#no really though it felt wrong to be like yes it's bad
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yandere-yearnings · 3 days ago
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Sleeping....cuddling with sun...and then grinding against him 🤤 AHAHA my head is filled with sun 🧍‍♀️😇🥰🙏
I WANNA MAKE HIM FLUSTERED SO BAD WILL HE BE FLUSTERED FROM THAT??? being all peaceful and quiet and then outta nowhere I just feel like I wanna give him some loving and just ride him so he won't have to worry about a thing 😔☝️☝️ so I grind against him to initiate 🥰🥰 lemme do all the work for u babygirl 🤗🤗 leave it to me sunny hunny 💋💋
this ask has been sitting in my inbox for so long but i've been meaning to get back to it hhh sorry for the really late reply nonnie!! (and yes he would be super flustered😭🩷)
NSFW under the cut!
Humid nights never felt as peaceful as when he spent them with you. After the day had taken its toll on him, bones heavy feeling like he'd fall forever if you weren't there to catch him. Curled into you, like the second marking in a double inverted comma; chin to your head, back to his chest and his knees pushing up into the undersides of yours.
The heat was sweltering, had you writhing creases into the sheets, your clothes riding up, Sun's skin sticking to yours where his arm wound around your midsection. Neither of you were asleep, the minute hand of the clock kept ticking on the time past, until your restlessness ebbed and you eventually settled into your warm cage.
Silence made his steady breaths seem all too peaceful, removed him from the ever flustered man you knew — and you couldn't help the idea that came to mind in the quiet of the night. He'd finally gotten comfortable with you, enough to bury his face into your nape without imploding, but maybe you missed who he was months ago.
It wouldn't hurt, just to test the power you still held over him.
You stretched your legs out, innocent enough, and though his grip tightened ever so slightly, Sun shifted to accommodate. It had your heart brimming, almost made you smile at how cute his clinginess was. Hips pressed right to his pelvis, you relished in the choked up little sound he made when you moved, grinding right against a part of him that filled for you so easily.
"Y-Y/N..." he moaned, pretty, a symphony cascading with the muffled whimpers that followed. Your hand intertwined with his and he clutched it like a lifeline. "What are you- ah-"
You felt more than heard the shudder that ran through his body, vibrating against your spine deliciously. Whether it was because he was sensitive or because it was you, didn't really matter when you had him twitching and bowing against you.
"What was that, baby?" You cooed, salacious. "Couldn't hear you over how loud you're being."
"Please," he whined, "don't tease me, please, 'm gonna die."
With the way he'd gotten weak, you'd doubt that was a lie. Luckily for Sun, you were nothing if not constantly lead by your desire to indulge him when he begged. It wasn't difficult to hook your digits around his wrist, swiftly peeling him away and twisting so you were on top of him all at once — and pressed into the sheets beneath you, Sun was a masterpiece of a mess. Hair sprawled and chest heaving, blush heavier than you'd ever seen before as he looked up at you under lidded eyes.
One chaste kiss to the tears tracking down his cheek before you pulled away. Temperature a fever pitch that thrummed violently against your palms rested on his chest, you rocked, and his thighs quivered. Entirely fucked out for you despite the fact that this was barely anything, Sun's lips parted on a broken gasp of your name. Lovesick little pleas, over and over like they would endear you to him, make you cave, and that assumption wasn't wrong.
Flicking over his form once in appraisal, what your minuscule actions had reduced him to was enough to whet your appetite. You tugged at the waistband of his sweats, tongue darting out, licking your lips; a promise whispered, "gonna spoil you tonight."
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utilitycaster · 10 hours ago
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beau's backstory arc really does take 2 episodes and its not even motivated by beau. its nott why we even go up there. beau, like laudna does not desire to solve anything in her backstory. but unlike laudna she does have current goals (learning to people, learning to monk, impressing her teacher, her spy gig, just learning in general) and future goals (cobalt soul, mage rangling, kid having).
Correct...I'm not sure why you mentioned this? Like, I said as much as well, and that's not a problem because Beau has goals and interests, and she could have still had a meaningful story without visiting her family (though it certainly adds a lot).
With that said however this does feel kind of inadvertently an opportunity to point out the care with which Matt treated character backstory in the Mighty Nein vs. the lack thereof with Bells Hells. Beau said she was taken to the Cobalt Soul and her father paid someone off. She was on the run from her home with no reason to return and plenty of reasons to stay away.
In the Mighty Nein's story, not only is she carefully brought back to her home by a thoughtful interweaving of her and Nott's stories; Matt also looked at her cobalt soul backstory, said "does this match up with the Cobalt Soul as it exists in the world," came to a conclusion of "no, this isn't how the institution generally works," and had Dairon look into it, leading to a very satisfactory conclusion that happened without Beau's involvement but still meant a lot to her! Hell, you could even call it a consequence; Beau complaining about it all the time eventually got through to someone!
For Bells Hells, it was always just "YOUR abilities are ALSO kinda tied to the moon and/or you need THIS macguffin." The shards were nice but like...it felt this was a golden opportunity for Fearne and Ashton to serve as heirs to the titans in a re-binding or proper banishment of Predathos but in the end they were just essentially a variation on Cool Magic Items. Neither of them even did anything significantly Titan-related in the end; the But The Titans refrain meant jack shit. And you know, I felt that Imogen, Laudna, and Ashton's complaints about the gods rang hollow...but what if they hadn't? My argument was always "this doesn't match up with what we know of the gods from all other lore" but I think what is notable is that I wasn't proven right...but I wasn't even proven wrong. What if the gods had addressed this? What if Imogen being a Ruidusborn DID mean she was either beyond the reach of the gods/could not be heard or that they felt it was better she suffered? What if the gods feared what the Hishari had done in terms of resurrecting the titans? What if Ashton were textually unable to spend time in temples, rather than this just being theorized by people desperate to prove the gods were bad?
The problem is that, on some level, improv was barely happening. Matt didn't say Yes And or No Actually, he just sort of barrelled on with his original plans and world without addressing any of the things his players brought up (again, lack of consequences, good or bad) and so we have no real answers, Bells Hells do look like selfish jackasses because in the absence of new information I'm continuing to believe the old, certainly when the characters were so unkind in the end, and everything feels flat, unexplored, and dull as compared to the lively and rewarding and meaningful stories of Vox Machina and the Mighty Nein.
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maxcuntstappen · 11 months ago
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heyoheyo quick question i just started getting into f1. this race is the first i watched live while lurking on the tag here and is it always like this? the amount of hateful posts and anti this anti that stuff I've seen is crazy. i know it's sport and everythings competitive but im in other sport fandoms here and the atmosphere is much nicer when cheering for and respecting all athletes with the mutuals.
so yeah i guess i just wanna know if this is always the vibe before getting involved further. which would be sad cause the athletes and racing is very fun
hi anon <3 first of all, i'm so fucking sorry that this was ur first experience live blogging during a race. yest was a toxic whirlwind and i, despite having been part of f1blr for a bit, was quite downtrodden and mad about it.
i will say this. i personally believe it's not as bad as it was yesterday.
there are many reasons for this i think. to begin with, it was the first race of the season effect. everyone's been waiting n dying to see their fav on track and to have a good result and we also didn't really know how the teams would perform. so a lot of expectation -> a lot of disappointment -> mean things on tumblr.
people often find it easier to blame another driver than a whole ass team cause it's easier to direct the anger at a person than a concept which i think is what happened yesterday with multiple drivers.
it's not usually this bad.
but.
it is often quite bad. definitely worse than other fandoms.
i do think the racing makes up for it and that's why i've still stuck around.
ella and i were talking about it and the takes are definitely at its worse during the race and two hours after it.
once we pass that wave, things tend to calm down and we enter the funny text posts territory.
but if you do want to live post/scroll through it, i would stick to my own dash and avoid the main tags.
tumblr gives us the privilege of careful curation and i use that shit everyday. like i will check the bio and do a quick scroll thru each blog i follow.
i also have multiple tags (n blogs) blocked.
there are several people on f1blr who post amazing content and are so on top of updates. but they can be really mean in their phrasing. i don't follow them or block them cause i know that their content will reach my dash through my mutuals but their hot takes won't (especially the text posts where people rant in their tags, those tend to be the meanest).
despite all this, yesterday i spent a good amount of time unfollowing some mutuals. but as i said, i really do believe that f1blr was at its worst then.
there are definitely some blogs that are neutral/nice about the drivers/teams they don't support. these are some of my favourites;
@epylonia @cooali @liamlawsonlesbian @jussst-lurking
i know i have answered ur simple yes/no question with a WikiHow article but i really do hope that bits of it can be helpful to u and that if ur online n scrolling thru jeddah, u see more fun takes than hurtful ones
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hedge-rambles · 9 months ago
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So "not quite the thing" is a slightly archaic British idiom, which is a feature of the Fifth's speech patterns it seems, and it means that something is not appropriate or socially acceptable, or historically not healthy or normal. Saying Silas and Ianthe were "never quite the thing" can be taken to mean "There's something seriously wrong with those kids" or possibly like "They have bad personalities".
And also yeah actually, thinking about the ghosts that were there and having to deal with the whole Situation. You've got:
Dulcie - a necromancer who's been dreaming of excitement her whole life and wants to get messy.
The Teens - Abigail put a stop to that as fast as she could.
Marta - a seasoned soldier, at least somewhat experienced in dealing with combat, death and high pressure situations.
Pro - former soldier at least, and remarkably stoic.
Silas - had his religious worldview seriously rocked and then found himself trapped in some sort of exotic new heresy, with that murderous little bone nun, and noped out.
Ortus - not exactly prepared for this, but it's realistically only like the fifth worst thing that's ever happened to him.
Abigail - foremost researcher in the study of ghosts and the River, she's having a fucking blast, like, guys! She's in the River! Top notch research opportunity!
And then there's Magnus - a bureaucrat who went to a scientific conference with his wife and got brutally murdered, now in a fucked up replica of said place dealing with an armed and invulnerable maniac on a killing spree.
No one is exactly in their element there (except maybe Abigail) but Magnus is so many levels of Out Of His Comfort Zone it's unreal. And his darling wife, his rock, is probably not helping by being fucking jazzed about the whole thing.
Can we talk about Magnus in Harrow the Ninth? Because there's a tendency to paint him as this constantly cheerful figure and he's not - he's just very Fifth.
He's the only person who seems even slightly upset about the whole gun-toting horror thing:
“Did the Sleeper get them?”
“Only by assumption,” said Harrowhark, while Abigail’s dolt of a husband said, “I bloody hope so.”
“Magnus,” Abigail said, a touch disapprovingly.
“Well, if the Sleeper didn’t, that’s two maniacs with an ancient weapon and a love of blowing off faces, dear,” said Magnus.
And he's got a very low opinion of Silas:
"She won’t tell me what he said to her, just that he ‘was horrid.’”
“Cheeky little so-and-so,” said Magnus. “If he were my son, I’d give him something to think about. I’m not surprised he’s gone to ground.”
“I would hope your son might be of different character,” said his wife, half-smiling.
“Protesilaus should have biffed him.”
“It’s strange,” said Abigail, ignoring her husband’s exhortations to biffing.
Behind the jolly Jeeves and Wooster-esque talk of biffing people, let's remember that this is Magnus - who from Gideon's POV never saw a teenager he didn't want to adopt - earnestly wishing that a grown man had hit a 16 year old kid.
And when Harrow explains that she thinks she saw him jump to his death, Magnus isn't particularly sympathetic:
“We should have made him a greater priority,” said Lady Pent.
Magnus said, “I’m not certain.”
and
“We didn’t need him,” he said bracingly.
Abigail said, “We need everyone.”
“I never thought he was quite the thing.”
This "never quite the thing" line is the same one Abigail uses when she says Ianthe shouldn't have become a Lyctor and you get the sense it has a quite specific meaning on the Fifth. You get the distinct feeling Magnus is saying "good riddance" in response to a teenager's apparent suicide.
And then of course there's Magnus' conversation with Harrow as the River bubble collapses, as Harrow debates whether she should leave her body to Gideon:
She said: “If I go back, it will finally destroy her soul.”
It was Magnus who stepped forward and looked at Harrow face-to-face. And perhaps she felt that more keenly: that he was the man who had, in Gideon’s own words a lifetime ago, been nice to her cavalier. His mouth was hard now, but his eyes were as kind as they had ever been. And kindness was a knife.
He doesn't pull any punches in laying out his understanding of the situation to Harrow:
“This whole thing happened because you wouldn’t face up to Gideon dying,” he said, which was a stab as precise as any Nonius had managed. “I don’t blame you. But where would you be, right now, if you’d said: She is dead? You’re keeping her things like a lover keeping old notes, but with her death, the stuff that made her Gideon was destroyed. That’s how Lyctorhood works, isn’t it? She died. She can’t come back, even if you keep her stuffed away in a drawer you can’t look at. You’re not waiting for her resurrection; you’ve made yourself her mausoleum.”
His wife looked at Harrow’s face and murmured, “Magnus, you’ve made your point,” but he uncharacteristically ignored her.
He's trying to get through to her in a very fraught situation, but he's certainly not pulling his punches:
“You’re a smart girl, Harrowhark. You might turn some of that brain to the toughest lesson: that of grief.”
Abigail is also trying to talk her out of things, but she's much more discursive and apologetic. Magnus is kind, but it's kindness as a knife, not a cushion.
Magnus is so often written off as just a silly, goofy character, when he's more complicated than that. He's allowed to have a very real frustration with the River bubble and with Harrow, however much he does also care for her and want to help her.
And you know what, he's a CFO stuck in a horrorscape with his delighted ghost nerd wife and a bunch of soldiers. He runs with it - he cracks one of his House ordinal jokes while physically tackling a gun-toting ghost and makes a decent go at it before getting shot. But he's very much out of his comfort zone, angry, and no longer entirely held back by propriety.
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gutsby · 18 days ago
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Father Figure
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Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: Parents’ Weekend looks a little different this year with Joel showing up in the place of your father.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Dad[dy] kink. Age gap. Oral (m!receiving). Premature ejaculation (Joel cums in his pants while he’s kissing you AS REAL LOVERS DO). Drinking and drug use. Gratuitous dad rock references.
Note: We all saw that video. This was begging to be written.
Another note: For a more immersive read of the pregame, listen to my freshman year Kegs & Eggs playlist (yes, it sucks).
Word count: 19.0k
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6
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Freud would’ve had a field day with this shit.
Really, there was no sane explanation for the obsession that seized you and your friends come Parents’ Weekend every year. But there it went. Again. Like clockwork, all the forty- to fifty-something fathers arrived for their first meal on campus. Like the cock-starved coed she was, your roommate bumped your shoulder as you walked and nodded to the first set of families approaching the dining hall. Out of the pack, you spotted four grey heads.
“Would, would, would, and would,” Aly observed, almost clinically. Her strides were long and resolved in their path
“That one could get it.” Her brother shrugged on your other side. He tipped his chin up, then added: “Look.”
And look you did. The batch of men, women, and all their college-aged children struck you as little more fun to ogle than your average wall of paint waiting to dry. Though the moms and dads were, admittedly, the kind of attractive you rarely saw outside an L.L. Bean magazine—as were all the rest of the kempt and polished crowd that populated your school—you were hungry as fuck. You’d agreed to join your roommate’s family for the kickoff banquet of the weekend, and you needed food. On top of that, you’d sworn off middle-aged men forever.
Aly and her brother didn’t know that, though, so you played the game and trudged ahead. When a handsome blue-eyed man born in 1970-something stood back and held the door open for your trio going in, you had to fight back a smirk at the look Aly gave him after thanking him.
“Oh, he wanted me bad,” she hissed once safely inside.
“Looks a bit like Rob Lowe,” you offered noncommittally.
“What about your dad? Is he gonna be here tonight?”
That last fragment of conversation had come from Aly’s brother, and the curiosity in it was sincere. Then he’d wiggled two dark brows your way and said he bet your dad was a silver fox like no other, and you’d had to roll your eyes before strolling into the wide open dining area. You were late; the food, evidently, was all already served.
“My dad’s at home with a broken femur, so…no,” you answered slowly. Starting to weave your way through a sea of round tables and following Aly’s lead as you did, “Probably not your type. Just old. Very embarrassing.”
You stuck your index in your mouth and pantomimed gagging, and the sophomore beside you just laughed.
“Yeah? Desperate, too?” he challenged.
“Pathetic, really,” you replied.
For a second, you felt a pang of guilt at the way you were describing your father. Surely he couldn’t deserve being characterized like that. Then you recalled how he’d boned your mom’s best friend while he was married, had never really made amends after the fact, and was still fucking said mistress’s brains out on the reg to this day.
You’d done plenty of wrong behind his back, to be sure, but that kind of took the cake for fucked up betrayals. He could stand for a little bit of ribbing every now and then.
Presently, Aly was paving the way straight toward a pair of bright and beaming faces at a table near the back.
“Our parents named us after a goddamn Grateful Dead song and the city they first saw the band in concert. Nobody does pathetic better than Scott and Michelle.” She waved her arm in a wide arc and grinned over there.
And you would’ve gladly countered that no, that actually makes them very fucking funny and cool, but the chance to do that was gone in a moment—the next had you approaching their table and meeting with big hugs.
Even for you, who had never seen these people before in your life, there was a warm welcome. You got long, suffocating embraces and cheery greetings of, ‘Oh, you must be Aly’s roommate!’ and ‘We’re sorry you got stuck with our shithead kid’ before you had a grin plastered on again and were being ushered to sit down.
You took note of the little placards opposite each chair, counted four, five, six of them altogether, with an empty spot beside your own, per usual, and you took your seat.
“Dallas, honey, I love you,” the woman across the table, Michelle, said with all the restraint she could conjure up, “I love you to pieces, but what the hell are you wearing?”
That steered the conversation in a decidedly light, playful direction from the start, with Aly’s brother defending his decision to be decked out in full school-sponsored athleisure tooth and nail. He’d been recruited to play lacrosse, so naturally, wearing the far-too-tight crimson lycra was all part of the deal. Aly insisted that he just wanted to show off the biceps he didn’t have, Scott hypothesized it was the crisp, wintry Boston air that had made his son dress like a total douche, and Dallas tried bringing the inquisition to a speedy end by lifting one middle finger up and flipping his napkin into his lap.
“Fuck you guys, I’m hungry,” he declared, emphatic. Fighting the urge to laugh along then grabbing a fork.
Just as fast as he’d picked it up to dig in, though, his mom was slapping the silver utensil out of his hand.
“Not yet,” she chided.
“Why? We’re all here,” Dallas groaned.
“Because,” his father returned, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin before casting a quick look around him, “We’re still waiting on one more to join us. See?”
With that, Scott nodded toward the card next to you, and immediately, your cheeks warmed. You shook your head, mouth working a little less fluidly than you would’ve liked as you piped up and told them—assured them all, rather:
“My dad’s not coming. He got a little, uh…hurt at work.”
And you were certain that would be the end of it. You’d just moved to grab a fork yourself, eyeing the plate full of food in front of you then, when another hand stopped you on the spot. It was Aly beside you, grip insistent as she gave your wrist a little shake, and in your periphery, you could see her tilt her head the opposite direction.
She was staring, silent—totally unlike herself.
Normally when something crossed her path nearby to make her twist her whole fucking neck to get a glimpse, it was followed by a dry remark. A comment, a compliment, or a lewd invitation to fuck me, please.
While the last of the three clearly wasn’t an option to use around her parents, you at least would’ve expected to hear something. When nothing came, you turned your head too, having just snagged a bite of roast beef on your fork and shoveled it in before looking that way.
You followed her gaze and nearly inhaled the food.
With a startled gasp and a ‘Christ!’, your eyes widened to find a man who wasn’t your father at all—just his best friend and your ex-fuckbuddy, Joel Miller, walking over.
It was a sight you weren’t prepared to see in a million years. What the everliving fuck this man was doing two thousand miles from Austin, Texas, on your college campus, striding into the very first meal of Parents’ Weekend, looking like that, was so far beyond your comprehension you couldn’t speak. You just stared and sucked in the sharpest, strangled breath, fought back a cough, and tried not to die swallowing a cube of meat.
From the way that man was approaching you now, asphyxiation might not be the worst, you thought idly.
Joel’s here.
Joel’s here, and he’s wearing slacks and a button-up.
Joel’s wearing business casual, and he’s walking over.
Who the fuck does this man even think he’s trying to—
“Sorry I’m late,” Joel cut in, smile bright and easy on his face. Then, stepping behind your chair, leaning down:
“Hey, sweetie. How are ya?”
He kissed the top of your head.
The tone sealed his fate completely.
Joel was pretending to be your father.
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This wasn’t his brightest idea.
Call him sick, insane, selfish, besotted, or rotten straight down to his core, Joel Miller was no longer one to care. He had a goal in his head. Less than a week ago, you’d left him high and dry in Austin after having told him you loved him—in the middle of climax, but aloud, no less—and the month before that, you’d left him again. Back to college, where you could happily pretend he didn’t exist.
Tonight, he wasn’t letting that happen. This weekend, Parents’ Weekend, was of course reserved for families, but Joel knew your father wasn’t coming. He knew you wouldn’t be expecting your dad or anyone else to be there, and since you’d taken to the usual course of ignoring all his calls and texts, he felt he’d had no choice.
You couldn’t stay closed off like this forever.
Eventually, you’d both have to reckon with what this was and how to move forward, or the mess of the last month would never change. You would never believe he saw you any differently from a one-off hookup or a taboo outlet of pleasure. And if that was all you saw him as, so be it. But he had to get the truth of it out now, one way or another.
Even if he had to roleplay the father figure and play the most fucked up game of paternal charades known to man, he’d get the answers he needed this weekend.
You were good at games. Unfortunately, Joel was better.
He’d take this fake-out to the max and be the best faux father you’d never asked for. Maybe you’d hate him for it.
As he’d squeezed your shoulder and sat down beside you at the table, felt your gaze heavy and stunned on his, he also couldn’t help but hope you might still love him after.
“Scott Ingram. Pleasure to meet you.” The broad hand had been extended his way before he was even fully seated. The face across from him was kind. Intrigued. Tinged with a faint trace of curiosity, “So you’re dad?”
“Stepdad, yeah.” Joel had had to leave a bit more room for plausibility before he’d made his formal introduction.
Then he’d met Michelle. Aly. Dallas. The latter two more piqued with interest than the first, as though unsure of what they’d just been told, but willing to go on anyway.
“Old and pathetic my ass,” Dallas had murmured your way, low enough for Joel to know those words were meant for only you to hear. You stiffened in response.
“So glad you could make it up! Is your leg doing better?”
Aly had smiled warmly over at him, and Joel had only hesitated a second. Then he remembered his friend.
“Oh, my— yeah. Just…peachy. Yeah. All healed up.”
He didn’t flit a look to you; he could feel the searing imprint of your gaze and the way you hadn’t bothered to hide your frown when he’d referenced the leg he’d never broken. The way you could’ve pulverized the napkin in your lap to dust from how hard you were squeezing it in your fist—you didn’t like to admit it, but that was your nervous tic, and Joel knew it well. He propped his elbows on the table and didn’t miss the way a head turned his way from a neighboring group. Then another. He hated every starch white button-up he owned with a burning passion, but he couldn’t deny this one was eye-catching.
Not that it mattered, really, because the only glossy gaze he cared to snag was presently nailing him with daggers in its path. Still, it was a comfort to know he’d make a good-looking corpse if that look of yours ever did kill him
“Oh, my, my, oh hell YES—”
The sing-song trill of a baritone beside him roused him from his trance. He looked over and saw Scott grinning.
“—honey put on that pa-a-a-a-a-arty dress!”
It was Michelle that finished the line for him, while they both bobbed their heads along to the Tom Petty song blasting overhead. Evidently, dad rock would be alive and well all weekend. Joel wasn’t mad to see that happen.
“You a Tom Petty fan?” Scott jerked his chin up to him.
Before he could answer, though, Michelle interjected:
“I’d say he’s more of a Simon & Garfunkel guy.”
Whatever the hell that meant. Joel smiled.
“Mom, Dad. Please stop,” Aly moaned.
“Seriously.” Dallas’s mouth was full.
And, just as he fought to swallow the heaping glob of food he’d just crammed in, his dad snapped his fingers.
“No, I know it! You’re a Billy Joel man, Joel. No doubt.”
