#maybe because he's like barely an adult her

[whalesforhands]

what’s yours is mine (12/?)

previous masterlist next

pairing: geto suguru x reader x gojo satoru

You don’t know a lot of things, and you readily admit that. What you do know, is that the friends you’ve made aren’t something you will ever regret. Until your physical body weakens and becomes nothing, you’re more than happy to give your all until you wither away.

What’s yours can be theirs, too. They’re your friends, after-all. (Omegaverse AU)

“The plan goes this way—“ Suguru’s finger taps against the wrapping paper upon your brand new desk, smoothing against the surface Mama had skillfully wrapped over it to somehow, in her own words;

“Makes the surface last longer.”

(You kinda get it. It keeps it looking ‘new’, you know? Who doesn’t like new things?

Wait— You think you were supposed to be listening.)

Your shoulder brushes against Geto’s as you stare on thoughtfully, even when pressed this close against him, even when repeating his words over and over again inside your little head and even as your heart starts beating a little too fast for your own liking.

(Getting nerves right before the start of this impromptu mission is never good. Being afraid is never good.)

“Are you okay?”

You snap out momentarily to hear a voice close to your ear, his breath cool from the melting bowl of ice cream nearby as his fingers graze over your own, purple eyes alight with a gentle worry.

“I-“ You don’t really know. “I’m good.”

Just nervous, you guess. He needs to continue talking so that you have this plan memorized to a T. Needs to keep talking so that your brain stops running all over the place.

“Say something if you get lost, okay?”

If. If? If… So many ‘ifs’ could happen. Too many for you to relax, too many for you to panic about and far too much for you to suck it up and go in blind.

“Since Mijou-san’s home isn’t too far from where Satoru and I will be hiding, we should be able to keep track of you even when you’re inside.” A finger points at the crudely drawn image of a girl, her home an even more scrawled out looking box with purple crayon streaks jutting out to represent the cursed energy activity.

“And then all ya gotta do is get in there and exorcise it!” A snowy head pokes itself inbetween the shoulders that were pressed against each other, his chin settling on them as you hear Suguru click his tongue just as an arm winds around your own.

“It’ll be,” His hand slams confidently down against the table, shaking it with its sheer triumph. “Your 1st ever unofficial mission!”

(You can even see the small fangs peeking out whenever he grins. Looks like being an Alpha didn’t come with accelerated puberty, even if he was the Gojo Satoru.

You’re happy he at least remains cute. At least that’s not an ‘if’.)

“Shouldn’t we be— Um, telling Kimiko-san?” Because she is literally the only trusted adult you know who will actually make sense of the Jujutsu system and… Exorcism.

(You’re not nervous, you swear you’re not.)

Suguru perks up. “I did think about it and— Mmf!“

“Nope!” Gojo Satoru even leans into you, his hand pressed backwards and muffling poor Suguru’s face as Satoru’s nose nearly brushing against your own from his close proximity. “Suguru’s last plan sucks!”

He stares you down with those far too familiar, far too unblinking eyes of his. “I scoped out the area after ya told me about it, and the cursed energy was like—“

His index and thumb squish together, leaving a minuscule space barely even caught by your now squinted eyes, before it teasingly reaches out to tap against your nose.

“Satoru, if you would just let me talk, you dam—“

“Thissss much! So y’er good cause it’s obviously small fry anyway!” Because no way will the likes of that annoying girl have any sort of major curse.

You stare into his eyes. Blink once, twice. Maybe thrice. And maybe, it’s the way Gojo Satoru looked so excitable, looked so confident that has you tottering over your mind.

(Because you don’t really think you believe in yourself.)

“But…” You take another breath in as you pat his cheek. “What if I fail?”

Like that time with that quiz you thought you would pass; studying all night only to barely even be able to understand next day’s questions. Or maybe even that time where you thought playing volleyball was going to be a piece of cake—

“Pahh! That second time was cause ya weren’t good enou—“

Before a fist unceremoniously lands upon your cute friend’s head, bonking him and making his knees buckle and crash to the soft carpeted ground of your living room.

“Ow!” It didn’t exactly do much damage. “What gives, dummy?! Ya didn’t have to hit so hard!”

“You need to stop watching your words, Satoru.” Suguru’s brows are furrowed and irritated, eyes narrowed and turned into a glare. “I told you so many times.”

“What?! (name) doesn’t mind!” And he’s grappling onto your legs from the floor, his arms wrapped around them in a hug as you nearly stumble— Barely catching yourself by using his fluffy head of hair for balance.

You think you can hear them arguing. Think you can feel your heart racing as you stare into space. And definitely think you might have a chance to finish up the remaining ice cream since they’re so preoccupied with arguing.

You hope it goes exactly as planned.

——

“Oh… It’s just you?” Mijou Kana looks almost disappointed when you arrive at her gate, dressed in your most formal-casual-smart-appropriately cute outfit that you had mulled over for far too long before arriving here.

Who doesn’t want to make a good impression? Especially when you’re at another person’s house for the very first time.

“Why’re ya even takin’ so long to decide?” Gojo Satoru is thoroughly unamused as you comb through the clothes in your closet, his feet kicked up in the air as he lays on your hastily rolled out futon, his hair slightly damp from taking a shower and his eyes glaring at your form.

(You’re starting to think he’s treating your home as his own now.)

“Ya don’t even dress up ta see me or Suguru.” He’s frowning, pouting and every word that can describe his face in one emotion; Annoyed.

(You’ve seen how many ‘guests’ have hurriedly patted down their hair, dusted off their expensive clothes and powder their noses with exquisite looking makeup on the rare occasion that you visit the Gojo household.

He turned them all away anyway. That must mean that Satoru prefers casual clothing more than anything, right? You’ll make sure to try to whisper it to one of them next time.)

“Because you already like me, right?” You don’t need to impress him, you think. It’s said soft enough to carry over to his ears, in a tone so delicate and sweet—

All because that was how you always talked to him.

So you turn, a plain looking shirt in your hands as you show it off to him. This should be considered ‘nice’ to him, right? It isn’t exactly what you had in mind, but having his approval would definitely help build confidence.

“What about this one—“

You can’t see him. Not when he has already hurriedly pulled your soft blankets over his head, your eyes catching a glimpse of red just before he had fully taken refuge inside as it twitches.

Looks like you won’t be getting an answer.

“You tried inviting the others, right?” She’s slightly pensive, a bit rushed in her words; and definitely looked agitated. Like she was expecting more of you, like you disappointed her.

(Technically, they are here. Not so far away and watching you intently.)

“Mhm. Satoru had…” You take a deep breath in. “A violin… Competition. Shoko didn’t feel like coming and Suguru hates yo— Going into new neighborhoods because his mother thinks they’re bad luck.”

(Lying isn’t exactly your strongest forte.)

“Oh.” Her eyes look off into the side, briefly flashing onto the ground and back onto you. Even as her gaze pinned onto you— It didn’t feel like she was quite looking at you at all. “I see.”

Mijou Kana was always quite the strange girl to you. Always so friendly, so generous with her smiles… Yet she always feels so far away. You never really could tell what she was thinking about.

Do you regard her as a friend? No— Not really.

Do you think she’s a nice girl? Definitely.

Do you want to help her with the curse? Yes. Of course.

(That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?)

The outside of her kind of big home is nice, you think. All pretty and tidy and new looking, metal fences coated with a perfect shine, the paint on the house perfect— Not at all chipping. So picturesque, so pretty.

What a nice place she lives in.

But the inside was plainer, more rough. As if all the budget had gone into maintaining the outward appearance of this mini mansion— And totally foregoing the interior.

(Not exactly cozy, but it’s still very nice. Satoru would probably call this poverty, though.)

“Kana.” Her tone is rough when it calls for Mijou’s first name, throaty and coughed out as if it was raw and hoarse. As if she had had something terrible for her voice not too long ago—

“Who is that?”

(Cigarettes smell bad. Your Papa smells like this too.)

“M-Mother, I told you we had a guest today…” You hear something clink as the woman stumbles over herself, the neck of a bottle clenched tightly in her hand— As it clangs against the wall, just shy of breaking as you blink in confusion.

(Certainly. This isn’t right etiquette for having guests over, you’re pretty sure. Saya-chan would rank this pretty high on an ‘inappropriate’ tier list.)

It doesn’t shatter, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. No, not at all. Past the bottles of empty wine bottles and aluminum beer cans, past the shadowy interior and dimly lit hallways—

Cursed energy pools.

“I made a friend, Mother. Just like you asked—“ She drags you closer, pulling you by the sleeve and presenting you, yet her body was positioned behind— And almost as if she was using you as a physical shield.

You felt it before you even saw it. You’re no Gojo Satoru, not even a lick close to the amount of sheer talent Geto Suguru has— But Satoru was right about the amount.

(Maybe only a little bit off? It feels like it’s increasing.)

You blink. Your fingers twitch and your heart quivers. That’s a human, right? Mijou Kana was confirmed to be unable to see them, unable to wield cursed energy. So—

What exactly are you looking at right now?

No curse, no grotesque creature slithering around her mother, no looming shadow on the ground the hovered near.

No physical form.

Therefore, it was not something you can exorcise— Not without getting rid of the source. Not without harming the humans you were meant to protect.

Because it was simply… Her. Dark energy emanates from the woman herself, brimming and overflowing as you take in her drunken and haggard appearance.

(You can’t even see her face anymore— So darkened by her own aura that it hid her human form.)

It’s scary. Daunting. Heavy. It makes you feel helpless, makes you feel scared.

You know how curses are made. Stemming from the negative emotions of humans, taking form from the accumulation of hate, of regret and disgust and animosity.

Curses are the bad ones. Curses are the ones that bring humans sadness and grief.

(So getting rid of the Curses means helping the Humans, right?)

“But she’s not any of the ones I told you about, right?” She looks annoyed, gruff and— Scary. So overcome by the shadows of her cursed energy as it swallows her and makes your eyes swirl. “So uneducated that she can’t even greet me properly.”

(How exactly do you exorcise this?)

“N-no, but she’s—“

“Tell your little,” Her stare pins onto you, lips curled into a sneer that you can’t see as if to mock your very existence. “Friend to prattle along if they’re already done.” Her stance was clumsy and sloppy, as if her feet were walking in the same direction— At the same time.

“We don’t need other poor vermin in this house.” It’s spat out. So vile, mean, rude and goes against everything that you thought mothers were.

She’s so cruel.

