MULTIPLE chaos inducing items that could end the world while trying t#be sillygoofy and funny about it. so hes trying to mask his panic with “ohhh guys its just like the good ol days ^_^ remember that ^_^”#ESPECIALLY after that whole thing with the ink scroll. also mei doesnt buy any of it and is worried for him the whole time#as for the B plot it could be monkey king also trying to be very relaxed abt selling 4000 years worth of stuff and tang getting all huffy#like “these are priceless artifacts that could help us learn so much about the past!! wtf man!!!”#and maybe it reveals smth like wukong not wanting to hold on anymore bc his past weighs him down. and theyre all reminders#i think azure mentioned that wukong is sentimental (idk if that was genuine or lying to mk) so that could be touched on to#so basically. the theme would be some sort of conversation abt nostalgia. i think. im not a writer so its very fuzzy in my head#if anyone wants to add on or include their own spin on it feel free. also included undercut redson as a treat somewhere in there#myart#lego monkie kid#monkie kid#lmk red son#lmk mei#lmk MK#lmk xiaotian#lmk xiaojiao#lmk sun wukong#lmk swk#doodles#lmk tang#lmk pigsy#lmk traffic light trio#yard sale ep
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as someone who isnt super excited for sotm for certain reasons I am really glad that like. it's clear that since ruin theyve been setting up for carnival and sotm IS carnival. so now that carnival is finally coming out, afterwards theyll be moving on to other plotlines since the main villain stuff is sorted out
I'm just rlly happy to finally see a clear direction for how the story is gonna be playing out with like "okay these games were leading up to this so after this will be open possibilites" instead of like. absolutely no info about each upcoming game and being left guessing before it releases and just having to wait and see what's in it and if anything you're looking forward to will be in it
it feels like they have a plan and a solid direction for what they're trying to do and after carnival releases thatll be all that buildup coming to fruition. & we already know from the Scott interview that theres another release 'beyond sotm' that's 'super exciting' so maybe thatll be focusing on another big currently untouched (which is basically all of them) plotline, or even the big campaign game that dawko has been calling security breach 2
#even if i dislike how theyve been handling this whole mimic cassies dad factory mapbot bonnie bully stuff#the past like 2 releases 3 after sotm#after watching johns theory video it really does feel like stuff was more purposeful with thought put into it when u plug in cassies dad#even if the plot of him being behind mxes and trapping mimic is pushing other more important characters aside#its probably what happened and accepting that makes the story at least seem more thought out#it did make me feel better about it bc like. it at least feels like theyre cooking#like what theyre working on DOES have a direction and a plan and it isnt just random stuff like how it felt when hw2 came out#i might still think that the stuff theyve been doing the past few releases is boring af and uninteresting#compared to earlier concepts like focusing on vanny and the possession aspects and sentient glamrocks#(we could see more of it with freddy if theyd let him come back ever)#but like. at least it has thought put into it and feels like theyre actually trying to set shit up for something#like sotm is an ORIGIN#the tagline was 'sometimes you have to understand the past to see the future'#at the end of the day sotm is a setup for a campaign thatll take place in present day anf#even if its taking ten thousand years to get there im excited for it#aka its taken a long time to tell this story setup of cassies dad and mimic and shit and it might be boring for some people#(me)#but at the end of the day its meant to be setup explaining the past of why mimic exists (even if that's already in tbe books)#so after we 'understand' it we can get back to present day#and focus on its current victims vanessa gregory cassie etc#cassies dad is 100% dead if hw2s protag is him so he woukdnt be relevant anymore. just another character thing to serve cassie#im just saying like after sotm its wide open for getting back to the plot#and i think its actually right to say that bc like all of this has been setup. if hw2 protag is cassies dad its a prequel to ruin#so rn ruin is the most recent game in the timeline. meaning the next game that takes place in current tjme will focus on the current mains#Gregory cassie vanessa#sorry for fnaf plot posting again ive been thinking about it a lot the past few days#thought id balance some negative ive posted with a positive since im feeling better about it myself :)#one day we're gonna be so back and its gonna be great#its just gonna be a long annoying wait lmao#thoughts
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haha why are the eyes different. where's the stripes. I'm tired boss
#random observations#this show just loves to show me a thing that's almost another thing but then not#fanon made up the bit about hopper giving will sara's tiger after she died right#based on the way they cut directly to sara's from will's strongly implying its the same one?#did will just coincidentally own a stuffed tiger that's 99% the same#and then there's el's stuffed lion#can I have five minutes of peace
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Man I wonder where the leader of the fear realm could've gone, it's alMOST LIKE NEVIN HAS AN
#had to re-edit the image real quick because the original edit was from a post I made about Drew years ago#and while the Drew thing is becoming less and less likely. Nevin havinv one has basically been canon since#someone mentioned Greg's (was it Britney's) aura being familiar in s2ch1. ive been putting together a list of every line#that points to Nevin's aura throughout the whole thing (most from s2ch1 but then s2ch10 came out and it was really canon at that point)#but clearly i'm running out of time to say ''i fucking called it'' before it's explicitly stated and i dont want to be in another situation#where somebody else will beat me to a theory and me posting anything about it will seem like copying them. sorry about that btw i had#thought i had already mentioned theorizing that nevin was possessed by a demon in that old theory i made but i had forgotten that one was#super old and was about sigma. so no copying there i just got extremely paranoid there was a mention of a cult and i was like ''nuh uh#that's way too specific and out there of a detail to end up in both our theories'' and i forgot the rest of my super old post was outdated#as hell. and echos had gone ''yeah they're so similar!'' and i took their word for it but now i'm realizing they were probably just trying#to be supportive. so yeah no copying there i was just beaten to the punch of saying something. but i will NOT back down from the aura shit#because i have been calling that shit FROM THE START or at least since i started reading ibvs back when ch20 came out.#also not backing down from saying chris was the worse friend because these past few chapters are the first time isaac has done anything tha#could knowingly upset chris meanwhile chris has. let edward drag isaac to the lair after isaac said edward would beat him up. chose not to#believe edward was holding the secrets over their heads because 'it was something isaac had said' and then immediately distrusted edward in#the next chapter because a random person he didn't know said to steal a book (might i mention how that entire scene proves chris' lack of#development and refusal to take responsibility because it perfectly alludes to when chris had brought those fireworks into his old school#and makes me wonder if charlie has actually gotten him in trouble with his past schools or if he's still just not taking responsibility#and if him following nevin to the woods to test out their powers is an extension of ''if something bad happens its not my fault''#like seriously this man would bring a mysterious suitcase onto a plane if he's told to). uh what was i talking about agai#anyway on a related note my mental state has only gotten worse since i left tumblr and the habit of thinking about chris instead of sleepin#or doing schoolwork has not stopped. so i was still failing for a while and might graduate now but am still staying away from tumblr.#so yeah this was a little update and im not going to linger this time im just going to leave tumblr again right after hitting post#addendum because i just can't let things go. and was thinking about chris again. i don't think his lack of development is because of bad#writing (anymore. i used to.). instead i'm certain his character arc is going to continue into him following someone (nevin probably) into#doing something really bad. and then he'll finally get actual consequences and go 'oh shit i fucked up real bad this time'#if you think that theory is reaching too far into the future you should hear mine about isaac dying at the end lmao
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It’s the way I’m in between of “I’m okay if getter gets zero no content this year even though it’s the 50th anniversary because dynapro bot wise it’s grendizer year which has been long overdue, plus getter could be having it worse compared to other mechas” and “please god if your gonna give us even a crumb make it a new spin off manga at least even if I’m probably not gonna read immediately or just a fucking figure that ISN’T shin getter”
#meg text#getter robo#if they make a “happy 50th” figure and it’s just a more pricier shin getter I’m going to sob#<this is likely going to happen#shin getter is a cool design but can we get figures for NEW. PLEASE#ITS TURNING 20 THIS YEAR TOO AND DOING SOMETHING ALSO IN FAVOR OF 50TH A GOOD ENOUGH EXCUSE#and I’m perfectly fine if it’s just getter one even if two and three are super neglected#new getter one is low key becoming my favorite getter one so if I could get a new-Hah-figure of it that be awesome#but also real talk the getter spin offs random but why did they suddenly die after devo??#esp because despite mix reception in the fandom it seems Japan wise they liked it enough to get in SRW#or maybe that was only bc it shared creators with Netflix ultraman and that’s why they could get it in#and just “people are gonna be sick of arma and we can’t add arc yet so former most recent thing will do”#but I think if we can’t get another new anime or animes consistently the spin offs should stay#especially now that they touched arc maybe we can get mangas actually getting to use the boys#still probably wouldn’t follow the anime but they deserve to be in aus#speaking of which can we ever get ova mangas? Like epilogues of what happens after each ova? Please?#that’s never gonna happen but I can DREAM since it’s just such untap potential
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who up thinking abt shoko switching the cheek her sucker was in when utahime runs up to hug her
#just me? okay LOSERS#its just me and her in this world#on another note hi are we live#inotober was thunder striking me on a random morning now I am shakespeare in a straightjacket#I am so in love with this fic but I’m not even sure if it fits any of the prompts#also! poker face ep is 50% done becauseee the writing bug bit me but my funny bone broke 😭 im an smau failure 😭😭😭😭😭#i quit 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭#after I post ONE thing my reward is catching up on all my moots’ work#im coming for you musician semi#ieree#FUCK my self ship name w shoko isn’t as cute as choreezo 💔#holy yapathon oh my god#kisses hugs world peace
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i just saw someone call oroc himaru morally grey ill eat us both alive he litearlly stole babies so he could commit as many experiemtsn on them as possible he probably was eating people in his dinky ass lab what do u mean morally grey i mean hes litearlly pronouns so i like him what are u on about tho
#orochimaru would poke a newborn baby with random needles he found outside to see whta would happen and then get another one and do it again#n thats so funny tho bnecause orochimaru is actually such a good parent to mitsuki its insane?#not the first one apperently though he had to mess the first one up well ok someone had to have eldest daughter trauma#but the second attempt is litearlly a pure angel of sweetness i mean he is litearlly blue hes so cute#do you think kabuto ever stares at mitsuki and wants to throw rocks at his head bc if u think about it the only other person#who orochimaru was a real parent to was kabuto he stole that kid right after brainwashing his adoptive mother and had him for YEARSSSRRSES#i love orochimaru but kabuto should have been able to peck out orochimaru's liver every morning with his fucking teeth and claws also for w#what he did tto him. idk how kabuto turned out a sliver of normal and is able to run an orphanage#he ruined his entire body for life because he was like if i just fuse my new mommys dna with mine he wont be able to leave me#like my old one did#i think if you would have left orochimaru's corpse with kabuto in a locked room he would have eaten that thing with his hands within 10 min#i love talking about orochimaru's corpse. hes litearlly fine he came back. he litearlly just came back i hate this anime#i miss kabuto i miss kabuto i love kabuto i love kabuto
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So this month I’ve jumped back into my willex chiropractor au (after not working on it for almost a year) and it just passed 20k words tonight!!
