#now I’m obsessed with this line and how hard it hits

[gutsby]

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.

At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.

Joel frowned.

“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.

“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”

That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.

Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.

He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.

You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.

“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.

But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.

His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.

“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”

In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.

“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.

“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.

A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.

You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.

“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.

Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.

You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.

Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.

Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.

You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.

Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.

This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.

But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.

“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.

“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”

He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.

“Needin’ a room?”

The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.

“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.

“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”

No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.

“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”

The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.

“Alright.”

Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.

Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.

He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.

You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.

“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”

In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.

If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.

A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.

Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.

He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.

Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.

He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.

So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.

He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.

Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.

To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.

Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.

Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.

Fuck, he needed a shower.

Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.

You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’

But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.

Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.

All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.

That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.

For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.

Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.

Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.

Fuck this.

He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.

And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.

You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.

The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.

“You can sleep there.”

Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.

“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”

“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”

Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.

Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.

“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”

By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.

“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.

“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”

Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”

Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.

“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”

“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.

“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.

Joel tensed under your touch.

“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.

It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.

“What game?” he asked.

“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”

Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.

He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.

“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”

Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,

“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”

To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.

“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”

“Huh?”

“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”

Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.

And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.

You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.

“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.

“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.

“I bet you will.”

The man was a menace when he had the will to be.

At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.

His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”

Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.

“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.

It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.

Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.

“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.

“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.

You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.

You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.

“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.

Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.

“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.

You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.

“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”

Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.

“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”

Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.

You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.

“Joel.”

Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.

“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”

Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.

“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”

“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”

“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”

So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.

Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”

He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.

“Motherfucker.”

“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”

And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.

At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.

You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.

And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.

A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.

While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.

“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.

“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”

Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.

“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”

Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.

You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.

“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”

“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”

You stared him down, incredulous.

So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.

“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”

You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.

You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.

You were still hungry as shit.

Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.

You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.

By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.

You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.

You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.

Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.

What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.

You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’

Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.

In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.

“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.

You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.

You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,

“Like this?”

“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.

Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.

Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.

Well.

You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.

You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.

You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.

“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.

“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.

Daddy?

There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.

“Y’all been spying on us?”

“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.

You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.

“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.

It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.

“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.

Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.

You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”

“Do I?”

You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.

He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.

“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”

The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.

“Wyatt can fight.”

Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”

Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.

“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.

This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.

“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.

It was Joel, of course.

Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.

‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.

Instinctively, you recoiled.

“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.

“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.

He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.

“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,

“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”

“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”

No one moved.

Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.

Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.

“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.

“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”

“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”

Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.

“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”

Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?

“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”

“If that’s what you—”

“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”

Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.

“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.

You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.

Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.

So you took off running.

Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.

You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.

“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.

Fat chance, Miller.

You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.

Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.

Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.

It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.

“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.

“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”

You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.

Then he pulled you over his lap.

Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.

“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”

You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.

“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.

Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.

“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.

Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,

“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”

You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.

“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”

You fuck with my head.

Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.

“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”

You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.

“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.

“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”

At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.

Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.

“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,

“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”

It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.

Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.

“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”

His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.

“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”

Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.

You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.

“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.

No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.

Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”

At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.

“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”

Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.

He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.

“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.

“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.

“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.

It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.

You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.

“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”

The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.

He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.

“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.

“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.

“Cobwebs and all.”

Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.

“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.

“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.

“So Prohibition-coded.”

“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”

You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.

At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.

Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’

No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.

No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.

Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.

“Good?”

“Great.”

You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.

“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”

“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.

His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.

“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.

The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.

In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.

When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.

Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—

“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”

Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.

“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”

On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.

You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.

Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.

“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.

Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.

“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”

But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.

It stopped.

Then started again.

The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.

Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.

“Answer,” you hissed.

“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.

“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”

Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.

“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.

“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”

You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.

When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.

You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.

At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.

“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”

You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.

“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”

You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,

“This is not a fucking game.”

He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.

In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.

Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.

By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.

When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.

The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.

His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.

The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.

“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.

“Joel,” you choked.

Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.

With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.

“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.

He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’

“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”

Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.

He couldn’t finish off like this.

Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.

Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.

He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,

“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.

You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:

“Hey, dad!”

Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”

Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.

You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.

He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.

Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.

“My sweet girl.”

“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”

“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”

From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.

“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.

At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.

“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”

The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.

“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.

Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.

“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”

As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.

He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.

So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.

He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.

You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.

Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:

“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”

Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.

“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.

Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.

“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”

Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.

“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”

That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.

“Where are you going?!”

“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”

Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.

“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.

“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.

Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.

“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”

Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.

As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.

Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.

“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.

Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.

Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:

“I’m not actually her dad!”

All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

[landoughnut]

Golfing Snack

♡ masterlist - request!

♡ pairing - lando norris x fem!reader

♡ summary - when lando takes you out to golf, it ends up with him having his favorite snack (hint: it's not a food ;)

♡ warnings - smut, oral sex (fem receiving), fluffyish, public (but no ones around)

♡ w/c & a/n - 1.31k | ahaha this is my first time writing smut so I apoligize if it's not good!! let me know any ideas you have, xoxo

It was hot out. Really hot. You were out at a golf course with your boyfriend, Lando. He loved taking you with him, you were like his personal cheerleader. Lucky for both of you, today no one seemed to be around, most likely due to the extreme heat, so you had a nice spot to yourselves. 

To say you didn’t enjoy playing would be a lie, but you much preferred watching him as his muscles became very prominent when he swung his club. You also enjoyed how he looked while sweating, and more often than not, he would end up taking his polo shirt off which gave you a view to die for. 

Currently, you were sitting in his own private golf caddy, dressed in what must be the one of the shortest skirts Lando has ever seen you in. Your white top matched the skirt, and you were amused at the amount of glances Lando gave your chest, since it did show quite a bit of cleavage.

He thought you looked like the sweetest thing in the world, and it had him playing worse than normal. 

You watched as he began to line up his next hit, and he once again looked over at you, his cheeks somehow flushing even more. He was wearing a backwards cap over his curls, and you loved the sight. He tried his best to get a perfect shot, since one of the reasons for bringing you out was to impress you. 

After a few minutes more of watching Lando, you lift your sunglasses onto your head and let out a loud sigh to get his attention. 

“Babyyy,” you drag out and hop out of your seat. 

He lifts his head up and turns towards you, he chews the inside of his cheek, looking up and down at your glowing skin and cheeky smile. He wipes the sweat off of his eyebrows, “What’s up? You know, you’ve been distracting me all day,” he chuckles, leaning against his club.

“What can I say,” you grin. “Anyway, I’m getting bored, I’ve tanned enough today,” you say as you stretch your arms above your head. 

He puts his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him, not sparing a glance at his golf club that fell over. “Well then, I can’t have my sweet girl being bored now, can I? What would you like to do, angel?” Lando places a gentle kiss on your forehead, his fingers tracing your jaw. 

You look up at him and flutter your eyelashes, and give him an “innocent” smile. Although he knows that it is anything but. You get on your tiptoes and bring your lips towards his ear, “I don’t see anyone around, you know.” 

He lets out a groan, and looks down at you, a smirk slowly growing on his face. He chews his bottom lip, pretending to think the idea over. Of course he wasn’t going to say no, he was practically obsessed with you. “You know what? I think you, baby, are a genius.” 

“C’mon!” You begin to tug him towards the golf cart, as you follow excitedly behind you. His eyes dropping to your skirt was one gust of wind away from giving him a show. You stop short and he bumps into your back, causing you to now groan at the feeling of him being hard, pressed up against you. 

He brings his face down and starts pressing hot kisses down your neck, then onto your collarbone. Your head drops back against his chest and your breathing picks up as his right hand starts trailing down to your skirt. He lifts it up slightly and can hardly contain a moan at the sight of your white panties, with an intricate lacy design.

“Shit, pretty girl, you must be trying to kill me,” he says. His hands drop when you turn around towards him and cup his face, bringing his lips to yours. 

He returns your kiss with just as much passion, if not more, and his hands go under your thighs, lifting you up as if you weigh nothing. You wrap your legs tightly around his hips and he licks your bottom lip. He pulls back for a second, admiring you, “I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

“I love you too,” and then he went back to devouring you. He takes a few steps towards the cart and places you down on the leather seat. You look up at him and blush as he leans down and starts kissing down your chest and stomach. Your back arches slightly off of the seat when he reaches the inside of your thighs. 

“Mm, so beautiful,” he gives you a small smile, looking up at you. You smile back and take the cap off of his head, tossing it somewhere behind you so you can run your fingers through his curls. 

His eyes flutter shut at your comforting touch and he presses feather kisses up and down both of your thighs, which is sweet but you begin to get needy since he keeps avoiding the place you need him most.

He flips up your skirt and his eyes widen as the damp patch you’ve left on your panties. He feels himself get harder, if possible, and places a kiss right on top of the wet spot. 

You jump slightly and let out a breath. Lando brings his thumb to your pussy, and admires as he starts rubbing over the soaked fabric. You whimper at the feeling, your head falling slightly to the side. 

“This is so pretty, baby, I’ll have to get you a new pair,” Lando says before he rips them in half so you are exposed to him. You gasp at the sudden air blowing against your already sensitive slit. 

Before you can say anything his mouth is on you and you are a goner. He licks, and sucks, and brushes his teeth over your clit. You tug at his hair, causing him to groan, and it only encourages him more. 

Unless you’re hearing things, you swear you can hear him let out a few whimpers and he eats you out. He seems to enjoy how you try your best to keep your moans to a minimal volume. “Fuck,” he groans against you, and it feels divine.  

He continues licking and kissing you everywhere and starts rubbing circles on your clit with his thumb. You gasp and further arch against the seat, looking down at him with his knees on the grass. He looked beautiful, shining in a light coat of sweat, shirtless, with his curls all messy from you playing with them. 

After just a few more seconds of him increasing his pace, you feel yourself reaching your high and you cover your mouth as you let out a particularly high pitched moan. He studies your face, how blissed out you look, how angelic you are. “Lando, b-baby, I’m coming, oh my-” you gasp. 

“Cum for me, love, let me taste you,” he mumbles against you, “please,” he whines. That’s all you have to hear before you are cumming onto his mouth, which laps up every single drop you give him. You pant as the waves of unexplainable pleasure pass through you.

He moans as he tastes you, eyes rolling up and hands desperate holding onto your thighs. “You taste like heaven,” he whispers once he’s finished you off. 

You fall back into the seat and have a dazed smile as you watch your boyfriend stand back up, bringing his mouth to yours in a soft, loving kiss. You sigh as the taste of yourself in his mouth. You bring your hand up and twirl some of his hair. “Your turn now?” He chuckles and shakes his head. 

You frown and he grins, “When we get back home, love,” he winks.

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) captain price nsfw alphabet with p-links, 𝒶⸺𝓏

𝒜 = aftercare (what they’re like after sex) : john, as i've stated before, is very touchy. he likes having his hands on you in any way that he can. so he'll pull you to his chest as the two of you catch your breath and run his hands along your body, pressing kisses to the crown of your hairline. you usually end up dozing off before john does and so he takes the initiative to grab a warm, damp cloth and clean up the mess of cum between your thighs. after he's done, he'll hop right back into bed and pull you flush to his body, sliding his hands along the expanse of your thighs and counting each beauty mark and mole along your body in the dim lighting of the room until he eventually falls asleep. [connected to this post and this one as well!]