Joel blanched as white as the shirt on his back. You coughed. He hadn’t even noticed you’d chanced a bite of food beside him, but now you were sputtering—choking on a morsel of beef or mashed potatoes or something—and he didn’t think twice. He pivoted right to you and dropped a hand on your back in the space between your shoulder blades. He patted you twice, eyes a little wider.
“Hey, you OK?”
Fleeting memories of a night not too long ago flashed through his mind: driving town by town, state after state, blaring Billy Joel extra loud in his Bronco with you riding shotgun. It had been something special between you then. Now, your gaze was on him like you despised him.
“I’m fine,” you answered, tone clipped.
You shrugged his touch away. Joel blinked back to Scott.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he said, thoughts occupied by you all the while, but he reckoned it was something his neighbor had wanted to hear, because he saw a satisfied little smile cross his lips, ‘I told you, Michelle.’
“Everybody likes Billy Joel, dad.” Aly rolled her eyes.
And Joel would’ve liked to look your way again. Maybe dropped the fatherly moue for half a second and flashed an apologetic look shared just between you and him. But then the conversation shifted; the whole table began to eat, more pleasantries and questions about home life and backgrounds followed, and all the talk from there converged on where they were planning to go out after dinner—how they’d make the very most of Parents’ Weekend. You sat back and ate in silence, mostly. You wouldn’t meet his gaze for even a moment, and when you rose from your seat to get another drink, Joel felt himself stand too, as if out of habit. He hadn’t meant to.
It hadn’t been his intention to follow you out of the dining area, strides swift to try and keep up, but he did.
It hadn’t been his goal to corner you by the soda dispenser, either. Away from the eyes of everyone else, or at least in a private enough space not to be seen by too many people, Joel felt a little more at liberty to talk. He lowered his voice and drew even closer then to speak.
“Sweetheart—”
You’d filled a cup halfway with water. As soon as he’d said that word, ‘sweetheart,’ you turned and chucked its contents directly in his face. Liquid splashed up at him, and for a second, Joel had only to stand there with his eyes closed and his body completely frozen in place.
Water dripped in silence before he wiped at his chin.
At the same time, you were tossing your cup aside.
“Don’t you dare fuckin’ call me that,” you growled.
Then, shortly: “What the fuck is your problem?!”
Honestly, he didn’t know. He opened his eyes.
And, just as he raised both hands in a semi-conciliatory kind of gesture, you scowled and backed away from him.
“You’re sick, Joel. Pretending to be my goddamn da—”
“I know. I know,” Joel winced as he spoke, wrinkles no doubt creasing even deeper along his face as he saw yours fall. You weren’t happy to see him in the slightest. “I know it’s fucked up. I just…needed to talk to you, hon.”
“About what?!”
He could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. He wanted to cup them in his hands, or else kiss the frown off your lips in a way that would be totally inappropriate for a stepdad to do, but already, he sensed his resolve was eroding. It didn’t matter, anyway, because you weren’t letting him get within an inch of you, based off your look.
“Darlin’,” Joel sighed, “There’s just so much—”
Of course, the next moment was punctured by a voice. His words were cut short; you were both forced to turn.
“It’s all settled now,” Aly declared with cheery conviction. She snagged a cup and started filling it up with Sprite, “Pregame at Dallas’. Seven Oaks after. Lucky’s after that. Maybe a brief intermission at The Alley, if you’re up for it. Afters at A.J.’s, probably. Depends what the vibe is like.”
Joel had barely processed half of what was said, and it still sounded like a lot from where he stood. He blinked.
Then Aly’s eyes fell to his collar, and she lifted a brow.
“You got a little…drinking problem there, Joel?”
He glanced down at the mess on his shirt and tried to smile with her. It was hard to fight the color jumping to his cheeks simultaneously. He scrambled for the words.
“Oh, uh—”
“Dad’s real smooth with it,” you cut in, suddenly, like the paternal moniker was nothing at all. You didn’t look back, “I’m fine drinking wherever. Your parents coming, too?”
Aly’s grin stretched even wider. It looked devious.
“They wouldn’t miss this bingefest for the world.”
At just the intonation of those words, Joel’s pulse sped up. He saw a knowing look pass between you and your roommate, and in a second, he sensed he was fucked.
He really shouldn’t be drinking tonight.
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A hundred shots probably wouldn’t have been enough to kill it—this ringing in your head hurt like a motherfucker.
Joel wanted to talk.
Of course he wanted to talk.
Just on his terms, on his time, with your closest friends and their family members all assuming he was your dad.
Because that made a lot of fucking sense.
You’d meant to split from Joel the second you showed up. Dallas’ off-campus house was many things, but small and quiet were not among those descriptors, and you planned to use all of its space to your advantage tonight.
Simply put, the place was a glorified playground for college degenerates. Afforded the distinct honor of housing eight members of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity in 2,700 square feet for over fifty years, the Craftsman home was no small wonder to anyone who saw it standing today: the house was shit. Dallas loved it.
You’d enjoyed it, too, for at least the first year or two of college. Then you’d wisened up to the antics of a few too many numb-skulled Pikes, got tired of listening to the same ten tracks being blasted in your ears every other weekend, and decided you’d just stick to the bar scene, where at least patrons were prohibited from standing on elevated surfaces and breaking bottles over their heads.
When Dallas rushed, and eventually joined the fold last year, you’d been hesitant to go back. Then, when he’d promptly decked the first guy who tried dragging you up onto a table with him, you figured you could safely visit again and not have to worry while your friend was there. The kid did a pretty good job of weeding out assholes.
“My lady.” He stood and bowed before presenting you with a fifth of Pink Whitney like it was the finest wine.
The bottle was half empty. You’d been passing it back and forth for the last hour in between rounds of pong.
“Been sayin’ shit like that ever since he saw Gladiator II.” His housemate Cory called from closeby. He flicked his wrist once and sank his shot in the second to last cup.
“You are not General Acacius, brother,” Cory’s teammate Pete chimed in. With a lucky throw of his own, he hit the final Red Solo cup and shook his head like it was nothing.
You were all on the third floor, away from the noise downstairs. While the so-called ‘pregame’ surged ahead on first, in the basement, and outdoors, you’d managed to find relative quiet among eight or nine friends and acquaintances, plus a guy railing lines off a frisbee in the corner. Nobody knew where the fuck he’d gotten it from.
“I like to pretend,” Dallas said with a shrug. Then, once you’d taken a swig of the pink drink and handed it back: “My parents play next. Gavin, put the coke away, please.”
Gavin sniffed the air at least four times like he had a cold. Then he tucked his credit card back in his wallet, put the wallet in his pocket, and knocked the frisbee on the floor.
‘Yessir’ was all you heard before he was leaning back contentedly. The girls Cory and Pete had just played seemed equally indifferent as they sauntered off—likely looking to get their hands on whatever the hell else the redhead had in his jeans and quick to forget about the game. Blow was way too easy to spread at these parties, and clearly, no one gave a shit about redemption round.
“Gavin.” Dallas’ tone was a warning.
At the same time, his housemate had just snagged an ID where it was left on the table and held it up to the light.
“Hang on, it looks like this guy, uh…” Cory squinted to read the text on an apparently too-old driver’s license. “Looks like he called dibs on next round…Joel Miller.”
Your grip tightened on the spot. You said nothing. Cory was just then starting to remark that this dude’s the spittin’ fuckin’ image of that one guy from Game of Thrones, Dallas, come look, when the door to the room swung open, and in walked the man of the hour himself.
Joel was joined by Scott, Michelle, and a horde of others.
Well, maybe five in total. They were all freshmen girls.
Giggling, grinning freshmen girls who were quite literally hanging off his body on either side, or else trailing behind him, admiring him like he was the single greatest thing.
Where were all their fathers? That was your fake dad.
Christ, that sounded bad, and you hadn’t even said it.
When Dallas offered you the bottle again, you declined. You were more than just buzzed. And Joel was drunk.
Apparently.
And was he—well shit, were they trying to strip him?
One of the bubbliest girls from the group was tugging on Joel’s shirt. Three buttons were already undone, and a smooth, tanned patch of flesh glistened through the ‘V’ in the fabric. He’d been working up a sweat downstairs.
A sea of black-and-grey hairs peeking out through the trough of cotton was the last thing you saw before you had to look away. It was too familiar. And there you saw some girl fresh out of high school, feeling him, teasing at the material while she bounced on the balls of her feet.
“You are so lying!” she slurred, voice pitchy and shrill.
What was worse, you couldn’t even fault the girl for it. That had been you just a few short years ago, hadn’t it?
Beside her, her friend snagged his sleeve: “Show ussss!”
Scott and Michelle had approached the table where Dallas was setting up the cups for the next round and you were trying not to stare. You reckoned you were failing pretty miserably at the task when the next thing Mrs. Ingram did was lean in closer to you and whisper.
“Real hot commodity with the girls, isn’t he?” It was soft.
She was right.
You forced your gaze to your feet, pretending to assess the wet and sticky mess underneath them. You hummed.
“Yup. Real ladies’ man,” you answered quietly. Strained.
“They’re convinced he’s got some ink hidden under his shirt. That’s a creative way to get a man topless if I’ve ever seen one.” Scott chuckled next to you, tone teasing.
Something twisted in your chest, though you couldn’t quite place what it was. It hardly felt like jealousy at all—but that was worse, somehow. Joel was your stepfather in every other mind but yours and his, and here he was, soaking in all this attention that you couldn’t give to him.
Maybe that was for the best.
Joel deserved a woman he didn’t have to love in secret.
“OK, who’s up—Joel or mom and dad?” Dallas asked.
“I’m out. Joel can take my place. And don’t we—”
Pete snapped his fingers, then pointed at Cory.
“We forgot to grab the other keg, didn’t we?”
“Fuck me.”
“Let’s go.”
They were gone in a second. That left Joel, Scott, Michelle, plus one open spot. Dallas set the last cup.
“Who’s gonna be Joel’s partn—”
“ME!”
That had to have come from three girls, at least. One on the couch and two more on either side of Joel, along with a slew of hopeful looks from others in his orbit.
They’d dispersed some, thankfully. Though not physically clinging to your pseudo-stepfather and begging him to peel off his shirt, they stayed close.
One of them giggled and nudged her friend: “Maya can!”
The girl who’d just been playing tug-of-war with the front of Joel’s button up waved her hand in mock indignation.
“I suck at pong. You go, Claire,” she crooned.
It was clear from the sideways glance the first girl had flashed that she wanted Joel to protest. Maybe insist that she play anyway, if you had to guess. It was all so confusing—what with how this group was flirting, and fighting, and insisting simultaneously that they couldn’t possibly play, even though they’d like to, but maybe…
Your skull started ringing again.
You were just about to turn to leave, when Dallas cut in:
“Sorry, ladies. Gonna be a Daddy-Daughter duo tonight.”
Then he gestured to you, beckoned to Joel, and grinned. Your stomach could’ve plunged to that floor you’d just been pretending to study. You quickly jerked your head.
Even Joel, for all his calm and unaffected dealings, the pretty damp mop of hair hanging in ringlets against the sides of his face, and the way he kept pretending not to be concerned by the flock of girls, had to pause a beat. You saw his throat work. Before you could try and decipher the look that was crawling up his face, you made the split-second decision to interject yourself.
“No, Dallas. I’m not playing again.”
You tried to avoid grinding your molars.
This time, the tone he heard wasn’t one of a thinly veiled acceptance—something begging to be disputed when it tried to decline the offer—but instead an emphatic ‘no.’
No way were you playing another game with this man.
Joel already had your head fucked ten ways to Sunday by being here at all, and now you had to pretend to be platonic, his goddamn beer pong partner, while a gaggle of freshmen girls sat frothing at the mouth for his dick?
Yeah, but no.
Hard fucking pass.
You didn’t care what it looked like. You shot Dallas a look, grabbed a stray Solo off the table, and made your way to the door, calling something over your shoulder about being too tired to play, and offering your spot to Maya.
That should make your old man happy enough.
It wasn’t like he could do anything here with you.
And then you left. Before you did, though, you passed Gavin and the mysterious white bag he was starting to fish out of his pants, and without thinking, you grabbed his hand. You didn’t like doing coke, had never seen the point in taking your level of intoxication that far out on an ordinary night, but, all things considered, this evening was anything but normal. You deserved some relief. If that couldn’t come in the form of Joel packing all his shit and leaving, then so be it. But you weren’t about to hang around and play the nice and polite stepdaughter when all you wanted to do was scratch your fucking eyes out.
A few lines wouldn’t be the worst way to start the night.
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Joel wasn’t drunk.
He wasn’t tipsy, either.
And even if he had been, he wouldn’t have appreciated the way this hazel-eyed firecracker had nearly crushed his toes from how hard she’d jumped up and down at hearing you abdicate your position. Maya had shrieked, and Scott and Michelle hadn’t been able to fight back smiles, and trying not to wince too hard, Joel had politely excused himself. He’d claimed that he needed some air.
The oxygen he found down the hallway a few minutes later was stale as shit, but he couldn’t exactly complain.
He’d asked for this, after all: the thumping bass, shaking floors, passageways that reeked of weed and cheap perfume, and girls that refused to let go of his neck.
Well. He hadn’t asked for that last thing.
Thirty years ago, he might’ve found it cute—what Maya and Claire and every other glossy-gazed Phi Mu seemed to be offering with every bat of their lashes. Now, if the arms latched around his throat weren’t yours, the idea just made him sick. He cleared his throat and walked.
And before long, his feet had carried him to the end of the hallway. Where in the hell had you gotten off to?
Would you be back soon?
And why had you taken that kid with you?
Joel’s palms were sweaty by his sides. He didn’t like being kept in the dark—didn’t think traveling some 2,000 miles to be closer to you would still leave him wondering like a fucking idiot if he would see you again.
Then he reached for the nearest door. A bathroom.
The door was just cracked, allowing a sliver of light to shine through and a peek at a sea of tile flooring to greet him. Joel pushed on the knob without thinking to knock.
When he stepped inside, he had to stop.
It was too much to process and walk at once.
For the first time in his life, he felt shell-shocked.
You were on your knees in front of that red-haired fucker. Stabilizing one hand on a denim-clad leg in front of you, patting his thigh, having him murmur something back—probably words of encouragement for how nice your mouth felt around him—and then tilting your head up.
Joel could only see you from behind. His vision was red.
“What the fuck are you DOING?!” he bellowed out.
The two of you leapt apart, your head jerking back.
He wasn’t thinking. Joel blew straight past you and went for him, the little pencil-dicked Pike who’d just had his dick down his stepdaughter’s throat, presumably, and he grabbed him by the shirt. He shoved him hard against the bathtub on the wall, watched him flail a few steps, and then, before the kid could recover his balance, Joel shoved him again. He might’ve tripped further back and fallen into the tub, had the older man not reached for him again—and reared back to punch him square in the face.
That blow never landed.
In the next instant, a smaller body was forcing itself in between him and the kid, and the only other thing Joel could see through his own blinding rage were your two eyes—wide and panicked and horror-stricken, clearly.
“JOEL.”
Still not prepared to retreat, Joel reached out again.
Your hand knocked his down in a blink. Hard.
“J— Dad. Dad. Stop. Please don’t hit him.”
Suddenly, that tone was approaching a plea. You must’ve caught a glimpse of the rage pulsing through his veins and sensed it might’ve been too much for him to control—but of course, Joel knew better. He could always stop.
He stepped off and turned to you at once, teeth bared.
“How the fuck could you even—” he started again.
“I’m sorry, dad,” you broke in, words sounding like a sob, “It’s not his fault. Really. I— I didn’t mean for you to see.”
Sucking some other guy’s cock. Yeah, of course not.
Joel’s face flared with an anger unlike anything he’d felt in years, and if it weren’t for the skittish sack of shit stumbling away, and the warning that was starting to radiate off your skin, he would’ve liked to knock him out.
He might’ve, if the kid hadn’t run out of the room.
If you hadn’t turned slightly, he might’ve yelled again.
And then he saw it, from where you’d pivoted—the toilet.
Sitting on the smooth white porcelain lid in three thick stripes, the sight greeted him like a punch in the gut.
He wasn’t sure what it meant for an excruciating second. He stared. Then he processed what that substance was.
You’d been crouched over the toilet doing a line of coke.
He wanted to feel relief. For a moment, maybe, he did.
When your eyes narrowed on his and you shook your head in a scowl, it didn’t feel like he should be happy. Or ready to celebrate this latest discovery. Instead, realizing that you hadn’t been blowing a guy in this bathroom but were simply doing drugs in front of him, Joel felt bile jump up his throat. It was like a knot the size of his fist, and he wasn’t sure how to react, but he couldn’t stand that look on your face. You were just as angry as him.
“What the hell was that all about, Joel?!” you snapped.
He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut back in:
“Sorry, sorry—I mean ‘dad.’ You fucking asshole.”
“And this is why you up and left?” Joel hissed.
“I just—”
“Do you realize how dangerous that is?”
“I didn’t—”
“What that could’ve been laced with?”
He pointed to the cocaine on the lid of the toilet—apparently there hadn’t been enough space on the skinny porcelain sink to set up your lines—and at the same time, to Joel’s amazement, you sank to your knees.
“Well, I don’t know, dad, why don’t we test some out?”
And then you swiped a casual touch through a line and lifted your index to your mouth. With your other hand, you pulled at your bottom lip a little, and were evidently about to test your drugs the old fashioned way: by rubbing the powder against your gums to see if it made them numb. Joel swatted at your wrist before you did.
“Don’t,” he growled. Without even realizing it, he reached and grabbed your chin. His fingers engulfed half your face in an authoritative, upward-tilting grip. “Put that stuff anywhere near your mouth, and you will regret it.”
That didn’t seem to stir you, but your hand stayed put.
Joel stepped away just as quickly. He went to the door.
He shut it.
And when he returned, you hadn’t moved from where you’d been knelt. He was glad. Something quiet and dull throbbed between his ears, though he wasn’t recovered enough from the shock of the last few minutes to really investigate that. He just stood back over you, frowning.
His voice was lower when he spoke again:
���What am I gonna do with you, honey?”
It was a question as much for himself as it was for you, and your lips twitched at the end of it. You shrugged, and you sank back onto your heels, peering up as you did.
“You thought—” you started, soft.
“I thought you were in here blowin’ that little shit.”
Your smile split into a grin. Your eyes glistened.
“Is that so?”
Joel didn’t have the strength or the presence of mind to answer, so instead, he just nodded. His scowl deepened.
“You and me,” he resumed, having just exhaled a breath, “We’re gonna have ourselves a little chat later. Got that?”
And he meant it. Not just about drugs and other men and the dangers of accepting cocaine from strangers. He had more to tell you tonight than his overwrought mind was likely capable of sharing right now, but he’d say it.
Soon.
Eventually.
Once he got this bulge in his slacks sorted out.
With you, it was never a conscious decision, and it rarely ever occurred at times it was appropriate to happen. Like when your friends and their family and half of the Pike fraternity weren’t all milling about around this house. When he hadn’t almost decked a kid for giving you coke.
When you weren’t shuffling on your knees to greet the growing erection in his pants with a grin on your face.
“Will this ‘chat’ come before or after you fuck Maya?”
That was it.
Joel seized hold of your head again—this time, from the back. One palm rounded the base of your skull and yanked your face forward, mushing your nose and your lips against the fabric of his pants in an obscene sort of kiss. He made you rub your face against the hardened tent there, and he groaned when you whimpered. The reverberations of it traveled from his groin to his brain in two milliseconds flat and made him think insane things.
Like having your mouth right now.
Taking from you here what he thought he’d almost lost.
The sight of your head hovering anywhere near another man’s crotch made it crystal-clear to him, though he’d known it well before: he wanted you. He needed to have you. How you could even crack the joke about a shred of his attention being elsewhere had him tightening his hand in a fist in your hair. He didn’t care if it felt wrong.
“You know what girls like Maya can do for me?” he said.
He tilted your head back so your gaze could find his. He didn’t let you answer, but he let you stare for a second, and then he worked your pretty parted lips over the front of his slacks again. He let the taut grey fabric tease the cusp of that opening, tasting a bit, before drawing back.
“That’s right,” Joel went on as if you’d just responded, “Nothing. Absolutely fuckin’ nothing. Open your mouth.”
And you did. Wider. From the look of it, there was spit pooling inside, and your tongue hovered just within it when your lips met the front of his pants. You cupped your mouth around his clothed erection and kissed it.
Your eyes were locked on his as you did. The sight felt extra obscene—Joel couldn’t ignore the fact that he was dressed in near-formal attire, and you had on jeans and a tight cropped tank. He looked polished and professional; you were a beaming pretty thing making space between his legs to kneel. You felt like a dream with your lips over his swollen, aching cock; Joel felt old. Paternal, almost.
Was it wrong to think you needed to be taught a lesson?
Of course it was. He wasn’t your dad. He didn’t do that.
But when you smiled up at him with your lips still brushing his straining bulge, Joel couldn’t resist the smallest impulse to wonder—what if he showed you?
What if he let you know exactly what he wanted, how he needed it done, and that he only ever craved it from you? If he couldn’t say it outright in words, he could guide you.
Teach you.
Your tongue traced the seam of his zip, and he groaned.
“Damn near gave your old man a stroke, y’know that?”
“I know,” you said softly. Kindly, “I’m sorry, daddy.”
His cock throbbed at that last affectionate word.
His hands couldn’t help themselves: one stayed planted on the back of your head, and the other made its way to his belt. He undid his buckle, button, and zip in a blink.
“And what was that prick’s name?” Joel grumbled.
“Gavin.”
Your mind seemed two million miles away from any shit-brained fratboy at the moment as your gaze fixed itself on the length he was working out of his pants just then.
When it bobbed out and got within an inch of your rapt expression, your lips parted on instinct; you leaned in.
Swiftly, Joel’s hand on your head halted the movement.
“Gavin, huh,” he returned, tone treading on patronizing. He knew you were salivating for that little pearl on his tip. He gripped your hair hard. “This what you’d do for him?”
You whimpered.
“No, daddy. No, just— just you.”
Joel hummed his approval but didn’t let you move. He watched you eye the head of his cock like there was no single sight more appetizing in the world, and then he saw you lick your lips. You’d get positive reinforcement.
He would take things slow, and by the end of it all, he hoped to have made it clear that this was what he wanted: you, and only you. That he didn’t want you doing this with anyone else other than him. Here, now, or ever.
The last was a lot to say, so he fed you an inch instead.
He let his cock slide between your lips and stretch them.
You breathed something soft and sweet at the first intrusion of his tip; your mouth cushioned that inch, and his head was immediately enveloped in warmth. Your tongue darted out to greet him in a gentle lick. Joel groaned again, and his fingers constricted in your hair.
“That’s it, honey,” he told you, “Suck on daddy.”
His hips hadn’t meant to jump, but the pleasure from just the cusp of your mouth was too much for him not to flinch a little. He stabbed another couple inches in that pliant ‘o’ and felt you work your jaw open to take him whole. You looked so obedient. You were doing so good.
You bobbed your head gently, and his hand didn’t need to coax you at all. You were hungry, mouth sliding up and down his thick, throbbing dick and leaving trails of spit in its wake. You wanted to please him now; he could feel it.
You had no idea what you did to him. All he wanted now. It was like trying to explain a color in words, and all the man could do was just hold your head in place and watch you take him. When your back straightened and one palm braced itself up against his thigh, the other about to curl around the base of his length, he shook his head.
He brushed that hand away and made it rest on his other leg, so you were left with just your mouth around him.
You peered up, confused. Joel was, too.
He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do, but he knew he had to lead the way. Make you see what he wanted you to by guiding your motions and filling your mouth the way he needed. He tried as much by shifting his left hand to meet the right at the back of your head. Gently, he pushed your face forward to suck more in.
“Breathe through your nose, baby. Wanna feel you.”
Feel you deeper, he should’ve said. Either way, it made for a slow and painstaking slide down your tongue—sensing you flatten it and inhale a shallow breath as he worked his way in—and at the stretch, you gagged a bit.
Joel eased up, just enough to let you flit your gaze to his.
“You wanna feel me, too, sweetheart?” he asked gently.
You nodded, mouth still full of cock. Your eyes glistened in a way that said you might’ve guessed there was more to it, but you weren’t exactly in a position to ask just what. You let the fingers of both his big hands splay against the back of your head, and your jaw slackened more. Your gaze stayed on his as his cock slid deeper.