#that’s crazy!#this started as (yet another) thing that I thought about but wasn’t gonna write but like… look how it’s grown#and it’s feeling… good#like I know where it’s going mostly and what parts I want to write more about#but it definitely has taken on a life of its own#a whole lot less chiropractor and a whole lot more of willie and alex watching movies together?#which seems random but go off I guess#I need to give them more variety in their bonding actives but it’s not my fault willie is a movie buff he’s the one who is steering the ship#i am not in control of this fic I’m just a vessel#tbh thought I might try a mini nanowrimo this year but forgot after the first day#so now it’s just a write more when possible month which is also quite helpful#things are happening and it’s all coming together#though I also feel like I said that last year when I actually was doing nano but things went off the rails for valid life reasons#I’m just seeing what happens no pressure but I do actually want to post this at some point and share this world with people#jatp#julie and the phantoms#willex#fic writing
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just wanna say im obsessed with your mind and i read your posts about kiryu like the morning paper. thank you for your service
(Sweats) e-even the ones about him laying eggs ?
#Thanks for the ask !#HIIIIII thank you for reading my posts im really a serial rambler so that is no easy feat. i just had a lowkey nightmare that was insect#based so its nice to think about different kinds of eggs once in a while. sorry for the eggs i just learned the word gravid and i cant stop#saying it !!! i literally opened tumblr to make another post about kiryu i was gonna say he was probably antisocial in his childhood which#is really a miracle any girls managed to notice him at all. and i believe that he was very dismissive of his clothing and appearance because#you know when youre young and trans and havent realised it but you just randomly hate everything about your appearance and dont even knowwhy#i think his hair was always too long and too shaggy and he would let nishiki comb it sometimes because he really could not stand his mane#and sometimes when it gets wayy too long and shitty the sunflower caretaker would drag him outside and just cut a chunk of it off with a#knife and kiryu would have shoulder length hair for a little while... anyway i need to give him a little girlfriend like how rikiya had one#when he was in school because all trans guys need a little girlfriend or an all girl group of friends to be his girlfriends when hes a kid#so he can carry their shopping bags and wait for them outside the changing room etc and kiryu cant resist a girl so he gets a letter from#nishiki and he tells him yeah this is probably a prank to have you wait there for hours or there might be guys waiting to ambush you and#beat the crap out of you. and kiryus like Nobody beats the crap out of me except our dad. and goes to meet this girl and he actually agrees#to go out with her and this is the thing that keeps him in school because otherwise he would literally not go. like hed walk with yumi and#nishiki and the rest of the kids at sunflower that he doesnt care about to remember the names of. and he would just wave them off at the#gate and wander the town in his school uniform and then after school he’ll meet nishiki and possibly yumi at the gate (yumi probably makes#other friends but its a Must to walk nishiki home because he’ll get lonely) and when kiryu starts going out with this girl hes obligated to#walk her home so he already broke rule one but nishikis like happy for him But he has to walk home with some other random guys now and#eventually theyll broach the topic of ‘his psycho sister’ and nishiki literally has to beat a few guys up to defend kiryus honour and when#he comes back with news of how unpopular kiryu is with the rest of the guys because he looks better with short hair than they do and has a#girlfriend whos super cute. kiryu is just like damn did you commit social suicide to protect my honour? youre my best friend. but whatever#kids get over it fast. but parents dont!! and kiryu walks his girlfriend right to her front door and soon enough her parents are going to#find out that the boyfriend she keeps gushing about is a girl and straight up take her out of school to make her stop being gay and kiryus#like but ... im a boy ... punches the ground and screams to the sky. anyway enough about dysphoria simulator im here to talk about this guy#when hes a bit older because im salivating and shaking over the thought of his bootyass rip kiryu you woulda loved thongs. i think hed hate#ripped jeans but only because he thinks theyre a waste of manufacturing. its literally better for the world that kiryu decided 2 transition#because can you imagine if she was a girl and needed to wear a bra? like she would literally have an itchy back all the time which would#give her a hair trigger temper which means kamurocho a&e room will be very healthily plush indeed. god my battery is dying i need to take a#shower noww anyway really thank you for the nice message you are so sweet ... hi ...
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opened my art account on twt to post art and scrolled a little bit through my dash and saw someone I haven't seen in a long while. Then I realized that I had them blocked in the account i use normally. whoops.
#random#me#im gonna be a little mean about them in the tags but. they're a big account that gets into fights a lot that just get utterly tiring after#watching them argue with the same set of people the nth time. i do think its just the burder of a popular account with people leaning on ba#faith arguments over one thing or another and the account bites back which just fans the flames and cycle repeats#i think it boiled over into a big controversy where someone threatened (?) to dox them a year ago. doxing is shit behavior of course and#thankfully nothing of harm came to them#all in all it is mainly petty internet and fandom drama. but they've kinda left a bad taste in my mouth when it comes to a certain ship#am pretty ambivalent on#oh well this was just a ramble#its been a year since i even saw a post of theirs so they might have gotten better with that stuff
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I had a dream with a pretty neat (yet messy cuz dreams are like that) story that featured yuri in the scale of "this girl is so in love with her boss but hides it in fear of her boss rejecting her so she's just content to be of service to her" and "the boss not knowing what to do with her own feelings towards the girl and also fearing of being rejected by her just kept calling her as "the best friend I've ever had" instead of being outright with it."
Somehow I ended up as an accidental wingman by disguising myself as the girl and when found out I was like: "Oh yeah and... if you're going to confess, can you actually like-- drop the "friend" thing? You're gonna end up in a deep misunderstanding cuz of that." Cuz during the time I was disguised as that girl, the boss was saying some INSANELY sweet things only to end it with "that's why I love you, as a Friend!"
#aria rants#my dream had like 3 stories mashed together and the one with the yuri was story 2#the 1st story before that fuels my whump sde tho cuz some guy was horribly hurt#cuz of Something and is struggling to stay awake cuz theres still a mission to do#and that one actually has yaoi instead (guy hurt being actively cared for by another guy)#and then it switched to story 2 with the messy yuri. and it got an interesting setup for it#cuz in that story. its set in a dream (dream within a dream... crazy) which is why i can disguise as anyone#but the problem here is that i Cant disguise as just Anyone cuz the boss has records of everyone nearby#and if the stuff im saying doesnt much with what they know. theyd kick me out and ban me from the dream#but since it was just a disguise. the Me isnt rlly affected by it so i kept going back as someone else#cuz theres like smth in the boss' office that i needed for a mission. and then i just ended up disguising#as the girl. my first disguise ended up in failure cuz the girl was nearby and the boss#found me out immediately cuz of the way i kept addressing her. i kept calling her name ''marianne''#but during my 2nd time. the girl wasnt around (made sure to disguise as her when she went out)#and turns out she addresses the boss as ''jessica'' for some reason instead of marianne#i managed to get so far until i insisted on seeing the thing i needed and she found out#got kicked out again after saying what i needed to her and then dream 3 started where its just a random mess
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what if i say "fuck it we ball" after the having a difficult day but you start cuddling me and holding me close to your chest and tucking my hair behind my ear and patting my head whilst i start letting the walls i put up because of a childhood where sharing my emotions wasn't safe down and curl up into a ball beside you and you coax me into letting it off my chest while i stutter and kick and gulp and gasp but you still hold me close and say "it's okay now, I'm here." What then bro.
#i need this so badly it hurts#can someone just hold me and love me#its one thing to know i am loved but its another to *be* loved#reading too many gay boy stories has made me long for a love i know i can never have but still yearn for anyway#all this happy hualian and fengqing isnt good for me#“read books” they say#okay now what#long for my own happily ever after?#i read too much that ive made reading a BAD habit when its supposed to be a good one#ive alsk been listening to people watching by conan gray on loop today#so that probably contributed#*also#listen to it#its so good yet so painful if you get the feeling#i wanna dissect it#i already have some interpretations i might share later#anyway#love me pls#random thoughts#shower thoughts#im lonely#touch starved#need love#:/ man#welp#life goes on#ig
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I find it so funny just how long I'd have to talk to get to a single non original character in the random card au if I explained the worldbuilding in chronological order. I'm pretty sure the first recognizable characters would be og Tae and Rei and even then there's a pretty big span of time where they could have possibly existed so I could theoretically go through a Lot before getting to them even without all of the finer details of kingdom worldbuilding
#rat rambles#random card au#band posting#after that I believe next in line would be misaki and rokka followed shortly by hagumi and nanami#then we have an haruka kohane shiho and shizuku all around the same tome period next#and after that we get glitter green and rimi#then we get to another shaky period where no one rly comes up but rui emu kanade and honami are probably all in there somewhere#and then after a good while the main characters and other alive ppl start existing and we get to actually sort of discuss plot stuff 👍#note that even with me not going into too deep detail theres a Lot involved in the main plot thats hard to explain without explaining basic#worldbuilding such as the gods and divinities and the vessels and other shit like that#like most of it is much more naturally integrated into the story but yknow writing smth into a full narrative and explaining the same thing#are very different and it's hard to do the ladder effectively if its complicated enough#its also frustrating to explain to ppl cause its very much meant to be treated as a fantasy setting opposed to my typical two layers down#approach to realism since a lot of the worldbuilding especially are much more meant to be creation myth vibes y'know?#so ppl have gotten snarky with me abt it and its just frustrating as hell cause like yeah it doesn't make logistical sense this is fantasy#like there Are sci fi elements but a lot of sci fi is just nonsense too so like that doesnt mean much#I dont completely abandon my two layered realism but as far as basic world origins go its a creation story with gods and stuff#so yeah I get silly with things cause its fun and gives me an excuse to make characters furries
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There is no such thing as AI.
How to help the non technical and less online people in your life navigate the latest techbro grift.
I've seen other people say stuff to this effect but it's worth reiterating. Today in class, my professor was talking about a news article where a celebrity's likeness was used in an ai image without their permission. Then she mentioned a guest lecture about how AI is going to help finance professionals. Then I pointed out, those two things aren't really related.
The term AI is being used to obfuscate details about multiple semi-related technologies.
Traditionally in sci-fi, AI means artificial general intelligence like Data from star trek, or the terminator. This, I shouldn't need to say, doesn't exist. Techbros use the term AI to trick investors into funding their projects. It's largely a grift.
What is the term AI being used to obfuscate?
If you want to help the less online and less tech literate people in your life navigate the hype around AI, the best way to do it is to encourage them to change their language around AI topics.
By calling these technologies what they really are, and encouraging the people around us to know the real names, we can help lift the veil, kill the hype, and keep people safe from scams. Here are some starting points, which I am just pulling from Wikipedia. I'd highly encourage you to do your own research.