She stumbles again, her arm gruffly pushing past your shoulder as your own cursed energy responds in tandem, sparking against the area she had brushed just as she yells—

Skin on skin contact. Trying to exorcise her energy… Would just harm her.

“Fuck!” And she shoots her eyes towards you, glaring deeply as she loses her grip on the glass bottle. “Fucking brats…”

It shatters, yet she pays no attention— Stumbling up the stairs and off to her bedroom.

“Make sure to clean that up, Kana!”

“…yes, Mother.” She’s despondent, staring at her feet and the worn out rug beneath her— Trailing slightly to the broken pieces of glass that she is now responsible for as you spot her hands unclench and her shoulders sagging downwards.

“I guess you weren’t enough at all.” It’s muttered quietly, said so softly that you barely even catch it.

(Oh. You suppose you weren’t any help.)

Awkward silence swallows you both whole. Just the slight crinkling of glass against the wooden floors, and Mijou-san clearing her throat.

“Do you… Still want to stay, (last name)-chan?” There’s a smile so stiff on her face, her eyes upturned into tight squints that told— Begged you to say no.

Mijou Kana was a strange girl, after all— Someone that never let her true intentions show through her words. Yet, you think you kinda get what Suguru means when he says that she’s;

“Trying too hard to hide something too evident.”

(It must be painful. Why can’t she just be honest?)

“No—“ Don’t hesitate. “No, thank you. I forgot I had homework to do.”

“Oh right!” She claps her hands together, beaming that empty, empty smile that never seemed the way it looked. “The one Futari-sensei gave right? I thought I reminded you about that!”

(She didn’t.)

“Yea.” It’s better to just agree.

And as she walks you to the door, you can only think about how curses aren’t the only bad things in the world. Your eyes look back, following the thin slither of shadows up the staircase as you blink.

(You feel… Bad.)

You hope that energy manifests a physical curse. Something that you can exorcise, something that you can get rid of.

(You can’t let her live forever like that.)

Yet, as Mijou Kana waves you goodbye with that smile of hers and shuts the door just as you turn around; You just can’t help but feel that some people are simply miserable because they can’t help it.

(Mission failure.)

——

You’re 14 when you’re wiping down the blackboard, specks of chalk dust falling onto your hair and your slight coughs into the mask you were donning— At least you’re almost done.

It’s unfortunate that Mijou decided to skip out on cleaning duty. It must’ve affected her too much.

“It’s cute, isn’t it, Ieiri-san?” The keychain jingles as the girl awkwardly tries to keep conversation with the infamous Ieiri Shoko.

(Infamous for her looks! The pretty, blank-faced and blunt Ieiri Shoko! A simple remark from her would possibly end with you collapsing to your knees—)

“Could you,” A flick of her hair back as autumn-brown eyes dismiss the girl with an emotion you can’t quite explain, a blank, empty look in her eyes as she removes her lollipop. “Stop talking to me?”

It must’ve been quite the blow to poor Mijou-san. You pat your own hair, trying to shake off chalk dust and any remnants of dirt that had gotten onto you.

It’s not easy trying to accomplish a 2 person job with only half the manpower.

“Do you need help?” Your ears perk up just as you nearly trip over yourself from holding the too heavy bucket—

Geto Suguru.

“I just got back from the temple.” His hand brushes over his ears, tapping lightly against the black gauge earrings and tucking a stray strand of his hair back as he smiles.

You stare. Maybe for a bit too long, your eyes concentrated on the way he just looked so, so pretty— Before your sight gets covered by his hand waving over your eyes.

“Thank you.” It’s said with a prettier chuckle, amused and with a blush so pleasant upon his skin.

(You think you’re going to embarrass yourself one day. Curse your mouth that runs without you noticing.)

You don’t even notice that he’s already gotten hold of your wrist, slipping a simple black string bracelet around it as

“The school allows simple accessories,” His touch lingers, warm and gentle against you as his purple eyes trail upwards. “We don’t have to worry about getting in trouble.”

Oh.

“I don’t think I’m that plain.” You pout, obviously disheartened by the implication and letting the very obvious simply fly over your head. “Shoko thinks—“

And Suguru only laughs. Wholeheartedly. Cutely.

“I think you’re pretty with or without accessories.” A pat to your head. “But because I gave this one to you,” A tap against your wrist.

“You’re extra pretty.” And a smile to soothe your heart.

Always so charming, always so— It makes him not want to say it. As expected of Geto Suguru, much to a certain person’s chagrin. Because it’s impossible for someone to be that appealing, right? It’s too pretentious, too— Full of shit.

“Hmph.” And Gojo Satoru looks dissatisfied, his cheeks stuffed to the brim with sweet, sticky red bean mochi as he chews.

Angrily.

He shouldn’t be, you know? A similar bracelet sits on his own wrist, a version that exactly matched yours. If he placed them together they’d be identical, would be the perfect pair that matched the studs on Suguru’s ears. Yet, even as he watches the both of you in front of him, busily writing away and studying…

Why does he feel like he’s lost somehow?

Was it the way you always look so fond of the little trinket? He’s bought you entire clothes before, you know? He doesn’t see you ogle them like crazy, doesn’t see you give him anything more of a—

“It looks nice today too, right, Satoru?” With your attentive eyes waiting on him to say something, say anything at all whilst dressed in the plainest, most boring thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He thinks you can’t be serious, as cute as you do look, that he needs to get Kimi-chan to get you prettier things, that you seriously have something wrong with your hea—

“Ya look okay.”

“(name),” His elbow is now on the coffee table, his hand propping his chin up as his stare pins onto you specifically. “Fix my hair.”

And you do so— Without even looking up from the passage you were trying to read, the wrist donning Suguru’s gift reaching towards Satoru— Before it’s grabbed out of the air and the sound of a metal clasp takes you by surprise.

A new bracelet. Shiny, compact, surprisingly extremely light— And very expensive looking.

“Hmph.” It’s satisfied, smug. As if he’s seen something that couldn’t get any better than this as he makes hasty final adjustments, throwing your wrist about as you’re unceremoniously tugged forward unwillingly.

“Wha—?” You haven’t exactly processed everything yet.

A hum, an annoyed, almost exasperated sigh from a certain black-haired friend as he pauses to watch the situation and Gojo Satoru’s triumphant words.

“Mine definitely looks better, right, Suguru?”

——

“Mama,” Your hands stop peeling the potatoes, its brown skin brushing against your arm as you stare blankly at it. “What’s your type?”

And she pauses. Just for a moment, just for that tiny little bit.

“Someone who can peel the potatoes evenly.” There’s even a small giggle tacked on at the end of it, as if she couldn’t hold the same monotone throughout the entirety of the sentence.

And you blush— Embarrassed. It’s not everyday that your own Mama makes fun of your potato peeling.

(And…! To be fair this was a new potato peeler! The tools of the future certainly seek to hinder your progress— As Saya-chan says, over engineering will only lead to more stress.)

“But to answer you,” A thoughtless hum as she gently continues to chop up the mushrooms. “I have no preference.”

It’s only the next line that gets you thinking.

“Humans are all… Different, after all.” So nonchalant, so passive. If it were any other person, they’d do a double take. If it were any other person, they’d be confused; especially with that odd tone of voice.

(But you’re you.)

“Then I think you’re the best one.” She’s gotta be, right? Who else would take the mantle if not her?

“Thank you, sweetheart.”

So basically, from this conversation… She wouldn’t approve of anyone you’d bring home.

(“My ideal type?” Ito Saya has her hands gingerly placed on her cheek, a thoughtful look on her face before she lets a sweet smile take over, coupled with a cute laugh to boot.

“Somebody my mother likes!”)

Saya-chan and dating. 2 words you’d never thought you would ever live to hear. She’s your idol, your bias, your one and only— Could you really handle her giving all her cute fanservice to someone else?

“Then… What kind of person would you want me to date, Mama?” It’s rhetorical. It’s not like you have anyone in mind, lest Saya-chan came to your home and gave you the privilege of proposing to her.

But it’d be interesting to know. Just because. It’s definitely not because Mijou-san asked. Not at all.

(“You don’t even have a type, (last name)-chan?” Her eyes still have that same faraway look, her face in that neutral, almost blank smile that you’ve come to get so used to.

“You’re kinda boring. Don’t you ever have your own opinion?”)

There’s no hesitation this time in your Mama’s reply, no other words needed— As if she had had already came prepared long before you even thought about it.

“Someone sincere.”

“What does that even mean?” You’re both 15 when Ieiri Shoko is laying back on your futon, all regards for the ‘proper, ladylike’ image gone without a trace as her shirt flips up and her shorts ride up her hips.

Summer is hot, after all.

“Maybe someone like Saya-chan’s boyfriend?” You’re lying next to her, sweaty hands lazily entangled with each other as you stare up at the ceiling.

(“Isn’t she in some dating scandal right now?”

“She doesn’t deserve it…! My Saya-chan deserves to date and marry whoever she wants to find happiness!”)

There’s a silence in-between the both of you. It’s not uncomfortable, it’s not awkward. It’s just there because the both of you allow it. A chime of your brand new phone breaks it, disrupts that thin barrier of laziness that overtook your laziness as you reach for it.

“Is it Geto?” And she knows simply because she has never seen you text or call anyone other than 4 specific people; inclusive of herself.

“Mhm. Suguru wants to come over.”

She stays silent, not even moving to adjust her clothes as she lets the breeze of your fan flow through her hair.

“Tell him to bring ice cream if he wants to.” She can just imagine the boy spotting your slightly open window, watching as your curtains shifted ever so slightly in the summer breeze. A thought would probably pass through him, 1 that would make him pick up his cellphone, his eyes never leaving that ajar window.

“Ah— But you already made Satoru buy them.” She did. It was cheeky, was just a surefire way for her to get something out of him.

(Because if he even wanted an invite to hang out with you on the day she had personally ‘reserved’, he better listen close and listen well.)

“Make ‘em bring extra.” She pushes herself up slightly. “It’s gonna be tax for daring to disturb us.”

That makes enough sense, you think. A whole lot of sense, and not because this sweltering weather is making you crave too many cold things.

“Oi.” Not too long passes when he’s already made his way in, not at all mindful of manners as your door opens to reveal— A not at all sweating Gojo Satoru.

(Infinity, he says. Must be nice to have free sunscreen and UV light reflector. Your Mama would love that.)

His socked feet pad against your floor, stopping just shy of the futon he’s all too familiar with as the plastic bag he carried rustling with its familiar contents.

“I didn’t know what Shoko liked so I just bought whatever.” Maybe it’s the 1st time you notice just how tall he’s gotten in these short years. Especially when he’s towering over you, crossing his arms and watching you intently— As if he was expecting you to say something.