In that, there was wordless, tranquil reprieve. The sight of his spit-soaked length stuffing your mouth, skin all shiny and wet, and the way he kept going further and further and further, until your soft pert nose grazed the hairs of his belly, made Joel’s member swell harder still. There was scarcely an inch in between your lips and his heft of stomach. Your eyes were still fixed on him, and as the seconds ticked by, there was moisture welling at the corners. Joel moved his hands to thumb at those tears.
“Good girl. You’re doin’ so good for daddy,” he praised.
And something stirred in the depths of his body when he felt you try to nod again, like you were thrilled to be giving him pleasure and wanted to show it in some way.
Joel could’ve stayed like that for hours if his dick would only have let him. As it was, though, he felt the stir in his stomach accompanied by something else—a familiar pinch, and a warning jolt of pleasure. He cursed quietly.
You’d just started. He’d barely got an inch down your—
“Fuck,” he cursed again, when he sensed you swallow around his dick. The head of himself was breaching somewhere deep within your throat, and he felt it.
This wasn’t what he’d planned. You’d taken him deep before—at your father’s birthday bash last month, actually—but then you’d been blowing him under a table. He couldn’t hold your gaze or watch your throat open around him, couldn’t see the minuscule wince in your eyes or try to brush that discomfited look aside with his thumbs in the way he could now. He felt it in the pit of his gut, though: he would burst if he didn’t slow down.
With that one grounding thought, Joel tried pulling out.
Your body below him responded in sharp protest.
‘Daddy, no’ seemed almost to jump off your tongue, though it was presently weighted down by his cock. Your nails worked deeper into the fabric of his pants, like the tight, possessive grip was all you could manage to let your intentions be known to him. Then the look flared in your irises, too. They were begging him to stay in place.
Joel obeyed. Though it was you on your knees for him, lips, tongue, and throat pulsing and sucking to give him the utmost pleasure, he felt pangs of powerlessness, too.
He couldn’t help it when your lips stretched more, when your mouth opened wider, and your throat took him in all the way. He was fucked. He let out a sharp, hoarse grunt to let you know as much, and he cursed out loud again.
And then, completely axing his every well-laid plan, Joel felt the first rope of cum unload from his throbbing tip. Then another. And another. And another hot flurry of pleasure cropped up from that place your mouth was presently attached to him, and this time, the wave was too much to be overcome. The whole thing flooded him.
Without a hope of beating out that primal instinct, Joel just cupped your face in his palms and let his climax fill your throat. He couldn’t think, and while you seemed a tad surprised at how early it came, you didn’t fight it, either. You simply sat back, peered up, and let him fuck your mouth in the gentlest, most desperate thrusts, mind likely eager to feel his spend paint your open throat.
You hardly had to swallow at all—hardly could swallow, with how deep he’d gone. His cum jetted in milky strings through your plush, wet channel, and Joel could feel it gliding down with just a moment’s hitch of resistance.
Impaled as you were, you gagged once, and he withdrew in the next instant. He didn’t wait for you to catch your breath or for his cum to get down inside you. He felt too much to be troubled now; he yanked you to your feet and drew you into him. He pushed you back against the sink.
Your legs latched around the backs of his, and your body was thrust against the mirror. It was tender, somehow. Joel didn’t fight to claim your lips or invade your mouth with stifling kisses; he just pressed you to the reflective glass and hedged you in under him. He kissed you gently.
In between movements against your body, he mumbled:
“I’m sick of missin’ you all the damn time, sweet pea.”
He wasn’t sure where it came from. It just came.
Much like he had, except the stringy ropes of cum that had spurted from his dick seemed far less of a mess than whatever the fuck was coming out of his mouth right now. He felt exposed as soon as he’d spoken it you.
Then he saw your lips twitch. You kissed him back.
Someplace within where your mouth slotted over his, you were able to get out a couple murmured words yourself.
“I wish you didn’t have to,” you returned in a whisper.
You snaked your arms around the back of his neck and kept kissing him, over and over again, like your body was just starting to melt, and the heat was making you dizzy.
Joel could relate. Every time you touched him, he felt it.
He gripped your legs where they were still curled around his sides, and he held you tighter to him. He pressed his torso to yours until he was half-sure he was hampering your breaths, and then he pulled back. Briefly. Panting.
When he opened his mouth to speak, you cut in for him:
“I wish you could…be here. I wish we didn’t have to…”
Hide.
Your mouth seemed to have your mind and your usual reservations beat by a mile. It was moving fast, like his. Before you could stop yourself, your thighs constricted around his hips, you pulled him in closer, and just as you were about to finish that last quick, splintered thought—
“We’re leeeeeeeeav—OH! Shit!”
Aly Ingram’s sing-song tone was shortly supplanted by a shriek. She’d thrown open the door, unannounced, and when she saw the two of you collapsed against the sink, Joel’s undone pants hanging precariously over his hips and your mouths scarcely two inches apart, she jolted.
Or jumped, really.
She almost leapt through her skin, it seemed, and before she could even begin to recover, she just slapped her hands over her eyes and stumbled back. She was drunk.
“I didn’t see that! I did not seeee—”
“Aly!” you half-hissed, half-groaned.
“I literally didn’t see shit. You’re all g—”
Before either you or Joel could utter another sound, or attempt to split apart, Aly let out a second shrill yelp. This time, it was because she’d just tripped over a trash can backing out. She’d only very narrowly regained her bearings, had grabbed hold of the doorknob and was dragging the door shut, when the girl all but sang again:
“Have fun, be safe! Don’t make babies!!”
Joel scarcely knew how to react to that.
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As it turned out, your roommate was open-minded.
Ply her with four or five shots of tequila and a couple High Noons, and she’d probably believe the moon was made of cheese if you told her in a serious enough tone.
But your goal tonight hadn’t been to convince her of a lie—it was to get a big, ugly truth off your chest that you’d been hoping to keep under wraps this entire weekend.
Now, after getting caught with your fake stepfather’s jizz drying in your throat, you had had to come clean about this thing. It wasn’t a story you’d wanted to tell, but it was one that needed sharing given the circumstances.
Aly had laughed her ass off when you told her everything.
Blame it on the strobe lights, the thumping music, or the thick, fetid air of the bar you’d just arrived at, but Aly had laughed a lot. She’d squeezed her eyes shut and slapped the tabletop beside her, like that was the single most insane thing she’d ever heard, and why don’t you write her a How-To? She’d love some tips on boning old men.
“He’s not that old!” you’d protested over your beverage.
She’d bought the drink. She said news like this was cause for celebration, and you couldn’t deny that. Smiling as you spoke, you figured this was good.
In fact, you thought getting caught by your closest friend was one of the best things that could’ve happened, all things considered, because now you knew at least one person was supportive and in your corner regarding Joel. On top of that, you had someone to help cover your ass—if a touch or a look between you two was too suspect, she’d tell you. From the second your group had Ubered to the bar, she’d been keen to see you close…though not too close. Presently, she grinned and squeezed your leg.
“I think you two would make a damn cute couple.”
“Huh?” You had to shout over the music to be heard.
“A cute couple!”
“Come again?”
You were really trying your best, but the blare of Bon Jovi overhead was a bit too much. You leaned in closer to her.
“YOU AND JOEL WOULD MAKE A CUTE COUPLE!”
And, as if on cue, Joel and Aly’s father reappeared at the table, holding the drinks they’d left to buy. Thankfully, the volume in the room was near-deafening, and neither seemed to have heard a word of hers. Scott was nursing some bottom shelf whiskey concoction while Joel double-fisted two shitty beers beside him. You had to admit, the latter looked good from where you sat: one more button was popped on his icy white shirt and a smile was plastered on his face, eyes straying to you more often than they should. The moment after that, you were doubly grateful for the blast of ‘You Give Love a Bad Name’ in this bar—the next thing you knew, Joel was dropping his head casually and murmuring in your ear,
“Aly sure likes to stare, doesn’t she?”
Followed shortly by:
“Wanna give her somethin’ to watch?”
He was clearly joking. Your cheeks warmed anyway. Then, when he started to lift his head, he left a quick, parting kiss to your temple that could’ve been construed as a paternal gesture. To anyone else but you, him, and Aly, it likely was. Your gaze slid from Joel’s face to his forearms, where the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. He smelled like pine, sweat, and Natty Light, and you were just about to tell him that somehow that combo worked for him, when Scott interposed, loud as hell.
“You ask her yet?!” he bellowed.
He knocked shoulders with Joel in a playful way, and the pair nearly stumbled sideways. Scott elbowed his ribs.
“He’s drunk as shit,” Dallas observed idly.
“Well, what’s he—” you began to say.
Before you’d even finished the question, your answer came in the form of Joel nodding, visibly pretty buzzed himself, as he waved his friend off with a shove and a laugh. Scott just grinned bigger as Bon Jovi gave way to Steely Dan over the speakers. Joel leaned back to you.
“Scott invited us to go skiing out in Jackson, Wyoming.”
“He loves planning trips drunk,” Michelle added.
“Like they’re best friends,” Dallas chuckled.
You ignored Aly’s half-concealed smirk on hearing that; you were too stuck on the look Joel was giving you. Like he was drunk, but dead serious—like he’d agreed to this.
Something set for a future date, however nebulous and far-fetched and stupid the idea may have been, made your insides stir a little all the same. You tried tamping it down with another sip of your drink, but you still shared a glance with Joel. He was watching you more intently.
“Is that something you’d wanna do, hon?” he asked.
You might’ve liked to warn him that he was drawing too close—that his breaths were too warm on your cheek and Aly was straightening in her chair, blinking harder—but anything even approaching a remonstrance was evidently never meant to leave your mouth, as the next second had you nudged off your barstool, taken by the hand, and dragged toward the bustling crowd at the center of the room. Scott had suggested dancing; his son had readily agreed and was now leading you out to the crowd himself. You snagged one fleeting look at Joel.
Mr. Ingram had been dying to get out there, apparently. Behind you, the man spun his wife the best he could through the jam-packed dance floor of students and parents bumping their way through the very best of the ‘70s and ‘80s. He took a few graceless turns himself; while Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, and AC/DC reigned supreme over the wide open space, he pulled some mildly impressive moves. More importantly, though, he didn’t give a shit how he looked. This encouraged your group to let loose a little, too, and you somehow found yourself burrowing even further into the sea of people.
Your arms were compressed on either side of you. Your shoulders were bumped, and nudged, and given little more than a quarter of an inch for your chest to expand in the shallowest of breaths. Every pull of your lungs was an effort, and still, you couldn’t help but smile as you ran a quick look over the heads of everyone around. This was fun. Private, even. With dozens of nameless, faceless bodies gyrating in time with the music, you could blend right in. You could pretend that everything was normal.
Even with the press of a familiar form at your back, you could pretend it was just the crowd forcing him there—that Joel had just sauntered in behind you by accident.
It was risky, to be sure. The lights above flashed in bright white bursts, undulating with every pulse of the song being played, and it wasn’t too far from you that Aly and all the rest of them were strewn throughout the crowd.
But Joel hadn’t seemed to have noticed. Beneath the myriad limbs of the bargoers around you and him, he moved a hand to your waist. It hovered precariously for half a second, then tightened. It drew you closer to him.
You tried to push it away on instinct, heart jumping in your throat: what if Scott or Michelle or anyone else turned their heads at that moment and found him touching you there? What if the grasp their eyes caught wasn’t the wholesome, blameless kind that was meant to be shared between stepfather and stepdaughter? Who the hell was supposed to do the explaining to them then?
Clearly Joel wasn’t all that concerned about it; he slid his palm back up your side and gripped your hip hard after you’d nudged him off. He took a daring step forward, and you could feel him shake his head behind you. Smiling.
“And if I made a joke about father-daughter dances—”
“I would kill you with my two bare hands, Miller.”
Your backside glanced off his front. It wasn’t so much a deliberate move on your part but a byproduct of the rhythm. Some soft rock song was coming to an end, and your body rolled gently with his. The friction was minimal. This kind of proximity was easy to be explained away, if Dallas ever happened to look in your direction—
“Joel!”
Something hard pushed into your ass. You had to steel yourself quick, eyes darting furtively about to make sure no one had seen what you’d just felt between your legs. Then you tried wriggling away, off of him, and were rewarded with another hand on your side. It gripped the flesh just above your hipbone with a tender conviction.
Joel’s lips grazed your cheek briefly. His grip loosened.
“See what you do to me?” he murmured, and the fingers that he’d eased around your waist were turning you back.
Facing him now, away from your group. More bodies filled in between you and them, and the force of that influx pushed you closer to Joel. It shoved you together. It almost couldn’t be helped—that was what you kept telling yourself, anyway—when your frame melded to his, and his hands lowered to your hips, and one finger worked its way through your taut, denim belt loop in a manner completely unbecoming of a normal stepfather.
That callused finger held you firm to him with your jeans. It didn’t give an inch, and his eyes on yours did the same.
You were drifting further out. This didn’t matter as much. Anyone who saw you now would just have to guess that you were Joel’s, and Joel’s was yours—if only for now.
Your lips and his were gravitating closer then, too. You were just about to part yours to speak, when one soft, opening sequence broke out in the air, and you groaned.
No fucking way.
An all-too-familiar mid-tempo tune flooded the room and coursed in and out of your skull with a low, rhythmic tick.
It was eerie. Dreamy. Nearly haunting in the way it rang out right here, right now, with Joel’s hold on your sides tightening more and more with every passing second.
You hoped like hell he didn’t know this song, though you were half-certain this was a big hit from back in his day.
When Joel tipped his head back and fell right in step with the swaying cadence, you weren’t left guessing for long. Of course this slick bastard liked George Michael.
Of course he did.
What more of an appropriate song to be dancing to now, other than fucking ‘Father Figure’ of all the throwbacks?
Joel lifted both arms in a half-shimmy, half-slide and flashed a shit-eating grin down at you. It was smug.
‘For one moment, to be warm and naked at my side.’
Joel raised his brows with it, as if hearing the lyrics for the first time and being shocked. He wasn’t, clearly, as he rolled his shoulders in a stupid and seductive way, and dragged you closer to meet his body’s movements.
‘Sometimes I think that you’ll never understand me.’
Right. You would likely never understand Joel Miller.
‘But something tells me together we’d be happy.’
Well…as long as your father didn’t kill him first.
Emboldened by the pre-chorus beat and the ever-increasing swell of people around him, Joel snaked an arm around your waist. He let your body fall in line with his, rolling in gentle sorts of motions until he could find what kind suited you two the best, and he led the way.
When his head dipped to yours, you could feel it coming.
‘I will be your father figure. Put your tiny hand in mine.’
This time Joel was singing along, grin wide on his face. As if to mirror the lyrics, he took your hand and squeezed it. You might’ve rolled your eyes or pulled away when the man leaned down and slid his touch to your wrist. He kissed your palm. Then he kissed it again, sponging his lips to the skin in time with the rhythm of the song. It was both innocent and lewd. Wholesome and sensual.
Something trapped between perverted and polite, like Joel was testing the waters while trying not to make it seem that way at all. You kept moving in time together.
Joel’s other hand held you to him. His fingers flexed.
“You can’t…”
When his grip slid to your ass, you shook your head.
As much as you would’ve liked to indulge the urge that was currently flooding your system, the timing was off. The choice to give in now was wrong, and risky to make.
Your roommate and her family were no more than fifteen feet away. No matter how many strangers stood between you and them, Joel was toeing a dangerous line with his hand lowered to where it was. With his face only inches away and a sly grin spreading on his lips, it was clear he knew better than this. But he was eager to talk.
“You feel that, sweetheart?” he asked softly.
Where that single term of endearment had once made you bristle, you now sensed it warming your insides.
You nodded but were quick to add: “Joel, we can’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because…”
You found yourself trailing off again, just as you felt Joel’s erection grind into your front, somewhere close to the space between your legs. It rubbed right where you needed him. While another stream of airy, dreamlike notes floated out and a tenor’s voice crooned if you ever hunger, hunger for me, you peered up to find Joel deep in contemplation. He didn’t blink when you met his gaze.
Instead, he nudged you sideways. You inhaled a breath, and not long after that, you felt your back pressed to one of the lone barstools sitting at the outskirts of the room. You’d strayed far. And now, away from all the people that you’d come here with, you had two big hands sliding up the sides of your body. Cupping your face. Guiding your mouth to meet a warmer, more desperate set of lips than you’d ever been expecting to find. Joel’s kiss was rough.
It was open and aching—a wound not willing to be soothed by anything other than your tongue on his. Swiftly, he coaxed your jaw open and slid in. He licked in. He practically panted into your mouth, fingertips carving crescents in your cheeks from just how hard he was holding your face. He didn’t let up, and that hunger bled from his lips to yours. You felt a heady wave wash over your brain, and at the same time, your thighs tensed.
You pulled away.
Your lips were bitten numb. Your cunt was throbbing.
While your pulse thundered through your ears like a fucking kickdrum, your grip loosened on the front of Joel’s shirt, and you started to turn yourself from him.
What you needed to do was leave. What you couldn’t stand was getting caught again, and risk it being someone who wouldn’t take to it as kindly as Aly had.
But even as you walked, you felt a pulsing in your skull.
Between your legs, the feeling was worse, like there was something thrumming a frantic beat in that precious and defenseless place that you knew was needing him most. You were weak. You swiped a hand over your mouth like that would do anything, and you kept walking, knowing how closely Joel would be following you all the way out.
On such a clear, frigid night, the air outside should’ve been a relief. Instead, your pulse hammered and swelled. Your cheeks burned. You could’ve ground your teeth so hard that you cracked enamel, and it still wouldn’t have been enough to bite back the words inside your throat.
You turned to Joel wanting to tell him no. The expression that met yours said he was expecting as much—and was preparing to object—when you swiftly cut him off again.
It should end there. Nothing good ever came of you shedding your inhibitions or clothes with Joel Miller.
He reached out; you winced. You shouldn’t say it.
“Let’s go home, Joel.”
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You were running again.
You’d nearly knocked him to the floor the second he’d turned the key in the door of his dingy little motel room, lips frantic over his and hands making fists in his shirt. It was exactly what he’d been hoping to see—part of why he’d booked this place and made the drive that weekend, to have you cradled in his arms again—but as he crossed the threshold with you all over him, Joel grew unsettled.
He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but something told him that you were only here to escape an unsavory urge. Like he was a bad habit to be flooded from your system.
You seemed to say it with every motion of your hands: skating down his front, clawing at the buttons, busying themselves with quickly trying to rid him of the fabric while your eyes stayed trained anywhere but on his face. It stung. Normally Joel wasn’t the type to ruminate on the reasons why a girl might be tearing his clothes off, but tonight, with you, this wasn’t what he usually did.
The ache unfurling in his chest wasn’t the kind to be imparted by just anyone, he kept reminding himself.
Which was why he took hold of both your wrists. Tightly. Just as you were about to try and peel his shirt from his shoulders and expose the whole naked expanse of his chest, he stopped you. He swallowed as you groaned.
“Joel.”
“You didn’t want me kissin’ you at all back there.”
In the bar, outside the building, in the car ride over here. You’d scarcely let him hold you for half a minute before begging to be taken home, and now that you were inside this room, alone, now you wanted to be touched by him.
Joel tried not to feel stupid saying it aloud, but hell, he felt pretty fucking pathetic peering down at you then.
You shook your head. Took a small step back from him.
“Yeah. Trying not to get us caught again, remember?”
And when you backed off, you stayed off, if only to start unfastening the little straps of your top and kick your shoes off your feet. You made your way over to the king-sized bed at the center of the room and sat down. Joel took off his own shoes but didn’t follow, opting instead to rest his weight on the old TV stand across from you.
He planted his hands on the hardwood surface on either side of him, watched you shuffle to the edge of the bed, and had to steel himself when the next pieces of clothing came sliding off your body. You were lifting your shirt over your head, then dragging your jeans down your legs.
Before you were stripped bare, Joel cleared his throat.
“I said we were gonna have a little chat later, too.”
He sounded like a dad. This really had to stop.
Instead of following his lead, you only kicked your pants off at your feet and leaned back. Joel approached the bed, and you greeted him with a coquettish look, like you already knew where this was going. But you couldn’t.
Joel made sure that you wouldn’t when he cupped your chin in his hand and made you tilt your face up to him.
“Honey,” he started, stern, while you reached for his belt.
You’d almost succeeded in threading your fingers through the leather and tugging it loose when Joel’s grip drew tighter. He jerked your chin up in a pinch, ignoring the roll of your eyes, and for yet another beat, he felt that obscure urge to discipline you again. Like you needed it.
If he could just control himself and play things right…
“Listen, I’m not trying to be your father.”
Wait. No. That came out wrong.
Your eyes widened some.
“Oh, really, daddy?”
Well, shit.
Joel straightened where he stood and tried not to puff out his chest like an old father-type might do, but the effort was useless—everything the man said and did was like the fucking calling card of a patriarch. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pretended not to see you grin up at him, your gaze bright and fiery as the Fourth of July.
He could hold important conversations and still not try to jump your bones immediately. He could control himself. He could slap on a semi-austere look and just tell you.
“I love you, you know that, right?” he blurted out.
Your eyes widened again, this time in alarm.
“Christ, Joel.”
You were sliding back on the bed. Shaking your head and pursing your lips in a grimace like this wasn’t happening.
“We’re not doing this again,” you added in a grave voice.
Joel was already making his way up after you—again, like a fucking moron, he felt—crawling on hands and knees across the moth-eaten, coral-colored bedspread and trying not to panic and failing miserably, per usual.
“‘S’alright if you don’t wanna say it back, I just—”
“I didn’t mean to say it in the first place, Joel!”
But there was a strain in your words. Denial.
You were working in earnest not to expose that sliver of self that wanted him, too. Joel could feel it. He planted his knees on the mattress and met you closer to the headboard, where your breaths were coming in faster. You shook your head, but you also didn’t stop him when he drew in even closer and lowered his body to yours.
He was hovering, almost.
Just as he’d been poised above your soft, beaming face all those weeks back in some little podunk town—at Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge, where you’d been stuck together, only to fuck each other for the first time that night—he pressed a touch to your side. He rubbed his thumb just over your hipbone, where the panties you had on still clung to your skin, and he watched you tense up.
It was like before, only worse: now you knew his touch, and he knew yours, but there was a dread in your eyes.
As if you couldn’t stand to be under him, you slid back.
“Joel, please…don’t,” you murmured hoarsely.
“Don’t what?” His stomach dropped.
“Don’t ever say that again.”
That he loved you?
Joel never thought one string of words could hurt him so much, but there it was. While his heart unwound and his ego met with a swift and unceremonious death, he felt something like agitation twist inside him, too. Cruelly.
This was what he’d come this whole way to tell you.
The man could handle rejection; that wasn’t the problem. What bothered him now was how unflinchingly committed you seemed to misunderstand his intentions. Something surged in his chest again, and this time, it wasn’t all hurt—it was anger, too. Why you refused to accept that someone might love you was beyond him.
He didn’t reach for you again or crowd you further, but he raked a hand through his hair and heaved a hard sigh.
“Why won’t you believe me?” This time pleading.
“It’s not that I won’t—I just can’t, Joel. I can’t.”
“Why can’t you?”
You started to speak, but then that balloon of rage swelled bigger in his chest, and it wasn’t meant to be directed at you—it was only meant for himself, why wasn’t he enough—and he spit the words like venom.
“Haven’t I shown you that I mean it? That I— I— I care? I’m here. I came to see you. I’m telling you that I love you. How else am I supposed to show the woman I love that I care when you won’t let me in an inch, except when—”
“Except when you’re seven deep in me?” you scoffed.
It was bitter and derisive, and you slid farther back.
“For Christ’s sake,” Joel gritted through his teeth.
He didn’t even wait for you to interject, as he came back: “Is that all you think of me? Is that what I am to you?”
His voice was loud, and he hadn’t meant for it to be.
He was pushing off the bed, watching you sit back.
“I just think it’s real convenient,” you snapped again, “Betraying my trust by not telling me about dad’s affair, finding me in a weak moment, letting me believe you feel the same so you don’t have to deal with this…this…guilt.”
Joel couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“You think I did all of this out of pity?”
“I think you’re trying to be a—”
“That I would lie about it?”
His heart rate was spiking. He felt his pulse thudding in his ears as he stalked around the footboard and scowled.
“Joel, I—”
“No.” He shook his head hard. He was sincerely trying not to fit the bill for ‘hot-headed, explosively angry father,’ but the efforts he made seemed all in vain. Joel could hardly talk now without raising his voice to a shout.