Machine learning (ML): is an umbrella term for solving problems for which development of algorithms by human programmers would be cost-prohibitive, and instead the problems are solved by helping machines "discover" their "own" algorithms, without needing to be explicitly told what to do by any human-developed algorithms. (This is the basis of most technologically people call AI)
Language model: (LM or LLM) is a probabilistic model of a natural language that can generate probabilities of a series of words, based on text corpora in one or multiple languages it was trained on. (This would be your ChatGPT.)
Generative adversarial network (GAN): is a class of machine learning framework and a prominent framework for approaching generative AI. In a GAN, two neural networks contest with each other in the form of a zero-sum game, where one agent's gain is another agent's loss. (This is the source of some AI images and deepfakes.)
Diffusion Models: Models that generate the probability distribution of a given dataset. In image generation, a neural network is trained to denoise images with added gaussian noise by learning to remove the noise. After the training is complete, it can then be used for image generation by starting with a random noise image and denoise that. (This is the more common technology behind AI images, including Dall-E and Stable Diffusion. I added this one to the post after as it was brought to my attention it is now more common than GANs.)
I know these terms are more technical, but they are also more accurate, and they can easily be explained in a way non-technical people can understand. The grifters are using language to give this technology its power, so we can use language to take it's power away and let people see it for what it really is.
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Hating Game
Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: Celebrating your dad’s birthday at the yacht club becomes damn near unbearable when Joel Miller brings a date along too. Jealousy and hate sex ensue.
Warnings: 18+. Food fight turned hatefuck (don’t ask). Cockwarming and semi-public sex on the bridge deck. Oral (m! and f!receiving). Daddy kink. Dirty talk. Age gap. C*mplay. Katoptronophilia. Orgasm denial. One risqué Viagra joke. Drinking games. Descriptions of vomiting. Joel cockwarming you while smoking a cigarette <3
Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4
"Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?"
You can. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he’s buried so deep inside you is a far harder task than expected, though. Especially when he’s so still.
Joel sees it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leans over your body and digs his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting a modicum of friction as he takes another drag of his cigarette. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulses like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes roll back.
An orangutan on roller skates would’ve had more grace.
A grizzly bear in hibernation might’ve been more lively.
A fucking cross-eyed octopus reciting Shakespeare would���ve been less strange, alarming, and painfully awkward to see than your father’s best friend the week after he’d railed you senseless in the front seat of his car.
Joel Miller had shown up with a date, for Christ’s sake.
Of course, you’d been three cocktails deep and playing stack cup with a random group of gentlemen on the bridge deck at the time, but that was almost immaterial. This was your dad’s fifty-first birthday party—one of the rowdiest nights the Austin Yacht Club had yet to see—and yeah, you planned on getting belligerently shitfaced on Dirty Shirleys and obscene amounts of catered food.
You’d never thought to bring a date of your own, though.
That was just distasteful and crass, all things considered.
Presently, you slammed your ping pong ball to the tabletop and watched it make a wide arc over your cup.
“Fuckfuckfuuuuuck,” you whispered low as the man four spots down made it in, and the man after him bounced the ball straight into his own on the first go. He moved the tall, swaying stack of red Solos immediately to your right, and you knew from the jump you were fucked.
Tommy Miller was a master at stack. You could already see the sly smile on his face from the corner of your eye.
Just as Mötley Crüe gave way to Hall & Oates on the speakers overhead, Joel’s brother crammed his stack of cups over your own and made a smug, triumphant bow.
“All you, kid,” he grinned and slid the second to last cup in your direction.
You could’ve cursed his whole bloodline, Joel included.
There was no way in hell you were getting stuck with death cup again—the last, cruel punishment for the loser of the game a mix of three different types of liquor, soda, and a spritz of Natty Light. Filled to the brim and waiting to be downed by whoever didn’t sink the final shot.
You squared your shoulders and locked the fuck in.
Bounced the ball once. Twice. Christ, this was hard. The man to your left was struggling too, but he seemed just as determined and twice as skilled, and you were pretty buzzed. A second later, he made it in and, of course, slid it right back to Tommy, who was practically overcome with laughter.
“MILLER! MILLER! MILLER!” Men were not creative when it came to chants. Or beating fists on furniture.
“Quit shakin’ the shit!” Tommy roared, tapping his ping pong ball deftly onto the table’s surface.
You blinked a few hazy, anxious thoughts out of your head and tried with everything in you not to miss this shot. The instrumental bridge of ‘Maneater’ was sinking its teeth in your soul and taunting your nerves to no end.
You took the ball, swallowed hard, watched the cup, and flicked your wrist, at last, from a singularly perfect angle.
The ball was a millisecond away from making it in.
Tommy Fuckstick Miller managed to stack you first.
A chorus of obnoxious, wholly drunk howls rang loud in your ears, and suddenly, the attention was back on you, the unhappy victim of the game’s most gruesome drink.
You didn’t hesitate. You pinched your nose and guzzled from the cup before the torment could go on any longer.
You did well at first.
Opened your throat like a pro and cleared it down to the last fourth of the drink, to the point where you could see the slick white bottom side of the cup clear as day.
Your mouth had just flooded with the final draught of death cup when a familiar guitar riff caught you off guard.
You weren’t sure why it had to happen that way, but after being forced to listen to the song some five thousand times on your road trip with Joel, the tenor of Billy Joel’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard to you now. Grating. Nauseating.
Vomit-inducing.
Swiftly, you ran to the nearest railing and lost your last drink—and your whole dinner—over the side of the boat.
You yakked into Lake Travis like you never had before.
And, just as that stupid, forever-tainted song surged on, you heard footsteps approaching. A moment’s pause. Then a hand on your back. Patting gently and, seconds later, lowering a cup of water to the side of your head.
Your face was still dangling upside down off the yacht. You didn’t want to be touched.
“Go to hell, Tommy,” you muttered.
“You first,” he said, chuckling.
You didn’t sit so much as slump back onto the deck with your head in your hands. The whole boat had gone sideways in your mind, and Tommy’s outstretched arm looked more like a bubbling lump than a friendly gesture.
You groaned at the sight of the cup and shook your head.
“I’m alright, okay. I’m good.”
Then, when the cup didn’t waver:
“Can they change the fucking song already?!”
Tommy cocked a brow and squatted down next to you. He set the water aside.
“Got a problem with dad rock or somethin’?” he smirked.
You shook your head no—it wasn’t the music that was making you sick but the man Tommy called his brother that made you wanna vomit again. The thought of that man tangled up with a svelte brunette who looked fresh off the cover of Sports Illustrated when he couldn’t even be bothered to shoot you a text after the condom broke last week. Like he just didn’t give a shit if you were alive, dead, or pregnant with his child. Unfortunately, you had nothing more to throw up, and your eyes were on fire.
Tommy slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Took a handkerchief out of his pocket.
“No more Dirty Shirleys for you, young lady,” he chided, dabbing lightly at the tears that had trickled out.
“No more men for me,” you grumbled quietly.
You couldn’t see it then, but you could feel him trying not to smile. He tugged you closer.
“Boy trouble, huh?” he said, “Whose ass needs kickin’?”
Your brother, actually. Curb stomp that fucker, please.
You shrugged instead.
“Some guy from school.”
Tommy nodded, waiting for you to elaborate. When you didn’t, he just assumed you wanted to keep it to yourself—which you did—and squeezed your shoulder softly.
“Well…you know you’ve got your dad, me, and Joel to beat the shit outta any guy, any time, any place, right?”
You wished it were that simple. You wiped your nose and nodded all the same.
“And…” Tommy started again, working slow to get you back on your feet, “Most guys your age don’t know their ass from their fuckin’ elbow, honeybun. Don’t take it too personal if he’s dumb enough to lose a gem like you.”
The corners of your lips twitched slightly at his words. Almost smiling by the time he had you up on your feet.
“Thanks, Tommy.”
“Anytime, kiddo.”
You might’ve rolled your eyes when he pinched your cheek, but the water he held back up for you to drink looked far too appetizing, and you knew he meant well. You took the cup from him and started to chug.
Again, you’d almost made it through the whole refreshment when a sound threw you off. Abruptly.
“Where have you two lovebirds been?!” Tommy chirped.
You lowered your water and almost regurgitated again. Bile jumped up in your throat, and you just narrowly managed to keep it all down with a cough and a sputter.
Joel and Ms. Centerfold were at the far end of the deck.
Joel was tucking his dress shirt back into his pants.
Are you fucking kidding me?
“Gettin’ nasty on her daddy’s yacht? That’s bold,” Tommy cackled, nudging you playfully.
Your face was bloodless. Every last ounce of pretense and decorum had spilled out with your dinner, before, and now you were just staring at Joel blankly. Numb.
You watched him shove the last clump of his shirt under the waistband and straighten up slightly. The woman at his side flashed you and Tommy a blinding white smile.
“Might say the same for you,” she called back. She seemed to be eyeing you both with a half-curious look.
Tommy made a face as if to say ‘yuck—what the fuck?’ and threw his arm around you again, shaking you lightly.
“She’s like my little sister, Ashton. You’re fuckin’ gross.”
Little sister. Nice. Like a knife twisting inside your gut.
If Joel took any notice of the comment, he didn’t show it. He just stood there, dull and impassive as a loaf of bread. Every coarse lineament of his face was unreadable—just as bleak, bland, and uncaring as the eyes staring out of it. Then he fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his lighter and a pack of American Spirits. He passed the latter to Ashton and leaned over to give her a light.
Throwing yourself off the boat seemed like the most logical next move out of anything available to you.
That’s when you knew you were off your shit and needed to leave the bridge deck—immediately.
“Need a drink,” you mumbled, starting off the other way.
Tommy was hot on your heels, following fast after you.
“That’s— that’s actually the last thing you need, I think, sweetie. How ‘bout some lemonade?”
“Can you spike it with bleach?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Tommy followed you down the staircase straight through to the galley, past the throngs and pockets of partygoers crowding the main dining area. Hitting the bar was a bad idea—wait staff knew you well enough to sense when you were utterly trashed, sad, or both—so you slipped toward the wine cooler and quickly sidestepped Tommy.
“No! No way. Nuh-uh.” He was still trying to block your access to the fridge when you grabbed hold of the door.
“Hair of the dog, Thomas.”
“That’s not a thing. That’s— you just projectile vomited off the deck, dude. You need a breather.”
You stopped just long enough to let Tommy pry you off the refrigerator handle and back to the kitchen island. You were pissed off, sure, but also not nearly prepared for another drop of alcohol if you were being honest with yourself. Your head was still spinning when you sat down on the counter.
Once you were settled, Tommy got to rifling through the cabinets, and you pressed a hand to your forehead.
“So how long’s that been going on?” You couldn’t help it.