(…did you do something wrong?)

“Satoru.” There’s a smile on your face, saying his name with that familiar softness. There’s a quaint, polite look in your eye and an innocent tilt of your head. “Did you buy your favourite too?”

(You’re kind of craving that super deluxe, ultra premium choco-vanilla-strawberry swirl.)

And he frowns. Quickly. Immediately. As if it soured his whole mood and as if he hated your response.

“Is that all I get after going through all that trouble?” He’s huffing, before plopping down onto your soft floor before you, crossing his legs and grumbling, his posture slouched over and his lips in a pout.

Ah.

So your hand reaches up, gently brushing away locks of pure, snowy white as you press the back of your hand against soft— Pleasantly non-sweaty skin.

(His skin is so nice.)

“It must’ve been hot, right?” You hope he didn’t get heatstroke. Not that he even could, but it didn’t hurt to check.

And blue eyes just stay extremely locked onto you. A sound caught in his throat that makes you worry slightly just as you’re about to pull back.

“It was!” His ears are reddening as you nod along, listening intently as you use your hand to fan his face.

(It really must be hot outside. He’s burning up.)

“It was soooooo hot out there!” His cheeks can’t help but heat up as you continue to brush back locks of white— All in cute efforts to let him cool off more.

(Does he need a fever patch? It’s quite worrying to see him like this.)

“I could barely even stand it, ya know?” He’s hoping you pick up an ice cream bar and feed it to hi—

“Are you both done flirting yet?” Ieiri Shoko is thoroughly unimpressed as she bites off another chunk of the GariGari-kun. It’s only slightly chilly, only that little bit biting. Yet, if you were to ask her;

She’s only slightly bothered by it.

“The ice cream’s melting.”

And when Geto Suguru’s knocking on your bedroom door, his head politely poking in— He’s only met with one prodding question.

“Oiiii! Suguru!” An arm wraps around his shoulder, pressing all of its weight onto him as it threatened to drag him down to your bedroom floor— To have a face full of your carpet, that is.

“What’s your type?”

And there’s only a twitch of his hand, his smile barely staying on his face before Gojo’s hand was grabbed, barely even activating Infinity in time before the entirety of his body was flipped over Geto’s shoulder and onto the floor.

(“Cheater.”

“More like y’er too slow.”)

So he finds himself here. On your floor, sitting just in front of you as you pull at his face and awe at his fangs. Your fingers are poking around at the sharp objects, and his cheek twitches from soreness.

You really need to stop asking for things with your pleading eyes. It’s hard for him to deny them.

“And you’ve grown really tall, too…” Your hand pokes at his hard arm. “Did Kimi-chan give you both some sort of cursed energy imbued potion to make you both so big?”

“If she did, we’d give both you and Shoko some,” There’s even a gruff huff as Satoru rolls his head onto your shoulder. “Ya both need it real bad.”

(“Saya-chan’s boyfriend is pretty big and tall, too… Do I need to drink more milk?”

“Ah. Isn’t the guy she’s dating some sort of athlete?” Suguru’s words kind of sting when they interrupt your train of thought.

Tall. Big. An outstanding athlete.

You’ve lost.)

“I’ll never be able to date Saya-chan…”

previous masterlist next

nvy’s aftertalk:

i’m trying my best to make it romantic ok :(. pls reblog since tumblr doesn’t like showing my work in tags :(

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Hogwarts AU [pt. 5]

He should have never got on that broom.

He shouldn't have tried, he shouldn't have done it inside the Drake manor, he shouldn't have chosen the day when his parents were hundreds of miles away.

He should have at least told Minky. Or Tiksy. Or any other house elf, he should have followed Danny's mother's advice and had an adult around, why is he so bloody stupid, he is such an idiot, he-

"Young Master!" Minky's voice comes from his right after a loud crack of apparation, and Tim almost chokes on another one of his jagged, broken sobs. Everything is blurry, and his eyes and cheeks are wet, and Tim really tries to wipe the tears away, but they just appear again, no doubt making him look as even more of a mess.

"My leg hurts," he tells in the direction of the blurry, brown and white blob that is supposed to be Minky if he could just stop crying for one moment. Then, he sobs again, holding his hands to just above his knee, "Get someone."

He doesn't specify who. Because, and Tim knows it, there's no one to get - his parents are far away, he remembers them mentioning Egypt or maybe Sudan, but Minky can't go that far. But Tim can't do this himself, and house elves can't help because the bone under his knee is bended the wrong way and it hurts, and Tim can hear his own, rushing pulse beat like a drum inside his head.

He is going to die like this. In the middle of Drake manor, on the floor of the empty ballroom. Because no one would come, no one would-

There's a crack in the air, louder than any apparation, that runs like an electric jolt through Tim's skin, and then a crashing bang of broken wood that rings through the whole manor. Tim snaps his head up as his heart skips a beat - no one can come into the manor, there are wards, a lot of them, he knows it.

His lungs hurt, and his leg still hurts, too, and he can't run, but there's someone else in his house, someone who broke through the protective wards. Tim's vision goes from just blurry to dark at the edges - he is breathing too fast, he needs to calm down and make as little noise as possible, because maybe it's some kind of robbers and they-

"Here, Young Master is being here!" He hears Minky's voice again, and he barely has time to feel hurt by her betrayal before there's a huge, looming dark figure in front of him.

Tim whimpers, trying to move away.

It only makes his leg explode in pain all over again, causing him to bite on his lip until there's a coppery taste on his tongue. But then, the figure gets down on one knee, and through all the tears and panic, Tim notices an emblem on the intruder's robes.

A big, golden 'M' with something written on the bottom.

Auror. The man kneeling in front of him is an auror. From the Ministry.

Minky didn't just bring some random person into the manor - and Tim feels so stupid to have thought otherwise, she is a perfectly loyal, caring elf that he's known his whole life, how could he think that way about her? - she did exactly as she's been told. She got someone.

"Hey, there," the auror speaks, and Tim can't really see his face, but his voice is gentle and soft, and there's an intangible wave of warmth radiating from him. Tim had grown to associate it with magic - as in, when there's so much of it in someone's body that it spills out, charging the air around them. Makes sense if he got through the wards of Drake manor all on his own.

"Hi," Tim croaks out, still holding on to his knee, and blinks a couple of times, trying to get rid of his tears. It works badly.

"My name is Bruce," the man speaks again, and his hands are moving, slow and careful so as not to scare Tim with any sudden movements. He would have appreciated it a little more, probably if his leg was not- Tim takes a sharp breath in. If his leg was not broken. There, he's said it. Or, at least he thought it in his head.

But, before he can go back to focusing on the blooming, pulsing pain right under his knee, the auror - Bruce - points his wand at his broken limb, and softly, quietly murmurs, "Praerigidus."

The pain disappears instantly, like someone cut it off, and instead, his leg feels cold and numb, like frozen solid. Tim's breath hitches, and he hastily wipes the tears away to look down at it, just to make sure his leg is still there, that the auror didn't just vanish it into nothingness. But, no, thankfully, it's still attached, albeit bent in a very wrong way that makes Tim's stomach twist.

"Ferula," the man casts again, pointing his wand at Tim's leg once more, and long strips of white bandages appear out of the tip of it, wrapping themselves tightly around the broken limb to secure it. "Let's get you to Mungo's," the auror suggests next, and, for the first time, Tim sees his face.

He looks younger than Father or Mother, and he is definitely darker than them. Drakes are all pale, sometimes even sickly so - in Tim's case, or so he's heard - but the auror's skin is a few shades warmer. And his hair is a mess.

Kind of like Danny's.

Tim nods, not entirely sure he can find his voice or manage to avoid it sounding like he swallowed a frog. The man - he is an adult, and Tim is not comfortable calling him by his first name, and he doesn't know what family he is from - smiles back at him. It's a small smile, one that only touches the corners of his lips, but Tim knows it counts. His Mother smiles in the same way.

Minky makes a high-pitched, worried sound, and Tim feels a little guilty that he completely forgot about her still standing there. He looks up at her and smiles, too, "It's okay, he's an auror," he turns to the man, "Right, sir?"

"That is correct," There's a tinge of amusement in auror's voice as he picks Tim up in his arms like he weights nothing. It's surprisingly comfortable to be held like that. Warm, like the auror's magic. "Thank you, Ms. Minky, I'll take it from here. I will be sending an owl to Mr. and Mrs. Drake, but if you would like to check on your young master later, you have my permission to appear at Wayne Manor at any time. Alfred will be there to meet you."

Tim blinks, his whole body freezing at once, just like his leg did before.

Wayne Manor?!..

—☆—☆—☆—

Where the crash landing happened:

Bruce's portrait back at the Manor and his first impression of Tim:

[Picrew] | [Picrew]

—☆—☆—☆—

Worldbuilding notes that got really long this time:

Waynes are (err, were) a pureblood family that was proud of their heritage and resented muggles and muggle culture quite publicly. But then Martha came along, a sweet half-blood Slytherin child full of charm, innocent smiles and ambition that went far beyond what anyone expected. Thomas, who was also very much a Slytherin, was gone for her instantly, and, shortly after they were wed, they both started - also publicly - giving zero shits about pureblood nonsense.

They later died by the hands of a muggle, while coming back from a muggle cinema in a muggle part of London, and Daily Prophet was very cruel about it. There were more than a few articles that went on and on about the matter, most of them along the lines of 'that's what you get for liking muggles'.

Newly orphaned Bruce was left with an empty Wayne Manor, a few house elves, and Alfred Pennyworth, who claimed himself a butler (but the rumor has it he was in a relationship with both Martha and Thomas, and the evidence - he was also a Slytherin in their year - speaks for itself, and besides, who in their right mind becomes a butler in the wizarding world without some ulterior motives?)

Understandably, Bruce threw a fit and promptly became, a) a fucking menace, b) the first Gryffindor in the Wayne family in six generations, c) an auror, d) hell-bent on adopting the most unfitting (heritage-wise) kids into his family, according to the Prophet. He is on the mission to fistfight a millenia old prejudice, and he is desperate to win.

Minky fetched him of all people because he was the closest competent adult in the area with enough magic to get through the wards. Waynes and Drakes are neighbors - as much as you can say that when they both have acres of land in their respective estates.

Also, Tim's reaction to the name happens because, one, his parents made it obvious enough they don't like Bruce despite him being their closest neighbor, and, technically, a pureblood, and two, he didn't expect to not be returned back to Drake estate after his leg is dealt with.