“I have—” he started, only to stop himself, swallowing.
His throat ached, and he almost choked on his words.
“I have been in love with you this whole fuckin’ time!”
His eyes burned. The sound came out angry, hoarse. Maybe he was; he just couldn’t contain it anymore. Silence filled the open space, and time distended.
He couldn’t stand the way you wouldn’t believe him, even now, as you straightened and shook your head.
“No, you haven’t.”
“I have.”
“You don’t mean—”
“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!”
He stared back and watched your gaze erupt in ire. Indignation. Lips drawing tight and teeth baring and hands gripping the bedspread beside you, as if enraged.
“I do. I can. You’re— you’re full of shit.”
Your words made him want to hurl something at a wall.
“Am I?!” he bellowed.
“Yes!” you spat.
“How can you say that?!”
And, without meaning to, Joel’s knee hit the side of the nightstand while he turned abruptly from you. The whole thing shook; the lamp nearly toppled, and the man immediately reached for it, then out to you. The gesture was a reflexive apology, but you responded by shoving his hands off. An angry sound racked through your body as you moved from him—“You—you don’t mean it, Joel.”
“I do. I mean it. Believe me, I do.”
That sound from his chest could’ve been half a sob.
He reached for you again, knees sinking with the springs of the mattress beneath him, and you shuffled further back. Your movements slowed. Suddenly, Joel’s stopped.
He couldn’t see it without a wince—your hands shaking. Your fingers tried making fists but failed, and in an effort to conceal the fear they held, you seized the comforter.
His throat ached, and that pain only soared in a second.
“You can’t…you can’t mean it if I’m just a secret to you.” Your tone was a rasp. The lips that spoke it were curled, revealing teeth still gritted. Eyes filling with more tears, “You can’t say you love me if…if you’re just gonna leave.”
By the end of it, your words were ground to a murmur. Your voice was hushed and slow and begging to be spared notice, as though every syllable hurt to say.
Your bottom lip was quivering too. He knew you were kicking yourself for it—could see the embarrassment etched into your gaze as you blinked back nothing, then one, then two, then a barrage of slow, hot tears—but no matter what you did to fight it off, your body trembled.
The whole thing was practically vibrating with hurt. Humiliation and anger had evidently joined the mix, and before he could even think to speak, you mumbled again:
“You’re gonna leave me, Joel.”
The hurt wouldn’t stop.
“You don’t love me.”
Your voice cracked to continue, pain clinched with a sob.
“You can’t.”
In the look that met his, he saw a wall of warring fears. It wasn’t all for him, either. There were wounds that were the work of years beneath the surface of your skin, ones entrenched in flesh since long before he’d ever known you or laid a finger on that part himself. It started young.
Your lashes battled to keep the tears at bay, but the floodgates had opened. Your secret was gone. There was no sense in feigning indifference when the truth was laid bare—that you didn’t deem yourself worthy of love, and likely never had. Regardless, you worked hard not to cry. You scrunched your nose, mashed your lips together, and stared anywhere but him, and the tears kept flowing. Gently, but without slowing, they streaked down in turn.
“No, sweet pea, I love you. I love you. I ain’t leavin’.”
It was all Joel could do to keep his own vision clear.
He already knew you wouldn’t believe him, but that didn’t stop him from saying the words all the same.
“I— I said it first,” he went on, words tumbling out.
You turned wet, sad eyes to him in utter silence, and that made him want to ramble on forever. As long as it took.
“At the fair, a month before you ever said it, I was trying to tell you I loved you then. You ran off before I could.”
That was the truth.
If Joel had any hope of regaining your trust, it would need to start there. And out of one truth came another.
“I already knew I loved you before that. I would’ve said it, except it just felt wrong, with all that…that stuff I knew.”
He meant knowing about his best friend, your father, and his little rekindled romance with his former mistress. It wasn’t right, keeping you in the dark about something like that, but he also hadn’t wanted to hurt you. There was more to the story that complicated things further, and frankly, Joel had been too swept up in the novelty of this thing you two had had to choose the smarter path.
That didn’t excuse what he did. Hell, it only hurt him worse seeing your eyes gloss over and stay fixed on his.
Knowing you’d trusted him not to hurt you—and he had.
If you didn’t accept what he told you now, he wouldn’t fault you for it. All he could do was slide off the bed and pull you to a perch on the edge, while he planted himself on the carpeted floor and kneeled in between your legs.
Cupping your tear-stained face in his hands, pleading:
“Baby.”
You blinked back at him but ventured nothing.
“Sweet pea, I am not keeping you a secret.”
A beat.
“I’m not leavin’. I want more—need more.”
And for some reason, that felt like a weightier admission than he’d even thought possible. He wasn’t good at this.
He wasn’t quite cut of a cloth to know just how to soothe you and make things right, but he did know that holding you felt right to him. So he did. He rubbed his thumbs in little circles over your warm, wet, puffy cheeks, and he pulled your face closer to his. He held your gaze and watched an internal war wage somewhere far behind your eyes as you tried to contend with this new feeling—that of being wanted and needed and loved as you were.
You sniffled between his two broad palms.
“I want you to stay,” you said softly.
Joel’s heart hammered at that.
He couldn’t hope to leave out the rest. He let go of your face then and felt an irresistible urge to go on, even if it was much too soon and he had meant to show you later. As stupid as the idea had been, he’d already made it, and there was no going back anyhow. He would tell you here.
He reached in his pocket for his wallet. He broke your gaze momentarily to take it out, flip it open, and then card his fingers through the bills a few aching moments before pulling it out—the thing he’d wanted to show you.
When he held it up, a set, he flitted a quick look to what he’d lifted between you and him, as if the sight might give him answers on what to say. Sadly, nothing came.
Joel was totally on his own in explaining what this was. Lucky for him, though, you didn’t seem keen to judge.
“They’re…they’re tickets,” he started. Stupid.
You raised a brow, trying to read, and he forged ahead. Just as the words first appeared to register in your mind, and the faintest look of shock took shape, he hurried out:
“Billy Joel’s got a show comin’ up in Austin this June. I…I thought— well, I hoped, I guess, that maybe we could…”
Spit it out, Miller.
Spit. It. Out.
He frowned.
“I’m no good at this. Sorry. I wanted us to go…together.”
And then…
“And I want your dad to know about us before then.”
There it is.
The last lynchpin in the man’s resolve was gone. He’d said it. There was no turning back from what he’d offered, or what it required, and now you knew he wanted things to be real and committed. Serious.
Terrifying.
Your eyes remained fixed on his. For a second, that look, and your whole upper half, appeared so still Joel thought you might’ve stopped breathing altogether. You blinked. Glancing down at the tickets in his hand and batting your lashes again, as if you weren’t quite sure how to answer.
Then, at last, he heard a sharp inhale—Or was it an exhale? He couldn’t tell—and before he could blink back or wonder so much as a thought, the breath was battered out of his own chest. You rushed him.
You’d moved so fast, hugged him so quick, Joel scarcely knew what was what until he felt your arms snake around his neck. You joined him on the filthy, soiled floor and dropped your knees on either side of his body in a kind of straddling hug. It was as swift as it was unexpected, and it took him a second to adjust. But no longer than that.
Joel was relieved to feel your warmth. Squeezing him. Choking him, almost. He didn’t think you’d ever held him that hard in his life, so he did all he could to soak it in.
It was only when he heard another sob that he paused.
“You…you want to?” Your voice was tiny against him.
“‘Course I do, darlin’,” Joel answered in a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He cupped the back of your head to him and held you tighter, “Of course I do.”
Then, because the impulse struck again: “I love you.”
He didn’t need you to say it back; a look was enough. When you drew back and met his gaze, eyes still doused with tears but smiling faintly at him, Joel was content to see your acceptance. Allowing love in in some small way.
And when your lips succeeded that look, meeting his in a soft kiss, and your body shifted up toward the bed, he didn’t protest. He kissed you back. Joel didn’t have to have love spelled out in words for him to feel what you meant. You said it gently, but somehow with even more force than when you’d stumbled into this room together, touch beckoning him in as you laid back on the mattress.
Admittedly, every inch of this place was seedy. On such short notice Joel hadn’t had much of a pick among his choice of accommodations, and the shortage showed. Still, when you slid up that old, worn bed and stretched yourself in wordless welcome, he couldn’t have asked for more. He only wished that he could give you more, but for right now, at least, that was out of the question. He leaned in and found your lips like second nature, slotting between your thighs and kissing you harder. The concert tickets had shortly been cast aside on the night stand.
“I love you.”
It slipped out again, and Joel didn’t care. His tongue chanced past the seam of your lips and, once inside, explored every contour, ridge, and crevice it could find.
While he did, a touch palmed your breasts over your bra. Your skin was warm; gaze soft, the last he’d seen of it. The scent of you rose to greet him like a mist of some wild intoxicant: citrus, mint, a tinge of sweat, and a liter of your favorite fruity drink, if he’d had to guess. You flooded his senses. It wasn’t enough for him simply to hold flesh in his hands and explore your body with his lips and tongue; Joel wanted to consume something more, though he hardly had the words to articulate it.
You unclasped your bra just as his mouth slid down to your neck. There was a beat—your sharp intake of breath when his teeth met skin and marked it with the tenderest bite—and then your arms reached out. You discarded your bra and bared yourself to him, and when Joel tilted his head to take in the view, he had to groan your name.
There was no other logical route for him to go.
You’d just begun to wind your fingers through his hair when he slid down to greet that newly-exposed place.
“I love you,” he repeated against your skin before drawing one nipple between his lips. He kissed it.
Your grip grew tighter.
“Joel, please.”
His teeth had only reappeared a second to tug the pebbled flesh between them, tongue hungry and wet and laving gently across that hardened peak, when your legs wound around him too. You pulled his body into you.
Joel was helpless to the inducement. His torso fell more heavily to yours and his lips suckled with a vigor that betrayed sheer desperation. He felt it strain in his pants. When he moved from one breast to the other, he heard a wet pop, and the whimper when he re-attached himself was enough to make the bulge he felt swell even bigger. His tongue caressed in laving, measured motions along the curve, and he tried not to grow overly eager from it.
Don’t get too excited. You need time. Lots and lots of—
“Joel,” you exhaled on a particularly harsh press of his mouth. Your ribs heaved with it. “Come— come here.”
He was clambering back up in an instant. The ministrations of his lips that had practically engulfed your skin and smeared it with his saliva were swapped in a blink with them returning to your chin, jaw, and cheeks, planting kisses in between the words he murmured next.
“Yeah? Every—” To the side of your mouth. “Everything OK, sweet pea?” Feeling guilty but also simply needing to calm himself down. “Too fast?” Another to your cheek.
It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t gone too far, too soon before. In fact, it was a pretty regular occurrence with the sex you had. Joel just needed a reset—had to make sure this was alright, and that he could cool down if needed.
He felt a pinch in his groin but ignored it.
Suddenly, your gaze was on his again.
Fingers carded through the sweat-damp, striated tufts of black and silver hair at the sides of his head, and you leaned in closer until your nose and his were touching.
“Here,” you pressed him, low. Need crept into those words, and your grasp constricted. “Stay here, please.”
It was clear you were inviting him back to your lips, to kiss them, so Joel did just that. He bracketed his arms on either side of your head and let his mouth explore as it had before. Where he resumed at equal force, you met him with still more warmth and wanting and open fervor, tongue curling around his in some soft and wordless plea
Below the belt, Joel was throbbing. He didn’t need to reflect long at all to know what that meant. Then your lips parted wider, your ankles dug deeper in the backs of his calves, and your hips started grinding against him.
Dry humping.
Whining at the friction.
“Feels…feels so good, Joel,” you told him breathlessly.
“You like that?” His lower half mimicked the motions.
Need blossomed across your face as the ridge of his cock rubbed in just the right way through his slacks. Something harder than he meant—a thrust, like he was fucking you into the bed—shook your frame, as well as the mattress underneath it. Springs creaked. Metal groaned. Warmth spread, from the pit of his stomach to where your body met his. The movements kept going.
You were slick beneath him. You must have been. Your whines had heightened to punctured gasps and your hips were so desperate, rubbing your barely-clothed core to the front of his pants and brows pinching as if—
You were already expecting this to end.
You didn’t think that he would stay.
“Baby,” Joel panted again.
By now, desire consumed him, but the urge to smooth that tiny crease of worry was coursing just as powerfully. He swallowed, gripped the linens beside your head in one hand a little harder, and opened his mouth to speak.
Another flick of your hips. Another sigh. Another whine.
Another pinch somewhere deep within him, and a groan.
Suddenly, your hands were on his shoulders, sliding up and toward his neck. Your fingers clawed for his hair.
“Joel,” you panted back.
Joel had tried to slow the motions of his lower half to talk, but yours had only sped up to grind yourself against him. He could feel the heat bleeding from you now. Wetness formed and expanded in a patch through your pink cotton panties and likely stained his front, or would.
His cock was swollen stiff and throbbing. Precum pearled at the tip of him, no doubt, and with every jerk of your body, he could feel it smearing and aching to slip in.
He wanted to be inside you. His balls twitched, his stomach ached, and his senses were suffused with you, a white-hot desire to paint your mouth, your skin, or your insides with his cum nearly as strong. But he had to stop.
Then you kissed him.
Joel’s lips were still parted when your mouth found his, kissing him sweetly and without reserve. Your fingers that had threaded through his hair pulled taut. Hard.
Your center slid up the length of his fully clothed cock, and with one more press of your legs, Joel felt you.
He’d never wanted anything more in his life, and still, he fought to speak—to reassure you that he wasn’t leaving.
“Joel—”
“I know, I know. Baby, I—fuck.” His breath hitched in his throat when his bulge pulsated again. His head swam.
With what meager resolve the man still possessed, he ventured another kiss, then drew back. His eyes dropped and searched your expression, half-crazed, and just when the words were taking shape again, you parted your lips and brought them to his. You rolled your hips, balled your fingers into fists through his hair, and with your mouth and his a quarter-inch apart in puckered, pretty ‘O’s, panting with every thrust that shook the bed:
“I love you, Joel.”
It was a breath, and the taste had never felt sweeter.
One more jerk of his hips and you were drawing in once again, panting in his mouth as if to make sure he heard.
“I— I love you. I love you so much,” you murmured, low.
His cum unloaded in thick, hot ropes. He couldn’t stop it.
Joel Miller, at the age, maturity, and level of experience he could boast, had never cum virtually untouched and in his own fucking pants since…he couldn’t remember when. But he was. His spend pulsed out from the head of his cock in dizzying bursts, and his stomach clenched. He gripped the bedspread and let out a guttural groan while he soaked the front of his boxers from inside them.
His dick throbbed and leaked, and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something back, quietly—‘I love you, too.’
Then he pushed up and off of you, out of the bed.
Seconds stretched; he didn’t feel it. Stars burst behind his eyes with every step, and he staggered that path to the bathroom like his life or his pride might depend on it.
As a matter of fact, the damage was already done. He’d jizzed in his pants like an overeager teen getting his dick touched or sucked for the very first time. What was worse, you hadn’t been doing either when he came; you’d told him you loved him, and that was enough.
Enough to make him look like a goddamn idiot, Joel thought without blinking. He kicked the door shut behind him and reached for the zip of his pants.
Sticky. Wet. A whole fucking shitshow below the belt.
He ran the tap. He had his undone slacks and boxers pulled down past his hips, and he was facing the sink in seconds, assessing the extent of the damage. Then his face flushed red at the sight of the sticky, milky mess swarming his groin and he could’ve kicked himself. He settled for yanking a towel out from one of the cubbies beneath the counter and running it under the water. He daubed quick and without much precision, gaze darting to find dozens more clumps of his spend strewn about than he thought possible. He’d cum an absurd amount.
Before he chastised himself, though, he had to pause.
“Joel?”
Your voice was soft. Sometime since he’d unzipped and started scrubbing his crotch in vicious circles, you’d appeared at the door, head peeking around curiously.
You must not have been standing there for long, because you actually drew closer to join him. Feeling comfortable enough in roughly thirty square feet of space, you shut the door again and leaned your hip against the counter.
If Joel didn’t know you better, and he wasn’t already occupied with wiping cum off of his cock and balls, he might’ve searched your face for a smile. A smirk, maybe.
It wasn’t like teasing each other was suddenly off-limits now that Joel was brimming with embarrassment. Half your communication was giving the other shit for little mishaps and quirks, and he expected that his last accident in the bedroom would be no different.
He flinched when you reached out instead.
Hooking your fingers under the waistband of his pants and his plaid boxers, you shuffled in closer to him and let out a breath. You tugged once, twice—gently, so as not to further disrupt the mess or make him wince—and then coaxed the fabric down his legs, lower and lower.
When you peered up at him, Joel couldn’t find so much as a trace of amusement in your eyes or on your lips. You just nudged his slacks to the tiled floor and hummed.
“It’ll be easier if we wash it off in there.”
You nodded to the shower behind him.
Joel turned slightly, as if considering or trying to get a glimpse of the freestanding shower with its wide-open, mildewed curtain seeming to beckon him in, then stopped. He turned back and chucked his towel.
“Alright,” he said while kicking his pants off at the ankles. Talking softly and not meeting your gaze, “That’s fine.”
He pivoted once more to peel his shirt off and make toward the shower by himself, and you surprised him, again, when you bypassed his much larger frame and hopped in first. You slid your panties off and tossed them into the pile of clothes by the sink, and you twisted the knob on the wall. You sidestepped the first stuttered sprays and drew the curtain back in wordless invitation.
Joel hovered, eyes scanning the cramped space.
“I don’t think we’re both gonna fit in here.”
Then, as though to emphasize his point:
“I can wash off by myself. It’s…fine.”
He hadn’t meant it to sound so stilted, but that was just how he felt: stiff and awkward and raw with feelings of recent embarrassment. He tilted his head to the side.
Your head tipped right back, and you raised a brow.
“Just get in, Miller. Freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off.”
And there was a smile: the first one. Faint.
Not mocking, snide, or condescending. Just the kind to usher him in and drag the curtain behind his hulking body, wipe a slick, wet hand over your mouth and grin—‘You do know I’ve seen you naked before, right?’—and that set his mind at ease. He almost smiled himself.
“So you remember that I’m a grower, not a shower.”
Joel cupped his hands over his softening length in faux protective fashion, as if you hadn’t seen the thing dozens of times by now. When he sidled up and cornered you between the soap tray and the shower stream, he found the edges of his lips kicking up a little, unable to help it.
You’d seen him hard, soft, and everything in between—mostly hard when near you. Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that you were getting to experience him like this.
That made him lean in closer. Chance another joke.
“Looks like your old man’s stamina has taken a hit, too.”
Joel had meant it to sound playful. Suggestive, even. Instead, it came out dismal and gruff, like he was trying to overcompensate for something he was sorely lacking.
He might’ve wanted to kick himself again, were it not for the next move you pulled on him, which was enough to pluck his thoughts—and his breath—out of his body.
Without wasting a second to pretense or teasing, you simply brushed your hand down his front and touched him, gently. He was softer, smaller, and almost wholly spent from his last exertion; still, you reached and wrapped your fingers around his length with care.
Sparks ignited from the place where you trailed. Joel had to swallow a groan, oversensitive and fairly stunned, and his palm came to rest on the wall behind your head. His chin dipped toward his chest while his gaze dropped too.
He watched you stroke him once, rub your thumb along the tender skin, then bring your left hand to join the mix, carrying a bar of soap with it. You started from the base.
“Baby,” Joel rasped. The muscles of his stomach clenched while you drew circles to spread the soap.
“My old man,” you repeated affectionately.
It was artless and kind. Friendly and gentle. Most every other time he’d been touched where you had him, the hands had meant to arouse, and seek something else. Here, you were trying to help. Clean him sweetly and without concern for yourself while also drawing him in, like you always did. It made his chest hurt—and not in a way totally unconcerning for a man his age. Nonetheless, he leaned into that feeling and shifted his body to yours.
His head and your head were now doused with water, his hovering above so close that little droplets streaked from his chin down your slightly upturned face. Joel could feel you watching him. He flicked his own gaze back to meet yours, and as he did, your palm stroked him from root to tip. His hips jerked involuntarily; he swelled in your grip.
His cock stiffened but still remained far from fully erect. Joel swallowed, anchored his hand harder on the wall, and wished himself a decade or three younger, at least.
“You alright with this?” he muttered.
“With what?” you mumbled back.
Joel sucked in a breath just as your hand, and the soap, slid back down his length, and rubbed casually around it. You assumed a leisurely pace and scrubbed his tummy.
“My body ain’t what it was—”
“And it’s more than enough.”
Suddenly, your eyes weren’t just resting on his but pressing. Piercing. The circles working to clean his skin increased in pace and force, and you set the soap aside. You nudged him closer to the water, but all Joel felt was the urge to draw you with him. The shower stream pelted his chest, his belly, his freshly soaped lower half, and past the suds, a gradually hardening cock. Gradually.
You had him in your hand; you were rinsing him clean. Joel should’ve extended some murmured thanks, a calm and uncalculating touch coming to rest on one of your shoulders while you did him this innocent favor. Your lips twitched. His cock hardened. Then your back was flat on the shower wall, and Joel was hovering over your drenched and naked frame again, only his touch was descending to your hip instead. He held it firmly.
“You could have your pick of any guy—”
“Good thing I only want you.”
Your grip tightened too. Now that you’d scrubbed him clean, you seemed ready to let go in the next second, but old habits died hard. Joel leaned in to nose your cheek.
“That so?” His hand moved from your hip to what he knew would be a scorching heat between your thighs.
Two thick fingers glided through your folds and forced a whimper out of your throat. You were soaking wet, and not just from the shower’s spray. Joel rubbed that slick, delicate seam with all the self-control he could muster in the moment, and he kissed your cheek. Every inch he could feel of you was brimming with warmth and need.
You tilted your chin and caught his lips. You parted your legs and held his almost-fully erect length in your grasp.
“I— I mean it, Joel,” you answered him, surprisingly soft then. You kissed the sides of his mouth while you continued to stroke up and down. “I want you.”
Joel’s hips shifted involuntarily. As if moving of its own volition, his lower half stirred beneath your touch, and shortly, he had your legs spread wider and his body slotting in the gap between. His fingers pushed deeper.
And, just as his hand was all but cupping your mound and the wet heat of your cunt was pulsing against him, Joel slowed. He sucked in a breath and met your gaze.
“How do you want me, sweetheart?” he murmured.
In reply, you gripped his base and guided him closer. Flicked your thumb over the fat, leaking tip and sighed.
“Right…here.”
“Right here?”
Joel hadn’t meant to move you so quickly, but one blink and your hand was off him completely; your back was turned to him, and your ass was pressed flush with his groin. He had to hunch in the tight, wet, fog-infested enclosure with his chin jutting in over your shoulder and his palm splayed over your tummy. He spoke softly again:
“You want daddy in here, pretty girl?”
Your whine was all he needed to hear.
And perhaps it would’ve been wise to wait a beat or two. Work two fingers in and out of your aching cunt, drag his tongue through your folds, or else use his throbbing tip to ease you open for him. Before he could even think to make use of his hands, mouth, or head, though, you were reaching behind and taking him yourself. You pressed a palm to the wall and pushed up on the tips of your toes, and with impatience bleeding through your every movement, you slid back onto him. You did it quickly.
In the absence of adequate foreplay, entry wasn’t swift. Joel almost choked at the feeling of how tight you were around him—how rigid and warm and narrow you felt on that first slide. He planted a grounding hand next to your own out of sheer necessity. He held your hip in his other and swallowed a groan that seemed fit to nearly kill him.
“Sweetheart,” he panted against your neck, “Easy. Easy.”
You tried to nod your understanding but slid up just as fast. From a glimpse of your profile, Joel could make out some consternation fanning out. Your brows pinched.
The pretty, slick ‘o’ encircling his cock clenched again, and it was evident you were trying to force the motion back down against your body’s wishes. You whimpered a little and dropped your free hand between your legs.
Joel kissed your jaw. Your cheek. Your ear. Partly to remind you that he was fine to take things slow and partly to quiet his own hammering heart inside him.
It wasn’t working.
You were just so. fucking. tight.
“I— you gotta slow down, sweet pea,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Your walls pulsed again, and it nearly sent him spiraling. The second your ass met his hips and he was buried to the hilt, he stifled a groan into your neck.