“Wha- oh, Joel and Ash?” Tommy hummed from deep inside a cupboard. He came out with a small blue box.
You winced at the nickname. Watched him go from the pantry to the sink, fill a glass halfway, find a spoon, and tear the box in two, along with a couple chalky tablets.
“They’ve been…weird.” The sentence was punctuated with a pinch of his brow and a frown. He started stirring.
“Weird how?”
Your feet were dangling over the edge of the island; you pretended to gain a sudden interest in a smudge on the toe of your shoe.
“Weird like…I don’t know,” Tommy tossed the spoon in the sink and turned back to you. Holding out the cup, “They’ve been ‘friendly’ for years—Ash is a coworker of ours—and Joel swears it’s nothing more…but I dunno.”
He ended his speech again with that weird intonation and grimace, like he wasn’t so sure if he believed what he was saying himself, then shook his head and shrugged. He watched you take a sip of the Alka-Seltzer and urged you to get the whole thing down. It tasted like shit.
“Christ, that’s salty,” you coughed.
You didn’t want to keep going, but Tommy tipped the glass back in your hand and made you finish.
“It’ll help with your stomach,” he said before strolling over to the caterers’ fridge to look for bland food options.
“So if they’re not a thing, why’d he bring her here?”
You didn’t care what Tommy thought of your questions. He knew you were eager to hear the tea in any situation.
You watched as your friend procured a hand of bananas and some bread. He gave the fruit to you and took the bread over to the toaster, where he dropped in two slices. You couldn’t quite tell if he was contemplating an answer, didn’t want to spill, or hadn’t heard the question at all. He snagged a plate and a butter knife while you peeled apart your snack, silently dying to know the truth.
At length, Tommy shrugged. Again.
“‘Cause Joel’s a goddamn drama queen and doesn’t know what he wants, I s’pose,” he said.
Ain’t that the truth.
Then, after a minute:
“Had his panties in a wad ever since he went to Boston.”
You stiffened hearing that. You couldn’t pretend to be invested in your shoe scuff, the floor, or the food in your hand any longer. Your eyes flitted up to Tommy to see if his expression had shifted any.
It hadn’t—he was just looking for strawberry jam.
“You hitched a ride home with him then, didn’t you?” he asked casually.
You swallowed and nodded. You watched Tommy retrieve the two freshly-warmed pieces of toast that jumped up to greet him and, having found the jam he wanted, slapped them both on a plate and lathered them up. You muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as he slid them over.
You were almost too scared to ask more questions, but you knew you had to find out. About Joel, Ashton, anything Tommy might’ve gleaned about your trip home from Boston. You found you could hardly sit in one place and had to step off the counter to eat your food.
“Joel’s been, uhh…how do Gen Z’s say it? Trippin’ balls?” Tommy reached for a banana himself and started in.
“Tweaking,” you corrected him.
“Tweakin’, yeah. Joel’s been a real fuckin’ tweaker lately.”
“In what way?”
“Just…shuttin’ himself in is all. Wouldn’t talk to me or your dad or anybody for days after he got back. Didn’t show up for our monthly Bingo matchup at Mando’s—and he hasn’t missed one of those in almost six years.”
You pursed your lips, equally mystified. You knew just how seriously your dad and his friends took those games—how rare it was for Joel to turn down any opportunity to drink, play Star Wars-themed Bingo, and shoot the shit with his buddies over Coors Light and cheese curds. You took another bite and waited for Tommy to continue.
“And there’s— there was this…thing he— I dunno.”
Suddenly, it seemed your friend had lost the power of coherent speech, and he was rubbing the back of his neck, flashing a half-sheepish smile, and shaking his head. Contemplating whether he should share something with you and ultimately deciding against it.
You raised both eyebrows.
“What?”
“Nah, it’s dumb, really.”
“Tell me.” You took a far-too-large bite of your banana and had some trouble getting it down.
“Well, he…” Tommy trailed off, shifting his gaze from yours to take a look at his own shoe, for a second, “When me and your dad were riding with Joel to a work site…we, uh…found a box of Plan B in his glove compartment.”
Half-chewed banana and toast almost flew across the room while you spluttered and choked and just barely managed to cover your mouth to keep it all in.
“Right? Threw me for a loop, too,” Tommy grinned as you beat your chest with a fist and fought to keep yourself breathing, “Your dad damn near had a baby when he picked that little box and those booty shorts up himself.”
When he what?! You wanted to scream, just picturing your straight-laced, conservative father flipping a Plan B box between his hands, in shock, and then…your shorts—when the fuck had you taken your shorts off again?
Right, when you were busy trying to scoop some more of Joel’s jizz from your cunt as he raced you both to CVS.
Good times.
You held your hair back and leaned over the sink, spitting two more chunks of banana and bread down the drain. Tommy reached around behind you for the spigot and filled another glass with water as he tried not to laugh.
“Easy, now,” he said, patting your back like he’d done for you before, “Joel didn’t happen to mention this lady friend to you now, did he?”
“No,” you choked. You wiped your mouth clear of any spit and food residue and slowly blinked down into the sink, feeling an old wave of nausea begin to settle over you. Accepted the new glass of water from Tommy and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tremor in your hand as you did.
The man seemed completely oblivious. Still standing close behind you, Tommy rubbed circles in your back and leaned a little closer.
“Death cup really got ya, huh?” He smirked, and you realized then that he very much was like an older brother. This whole situation with Joel was fucked on so many levels and would be fucked tenfold if Tommy ever found out.
You turned around and felt yourself steadied between two warm, broad palms—‘Wanna sit? Lie down?’—and then you were shaking your head, reaching for another banana and trying like hell to seem semi-composed, though every neuron in your brain was firing away at a million miles per second and your legs were feeling like scrambled eggs.
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah?”
Suddenly, one of Tommy’s hands had moved up to brush a few strands of hair from your face, and you felt your skin radiating raw heat. A deep-seated anxiety, too.
He’s going to find out—what if he already knows?
What if Joel tells Tommy?
What if Tommy tells dad?
Your mind was reeling, on fire, still working in earnest to find something to tell your friend to say you were fine, just dizzy, and definitely not fucking his big brother.
Your brain was drawing blank after blank after blank.
Just then, a clatter sounded nearby. Both of you jumped.
When you shot a look to the source of the intrusion, you nearly folded into Tommy from secondhand humiliation.
“Nice hands, feet,” the younger Miller called over to Joel, who was currently trying to recover the dozen-odd pots and pans he’d knocked over at the threshold of the room. You stared at the two in a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and disgust—the latter reserved exclusively for Joel.
You set your drink down, held your hand over your stomach, and pretended to head for the bathroom.
“Be right back,” you muttered, brushing past both men.
You knew you wouldn’t be back at all if you could help it.
Still clutching your banana in one hand and your raucously churning tummy in the other, you climbed the galley stairs fast to get back up to the bridge deck. You almost tripped over both your heels trying to make it up the steps so quick, desperate for solitude and quiet.
Another hair metal hit from the ‘80s was playing overhead, but fortunately, the deck was free of people. You stumbled over to one of the catering tables, looking helplessly for something that might settle your belly, but no, this sickness was coming straight from your head—from that insufferable munch of a man, Joel Miller.
You gingerly approached the railing behind the table and prepared yourself for another round of dry heaving.
You rested both elbows on the metal, looked out toward the dark, glassy water beneath you, then hung your head in abject defeat. You slid your tongue across the roof of your mouth and waited for the vomit to come.
The only thing that followed were footsteps.
Heavy, thunderous sounds making their way up the stairs.
“Stay back, Tommy. Please.” You raised a hand to the man approaching softly behind you, not turning your head, “That Alka-Seltzer stuff didn’t work for shit.”
“Shoulda stuck to water, sweet pea.”
That made you pivot.
Not a quick tilt of the head or a twist to the side, but a full-fledged 180-degree spin on your heels, hand to your gut, what-the-FUCK-are-you-doing-here turnaround.
You stared ahead and felt sicker than you had all night.
Then, pointing one crooked, accusatory finger his way without thinking, you hardly knew or heard what you were saying before the words came out. It sounded a little something like, “Joel, you goddamn fucking idiot.”
Joel didn’t flinch.
In fact, he seemed supremely unfazed.
He just held your fuming gaze and frowned.
“You tryin’ to fuck my little brother or somethin’?”
Your hand had closed around your banana on the table before his words had hung in the air for even a second. You flung the fruit full-force at his head, enraged.
Unfortunately, you were drunk and your aim was shit. Your yellow boomerang-like weapon of choice barely made it within three feet of its target before it glanced off a light fixture and struck the ground with a thud.
Accuracy be damned, you weren’t quite done.
“You left the fucking Plan B out for my dad to find?!”
Just when Joel tried to answer, or perhaps hurl another accusation in your direction, you stuck your hand in the closest catering tray you could find—a serving of green peas, as it was. You lobbed a handful at the man as he started to draw closer, and this time, you managed to land a pretty hefty spray. Joel only rolled his eyes.
“I didn’t leave it there—you did,” he retorted.
“My shorts, too?!”
You grabbed another fistful of peas and threw it. Joel was able to dodge it right before making it to the other end of the table. He gripped the edges of the wood in both hands and stood stern—imposingly—opposite you.
“Your shorts, your fuckin’ problem, sweets.”
Just when you reached for another green pea projectile, he surprised you and made for the tray right beside it.
Shortly, a glob of garlic mashed potatoes struck the front of your dress and slid slow, almost sluggishly down the pristine pink silk fabric before falling at your feet. Joel’s aim was evidently much better than yours.
You brushed what chunks of food you could get off your chest and pinned him with a wide, incredulous look.
“You’re a Grade A fucking asshole, you know that?”
“You’re a bit of a shithead too, potato tits.”
“FUCK you!”
“Already DID!”
You would’ve flipped the whole table if it were in your power to do so. Would’ve toppled all the tables, kicked the chairs, took a lighter to the curtains and sent the goddamned yacht down in flames if you had to—that was how much you despised the man in front of you.
Instead, you threw your hands up and stormed off.
“Maybe I will fuck Tommy!” you barked as you started toward the stairs, “I’ll fuck your brother’s brains out, and you can screw Ashton all you want, how ‘bout that?”
You’d made it about two feet before Joel grabbed hold of one of your wrists and yanked you back. You didn’t hesitate to throw a gruff—and ultimately fruitless—punch that hit him square in the chest. He didn’t budge.
“You don’t mean that,” Joel sneered. He shook your whole frame with one simple flick of his forearm.
“I’ll tap your whole bloodline like a keg, Miller. Try me.”
Again, you tried to shake him off, but the hand only constricted around you tighter. Then it was walking you backwards, slowly, almost carefully, until your back was to a wall and your eyes were searching his, angry as ever.
“You’d break your daddy’s heart with that one,” Joel said just above you, voice lowered considerably.