𝐵 = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) : john's favorite body part of his would have to be his hands. they're big and calloused from work and he enjoys gently grasping your hips with them when he pulls you in for a slow kiss. he also adores how much you love them as well, his hands swamping yours whenever the two of you interlock fingers with each other. now john has an obsession with your lips, for him, they convey your emotions much better than words ever could. he can tell when you're annoyed with him by the purse of your lips. can tell when you're feeling shy by the slight upturn of the corner of your mouth. can tell when you're being sassy and sarcastic with the cute smirk that'll grace your lips and also when you're feeling sad by the way your lips curl in on themselves to form a line, and perhaps that's not a body part but it's his absolute favorite.

𝒞 = cum (anything to do with cum basically... i’m a disgusting person) : john's cum is pearl white in color and it's sticky and thick and there's always so much of it when he cums for the first time. the taste of his cum is slightly salty but it's not overbearing, you love the taste of him. price prefers to cum inside of you rather than anywhere else, this only started after john saw you holding your friend's newborn baby in your arms, it's been john's mission to impregnate you since then. [connected to this post!]

𝒟 = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) : it's no secret that john is older than you, there's an obvious age gap and some people may sneer at your relationship (as you're in your mid to late twenties and john is thirty-seven.) during playful banters between you and john, your go-to "insult" is always, "old man", "yes, daddy." or something along those lines. and despite himself, price always finds that he's thick and hard in his pants. he won't ever tell you that though.

𝐸 = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) : okay, price isn't the type to sleep around, he's had some occasional flings here and there, but that's about it. that doesn't mean he's inexperienced though, john puts in work. he studies your reactions and what you like. a delicious roll of his hips has him hitting that spongey little spot inside of you. licking his thumb before planting it on your clit to rub quick figure eights, has your thighs shaking and his name falling off your tongue like a prayer, and whispering lewd things in your ear and kissing you all sloppily in his pussy drunk state? has your cunt leaking all over the place. john price knows how to fuck and make love, he's perfect.

𝐹 = favorite position (this goes without saying. will probably include a visual) : hm, john's favorite position is called the 'g-whiz' it's a stupid name lowkey but it gives him the perfect view to watch your face as you fall apart over and over on his cock. it also gives him access to your g-spot and your clit as well. three birds with one stone (he loves watching your tits bounce too.)

𝒢 = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) : it's a mix. there are times when the two of you are going at it like bunnies and perhaps bump heads a bit too hard. or maybe one of you trips while pulling off a piece of clothing-- there's going to be obvious laughter. during softer sex, where john's thrusts are deep and rolling, slow and intimate--- his gaze is always so full of his adoration for you and it leaves you breathless at times. he kisses gently, whispering words of love to you and smiling at the tears that sting your eyes. so yeah, he's a mix.

𝐻 = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) : john, before he met you, wasn't really sexually active, and so he didn't keep up with grooming himself, there was no need for him to. he was out in the field for weeks on end at a time and when he was off the field all he wanted to do was relax and sleep as much as he could before he had to go back out for another mission. after he met you, however, he wanted to groom himself. not that you seemed to care, nor had you ever complained. but he did it anyways. so, price's hair is brown, nicely trimmed, with no scraggly hairs in sight.

𝐼 = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) : please, john is madly in love with you and he himself knows it and he loves to make it known to you often, even outside of sex. price loves keeping eye contact with you, whether it's through a mirror, while you're riding him, or in any other position that allows the two of you to be face to face. he loves watching the small ticks in your expression as he grinds his hips into yours, cock sinking into you at the most excruciatingly slow pace he's ever gone. loves the way your cheeks flush and your cunt squeezes him when he calls you his, "pretty girl." this man also says 'i love you' often, and it's always so genuine, you never grow tired of hearing him say it. (he definitely doesn't kiss your chin when you give him an annoyed pouty look at his slow pace, he definitely doesn't apologize and speed up either.)

𝒥 = jack off (masturbation headcanon) : i find it hard to picture price masturbating, but i believe he does so when he's away from home for weeks on end, but it's not mindless masturbation like most men are prone to doing. john, when he's away from you for long periods of time, gets almost…needy?? in a way. this man misses you like no other, he misses the smell of you, your loving touches, your smile, your cooking, you pulling him to the living room floor to dance, your horrible singing when the two of you shower together and god he misses the sound of your voice. and this feeling is all so new to him and it's almost overwhelming. 

so when price has the downtime, he calls you, it's a spur-of-the-moment call and when you pick up, he can hear the thickness of sleep in your voice; he feels selfish and a bit foolish, he was acting like a horny teenager. however, after hearing the excitement in your voice and the surprise, he can only smile and ask how everything has been at home. who would've thought that the sound of your voice, all sleepy and soft would get him hard and thick within his cargos? who also would've thought that john price would unzip himself to pull out his rigid cock, tip leaking with pearlescent pre-cum and pulsing in his large hand. yes, john ends up fucking his fist to the sound of your voice, humming and grunting softly to signify that he's listening to you, thighs tensing and heart hammering in his ribcage. i mean, what you don't know won't hurt you.

𝒦 = kink (one or more of their kinks) : hear me out, roleplay, please! wait, think about it, perhaps it's not full-on roleplay but it's something of the sort, john gets a raging boner when you call him 'captain price' mockingly or 'sir'. another would have to be breeding, john wants to knock you up so bad it's almost an obsession, would love to see you swollen with his child, most definitely says something along the lines of. "good girl, wan' t'get you pregnant so bad. you'd like that, hm?" during sex. a mild voice kink? loves the sound of your voice and almost always cums instantly when you beg him to fill you up.

𝐿 = location (favorite places to do the do) : don't really see john being too much of an exhibitionist but the two of you have had sex outside at a park, while on a picnic. you had crawled into his lap and kissed him softly, pleadingly, blinking your pretty little lashes at him and i mean; who is he to say no to your greedy little cunt? however, he prefers to do it in the comfort of your shared home. ♡

𝑀 = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) : your teasing. whether it be playful or sexual it always riles price up. it's one of the many things that he loves about you, your sense of humor. and you express it well, not just through your actions or your words but also through your eyes, they're always so expressive and glittering with light mischief that he can't help but sweep you off your feet, throw you over his shoulder, and carry you into the bedroom.

𝒩 = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs) : hurting you in any way, there are some things he's a bit lenient on if you like it; like choking and light slapping but other than that, it's a no for price. man loves you too much to do anything of the sort.

𝒪 = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) : as much as john loves having his cock buried down your throat, watching as you stare up at him with tear-stained cheeks, your mouth and chin covered in spit and his cum— he enjoys eating you out. he loves the taste of you on his tongue, loves to overstimulate you, loves to control your orgasms, loves to hear you beg and roll your hips on his tongue. if john could he'd spend the rest of his life buried between your thighs, large hands gripping the fat of your hips to keep you still as your thighs quiver and your pussy pulses from being too sensitive, he would. well shit, i guess that should be one of john's kinks too then, huh?

𝒫 = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) : price is usually slow and sensual, with fervent deep strokes, tender kisses, and whispered murmurs of love. what can he say? he loves showing that he loves you in all that he does. however, on the days when he comes home after a mission gone awry or being away for a long time in general, he's gonna be fast and rough; using your body any way he pleases. on days like this, he prefers you in 'doggy style' or even the 'mating press', and immediately gives you cuddles afterward though, telling you briefly of his mission as you run your hands through his hair. ♡

𝒬 = quickie (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) : hm, john isn't one for quickies, i mean he doesn't mind a quickie, the park sex that the two of you had was a quickie after all. but i believe he much prefers proper sex, that way he can pull orgasm after orgasm from you and take his time as well. 

𝑅 = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) : john is down to try something at least once, especially if it's something that you want to try. not too long ago, you handcuffed price to the bed and edged him until he had literally begged you to let him cum, it was quite the sight and he's down to do it again. 

𝒮 = stamina (how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) : give this man two good rounds, and then he's tuckered out. however he doesn't mind if you're still reeling to go, he'll pull you onto his lap and let you ride him until you're sated. or even make you ride his face, he could never deny you anything after all. 

𝒯 = toy (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) : y'all hear me out once more....vibrating panties. rahhhh, hold on hold on. you guys use it when you're out on walks, at restaurants and sometimes even at dinners with your friends. man gets bricked up at the sight of you squeezing your thighs together, breathless and completely out of it. however, in the bedroom, price is all you need, the man is much better than any toy.

 𝒰 = unfair (how much they like to tease) : teases you often, whether it be with overstimulation, ruining your orgasms, or even having you beg him to let you cum. the man, believe it or not, likes to see your eyes water and your lips pout. loves that he can get his sassy, fiery wife all squirmy and pleading with just a few strokes of his tongue. 

𝒱 = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make) : john is not shy, he'll tell you how good you're making him feel, not with just his deep, guttural groans, but also with words. price is the king of dirty talk and he does it unknowingly, he most definitely curses when he's moaning as well, drawn out 'fucks' and at when your pussy squeezes him tight, he'll say. "shit, sweetheart y'r pussy s'made for me." calls you the lewdest names known to man, but says it so lovingly that you can't help but be turned on even more than you already are.

𝒲 = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) : has definitely had you suck him off while underneath his desk while on a computer call with laswell. poor baby, his face was pink from holding in his moans, especially after you buried him to the hilt down your throat. totally didn't get caught or anything.

𝒳= x-ray (let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) : the picture speaks for itself. ♡

𝒴 = yearning (how high is their sex drive?) : you guys, price is 37, atp? he's 40, it may not be as it used to be when he was younger but! he puts in the work and most times tires you out before he tires out.

𝒵 = zzz (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward) : it takes awhile for price to succumb to sleep, no matter how tired he is. so it's usually you falling asleep first. he lays there, holding you close and running his hands along your back and then further. he'll drift off to the sound of your slow breathing and the steady rhythm of your heart.  ♡

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : the full alphabet! ahem, i enjoyed doing this

[karinasbaby]

SIM JAEYUN — HARD THOUGHT!