“But I need you, daddy,” you whined, “Need you inside.”
Another grunt. Another moan. Another suffocating pulse.
“I’m gonna blow if we don’t slow down some, honey.”
It was mortifying, but it was the truth. Tonight, Joel just couldn’t seem to keep his cum confined to his balls like he normally could. Presently, they rested firm and heavy against the globes of your ass and were just then preparing to hit a rhythm as you rocked back and forth.
Your gaze flashed to his over your shoulder.
“That’s OK. You…you can— oh.”
Before you could finish that thought, your words were torn from your tongue and lost to a shuddering moan. His cock plunged deep within your soft and airtight channel, and your head lolled back a little more.
Out of habit, Joel pulled out and then plunged back in, feeling the wet clutch of you stretch around his cock.
“I can what, honey? What can daddy do?”
Lax as his voice made him sound, the man was coming apart at the seams; he had only to search your face for a fleeting, desperate moment, find you hungry as he was, and he thrusted even harder, absorbed the shockwaves of your pleasure while he fucked you up against the wall.
Gradually, the spatter of water on white glossy tile gave way to the sounds of your skin and his hitting again and again. Your face softened, and the once-taut walls eased to accommodate his girth. You squeezed Joel from base to tip, making the most obscene noises when he slid in and out, and from the look you gave him then, he could sense the need before it ever left your lips. He saw desire fill your pretty, glossy stare and felt compelled to sate it.
Again, it seemed you were begging him to stay.
Expression so pleading and sweet and soft.
“Daddy, I— I want you to cum inside me.”
Joel almost blew his load on the spot. His hips had to stutter in place—so taken aback by what you’d just said—but then you were bouncing back and forth again, neck craning to flash him the most winsome smile.
“Oh, honey…”
“Please.”
He’d finished in you before. It had been an accident. The night had ended with you and him hauling ass to the nearest CVS and hitting the Plan B like it owed you money. And now you were asking him to do it?
“I’m about to start my period. It’ll be fine.”
The half-starved look in your eyes said you’d been thinking about this for awhile. Maybe not with your rational brain, but certainly in earnest. Your smile said it.
Joel’s good sense was shot. He knew it was wrong. He was assured beyond a shadow of a doubt that if your dad ever learned he’d deliberately painted your insides white—or worse yet, knocked you up—his best friend would personally sever his dick and sauté it for lunch. Still, the urge to be joined with you in this brand new way was damn near debilitating. He couldn’t tell you no. So instead of doing what he should’ve done, he simply said:
“OK.”
For some reason, it felt wrong to finish in the shower. So he cut the water, toweled you both, and took you to bed. He slid under thin, sodden, wildly outdated motel sheets without letting his lips disconnect from yours once. He propped your legs around his hips and kissed you harder. He found a home within the furthest recesses of your body he could find, and his heart still throbbed for more. It was the best and worst agony, to be so delirious in the need for someone else, but each time you met him and accepted him in, his pleasure soared to new heights.
His cock dragged in and out of your heat in sloppy, shallow thrusts. He felt your wetness ease his passage and welcome him deeper, until the mouth of your cunt was stretched as taut against his base as it would go and your walls were pulsing with need. You squirmed underneath him. Your whines turned into whimpers, and the whimpers became ragged, hiccuping gasps as you clawed at his back and begged for more, more, more.
“‘M’so full. Feels so, so good, daddy,” you breathed.
“Yeah?” Joel said, and he glanced between your bodies to see you stretched and stuffed to the brim with cock. He groaned involuntarily. “I fit so nice, don’t I, baby?”
“You— you do, daddy. You do.”
“Can I fit a little more in?”
Your eyes widened.
As soon as realization dawned, you nodded your head and gripped him tighter. You hardly needed another stab of his hips, his thumb on your clit, or so much as a word spoken besides—at just the thought of being filled with his seed, your body seized in anticipation. It was you trembling, shuddering, clenching hard and reaching bliss before you even meant to get there, really. You were wholly overstimulated and clamoring for more, the pulses of your cunt milking his cock with all you had.
Joel scarcely had the presence of mind to get a syllable out, but he knew what he needed to say before his pleasure took hold. He smoothed a hand over your cheek, cupped it, and lowered his lips to yours, so only the cusp of his mouth and his stubble were grazing your open pout and the words he spoke were all yours to hear.
Sliding deeper. Meeting and holding your gaze with bare, uncontrived sincerity: “I’m yours, baby. I’m all yours.”
His balls tightened. He wanted to say more to set your mind at ease and assure you what you meant to him, but evidently, your bodies had other plans. In the next moment, he felt a familiar warmth spurt from his tip, and his hips jerked. His cock burrowed as deep within your wet, pliant walls as it could go, and he unloaded rope after rope of his cum. Joel let out a full-throated groan.
The wild hum of his pulse through his skull all but rendered him deaf to the sounds around him, but he knew he told you that he loved you; he knew you said it back. He felt you anchor your heels into the backs of his legs and accept him completely. You spent what felt like hours kissing, writhing, panting, and murmuring words of the warmest affection. In reality, this lasted seconds.
With you underneath him, in his arms, it didn’t matter.
“I love you, Joel,” you whispered again, smiling.
He grinned and kissed you, “I love you more.”
And he’d meant what he said: every inch of him was yours. Every moment you would let him have from that point forward, he’d spend showing you that he was there to stay. He didn’t care how long it would take to prove it.
For once, he didn’t care what your dad would have to say
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fazcinatingblog · 1 year ago
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Also when Sophia was telling really guy about the lightbulbs he needed to change and putting the bins out, I was behind sophia but really guy saw me laughing so he's like "Laura's laughing" shhhhhh quiet
#honestly though Sophia knows i take nothing seriously#how I'm still employed is beyond me#five years!!!!! it's nearly been five years!!!!!!#all the times i laughed at things Colleen said and then colleen would be like IT'S NOT FUNNY LAURA#yes it is#what would Jenette and Colleen think about this 112 km thing#neither of them ever EVER got that much from the weekly travel money#the most they ever got was like $30#and really guy just getting $95 (some not paid because there's nothing in petty cash atm) for the week#that's more than Colleen's cleaning money!!!!!!#he gets more to drive sophia to and from the office three times a week then what Colleen got to clean the office#imagine if anyone from work found my blog I'm so sorry#tony let's talk about tony#i felt so bad today because we were laughing so much downstairs about Tony getting a pay rise#and poor Tony works upstairs and he was the only one up there aw he comes down like 'are you all partying?'#The Woolworths guy noticed that the productivity report is wrong cos Tony's column shows he brought money for the business in July/August#he only joined in October#so sophia thinks Tony has brought more money in and hence the pay rise????? i don't know#anyway#i don't know#moving on#what's happening this weekend I've got nothing#i think I'm going out for dinner Sunday idk where though#most likely fasolo pizza because that's what was originally discussed#guys don't tell jlawbenn if i go to Fasolo pizza without her oh man#Alex fasolo sees me enter the restaurant and automatically brings over an organic cola and margerita pizza with no basil#me trying to make conversation with people without using words like Biancyes and ma ake
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cinnamorollcrybaby · 2 months ago
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Soooo random but
I think that choso would be a total Baby when he’s sick. Especially since he’s only been human for a little bit. He hasn’t even expirenced a cold before. He’d probably get super clingy and whiny and need to be taken care of.
Crybaby Choso
Tags: Choso x gn!Reader, sick!choso, needy!choso, sfw, fluffy drabble
An: You're so right, anon. I totally see Choso just being a whiny little crybaby when he's sick, but he's cute so he gets away with it.
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"Baby." A deep raspy voice pulls you from your slumber, but you're not mad. You'd know that voice from anywhere.
"Yes baby?" You ask groggily, not even opening your eyes yet.
"Something's wrong..." Choso responds, giving you another nudge so you'll finally open your eyes.
"Hm? What's wrong?" You murmur, using your hands to wipe the sleep from your eyes. It's pitch black in your room, and a quick glance at your phone reveals that it's 2 in the morning.
"I don't feel right. I think I'm dying." Your sweet boyfriend's voice sounds so panicked. You also remember the one time he thought he was going to die because he stubbed his toe on the couch one morning.
Your boyfriend is incredibly strong and a skilled fighter. He knows just how to be rough around the edges, and he's not afraid to get dirty. It's the little things about being human that turn him into such a whiny mess.
You don't mind though. It warms your heart that he feels safe enough around you to drop the tough curse persona. He lets you get a front row seat of his vulnerabilities.
"What doesn't feel right, baby?" You ask in a soft tone. Your hands find his naked body underneath the blankets. He never liked sleeping with clothes on. His body felt warm and feverish under your touch.
"My stomach feels uneasy, and my head is pounding. I also can't breathe through my nose." Ah, classic symptoms of the man-flu. Choso is likely sick, but he's new to being human... and he's a man, which makes him a total crybaby when he's sick.
"Oh, you poor thing. C'mere." You murmur to him, and he immediately scoots over to you, lying his heavy, sweaty body on you. "Not that close, Choso-" You grunt from lying underneath his weight.
"I need you, baby. What if these are our final moments?" He whines, causing you to let out a small giggle from his overdramatic personality.
"You're not going to die." You assure him with another small laugh before grabbing his jaw and directed his forehead to your lips. You feel the heat from his head tingle your skin. He is running a fever.
His breath is coming out in small pants. You hum softly as you rise from the bed. "Where are you going, baby?" Choso whines like a lost puppy as he immediately tries to follow you.
You place a firm hand on his shoulder, preventing him from getting up from the bed. "I'm not going anywhere. Relax, honey. You're running a fever, so I'm going to go get you some medicine." You try to reassure him, but he gives you those puppy-dog eyes and that cute little pout. You know he's just a needy mess right now. "Be right back, promise." You press a quick kiss to his temple before venturing off to the bathroom to look in the medicine cabinet.
With you assortment of brews and potions (warm tea, medicine, and a small bowl of chicken noodle soup), you come back into the bedroom to find Choso helplessly holding your pillow, cuddling it closely to his chest with tears brimming his eyes.
"You must be really feeling bad, honey. Look. I got you some stuff to help you feel better." You mumble softly to him as you crawl into the bed next to him.
"You took forever. I don't think I can live without you when I'm like this, baby. You have to call off work tomorrow." How can you say no to such a pitiful expression? His face is pale with the exception of his poor little nose, which is rosy tint from sniffling.
"Okay, baby. I'll stay home." You respond with a small laugh before he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you close.
"Can we cuddle and watch that show you really like, please?" He asks as his nose nudges at your neck, indulging his desire for your scent. He genuinely can't fathom going without you right now.
"Of course, baby. Whatever you want." You respond as you hand him the medicine and cup of tea. He, of course, makes a disgusted face as he tries to swallow the pills. Poor thing.
The rest of the week is dedicated to nursing poor Choso back to health through the power of kisses, cuddles, head petting, and Love is Blind. By the end of the week, he's back to his slightly-less-needy self..... aaaand you start to feel like shit! He ever so graciously passed his germs on to you.
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burytheruby · 2 months ago
Text
I N A P P R O P I A T E
𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺
IN which Captain Price is your father, and your eyes are set on his lieutenant.
OR: you're down bad for Ghost, and your father isn't too keen on that.
MINORS Do NOT Interact.
Warnings: age gap, fem! reader, ooc, canon divergent tbh, little to no british slang bc i barely know american LOL. written from my phone please bear with me. also, do not get groomed, this is just fiction. WC: 1501
English is my second language, very self indulgent.
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"m'gonna marry him, daddy!" Captain Price used to laugh about that, when your eight-year-old self would cling onto his arm while pointing at the twenty-one-year-old man who had just been recruited. it used to be an inside joke between the unit task, your father was oh so confident that you'd get over your childhood crush.
oh boy was he wrong.
every time without fail, when the squad would gather at your home during their leave, you'd take peeks to the living room, kitchen, or wherever they settled to talk. this ritual continued well into your pre-teenage years, right before you turned moody and too shy to even come out of your room. that's when Price thought it was over, what he didn't expect however was how you'd be so damn adamant on having Simon come over almost daily as soon as you turned eighteen. he was a seasoned captain, he wasn't oblivious to the way you'd eye his lieutenant, how you'd give him the coldest beer when it used to be reserved for him, the way you'd come every now and then and sit right across from The Ghost to "join in the conversation and catch up." nothing escaped his sharp eye, not even the way Ghost would sometimes stare your way for a little too long.
"he's emotionally unavailable, princess." he'd tell you, dropping you off for orientation day at your dream university. "he's a good lad, but he's got his own demons to fight." and he'd sigh as you slammed the car door on him. he could never deny your wishes, though, as he created a woman who was too determined—too set on her track who did not know the word defeat. but you were also just a kid—or at least that's the mental image of you in his head, a little girl with innocent thoughts who simply found his comrade to be cute.
"yer young and beautiful, m'sure those college boys are dying for ye." your father would tell you, almost begging for you to enjoy these years and experiment.
"but i don't want a boy." you would roll your eyes, having started your second year of university certainly made you into a character. you were confident—rightfully so, your beauty outshined anyone else. "i want Simon." you'd repeat like a broken record, and if it didn't make him want to strangle his lieutenant. how has time truly passed, he remembered when you'd call Simon by the name of Ghost, the name everyone used instead of his given name. but you weren't a part of the task force, there wasn't really a reason for you to call him Ghost for reason other than his signature balaclava and stitched-in mask.
you soon turned twenty, you were not a little girl anymore. his team had joined later in the evening to celebrate you, bringing you gifts and sneaked in alcohol for later when your friends would leave. it wasn't until Simon's arrival that you suddenly disappeared, but Price isn't a fool. he clutched the now empty can of beer, stopping immediately as he felt Gaz's reassuring touch on his shoulder. you were not a little girl anymore, you were a woman. he repeated in his head, no longer glancing over at the backyard door as he focused on the conversation between his comrades.
𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺
"thank you, Simon." you smiled as he helped you put the piece of jewelry around your neck. a beautiful necklace of the metal of your liking—the one you always used when you dressed up so pretty, so dolled up. he looked at your face, his mouth in a straight line yet his eyes full of unspoken softness for you. he hummed in response, his gaze falling back down to your neck, where the necklace laid so neatly right under your collarbone, before it touched your cleavage. Simon tore his gaze away, he refused to look at you that way—not to his captain's daughter.
your smile faded as you noticed his lack of eye contact, your hand grazing his calloused one with gentleness. his eyes landed on yours once more, one hand moving the stray hair out of your face as he admired you, how you had grown to be a gorgeous woman. "we can't, love, m'way too old for ye." is what he said to you—to himself, to stop the pounding of his heart and the ache of having you so close to him. you shook your head in rebuttal, the frown of your brows making you more enticing to the man who towered over you with ease. you were determined, and he liked that about you—among the many other things that piqued his interest.
"don't care, Simon, i said i'd marry you." too determined, maybe. he scoffed at your words yet couldn't help it as the ghost of a smile appeared on his usually stoic face. "and i don't care about what old man has to say about it, i'm an adult for christ's sake." you held onto his hand, the one that laid so gently on the curve of your neck, feeling your pulse on his rough fingers. your eyes roamed from his eyes to his cheekbones, the scars on his face that added to his charm, and his slightly chapped lips that seemed to beg to close the gap between you. Simon noticed your lingering eyes, and he cursed under his breath as his fingers squeezed your neck softly.
"eyes up 'ere, love." his voice took you out of trance, eyes quickly darting back up to his as you felt your cheeks burn in embarrassment at being caught. you smiled in response, your own eyes getting lost on his gaze. a deep shade of chestnut, one that conveyed a turmoil of emotions. surely, he couldn't just court his captain's daughter, it's just wrong. no matter what her sweet eyes silently pleaded for, he couldn't just give in—hell, temptation is too strong. rough digits let go of your neck, reaching down to your waist so tenderly that anyone who looked your way would know.
you couldn't help it, not when he always tried to make you happy, to give you everything you deserved, for treating you the way he just did. with a pull of his jacket, your lips clashed passionately, desperately, as if you were to disappear, like a prayer that had been heard, you clung to him with your arms around his shoulders as he held you impossibly close. you sighed between the kiss, pulling at his bottom lip playfully before you returned to the steamy friction of your lips. a want, one Simon hadn't realized how much he needed, how much he craved. you were a woman, one so, so perfect. "so gorgeous," he hummed lowly against you, letting go of reddened, puffy lips. his words sent a shiver down your spine, relishing on his words, the ones that were only for you, always you.
Simon has never been rough with you– he couldn't even imagine being so, not when you're holding onto him like a lifeline, like he's everything you've ever wanted. he doesn't complain when you bring him up to your face again, breaths mixing in the silence of the yard, so silent you have both forgotten of the people inside your home. "Simon," you gasp in a plead, a withheld plea as the backdoor opened. he pulled away from you in an instant, his hand still on your waist protectively.
"everything alright?" Price asked, and you could hear Simon curse under his breath. you just knew your father did it on purpose, he had that mischievous look on his face you had inherited, one you both used when you planned something. his eyes bore on the point of contact between you and his lieutenant, and Simon found himself forced to let go of you with a grumble. Price's eyes fell on the pendant hanging off your neck, letting out a sigh as he closed the door behind him and walked up to you.
"gorgeous pendant, hun." his eyes found their way to his lieutenant on your side, a look on his face that was no longer a warning– but rather a petition (demand, more like) to keep his treasure safe. do not break her heart. you could almost hear his thoughts, shifting under his gaze as you observed the interaction. Simon gave a curt nod, a wordless promise of affection and protection. "you should hurry, s'getting cold." Price said after a moment, giving you a smile before walking back inside.
Simon found your smile endearing, the way it reached your eyes and made your face bright. his hand returned to your side, giving a playful squeeze before making its way to the small of your back once more. "let's go inside, yeah?" he murmured against your ear, and you couldn't help but think of how neatly wrapped you had him around your finger, always getting what you want.
an unforgettable birthday.
𐬺𐬽𐬾❤︎︎𐬾𐬽𐬺
made an entire account just to write this. i will be doing more, trust.
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xosannie · 5 months ago
Note
ateez’s reaction when you accidentally mark/scratch them bcs it feels so good and you just cant help it
☆a/n: sorry if this took so long I wanted it to be good🤞🏻also look at me posting fics back to back🤭
☆Genre: smut 18+ MDNI
☆Pairing: ot8xfem!reader
————————————————————
Hongjoong
He might not comment on it, but the feeling of pain definitely encourages him to keep going. Dare I say it turns him on.
~
It’s no surprise that Hongjoong likes to tease you. Giving you light touches and avoiding the area you need him the most, and if he does touch you where you crave him it’s at an agonizingly slow pace. So when finally, he has you pressed against the bed holding your legs open as he thrusted into you, you can’t help but gab onto whatever body part of his you can reach. In this case you hold onto his bicep, laying limp on the mattress as you let out whiny moans. It all just felt so good, finally having his cock slamming into you that you couldn’t help but drag your nails down his skin.
“Fuck,” he grunts.
You can feel his dick twitch in you and his hips drill into you at a faster pace (you didn’t know that was possible). In return he would lean down to dig his teeth in your neck, if you mark him he gets to mark you. You yelp at the feeling, clenching around his dick as you feel your orgasm creep up.
”You’re mine, remember that.”
If you had a dick you’d be so bricked up right now cause wtf he’s so hot for that.
Seonghwa
He doesn’t give it much thought when you scratch him, but once you start biting him… it’s game over
~
Seonghwa likes to hold you close while he fucked you, he loved the feeling of your skin rubbing against his as you moaned in his ear. In this particular situation you were trying to quiet down your moans while Seonghwa fucked you deep and slow. It was the middle of the night in your hotel room, you definitely didn’t want the other members sleeping next door to hear how good you were being fucked by their hyung. You held on to Seonghwa as your thighs trembled around him. You weren’t thinking when you suddenly dug your teeth in the crook of his neck to silent your moans. Seonghwa let out a choked moan and hips stilled as he pulled away slightly.
“Wait wait… don’t do that,” he whispered.
You looked up at him worryingly, afraid that you crossed a boundary you weren’t aware of.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I almost came,” he breathed out.
Holy fuck- YOU almost came after hearing that.
Yunho
He’s sort of in the middle ground, it doesn’t affect his deeply but he doesn’t hate it either. He does encourage it though, especially when he sees you resort to biting yourself.
~
You were always too scared to accidentally hurt Yunho during sex, you would just feel to bad. But you had this habit to want to bite on something when you felt too good. So when Yunho kneeled behind you while he fucked into you, you couldn’t help it when you raised your own hand up to bite down on it. Yunho noticed and he tsked at you, leaning forward so his chest pressed against your back. The new angle made you moan louder, this way Yunho was fucking even deeper in you. He reached forward to gently remove your hand from your mouth.
“No baby don’t bite yourself, here.”
He covered your mouth with his large palm, you were so fucked out that your brain didn’t fully process it when you bit down onto Yunho’s flesh. He grunted, kissing the side of your head.
“There you go, if you need to bite I’m right here okay?”
Afterwards, when you both finished and Yunho cleaned you up, you noticed the bite mark on his palm. You gasp, holding his hand gently to inspect the bite.
“I’m sorry baby, does it hurt?”
“No, it’s okay sweetheart,” Yunho chuckles.
You already felt a pang of guilt and Yunho noticed, cupping your face to reassure you.
“Heys it’s really okay baby, it honestly doesn’t hurt.”
“Are you sure?” “Yes I’m sure,” he kissed you softly. “Besides, it’s kinda cute when you feel so good you resort to biting.”
“If you call me cute I’ll get horny again.”
Yeosang
He doesn’t necessarily like the sting of the pain, but he wouldn’t want you to stop. He knows that if you’re marking him it means he’s doing a good job, and that turns him on.
~
Yeosang loved to pleasure you, one of his favorite ways was to have you sitting in his lap, back pressed against his chest as his fingers moved in and out of your hole. He loved to hold you, pressing soft kisses on your neck and cheek while you moaned at the feeling of his fingers fucking you. You threw your head back, resting it against his shoulder. You never purposefully hurt Yeosang, you weren’t thinking when you dug your nails in the skin of his forearm. He tries to hold back a whimper, pressing his lips together to keep the noise in.
“That feel good baby?” He asks in his deep yet soothing voice.
You nod eagerly, unable to form words from how good Yeosang fingers felt inside you.
“Yeah? I can tell. Mmm I love pleasing you.”
Of course after everything you apologize repeatedly while kissing the marks you left. He would just laugh and assure you that it’s okay.
“Don’t worry about it baby, you did it cause you felt so good. It means… I did good,” he says the last part shyly.
You pause at his words, heart exploding at how cute he looked.
“Im sucking your dick.”
San
He definitely doesn’t mind if you scratch or bite him, but his favorite if when you mark his body with pretty hickies. He loves the feeling of your tongue on him, lips sucking at his skin. It’s just so arousing and intimate.
~
You were just so horny, you haven’t seen San in days due to how busy he was. So when you both were finally alone, your grew too desperate when your soft kisses turned into a heated make out session. You both already tore each others clothes off before he pulled you closer to straddle his lap. You subconsciously rocked your hips against him, causing him to groan when he felt the way your wet pussy dragged against his bare thigh. He gripped your hips, guiding them back and forth making you to moan against his lips. You didn’t know if it’s because of how needy you were or if you’re just a sensitive slut, but the way your clit rubbed against the taut muscle made your head reel.
“I missed you so much baby, come on mark me up, let everyone know that I belong to you.”
You let out a small whimper, hiding your face in his neck to suck at his warm skin. You heard him groan at he feeling of your tongue, hands gripping tighter when he felt you nibble him just a bit.
“Yes there you go, good girl.”
”Call me a good girl again and I’m cumming on your thigh.” San laughs, placing a kiss on the side of your head.
Mingi
Honestly he doesn’t pay any mind to it since he’s too lost in the feeling of your warmth around his cock. Although, when he’s eating you out, that’s a different story.
~
You legs trembled around Mingi’s head as you entangled your fingers in his hair. The way he licked at your gushing hole while his long nose rubbed against your clit made your back arch. Your legs closed around his head but Mingi didn’t mind, he loved with when you trapped him against your pussy. You felt yourself getting closer to release, eyes rolling in the back of you head as you dug your nails in his scalp. Mingi whimpered against your core at the feeling, closing his eyes shut as you came all over his tongue. After your high was over, you realized how much you were hurting him so you massaged his scalp worryingly.