“Yeah?” you challenged, “Maybe if I was less of a shithead I would care what my dad thought. But I’m not. So I won’t.”
“Wasn’t talkin’ about your father, darlin’.”
Joel was good.
He was an insufferable ass and he was good.
Then you remembered the radio silence over the past seven days and the fact that he may or may not have fucked someone else earlier that night—possibly right where you were standing—and he lost all appeal real quick. You shoved him hard in the chest once more.
“Don’t play that shit with me. You, of all people—” You made as if to read him the riot act but cut yourself short, deciding it wasn’t worth your time explaining human empathy to a man who believed bootcut jeans and all things Ely Cattleman were peak fashion, and just learned what ovulation was last week. Then, sliding along the wall and trying to head to the stairs again, you felt Joel’s leg slot between your own.
“What did I do?” he said, curious.
Before you could answer, his thigh had stirred in place, grazing lightly over the spot the hem of your minidress had exposed to him. You ignored it.
“Doesn’t matter,” was your non-answer.
Joel seemed intrigued by the ambiguity and only lowered his head to get closer to yours—‘Then why’re ya so mad you’re throwin’ dinner food at me, darlin’?’—puffing warm breaths on your neck and only smiling when you flinched back. He took your response as a cue to keep pressing, both figuratively and physically.
“Just wanted attention or somethin’? That what it is?” Joel’s voice was as saccharine as it was taunting, words paired with a hand circling light across your thigh. He wasn’t moving in, and it was tearing you to shreds inside.
“Fuck your attention, and fuck you, Joel.”
Words hardly reflecting how you felt internally.
Swiftly, then, the hand at your leg was raised to your face—cupping it with a bit more force than you expected. Joel’s grin stretched even wider.
“Attention and discipline,” he mused aloud, “Two things dad never gave his little girl growin’ up, I see.”
Before you could reply, he was squeezing your face even tighter and nodding his head, as if already anticipating your answer. Then, somehow lower, “Such a filthy mouth on her, too. Never knows when to keep it shut and how to be polite to someone who fucked her so nice already.”
You might’ve whimpered if you didn’t also want to throat punch the motherfucker and knee him in the balls. When Joel started stroking your cheek, you groaned instead, and you hoped he would hear it as chagrin, not arousal.
“I can help with both of those, y’know—” His thumb rubbed a little harder, and his leg moved up. You pressed your hands flat to his thigh to keep him from teasing, but the man would do no such thing to oblige you. In fact, he just shifted his leg back and forth…and back, again. A ripple of bliss from the friction sparked low inside you.
“I can give you attention, and I can scrub that mouth clean if that’s what you really need,” Joel continued, “Just say the word, darlin’.”
“Fucker.” That was your word.
And it worked well enough for Joel.
In the next instant, he had you half-carried, half-dragged across the deck and thrown onto the table where you’d lost that dreaded game of stack. Solo cups still littering the surface, and puddles of beer soaking in through your dress, you made a sound of disgust and tried to thrust yourself up, just to fail. You squirmed and swatted at the man standing in front of you, who easily kept you pinned to the surface with one palm laid calmly on your belly.
He reached into the back pocket of his trousers and retrieved his lighter and cigarette pack.
“Someone could catch us,” you hissed, helpless, unsure of what else to say to show you weren’t giving in just yet.
Joel lit up in four seconds flat. He sucked in a breath.
“I roped off the stairs coming up,” he replied.
He what?
You moved back, slowly, on the surface when Joel worked a hand to his belt buckle, and you heard half a dozen plastic cups fall to the floor behind you.
You would not be his date’s sloppy seconds—ever.
Joel yanked at your thighs and pulled you back to be straddling his hips, shrugging his pants down; you couldn’t bear to keep looking when he lowered his briefs.
He took another drag and eyed you hungrily, happy to see you all sprawled out and pretty before him. The tight fabric of your dress had cinched over your hips and left you bare to just panties, making him grow even harder.
“Joel.”
He worked his dick out of his pants and moved the head to trail slow along the seam of your barely-clothed cunt. Even through the lace, he could feel how wet you were. He notched the tip at the space where your panties had parted just slightly to the side and felt your arousal pool even wetter around the end of his member. He grunted.
“Joel, I—”
“Daddy’s gonna give ya attention, sugar. Hold still.”
You couldn’t. Wouldn’t. You splayed your fingers over the hand that was trying to guide his cock into you and clenched your jaw—every carnal fibre in your being telling you not to do what you were about to try anyway.
“You fucked her didn’t you?”
Joel flicked the ash off his cigarette, “No.”
“You brought her here.”
“Had to.”
Your face was flushed and likewise flooded with smoke, curling slow from Joel’s lips before it painted the air an opaque, muddied grey above you. You wriggled your hips away from his, and for once, he didn’t try to stop you.
“I saw you tucking your shirt in. Tommy said you fucked!”
“Tommy’s about one fry short of a Happy Meal, honey,” Joel puffed once more, “He’s always sayin’ shit like that.”
Incredibly, he’d managed to use about a dozen funny words in that old Texas lilt and still say so little to actually answer your question. When the pinch in your brow told him you weren’t quite satisfied, Joel let out a sigh.
“Ash spilled pebre on my shirt. I had to change.”
Oh.
“And you—” you started.
“—have no fuckin’ right to know, one way or the other, because you’re the one who said we’d just ‘fuck and forget it,’ remember?” Joel interrupted, reminding you of your own curt words from your Bronco boning session.
Again, you tried to speak and found yourself spoken for, Joel carrying on as casual as ever as he sucked the last life-breath from his cig and stared you down, cynically.
“Your dad’s the one who made me bring her tonight. Said I seemed ‘down’ since the last gal I fucked wasn’t around—I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his daughter—and here we are,” Joel smiled, wryly, and flicked his cigarette into the lake. You would’ve liked to tell him littering was a crime that trashed us all but refrained.
You were too busy staring at his lips, wondering why he hadn’t kissed you yet. You reckoned all the pea flinging, swearing, and swinging might’ve played a small part.
At length, Joel slid a new American Spirit out of its pack and wrangled you back to his hips as he lit up again.
“Happy?” he said, after a beat.
You weren’t sure whether to nod or cross your arms. Beckon him in with both hands or kick his bunched-up pants, belt, and boxer briefs away altogether and keep the bratty act going. You didn’t like being wrong.
At any rate, it didn’t matter. He’d called you on your bluff.
Still smoking, still smiling, still happy as a clam at high tide, Joel pressed his length straight up to your folds and watched you squirm on the wood underneath him.
“Gonna listen now?” he hummed.
“Uh-huh.”
Good, his wretchedly deep brown eyes seemed to say. Good that you were here, good that you were spread wide and supine beneath him, good that you’d gone all soft and pliable under his touch and were watching him now with a look that said you’d let him do just anything.
Good that he could fuck you.
Great that he wasn’t planning to—not fully, anyway.
Joel wasted no time taking your answer in the affirmative to slip past your panties and push deep inside your sweet cunt. When your walls stretched and cried all around him, he sighed and gripped your legs even tighter. He gritted the cigarette between his teeth and brought your ankles to rest over his shoulders, sinking in even deeper. Then he had to hold steady inside you and keep you flat on the table in front of him, and just when you whined to fuck me now, Joel, fuck me right now, daddy, please, he stilled. He took a big, long drag and didn’t move an inch.
He’d teach you some discipline one way or another.
“Joel, please,” you groaned again, hands bracing the table to start fucking up and down on his shaft, before he put a stop to that fast and held you firmly in place, “Please, Joel, I need you so fucking bad, daddy, please.”
Joel tapped his ash to the side and ignored your pleas.
He felt your walls contract around him and tried not to grunt. He focused instead on the smoke overhead.
“Wanna say that nicer?” he asked, deadpan. Then, staring expectantly down at you, while you flushed and struggled to stay still, “Keep that mouth a little cleaner?”
Fuck, did he have that father-figure tone down to a T.
You laid there before him and almost forgot his cock was wedged inside you for a second. He seemed so sincere.
“I wan— want you to move, daddy, I-I-I don’t know how else to say i— FUCK!” Your pussy spasmed around him when the tip of his pubic bone grazed your clit. That squeaky clean mouth of yours was nowhere to be seen.
“Mhmm,” Joel nodded anyway, pretending to be observing your behavior as he might for a clinical trial. Like he was testing a new drug, not his dick inside your cunt, practically clenching in Morse code around him.
“Can ya try that one more time, sweet pea? For daddy?”
You could. Try, anyway. Controlling your tongue while he was buried so deep inside you seemed to be a far harder task than you could’ve ever expected, though.
Joel sensed it. Feeling a twinge of pity, he leaned over your body and dug his hips even deeper—not thrusting, but still granting some modicum of friction. The hot, heavy throb of his girth pulsed inside you like your own fucking heartbeat, and your eyes rolled back.
“Fucking shitsucking DICK BITCH CUNT! FUCK!”
Sounding every bit the uncouth novice in a COD lobby chat circa 2009, you knew you didn’t have the faintest hope of earning Joel’s strokes now. You hated yourself for it—and Joel, too, for subjecting you to such cruel and unusual punishment for just needing to fuck him hard.
You were desperate and heated. Five seconds away from yanking your sex off of his and going to town with your own fingers, you felt a palm press down on your tummy.
Damn Joel and his super-sized hands.
You could barely breathe, much less pry yourself off.
Joel was quiet and calm. Stuffing you full and puffing away at his cigarette the whole time. He smirked.
“Ain’t that difficult, honey,” he said, hardly losing his will or his sympathy when you shot a raw glance his way, “Stay still on this cock and ask daddy nicely, ‘s’all ya gotta do.”
He could tell by the look in your eyes you couldn’t stand to play nice—but needed to cum. He watched you swallow your pride, soften your eyes just a bit, and when you felt you might implode from all the feeling, whined,
“Please make me feel good, daddy, please, I need it.”
Joel breathed and eased back just an inch, lowering his hand to thumb softly at your clit. You keened.
“That’s my sweet girl.”
Still just rubbing that bundle and looking down while you came unraveled, Joel thought you perfectly sublime. He’d kill to keep you there like that, eyes rolling and skin soaking the table beneath you both in sweat and arousal. He stared down at the place your bodies were connected—a sliver of his cock visible and soaked with your juices—and he felt a wave of desire crest over his mind. Panting, quietly, he brought one hand to your hip and kept the other working furiously over your clit, trying to ignore the urge to rut inside you. It was self-discipline for him, too.
He wouldn’t let you know that yet, though.
He crushed the cigarette between his teeth and kept still.
“Ya like that, sugar? Like daddy stuffed inside this pussy, makin’ ya beg real pretty for me?” His husky Southern drawl ran like molasses off his tongue, thicker now when he was balls-deep and half-drunk off your cunt.