Dick is currently a fourth year in Hogwarts and Jason is a first year (just like Jazz, btw). More on them later.

Also, hey, remember the poll? Heroic break in it was, with the additional spice of broom accident.

[<- part 4 | part 6 ->]

[adrixivy]

So I saw a comment in this post. Someone wanted to know what attitude Peter is giving after the mission. You ask and I shall deliver‼️

So I said he went loco after waking up. He really did. He knows he can’t skip the debrief because Fury is gonna be a little bitch about it and he doesn’t want to go through that hassle so he walks straight to the meeting table, ignoring everyone’s look or question of concern. Maybe a little nod to Natasha’s look of concern is the most he will acknowledge. Anyone else? Attitude is served with small witty remarks leaving them stunned.

For example!

Tony asking if he’s okay and whether he wants to skip the briefing as he walks by the scowling spider’s side: You okay bud? Why don’t you go rest?

Tony simply backs away quietly when Peter glares at him, not wanting to say anything since Tony purely asked out of care and concern. The least he can do is keep quiet and silently tell the older man he doesn’t want to talk right now. (Spoiler alert, Tony does NOT get the same kindness he has spared to him now)

Sam was walking close behind and scoffs at Peter’s behavior, thinking he’s being more of a brat than he usually is and he actually says it to Bucky who doesn’t comment anything because he knows Peter’s enhanced hearing can hear him so he backs away from Sam. Sam, confused and looks back at Bucky while walking bumps into Peter who doesn’t even move when bumped into yet Sam falls on his butt. The Avengers snickers seeing the scene and when Sam looks back at Peter, he’s met with a small satisfied smirk as the teen walks away. Sam is being held back by Bucky AND Steve.

Then Clint, thinking he can lighten up the mood by wrapping his arm around the teenager’s shoulder alongside with his jokes was flabbergasted when he was thrown to a nearby wall and web covering his mouth in a blink of an eye. The Avengers stare dumbfounded (Thor is the one person going “OHHHH”) at Clint on the floor, barely able to get up and the teenager resting on the ceiling, sitting upside down. He finds it more comfortable than the chairs Shield provides. Clint’s mouth remained webbed shut for two hours because Peter is the only one with the solution.

Fury is obviously displeased with how Peter is acting, not understanding the STRUGGLES a superhero teenager who has school the next day alongside homework like him has. So when Fury is firmly telling him to come down, he simply lizard blinks before dropping a Mbaku on the man. (He spent some time with Shuri in Wakanda and whenever Mbaku was with Okoye, he overheard him always calling her it)

Peter in the most calm but you can tell he’s terribly tired voice: You bald-headed demon, who do nothing of the hard work, should keep your big ass mouth which have nothing useful to say, shut. And what the hell is the point of this?(the debrief) Telling us how we did our job and how much better we can do it next time. There won’t be a next time if you keep this up, because remember, you can never do the things you tell us to do without us.

Fury is silenced. Tony and Thor is cackling, Clint muffled laughter can be heard, Natasha is chuckling, Steve is trying his best to keep his giggles quiet, Sam(reluctantly) and Bucky is clapping and Bruce doesn’t even dare to smile as he nervously eyes the fuming pirate.

Peter huffs and simply gets down and walks away. The Avengers decided that the debrief is basically over within those five minutes and walks out too. Tony goes over to Peter and wrapping his arm around Peter and saying he’s proud but he mentions the glare Peter gave him earlier and Peter pauses and pushes Tony’s arm off

Peter: Being petty about that? As if you didn’t do worse. Taking my suit because you didn’t like it when I basically did the same stupid things you did before you started becoming a little mature as an adult.

Tony’s mouth is wide open, jaw dropped in shock and the Avengers are laughing at him, particularly Sam and Bucky’s being the loudest as Peter walks away and into his room. His own son destroyed him!

The next day, Peter is apologising to everyone profusely, especially to Tony for being so mean. He may gave a little insincere apology to Clint and Sam but it still was an apology. Fury didn’t get one.

[candy8448]

I HAD AN ✨IDEA✨

So i was thinking for my old friend fic, how i would fit warriors meeting fi. Because i have the thing going on where fi is asleep litterally forever and hyrule warriors was kinda ruining that idea by fi being there. I was thinking, how could fi and wars have met, but she is still asleep?

Was toying with the idea that she was awoken again but that didnt feel right but i just had a thought.

So during the war of eras, they went back in time to skyloft, but the thing is, its not skyloft after the hero had his adventure because isn't the godess statue there?

So the war of eras arrived at skyloft while sksw link was still a baby or small child. Hw link meets fi there (in the cutscene, she is still the goddess sword, not the master sword!) And she says "you are not my master, but i will still call you master" or something along those lines, because while she still hadn't met sksw link yet, she knows what she was made for and who her master would be, determined by the goddess. (Also ghirahim is there because he is trying to get to the goddess' recarnation early but is driven away by the war)

Maybe that's why wars calls her an "it" because he only met fi while she was still the goddess sword, she had not had any emotions or any experiences like that before the end of skyward sword. She is still robotic when she meets hw link and when he gets the master sword in his tiime, it is when she is dormant again. He barely had time to get to know her and therefore doesnt really see her as an alive thing, especially because he cant really sebse her in his current master sword the same way legend can.

Anyway, i was saying, the war of eras could have happened when sksw link is still really young, and maybe that is why his parents are dead. They died in that war. Most of skyloft's current population are young and wouldnt remember that war, and the adults try to forget it. After all, this was a strage one off circumstance and skyloft is meant to be protected by hylia. (Also maybe this war is why Gaepora has a suspicion that Link might be hylia's hero and why he knows about it, pairing what he was passed on with the info from the war)

Also any inconsistencies with this idea can be um... chalked up to it not being a canon game :)

[someobscurereference]

Insane over the awakening trio again. We fought a war together, saved each other multiple times, and I know for a fact I can trust you with my life. We have never learned to socialize normally so we can't interact in a normal environment for five seconds without dunking on each other. I would follow you through time and space and abandon everything with you. You are the living reminder of every awful thing that have ever happened to me. Our traumas make us hurt each other at every turn. We're the only ones who know what lead to each other becoming Like That. Our jobs are barely in the same area and we don't even hang out that much outside of necessities. You are all I have left. I cannot fucking understand you. I am the only one in this entire world who has the ability to even try to.

x

[cursed-spirit-manipulation]

jjk is about a lot of things but most of all with regard to Shoko Satoru and Suguru it's about how if you don't interact with people who aren't in your weird fucked up school with like 10 ppl total on a regular basis you WILL become an incredibly interesting adult in a way that makes people pity you

[look-at-the-stars-tonight]

i've been thinking about simon heap a Lot during this reread

[bitchapalooza]

I'm sorry for my posts today, I guess the stress from the entirety of September was piled too high and is collapsing onto my head. I'm just so tired y'all....

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinking about nora again

[your-lovely-ghost]

Day three of holding everyone’s laundry hostage until my father takes a shower.

The last of my father’s beloved white socks have fallen to the filth. There is little hope, and even less in terms of rest. The battle is ongoing, and it feels often that I am fighting alone. Morale is low; my ally in this conflict, mother, is injured. I long for the days when I can rest. When this war will cease, and all will be clean again. The dishes done, the people bathed, the laundry washed and folded. Alas. We know the struggle will never end.

I am Sisyphus, and my father’s horrid stench and apathy are forever my boulder.

My father is a war profiteer, and I am a hapless young recruit greeting a doomed mission.

Last shower date: December 25th, 2023

[stuworbutwithchipmunks]

I know ppl couldn't care less about the humans in the cgi movies but Zoe and Dr. Rubin were both hilarious characters and the more i rewatch the movies the more i think about that.

[designernishiki]

I feel like whatever was going on with majima/mirei/katsuya in the early 90s was some sort of complicated bisexual love triangle situation. like majima is majima and katsuya’s handsome and eloquent and absolutely doesn’t seem straight to me, but on top of that it feels like there was some sort of confusing tension between katsuya and mirei, not sure if it was romantic or one-sided or what but. SOMETHING. I don’t know what the hell was going on with those three really but no way in hell do I believe the romantic/sexual/??? depth ends with majima and mirei

[miesozernacma]

is

is there maybe a

a strategy to confessing to your father you hate him

becaauuuseee

[ourceliumnetwork]

listen. I know my family is bad at communication and acknowledgement of receipt of Thing but when the one thing that consistently happens semi-annually is that I get fussed at for not confirming I received something, it irks me a smidge.

Like if I'm expected to always confirm "Hey I got your [communication/gift]" then why aren't they doing it back? Especially considering the communication in this instance has really actually very important information they will want to know if they want to stay in contact with me.

Like????

Even if I'd just gotten a "K" in response, like. at least it would have let me know they got the damn thing. I sent this email TWO WEEKS AGO and only one person responded - and it was practically immediate too. Like... i know folks are busy, i know shit's going on. I get it. But it would help me feel so much less like I'm suddenly a pariah in the family out of nowhere if like one of the people I'd sent this to had just responded in some way shape or form.

I'd have answered a phone call - i wouldn't have liked it, but i'd have done it. A letter in the mail to my current address even. a message in a bottle probably wouldn't get to me because i'm pretty far from the beaches of the great lakes, and also they're even farther, but like. something right?

my sister at least confirmed she got it and just forgot to respond. i imagine that's what happened with everyone else because we have the same mental illnesses and look. i do it too. but also? also?? i was hounded to respond quickly to things, i was told off every time i wasn't responding within a half hour of any communication. I was asked instantly the next time they saw me if I'd gotten it, even if i hadn't had a chance to see the thing yet.

So forgive me, family, if I'm a little peeved off that all y'all are allowed to "forget to respond" for two whole fucking weeks and then a few extra days (because it's been 2 weeks, 3 days exactly) when i can't let something sit in the mailbox for 2 days because i couldn't get to my mailbox easily while living on my own without getting a phone call or text or email that there should be something waiting in there for me.

*enraged screeching*

[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Perfect Size

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is described as short, name-calling, swearing, Daemon being a horny menace, soft!dom! Daemon, talk of impregnation, talk of pregnancy, pregnancy, smut

Summary: It was Daemon’s life mission to remind you of your size difference, in every aspect of your shared lives.

A/N: This is part of the wonderful @targaryen-dynasty 3K celebration, congrats by the way!!!! I had so much fun with this prompt. Enjoy everyone and enjoy the other wonderful and talented writers' fics. 3K Celebration Masterlist

My masterlist

The gods make humans in their image. They make them grow until they see them as perfect. Or so your Septa used to say whenever you were frustrated about your small stature. And it was no help that the greatest rake of the realm, Lord Flea Bottom, the Rouge Prince himself, made it his life’s mission to remind you of how small you were.