“Sorry Mingi, did that hurt? It just felt so good I couldn’t help it.”
“No don’t apologize,” he breathed out, pulling himself up to smash his lips on yours. You felt his throbbing cock press against your thigh.
“That was so hot, I want to fuck you but If I do I won’t last very long.”
Aaaand, you’re horny again :/
Wooyoung
Oh this man would looove it. He’s a pain slut just as much as you are. He loves the sting it feels good to him and he especially loves seeing the marks you left the next day. ~
You grasped tightly onto Wooyoung’s shoulder while you bounced on his length. He gripped your hips tightly, stilling your movement to drill up into your hole. You fell forward, hiding your face in Wooyoung’s neck as he grunted loudly. The feeling was so overwhelming you needed to ground yourself. You couldn’t help it when your nails scratched across his upper back leaving red trails on his tan skin. He moaned in your ear, hips stuttering for a moment.
“Do that again,” he commanded. You couldn’t comprehend what he said, getting lost at the feeling of Wooyoung fucking you just right. He slapped your ass making you yelp.
“I said scratch me again!” This time you did as you were told, scratching him without hesitation. The noises that came out of Wooyoung made you cum on his cock.
Like literally, you came so hard.
Jongho
He wouldn’t say much about it in the moment… but boy does it do something to him. He just doesn’t like to show it.
~
Jongho held your legs up while he thrusted inside you. You couldn’t stop squirming from how Jongho’s thick cock was hitting the perfect spot. You reached down, gripping his thighs and digging your nails in his skin just to drag it down scratching him. He would wince quietly but the sound would be drowned out but your loud moans. It wasn’t until hours later, when your both snuggled up on the couch after a shower that he speaks up.
“I really liked when you scratched me earlier.”
You turn your head to him, a little shocked by his confession. His gaze didn’t even meet yours, still fixated on the TV screen
“Really? I felt a little bad when I saw the mark I gave you when we were showering.”
“No don’t feel bad, keep doing it from now on.”
He pulled you in closer and you smiled at his attempt to sound nonchalant.
“Whatever you say bear,” you kissed his cheek and he fought back a smile.
Why was he so cute? :(
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heathermason6060 · 6 months ago
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Daryl Dixon x f!Reader Smut: Matchmaker Merle
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Warnings: slight drug use, mentions of Lori, Daryl is a virgin, Shane being Shane, No use of Y/N, unprotected sex
Summary: Merle tries to get Daryl laid with an old family friend. Apparently, Merle is a master matchmaker? Buildup to smut. 
Notes: Sorry for having the buildup so slow, I'm really bad at porn without at least a LITTLE plot lmao
You were allowed a little leeway your first day at camp. Glenn had found you, confused and lost, covered in dirt and blood after the bombs had gone off and separated you from your friends and family. You were on the highway, like everyone else, but as soon as they saw the city being lit up, all hell broke loose. They started acting like animals. Running and screaming, looting. The dead coming back to life didn't help much either. 
On your second day, you were expected to start pitching in. You didn't mind helping, it was the way Shane approached you that rubbed you the wrong way. You offered to help hunt, fish, and go out looking for supplies, but he just laughed at you. He laughed like you were a child asking for a gun. He handed you a brush and sat you down beside Carol, who was washing clothes at the bottom of the quarry. 
You found comfort in familiarity. Which came in the form of something extremely unexpected, Merle Dixon. Maybe it was because you'd seen each other a few times at the corner store back near where you lived, maybe it was the fact he had respect for your folks, but when you were taken back to camp he didn't treat you the way he treated the other women. 
He wasn't respectful or chivalrous by any means, but he didn't treat you like a piece of meat. He didn't constantly try to get in your pants or speak to you in that slimy demeaning way he had with Andrea or Amy. You were grateful for it, even if you did catch him staring at your ass more than once, because he was the one thing that made you feel a little more at home with the group.
You'd never met his brother before. You'd seen him once, at the small mechanic shop near the corner store you'd occasionally see Merle in. Rednecks were anything but rare where you grew up, but something about Daryl felt different. He was quieter, more of Merle's shadow than his own person. But you knew just by looking at him that he was anything but somebody's shadow.
He saw you on your second day, after you'd done your morning “chores” and went to sit next to the campfire. He was carving something, maybe a bolt for his crossbow, and he barely looked up when you sat down across from him. 
Daryl looked up again, a spark of recognition in his eyes. His voice, strong and firm, called your name as if it was a question. 
“Yes?” You could see the exact moment the realization clicked that he did in fact remember you.
He didn't know much about you at all. He knew Merle knew your folks, and you lived pretty close, but he'd never actually spoken to you before. 
He did like to watch you, though, you'd always go into the corner store next to the mechanic shop and buy a coke and a bag of chips at lunch. He thought you were the prettiest woman he'd ever seen. Merle had a different set of words he'd prefer to use for you, but Daryl thought they felt too nasty. You weren't white trash, you were pretty, out of place, and the words ‘hot piece of ass' just didn't fit you. 
“Shit. Didn't think it was you when they said your name yesterday.” His fingers absentmindedly rubbed the length of his stick, looking over you a few times as he tongued the inside of his cheek in thought. “Huh. You seen Merle yet?” 
“Yeah, I got here yesterday morning.” You answered, the day before Daryl had been gone most of the day hunting. By the time he got back you were already in your new tent, something that Glenn had made sure to pick up when he brought you back to his group. 
“What happened? Your folks alright?” He asked, knowing it was strange for you to be here without your family and friends. 
“I have no idea. Don't remember much. We were real close to the city when the bombs went off, all I remember is fire and screaming and I woke up in the back of a gas station.” 
He nodded again, chewing on the inside of his cheek as he listened. 
Daryl wanted to stay with you, talk for a while, having a familiar face made him feel like less of an outsider. But from the corner of his eye he saw Shane with his hands on his hips in that stupid pose he liked to do when he was about to give someone  attitude. Daryl looked back to you and gathered his crossbow and bolts, muttering a quick excuse about needing to go hunt and that he'd see you around. He couldn't stand Shane, he'd only known him for a few weeks, give or take, and he was doing everything he could to avoid the wife fucker. 
Shane gave you a talking to that evening, warning you about the “backwoods rednecks”, even though you knew it wasn't out of the kindness of his heart. It was just another way to control the people in his camp, something he got off on doing. He didn't trust either of the Dixon brothers, that was for certain, but going out of his way to ‘warn’ you? It took everything in you to just nod and say okay. 
“When you gonna tap that, baby brother?” Merle's voice and the way he said it made Daryl cringe. He needed to do a better job about not staring at you so blatantly. 
“Not my type.” Daryl lied through his teeth, picking another strip of stringy squirrel meat from the stick he'd used to roast it over the fire. 
The Dixon brothers usually had a smaller, separate fire away from the main groups. It was mostly Merle's idea, he'd tell Daryl ‘they're not like us, keep your distance, we're just redneck trash to them.’. Not that Daryl gave a shit. He mostly thought the same anyways. 
You were at the group fire, sitting beside Andrea and Amy, who were busy chattering about how they wished they could catch some fish instead of surviving off tree rats and canned peas. You didn't mind it, even though you preferred larger game, meat was meat. You ate your squirrel like it was a gourmet dinner, something Daryl took note of.
“Not your type? Hah! That's bullshit and we both know it. She's everybody's type, boy, you better get on that before someone else does.”
Daryl wasn't sure who Merle was referring to. Glenn could barely speak to women, T-Dog was far too respectful, Shane was so far up Lori’s ass he had shit in his ears. (That's so gross I'm so sorry) 
The sound of harsh sniffing had Daryl looking away from you and back to his brother. He wiped the white residue from his nose and offered Daryl his large knife, containing another line. 
“Nah. I'm good.” Daryl waved him off, not feeling like being on uppers around all these people. Made his temper even shorter than it already was. “Careful with that shit, if Shane sees-”
“He ain't gonna do shit about it. I'd like to see him say somethin’.” The fact Merle was always looking for an excuse to butt heads had Daryl on edge. “Take it, and go take her off in the woods before I do.” 
It never took too much demanding from Merle before Daryl would give in. It was a fatal flaw in his character. He looked up to him and whatever he said went, even when he didn't really want to. So he took the coke and worked up the nerves to talk to you. 
You'd just finished washing everyone's stupid dirty dishes and went into the woods to piss when you saw Daryl again. You gasped as you walked around the tree you'd used for cover and saw him walking through the treeline, worried he'd seen you. But he was too focused on his steps, and that put you at ease. 
You walked up the half-assed trail to meet him, not feeling like chatting next to your pee puddle. 
“Hey, you going hunting?” You asked, slipping your hands in your shorts pockets. 
He shook his head as he reached you, snatching a stray stick out of his hair. “Goin’ down to some of the old shops down the road. Tired of all these canned peas. You comin’?”
You eagerly nodded, happy to be away from the group. They were nice enough, but since you normally hung around Merle, they treated you as someone they didn't fully trust. Especially Lori, Shane and Dale. The amount of times you caught Lori staring daggers into you every time you were within ten feet of Carl was starting to drive you insane. 
“Been wanting to get out and do something for days. Can't fucking stand Shane's micromanaging.” You said as you walked, wishing you would've known you'd be going on an impromptu supply run. You only had your knife, you'd prefer to have your Ruger your father had given you. It was in the RV, where Shane had taken it to ‘clean’. You were more than suspicious that he just didn't want you carrying a gun around camp. 
Daryl snorted. “Yeah. Can't stand that asshole. What kinda man-” He stopped himself, shaking his head. 
“What?” You looked over at him, careful not to trip on the multiple storm blown  branches from the larger trees. 
“Nothin’. Just don't like ‘em.” 
You were silent for a few minutes as you thought of something to say. You know, in apocalypse type situations, you mainly think about securing your next meal, how to not get killed in your sleep, how to protect your friends and family. But here you were, trying to think of what to say to a man you were steadily growing attracted to. You always thought he was cute before this, but seeing how capable he was, how he was so sure of himself, it was a side to him you didn't expect. It was like he was one of those people always secretly hoping for an excuse to go live in the woods and live in anarchy. 
“How attached are you to this group?” He asked, catching you off guard. 
“Not at all. Can't stand most of them. Why?” 
“Just thinkin’ about leavin’. Don't belong here with these people. Lori screamed at a damn snake the other day and got the kids all riled up.” He had a visible look of distaste on his face. Of all things to scream your head off at in an apocalypse, wildlife wasn't on your list. 
“Are you asking me to come?” You asked, unsuccessfully attempting to hide your excitement. The idea of splitting off with the Dixon brothers seemed your best bet, even if Merle was, well, Merle. You knew you were probably one of the only women on earth that didn't have to worry about him constantly trying to get in your pants. What you didn't know though, was that he was trying his damnedest to get his little brother laid, even if you were the daughter of a family friend. 
“Yeah. You don't belong here either.” You didn't know if it was true or not, but it felt true to you. 
“Sure. As long as I'm not gonna be a burden, or anything.” You knew you'd need to rely on the two of them for protection and some food, at least until you got used to your new life. You adapted fairly quickly. 
“Wouldn't’ve asked if you were.” 
“Alright, well, if you make up your mind, let me know.”
You arrived at the first store, a small gas station much like the one the two of you used to frequent back then. It was fairly untouched, but you knew it wouldn't be that way for long. 
You broke into a bag of jerky, thankful it was Daryl with you and not anyone else. If someone gave you a speech on taking care of the group before yourself you might just take off on your own without Daryl. 
He scored a bunch of chips, some cup noodles, and a 6 pack of beer for Merle. 
Instead of going back like you'd originally planned, you talked each other into going further off down the road to an old Dollar General. You stored your stash in a hollowed out log next to the road so you wouldn't need to carry it the entire time and carried on. 
“This was a great idea.” Your tongue was stained red from sour patch kids, you went through five bags and gave Daryl the greens and yellows. 
Daryl licked the sour crystals from his fingertips and grunted in agreement, tossing the empty bag over his shoulder off the roof that the two of you had gone up to to indulge in your spoils. 
You laid on your back and sighed, surrounded by empty snack bags and wrappers. “Fuck. I needed this.” Neither of you cringed at your corny comment, because although a cliche, you really, really did need this. 
Daryl hadn't eaten much besides the gummies, thanks to being pressured into taking the coke by Merle. He cursed himself for it, wishing he had the nerve to just say no and stick with it. 
He glanced over at you, your body orange in the light of the setting sun. You still wore those cute short Bobbie Brooks shorts he'd always seen you wearing around town. His eyes drifted to your legs and he let out a soft exhale, wishing he was as silver tongued as he thought his brother was. Even if the ladies rarely appreciated Merle's filthy flirting, he had to admit his one liners were pretty impressive sometimes. 
You opened your eyes and used your hand as a shield from the sun to look at him. You'd barely caught him staring at your legs, and felt a smile tug at your lips. 
“You wanna fool around?” You half joked, prepared to laugh if he turned you down. But the look on his face told you he really, really didn't want to turn you down. 
He froze for a moment, his eyes looking anywhere but you, his heart hammering against his chest. His thoughts ran frantic, from Merle telling him to have sex with you, and to you, who he was terrified to have sex with. He was suddenly very grateful for the coke he'd taken, and it clicked in his mind why Merle had been so insistent on him taking it. He knew he wouldn't last three minutes without it. 
“You serious?” He asked, his brows knitted tightly together from the sun and in concentration as he read your face. 
“Yeah, why not?” You shrugged, sitting upright so you didn't have to keep squinting up at him. You looked cool on the outside, but on the inside you were barely holding it together. You'd never thought of Daryl this way before, given you'd only seen him once before all this, but now that you were, it felt like you were about to potentially have sex with the hottest man on earth. 
“Uh, yeah, I guess.” 
Awkward was an understatement. Daryl didn't know what to do with his hands. His dick had been hard off and on the whole trip with you, despite the coke. He didn't know what would feel good to you, something he found himself oddly concerned with. His only experience with women was watching them getting fucked in porn, so he tried it that way. 
Your eyes widened in surprise when he quickly turned and leaned over you, his hands slipping up your shirt. He choked out a gasp, looking down at the outline of his hands as he squeezed your tits. You were caught off guard by his sudden boldness, and the way he was roughly groping your chest wasn't helping. You grimaced, about to tell him to ease up, but he caught your mouth in an unexpected kiss before you could speak. 
You were way too horny to care about how messy his kissing was. Truthfully, it was pretty hot, filled with so much desire and lust that it didn't matter he was inexperienced. The fact he was this eager just because of you had you moaning into his mouth. 
He took that as a sign he was doing something right and rolled your nipples between his fingers, doing what felt right. He pinched them, making you gasp against his lips, and he couldn't hide the crooked grin from his face. He pulled back just long enough to start unbuttoning your shirt. 
You took over for him, not wanting him to get impatient and rip off one of your only good shirts. When his eyes landed on your chest he whimpered, he fucking whimpered! You groaned at the sound and pulled him back against you by his shoulders, sinking your head into the crook of his neck to kiss the skin there. 
He hadn't expected you to do anything to him. In the videos he watched, most of the time the dude just rips her clothes off and fucks her in different positions for half an hour while she screams and moans like she's hurt. He hated that sound, the over exaggerated noises, he much preferred the noises you made. 
You laid down on your back, grateful the sun had sunk below the tips of the trees so it wasn't so bright anymore. He was on you in a second, now kissing your neck, eager to give you the same pleasure you were making him feel. The moan that rumbled in your chest made his heart jump, knowing he was doing something right. 
“God, s’so good.” You exhaled lazily, your eyes closing as he used his knee to kick your thighs apart for his waist. He quickly ground against you, a stifled groan stuck in his throat at the feeling of friction. 
“Take ‘em off.” He demanded, tugging impatiently at your shorts before he went to unbuckle his belt. You happily obliged, unbuttoning your shorts and dragging them down your thighs. 
When Daryl saw your lacy red panties he shivered. At camp, most of the underwear he saw hanging up were more… practical? The women had quickly changed their lace panties and thongs for boy shorts, but here you were, the skin around your hips indented obscenely from the way they hugged you like magic. 
“Fuck.” He exhaled deeply, his forehead resting against yours as he looked down at your body under his. He was really, really glad Merle gave him coke. Just the sight of you mostly naked under him had his cock throbbing painfully.
He finished with his pants, only pulling them down enough to drag his leaking dick out, his jaw dropping when he saw you shimmying out of your panties. His head spun, his mouth watered, and before he could even think he was scooting down to plant his face between your legs. 
You gasped, your head falling back against the rough flooring of the roof. He was so eager., so heartbreakingly eager to please you, it had your pussy so wet it was almost unbearable. His hot tongue was sloppy, inaccurate, it couldn't decide where it wanted to be. He'd be licking broad stripes one second, and the next he was swirling it around your clit. You were beginning to think maybe he wasn't as inexperienced as you believed. 
Daryl learned all he knew about sex from porn. If there was one thing he was fascinated about, it was giving head. One of the first things he always wanted to do was eat out a woman. He never thought it would be someone as hot as you. 
He tried everything he knew that made the women in videos moan, and to his surprise, you moaned the most when he kept it simple and just sucked your clit. So he did that, hollowing out his cheeks and sucking it into his mouth to roll his tongue around. 
You were in shambles. You tried desperately to pull at his hair, but it was too short to grab so you settled on sinking your nails into his scalp as you rolled your hips against his face and tried not to be so loud. 
Your jaw dropped and your eyes squeezed shut when he dug his tongue into the side of your clit, dragging your orgasm out so unexpectedly that you gasped. 
“Fuck, oh, oh god!” You sputtered, your thighs squeezing his head to hold him there as you came, your back arching and your toes curling so hard your foot almost cramped up. 
Daryl slipped his hand under him and grabbed his cock, stroking it as he felt your body tremble and jerk under him. He was sure this was a dream, he'd wake up any second in his tent with Merle snoring beside him and you all the way across camp. He squeezed his dick, milking the precum from his tip as your thighs finally relaxed. 
“My god. You're really good at that.” You panted, your eyes blurry as you watched him slide up your body and take its place on top of you. 
He grinned, knowing you were unintentionally starting to give him an ego. “Yeah?” He racked his brain for dirty talk, but since it was fried from making you cum, all he could come up with was “I got somethin’ I'm even better at.” Complete lie. 
You, on the other hand, had no idea he was a virgin, and grinned widely at the implications, shifting your body up till you felt his heavy cock graze against your inner thigh. The feeling alone sent a bolt through your body, and your chest heaved with deep excited breaths. 
He leaned up and grabbed your shoulder, signaling for you to turn over. You didn't question it and rolled over, propping yourself on your hands and knees. 
The sight of you from behind had him falling apart. He let out a quiet whimper and bit his bottom lip before grabbing his cock and scooting forward to push it against you. 
“Jesus, so fuckin wet.” He breathed, his heart beating so loud he could hear the blood in his ears. He slid his dick between your folds, going through all the steps in his head that he'd seen countless times. He even slapped it against your pussy a few times, missing the amused expression on your face, and pushed himself into you. 
What Daryl  didn't learn from porn was that usually, you go in slow when someone hasn't had sex recently. So when he just pushed his dick inside you with no hesitation you cried out, the burn from the unprepared stretching making you jolt forward. He grabbed your hips to bring you back against him, his jaw going slack as he felt your hot wet walls squeezing the life out of him. 
“Fuck!” You spat, the burning and stabbing pain almost enough to turn you off completely. “You gotta be slower than that, Daryl.” 
He was too deep to process what you said. He finally let out the breath he'd been holding with a deep, guttural groan, still frozen inside you. “Sah-Sorry.” He sputtered, his hands squeezing your hips so hard you knew for a fact there'd be ten little light purple bruises there tomorrow. 
Before you could say or do anything else he started moving, setting the pace quickly, snapping his hips against your ass so roughly your hands almost slipped out from under you. The uncomfortable stretch quickly faded into a deep, primal pleasure, and soon you were letting out short moans with every thrust of his hips. 
You barely got used to the feeling before he grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked it back, drawing a cry from your throat. You weren't expecting this from Daryl, he was so confident, so rough, it confused you but drove you absolutely wild at the same time. 
His other hand kept its tight grip on your hip, pulling you back to meet each of his demanding thrusts, making sure his dick went as deep as possible each time. The way you were moaning and gasping fueled him to fuck you rougher, wanting to hear every sound that you were possible of making. 
“Dirty little whore.” He grunted, his jaw aching from how hard he'd been clenching his teeth. 
His words earned a strangled whimper from you, making his lips curl up in a cocky grin. 
He fucked you for a while like that, hips pounding against your ass so hard that the noises of your skin slapping was making your cheeks burn in embarrassed arousal. So much for keeping it quiet. 
“Hey-” The words were hard to get out from his aggressive thrusts, especially now that he was hunched over your body so he could squeeze your breasts. “I- wanna turn over.” 
He raised his chest from your back and took the opportunity to catch his breath while you shifted under him to roll over on your back. The look on your face made him shudder with a quiet gasp. Your face was tinted a light red, blissed out, your pupils blown and hair all messed up around your face. He was back on you immediately, kissing you hungrily as he slipped his cock back inside you, much easier this time. 
“Y’feel so fuckin’ good.” He breathed against your lips, wet from his sloppy kisses, and he kissed down your jaw to your neck. His accent was much thicker when he was inside you, barely pronouncing any words fully anymore. 
You wrapped your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist, angling your hips up so he could drive his cock deeper into you. The new feeling made him moan pathetically into your neck, and he had to stifle the noises he didn't like with a bite to the skin where your neck met shoulder. 
The pressure of his teeth had your eyes rolling back in your head. There was so much stimulation, his dick driving relentlessly into your throbbing pussy, his fingers pinching your nipple and the other hand in your hair, pulling your head to the side to give him better access to your neck. A particularly deep thrust made you cry out, and you felt yourself nearing your second orgasm.
“Fuck!” You whined, your eyes squeezing tightly shut as you felt the tension building in your core as he fucked his dick into you. 
“That's it, y’gonna come for me?” His teeth drew away from your red neck, a string of spit connecting the two of you. 
All you could muster was an obscene “Mhmm!”, your thighs squeezing him tight around the waist. 
“C'mon girl.” His words were choppy from the force of his thrusts. He slowed for a second, readjusting himself before building back up to his former quick pace, each thrust sending your body scooting a little upwards along the floor of the roof. You were incredibly thankful it wasn't concrete. 
“Lemme hear it, c'mon.” His words alone were enough to send you falling over your edge. Your jaw dropped, your head tilting back as your back arched under his heavy body, and his arm slipped under you to hold your chest tight against his. 
The look on your face and the feeling of you cumming around his dick was all he needed. His face went slack and he let out a shameful whine, something he'd never heard himself make before, and came inside you. Neither of you noticed, too fucked out of your minds to even process it. 
You cried under him, twisting and squirming, impaled on his dick as your orgasm shook you to your core. Only when the final waves rolled off you did you relax, your eyes struggling to open as your breathing slowed.
Daryl raised his face from your chest and looked down at you, enjoying the look on your face as he regained his bearings. He ran his hands up and down your torso a few times, his eyes appreciating every little red mark on your neck and chest from his teeth.
 Only when the last jolts of pleasure left his body did he realize he came inside you. 
“Shit.” He grunted as he slowly drug his dick out of you, his breath catching in his throat when he saw the way his cum oozed out between your slick, puffy folds. 
“Hmm, ‘s fine.” You mumbled lazily, reaching up to push your hair from your face. “We're on top of a Dollar General. We'll get the morning after pill.” 
He nodded at your words, still hypnotized by the sight of his cum leaking out of you. A deep part of him wanted to stuff his dick back in you and keep it in, he didn't know why, but the idea was so hot he could've gone for a round two if you wanted. 
“We better get back.” You struggled to prop yourself up on your elbows, your weakened muscles protesting. The sun was well below the trees now, and if you got back when it was dark you knew Shane would throw a goddamn hissy fit. 
“We ain't gotta.” He half joked, a lazy grin on his face. “Can just stay here. Go back in the mornin’.”
You smiled, shaking your head, even though the idea was incredibly tempting. “Shane will kill us.”
“Fuck him.”
“I don't wanna piss him off when he's the one in possession of my gun right now.” Your words had him raising his brows and nodding in agreement. 
The two of you put your clothes back on and went through the back entrance, grabbing all your bags and making sure to pick up some morning after pills from the locked shelf behind the front desk. You caught him trying to discreetly grab some condoms, not knowing you saw, and you felt excitement bubble in your chest at the prospect of him expecting this to happen again. 