You watched his mouth, intrigued, and saw a long line of spit drip deliciously from those pretty, stubbled lips of his to your lower ones, making the spot more filthy and warm as your fluids mixed together. Still, Joel didn’t move a thing more than his thumb—but the sounds from you both were growing louder and more desperate.
The gentle squelch of spit, sweat, and arousal running all down your pussy, paired with those noises you made when you were feeling this good and squeezing him tight, was enough to send Joel straight over the edge. Now he didn’t have the strokes or any motion to focus on before him, just you—he flicked his cigarette away the second he sensed you were getting close yourself.
“Sweet little thing,” he cooed, still rubbing in circles, “How’s my baby feelin’?”
You clawed at the table beneath you and knocked your head back once or twice on the wood, humming a quick, ‘Good, daddy, good’ in the most hoarse and pathetic voice you’d ever used, and Joel smiled. You hadn’t cursed out loud in a minute and seemed to be taking his touches well. He’d have to give you some form of reward.
Gently, Joel pulled back and made a shallow thrust inside you. Both your body and his jolted with pleasure.
“FU—n stuff, fun stuff,” you hissed, trying hard to mask the expletive.
In truth, Joel was struggling too. Just one stroke inside you and that coil inside him was about ready to burst.
“Fun, huh?” he teased, keeping his motions down to quick pistons as he laid his palms flat on either side of your head, “Daddy make ya feel fun-ny, does he?”
“Yeah, he does, he— ah, SHIT right there, right there!”
Evidently, he’d found your G spot.
Joel stilled inside you as soon as the foul word escaped.
You whined. Loud. Almost tempted to burst into tears.
“Nononono, that doesn’t count, Joel! That doesn’t—” Your voice was shortly supplanted by a whimper when the man went back to thumbing your clit, hips rendered still once more and cock wedged deep inside your core.
“What’s it gonna take to make you behave for me, huh? Do I have to talk to your daddy again?” Joel seethed.
You shook your head quick and felt him circle your clit even harder, more punishing now. Your body craved the friction from his cock but could barely contain the words that were coming out now. You pinched your eyes shut, feeling your orgasm creeping closer and closer, and whimpered gently, desperately, ‘Fuckfuckfuuuuuck.’
Whether it came down to making terrible plays at stack cup or getting your clit torn apart by Joel’s thumb, you simply could not keep the filthy language at bay.
You weren’t going to listen, that much was clear.
Joel had no choice but to make you learn a different way.
So, prying his fingers and his cock from your cunt, he reached across for your hips instead—pulling you off of the table and pushing you down to the floor, at his feet.
He smoothed a palm over the top of your head and fisted your hair in one hand, his cock in the other, and brought his hot, swollen, slick-coated length within an inch of your face, stroking fast.
Your gaze flitted from the sight in front of you to Joel’s eyes, back and forth, stunned and in utter disbelief. As you felt your own climax crumble and recede from you at once, the sound jumped up your throat before you could stop,
“What the FUCK is your problem, Joel?!”
“There it is,” Joel just flared his nostrils as he jerked himself above you, “There’s that nasty fuckin’ mouth.”
He pulled your head even rougher and tipped your chin back to meet the scowl on his face. Pleasure had almost swallowed the man whole, yet his expression scarcely betrayed a trace of it, eyes cold and jaw clenched tight.
“If that mouth can’t be good for me, can it open real wide and show me how a dirty slut does it?”
You were beside yourself. Holding his gaze like a bomb might go off in his brain any second—something you’d be happy to see—you scowled as well. Begrudgingly, and knowing Joel wouldn’t ease off of this punishment until he’d made you pay for your language, you nodded.
“What’s’at?” Joel snapped, stroking himself even faster, “What do ya want me to do, sugar?”
You gritted your teeth and silently wished they were crushing his balls to powder between them.
“Want…you…to cum…on my face.”
“Little louder, sweet pea, can’t hear ya from up here.”
The sound of his palm working over his cock again and again, shimmery and slick with your arousal soaking it, was almost too much to bear. You watched, forlorn and silently boiling with rage as Joel stared down at you, as merciless as he’d ever been. Mocking, almost, it seemed.
“Want you to…cum on me, please.”
“One more time, darlin’,” Joel pressed, pupils blown wide with desire, “Be real sweet and say it one more time f—”
“I WANT YOU TO CUM ON MY FACE, YOU FUCKER.”
That sparked the first real smile on Joel’s lips you’d seen in a while, and then he was watching you cockily, nodding.
Before you could even think to blink, stand up, or storm off again, you felt a fat, sticky-wet glob of warmth hit your cheek. Then another. Then another. Then another. You winced and flinched back, but Joel held your head in place, in front of his cock, and gripped you firmly as he unloaded rope after rope of his cum all over your face.
By the time he was finished, your skin was glistening. Coated in the stuff and still blinking through strings of the hot, sticky mess as Joel stood over you, chest heaving fast as he pumped himself through his release.
Must be fucking nice.
When the downpour had slowed to a trickle, two thick fingers swiped at a dollop of cum on your cheek. Then, wordlessly, they moved down to your mouth.
“Open,” Joel commanded.
You’d barely parted your lips a quarter of an inch when he pushed both digits inside. Swirled them around in your mouth and made sure to cover every soft, wet contour and crevice before pulling out with a pop.
He wiped at your other spend-streaked cheek and repeated the action, plunging his fingers in and out of your mouth to make sure you cleaned him thoroughly. This was more of an act meant to tease than anything else, you knew, almost demeaning in the way he stood there and nodded his head while murmuring, ‘’Atta girl.’
You hated how much you liked that stupid show of dominance—and, even worse, how good he tasted.
Joel brushed your tongue with another fingerful and watched you bob your head in time. He hummed his approval and scanned your face for any spend left over.
There was a lot. He paused, as if considering something.
“Drop ‘em.” Joel motioned to the straps of your dress.
You did as he said and pulled both bands down at once. When your breasts spilled out of the fabric, you watched Joel lower his gaze and, fixating on the spot you’d just exposed to him, take two—no, three—careful fingers to collect the remainder of himself and spread it downward.
Joel took his cum and smeared it all over your tits.
He was equal parts meticulous, gentle, and gratuitous in doing so, and he took pleasure in every second.
With a heavy-lidded, glossy gaze trained unwaveringly on your chest, Joel rolled each nipple between forefinger and thumb and fell into a trance. Rubbed you up and down every inch he could find and groaned at the sight. Glazing your skin all over with him and savoring it.
You couldn’t deny the feeling of being marked in a way so degrading, dirty, and adoring at once had a dizzying effect on you, too. The look in his eyes, and the soft brush of his fingers, almost quelled your rage entirely.
Almost.
When Joel pulled your spaghetti straps back into place—and you, in turn, back onto your feet—you yanked away. Forcefully. While Joel straightened up, silently cursed his bad back, tucked his dick in his pants, and started to reach for your waist, you jabbed the fastest, fattest, fuck-your-whole-family middle finger in his face and took off.
“Honey—”
“Don’t.”
“But I—”
“Have some goddamn fucking nerve.”
You’d nearly made it to the staircase again, heels turning to start down the first steps, when Joel sidestepped at lightning speed and blocked off your passage. All you saw then was the front of a starch white dress shirt and a light patch of chest hair peeking out from the highest button, crowding your vision, moving in time with every manoeuvre you tried to make around him. He smelled like sweat and fresh citrus. Perhaps a hint of vengeance.
You wouldn’t meet his gaze when he grabbed your face. Tried to shrug him off when he made as if to pull you into a hug—‘Are you off your shit?! Are you?! People are right downstairs’—and Joel just smiled. Grinned like a jackass eating briars, about five times too smug for his own good, and drew you into his chest by gentle turns.
You weren’t sure why you recoiled when he kissed you.
Hell, you’d done it a dozen times before—albeit a bit more frantically, in a way to say ‘I need to fuck you’ when words just wouldn’t suffice—but this one was different. Deeper. Joel was gripping both sides of your face and still grinning as he kissed you, feeling your muscles slacken some and your frame meld gently into his.
You hated it.
“I missed you,” Joel murmured between kisses.
Hated him.
“How’s my baby been, huh?”
Oh, you know, just waiting. Hating you a little. Hoping we didn’t inadvertently create a baby ourselves, courtesy of your prehistoric condoms.
“I missed you.” Gently. Again.
You tensed in his hold when his lips trailed down to your neck. You felt a low flutter. It was like your feet had been glued to the floor and your tongue left wholly immobile; you let Joel caress, kiss, and whisper down your skin like every cell beneath his touch wasn’t seething en masse.
Your stolen climax. Broken condom. Close call with your father and Tommy. Radio silence ongoing for days.
You couldn’t wrap your head around any of it, or him, or how grossly inconsistent the man’s every move upon you now seemed to be with the way he’d acted all week.
Joel slowly descended your body.
“Like I said, honey…you fuck with my head,” he said soft against your dress, then your legs, then the space in between them.
“Makes two of us,” you grumbled back.
You braced your weight against the railing over the stairs just behind you when he slipped your panties to the floor. Then he tucked them snug into one of his back pockets and brought his face to your wet, aching core.
“Discipline doesn’t come easy, does it?” It sounded like something trapped between a question and a declarative coming out from the side of Joel’s mouth.
Fortunately for you, he didn’t try to clarify which of the two he meant, or do much else at all except eat your pussy from that point on. He kissed your thighs, gripped them tighter, then wedged his face between them while you held fast to the metal behind you. You stifled a moan when his tongue traced over the seam of your cunt.
You didn’t have to like the man to love what his mouth could do for you, you silently reminded yourself.
Love it you could—and would. Without shame.
Granted, you were still sensitive as all hell from your last almost-orgasm of the night, but Joel knew how to work his lips and tongue around it. He swiftly lapped between your folds, teased a finger at your hole, and wrapped his warm lips around your clit to suck once or twice, and you were damn near ready to spiral in seconds. You fisted the soft salt-and-pepper hair at the top of his head and rutted your hips in short, shallow motions against him.
“Good girl,” Joel crooned, welcoming each thrust with another swirl of his tongue, “That’s my sweet baby.”
“Joel.”
You traded expletives for the simple repetition of his name, not wanting the pleasure to stop. Joel hummed and sucked and held your legs around him even tighter.
You sighed, almost whined, and dug your fingertips into his scalp, feeling your climax building quick inside you.
Joel’s mouth was working faster, sucking harder, drawing smaller and crueler circles, lapping eagerly against your arousal and giving it everything he had, it seemed, to work you up to your release. He grunted when you yanked hard on his hair but didn’t stop.
In fact, the bastard just kept trying to talk you through it, fluid movements of his own tongue and lips be damned.
“Doin’ so damn good for me, sweet pea, keep goin’.” There was an apology in there somewhere, working hard to atone for the orgasm he’d denied you right before.