(about to complete the hyung line hard thoughts)

part 2

pairing: jake x fem!reader (+17)

warnings: multiple rounds, overstimulation, marking, breeding, making out, sex toys, praise !!, oral (f), humping?, cursing, pet names (angel/baby/sweet girl/good girl/doll), jake is a softie and he’s a sucker for good pussy

wc: 3.9k (“hard thought” funny isn’t it)

A/N: i found some time today to quickly share this though i wrote on a whim so enjoy !! <3

picture this with me, jake who’s so obsessed with overstimulation. he loves seeing your body shaking under him and your pretty pleas begging him to stop knowing well if he stopped or even lifted his body away from yours you would whine and beg for him to come back :( jake loves overstimulating you to the point where your eyes roll back, your back arching against his chest and moans and pants of his name are the only things that are leaving your mouth, he loves it.

jake also loves overstimulating himself just as much as he does to you, always taking everything multiple steps further by fucking you load after load to the point where a mixture of your cum with his is running down your thighs, both your bodies dripping with sweat, both of you panting and so sensitive, he loves it when your body shakes with his every movement and the feeling of your cunt twitching around him, and he always knows how to fuck you into a dumb doll

just like how you knew it was going to happen today the moment jake suggested you to use his favourite mini vibrator that he got, the mini device was now buzzing in between your walls while you tried your best to answer your friend’s question,

your mind felt like it was reeling when the vibrator’s setting was slightly pushed up, you couldn’t turn your head to look at jake who was already staring at you with a dark look in his eyes along with his smile, you were afraid you’d moan if you faced him with how turned on you were,

stuttering out your response, jake’s hand wrapped around your waist in a possessive manner causing a shiver to descend down your body, jake’s head dipped low to graze your ear with his lips

“good job doll, i’m so proud of you.”

he whispered smiling at you with his eyes twinkling, “gonna treat you so well when we get home”

and he didn’t lie.

because right now jake had you laying against the couch while he was on his knees infront of you, lifting up your skirt lightly to reveal your soaked pretty lace panties, his hands gripped your thighs to keep them in place as he smelled you, “so good angel, such a good girl for me” his praises went straight to your neglected clit that was throbbing, you moaned at jake’s words, the mixture of his praises along with the subtle vibration of the device nestled deep in your walls was too much,

you were already blushing and panting for breaths when jake’s tongue ran along your clothed dripping slit from your panties, jake’s nose rubbed against your clit perfectly as he started sucking at your entrance, whimpering at the feeling of his mouth finally edging you closer to your climax that’s been on hold for hours, jake went upwards to suck on your clit through the wet area in your panties, softly nibbling before running his tongue in circular motions that had you squeaking his name out,

“such a perfect little cunt” jake whispered, his breath hitting your soaked panties made you dizzy, already feeling overstimulated when you haven’t even had your first orgasm of the night, you felt how jake’s hands were softly massaging your thighs that he placed on his shoulders before they left to rip your panties apart,

gasping at the feeling of jake’s cold hands finally touching your core with no restriction, he lowered down to place a small kiss on your clit, before he trailed down to run his tongue along you folds, teasing with sliding his tip into your leaking entrance then coming up to softly suckle on your clit like a lollipop, his actions had your back arching as you felt yourself even closer to your orgasm, the vibrations continuing with jake’s actions, each movement felt like electricity shooting up your spine,

“jake please- i need you” managing to moan out, jake looked up at you and the sight made his fingers dig into your thighs, you were so fucked out already, the sight of your hair sticking to your temples and forehead, of your blushing face panting with your eyes closed had jake feeling a massive amount of restriction in his pants,

“you’ll have me in no time, doll” he replied, returning to your aching core as he slid his tongue inside of you completely, fucking you with the muscle when he felt the way your walls were convulsing and spasming from the vibrations along with his ministrations, your hand went to grip on his hair when you felt his tongue licking at your walls, moans falling off of your mouth desperately as you felt your climax approaching, your orgasm being right around the corner as jake moaned into your cunt “cum for me, darling”

and you did, you did so hard as your legs shook in his hold, the vibrations still running throughout your walls, tongue collecting all of your sweet essence as it dripped out, licking your sweet nectar like a kitten, his eyes were closed as he got drunk on your taste coating his tongue,

jake almost moaned at your flavour, so sweet.

his grip on your thighs tightened as he came upwards, welcoming the sight of you panting with your swollen lips open and your eyes closed, your chest was already glistening with a thin layer of sweat as your legs shook under his touch, the vibrator was still sitting between your walls snugly, overstimulating you as jake was leaning down to press kisses on your exposed neck and chest

“t’s too m-much, jakey” you whined out, your hips involuntarily bucking in his hold making him move his hands to your waist, you were shaking in his hold as he looked at you with stars in his eyes

“just a bit more, my sweet girl” he replied, before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours making both of you moan, his tongue running along your bottom lip before sucking on it roughly, you whimpered at his bites on your lip before he slid his tongue into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself all over him,

jake quickly fixed your position, making you lay against the couch as he settled himself between your legs, his bulge that was throbbing in his pants landing directly on your soaked cunt, moaning out at the feeling of jake slowly grinding his hips against yours, his bulge was rubbing against your clit so perfectly it made tears prickle around your eyes,

in the blink of an eye jake got up to discard his pants along with his boxers before he leaned down to take off your top along with your bra and slid off your skirt, instantly rendering you both naked on the couch, his aching length came to view standing tall and proud, his tip a raging red as precum ran down the underside of his cock, jake quickly placed himself back between your legs, his cock landing against your aching cunt this time making you both moan as jake felt just how wet and warm you were,

jake busied himself with leaving open mouthed sloppy kisses, sucking on your skin every once and a while as his length rubbed against your dripping walls, you were whimpering in his hold, your back arching with every grind of his hips against yours, jake leaned down his weight against your body, his hand trailing upwards to softly massage your breast, “such a good girl for me, you feel so good, baby” jake groaned out next to your ear,

you were already whimpering and gasping at the feeling of his length running in between your soaked walls and pressing against your clit so deliciously, the vibrations from the device ongoing as jake picked up the pace of his hips,

his precum was by now dripping and landing on your lower stomach, his cock was rubbing against you in a fastened pace making both of you whimper, your hands landed on his biceps for support as you felt your second high approaching quicker,

“you close, baby?” jake asked, his own moans leaving his mouth shamelessly as he came up to look at your form and gosh the sight was godly,

jake was biting on his swollen lower lip, allowing it to develop a reddish hue that matched the blush coating his cheeks, his dark hair sticking onto his forehead as his darkened, hooded eyes devoured you with his hungry stare,

you nodded as you moaned while looking at him, jake noticing the needy look in your hazy eyes dipped his head forward to capture your lips against his again, he was more gentle in this kiss as his hips slowed down slightly, his tongue was sloppily running against yours as drool began coating your chins,

you whined at the feeling of jake stopping his movements completely, leaving his cock to rest against your cunt making him chuckle,

“a little patience, angel” he spoke out before he leaned away from you, taking his body away from yours

jake’s hand trailed downwards, landing between your folds before his fingers entered your leaking entrance, you gasped at the feeling of his fingers entering you so slowly, before reaching the small device and pulling it out gently,

“fuck” jake cursed as he looked at the soaked device covered in a thick layer of your arousal, it was like something inside of him snapped because he quickly discarded the device, aligned himself with your entrance and pushed his entire length in your dripping, welcoming walls in one thrust, leaning his weight down against your body again,

both of you moaned out loud at the feeling of him bottoming out, his length stretching you so deliciously and pressing against all of your sweet spots perfectly, jake was instantly in heaven at the way your convulsing, warm and wet walls hugged his raging length,

jake’s mouth coming into contact with your breast as he softly placed kisses all over your skin while his other hand toyed with your other breast, his hips were pressed against yours as he relished in the feeling of you cunt wrapped around his length, your arms came upwards to wrap around his neck while your legs wrapped about his waist, deepening his thrust into you,

it was moments like these that jake adored completely, wishing he could pause time and live in this moment for eternity, the comfort of feeling you all over him and under him was an unmatched feeling for him, he always felt like your bodies became one in these times, cherishing each one of your moans at the feeling of him against you as he marked you entirely,

his hips began moving in slow, deep thrusts you bit down on your lip to seal your moans at the feeling of his tip ghosting around your cervix before gently pressing against it and staying there, then slowly pulling back before thrusting in,

the feeling of jake being so deep with his cock inside of you while he toyed with your sensitive breasts, kissing the skin under his lips every moment was enough to have your eyes covering with a thick layer of tears, the weight of him on yours as he pleases your body always made your heart soar, the feeling of his touch on you was imprinted and marked in your mind, every touch of his hand and finger left a burning sensation on your skin,

“you feel so good around me, darling” jake moaned out, one thing he loved was to make sure you knew how good you felt and how good you were being for him, he’ll always take pride in the way you’re being such a good little girl.

“taking me in so well fuck- your pussy is sucking me in so well, baby” he groaned, closing his eyes as he felt the tightening of your walls, you were moaning out his name by now as he quickened his pace, he began to piston his hips against yours, pulling his length out completely to stare at your dripping hole before pushing it back in entirely to press against your cervix, you moaned loudly as he reached impossibly deeper with every thrust,

“pussy’s milking me- god- you feel so fucking good, doll” jake growled, his hands trailing to grip on your legs that were wrapped around his waist, unraveling them quickly before he placed them on his shoulders,

“jake- oh my god-“ you cried out at the sudden change in position as jake by now was pressing against you completely, his length reaching deeper in the new placement making his eyes roll back as he panted, your head was thrown back when you felt his hips pulling back only to roughly push back in again, your lower stomach was on fire as you felt your second approaching orgasm making you tighten impossibly around jake,

jake groaned out at the feeling of your walls fluttering around his length as he fucked you deep, “gonna cum for me, angel? yeah?” he spoke through gritted teeth, his pace quickening with every word, sweat by now was freely dripping both of your bodies as you were being fucked against your couch like a rag doll, your hands were gripping from jake’s shoulders to his biceps just to anchor yourself as your body couldn’t keep up with his animalistic pace,

“gonna fuck you so deep, baby. fuck you and stuff you so deep of my cum, you’d let me wont you baby, yeah?” jake continued, his babbling indicating that he’s close as well, his own cock was twitching between your walls as you nodded wordlessly at his words, aiming to catch your breath as mewls left your throat, the coil in your stomach tightening making you see completely white,

jake felt the way your walls were convulsing around him, knowing that you’re right on the edge he sneaked his hand below you, your moans ringing in his ears as they instantly picked up in pitch the moment his thumb landed on your aching clit,

“jake- oh my god i’m s-so close ! so c-close baby please please !” you started begging for him, jake panting as he began to move his thumb in circular motions while his length pistoned in and out of you, when you felt the relief of your orgasm washing over you your eyes rolled back, back arching as you struggled to keep your noises, whimpering out his name while your hands clawed at his shoulders, jake took in the sight of your head thrown back in pure bliss with his own eyes hooded and mouth agape, the feeling of your cunt spasming around him was euphoric, pushing him closer to his climax as jake held tightly on your thighs,

“j-jake- it’s t-too much-“ your broken mewls were like music to jake’s ears, he felt how you nails were clawing at him in hopes of stopping him but he was too distracted by the way your pussy was sucking him in so deep, looking down to see where you two were connected to find a ring of your creamy arousal decorating his base made him lose his mind, his thrusts became stronger and deeper as he was almost smashing his hips against yours, your throat gave up on you as now only your whimpers and gasps were sounding around the bedroom when you felt another climax approaching,

“your pussy’s milking me baby, how do you want me to stop when you’re sucking me in like this?” jake growled out, his thrusts never faltering and he didn’t take his eyes off of you, you were glowing beneath his eyes as he took in the sight of you, your chest covered with his marks heaving in breaths, your breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts while you had your head thrown to the side attempting to regulate your breathing,

with jake’s continuous thrusts you felt the tightening returning to your lower stomach, jake’s pace never slowed it only quickened in a mindblowing way making you feel like your head is reeling, all thoughts of stopping disappearing as your nails were still attached on his arms while he was moaning loud at the feeling of his approaching climax,

“i’m gonna cum so deep in you, angel” he breathed out, lowering himself to press his forehead against yours, his eyes were closed as he felt his orgasm nearing closer, your walls tightening at his words, hugging his length tightly when you whispered “fill me up, please jakey” to his lips which was enough to send him over the edge, with a few more thrusts his tip was pressed against your cervix as he came deep inside of you just like he had promised, with his shaky and loud moans, you quickly slid off your shaking legs from his shoulders to wrap around his waist tightly, jake’s weight fell on top of yours while you hugged him, kissing his lips and swallowing his moans as his milky white ropes filled you up,