Thankfully Shane wasn't in camp when you snuck back in. He was down by the quarry, catching frogs or some shit, and you were able to share your spoils with the group before he came to ask questions. 
“Well, shit. Look at you.” Merle was smiling ear to ear, clapping Daryl on the back after he went to his brother's tent with a bag of goodies. 
It was extremely obvious what the two of you had done. Your hair was still messy despite you brushing it with your fingers on the way back, your face pink, your neck red. You were climbing into your own tent as Merle watched you from across camp. 
Daryl's neck and face were also red, and he had a few scratch marks on the back of his neck. 
And his fly was still down. 
“Shut up.” Daryl shrugged his brother's hand off him, opening a bag of Funyuns.
“My baby brothers no longer a fuckin’ loser!” He laughed, giving a wolf whistle before playfully ruffling his hair. “Atta boy. I told you.” 
“Ya’ ain't tell me shit.” Daryl grumbled, stuffing Funyuns in his mouth to hide the smile that was creeping onto his face. 
“Hey.”
“What?” Daryl groaned, exasperated already. 
“Think she’ll give me a ride?”
“Shut the hell up, man.” 
2K notes · View notes
minnietrys · 1 month ago
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Cherish
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◯ Cho Hyun-ju x Fem! Reader
▵ Alternative universe! (Baby youngmi is alive)
□ fluff, some flirting, small mentions of homophobia and transphobia
Other parts- determination more to come
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Warning this is the first time I write fanfic since I was 12 writing on Wattpad… so please let me know how I do! I wanna bring mine and people wanted fanfics to life because they ain’t any for baddie hyunju.
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She was beyond lost, her family, friends, and all her loved ones turned their back on her once she finally started being who she felt like who she should be. Maybe she did something bad in her past life to deserve this. Or maybe she was mentally ill like they said.
All those thoughts keep pounding into her head as she just sits. Sits all alone feeling more alone then she see looks.
“Excuse me ma’am?” Hyunju jumps out of thoughts but multiple keep coming at her at that word ‘ma’am’. It’s like the missing piece finally met the puzzle. It makes her feel better about herself. Makes her feel like she was right about her feelings.
“Um…would you like more coffee?” The waitress asks. Finally Hyunju looks up and finally answers “oh my yes. Sorry I have a lot going through my head I guess I tuned you out. I’m so sorry” she was nervous with the reply. She finally gets a glimpse of the waitress name ‘y/n’ she must say it’s a pretty name for a good looking girl.
“Oh that’s fine! That happens to me a lot!” y/n said with a joyful smile. But hyunju feels safe in that smile. Like all her worries can just disappear.
Wait no she has to snap out of this. She just barely met her for crying out loud. More importantly you haven’t even told her your name she just had wandering eyes. But she would love to know you.
“Um..this may sound totally odd but can I have your number? You just seem like a really nice person that I wanna know.” Hyunju put her big girl pants on and finally shot the answer. Though her palms are so sweaty with the need for your answer.
Most people look at her with disgust and say nasty things to her face. But not you. You have the look of kindness something she hasn’t seen or felt in awhile.
“Oh..s-sure? Sorry I don’t get asked for my number as often” she noticed you nervous movements. Maybe it was a bad idea to ask. Maybe you feel pressured. Maybe she came off as threatening. Maybe you hate who she is. Maybe you—
“Here, please text me or call me. I’m y/n by the way and your name?” Her thoughts were cut off when you gave her a paper from your notepad with your number, name and a heart?!?! A heart! She started feeling flustered, but remembered your question.
“C-cho Hyunju..” she answered very timidly. “Well then by the looking of it your Hyunju unnie, right?”you said hoping to not just have guessed wrong.
But the word keeping racing though her head ‘unnie’ a name she thought someone will never call her but someone did and she hopes she can continue to cherish this moment and that person.
She just nods, but you smile “Well I hope you see that text from you unnie, if not I will not give you any more sugar for your coffee.” Hyunju fakes gasps “So what if I don’t text but I call instead will I still get the sugar?” she try’s to hide the little smirk forming on her face.
“Hmm nope, you will actually have to buy me coffee instead if you call” you say with blush hoping to not come off as pushy. “Well then I suppose I will call because that’s a better deal than just some sugar.”
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Ahh let me know if this was good and maybe if I should make it a series! I will also try different characters and plot lines
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xxxanteaterxxx · 7 months ago
Text
Misunderstandings
siriusblack x shy!reader
Summary: You mistake Sirius Black flirting with you as him making fun of you. Remus is determined to get you two together.
CW: Misunderstanding, Remus playing matchmaker, drinking, and partying. Fluff.
Is this bad? Please someone let me know.
Sirius Black was not someone that you knew personally. You had never even spoken to the handsome boy, and you weren't really planning too either.
His name was well known throughout the school. Whispers flying around about the group of boys that he ran around with. The Marauders and the pranks they played on unsuspecting victims.
You were friends with Remus, but that was the closest you got to the group of boys.
Almost every girl in the school was convinced that they were going to marry him. Not you though, you were more than content to sit back and steer very clear of the troublesome boy.
He had never noticed you and so you paid no mind to him.
That did not mean that you knew nothing about the boy, you had ears. The rumors were hard to ignore, but that was all they were. Rumors. Nothing important to let take up the precious space in your head.
Sirius Black hated libraries. They were too quiet and filled with people who enjoyed being quiet. He hated the quiet and he hated quiet people. So why was he here? Oh yes, because his friends were forcing him to work on an essay that was due the next week.
He was already bored, and he had only made it three steps into the library. His eyes roamed the different table, looking for his friends. His eyes scanned over your lonely form for a second before they drifted to the other tables.
When he still did not find his friends, he found his eyes drifting back over to you. You were slumped into a comfy looking chair and reading a book. You were obviously very engrossed into the words onto the page. His eyes scanned your face, and he noticed then that you were very pretty.
He barely had time to think about it before his feet were taking him towards the comfortable looking chair that sat beside yours.
You paid no mind to the person who had sat next to you, opting instead to turn the page and continue reading your muggle book. You had no homework to be working on and what better way to spend your time than reading one of your favorite books. Alice in Wonderland.
Then, the person next to you cleared their throat. You couldn't help the way your eyes flickered up to see who it was. He was already staring at you, your eyes snapped back down to your book. Was that Sirius Black?
Fear began coursing through your veins. Were you about to be prank, oh god, you were. You were just about to make a move and stand up when he started talking.
"So, how come I've never seen you before?" The question was innocent, and you really weren't sure if he was talking to you or someone behind you.
You waited for someone else to answer, really hoping that he was not talking to you. You knew that you were wrong when he sighed, and a hand reached over and snatched your beloved book away.
Your face heated miserably and there was already the pressure that sat horridly behind your eyes. A very obvious sign that you were about to cry. Your eyes flickered up to look at him.
"Um, I-I'm not sure why. We have classes together." You spoke back quietly, your eyes looking down to his lap where your book sat. It was closed and your place had been lost. Your throat felt tight.
"No, really?" Sirius paused, before a smirk grew on his lips. "I'm sure I would have noticed a pretty face like yours, love." He spoke again. Was he making fun of you? You couldn't tell, but your face grew even hotter at the thought.
Then you realized that he was making fun of you. You needed to get out of here. The room was beginning to blur and the next thing you knew, you were standing up and rushing out of the room. Your book forgotten and tears starting to stream down your face.
Sirius was left alone, holding a stupid book that he had no interest in. His friends had finally decided to show up, his mood was already soured.
"What the hell did you say to her, Pads? She looked like you'd kicked her cat." James was laughing at him; Sirius felt his mood sour even more.
He gripped the book he had taken from you and stood up, ready to follow his friends.
You had hoped he had left the book, going back a few hours later to search for it. You could have cried all over again when you realized that it wasn't.
Sirius Black was not used to rejection. It was a feeling he hated. So maybe that's why he couldn't stop thinking about you. It didn't help that he still had your stupid book either.
He had found himself thinking about you quite often. The way you were sat curled up, looking so small in that chair in the library. Or the way your eyes seemed to sparkle when you had looked up a him. Or the way you stuttered when had spoken to you.
He wasn't enamored with you by any means, because Sirius Black didn't have crushes. He didn't pine after people the way James did. He didn't do commitment. So, why were you occupying his thoughts. There was nothing special about you, besides the way you left him in the library without a second glance.
He began to see you everywhere and realized that you did have classes together. He was quite embarrassed at that but chose not to let it show. He didn't let his eyes linger on you, but he couldn't help but look towards you when you giggled at something one of your friends would say in class. Or when you would whisper the answers to questions quietly, even when it wasn't you who was called to answer.
He thought he was being subtle, he really did.
"So, what's that about?" Remus had asked him as his eyes followed your form. You had just walked out of your last class with the Gryffindors.
"Hm? What?" Sirius had asked, turning to look at his friend. Remus looked at him with a knowing look.
"Why have you been staring at Y/N Y/L/N every chance you get?" It was James who had asked this time. "Didn't you make her cry?"
Sirius felt his head snap up to stare at his friends incredulously. Had he really made you cry? For some odd reason that did not make Sirius feel good.
"Oh, you don't know." Remus sighed, clapping his hand on Sirius' shoulder. "She thinks you were making fun of her." Sirius felt his heart drop.
"I called her pretty!" Sirius spluttered out in an attempt to defend himself. James huffed out a laugh and Remus rolled his eyes.
"She's shy, Pads. You can't woo a girl like her as easy as you can the others." Remus paused; the boys didn't know that he read with you from time to time. He considered you a good friend of his. "She's very shy. And also, one of my friends, so if you're just looking for a hook up, she's not the one."
Sirius stared up at his friend like he had grown two heads. Moony was friends with you? Moony thought Sirius wanted to sleep with you? Sirius could have laughed, but he didn't. Because that's what he had been going for.
Remus carried on. "She's the type of girl you settle down and marry. She's too smart and sweet for the dating with no real plans for the future." He had said. Sirius rolled his eyes and accepted that you were off limits. He still kept your book though.
Sirius Black had not been thinking of you, and when he did, he just pushed those thoughts away. He was very proud of himself.
It wasn't until he had seen a boy from Slytherin laughing loudly at something you'd said in the hallways after class one day. You were blushing in a way that made it look like your face was glowing. He watched miserably (Remus's words, not his) as the boy wrapped an arm around your shoulder. You didn't run away on the brink of tears from him.
So, what had Sirius done wrong. Remus placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from marching up to the two of you and snatching you away.
"Why don't you try and talk to her?" Remus asked, looking far more amused than Sirius had liked at the time. Sirius glared at the thought. Why should he be the one to talk to you? Remus raised his hands in surrender.
"All I'm saying is that she really is quite lovely when you get to know her." With that thought Remus was walking towards you, leaving Sirius to watch. Sirius didn't hear anything that was said.
He only watched as you blushed further when Remus pulled you away from the boy. He watched as he whispered in your ear, and he saw the way you nodded and allowed yourself to be whisked away by Sirius's own friend.
You had found yourself in Remus's company one evening. You knew he was friends with Sirius Black, but the two of you didn't really talk about your other friends. Not unless you were retelling a story that involved one of them.
Remus cleared his throat, pulling your attention away from the book you were reading and up to his face.
"You know, I think Sirius is quite taken with you." His eyes were warm, and you could see the amusement swirling around in them. You could hardly fight the blush that was taking over your face. You blinked cluelessly up at him, surely not.
"Well, I find that hard to believe Remmy." You sighed and looked away, locking your eyes onto the wallpaper across from the two of you. "He made fun of me." You willed yourself not to cry at the reminder.
Remus saw your lip wobble and sighed, pulling you towards him. "Oh dove, he was flirting with you." This caused your eyes to snap towards him, the blush growing stronger. There was no way, you had been so sure.
As if reading your mind, Remus continued. "Oh yes, and I think he would love it if you would talk to him." The thought of it made you feel nervous. You shook your head. Remus chuckled; you could feel the vibrations in his chest.
"Don't be nervous, dove." He cooed. You blushed even harder, turning to burry your face in his chest.
"M'not nervous, Remmy" You sighed. "I just don't think he and I are looking for the same things." You said, you were nervous though. You didn't like being made fun of.
"What if I made it easier, hm?" Remus asked. You pulled away from his chest to look up at him. "There's a party tomorrow and I would love if my sweet dove would come." He was looking at you, and just as you were about to say no. That those sorts of things weren't your thing, his hands moved to your side and began to dig in. He was tickling you.
You laughed. Remus thought it was a sweet sound, you were like a sweet baby sister to him. He just wanted to see you happy. "Remus-" The air was stolen from your lungs. "S-stahp!" You laughed, trying to catch your breath. Remus was relentless though.
"Not until you say yes!" He had said, you were beginning to cry, and your sides were cramping. So, you caved, nodding your head wildly and still giggling as he finally stopped his torture. You tried your best to glared up at him.
"You play dirty, sir." You had huffed and he had laughed at you before helping you up and walking you to your dorm. He had won and now he would have all of his friends at a party to hang out with him tomorrow night.
You had agreed to let him pick you up and he had even coerced you into staying the night with him tomorrow. He was looking forward to making you and Sirius talk.
You were not a party person. Which is why you were allowing the other girls in your dorm to play dress up with you. Monica was doing your make up, and Darlene was fussing over your hair. Shelly was digging through all dour of your closets to find you something to wear.
"Yes! This is perfect, Y/N, you are going to look smashing." She giggled as she turned towards the mirror to show you what she had picked. It was a dress, although it looked more like a shirt to you.
As if sensing you were about to protest, Monica spoke up. "Nope! You swore you would wear whatever we picked!" And then she told you to close your eyes so she could finish the look.
By the time you were done, you had to admit that you did look good. Monica had kept the make up very simple, going for a more natural look. Darlene had opted to let your natural curls show, twisting the top part of your hair up into a cute little bun.
The dress wasn't so bad, it was very short though and very tight. Your petite frame was on show for everyone to see. There was a knock on the door.
Darlene squealed and rushed over to open it. She ushered Remus in after telling him to close his eyes. You stood very still, looking like a deer in headlights when he did open his eyes.
His mouth dropped open, and a faint blush began to creep up on his cheeks. You beamed at him. He reached up to rub at the back of his neck and he chuckled.
"Well, now I'm not so sure if I want to share you with Sirius." He had said, and you laughed. Remus was glad you hadn't taken him seriously, even though he very much was. You smiled and accepted the arm he had offered to you.
The girls all giggled and pushed the two of you out of the room, after making sure he kept an eye on you and that you would be returned safely tomorrow morning.
The walk to Gryffindor tower was filled with Remus subtly flirting with you and you trying your hardest not to turn around and run. Not that he would let you, he kept a very firm grip on your waist in order to ensure that you wouldn't.
When you walked through the portrait you realized how many people were actually there. Suddenly, you were sweating. Remus tightened his grip on you and began leading you to the couches where you saw to very pretty girls sitting together.
They cheered when they noticed him and then you were being sat down in between Marlene Mckinnon and her girlfriend Dorcas. Remus told them to keep an eye on you while he went and grabbed drinks. The girls grinned wolfishly as Remus turned and walked away.
"So, you're Y/N." Marlene had said, leaning closer to you as if you wouldn't be able to hear her. You felt Dorcas wrap her arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to her. Marlene wasted no time in scooting closer to the both of you.
You nodded, opting to stay silent. You didn't trust your voice. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck at their close proximity.
Marlene leaned in close to your face, drawing your attention back to her. You swallowed thickly.
"You are very pretty." She sang, leaning in even closer if possible. You could feel your face heating and it seemed that she noticed as well, because she smiled wider.
"Oh, I think she likes that, D." She hummed, looking past you towards her girlfriend. Your eyes widened; did you like that? You could feel Dorcas hum in thought.
Then, Marlene was pushing even closer, leaning over you to press a kiss to her girlfriend's lips. If you weren't blushing before, you surely were now. Marlenes breast we an inch away from your face, and you tensed and tried not to move. Then she pulled back, cuddling right back up to you like nothing had happened.
"So pretty girl, you got a boyfriend? Girlfriend?" She asked, turning her head to bat her lashes at you. Her smile was so bright, you surely thought you would go blind if you stared any longer. You cleared your throat, looking away. You pretended not to hear her giggles.
"No, I'm not seeing anyone at the moment." You kept it simple and began to pray for Remus to return. She wasn't satisfied and now Dorcas seemed interested in the conversation as well.
You were shifted as Dorcas removed her arm, leaning forwards in her seat so that she could look at you as well.
"Have you ever had a partner sweet thing?" What was up with these questions, why did it matter to these girls? You shook your head as you turned to meet her eyes. She seemed surprised by your answer, and you didn't miss the way her eyes flickered to Marlene when you answered.
She licked her lips, reaching out to place her hand on your thigh. You felt Marlene place a hand on your other thigh. Then it dawned on you. They were flirting, and they were flirting with you.
Just as everything began to make sense, you knight in shining armor returned. There was Remus coming your way with two drinks in hand. He was eyeing the three of you with a slight frown on his face.
The pleading look in your eyes must have been all he needed to come to your rescue.
"Hey, dove. You ready to go mingle?" He handed you a cup and offered you his newly free hand. You nodded and pulled away from the two girls who looked like they were ready to devour you whole.
They seemed disappointed at the interruption. You smiled and before you left Marlene spoke up.
"Well, pretty girl, if you're ever ready for a relationship, you're always welcomed here." She called out as Remus began to pull you away. His grip was tight and grounding. You heart was beating out of your chest, what the heck did that mean?
When he found a semi cleared spot in the room he stopped, turning to face you. "So, seems you're making quite the impression, hm?" He grinned down at you. You flushed and nodded your head.
"I think they were flirting with me!" You cheered, bringing your cup to your lips and taking a drink. It burned and you couldn't help but scrunch your face up at the feeling. Remus chuckled and pulled you closer.
He began leading you to a different spot in the room and before you really knew where you were going you were coming face to face with his friends. The Marauders.
You gulped as Remus pulled you down onto the couch next to him. His arm stayed wrapped around you and he had you practically sitting on your lap. On your other side was Peter, you had never really talked to him, but he looked pretty sweet.
You offered him a smile when he looked over at the two of you.
"There you are Moony!" James slurred as he leaned on Lily Evans shoulder. Said girl offered you a grin and shoved James off of her and over onto Sirius.
"Y/N, right?" She gushed, and you were pretty positive that she was already drunk. You smiled and nodded anyways and tried to fight the blush that was working its way buck up your neck. "You are so pretty!" She sang as she leaned forward to get her point across.
"Yes, Lils, she is very pretty." Remus purred behind you. You missed the dark look that Sirius threw his way, but Remus did not. He grinned at Sirius and pulled you even closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
You took another sip of your drink, hoping that the unbearable heat running across your skin would settle but it only seemed to amplify it. Remus reached over to pull your legs over his, so instead of leaning into his chest you were now fully sitting on his lap. You didn't mind, you and Remus were always cuddled up in some way.
You went to scan the people around you, choosing to ignore the conversation happening within the group. You looked at James who was currently whispering in Lilys ear and said girl was not enjoying the way he was practically laying across her. You giggled quietly.
Then your eyes moved to Sirius who was glaring at Remus, you tilt your head back to look up at Remus who was grinning over at Sirius. You tapped his chest, causing him to look down at you. You smiled at him and moved your head to look back at Sirius. You hadn't spoken to the boy since that night in the library.
You hadn't forgot about how upset you were, but maybe Remus was right. Maybe Sirius had only been flirting with you? You wouldn't know because you had never really been involved with anyone like that.
He was already looking at you, so you offered him a smile and took another sip of your drink. It was empty though, had you really already drunk that much of it? Surely not, so you sighed and reached for the cup in Remus's hand, swapping it with your empty one.
Remus chuckled. "I'll go grab us more drinks dove." Remus moved your legs and stood up, patting the top of your head before he took off in search of more drinks.
Sirius took that as his chance, jumping up as soon as Remus was out of sight. He moved to the empty spot next to you. You looked over at him and offered him another sickly sweet smile.
You were pretty tipsy, whatever was in that cup was strong and you rarely ever drink. Sirius was so pretty and you couldn't stop yourself from leaning towards him.
"Hi." You grin, tilting your head to look up at his face. He smiled back, causing your face to heat miserably. Was it always this hot in here?
"Hello lovely." He said back, Sirius was feeling the effects of the alcohol he had consumed but he was doing his best to remember what Moony had told him. You were shy, but you were also loosed up from the drink you had. So maybe things would be different now.
"Are you enjoying the party?" He asked, trying to make conversation. He didn't want you to bolt again. He didn't think he could handle it this time. He was being so nice to you and then you realized that you had misunderstood him that night in the library.
"Yes! and I am pretty sure that these two girls were flirting with me." You said, a large grin sat on your pretty face and Sirius could feel one making its way on his face at the sight. "Do you still have my book?" You asked him.
Sirius felt his heart drop, he did still have your book and he really hoped you wouldn't be mad. He had read it and he had seen the little notes you had left in it. What you thought about certain things and what you would have done at certain parts. He hated reading but he loved that book. Your book.
"Uh yes, I do. I read it actually." He said quietly, as if he were embarrassed to admit it. You leaned in closer to hear him. He saw no anger on your face.
"What did you think of it? Sorry about all the scribbles, I like to make notes of things." You rambled on, waving your hands as you talked. You didn't notice how close you were to him, and he wasn't about to point it out.
"It was very good love, I actually think it's my favorite book now." Your eyes lit up at that. He liked the book and it's his favorite too? You giggled at the thought.
"It's my favorite book too!" You grinned, reaching out to grab his arm. Sirius felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest at the look in your eyes. He realized then that he really was smitten with you, and he never wanted this feeling to stop.
Remus was coming back now, not that you noticed. He handed you your drink and took the seat across from you, not bothering to make Sirius move. This is what he had been wanting to happen.
So, he sat back and watched as you drank and enjoyed Sirius's company. He could have laughed at the look on Sirius' face when you scooted closer until you were practically leaning on him.
Sirius knew you wouldn't remember everything from tonight, and he followed Remus as he carried you up the stairs to their dorm. Listening to you ramble to your best friend about how pretty Sirius Black was, he couldn't fight the grin that sat on his face or the feeling of his stomach doing flips.
Sirius Black made his decision; he was going to ask you on a date, and he was going to make you his. He would do whatever it took to keep that pretty smile on that pretty face of yours.
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Anger - A Joel Miller Drabble
Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E (is there anything else with him?????) Truly this is the least crazy thing I've written in days. Unprotected p in v. Word Count: 1155 a/n: Sometimes I spend all afternoon trying to write Joel and get nothing and other times I write 1000 words in less than 30 minutes. There is no in-between. Written for TLOU Sundays!
"You've really gotta do something about him," Ellie tells you from where she's sitting at the kitchen table.
You're barely through the door, coat still covered in a layer of snow from outside. "Well hello to you, too, Ellie," you respond, pulling off your boots before you track any more water into the house. It's strange, how something like keeping the floors dry didn't matter for twenty years and now suddenly again it does. "You're the fourth person to say that to me today though, so I assume you also are talking about Joel?"
She's flipping through the pages of a comic, barely paying you any attention. "Yes, Joel," she emphasizes, not that you need any further confirmation. Maria had cornered you at the saloon, the other half of your patrol had been on your case, and you had a run-in with Jackson's resident grandma first thing in the morning, who gave you an earful about how you needed to learn how to satisfy your man so he would stop torturing the entire town with his bad mood.
You sigh, shucking your coat and flexing your toes in your thick socks as you make your way into the kitchen. "Any idea what's wrong with him? He seemed fine this morning."
Ellie shrugs, still engrossed in the pages in front of her. "I don't know, Dina just told me he was being a real fucking asshole. You know how he gets."
That you do. You're well aware of the way Joel Miller can make or break an entire day based on his mood, especially since you've been at his side to witness it longer than anyone else.
Before you can contemplate further, the man in question storms through the door, a grumble on his lips before it's even closed behind him. Ellie meets your gaze, glancing over at him before turning back to you and then quickly rising. "I've gotta get going," she says quickly, sneaking past Joel to grab her jacket.
She's out the door before he can even say a word.