As children, you had been a bit taller than him. He had a problem with it. The need to be bigger than a stupid girl was great. His growth spurt came and he nearly towered over you, looking down at you with a smirk on his lips. “How is the weather down there?” He would often tease. “Just fine.” You would retort back. “I hope your small brain will get enough air up there. A shame if you lost more of it.” Was your sarcastic comeback.

The older the two of you got, the taller he would get and you would only grow a few inches if you even grew at all. First, he was slightly lanky. His muscles had yet to grow. He would remind you of a newborn horse whenever he would stumble over his two long feet as he trained with his sword. Often giggling to his dismay.

“I will cut your head off, and then you will be smaller!” He would shout in anger when he saw you snickering. Daemon’s temper seemed to grow with every inch he gained. You enjoyed it immensely when it would rise because of you.

As young adults, it was fairly certain that you would grow no more. If you stood behind one of the large dinner chairs you could easily hide behind them. Everything seemed to dwarf you.

Daemon prided himself in the knowledge that he was taller than you. Towering over you like the Hightower in Oldtown. And he never passed down the opportunity to remind you. “Shouldn’t you be with your nurse, little one? I think you got the wrong room. The nursery is that way.” Or other things.

You would glare at him. Often kicked his shin when no one was watching. He would yowl in pain. Jump around and hold his leg. “You little pest.” “Maybe you should get your head out of the clouds.” You teased back.

But there were the times he would call you more affectionate words associated with your small stature.

“Why the sour face, my little love?” He mumbled into your ear as he stepped out of the shadows. He had been hiding from his grandmother and her attempts to put boring and plain noblewoman under his nose.

A huff of annoyance escaped your throat. “Mother forced me to wear this ridiculous gown.” You seethed. Your teeth bared like a wolf snarling.

Daemon found your discomfort rather amusing. You looked like a pretty doll all dressed up. Your hair braided into the style of the land you came from. The gown so unmistakably the colours of your house, shining in the light of the candles.

"Oh, no - you're a lady and you have to wear pretty dresses and jewels and oh no, how horrible!" He teased you lightly. He leaned his head on top of yours. A habit he adopted quite recently. Loving the way you fit under him.

You snorted, very un-ladylike. But he was used to your characteristics. You were not one of those up-tied, boring wenches who tried to turn his head. He would rather gauge his eyes out before he gave them a second of his attention.

His attention was only worthy of one woman. And she was right literally under his nose.

He leaned down, just next to your ear. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive shell. “Do you think it would fit?” You could feel the smirk in his voice. You turned to him with a confused look on your pretty face.  It stayed that way until you felt something. You felt it, him. Hard as a rock, pocking you through the fabric of your wedding gown.

Your face grew hotter than the flames of Caraxes. Your body stiffened as you felt him softly rub against your buttocks. He only laughed lowly. His chest vibrates, sending chills up and down your spine. “You scoundrel!” You lowly scoffed. Your heart beating faster.

Not from his antics. Oh no, you were used to them by now. About the whole banquet finding out about Daemon’s little innuendo. “Oh, little love. I am your scoundrel now. It was ordered by the Queen herself.” He chuckled darkly.

She hit his shoulder lightly. “Stop it!” You tried to reprimand him. But your words fell on deaf ears. “Oh, my little love. How funny you will look with my seed growing inside you.” He began to whisper his lewd words. “You probably won’t be able to walk, so large your belly will grow.”

Your body grew hotter and hotter. It didn’t help that he had you pressed to his chest. His erection pressed against the cheeks of your perfect ass. His hands wander lazily over the front of your dress. Stopping over your belly before wandering further down.

“Oh my little love, will it even fit in your little tight hole? Or will I have to mould your little cunny so only my cock can fit inside?” Your breathing hitched at his dark, lustful words. Daemon’s predatory smile grew at your body's reaction to his scandalous words whispered so softly into your ear.

He often wondered if he was unfair to his wife. She was small, her body had nearly strained from the weight of the beautiful two children she had already given him.

He was right at their wedding feast. Her swollen stomach looked too large for her body. It hadn’t been long before the first signs of pregnancy made themselves known.

From the small bump only three moons after they conceived. He still can remember how his hands could cover it until she was seven moons pregnant. She had been ordered to rest. To not exhaust herself too much.

Daemon, looking at the image of her laying in their bed, their little one nestled in her belly. The sight did things to him. Things where his darkest desires seemed light in comparison. Oh, how he had spent his days behind her, driving himself into her tight cunt instead of sitting in a boring small council meeting. His wife and unborn child needed him, and he needed them.

“Another one?” You looked at him from where you stood. Children’s toys in your arms as you helped your daughters clean the room for the day.

Daemon just shrugged. “Why not? Add another one to our hoard. What about you girls? Do you want another sibling?” He crouched down so he was level with Alyssa and Visenya. Both girls looked away from their task to clean up the solar, screeching with joy as their father spoke to them.

“They are tots, Daemon.” You protested. Picking up more of the girls’ toys. “They will agree to anything if you say it with enough enthusiasm.” Daemon chuckled. “Oh, I think they know what I am saying, elillus (honey).” He smirks softly. His eyes roamed her body without shame.

“It has been so long.” “It has only been a few hours. You had me in the morrow.” You snapped back. Cleaning your daughters’ toys from the floor. Putting it into the chest designated for their toys. “I did not mean our coupling, prūmȳs ñuhus (my heart). I meant another child. The girls are six and four.” He mumbled gently.

She looked up at him sitting in the armchair at the edge of the carpet where the girls were playing moments ago. His violet eyes were dark as he watched her like the hunter his prey. “I don’t know, valzȳrys (husband). You heard the maester's words after Visenya’s birth.”

Daemon saw the change in demeanour. He nearly had you, only a small push. “It is your choice, ābrāzȳrys (wife). I do not want to force you.” He stood up, kissing your forehead before helping you with cleaning the toys up.

You were tossing and turning in bed. Nothing seemed right. Thoughts swirled through your head. So many voices at once.

You wanted to scream. But you would only wake up your family.

“Tell me what is keeping you from sleep, ābrāzȳrys (wife)” Daemon's gravel voice rang through the room. He sounded tired. His back turned to you.

“It’s nothing.” You whispered. “Bullshit!” Daemon groaned. Turning to face you. “It feels like I am sleeping next to a bloody sack of kittens. What is it.” He tiredly glared at her. Knowing full well what was going on.

“You’ve gotten into my head, you menace!” You growled out. Pouting at him. His usual smirk grew on his lips, a soft chuckle escaping. “Apologies for that, ābrāzȳrys (wife).“ „You are not sorry, Daemon.” His grin widened more. “You know me so well.”

A huff escaped your lips. “Why must you torment me so?” Daemon sat up on his forearm, looking down at you. Your hair was splayed out in a messy halo. A bright smile adorned his face as he saw the light, tired glare and the pout on your lips.

“Oh, little love, I vowed to be the bane of your existence since we played with the small dragon figurines our daughters’ play with now. And ever since it was announced you would be my dear lady wife I swore to torture you even more.” He softly nipped at your collarbone, his large hands coming to rest on your rips, just under your breasts.

“Let me help you with your decision-making. Let me enter your little cunny and stay there when I cum. Let my seed fill your womb once more.” His imposing frame loomed over you. Covering you like a blanket.

“What if the maester is right?” “The maesters are cunts who want to see me unhappy and you in doubt. They told you after Alyssa you could not carry another child. Two years later they said the same after Visenya.” He kissed your shoulder gently before his expressive violet eyes stared at you. “What is your body telling you?”

You bit your lip gently, A small rumble going through Daemon’s chest at your gesture. But he restrained himself. “I want another one.” You whispered gently.

A smile broke greater than before out on his lips, his dimples showing. “I will not let anything happen to you. The moment your body is resisting, I will get you moon tea or whatever is necessary.” You nodded gently.

His eyes darkened with lust. “Now before we can even discuss the pregnancy, we must make it happen.”

He lifted himself so his arms were on either side of your head. “Oh my sweet, I longed to fill up your little cunny. Seeing it overflow with my seed. Stuffing it back in.” He laughed gently as you shuddered.

With haste born of his pent-up desire, he ripped all of your clothes off your and his body. You gasped softly, scolding him for literally ripping your nightgown. “I never liked it anyway.” He mumbled against the skin between your breasts. Slowly moving down to your stomach.

He worshipped your body, caressing your thighs and hips. Squeezing the flesh around them, even gently nibbling on it.

He kissed each and every lightning-bold-like scar. Mumbling with every kiss a small thanks. These were the marks of his children. Evidence of your brave sacrifice.

He went further down. His lips ghosted over the soft locks, his eyes watching you heave out breaths of anticipation.

A loud scream ripped from your throat when you felt his tongue plunge deeply into your wet core. The eagerness of his lapping overwhelmed your senses. His nose ever so lightly brushed against your pearl. Teasing it to shoot lightning throughout your body.

You came undone. His tongue, nose and two of his digits working in tandem to torture you. And it worked. Your back arched off the bed. Loud cries of his name and pleas for him to stop accompanied your downward spiral into the abyss of your pleasure.

He stared down at you hungrily. His vibrant eyes were dark with lust. He looked every bit the dragon he ought to be. “Little rabbit.” He growled out. “Sweet, little rabbit. Trapped beneath the large dragon.”

He leaned down again. Like Caraxes would decent upon his pray, Daemon came down upon you. Devouring you once more.

He held your thighs wide open as he ploughed into you. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin rang through the room. His large hand wrapped around your delicate neck, softly pressing against it. Your breathing coming out in small pants.

“You should see yourself, little darling. My large hand is like a necklace on your throat. I can nearly wrap it around.” He chuckled darkly.

His words elicited shivers to run up and down your spine. This action causes your body to tense slightly. Daemon roared as he felt you squeeze his cock. “Seven fucking hells, woman! Do you want to kill me?!” He panted out. Driving his cock deeper inside you. The stretch is a familiar pain. But not too unpleasant. He had prepared you for him. And he would hate for you not to enjoy your coupling.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, sensual kiss. It was so different from the way his hips moved. So slow and loving. “I am not hurting you, am I, my little darling?” He whispered. You shook your head. “Nothing I am not used to from you.” He grinned, nipping at your lower lip, “That’s my good girl.” He whispered.