Four more flicks of his tongue and a gentle endeavor to pump his fingers in and out, again and again, right above that soft, spongy pad of pleasure deep inside had you teetering over the edge of a cliff.
You tore your gaze from Joel for a second, preparing for that sweet and lusty consummation, when your head turned to the side just slightly. You almost groaned.
Your own hot, flushed, and fucked-out reflection was the first thing to greet you in a sliver of a mirror on the wall. Just beneath you, as you could’ve expected, there was Joel—kneeling between your legs with his chin tipped up, beard coated in moisture and pleasure and warmth. You weren’t sure why the sight from this angle had such a strong effect, but something about the full view of your bodies in motion gave your stomach a pinch. A burn. You ogled the glass and made a sound audibly higher in pitch than a whimper as Joel suckled and tongued at your clit.
You came just like that—gripping the rails, fisting his hair, rutting your hips, and staring implacably at that mirror.
When Joel resurfaced, you were still fully transfixed.
Gawking at how fucking nice he looked between your thighs. How filthy it all was to be seated on his face and cumming for his tongue while the rest of your father’s dinner party mingled blissfully unaware downstairs.
When you saw Joel rise, you jerked your head back.
You weren’t sure why it felt like being caught, but it did.
Just as you began to murmur some half-assed apology his way, you felt hands on your hips and a rock-hard bulge at your rear as Joel spun you round in front of him.
He shoved you flush against the mirror so your tits were pressed up to the glass. He gave you a quick once-over.
Slid the straps of your dress off your shoulders and shimmied the fabric down your chest, once again.
With your breasts splayed out in front of you and your hands pressing hard on the mirror—as if letting up the slightest bit might send you straight through it—you tried to crane your neck. You felt the sticky squelch of cum and fresh spit painted over your chest, muddying up the glass with every movement you made. Your chin dug deep in your shoulder as you cocked your head to the left, eyes searching for Joel’s behind you.
You heard the clink of a belt, followed by a rustle of fabric. Then a hand slamming close beside your head on the mirror, while another worked industriously to free his cock from the confines of his trousers once more.
“Joel,” you breathed, still tender from your climax.
“Hm?”
He was gruff as he rubbed and smacked your bare ass with his cock. Let it rest on the soft, fleshy shelf between you two and teased his length over that space.
“Did someone take his little blue pill today?” you teased.
“Fuck off.” You saw a flicker of a smirk in the mirror.
No way Joel Miller was getting a full-fledged erection twice in the same ten minute span. That shit didn’t happen outside the realm of porn flicks and a woman’s wildest fantasies when it came to men Joel’s age. He knew it just as well as you but tried to feign indifference when he pressed the head of himself to your folds. He did, however, suck in a breath at the new sensation.
He could do this.
He could cockwarm you raw, tonguefuck your cunt, ravage and render you all but brainless on the surface of that mirror, and still have the wits about himself to take another breath. He could show those shit-for-brains college boys he’d been battling for days in the depths of his mind how much better he could fuck you than them.
Really, Joel was just manifesting at this point.
He hadn’t busted a nut and fucked this quick since Bill Clinton had been in office. All hat and no cattle whatsoever for this pussywhipped cowboy.
“Better hope I go easy on ya, sugar.”
“Best believe I won’t.” You would’ve winked if you weren’t so bone-crushingly aroused and fresh off your peak.
Joel had just chuckled, more than a touch nervous, and began rubbing your warmth to coat himself in it—angling his slightly apprehensive penis up to your cunt when you straightened some. Rather than keep your tits to the mirror, you chose to press your back against him, ass snug to his front and eyes roaming wildly over the reflection of your two forms. Both of you flinched when the head of his cock hitched around your entrance.
Joel’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat just over your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your skin.
“Gotta be the sweetest thing I ever seen,” he whispered into your ear. Meeting your gaze in the mirror and lifting his hips just so before breaching your folds.
He hoped you’d take it for sweetness and not just a vicious strain of anxiety or weakness as he prepared for the first thrust. He’d need a second, a minute—maybe a goddamned hour, if he was being real honest. You were too damn pretty to be fucked by a two-pump chump.
Joel nudged his nose against your ear and tried to stall. Pausing a beat.
“Never been humped and dumped before, yaknow.”
Wait—the fuck?
That came out wrong.
You cocked a brow and tilted your hips. You didn’t seem keen on talking but had no choice but to humor him.
“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you hummed.
Joel balked at his own stupidity, trying, and failing, to remove his foot from his mouth and remedy his words.
“I mean, I— I get it,” he returned, too fast for his liking, “I’m no texter myself, I just…thought, uh, maybe—”
“Miller. Spit it out.”
Your body was all but leaking arousal before him and the man was trying to divert the conversation to…phones?
Joel winced.
Felt his member deflate with embarrassment just a bit.
NO! No. No. Just…fuck. Stay hard. Please, stay hard.
He’d done it to himself. Tried to hamper sex for a second too long just to give his dick a fighting chance at survival and ended up mucking things up supremely. Per usual.
“You never texted me back.” He sounded blunt now. Rushed.
Joel watched you raise both eyebrows.
“Texted you back?” you scoffed.
“Yeah…texted, called, snipchatted, whatever.”
Your face didn’t change despite the glaring Gen X error.
“You never texted me, Joel!”
What?
Suddenly, the dick wedged between your legs and hovering over your cunt seemed to be the last thing either of you could be bothered to worry about.
“I’ve…been texting you all week. Called a few times too.”
“Like hell you have. You ghosted me and went off the grid this whole fuckin’ week—Tommy said so, too.”
Joel cringed again to hear his brother’s name brought up in this context and shook his head. You were wrong.
“512-867-5309. Been trying to talk to you all goddamn week, see how you were, and you never responded,” he said, indignation creeping into his tone against his will.
At last, your expression dropped.
From furious to frowning to just fucking annoyed. Your lips were drawn tight in a line across your face.
“My number is 512-867-5305, dipshit.”
“Huh?”
“5 at the end, not a 9.”
“…No.”
“Yeah…”
Shit.
Joel Miller had made his fair share of flubs in his life, but fucking up the phone number of his best friend’s daughter whose pussy he’d accidentally cum inside the week before seemed almost criminal. Too fucking asinine and rookie-level dense to ever recover from. He blinked.
“Thought you…hated my fuckin’ guts,” he confessed.
You threw your hands up in disbelief, frustration. Fury.
“I do— believe me, I do,” you snapped, “But not for that.”
‘That’ meaning the last time you two bumped uglies. Joel wasn’t sure whether to take heart or step back.
“What’s’at mean?” he asked.
You pushed your feet a little further apart on the floor and pressed back into Joel. He took that as a decidedly good sign and reached for your hip. Then took his cock, again, which had invariably twitched and swelled up at the smallest motion from you.
“Means we’ve got plenty of reasons to hate each other, but fuckin’ ain’t one of ‘em,” you shrugged, angling your ass in the perfect place for penetration. Joel was just about back to full-mast and buzzing as you spoke, “I can get over the whole…old dude taboo—you being dad’s friend and all—I just couldn't stand the thought of you leaving me in the lurch when shit got weird at the end.”
‘Weird’ meaning risky. Virulent. Damn near catastrophic if it ever came to be that one of Joel's swimmers had latched onto one of your eggs and knocked you up. The fear of pregnancy, and every bloodcurdling, awkward conversation to ensue, had been amplified tenfold by the thought that Joel didn't even care one way or the other and couldn't be bothered to text, call, or otherwise show that he didn't totally regret what you'd done in his car. You could handle a clean break, but leaving it on such uncertain terms had been torture. At length, you sighed.
Joel was nosing behind your ear now, a bit less tense.
A little more laid-back and warm this time around, as he, like you, had gotten to exhale a breath of relief realizing that neither of you had deliberately tried to fuck the other over, or ghost, just yet. You'd been pissed at him all night, and he'd been busy barraging a perfect stranger somewhere in Austin with strings of texts and calls all week, but the two of you were ultimately OK. For now.
“But you still hate me, huh?” Joel spoke low against your skin and felt you soften just a little.
You nodded, careful not to slacken too much.
“Mhmm.”
Now Joel was almost glad to have taken that brief, heated detour, because his dick had made a complete comeback and was aching to tease you some more. He grabbed the base of his length and slotted it slow as ever between your folds. Rolled his hips forward and pushed you both a little closer to the mirror. One of your hands flew up to steady yourself, and Joel’s hand followed. He laid his palm over the back of yours and pressed in.
“It’d be a real shame if you do,” he said, smirking as he notched the tip of his cock just within the tight ring of muscles at the groove of your cunt, “For a second there I was starting to think you might’ve liked fucking me, too.”
In the next second, Joel was easing inside you. Feeling you arch into the motion and grabbing hold wherever he could across your front, he pulled you into his chest and felt a streak of coarse pleasure lick up the full length of his spine. Your walls were squeezing him in a brand new way, a novel position, and he was starting to fear there wasn't any place he could fuck you that wouldn't send him veering for release within his first two strokes inside.
He bucked his hips a little something like an amateur, he thought, getting used to taking you like this. You were moaning, holding his fingers between your own atop the mirror as you squeezed your pussy tight around his cock, and he hoped that meant you hadn't minded the few stuttered, desperate strokes he'd delivered at first.
“I love…fucking you, Joel,” you seethed at last.
Then, wordless as it was pointed, finding his gaze in your reflection, ‘I still hate you, Miller. There’s a difference.’
He slammed into your ass and quickly got the sense that you liked it this fast—loving, lusting, or despising him otherwise. Almost needed it a bit frantic and rapid-fire when he was fucking you from the back, he reckoned.
Joel looked you in the eye from his view behind you in the mirror and saw it clear as day. He almost grinned.
You were wildly fucked out and in need of quick release.
For once in his life, he could oblige you on that, easy.
He slid his cock in and out, rutting much quicker than he ever thought you’d want it, and he grunted. Slipped a hand between your thighs and felt you pulse around him, involuntarily, when his fingers found your clit. He could tell by that grip, and those febrile little whimpers, that you were loving this just as much as him and probably were as close, if not closer, to a new, shuddering climax.
Joel plunged deep inside your cunt and drew you closer.
Taking your throat in one hand, he nudged your body into the glass and smirked, drunk with the feel of you.
“Ya like it when I fill this pussy, huh? Love feeling me deep inside this needy little hole?” he murmured, slow and taking care to draw out the syllables in each word.
You nodded that you did. Rocked your hips back to meet his thrusts and moaned.
“I love it, daddy,” you managed weakly, “Love it so much.”