“making me feel so good, jakey” you spoke between kisses, jake’s breaths hitching at your words as his lips involuntarily bucked against yours to ride out his high, being buried deep inside of you jake looked at you with shining eyes, wordlessly he dipped down to place gentle kisses on your collarbones before you felt his cock twitching in you again, “you can handle another one, can’t you angel?” he spoke, lips muffled slightly by your skin as your heartbeat raced, his cock already impossibly hard and aching inside of you while jake was kissing between the valley of your breasts,

“j-jake please-“ you cried out when you felt him moving again, his hips slowly pulling out before thrusting back in, your head was reeling with your soreness and over sensitivity, you were shuddering with every one of his touch against your skin, “please what angel? want me to stop?” he replied, already pulling his body off of yours in attempt to stop, eyes filled with faux concern as he took in the new tears decorating your face, his heart skipping a beat when your hands gripped onto his shoulders to keep him in place

“no! n-no please don’t s-stop” you stuttered out, eyes closing as you moaned when he pushed himself back in the smirk on his face going unnoticed, jake set up a quick pace, ignoring the shaking in his legs and yours as he was focused on the way your convulsing walls were hugging him, “gonna take my cum again, baby?” he spoke out, trailing kisses against your jaw softly as his own over sensitivity was taking a toll on him, his body shook with every thrust, the way you were wrapped around him was almost painful but he loved every second of it, especially if he got to see your tear stricken face nodding at his words while you held back sobs,

jake felt his climax approaching yet again, quickening his thrusts with his entire body twitching, each thrust’s force felt like electricity raking up his spine, his mind was foggy with lust and love while you were sobbing out his name, you felt your orgasm around the corner faster than you were expecting,

“gonna cum for me again, angel? hm?” he moaned out, throwing his head back as he was losing his mind, the wet squelching sound resonating in the walls of the living room as his cock sank in deeper into your cunt, a puddle of arousal had formed beneath your ass “y-yes- oh my god yes!” you cried out, with a few more of jake’s thrusts your orgasm washed over you for the third time, your body was by now completely shaking in jake’s hold as he continued, riding out your high as his felt impossibly closer, “doing so well for me, doll. taking me in so fucking well,” jake moaned out, his hands landing to grip on your waist as he thrusted in before coating your insides with a warning, you sighed softly as he settled into your arms, the feeling of his white ropes shooting deep into you for the second time was comforting as jake lazily kissed at your neck while whimpering against your skin,

with his arms wrapped around your waist, you closed your eyes in attempt to calm your raging heartbeat, jake rested his head against your chest while collecting his own breath, the comforting silence that lasted a few minutes shared between the two of you was completely broken with you gasping out loudly when you felt jake moving once again, “just one more time angel hm? just one baby” he whispered as he trailed kisses on your neck, his own breath heavy as he stared at you with his eyes hooded, he looked completely drunk,

you couldn’t even respond as you only shook your head, your back arching into his touch when he thrusted in, quivering in his hold as he looked at you with his own eyes tearing up at the overstimulation, your body felt like it was on fire between his arms, jake’s moans were louder than yours as you’ve lost your voice completely, eyes closing to process the overwhelming sensation of his rock hard cock ruining you for the third time tonight,

“just one more baby, only one i promise” he begged, his head landing in the crook of your neck as he trailed kisses and bites to silence himself, your body was twitching in his hands as his hips accelerated against your own, hoarse moans leaving your throat when you felt your body’s oncoming orgasm that you couldn’t even process

“please angel, you feel so fucking good- oh my god.” he moaned out when he felt your hands attempting to push him away with no force, your walls were uncontrollably pulsating against his length making him gasp out, rolling his eyes back when he felt his climax approaching yet again, you were breathing heavily, whimpers leaving your mouth when you felt his hand going lower to land on your clit again, “p-please angel just one more, please i need it” he stuttered out, whining and attempting to coax your orgasm out of you as he had grown to the feeling of your tightening walls when he felt you climax on his cock, it was so addicting to him, he had to feel it again,

“j-jakey i cant-“ your climax was building up scarily fast for your liking, you were sure you were going to pass out the moment he’s done and satisfied, but your mind currently couldn’t process all the sensations he was overwhelming you with, his finger lazily rubbing on your aching clit while his tip was kissing against your cervix along with his lips biting and licking on your neck and jaw,

“yes you can, baby please i- i need to feel it angel come on for the last time angel, please” he whimpered out, sucking a deep breath in when you felt your moans picking up in pitch till ecstasy filled all your senses, electricity shooting up your veins as your back arched against his hold, jake quickly wrapped his arms tightly around your waist as your body fell apart in his arms again, your mouth was open in a silent scream as your orgasm took over your body, your senses were completely clouded by him, with only the image of him on your mind and his name falling from your mouth as whispers, the feeling of your walls contracting around his aching length as he literally felt a surge of your wetness, he felt your orgasm that pushed him over the edge once again, painting your insides white as his eyes rolled back and his body trembled against yours,

and the feeling of his load shooting deep inside of you mixed with your own climax was enough to have to you to pass out in his hold, jake’s breaths were shaky as he tried to process all that had just happened, smiling softly when he noticed your eyes closed and your tear stricken, blushing face sleeping.

A/N pt2: proof read this while eating skittles so if u see a typo pls ignore <3

[messylustt]

obsessed ( simon says… ) — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : scream maybe you shouldn’t have picked up that call, or chose to play that game. but there’s no backing out now, even if ethan’s requests…escalate.

contents : knife play. making out (ofc). dub con. sexual ‘simon says’ game. possessive ethan. wc 3.2k.

pt one pt two pt three

“simon says…touch your knees.” ghostface—ethan—says through the phone.

you scoff, bending slightly down to touch your knee. “both of them. put me on speaker.”

you do as he says, resting your phone on the kitchen bench. to a neighbour you probably looked stupid, touching your knees in your kitchen.

“how many rounds?” you ask, awaiting his next request.

“until i get bored.” ghostface answers, as you clench your teeth. “simon says, take off your jacket.”

you remove your jacket, resting it beside your phone, as you lean against the counter. “i’m going to easily win this, ethan.”

“i wouldn’t be so sure.” he chuckles. “simon says, tie your hair up—in a ponytail.”

you shake your head in confusion, but do so, wrapping your hair tie around your hair. “you're gonna get bored easily.”

“will i?” he probes. “simon says, turn off the lights.”

you narrow your eyes.

“chickening out?”

you scoff, turning to the large light-switch, flicking down. you get enveloped in darkness, with the exception of the moon shining outside. “good.” Ghostface speaks as you walk back to your phone.

“simon says, grab a knife.”

you halt. “what?”

“simon says. grab. a. knife” ghostface repeats. you gulp. ethan said he didn’t want to kill you. god, he wasn’t gonna make you kill yourself…was he? you wouldn’t do it, obviously. but still, it’s hard to think of Ethan as someone so sadistic.

you walk to your knife block, picking out a reasonably large one. you spare a chuckle. “are we going to spar?”

“i’m not in your apartment.” he responds. “yet.”

you suck in a breath. “alright, next request.” you're feeling stupidly assured. and you’ll soon realise how stupid your assurance is.

“simon says, go to your room.”

you grab your phone as you make your way through your dark house. “you’re not in there…are you?”

“wow, you really don’t listen to a word i say.” ghostface says, as you reach your doorway, you reach to flick the light switch when he stops you. “keep it off.”

it’s probably better this way. easier to imagine that this isn’t happening at all. you walk further in. “shut the door.”

you continue, ignoring his request. “simon says, shut the door.” ghostface reiterates impatiently. you hold back a smirk as you rere back to shut your bedroom door.

“this is a game, ethan. not just you ordering me around.”

“mm,” ghostface hums slowly. “simon says,” he bites out. “sit on your bed, facing the door.”

you hold down your questions of confusion, as you slowly take a seat, rubbing your hands down your jeans, as you keep the knife placed beside you. “ethan, what's the point of this—”

“feel free to back out. but that means you don’t win.” you knew he was baiting you, manipulating you, but you needed to win. you sit straighter, trying to appear more confident. you had to have the group's own knowledge of ethan, before he hurt any of them.

“next request.”

ethan is smirking on the other line, excited for what was to come next. you were just so committed to helping your friends, such an admirable quality. but how far would you go for them?

“simon says…take off your shirt.”

there's a moment of silence as a thought you stupidly hadn’t thought of hits you. it was idiotic to think ethan wouldn’t use this game to his advantage. he had kissed you—three times now. you take a breath, before lifting the hem of your loose top. you hear a small, almost inaudible intake of breath on the other line. you're still in your bra, of course. it’s like you're wearing a bikini top…just more lacy, you think to yourself.

“alright—”

“take off your bra.” ghostface—ethan—cuts in.

you tilt your head. “what was that?”

you can hear him growl in irritation. “simon says; take off your bra.”

“i feel like there should be a request limit. you could carry this on forever. it's a little unfair.” you tease the clip of your bra, popping it, but keeping the cups to your chest.

you hear ethan scoff on the other line. “fine. i get 20.”

“20?” you raise a brow. “i’d say more like 7. you’ve already used a few.”

“jeezus christ.” ghostface groans. then it hits you. why was ethan so eager for you to remove your bra? he can’t…see you. you gaze around your room, looking for security cameras. you stop on one directly above your bedroom door. you narrow your eyes at it, and you catch ethan chuckling.

“yes, i can see you, y/n.”

you straighten, cursing yourself for not seeing the obvious. of course he was watching you.

“i’ll settle for 15.” ghostface says. you look away from the camera, mulling it over. “fine, 15 requests, but you’ve already used some.” you hum, counting in your head. “about 9. you have 6 left.”

ethan clenches his jaw in slight annoyance but answers anyway. “fine, 6.”

you feel satisfied, confidence filling you again. you can get through 6. “you haven’t completed my 9th request.” ghostface says, making you glance down at your still covered chest. you harshly breath, cursing under your breath, and ignoring the way your lower stomach heats up.

you slowly drop your bra, trying not to curl into yourself. “your 10th?” you quickly ask.

there's a moment of silence on ethan’s end, as you assume he’s just watching you. “ethan?”

“so impatient.” ghostface breathes. “simon says…touch you breasts—play with your nipples.”

“i feel like that could be two requests.”

“no it fucking isn’t— touch yourself.” the impatience in his dark voice has you reaching for your breasts. you ignored the pull of your morals, telling you how wrong this was. this was to help your friends.

you squeeze your breasts, the cold air having made your nipples turn hard. you brush your thumbs over your peaks, trying to swallow the shudder. you can hear heavy breathing on the other line, as you pinched your nipples, rolling them between your fingers. pleasure shocks shoot through you, but you do your best to ignore the want to relax onto your bed. you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, or that view. though you're sure the view is nice enough as is.

you then lower your hands, away from your tits, and hear him groan. “11th?” you breathe, trying to hide your growing breathy tone. christ. the heat had spread through you, pooling down into your panties. you gulp.

ethan’s breath’s are heavy on the other line as excitement courses through him. “widen your legs, touch yourself inside your jeans.” then he quickly corrects himself, gulping. “simon says…do that.”

you hold back a scoff, as you drag your hand down to the zipper of your jeans. “slowly.” ghostface warns.

you slow your movements, unbuttoning and pulling the zipper down. you widen your legs, as you support yourself back with one of your hands, the other sinking into your panties. “simon says—tell me how wet you are…and why.”

you suck in a breath. this was the last thing you wanted to reveal to him. “be honest.” you can hear ghostface—ethan—shift over the phone. his tone is still modulated but way more breathy. you gulp down your pride and speak.