He picked up his pace. His hands on your thighs clawing into your skin. His knuckles are white. He groaned and grunted, looking down at you with an intense stare. Your own moans and cries mingle with his. Creating a symphony of pleasure.

He came with a roar of your name, his face buried into your neck. Panting heavily next to your ear. Your own climax is triggered by the feeling of being filled with his potent seed. Both your eyes closed in bliss.

He stayed inside you even as his member softened inside you. The grip on your thigh remains tight. Like he needed to be grounded by you.

Your arms wrapped tighter around his neck, softly caressing his head. He hummed gently, letting you know he loved what you were doing. “Do not dare to stop.” He mumbled gently into your neck. You continued with your caress. Softly petting him like he was a dog.

He fell asleep like this. His spent cock inside you, keeping his precious seed inside you. His body acted like a blanket. Your hand in his hair.

[notjustjavierpena]

Swelter

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This happened because the SAG Awards made me horny. I have no other explanation for my behavior, no other defence. Maybe that I was listening to ur dad by VIAL. Obviously also a huge thanks to @strang3lov3 for being the cutest love bug I know, and for putting up with my brainstorming sessions.

Summary: You have a crush on Sarah’s father. It is summer, it is hot, and you just want a cold drink.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, best friend’s dad, significant age gap (reader is 19-22, Joel is in his mid-40s), SEXUAL TENSION, bee stings, groping, voyeur to some degree, f masturbation, dirty talk, an endless amount of pet names, sexy play with a soda can, praise kink, car sex, daddy kink, fingering, unprotected piv sex, joel’s cock is huge in this, creampie, premature ejaculation, pussy eating, come eating, squirting

Word count: 6.8k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54233479

Swelter

A warm Texas breeze blows through the open window of Sarah’s childhood room, making the see-through pink curtains move elegantly from side to side. It hits your back right underneath your halter neck as you lay on Sarah’s bed, caressing your bare skin and making you think of him. You wonder if his hands would have the same effect on you because you find yourself shivering but not from feeling cold. He is somewhere here, and his daughter doesn’t even know that her best friend obsesses about that fact.

Sarah hasn’t changed her room since she was a teenager. She told you this the first time she brought you here, which is almost a year ago today. You were here last summer too, thrilled to be invited to spend a few weeks of your summer with a friend from college and you and her have been inseparable ever since, even if you are so different from each other.

You have your face in a woman’s magazine, propped up on your elbows so you can suck on a popsicle stick whilst turning the pages. There’s a page with the recipe for ‘The Best Fudgy Chocolate Cake Ever!’ next to a page on how to lose weight, and it makes you snort.

“What?” Sarah turns on her chair, pausing the video on her computer.

“What kinda woman are you? You can choose one, but only one. Don’t get greedy now!” You make a scratchy voice but then pop your ice pop in your mouth to hold up the magazine for her to see.

“Seriously? We can’t win,” she groans dramatically, “Chocolate cake always. I just want to be happy, and that looks like a serotonin boost.”

Suddenly, the door opens without any warning. It’s him. Mr. Miller. You quickly remove the popsicle from your mouth, not about to show him how your lips are stretched around the sugary snack. The open door causes a draft to blow the smell of his cologne your way, and it is intoxicating beyond your imagination because you relish in it in secret.

“Dad,” Sarah says with exasperation, “I thought being an adult earned you the privilege of more privacy.”

“It’s gettin’ colder outside now,” he states and ignores her comment, hand resting on the doorknob, “The Adlers need Mercy to be walked, and the pavement’s coolin’ down.”

“I walked him when I was fourteen,” she furrows her brow and you suppress a snicker, “I’m twenty.”

“Just ‘cause you’re grown, don’t mean you can’t do right by ‘em,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you say from your spot on the bed as Sarah fumes quietly, absentmindedly reaching to pull the short skirt of your dress down. He can probably see the start of your ass from how it has been riding up as you lay down on the sheets.

“Hiya darlin’,” he replies and you swear you can hear a restrained sound in his voice. He turns to Sarah again, “Get your butt off that chair.”

“Fine,” she follows through on her orders but still wants to argue, probably embarrassed at being ordered around by her father in front of her friend. She gestures to you, “And what about my guest?”

“She’s grown too, which means she can probably entertain herself the half hour you’ll be gone,” he dares wink at you, and blood courses through your veins.

“I’ll just get that assignment done while you’re out,” you reassure and try not to seem like your core is shaking.

“See?” Joel looks triumphant.

“You’d make a hell of a lawyer,” she deadpans at her father and walks past him.

When he closes the door and leaves you alone in the bedroom, you can feel your popsicle having melted, its syrupy water running down your fingers. You switch hands and suck the sticky fingers into your mouth. The action makes Mr. Miller’s image flash in your mind and you press your thighs together before getting up and finding your laptop.

You find that it’s near impossible to concentrate on proofreading your assignment in the tiny bedroom after just five minutes of being alone. It’s not that you can’t concentrate in the Summer heat but no matter what you do, your mind keeps circling back to Joel’s voice as he called you darling. It heats you more than the sun ever could, and with every tap on your keyboard, your mouth gets more and more dry.

Eventually, you push yourself to stand from your seat at the desk and make a decision to go fetch something to drink, and it is definitely not with the intention of accidentally bumping into Sarah’s father. Not even when you do not find Joel in the kitchen and decide to bypass it altogether to continue into the garage in hopes of being successful in your search for a drink (obviously).

This infatuation started last year. It took you about ten seconds - from walking into the kitchen and shaking Joel’s hand - to realize that Sarah was cursed with having him as a father. Firstly, he was outrageously handsome; always wearing washed-out t-shirts that clung to his shoulders, always smiling with teeth, sporting salt-and-pepper curls, and sometimes even shocking you by entering the kitchen with working gloves on. However, when he opened his mouth and spoke, a southern drawl dripped from his lips and made your whole body tense up. He was charming, respectful, and laughed at the right moments. Most importantly, he laughed at every damn attempt that you made at being funny, and while it was probably an attempt to be nice and make you feel at home, it spurred you on terribly to win him over at every opportunity.

Despite all that, those opportunities weren’t many. He was also cool enough to know that his daughter didn’t want him hanging around all the time, and so he spent many days either in the garden to mow the lawn in competition with the rest of the fathers down the street, in the garage to fix up some old truck, or with his brother, Tommy, and Tommy’s wife who always had some DIY-project going on.

Thus, the summer became one of tanning sessions in the garden, movies in Sarah’s room, stolen glances at Joel Miller whenever he came inside to quench his thirst after hard labor, and secret longing whenever he had kept away for too long.

One particular day last year, Sarah had failed to mention that her father would be home most of the last days you were in their house, and because he was always out, you were getting more and more comfortable with walking around in your towels post-showers or leaving the door unlocked when changing.

The particular event had happened in the morning when the house had been silent except for the kitchen where Sarah was preparing breakfast, using a large box of pancake mix and the whole fruit section of the local grocery store for topping. You had just showered, standing with your head in your suitcase to search for the last few pieces of clothing you had that were clean when there was a rap on the door and a pull of the handle not even a second later.

“Sarah, I need—“

You whipped around at the sound of a new voice entering the room. Your heart nearly burst out of your chest, feeling as though it was fighting its way out between your ribs as embarrassment began to flood your system. Even so, you stood too frozen to reach for something to cover yourself up.

Joel was in the doorway and dead silent, looking as if struck by lightning. Like earlier today, his hand had been resting on the doorknob and in the painfully short moment that the both of you were processing the situation, you saw that his grip tightened enough to whiten his knuckles.

And then it happened, the thing that had soaked you in forbidden desire and delicious excitement; his gaze had flickered down your body and taken you in for the briefest of seconds. His gaze had traveled from the hard peaks of your nipples to the shape of your hips and the softness of your young cunt.

“Fuck,” you heard him utter as he remembered himself and his self-awareness made you finally grab the top you were going to be wearing that day to cover up your quivering body. He slammed the door shut and spoke through it, “Christ, ’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Miller,” you promised but he was already gone. You immediately locked the door afterward to come so hard with two fingers on your clit that you had to hold onto the chair by the desk.

God, you want him to look at you like that again, want to tell him it is all for him. Now, as wrong as you know it is, you find yourself searching for an excuse to get him to ogle you and the chances are higher if he actually spends time with you.

“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you announce yourself as you enter the garage through the door in the kitchen. Joel has his head inside the hood of his truck, leaning over to inspect something that you wouldn’t understand anything about anyway. He grips the front side of the engine room to push himself to stand, closes the top of the hood of his truck, and turns around to face you.

“Hey kiddo,” he returns with a smile, “How many times do I gotta say to ya that it’s just Joel?”

“Alright, Mr. Miller,” you tease, “—I mean, Just Joel.”

You hear him laugh softly but you don’t dare look at him, afraid that you’ll spontaneously combust. He goes to the utility sink to wash his hands, saying nothing more and making you feel insane for coming apart in the silence.

“I’m just getting something to drink,” you explain when it becomes too much, “Sarah’s room is boiling hot.”

“That’s fine, take what you’d like,” he replies, and there’s a kind teasing in his voice. “But don’t touch the orange sodas. Those are mine.”

The concrete floor of the garage is cold on your bare feet as you pad across the floor where an old bottom-freezer refrigerator stands in the corner, humming in the otherwise quiet room. It has seen better days, and it seems like Sarah has tried to cheer up its weathered appearance by covering it in stickers and ugly magnets.

“Now I have to get one of those,” you giggle and pull the door open, scanning the contents and noticing that the sodas are on the bottom shelf. You hesitate for just a second, and then you choose to bend over instead of crouching down. Behind you, Joel Miller is completely silent.

In the beginning, it hadn’t been your intention to let the crush fester in your brain and turn it into something more but last week, during dinner out on the terrace, you had accidentally sat down on a bee and gotten stung on the back of your thigh. The cry you had let out had nearly made Joel tip over the table to get to you, his chair falling backward as he got up from his seat.

“Fuck! Ow ow ow!” You cried and hobbled around on the grass. The pain was unbearable but the shock only seemed to make it worse.

“Sarah, please get some ice and some antihistamines. There should be a bottle on my nightstand,” Joel ordered quickly and she rushed inside. He walked toward you, grabbing at your shoulders to ground you but his touch only heightened all other sensations. He dug his thumbs into you and your head swam, “Sweetheart, ‘tis just a bee, shh, calm down. I need to remove the stinger. Lemme see ya.”