The fingers at your clit increased in speed, and Joel rutted into you even harder, relishing the soft squelch between your bodies as he moved. Then he reached for a fistful of your hair and, instead of pulling back like he might normally have done, he pushed in. He pressed your face in the mirror, turned to the side, and pistoned his hips even faster. Felt your moans spill out across the glass and mix with his own, and he couldn’t help but let a raw, primal impulse take over his thrusts—and tongue.
“You make the prettiest fuckin’ noises, y’know that?” Joel breathed, hunched over and close to your ear.
Before you could so much as acknowledge his praises, bob your head, or moan in response, he shifted the hand in your hair again. This time turning your face toward the mirror, he brought your lips within inches of the glass and made you watch him fuck you, again and again.
You trailed your gaze over your full reflection and almost whined out loud, ripe with desire and ready to cum just seeing how good he looked as he took you from behind.
With his brow furrowed, pupils blown, hair a fucking mess, lips parting slightly with the strain of every grunt and moan, and hips rolling repeatedly, furiously into your own, Joel looked about as handsome as you thought you’d ever seen him. You felt the soft nudge of his tummy behind you, the tightened grip on your hip and in your hair, and within seconds, you were nearly there.
“My pretty. fuckin’. girl—” Joel managed through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a thrust, “—and her pretty. fuckin’. moans.” Then, bringing his beaming, sweaty expression right next to yours in the mirror, “Ready to cum for me, pretty girl?”
You curled your toes into the floor and nodded, slotting your fingers through his own when he planted a hand above you again,
“So— so close, daddy.”
Joel squeezed your fingers back. Kept your faces damn near side-by-side in the mirror and relished the marked change in your features when he grazed that spot inside. You let out the filthiest, fuckdrunk moan and didn’t need another stroke—you came around his cock with a tight, pulsing spasm, seizing his hand, rocking your hips back into his hard as the pleasure washed over your body.
Joel’s cock absorbed every last delicate throb, hot and heavy enough to send the man spiraling himself. He braced his front tight against your body and kept fucking you through your release, groaning a vicious, desperate bout when he felt that deep-seated urge to spill his seed.
Fuck. He’d have to pull out. Now.
Just as his own climax was close at hand—close as he could ever, or should ever feel it while still inside you—Joel reached down for your hip to pull out and cum all over your ass, but he was brought to a stop. Swiftly.
To his surprise, it was you pulling off of him—sliding off his cock and dropping to your knees as if to take him in your mouth.
Thank fuck.
Joel grabbed his dick as quick as he possibly could and moved to start stroking himself over your face, when your hand closed around his own. Stopping him. Again.
You grinned.
Feeling the slightest twinge of retributive pleasure at seeing him like this, just like he’d had you, your smile stretched even bigger. Joel could’ve wept at the sight.
You brought your lips to his cock and grazed it, barely.
“Wanna try something fun?”
He knew better than to let a moan slip at a time like this.
Not when he was sitting at the dinner table; not when he was surrounded by the people he knew and loved the most. Not when he was celebrating his best friend’s fifty-first birthday, and certainly not when that man’s daughter was currently perched between his thighs, out of sight from every eye at the party but his.
Joel lifted the tablecloth. He almost came on the spot.
This was your idea of ‘fun.’
Payback by any other name would’ve smelled as sweet.
Seeing your mouth open wide and your lips curled tight around his hot, throbbing member, Joel couldn’t help but ache for reprieve, or else a split-second lapse of judgment—one where he forgot all sense of decorum and simply went to town on that pretty little face of yours. But, as it was, the rest of the party was totally oblivious to your absence, and he didn’t want to draw attention to it, or him, by roughfucking your mouth.
That would come later.
No, now he would let you glide your mouth gently over his shaft, leaving trails of thick spit and hints of a shiny pink lip gloss in its wake. He’d let you bob your head softly—self-assured in a pace you got to set—and he wouldn’t lay a finger on your face or let a thrust of his get in the way, because this was all about you giving him the pleasure. Maybe making him squirm just a little, too.
That didn’t mean he couldn’t steal a glimpse every now and then and pin you with an expectant look when he wanted something done his way. The room was dimly lit and everyone in it drunk; Joel would gladly take the risk.
‘You can go deeper than that, sweet pea.’
‘Nope, three-fourths ain’t enough, I need your mouth around me whole.’
‘You did wanna make daddy feel good, didn’t ya, sugar?’
He didn’t have to speak a word of it out loud for you to know what he meant. What he needed. You loosened your jaw and stretched your lips even wider, whining just a little when the head of his cock grazed your tonsils.
“Fuck that feels nice,” Joel said aloud.
You froze.
Then, without missing a beat, you heard him continue just as comfortably, speaking to the people around him,
“Y’all feel that breeze comin’ in?”
Sick fuck. You continued to suck him anyway.
One hand braced tight against Joel’s leg and the other moved shamelessly between your own, and you tried not to moan, but the sound escaped anyway. No one heard it, but Joel felt it reverberate down his shaft, and he gripped his glass of Merlot like a vice. Your dad shot him a curious look from across the table but said nothing.
“Can’t get enough’a her, huh?” Tommy grinned beside him.
“What?” Joel faltered. Set his drink aside carefully.
Down below, you dragged your mouth just far enough to take his tip between your lips and suckle. Joel grunted.
“The wine,” Tommy said, still smiling, “You must love it.”
Joel let out another strangled breath that he tried to pass off as a chuckle and nodded.
“Got me on my fuckin’ knees,” he admitted.
And that was the truth. Starved for air and blinking through tears as you knelt down to blow him, it was still you with the chokehold on Joel, and both of you knew it.
Try as you might to convince yourselves otherwise, the man was enrapt. Too spellbound to turn down your offer of sucking him dry under the dinner table just minutes after he’d almost cum all over your face, Joel was in it, and he was in it deep. It was just that small matter of you being his best friend’s daughter that made him loath to admit it. At any rate, he had your tongue licking strips up his cock and felt a sudden, sharp clench in his stomach.
He knew he wouldn’t last much longer. Neither would you.
Joel couldn’t see it then, but you’d practically soaked your own hand from how hard you’d been rubbing your clit—ignoring his orders not to touch yourself there—so turned on from just sucking his dick and needing to feel relief while you selflessly, secretly pleased him beneath the table. While Joel reached for another draught of wine, you brought one hand to his balls and kept the other at your cunt, triple-tasking like the efficient little slut he needed you to be: sucking, cupping, and rubbing all at once to get the two of you off in one minute or less.
You guided him down to the furthest place in your throat, then pushed him even deeper. You gagged just slightly and felt a hand reach down for your cheek. A thumb began to rub at the tears welled up at the corners of your eyes.
‘Sweet thing hasn’t felt a man this deep before, huh? Wanna swallow some more?’
You nodded that you did. Couldn’t actually hear him now, or see much else besides the soft tufts of hair on his belly, but you could feel a light, heady warmth seep into your brain.
You rutted your hips and just hoped no one dropped a fork nearby. Bucked desperately into your hand and felt the heat start to swell to a whole new feeling, and suddenly you were whimpering, whining on Joel’s cock from under the shade of the table and cumming all over your fingers.
Joel returned a quick smile from your father and cracked a joke about the Super Bowl. Raised his hips just the slightest bit and wiped one of your tear-soaked cheeks.
‘Almost there, hon, keep that throat open for daddy.’
All you could do was cry and try your best. Wild feelings from both the slow, deep facefuck he was giving you and the flurry of euphoric aftershocks coursing all throughout your body made it almost impossible to bear, but you obeyed your sweet and strong and steady-handed Joel and sensed a blossoming desire crop up for something else.
You wanted to taste him as he blew his load in your mouth, flooded your tongue with his spend, and painted every inch of your insides with that hot, sticky stuff.
You needed him whole.
Your Joel.
In tune with your thoughts—or perhaps just overcome with a need to see you before he reached his peak—Joel raised the tablecloth the slightest bit when Tommy wasn’t looking. His gaze locked on yours, and his tongue darted quick between his lips. He cocked a brow. Brushed his thumb again and looked down as if to say,
‘Ya want this, darlin’? Want all of me?’
You gave a soft nod, and that was all he needed.
No sooner had you given him the green light than his cum went pulsing out in ropes, coating your throat and eventually your whole mouth as you held still and took it all.
There was so much more than you thought. So much of Joel that had been waiting to give your mouth a proper fucking glaze that once he’d started he just couldn’t stop. Above the table, your dad shot a pointed look in his direction—‘You good, man?’—and it took every ounce of strength in Joel’s body to grit his teeth tight and nod.
He’d filled so much of your mouth it was spilling out.
You tried to hold steady, keep your movements extra slow. You’d heard your dad’s voice and just knew there’d be a lot more on the line than Joel’s dribbling seed if either one of you fucked up now. Your breath caught in your chest, and you felt too afraid to even swallow.
“I just…came,” Joel started, and your head almost cracked on the wood surface from how abruptly you flinched back,
“—to the realization—”
“—that you…are so…motherfuckin’ old, my friend.”
Your father’s laugh was the first you heard, followed by Tommy, his friends, and a dozen other party guests.
The next thing you felt, to your complete and utter shock, was Joel’s cock brushing your cheek. Then your lips. Then your tongue. He slid his still-hard member through the ‘o’ your mouth had made in awe and started to move in gentle motions back and forth, like a man all but aching to get a feel for your wet, sodden walls.
A man who couldn’t risk a glimpse now, but wanted more than anything to see the mouth he’d just filled.
Your father’s words hadn’t even cooled in the air.
Joel Miller, you sneaky, freaky fuck.
As the laughter subsided, and Tommy scooted back in his chair to take leave of your table, you felt a spark ignite. Whether it was yours or Joel’s or both your perverted minds suddenly alight and insane with the same thought, you couldn’t be sure, but you could make out the sound of a tablecloth flipping back up above you.
Joel slipped his dick out of your mouth and grinned. Took a firm hold of your face under the table so his fingers were coaxing your jaw to unhinge before him.
It was the lowest, slowest, menacing sort of sound you’d ever heard from him before, but it was his all the same.
Speaking to you now, softly, “Show daddy, darlin’.”
You thought you might like to see him that way forever.
Eyes honey-soft and glazed, thumb toying at your lip. Chest heaving up and down in time to your own breaths and growing ragged as you opened your mouth to him. He was sated and somehow unfulfilled—a bottomless pit of raw prurience as he stared down and held your gaze. Hair tousled, pants unbuckled, cock resting comfortably against your cheek, the man looked wonderfully undone and half in love with your sweet face peering up at him.
You couldn’t deny you loved doing this, too.
You’d just wished he saw Tommy before Tommy saw you.
#C*MPLAY IS BACK IN A BIG WAY#IT NEVER LEFT#joel miller smearing it on YOUR FACE????? IN THIS ECONOMY???#i would never shut up#i already never shut up but especially then#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller smut#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller x reader#joel miller fanfiction#the last of us#tlou#the last of us fic#joel miller x you#dbf!joel
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