“i’m s-soaking.” your finger grazes across your clit.

“through your panties?”

you nod in response and ethan growls. “why?”

you had to say it. “because of…” you gulp. “because of you.” you're rubbing your clit now, as your pleasure begins to override your pride and morals.

you hear a breathy choke followed by a gulp. “what about me?”

“that's— more than your request.”

ethan has to hold back from marching into your apartment, grabbing your throat, and finishing you off himself. orgasm wise, not death. soon; he thinks to himself as he palms his dick through his jeans.

“simon says, finger yourself. insert two pretty fingers.”

your pussy is weeping and you're scolding yourself for it. you shouldn’t be turned on by a fucked up version of a children’s game, especially when its controlled by a killer. this situation was a mess, and you hated that you were soon becoming one too.

you pass your clit to insert two fingers, making your hips shudder against your duvet. you bite your lip to hold back moans, as you begin to finger yourself, your legs spreading wider for better access.

“fuck,” ghostface whimpers, as your head lolls back a second before you try to recompose yourself. “s-simon says, taste yourself.”

you hold back a whine as you remove your fingers, your body feeling empty. you raise your hand, to see your two fingers glistening in your arousal. “lick them.” he demands. you raise your fingers to your mouth and wrap your lips around them, by your knuckle. you suck and use your tongue to remove your wetness.

ethan is falling apart on his end of the line, as he watches your eyes slightly roll. you're trying to stay as composed as you can be, and watching you slowly crack has made ethan’s dick needy.

“last re-request.” you stutter out, as you remove your wet fingers.

there’s a pause, the air feeling incredibly tense.

then… “simon says…open the door.”

you freeze, staring at the wood, closed and now eerie. shit. ethan was right outside… wasn’t he? you had thought about him coming to your apartment after…all that. but that doesn’t mean you're anymore prepared.

you look at your phone to see that he’s hung up. you stand, looking at the knife. you grab it, taking a breath, and ignoring the pressure of an unfinished orgasm between your legs. you hesitate, all the possible; good and bad; swirling around in your head.

then it’s immediate…

ethan is opening the door, grabbing your jaw and wrists, pushing the knife away from him while also pulling you towards him. you stumble, your naked breasts hitting his clothed chest. you hiss as your nipples graze against the material. ethan is holding your cheeks between his fingers as he shuts the door behind him with his foot. he’s holding your wrist with the knife in your hand out to the side, his grip strong and unwavering.

“don’t tell me you were about to stab me?” ethan mocks, tilting your chin higher up to meet his gaze.

the moonlit atmosphere is making him look almost ethereal, if it weren’t for the crazed look in his eyes. he pushes you closer to your bed, making the back of your legs hit against it. he presses himself into you, as he gets the knife out of your grip.

“why did you ask me to get a knife if you didn’t expect me to use it?” you ask, as ethan stares down at your tits. he shoves you onto the bed, before hovering over your body.

“when i asked you to grab a knife i didn’t have harm in mind.” ethan hums as he brushes the flat side of the knife across your cheek, the cool metal making your shiver. he then leans closer, shifting the knife to reach one of your breasts. you stiffen. you should feel scared and you do, but not as much as you should. another feeling is creeping up on you fast, the burn between your legs still extremely prominent.

“e-ethan” you gulp as you feel the cool metal brush across your nipple. you unintentionally arch as a whimper leaves your mouth. ethan grins as he breathes across your lips.

“you don’t know how hard it was to stay put as I watched you touch yourself.” ethan darts his tongue out to lick your bottom lip as you whimper against the playing knife. “i wanted my hands to be feeling you, licking your taste of my own fingers.”

you shudder, as ethan moves down to wrap his mouth around your free nipple. the contrasting temperatures make your eyes roll.

“you looked so edible doing what you were told.”

“i-it was a game.”

“that you played very well.” he praised, as he licked your nipple. you jolt, your back arching off the bed.

“i thought you’d be more difficult, since you never seem to listen to me.” ethan speaks to your skin. “but look how obedient you are right now.”

“i’m not, your just— oh.” you moan ethan bites your nipple. pain an pleasure shoot through you.

“i’m sorry i didn’t quite catch that.”

“you mother—” you cut yourself off as the knife grazes your throat. still in use of the flat side, but the sharp edge is still seen as a threat to you. you gulp, as ethan notices your nearly fearful eyes.

he reaches your face again, looking down at you as he brings the knife away. his elbows are by your head as he cages you in. your breathing is rapid, and your body is on fire.

“your scared of me?”

“no I’m not.”

“just a little bit.” ethan says softly. He then kisses your lips, a gentle brush, making your head spin. “i’d never hurt you. you know that right?”

you focus on ethan’s eyes as he watches you. he then leans down to your ear, his hand reaching down to the top of your jeans. “i only want you to be writhing in pleasure, y/n.”

ethan then pulls down your jeans. over much better morals you slightly raise your hips. ethan smiles, as he tosses your pants to the side. he’s now kneeled on the bed. your legs between his open ones. he’s looking down at you with a tilt to his head. then he brings the knife into your vision.

you gulp as the metal lowers to your pussy. but ethan only cuts the material if your panties, pulling them away to leave you bare.

ethan then pulls his top over his head. you hadn’t expected Ethan to look so… you hope your not fucking drooling. ethan grins down at you as he unbuckles his belt.

you shudder as it makes a snap at how fast he removed it. he then unbuttons his jeans, but stops to move his legs. he now sits, both feet on the floor as he ushers you over by a head tilt.

ethan grabs your hair, and that’s when you remember you tied it up. ethan asked you to tie it up.

he pulls you to the floor as you fall to your knees. “fuck.” ethan breathes as you look up at him.

“you were prepared.” you say, talking about your hairstyle.

ethan smirks. “i’m always prepared. though, the bigger question, is are you?”

ethan pulls his cock out of his pants, as it stands tall and proud. you gulp, wide eyes staring. ethan’s hand tightens around your ponytail at your expression. “you don’t know how long I wanted you like this.” he hisses out. then he brings you closer, your mouth millimetres from where he needs.

your breath hits the tip of his cock, as his breathing shudders. “christ.” he moans as you finally wrap your lips around him. so delicate at first, just kitten licking the pre-cum off. ethan’s hips buck up desperately. And you finally sink down onto him. your cheeks hollowing out.

“oh— fuck.” ethan moans as you begin to bob your head up and down. ethan’s hold around your ponytail tightens and loosens depending on the pleasure that wracks through his body.

“god, look at you. drooling all over my c-cock. Shit.” ethan gulps. “you look so fucking pretty, so pretty.” he whines out as your pace picks up.

you then deep throat him, gagging around his head. ethan’s mouth hangs open in pleasure as sweat glistens his forehead. “how are you— fuck— how are you so good at this?” ethan musters, through his pathetic moans.

then a blinding pleasure shoots through him, as he thrusts his hips into you.

breathing hard you lean back, swallowing and wiping your bottom lip. ethan feels dazed as he stares at you. shit, he’d never orgasmed so hard.

he reaches forward to wipe away a spot you missed. you then grab his finger with your teeth, sucking his cum off. “y/n—“ ethan chokes out.

ethan then swiftly grabs your chin, pulling you up to stand as he swings you back onto the bed, underneath him. he crawls atop of you, his pants now gone, as he rips a condom packet between his teeth. rolling it onto his dick, he grabs your thighs, pulling you closer.

he’s directly in front of your lips when he speaks. “where did you learn that?”

you gulp. “you’re a little too good with your mouth.” ethan speaks, each letter hitting your lips. “can you show me again—what you did with you tongue?”

ethan then pushes the tip of his cock into you. you gasp as you grip his shoulders. “h-how?”

ethan leans closer to your mouth. “imagine my tongue is my dick, and show me.” he whispers the last words before he kisses you.

you were rather experienced with giving him head. how many other guys have felt what he felt? he kisses you harder, pushing himself all the way in.

you moan into his mouth, but he stays kissing you, swallowing all the sounds escaping you. “show me.” he says again breaking away for a second.

he wanted to know exactly how skilled you were. he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, as you panted. but you do as ethan says, and lick the tip of ethan��s tongue. ethan has to hold down whimpers as the feeling of you around his dick sends stars into his mind.

you move your tongue to trail down his as you kiss him harder. you keep swirling and circling as ethan tries to not let his eyes roll. he breaks always from your mouth a second to thrust hard into you, making your nails scratch down his shoulder blades.

“fucking hell y/n.” ethan breathes against your open, panting mouth. “you do know what your doing with that tongue. who the fuck else has felt it?”

“w-what?”

“your tongue—who else has felt it?” he speaks harsher as he thrusts into you.

your a mess, a whimpering mess underneath ethan. “tell me.”

“a f-ew guys.” you manage to say in-between thrusts.

“a few guys huh?” ethan hits your g-spot harder, making you writhe underneath him.

“i need names, y/n.” ethan breathes. “fuck.” both your highs are so close.

“i don’t remember— t-them all.”

“or are you just too fucked out to think, right now?” ethan’s pacing has turned somewhat sloppy as his orgasm is at arms reach.

“god, y/n. cause i can’t have boys walking around with an experience of you. they’ve touched you. touched what’s…mine.”

you moan, trying to reach for your orgasm. ethan groans as he feels his cock twitch. “my girl, right?” he breathe-hisses. “my girl—all for me.” he kisses you, just as his high hits, yours not far after.

your both panting as the pleasure slowly falls away in waves.

“shit.” you mutter. either because of how good that felt, or because you’d just fucked a ghostface.

“i—” you gulp. “i won.”

ethan chuckles. “you’d win if you did all of my requests.”

your brows furrow, as heavy breathes still escape you. He leans down to speak to your lips again. “the last one. i told you to open the door.”

“i—” you pause, remembering. you hadn’t opened it. you hesitated and ethan had had to come in instead.

your eyes grow wide as ethan grins. you’d lost. your friends…

“but don’t worry,” ethan begins. “maybe if you ask nicely i might stab them somewhere they can heal.”

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[obxsprincess]

f!reader warning, oral (male receiving), oral fixation

a/n : was licking cupcake frosting off my fingers and then this came to mind :o not delaying my requests just wanted to write this while it was fresh in my mind hehe

boss!miguel who convinces himself you have an oral fixation. how could you not? the images of your lips are molded into his mind — more specifically, how you always needed something resting inbetween the pretty things. sucking whatever it was into your mouth with a drooling pop. suckers being your giddy obsession… and you miguels.

you were always sucking while doing his paperwork — the bubblegum flavored tinge coating your lips while you worked. instinctively, yours eyes often rolled back. along with your innocent groan that he swear was driving him mad. how could be fucking focus? when his pretty secretary insisted on using her mouth on any flavor adorned lollipop she could find

he was just doing a favor for you wasnt he? dragging you into his office after you finished licking white frosting off of your manicure tipped fingers, and the sinfully innocent, lingering glances you gave him — in reality, it was his last fucking straw

he was done imagining your taste and his lips slammed into yours. his massive hand gripping your chin and titling it upwards. just so he could get a better angle — the pure feverish wetness of the kiss only increasing as his tongue probed into your awaiting mouth. you softly moaned as his tongue swiped along yours. across the pinkish stain that always lingered.