“It really fucking hurts, Mr. Miller,” you said with a whine as he guided you to one of the loungers that Sarah and you had dragged out from the shed earlier that week.

“I know,” he finally let go of you so you could think just a bit more clearly, “Lemme take a look. Lie down on your front.”

You followed orders with the realization of how much you trusted his judgment, that he would treat you right, moving carefully because the flex of your thigh muscle was making the pain worse. The wooden lounger burned slightly against the front of your thighs, and you pressed your cheek into its slats while screwing your eyes shut.

The wood creaked behind you as he knelt on it with one knee and suddenly, his broad hand was perched on the top of your thigh in an attempt to keep your skin taut. You sucked in a breath but he only mistook it for more pain.

“It’s alright, sweetheart. I can see it,” his breath was slightly quicker but you didn’t want to jump to conclusions, “He really got ya right on your inner thigh. Hold on.”

Your eyes shot open when his thumb ran towards the innermost part of the back of your thigh, a sort of panicked arousal spiking from your chest and thighs. He paused for a second then murmured something, a swear word that you tried to take as frustration. There was a beat but then he cleared his throat, “Can you bend your leg a little? I wanna make sure that I get it on the first try.”

“How?” You asked stupidly. The image of how he would be looming over your backside made your heartbeat go down between your legs, “My dress’ll ride up.”

“Just bend the knee a little, pull it towards your chest,” he explained and cleared his throat once more, “On my life, I won’t look.”

So you did as he told you, and sure enough, your dress betrayed you by crawling slowly up to sit around your hip instead of the middle part of your thigh. You looked back at him when he started picking at the stinger with his nails, and you hoped that he would not notice your gawking at his concentrated expression.

A flash of the day he had barged in on you naked flashed in your mind because his eyes were so focused on not staring at you that you nearly whimpered when you saw his eyes flicker to the spot of dampness between your legs for no more than a second.

You had worn white cotton panties that day so they would not be seen through your dress. They were straining against your pussy in this position and all he had to do was reach out, and he’d find your clit poking against the fabric from how excited you were feeling.

He had had the perfect outline of your cunt, and it’s the same now as you bend over to get to the very bottom of the fridge, reaching for a cold drink that just happens to be his favorite. You know that he can see everything, and the worst is that you know he already has. Twice. The mere thought is so dirty that your heart starts pounding in your chest and sends heat through your already hot body, so you hurry to stretch to your full height again.

With a cocky grin that is mostly put on to hide your anxious excitement about what you have just done, you turn to face Joel and walk to stand in front of him and his car. His cologne fills your nostrils again, and the scent seems once again to have a direct line to your cunt because you have never felt more empty. In front of you, Joel’s jaw is clenched but other than that, he seems a lot more calm and composed than you.

That is until you jump onto the hood of the car and scoot back, letting your bare feet dangle out over the edge. You crack open the soda in your hand and take a sip that is a little longer than intended. The satisfying burn of the fizz grounds you in the warm climate, but it is even more heavenly as you tuck the skirt of your dress between your thighs so you can place the cold can there.

Joel shakes his head with a sigh but you know he is playing a game as much as you because he cannot help but crack a smile back at you, “You’re trouble, I knew it the second Sarah brought ya into my house.”

“Oh, whatever will I do?” You ask dramatically and lean back against the windshield.

“Go morally bankrupt?” He raises a brow. If only he knew what is going through your mind. You catch him looking at you in the fashion that you have craved when you sigh deeply and cause your chest to push out.

“Only that?” You take another sip and some of the contents spill down your chin in a thick, sticky trail due to the angle you’re sitting in. You reach up to wipe it away with your index finger and then dare to suck your finger clean with the intention of mimicking the way that you had licked it clean earlier when it had been coated in melted popsicle.

“Give it here,” he says. You lock eyes with him. However, your eyes widen slightly when he nods at the can and takes it from between your thighs. There’s electricity shooting through your nerves the second his fingers touch the fabric of your dress but they intensify to a dizzying degree when he takes a sip of the soda too.

Like a reflex, the sight of him drinking from the can that’s been nestled between your thighs makes your legs fall out to the sides. You’re worse than an obedient dog in your horniness, reacting the same way to the way he moves as it would to the sound of a bell ringing.

Your dress rides up slowly along your thighs, revealing your sweaty skin that feels sticky by now and Joel clears his throat after briefly looking down. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and when you realize the effect it has on the poor man, you grab the hem and pull upwards, “It’s so hot outside today. Don’t think I’ll ever get used to the heat here in Texas.”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he says and his face has got a pinker tint, pulse visible on the side of his neck. With his free hand, he grabs one of your knees and starts nudging your legs together again. He yanks your skirt down, “I know I’m always teasin’ ya but you can’t be doing this.”

“Jesus Christ, Joel,” you say with exasperation and move your legs out again, “It’s just very hot… and it’s not like you haven’t had a peek.”

“Hey now,” he leans forward to place the can of soda on the roof of the truck, “That ain’t a fair accusation.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” you reply, chewing on your bottom lip, “But you’re not denying it.”

“Don’t tryna make me look like the pervert here,” he scolds, taking a step towards you and causing your stomach to do somersaults, “I noticed the way you went real quiet when my hands were on you.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows in confusion, “Your hands were never on m–”

“Did that bee sting really hurt that much?” He clarifies. Oh, you think whilst he smirks with triumph. Something has switched in the air surrounding you, the atmosphere has become more daring, “Yeah, I saw her; your pussy wet f’me.”

It’s true. If you think about it too much, you can still feel your heartbeat in the places where he touched you, and the pulse is rapid and overwhelming. You can’t imagine what it'll be like if he touches you underneath your dress, even if it’s simply on the outside of your panties. The thought has your underwear starting to dampen, the fabric starting to stick to you, and make you painfully aware of the wetness between your legs.

“Did ya touch yourself after?” His eyes have darkened slightly. His pupils are dilating with desire for your answer, and you nod hesitantly, overwhelmed by the need to tell him everything.

“During my shower that you told me to take,” you confess and hear him make a sound low in his throat at the mental image, “I couldn’t stop myself— I wanted you so badly. The thought of you inside me...”

This is a crossroad, you realize, you’ve said your deepest secret of depravity. On one hand, you can bolt out the door or you can make a move to show him what you really came down here for. The latter is risky but Joel is so goddamn decent that you know that if he doesn’t want this - which you doubt is the case at this point - he’ll gently reject you and never mention it again if it means that his daughter will continue having a best friend.

However, as your mind races with scenarios of what could or could not happen in this moment, Joel pulls you back into reality as his hand, cold from gripping the can, rests on your knee again but this time, it doesn’t try to make you decent like before. Instead, it slides up under your skirt in such a slow motion that you find yourself holding your breath.

“Is this what’ll quiet down that mind of yours?” He asks in a low voice, eyes flickering from your face to down between your legs and back again, “If I take a peek more to get it outta our system?”

“What are you doing?” You ask as if you do not know. It’s your turn to be scandalized by bluntness, and you find yourself gripping his arm but not hard enough to signal that you do not want him to continue. You hope that he realizes that this is not you rejecting his advances.

“I ain’t doing nothin’ that you haven’t already silently begged me to do. Perhaps sometimes - and God help me, I will probably regret it - you just needa follow your instincts when a pretty girl like you has been sendin’ me heart eyes all week,” he almost sounds annoyed with you, and to stop yourself from being scolded, your hand loosens its grip on him until you remove it altogether. He smiles, “Good girl.”

“You shouldn’t—“ you feel a rush of blood to your head, adrenaline kicking in as your thoughts circle around the repercussions that this can bring. In all honesty, you had only walked in here to have Joel’s eyes on you but now, you are getting more than you bargained for and it is making you so turned on that your mind is clear and foggy at the same time. Boldly, you sit up on the car’s hood so you can reach for the buckle of Joel’s belt, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re damn right we shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he agrees immediately but doesn’t stop. His warm and rough palms skim further up your thighs until they settle by your hips, his thumbs teasing the elastic band of your panties. He starts to drag them down, the fabric nearly snapping in two when you barely register that you have to lift your ass to help him.

His fingers unintentionally caress your calves as he slides the underwear down to eventually pull them off your ankles and feet. The sensation makes your body wake up even more, a gush of wetness smearing your inner thighs and you know that you have to pull your dress up soon if you don’t want it stained.

In front of you, Joel reads your mind. He shoves the hem of your dress up as far as he can without a word with desperation in his trembling hands, and you move to let him bunch it up around your waist so he has a full view of what waits - and for long has waited - for him.

When your cunt is revealed to him, he groans like he is in pain at the sight of the slick shining on your soft youthful skin. You can see how hard he is in his jeans, cock straining against the zipper at the front of them.

He looks like he wants to touch but hesitates. The first sign of his inner conflict. You remember that he did say just a peek as if there’s an unspoken agreement that he is not to cross the line of touching what he shouldn’t want to have. It would definitely be a nuclear decision if he chooses to do it anyway. It makes you want it even more, and another gush spills from your glistening slit when you clench from excitement.

Joel swears under his breath, something that sounds like fuck it and it sets it in stone; he is going to ruin you for eternity right here on his car. He steps closer until your spread knees bump into his sides, and without saying anything you move to yank his jeans and briefs down, settling them around his hips with a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his fully hard cock. He is huge. So huge that your mouth starts salivating like you’ve already been fucked stupid and your walls try to clamp down on nothing. It’ll hurt. You want it to if it means that you won’t doubt if it ever happened tomorrow.

“Tell me you want this too,” he seeks your reassurance.

“So fucking badly, Mr. Miller— Joel,” you say without any hint of second-guessing in your voice. You scoot further forward on the car and lean back so he has better access, trying your best to be elegant in your messy state, “Please, want you in me.”

“Jeez, honey,” his breath shakes, “Already so eager. I haven’t even felt if she’s ready f’me.”

With one hand gripping your left thigh, he uses two fingers on his right hand to slide through your wet folds and you don’t think you have ever been this turned on for anyone; when he flips his palm upwards and shoves two fingers inside of you, you feel more arousal drip from your cunt and pool in his hand. The longing you have felt since you saw him for the first time finds somewhere to empty all its desire and desperation into, and you whine like you’re in a state of agony.

“Shhh…” he soothes and curls his digits inside of you until you think you might start crying, squelching cunt trying to pull him further into you as he fingers you lazily. Your gaze drops to how his cock twitches whilst standing in the air, “You’re grippin’ me so good, doll, can’t wait to fuck this pussy. Don’t cry like that. Be patient.”