"Where the fuck is she going?" he questions, ignoring the way his boots squeak on the floorboards as he makes his way to the couch, collapsing into it. A part of you wants to scold him for the wet spots now littered all over the floor, but based on the furrow in his brow, there's no use, and you simply follow him instead, swinging a leg over his thigh to climb into his lap and settle there.
Only he has the audacity to grumble. Again.
"Joel," you say sternly, "don't do that."
"Don't do what?" he fires back, and now you know exactly what everyone had been warning you about. "I didn't do anything."
"What's up with you today?" It's a simple question, an inquiry that he should have no problem answering, but he doesn't, so you continue with a follow-up request, "Just tell me why I had four separate people tell me that I needed to figure out who you're so angry today."
"I'm not angry."
You frown. "Bullshit, Miller. Tell me what the fuck is wrong."
His answer is to seal his lips to yours, his rough grip dragging your hips against his so you can feel the hard press of him between your thighs. This felt familiar, especially since he'd been in an equally shit mood the day you first met, something you'd promptly fucked out of him later that night. And usually, that did the trick, but there was always something else lingering beneath the surface.
Not that you have time to contemplate what it might be because he pushes any thought of his mental well-being from your head when he rips your shirt from your body and latches onto one of your breasts. Likewise, any train of thought is gone just as quickly as the remainder of your clothing.
It's a good thing Ellie left quickly, because within minutes he has you spread out on the couch beneath him, one of your legs hitched around his hip as he pounds into you. There's little space left between you, the moment feeling intimate even with the intensity of the way he's pressing you down, grunting with each thrust until he has you clenching around him.
His fingers are on your clit before you come down from your climax, already drawing you higher a second time. "Joel, fuck, I can't," you whine, gripping at his hand.
"You can," he emphasizes, "you're gonna take every fucking inch of me."
And then you can see it. The rage behind his gaze, the emotion that has his eyes glassed over. The anger he has to unleash somehow. It scared you when you first met him, the first time he had you like this back in Boston, pressed up against the door, the first time you watched his fist collide with a FEDRA officer who tried to touch you, and the first time you saw him have to kill someone who definitely wasn't infected.
But now, you know better. You know that he won't hurt you, but he still needs a way to release the pent-up emotion that boils beneath the surface. You don't know what happened to get him here today, but you do know how to fix it.
Joel groans when you shift to wrap your legs fully around his waist, pulling him down so the soft expanse of his stomach presses against your own, increasing the pressure of your walls wrapped around him. It's all he can do to rut into you, your back slowly snaking up the arm of the couch as he fucks you. The angle changes the higher you move, guiding his lips to yours so he can catch the scream that rips from your throat when you clench around him a second time.
He follows you into the abyss, pulling out seconds before he spills against your center, jerking himself off until the last drops drip down onto the fabric.
When he regains his breath he stands, cock softening as he moves to grab a cloth to wipe his spend from your core. And then he's pressing you into the couch again, settled in the safety of your thighs as his head rests on your chest.
"Do you wanna know what Mrs. Davis told me today?" you ask softly, fingers curling through his hair.
Joel rests his chin on your breast as he looks at you, eyes softer now, more playful. "Fuck, what did she say?"
You smile. "She saw me at the store and pulled me into the corner to tell me that I needed to get you home and ride your cock because she was sick of your shit."
His laugh is rough, but he says nothing else as he settles back against you.
"Was she right?" you ask, your own laughter threatening to bubble up.
He doesn't answer, but he doesn't deny it either.
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the-tarot-witch22 · 1 month ago
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What's coming for you in 2025? - Pick a Pile
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Pile 1/ Pile 2/ Pile 3
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My Paid Readings | My insta | My year goal post
Liked my blog or readings? Tip me!
Hello everyone ! This is my another pick a pile or pac reading so please be kind and leave comment or reblog, and let me know if it resonated with you!
Note : This is a general reading or collective reading. It may or may not resonate with you. Please take what resonates and leave what doesn't. And it's totally okay if our energies aren't aligned!
How to pick : Take a deep breath and choose a pile which you feel most connected to! You can choose more than one pile, it just means both pile have messages for you!
I worked really hard on this pile please show some love by leaving comments, likes and reblogs!
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Pile 1:
(The cards I got for you - The emperor, The hanged man, 6 of pentacles, 5 of pentacles, and 6 of cups)
Okay so the very first thing I feel and heard for you guy is "Organization and structure", if you have been messy like emotionally or just not cleaning your room and just being lazy, I see you getting better and do things in a better way, I am also feeling you will be taking charge in your personal and professional life, if you are in school then i am seeing you being group leader or having better grades, and if you work then i see leading your team, or even correcting your manager like damn this person doesn't hold back, I am feeling some of you may even start your own business like plenty of you wanting to do that, or had doubts, so i am seeing this year could be very fruitful to you in so many ways, I am feeling many of you are just polite in this group, even though you guys might be snarky, BUT, this year i am seeing changing that, i am feeling you will communicated yourself a lot better, if you guys had some financial issues that will be resolving too, I am also feeling you might learn from a male figure in your life, make them your role model, and learn a lot from them. Or I am also feeling in your life you guys have someone dominating your household, like a man, sometimes you do get in fights but it's not bad, this is only for some of you. I am also seeing you being not lazy as you were before, going out of comfort zone, doing things, which you have to do, i keep hearing panda for you guys, some of you could definitely be resonating with that lol. I am also feeling this year you would be helping out a lot of people, and looking back on things you did wrong and will do better this year, also do help people when you can, like feeding animals or people who are in need, it will count as a good karma, some of you could have been injured in past? definitely felt that, but don't worry this year, i am also feeling good health for you, I am also feeling some of you could reunite with people from past, but only let them in if you feel like it, for some of you its a friend, and for some its an ex, just be careful <3 I am also feeling you will get lots of nostalgic feeling and if you have moved out, i am seeing you meeting your parents this year, like getting a feeling some of you might be in abroad, so you might meet or talk with your parents and friends a lot. Earth signs are very prominent here especially virgo and taurus sun/moon/rising, and scorpio sun/ moon / rising.
Oracle cards I pulled for you :
a new start is coming (new moon) : A new beginning a new start is on its way for you, you will be more hopeful, let go of the past, things you manifest will be fruitful, things will move, you will feel more alive if you felt stuck, and YES! whatever your question could be your doubts because trust me its a yes.
be assertive - Be confident in your decisions and yourself, i am hearing "life is too short" living by other people's rules, so make your own and just do what you gotta do.
Okay pile 1, that's all i got for you guys, happy new year my pookies, may all your wishes come true cheers <3
Pile 2 :
(The cards I got for you - 8 of wands, 2 of pentacles, 5 of pentacles, 6 of swords and the lovers)
Okay so the very first thing I heard and feel is that you will or might be taking a trip, I am feeling things will move fast for you, I am also seeing you guys getting the job you want, the internship, the college you want to go into, everything working out for you, the hard struggles that you have faced in your life are just vanishing but i am also seeing a small trip or just up and down from the college/school/work to your kind of travel, I am feeling you might meet someone this year could be at work or at school if not then, some sort of daily doing activity, but anyhow i am feeling there is so much in life that will be working out for you guys. Some of you would be developing new hobbies for yourself like going to gym or yoga or art classes. You might do find to juggle with them a bit difficult like there will be so many things and you would be like we want to try it, try that etc. But all in a good way. I am also feeling that there might be a sort of loss you faced in your life in 2024 or 2023, i am seeing you will be moving away from it, and healing that part of yours, I am also feeling when you do and that's when you will meet someone in your life, and if you don't meet someone then your energy will definitely be calling your partner's energy. But for many of you I am sensing there is a beautiful reunion ahead. Plus there will be decision coming ahead, so go with your gut and choose what you have to. Self love is also a care here, where you focus on yourself. Gemini , cancer, capricorn sun/ moon/ rising are quite prominent here.
Oracles Cards I pulled for you -
Luck is on your side (new moon in Sagittarius) - Write down your wishes your gratitude in the journal, don't be judgy if sometimes you are, a thing that will help you in every way, which you wanted so much it will come to you, there might also be a trip coming.
No need to worry : Things will get better for you so leave the rest to universe and be present in the moment, I am sensing some of you are over worrier so do take it easy, because universe got your back.
Ask for help from others - If you bottle things up, then try to ask for help from others don't hesitate, and your loved ones love you, they love to listen to you talk don't get lost in your heads all the time, you got this.
Okay pile 2, that's all i got for you guys, happy new year my pookies, may all your wishes come true cheers <3
Pile 3 :
(The cards I got for you guys - 3 of wands, queen of wands, king of cups, the fool)
Okay so the very first thing i hear and feel for you guys is, manifest your dreams, just do it, don't doubt if it will be fruitful or not just do it, I am also feeling this new year will bring you a new sort of adventure, something you have never felt before, WHY AM I FEELING THE ADERALINE RUSH, SO I AM SENSING IT WILL BE SOMETHING UNIQUE AND AMAZING AND A DREAM COME TRUE! I am also feeling that some of you guys have fire sign prominent sun/moon/rising especially Sagittarius, I am feeling you guys will be going on a trip this year, which is abroad, you might also go to study in new country, it will be so sudden you will feel it's a no, but when you do it will be like, you made it, 2025 is a year of prosperity for you, and i am seeing lots of blue color, and blue skies, and I am seeing hope for you guys, new starts, adventures, I am also feeling you might adopt a dog or a animal this year, I am also feeling you will enter your divine feminine era this year, and being more confident in your body, I am also feeling the person you will attract will be head over heels for you, awwww, and I am seeing you stepping or taking risks, you might be a bit reckless but honestly seeing this will work out for you~
Oracles card I got for you -
conclusion are within reach (full moon eclipse) - Forgive yourself and others what they have hurt you, it will help you heal, the door once shut, dont go back to it, just know helping others will also be fruitful to you guys.
step out of your comfort zone (north node) - go out just do what you always want to do, say fuck it and do it don't doubt your blessing, you got this, leave the past in past, let go of people or things that doesn't serve you, just know whatever you choose you will be moving in right direction.
success! - I am seeing your professional life getting better and better and whatever door was not opened it will open now, and I am seeing you getting lots of opportunities.
romance - I am definitely seeing you meeting someone this year, if you alrwady have someone your relationship might move to next level.
compromise - The only thing I will say is just get out of your comfort zone.
Okay pile 3, that's all i got for you guys, happy new year my pookies, may all your wishes come true cheers <3
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Thank you for stopping by! Take care and remember you are loved <3
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3verythingiknowaboutlove · 28 days ago
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say yes to heaven
how spencer and you deal (or don't deal) with the fact that he doesn’t want a baby anymore after coming home from prison, and you really do.
MDNI | angst
word count: 2226 warnings & tags & stuff: bau!reader, avoidant reader, avoidant spencer, no happy ending (wtf), reader wants a baby, one line about reader not having a certain religious belief, they like almost have sex, spencer undresses reader, lots of talk about a condom, they dont really fight at all?, very underdeveloped/bad description of quantum immortality author's note: heyyyyy guyss whats up..... this is a different vibe to my regular stuff and i fear it may be really ooc?? i don't know how to feel but i literally have to post or i'll go even more crazy sooo here we are!! have a delightful day, let me know your thoughts if you have any, ily!!!
Antique shops, you and Spencer have decided, are the hidden gems of this nation yet to be appreciated enough by the general public. 
Each town or city you visit is bound to have one, and going to them has become a little celebratory tradition. In the early mornings after cases are solved, right before the plane ride home, you take a look around. You’re typically the first and only ones in the store, wandering with intertwined hands and sipping on ‘2 extra foamy cappuccinos with an additional shot of espresso, please’ and occasionally, but not necessarily, choosing something to take back to D.C.
You’ve been trying your absolute hardest to fill your home to the brim– sometimes with objects, and other times with words, or touch, or the ever so valuable and fleeting concept of shared time– in effort to replace what had been lost in that three month long period when it was completely devoid of tangible, fresh love.
It’s today you’re wandering through a quaint, very cluttered shop in western Oregon, the Pacific visible from the store’s windows. 
Wheels up in an hour. Don’t be late. Hotch’s text buzzes in your pocket, but you barely glance at it– there’s something about the Oregon coast that reaches into your heart and gives it a gentle massage, enveloping you in a refreshing lack of urgency.
Spencer, in his own peaceful world, is staring at a tall wall of books. He reaches out to pick up a dusty rendition of Moby Dick, carefully cracking it open to the first few pages to check the publication date, brow scrunching as he reads. You go to peer over his arm to check as well, when something catches the corner of your eye. You let go of his hand to inspect.
A bassinet. Dark wood, surface polished to a faint sheen, with intricate little waves engraved on the sides, like the ocean’s misty outreach had come all the way into the shop and placed this here for you to see. 
You weren’t exactly sure when this now familiar ache had started; this deep, internal desire felt in your stomach for a little hand to be gripped around your pointer and for tiny onesies to fill your laundry basket, but you’re sure, with every fiber of your being, that you want it to be there.
“Spence,” you say softly, voice jarring in the otherwise stillness of the shop. “Come look.” He carefully closes the book and puts it back where it was and pads over, looking down at the bassinet. His eyebrows raise slightly.
“Wow. It looks like it was made in the 80s, maybe even earlier. You won’t find any level of detailing more recently than that, it’s too labor intensive for modern production methods. Good find.”
“I know. Should we get it?” you ask, biting a smile. He quickly meets your eyes, brow raising slightly.
“Do you want to?” he asks, voice even.
“I mean, I just think it’s really cute, with the waves and stuff.” you say bashfully, nudging it with your toe so it rocks back and forth. Spencer swallows, adam's apple bobbing.
“Yeah, I just…” Spencer hesitates. “I don't think we’d be able to bring it on the jet. It would probably snap in half if we held it in the wrong way,” he says, making your brain race even though he hasn’t said a single thing that should cause it to do so.
“Oh.”
You blink.
“No, yeah, you’re totally right. It’s too inconvenient. You should get that copy of Moby Dick instead. That edition looked cool, with the forward explaining all the names,” you say gently, pushing a smile, nudging him back towards the shelf. He goes, shooting you one last glance as you move to observe a few clocks hanging on the wall.
Spencer doesn’t reach for your hand again when he comes back.
The house is quiet when you arrive back home, hours later. Spencer sets his bag down by the door, and yours goes next to his to be dealt with later.
Exhaustion from the case is heavy in your limbs; the long flight and the sleepless nights are seeping into your bones, but Spencer seems perfectly intent upon kissing it better. You rest your forehead on his chest, exhaling softly, contentedly, as he presses kiss after kiss into your hair. He gently rests his hands on your waist and pushes you against the door– not as an act of dominance, like if someone were viewing you two from afar might assume, but one of simple convenience.
His hand reaches up to tilt your chin to the position he wants. Before leaning in to your neck, he pauses. 
“Are you sure you don’t just want to go to bed?” he asks. “You didn't sleep last night.” You shake your head, giving his cheek a small peck of your own.
“It’s one of those tireds where I can’t even think about sleep ever again.” 
A small smile grows on his face.
“I bet I can change that,” Spencer offers, knuckles skimming over your waist. You smile and let him tug you upstairs to your room and guide your hips to sit on the bed. His hand cups the side of your jaw, as always, lips moving to press against yours in a soft, affectionate display of his adoration. His other hand moves to your waist, squeezing, and you shiver a little in response, making him hum gently. 
His hands go underneath the hem of your top. “Okay?” he asks. You nod, lifting your arms to help. His eyes take their time tracing over you, but never in a way that couldn't be defined as sweet. His hand leaves your cheek and goes to the bedside table, sliding open the drawer. It draws toward the front left corner, as it always does, when it pauses. He turns to look at you, hesitating.
You, whose legs are now pulled up to your chest, chin resting on them. You stare at the yellow light of the lamp you and Spencer picked out months ago reflecting against those countless little squares of foil. 
Your lips are drawn inwards, between your teeth, unable to help your mind from racing to other realities, ones where every detail is the very same, except Spencer chose not to open that drawer tonight. 
Spencer explained the basis of quantum immortality to you a long time ago, in the early stages of your relationship, at a time so late in the night where a regular person would never be able to form coherent thoughts, let alone thoughts like these.
You were slumped over the kitchen island, peering at him as he wandered around, silently marveling at the preciousness of your boyfriend the world seemed to take for granted as he tried to get you to understand how cool this concept was.
“There’s also an interpretation of quantum mechanics proposed by a physicist named Hugh Everett which involves a ‘many worlds’ concept: essentially, it suggests that every possible outcome of an event creates its own branch of reality, meaning an infinite number of parallel worlds exist, each containing a version of events where everything that can happen, does happen,” he starts, widening his eyes for dramatic effect. “So quantum immortality is rooted in the concept that when we die in one timeline, we essentially just move on to the next one where every detail is the same except… well, you don’t die.”
He went on to emphatically talk about some guy’s cat in a box, but how this time, in a thought experiment that demonstrates this theory of immortality, you’re the cat.
You had pretty much lost him when he got to that part.
You blink, shoving the memory from your mind. 
“You’re staring,” you point out quietly.
“You’re pretty,” Spencer responds. He sits next to you on the bed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You watch as his other hand fiddles with the condom he grabbed, running his thumb over the edges of the wrapper. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he says, “Did I do something?” You shake your head softly. 
“Mm-mm.”
“Really? Because we’ve been sitting in silence and you haven’t stopped staring at the condom in my hand for the past two minutes.”
You exhale quietly, internally screaming at yourself to just spit it out.
It’s never been easy, being an agent dating an agent. Sure, agreements have been made to not profile each other, but with so many years of experience, small observations and connections about your partner’s nature are an automatic practice. You know that Spencer takes 3 sugars in his coffee just as well as you know he says your name more frequently and shortens his sentences when scared, almost like he tries to instead convey the appearance he’s mad.
You also know very well that you and Spencer have both been consciously avoiding this conversation like the plague, especially since his homecoming. 
You gnaw at your lip, trying to think of something to say, but your mind can only come up with freaky images of cats that are simultaneously alive and dead until observed.
“`M sorry, I was just thinking. Lost in my mind.”
“Thinking about what?”
Relationships that are simultaneously kept and broken until a certain conversation is had.
“Um. Quantum immortality. Who’s that guy? Hugh Jackman?”
Spencer straightens, eyebrows raising a little. “Hugh Everett,” he supplies. His tone is gentle, coaxing. “You’ve been thinking about that? I told you about him months ago.”
He stands as you quietly think of a response, grabbing a hoodie from the closet to tug over your bare torso, letting his hand gently cradle the back of your head after doing so.
“Yeah. I did a little more reading on it. It’s kind of a nice thought I keep going back to. Obviously really, really scary when you think about it for too long. But nice in the sense that there’s probably a version of us out there somewhere where…” you trail off, suddenly extremely aware of the weight of your words. 
He glances down to the condom he left on the comforter.
The thick silence that follows feels like it stretches across a thousand timelines, each one probably also filled with countless what-ifs and unspoken words and really bad communication, and at the very root of all of it, fear. That deep, gaping hole in both of your souls.
When Spencer finally looks at you, his eyes are so deep it takes your breath away. So deep that it jars you into just saying it.
“Spencer,” you begin, voice so quiet. “Do you still want kids?”
You find yourself shooting up a silent prayer to whoever is out there looking out for you– God or Isaac Newton or Hugh Everett or Jason Gideon: 
Pleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyespleasesayyes.
When he doesn’t answer right away, you continue– a habit probably picked up from the person standing right in front of you. “I just feel like there was a time where we were almost talking about it, but then it… went away.”
He reaches out to gently take the condom you were now fiddling with and sets it back in the drawer, his hand resting on the edge of the table as if grounding himself. His face is soft, almost glowing in the dim yellow light.
“I know,” he starts, voice crackling at the edges.
You stay dead silent.
“I didn’t mean for it to go away,” Spencer says, the crack in his voice causing you to glance up and see his eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
You nod, shakily, though the perpetual ache in your stomach is sharper now, more like it’s a knife stabbing you through the gut.
“I get it,” you say, even though part of you doesn’t want to. “You don’t need to be sorry.” You can’t even bring yourself to think of the implications of what he just said– all you know is that there is something fundamentally different between you and Spencer that wasn’t there before.
“It’s not that I don’t want it. I do. You know I do. But I can’t. Not now.”
You reach out your hand for him to take.
“Spencer,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Really. We don’t have to talk about it any more.”
His lips press into a thin line, and you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Clearly. It wasn’t a statement said to be believed. There was nothing okay, at all, but this isn’t a fight- there’s nothing to fight about. There's just a quiet understanding. He nods, finally, and steps back. “We should get some sleep,” he says, his voice almost too soft to hear.
You watch as he pulls back the covers and slides into bed, still in his work clothes, leaving just enough space for you beside him. After a moment you curl up next to him because, despite everything, doing the alternative would be so much worse.
Spencer's arms wrap around you, his breath warm against the nape of your neck, and you close your eyes and let the silence settle over you both, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your back. Something you would have given anything to have not so long ago.
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wonderjanga · 2 months ago
Text
Sweet Dreams
Billy likes sleeping. Just as any normal human child would. Unfortunately though, he’s not a normal human child. He juggles two jobs, Whiz Kid and the JL. Technically three if he counts patrol and actually being a hero in Fawcett as separate from the JL. Point is, he does a lot of stuff and sleeping is a wonderful to refresh himself. So, one day, he tried to get sleep as Marvel to make up for that lost time.
Then, the dream started.
Marvel: “Zeus? What are you wearing?”
Zeus: “Huh?” * looks down at his clothes* “The heck… Billy this is your dream. Why did you make me appear like this?”
Marvel: “Maybe because I didn’t expect to see you?”
Zeus: “Why wouldn’t you- Oh wait. You’ve never slept in your Champion form have you?”
Marvel: “No?”
Zeus: “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Come.” *gestures for him to follow and starts to walk off*
Marvel: *follows*
Zeus: “See, Batson, whenever Champions fall asleep, that can allow their patron gods to invade their dreams. That’s actually with me and the others are doing right now!”
Marvel: “Oh uh… cool?”
They played some cards, and yelled at each other about how people were cheating. Solomon won nearly every game. Except Uno which Mercury somehow won. There was a lot more suspicion of cheating when that happened. They then just sat in a circle like preteens at a slumber party and started gossiping about the other gods and goddesses from both Greek and other mythology. All in all, it was basically a sleepover, and if Billy was being honest, he didn’t hate it. Though, what he did hate was the fact that when he woke up he felt even more tired then before he went to sleep.
He noticed this was a pattern after a couple more times of him trying to make up for lost sleep as Marvel. As a result, Billy started kicking himself out of the dreams so he could actually sleep. The gods didn’t like this because Billy was apparently a chill little guy to hang out with. He of course, still said no, but you see, the Gods can be really, really… annoying when you say no to them.
Marvel: *sitting on a roof in Fawcett*
Zeus: “JOIN US!”
Marvel: “No.”
Achilles: “Please, Batson?”
Marvel: “No.”
Solomon: “Billy, please don’t leave me alone with them.”
Marvel: “Sorry, Solly. Still no.”
Solomon: “Again with that nickname…” *honestly doesn’t know whether he likes or hates it*
Zeus: “Wait, why is Solomon the only one who gets an apology?”
Marvel: “He’s the only one I feel bad for.”
Zeus: “WHA-”
This made Zeus mad so he pettily took away Billy’s ability to use lightning as Marvel. The Batson boy went a week before he caved and hung out with them in his dreams again.
Zeus: “You’re here!”
Marvel: *frowniest frown on his face*
He was then sequestered away by Zeus to watch Achilles and Hercules have a hot dog eating contest.
Mercury: “Who do you think is gonna win, Bill? We can have a bet!”
Marvel: “I don’t have any money to bet.”
Atlas: “Yes, Hermes. You forget he’s a… how do humans nowadays say it? Ah right. A brokie.”
Marvel: “Atlas, you just fell so hard down my favorites list your below Zeus now.”
Atlas: *extremely offended* “BELOW ZEUS?!”
Zeus: “HA!” *literally points and laughs*
The Next Day…
Wondy: “Brother, is something wrong? I’ve never seen you drink coffee before.”
Marvel: “I spent my night watching Achilles and Hercules shove hotdogs down their throats to see who could out-eat the other. Meanwhile, Atlas and Zeus were fist-fighting in one corner while Mercury kept trying to coerce me into making a bet with him, even though I had literally no money to make said bet.”
Wondy: “Oh.”
Marvel: “Yeah. Oh.” *sips his coffee* “Anyways, how was your night?”
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