“always sucking on those lollipops arnt you princesa? I know you wanna be sucking on something else though, me quieres en esa garganta bonita, ¿eh?” (want me in that pretty throat, huh?)

your nod was all he needed as he gently guides you to your knees — saliva collecting at the corners of your mouth as his cock springed out. fat and thick — his leaking tip red and angry as your doe eyes found his. “been dreaming about this for too fucking long cariño. puedes tomarlo” (you can take it)

suddenly, the same pretty pink that resided in your mouth was now hanging wide open. his cock head dragging along your eager tongue, coating himself in your drooling mess. the wet drip making him groan. “fuck, good mami, suck me like you do those loli things, mm?”

you looked up at him as he thrusted into your bubblegum sweetened tongue, engulfing himself in your mouth as he guided inch by inch. you felt his cock grow even heavier, tears brimming your lash line as he slid down even farther — his massive length bullying itself down your throat. “you like that baby? fuck, mierda just like that,”

how were your eyes so innocent while miguels cock was probed at the back of your throat? delicate gag sounds as he thrusted gently — yet when you sucked in your cheeks it was his undoing. your mouth so tight and warm around his cock he couldn’t help himself.

he was lost in your sweetly laced mouth. his gentleness disappearing as he pounded into it. your head bobbing back and forth as he abused your sucking lips. pumping so hard his heavy balls thrusted agaisnt your chin — drooling, wet sounds invading your pretty head.

the curly, dark brown hairs of his happy trail met your nose everytime you bobbed all the way down. filling your honey mouth so fully and roughly you were in heaven. praises falling from his lips in such dirty slurs you knew he was too.

“god, princesa, like being mouthfucked by your boss don’t you beautiful”

“so good, I’m throwing those fucking suckers away princesa. esta boca linda es mia” (pretty mouth is mine)

“la mejor boca que he tenido, god dammit” (the best mouth I've ever had)

“look at me baby.”

“so” thrust “buen” thrust “fuck”

his pumping thrusts grew sloppier. repeatably hitting the back of your throat roughly as your hands curled around his massive shaft. glossy drool rolling down his cock as you licked him like an ice cream — saltier than any treat you’d ever had yet you never craved something so much.

suddenly, he yanked his cock out of your mouth. a mewling whine leaving you — you craved him! bouncing on your heels as your face furrowed, finding his eyes half lidded left you even more confused

“tits out mami” watching his swollen, spit coated tip twitch in his hand had you obeying immediately. yanking of the lacy thing you had on right over your head in a eager motion. your eyes pleaded with him for one more suck, but before your could even process it, white, thick and warm strings of cum covered your breasts. the sticky warmth making you so dizzy — and his groans filled your pretty senses. it felt so filthy. being covered in his cum yet all you wanted was it glazing down your throat

you didn’t even notice your tongue was out — begging him for a taste as he came down from his high. almost cumming all over again at the mere sight of your covered in him “look at your mami, so pretty,” his thumb glazed your wobbly bottom lip

“please, miguel” how could he say no to you when your eyelashes batted so pleadingly up at him? his thumb slid from your cheek down your chest, bringing you up on your heels as he swiped it over his thick, dripping cum. coating your plush breasts in his sticky mess

“wanna taste me mami? god, mira lo que me haces sweetheart” (look what you do to me)

his cum glazed finger filled your begging lips — his saltly, heady taste making you moan in delight. pretty eyes batting up at him as you sucked his digit in such a greedy innocence it made him groan

“so sweet on your knees for me, fuck, I’m filling this pretty mouth next time.”

“but you teased me so fucking much mami, mm? can’t help myself around you”

“piernas abiertas, ass up. now. baby” (legs open)

“that’s it, need you to suck me into this sweet pussy cariño,”

[lovelettersforthedamned]

Request for smut 6 & 9 I got this idea from a movie heheh where you’re texting peter at your family dinner and it’s dirty texts and he’s like 😳 then meet each other in the bathroom and fuck with you sitting on the counter but cover Peter’s mouth because he moans loud naturally

Really Quick

--genre: fluff & smut

--pairing: tasm!peter parker x afab!reader

--word count: 0.9k

--warnings: bathroom quickie, PinV, unprotected sex (don't), creampie, mirror sex(ish), this is so silly and so hot.

--gif credits: @onscreenkisses

Conversation elevated the dining room’s atmosphere, and yet all you could focus on was Peter and the phone in your lap. 

petey<3: i need you, bug. so so bad. 

You look up at your boyfriend who is sitting directly across from you, a stupid smirk on his face. Your hands have suddenly started to become clammy, as you look back down at your phone to make sure you’re not misreading his text. 

You know Peter has been pretty worked up this week. Work has been keeping him at the office late, which meant less time seeing each other. Peter’s a moody man to say the least, especially when it comes to you. If he doesn’t see you for at least an hour every day, grumpy. If you two don’t spend dinner together, grumpy. Some people would call this clingy and annoying, and if you weren’t utterly obsessed with your boyfriend, you would say the same. But he makes it so hard to be mad at him, until now. 

Looking back up at his face, your eyes cut into his, you’re shocked. He brings his water glass up to his mouth, taking a long sip as he doesn’t break eye contact. He loves this. 

you: don’t give me that look. 

petey<3: i have no idea what you’re talking about baby. 

You’ve had enough, “I’m gonna head to the bathroom really quick, excuse me.” Standing and walking away from the table, you shoot a quick glance at Peter, an unspoken request for him to follow you. 

He takes a deep breath as he takes another sip of water, clearing his throat before he speaks, “Oh shit…I’ve got to take this call, I’ll be right back.” Your family barely noticed, too involved in separate conversations to actually pay attention to the two of you. 

Peter walked through the home and finally found the bathroom, light seeping through the crack at the bottom of the door. He knocks twice before you open the door and quickly pull him into the cramped space. 

You waste no time as you plant your lips onto his, the kiss messy and uncoordinated. Pulling away from his kiss, you're the first to speak, “You think it’s funny to tease me like that in front of everyone?” He doesn’t respond right away, too flustered to even comprehend what you just asked him. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Peter.”

You knew you had to make this quick as you strip only the bottom half of your clothing and pull your panties to the side. Peter lets his pants and boxers fall to the floor as they pool at his feet. Grabbing under your thighs, Peter lifts you onto the bathroom counter, the cool tile giving you goosebumps. 

Looking up into his eyes, you grab Peter’s cock and line him up with your entrance before he thrusts into you, your back arching off of the mirror behind you. A breathy sigh escapes your mouth. For as long as you’ve known Peter, you still have never gotten used to his length. The tip of his cock always hits that special spot inside of you leaving you craving for more. 

Peter starts to pick up the pace, a sudden urgency plaguing his mind as he comes to realize the situation the two of you are in. The moment he starts to move, you clench around him, the feeling of him inside of you bringing a smile to your face. Peter stares out in front of him and takes in the sight, the mirror perfectly reflecting the way his cock disappears in you, a loud pornographic moan leaving his lips. The sound makes your eyes snap open and clasp a hand around his mouth, “You know I love how you sound, but please Pete, be quiet.”

He nods against your hand as his pace speeds up. You’re getting close. Squeezing his arm next to you, you squeeze your eyes tight as you cum around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…baby, oh my god,” you whisper, just loud enough for him to hear. 

You two are making a mess, especially when Peter cums inside of you. Your pussy filled with him, some of it spilling out of you and falling onto the counter. Even though he came, Peter is still pumping into you, the pace slowing but still strong. 

Letting go of his mouth and arm, you reach around to his back, clawing at the skin. He’s making you feel too good right now, “P–Peter, fuck, wait I’m gonna cum again.”

“C’mon bug, cum on my cock again. Let me feel you around me,” he’s panting in your ear, his breath fanning over the side of your neck. 

The second time you came, it was Peter who had to cover your mouth, the pleasure becoming too much. You’re coming down from your high, and the world around you is a blinding white, but all you hear is Peter talking you through it, “That’s it, baby, you did so well. Take a breath, my love.”

Opening your eyes, you see him looking down at you as he pushes some hair that has fallen into your face away and behind your ear. You can’t even speak, your mind is still a little foggy. Peter starts to plant kisses across your cheeks, forehead, and nose before he breaks the silence, “I’ll head out first, don’t follow too close behind.”

You laugh, “You don’t want to announce to my family that you just fucked me in the bathroom?” 

“I’m on their good side, I can’t ruin that,” he winks. 

--author's note: 200 follower celebration BEGINS!!! WOOOO!!!!!! this is so hot, and i love a good mirror sex quickie. thank you nonnie for this request!!!! ILY!!! please continue to support me and your fav writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging! ok, ily bye<3333

[tinytennisskirt]

Kiss Me

art donaldson x bestfriend!reader

summary: to keep your crazy ex at bay, you and patrick instill a facade of fake-dating, brought on by an impulsive move that art missed the opportunity to take. art, who has had a thing for you forever, is completely crushed, but you’re only FAKE dating patrick. you do have real feelings, y’know?

warnings: kiss!!!!, mention of punching and blood, broken nose, mentions of marijuana, angst, slight miscommunication trope and fake dating trope with a twist!!!

“kiss me,” you said, looking at the boys a little desperately. both of them went wide-eyed, art turning slightly pink. “please! now! one of you kiss me!”

“what?” art says, eyes as big as plates just as patrick lunges forward, grabbing your face and kissing you. now this was a problem because number one, art donaldson has had the biggest crush on you since the moment he met you in the stanford cafeteria, and two, it was his best friend who just kissed you. there’s no escaping that. what the fuck.

art just watched as you kissed him back, a little shocked and little dumbfounded and honestly a little bit crushed. he pressed his mouth into a line for the duration of the kiss, not able to take his eyes away or even blink. he’s just second-guessed and missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime and patrick just took it. patrick. patrick who had to ask what your name was three times the same day he met you because he kept forgetting.

he watched as you pulled away, feeling his heart strings pull. “i’m so sorry, patrick, but thank you.”

patrick grinned, “you’re welcome.”

“hm… why?” art asked, trying not to focus on the way you wiped your lower lip with your thumb. he felt winded, if he was honest. no fucking way you just walk into a room and ask to be kissed by one of them and he doesn’t take it. no way that just fucking happened.

you were a little panicked, though, it seemed- the way your eyes darted around the room. “my ex- the crazy one. he’s here at stanford by some fucking… crazy chance? i knew he was coming to talk to me, i just needed to look… taken.”

“by me?” patrick laughed. “poor guy.”

art’s mouth fell a little open. “so you needed to be kissed?” his emphasis on ‘kissed’ came out bitter.

patrick shoved art just a little, ruffling his hair, “someone jealous?”

yeah, he was jealous. he was pissed. more than. he pressed his tongue to his cheek, “your ex is here?” he ignored it. “like on campus or going here?”