“Please, I’m so—“ your palms are flat on the hood of the car, your mouth hangs open in ecstasy and you stare down at where his ring- and middle finger disappears repeatedly into you, “It’s yours, please.”

“I know it’s mine, don’t gotta say it, I know,” he coos at each of your whimpers, gets you worked up until you are just on the brink of coming, and then he moves quickly. He pulls his fingers out of you, smears his cock with what you’ve soaked his whole palm with, and leans over your gasping frame to nudge at your quivering hole.

When he finally enters you, the both of you gasp in unison. He struggles with it for a moment, rubbing the skin just below your belly button to make you relax because he is so much bigger than you had first anticipated, and such a tight fit that you think he might split you in two.

“Goddamn, you are tight,” he says through gritted teeth, “Feels fuckin’ amazin’.”

“Ah,” you feel like letting yourself turn into a drooling mess already, pulsating around him from the way your body struggles to take him, “Joel, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, honey,” he encourages, showing no signs of pulling out of you to free you from the burn of his girth. He growls low in his throat as you struggle with it, and you know it’s because your walls are clenching around him as you involuntarily move, “Stay still, let her get used to it.”

“It hurts,” you whine, sliding slightly on the metal underneath your ass. He presses his hips forward even further and causes you to whimper but in doing so, he holds you firmly in place by using his strong frame.

“I know but ya just gotta relax,” he goes on. He places one hand flat on the hood of the car and then places the other right on your hip, thumb going inwards to find your clit. It pulses under his finger, trying to find out whether to find the pain delicious or not.

When his thumb starts going in circles on you, your thigh muscles start to twitch and flex from burning desire instead of uncomfortable pain. He presses down a little to stroke your sensitive nub with even more determination and smiles at his success when a moan slips from your mouth, “That’s it, honey. Just enjoy this until you’re creamin’ on me, and then I can fuck her real good.”

Your walls start to flutter a few seconds after the first new round of pleasurable sounds leave you, and the more his finger moves on you, the easier it gets to take him because the pain turns into nothing more than a dull ache in the background of ecstasy. He has you breathing faster and faster, and in return, he starts moving his thumb up and down to make his touches more direct.

God, your clit is hardening underneath his torment. He stares at what he is doing, an occasional grunt leaving him from how you involuntarily squeeze his length, and you know that he can sense it, suddenly smirking to himself as you near your climax. He admires the sight of you, eyes glued to the way the hood of your clit has drawn back, “Babydoll, look at that. Such a pretty pussy, clit peekin’ out and all. Does she wanna come on my cock?”

“Please, yes, oh please,” you nod repeatedly, mouth hanging open in an o-shape and breaths coming out in small puffs. Your climax is within reach, and Joel looks concentrated as he more than willingly hands it over to you whilst buried deep inside of you. The concentration on his face is probably from keeping himself from spilling inside of you too soon, but God, he looks gorgeous as he determinedly strokes your cunt.

“Yes, yes, yesyesyes— oh God, I’m… fuck, I’m coming!” You shake with pleasure as he causes your pussy to spasm, your hands barely able to find out what to do and making you grab at both the metal underneath you with one hand and his wrist with the other. Your eyes are squeezed shut but you do not doubt that he is staring at you in awe as you come so hard that reality fades.

“Good girl,” he rasps, voice unsteady and hand hitting the hood of the car as the feeling becomes overwhelming, “Oh sweetheart, you’re choking my dick so g—“

He swears quietly and then loudly, and suddenly, his cool demeanor crumbles because he is spilling his load inside of you with a pathetic and strained grunt. His hips stutter slightly and warmth spreads slowly inside of you, mixing with your own arousal.

You look down to where the two of you are connected, feeling fucked out despite not even having had the chance to feel him move inside of you. His come has started to spill from you already, dripping obscenely from your cunt.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel say above you. He slips out of you and leaves you gaping and mewling for a second, starting to take a step back. You catch him with your legs before he is too far away, and he reluctantly steps close to you again. He looks embarrassed but gives you a smile to hide it, “Felt too good, honey. This pussy’s makin’ me all sweet on you.”

“I’m that irresistible?” You grin in your post-orgasmic haze, not really giving a crap about the lack of a proper fuck from how much dopamine is coursing through your veins.

Joel takes hold of your thighs as they are wrapped around your body and lifts them off of himself, “You’re makin’ an old bastard like me weak in the knees, so maybe. Hah! Comin’ too soon like a goddamn teenager.”

“I liked it,” you admit without hesitation, still basking in the sweet afterglow, “Made me feel sexy and powerful.”

He scoffs but can’t fight the smile on his face, “Now now, don’t get cocky on me. Crawl back a little, spread ya legs f’me.”

You giggle and do as you are told, presenting yourself to him on the hood of his car. You plant your bare feet on the metal, lay back against the windshield, and smile.

“Now look at that,” he tuts as he admires his work; white ropes of come dripping down from your slit and onto the surface beneath you. He lays both hands flat on the car and leans forward, and before you know it, his mouth is covering your whole cunt and he eats from you like he’s paid to do it.

“Jesus,” you groan, throwing your head back and grabbing onto the roof of the car with one hand whilst the other finds Joel’s hair. You tug and he moans against you, sending vibrations through your whole lower body and beginning the first stirrings of another high. You don’t think that you can take it, squirming just like you had done moments earlier.

Joel makes a sound of disapproval. He scoops his arms under your thighs until he can lay his hands on top of them, holding you tightly against his mouth and causing you to cry towards the ceiling when he makes your second orgasm approach so quickly that nothing in your brain makes sense except what he is doing between your legs.

The hand on the roof of his car goes to his head too. You slide your fingers on both hands through his hair until they lay at the back of his neck, and then you yank once more at the curls there. His tongue works at your clit, swiping back and forth over it until you think that you might see God.

However, it doesn’t stay there. Instead, it is replaced by his nose so that he can eat his own spill straight from you by dipping his tongue hungrily inside of you.

“Joel— holy fuck, you’re incredible,” you close your eyes to concentrate on your pleasure. Who knew that the man could fuck with his tongue? He is warm and wet inside of you, slurping pornographically until you are clean of any remains of his come.

You are just about to finish a second time when he halts whatever he is doing. He pulls back only a few inches so you can still feel his uneven breaths against your cunt.

“No! Please,” your eyes fly open, you cry desperately, and throw your head forward dramatically. You want to thrash but he still has your legs locked in his arms, so you decide to pull out the big guns and hope for the best, “Please, Daddy! Pleasepleaseplea—“

“What the fuck did you just say t’me?” He looks up at you but you are too busy screwing your eyes shut in agony whilst whining for more. He growls and releases one of your legs, “I was already gonna make you a happy young lady but now, I’m gonna make you come so hard your little brain goes dumb. See how it feels. Impatient girl.”

His hand goes between your legs. He turns his palm upwards and then shoves two thick fingers inside of your pussy like earlier, curling them slightly and then pumping them so quickly that blood starts speeding through your system a second after and your heart rate goes so fast that you know that you are just about to come.

“Joel, oh my— fuck!” You whimper.

“Wrong word,” he replies.

You correct yourself immediately because there’s no way he is stopping again to chastise you once more, “Daddy, oh I— mhmm, I’m gonna come for you. Don’t stop, please, please Daddy, pleasepleaseplea—!”

He responds just how you had liked: He closes his mouth around your swollen clit and sucks hard, finally severing all connection to your brain and you come so hard that you actually squeal. Joel groans against you, feeling you squeeze the digits he has buried deep inside you. He draws back his fingers, pressing upwards the whole way.

Clear liquid squirts from you the second he pulls them out. The gushes that follow are so intense that the leg he isn’t holding anymore shakes so violently that the metal rattles under you, the car staining with your come. He repeats the move again and again, over and over, and watches the steady trickle down the hood and onto the concrete floor that turns a dark gray.

Euphoria courses through your being as you come in a way that you have never felt before. Your limbs tingle as warmth spreads out from beneath your belly button, your cunt pulses with eager pleasure, and you sob through the waves that crash over you without giving you time to recover from the last. The whole room feels brighter and its colors more vibrant.

“Shh, baby, let it happen, feels so good, don’t it? That’s it,” Joel coos at you the whole way through, guides you through it when you barely know how to use your words. He has straightened to his full height again but you don’t know when, and he has slowed his fingers down to tease out a few aftershocks. You whimper feebly at each one, and when Joel seems satisfied with what he has drawn out of you, he covers your whole mound with his palm to soothe the feeling of overstimulation that settles.

“Soundproof,” he mutters, once again reading your mind when you come to your senses again and start thinking about your noise levels with furrowed brows and eyes flitting from him to the garage door. Your heartbeat has started to slow again, and the relief of knowing no one has been able to hear you makes you slump against the windshield and breathe deeply.

The remnants of your orgasm have made you smile, your body slipping into a deep state of satisfaction when the anxieties have been dispelled. Joel moves his hand up your lower body until it settles between your breasts, still covered by your dress. He caresses your heaving chest, looking at you boyishly for the first time, “You good? Didn’t cause any brain damage, did I?”

“You think this truck has ever seen action like that before?” You joke breathlessly.

“Probably ain’t the first time I disappointed a gorgeous lady in its presence,” he says with an apologetic smile, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Disappointed? You’re insane,” you stretch your arms above your head to get some of the last bits of euphoria out of your body, trying to ignore the way he has just called you a gorgeous lady. He probably means nothing by it. As your stretch peaks, you moan gently, “I came two times. Hard. I’m not complaining.”

“Just saying that I woulda liked to do it… properly, I guess,” he talks as he stuffs himself back into his underwear and pants, most likely trying to feel the least uncomfortable about mentioning his overexcitement. Automatically, he steps back when you jump off the car to adjust your dress.

“This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing,” you try to act casual as you say it but there’s no way you are accepting the best sex of your life to be a thing you will never have again, reducing it to a movie merely playing behind your eyelids as a cruel reminder of what is unattainable.

“And when would we have time for that?” He asks, zipping up his jeans. He wipes his hands on them, “We can’t, honey.”

“We just did,” you mumble, picking up your underwear from the floor. You turn the panties in your hands, just about to bend down to put them on before deciding against it. Boldly, you stand in front of him and stuff your sticky underwear into his front pocket; closest to his crotch. There are extra pairs in your bag in Sarah’s room. He can have these.

He looks down briefly and then finds your eyes. His jaw clenches as he weighs his words, “When?”

“Aren’t you driving me to the airport on Sunday?” You smile and kiss his cheek, and then you leave him, your soda in hand and a mess on the floor.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️