“i don’t know, but i’m kind of terrified.” you said, folding your arms. “i’m sorry about the kiss, pat.”

“don’t be. wasn’t the worst kiss i’ve ever had.”

“okay, rude!” you hit him in the upper arm.

“it was good, i promise.” he laughed. art felt just the slightest bit sick. “but what’s this guys deal?”

“obsessed with me.” you replied, your usual fun and carefree personality silenced to a serious monotone. “it was hard as hell to get rid of him back home but he’s here and that alone is scary as hell.”

“i get that,” art said, turning to patrick. “you remember that one girl janet back at the academy?”

patrick chuckled again, “oh yeah. art had his own little stalker.”

“really?” it seemed to cheer you up. “what did she do?”

“i’ll tell you back at my dorm. don’t need you hanging out where this guy is.” he offered. you agreed and the three of you walked back to his dorm, telling you the janet stories. you did end up feeling better but it was patrick who beat art to walking you back to your dorm. fucked.

art just sat on his bed, knees to his chest, hands draped over his legs wondering what the fuck just happened and how things got so fucked up so fast. the thing was that this was the only crush art had ever withheld from patrick. how fucking stupid did it seem to have hid it now? god, he was so fucked for it. no way patrick could say he kissed you now, that was fucked. and stupid. and lucky. his face fell into his hands as he flopped backward on his bed, hoping patrick came back quickly.

art’s stomach kept flip-flopping at the thought, remembering how you kissed patrick. you kissed patrick. it was so stupid! so fucking stupid. by some hesitation, he fucked everything up for himself. he could have kissed you. he could have KISSED YOU. he groaned out loud, rolling just slightly in pure frustration. this is what he got for keeping shit a secret.

the next day, the three of you were eating in the cafeteria. you and patrick on one side, you sitting across from art. “so he’s definitely going here now-“ you said, gesturing with a french fry. “which is insane and a little bit threatening.”

“he wouldn’t try anything, would he?” art asked, concerned.

“i don’t know,” you shrugged. “he did back home and it was bad. and he’s here and he knows i’m here and the look he gave me yesterday…”

patrick spoke with his mouth full, “as if he could get past me. and art.” he said. you smiled, art hated how beautiful it was when you smiled at his best friend. patrick swallowed his fries, “there’s no way he’s getting close with us around.”

“what if i’m alone, though? class to class? or class to dorms?”

art was about to offer to walk to to and from whenever he could but patrick spoke first, again. never had he wanted to jam a fork in his best friend’s throat so quickly. “i’ll walk you. you said yesterday you wanted to look taken, so i mean, it would keep up appearances.”

you gasped and grabbed the table, “oh my god. fake dating. like in the movies. that’s such a good idea.”

art wondered if you remembered that the fake dating trope always ended in falling for each other for real. he felt his chest tighten, there was no way fake dating was just suggested because patrick kissed you first. “i don’t know about that,” art said. “if you have to say ‘like in the movies’ is it a great idea in real life?”

“it could be?” you shrugged, looking at patrick. “maybe it will. and then once he knows to leave me alone for sure we can just go back to normal. if you’re up for it, pat?”

“yeah i’m up for it,” he says. “i don’t have anywhere to be but here anyways.”

“true,” you nodded.

art just covered his mouth with his hand and looked somewhere else. he couldn’t eat anymore. this was actually happening in front of his eyes and he couldn’t say anything or do anything about it. his chest stayed tight, as if someone had laced around his rib cages and started pulling hard. he bit his cheek to keep from showing just how much this hurt him. because it did, it hurt him, no matter how innocent it was on your end, on patrick’s end. well, maybe not on patrick’s end. art wasn’t sure about how patrick really felt on the topic- he could only hope that patrick didn’t see real potential…

you placed your hand on art’s, trying to get his attention again, “oh my god you’re freezing.” you said, squeezing his hand just a little. his attention fell on that, on you. “you’re okay?”

“with what?” art said, a little presumptuous.

“just asking if you’re okay. you stared off for a bit there.” you said, hand still intertwined with his like it was nothing. it was nothing.

patrick was focused on his food. and art already hated third wheeling a fake couple. “i’m fine, i just remembered i have some shit i have to do before my next class. i’ll see you guys back at my dorm later?”

“oh, meet at mine,” you said as art got up with his meal that was only 1/4 dug into. “just in case you-know-who is around?”

“yeah,” art nodded. he didn’t have many words left in him. he was sure if he forced words out it’d be some monologue about how frustrated he was that he missed the fucking opportunity to kiss you and this was snowballing and he was not feeling good at all, in fact he was feeling really sick. “see you guys later.”

he didn’t see the way your eyebrows furrowed when he walked away. patrick did though. “was that weird?” you asked him. “the way he got up and left, was that weird? am i imagining things?”

“no, that was weird.” patrick agreed. “i don’t know what’s up with him though, he hasn’t said anything.”

“nothing?”

“he was like that last night when i was over after you left. didn’t talk much.”

you twisted your mouth to the side, wondering what could be up with him. but he didn’t say anything, not for the two weeks that you and patrick were fake-dating. art pretended like he was fine when patrick walked you to art’s dorm room to hang out, pretended like he was fine when you sat with patrick in the stands at his own tennis game, too close for comfort just because your ex was in the crowd too. art lost that game just thinking about how much he wanted to toss his racket right at patrick. it wasn’t out of hatred- he did not hate his best friend, he was jealous of his best friend. all because art hesitated and he didn’t…

and you kept wondering why art was so distant. was he upset with something? what was he keeping to himself that made him so standoffish? you were determined to know because obviously two weeks is a while to be ‘out of it’ as art claimed he was.

you and patrick held hands at the table, you were trying not to look at your ex who stood in the corner on his phone, standing facing you. “your hands are really hot,” you said to him, chuckling.

“that’s not me.”

“that’s all you,” you said, laughing quietly. it doesn’t sound very genuine, you were nervous. art could tell. “he’s still watching?”

art pretended to scan the cafeteria, noting the cold gaze your ex set on you. patrick had two people in this room to be jealous of, which sucked. patrick for the hand he held and your ex for the simple fact that he had you. he was ugly, to be honest. not a great looking guy but apparently enough to date you at some point. fuck. he nodded back at you to tell you yes, you were still being watched.

you wished you didn’t have to hold patrick’s hand. the fake dating thing wasn’t so bad, it was just added actions to hanging out with your best friend. just a few kisses and he wasn’t bad- but there was nothing in it. it was funny if anything, you usually ended up laughing about it. it was so dumb. maybe you could let your hand slip out if his… his hands were sickeningly warm.

art stared at your intertwined fingers. fucking sick and jealous and upset. you, perfect, pretty, purple nail polish, lip gloss, quick humour and soft gaze and your hand was in patrick’s. unappreciated, almost an empty gesture. patrick didn’t like you. not the way art did, not the way art could have. if he didn’t fucking hesitate. if he’d kissed you then. it would have been so easy… he watched your hand slip out of patrick’s and brush against your jeans. art hated how it made him smile just in the slightest. but it was fleeting. patrick reached his arm around you and pulled you closer and art swore he felt his heart drop a few inches in his chest. he should have been used to it by now.

but he wasn’t when you hugged patrick the next day when saying goodbye, your ex just always around. art was on his way to trying to get rid of this guy just so you’d stop touching patrick. art, a sweet boy, thinking about kicking this guys ass just for patrick to take his hand off of your waist. it was killing him, it was taking him apart.

it killed him when he watched all these empty acts… why was your ex always fucking there? it was crazy how afraid you were of him but so rightful, why was he always around? but you hugged patrick, you kissed him on the cheek, you held his hand and it was vile and it hurt, this ache in his chest never dulling. even when you weren’t around, it was still there. art prayed for easy sleep most nights, if he was awake laying in bed it would eat him alive. his chest would tighten to the point of pain. he missed out on one thing and spent every night just repeating that moment of hesitation, that mistake.

you and art alone was hard to come by naturally. usually patrick was around, even if the both of you didn’t want it. you sat with him in the library. “you’re so lucky that janet girl didn’t follow you to stanford,” you groaned, resting your head on your arms on the table. “i miss being free.”

“you can be free.” art said, closing the book he was looking at. “he shouldn’t control anything. fuck him, honestly.”

“don’t remind me,” you groaned again, putting your face into your arm. “i feel haunted and i’m scared, im never not scared.” your head turned on it’s side, facing him without lifting your head. “his actions back home, if the cops hadn’t gotten involved i don’t even know what would have happened. he got a warning and i moved away but he’s here and he’s everywhere. it’s a good thing he’s not literate.”

art smiled just a bit at that, but not all of that. you smiled too. he was glad you were making light of it. it was good to see you not so on edge without being in your room or his. “i’m sorry you’re scared. you have the right to be, but i wish you weren’t. he’s here, yeah, and as long as patrick and i are around, he won’t get to you. not even a word. i catch him within ten feet of you, he’s done.” he pulls a loose string off of your sweater- “can you still do that cartwheel thing?”

“yeah i’m gonna cartwheel him to death,” you nod. “i’ll teach you if you want to help me tag team him with cartwheels.”

“i think if you can do it, he’s already a goner.” he pushed your hair out of your face and you smiled, shutting your eyes, enjoying the peace of a public space without the eyes of anyone but art. art was a quiet contrast to the whirlwinds and overstimulation of feeling watched and having to hold hands or be touching patrick in some way. art was a perfect break from it.

he watched how you looked with your slight smile on glossy lips, your eyelashes perfect as your eyes laid closed. and more than any time he’d seen you and patrick, more than any touch and kiss he knew you’d exchanged with his best friend, he was the angriest he’d ever been that he didn’t kiss you then. the angriest. but it coexisted with the extent of how he felt about you, being here with you, the extreme happiness. art donaldson was a fairly simple guy but you were so… how could he not be…

fuck.

the next day it just about ripped him to shreds to see you kiss patrick again. even after you pulled a bit of a face. and it was too much. he couldn’t do it anymore. his avoidance worsened, he tried to get out of hanging out as much as he could. he couldn’t bear seeing the empty affection. how lucky patrick was to get to do it. he just couldn’t see it anymore. he got further and further from you both. hanging out with you alone only sometimes, patrick alone sometimes. he felt a little outcast but it was his own doing for his own good.

you enjoyed all the time you got with him alone. he was the peace and quiet. he was the next safest thing but without the pretending part. with him you didn’t have to pretend anything. you’d just talk, laugh, he made you laugh so much you almost forgot you were having an ex-boyfriend crisis. he was sweet and he was so kind and it was refreshing to know someone who just wanted to spend time with you. and you didn’t have to be anyone for anyone. but you missed hanging out with him the way you used to- which was a lot more, and you missed the three of you hanging out, smoking, talking, dancing, being weird and loud. it meant a lot to you and it just sucked when he wasn’t there. you had to fix it. you had to see him more!

you caught him after one of his late evening classes, running up from behind and covering his eyes. “guess who?”

“it’s not patrick…” he said, small smile on his face as you uncovered his eyes and began to walk his pace next to him. “hey.”

“hiii,” you lead. “so i was wondering if maybe you wanted to get dinner?”

he looked the other way to hide how his eyes widened. “dinner?” he looked back at you.

“yeah. nothing crazy, i mean, probably just the campus bar if you wanted.” you just wanted some time alone with him in a good setting. maybe start going out without patrick…

art pressed his lips together, looking at you. dinner meant patrick. the campus bar meant a risk of being seen by your ex. appearances were important, after all. “i have chinese leftovers,” art lied for the sake of not having to be around you and patrick and the fake hand-holding and all of the things that made him nauseous. “i’ll see you after though?”

“oh.” you said, smiling. “why don’t we skip dinner? i can grab something on the way back to your dorm.”

“it’s fine. i’ll see you after, no problem. i think patrick has an ounce on him still, we can smoke or something.”

“yeah.” you said, honestly a little embarrassed your attempt at hanging out with him alone had failed. but even with that, he still “i’m just going to head back to my room. what time do you want me over?”

“maybe nine? make sure patrick doesn’t forget his rolling papers.”

“i won’t…” you said, noticing how art’s pace picked up. you had no idea how badly he wanted to get away from the idea of you and patrick out to dinner for appearances. “art?”

“yeah?”

your next words sounded a bit insecure. you swallowed them and decided on saying something else. “i like your hat.”

“you bought it for me.” he smiled.

“i know.” you smiled back. “see you later.”

“see you.” the second he could, his face turned to an expression of disgust. this whole thing was so stupid- all of this because he hesitated. bullshit. he’d almost gone a day without thinking about it. when would it end?

you went back to your dorm alone. or you tried. earbuds in, ipod on, listening some 90s hit you’d been obsessed with again lately and it didn’t occur to you that this was the first time you’d walked across campus alone. you had shortcuts patrick showed you, alleyways between residencies.

and there he was. him. by chance or by choice you didn't know and the second you realized was the second you realized it was too late and he had you blocked into a corner. your earbuds fell from your ears as he began to curse at you. the events began and you tried to use your speed dial to get either art or patrick, but you could only click patrick’s before he yelled at you to put your phone down. patrick didn’t pick up.

you were afraid.

it was forty minutes later when art got a call from patrick, asking if he was free. just on a whim.

“hey, you up for anything?”

art blinked, “you’re with Y/N?”

“nah. actually, i didn’t call while you were in class, but she said she was going to ask some guy out, i think the fake dating thing is done for.”

art’s stomach did it’s first front flip instead of a backflip. “done for?”

“yeah, honestly i’m glad. she’s been scaring away a few girls i’ve had my eyes on. not that i minded helping her out, it just- she’s not my type, you know? she’s a good friend but i couldn’t… you know.”

art rethought you finding him after class. he was fucking stupid- asking a guy out, asking him out? he didn’t know if he was crazy but when you mentioned getting dinner you didn’t mean with patrick, you didn’t have plans with patrick. oh fuck, art thought, feeling five things at once. distress, joy, stupidity, a bit of anger, and regret. “she say who she was asking out?”

“no. but i’m happy for her. i think she’s not afraid of her ex as much anymore. plus, fake dating or not we’re still her friends and we’re around her pretty often. the guy wouldn’t go near her with us around.”

“that’s what i keep saying,” art nodded as if patrick could see him. he was grabbing his sweater and shoes as he spoke. “listen- uh- come meet me here at campus at ten. i might not be back at ten but you know where the key is. i gotta go… bring rolling papers.”

“done,” patrick agreed. “talk to you later.”

“bye,” art said, leaving out the door. if he was right, you’d just asked him to dinner and he had said no. without hesitation this time, he had said no. he said he had chinese leftovers, he didn’t have anything. fuck. so stupid, you were probably at your dorm alone right now. fuck! fuck, fuck, fuck.

he ran a hand through his hair as he jumped the stairs and left his building to head over to yours. walking a little faster than he had control over- breaking a jog. yes he’d go to dinner with you, what the fuck, how did this happen, did you like him? his head was a bit of a mess but he had to find you. he called you on his way over but no answer. he walked up to your dorm and knocked, but no answer. hm. maybe he wasn’t the guy? or something. his brain drew conclusions and he checked the common rooms on his way downstairs and outside.

fuck. did he miss a chance again? again, after all of this? another chance? he’d had too many taken from him but this was his own fault.

“i’m sorry, okay!” you said, voice shaky. you were trying to be loud without letting him know you were trying to draw attention to yourself so that anyone might intervene. “i’m sorry we haven’t spoken, i didn’t know you wanted to.”

“bullshit. you saw me, you didn’t even say hi.”

“hi! please, can i just go back to my dorm i don’t know what else you want.”

“you know what i want. what i miss. what i know you miss too, i know that patrick asshole doesn’t give you what i gave you…” trauma, you thought. fought not to say it to his face. but you were afraid. “you miss me.”

“i-“

“bullshit! just because you have a boyfriend doesn’t mean you don’t want me.”

“can i please go back to my dorm room? if you don’t let me go, i’ll scream.” you said, a little more panicked by the second. he stepped closer and you stepped back into the wall. “i will scream and you will be caught.”

“you’re not going to be screaming anything but my name-“

“please.” you pleaded. “it’s not worth it.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” art said, punching your ex in the face, hard. pain immediately splintered up his hand and into his wrist. he hissed a bit in pain, immediately shaking his hand out. “fuck.” he’d never punched anyone ever in his life. not like that.

you covered your mouth and watched as your ex raised his hand to his nose, bleeding and honestly disgustingly crooked. art broke his nose. you reached to the side for him, unable to take your eyes off your ex as he scrambled to his feet. he wasn’t the type to fight and he was a coward, always was. your hand found the sleeve of art’s shirt and you grabbed hard.

“fuck you,” your ex seethed, blood running down his face. “say goodbye to your tennis career buddy, that’s assault.”

“and what were you about to do?” he had never felt more adrenaline in his body. he wasn’t himself. your ex went quiet and if there was ability to turn red even after bleeding, he was pink in the face. he stumbled, stuttered. And hurried off. “fuck!” art said, holding his hand with the other hand. it pulsed in sharp pain. “jesus-“ his eyes fell on you and immediately he was pulling you into a hug he didn’t even hesitate about. his hand hurt like hell but with his arms wrapped around you he ignored the pain coursing through his fingers, hand, and wrist just to squeeze you tight. you were breathing hard, a little ragged, a little bit like you were trying not to cry. “you’re okay.” he said gently.

he made sure not to get the blood from his knuckles on you. it was more important to hold you than it was to tend to that right now.

you could have stayed in his arms a while longer and he would have let you, but things sunk in. “you punched him.”

he winced in pain again, “not properly. fuck, this hurts. i’ve never punched anyone before.”

he knew you were still in some state of shock and surprise and frankly, so was he. “that was…” you saw his hand, how badly he’d hurt it, your hands gently grabbed it. “oh my god, art…”

“it’s fine,”

“it’s not fine. i’m so sorry, does it hurt badly?”

“no, not much.” a lot. “just a bit.”

“i’m so sorry, art, i’m so sorry, thank you, that was… crazy.”

art almost chuckled. you were sorry, of course you were. you were the sweetest girl in the world, sorry for something he did. “why are you sorry? don’t be sorry.” he said.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you said, taking his fucked up hand in your own.

“what if i told you i really wanted to?”

you smiled just a bit. you knew he wasn’t violent. in fact, art was one of the most gentle people he’d ever known. “thank you. i think if anyone was deserving, it was him.” you held his hand the way you did and it was gentle in return, but your hands were shaking. you looked him in the eyes, grateful and genuine. “come on. let’s get this cleaned up.” you said. the pain in his hand almost dulled when you looked at him, he swore. it returned, shooting and throbbing as he followed you into your dorm room.

he sat on your bed and you came over with your little first aid kit and some water. your hands were still shaking. “you’ll report him later?” he asked.

“i think i will. will you come with me?” you asked, wiping the blood that wasn’t near any of the wounds.

“of course.” he nodded. “you’re okay though?”

“i will be.” you nodded. in the dim of your dorm room, the lamplight warm, he saw you smile just a bit. his heart beat hard in his chest. he understood your short responses. “i was just walking home… he cornered me, i didn’t think he could. he did.”

“he won’t do it again.”

“i know. he’s a coward. once he’s caught he backs off.”

“you’ll be free from him. especially if you report him and it goes over well.” art said. “but you stood your ground that whole time?”

you sniffed as you tossed the bloody tissue away, “yeah. i didn’t cartwheel though, not enough space.”

art laughed just a little and so did you. “i’m sorry i didn’t either. probably would have hurt less.” he flexed his hand, wincing in pain. “can’t believe i punched a guy.”!

“me neither,” you giggled. “i think you broke his nose.”

“i hope so.” he returned. “would be a good first try.”

“would be good. he was already ugly anyway- now maybe he can get some reconstructive surgery.” you giggled. he was glad to see you laughing about it. “art, this is going to sting a bit.” you said, his hand in your own. art nodded, braced, and you put a few drops of some solution on his hand, watching it fizz up. he hissed just a little, and you tightened your grip on his hand. his lips pressed together.

he sighed, breathing out slowly. “i’m never punching anyone again, jesus christ-“

“good, i hope you don’t have to,” you said, cleaning it again, him wincing in pain again. “i’m sorry-“ you added.

art smiled, “don’t be sorry.”

“then i’m not.” you said, cheeky smile in return. you were so beautiful… silence filled the room for a moment. it was a thick silence, filled with unsaid words.

until art broke it, “you think you’ll continue to fake-date patrick?”

you looked at him through your eyelashes, “i’m done with that. he was angry with patrick, said some shitty things. it didn’t stop him.” you nodded. “plus patrick said it was scaring other girls away.” you laughed. “i’m just glad i don’t have to hold his hand anymore, he’s so… warm.”

art nodded. he adjusted the way he sat, getting the slightest bit closer. “you’re glad it’s over with?”

“for sure,” you said, bandaging his knuckles up, securing it with with pins. “i hate kissing people without meaning, you know?”

“i know.”

“it just… it wasn’t bad but it wasn’t what i wanted from the getgo.”

art’s eyes softened, but his eyebrows furrowed, “you seemed pretty excited about the fake dating. like in the movies. was it anything…” he trailed off as you raised his bandaged hand to your lips and kissed his hand gently. as if kissing it better. you did it like it was the most natural action. art cleared his throat, “wasn’t what you wanted?”

“wasn’t what i wanted. from the start.” you repeated.

“i thought you had plans with patrick tonight, that’s why i said no.” he stated, just so you knew.

he swore he saw you blush, “no- that was just- i didn’t. i just, i don’t knowwww.” art noted how close the two of you were. “i just thought maybe you would.”

“i didn’t know you meant just me,” he chuckled. “if i did, it would have been yes.”

your hands still shook ever so slightly. “it’s good to know. and if i asked again…” you trailed, your cheeks just the slightest bit pink.

he smiled, trying to keep it a smile and not a grin, “i’d say yes.” he swallowed hard, “and if i asked you if i could kiss you right now…”

“i’d say yes,” you replied. “hypothetically- i mean-“ you started giggling as he moved your hair from your face, smile turning into a grin, bandaged hand grazing your cheek just slightly. your eyelashes fluttered gently and your giggle turned into a smile.

“hypothetically?” he beamed, leaning in

“mhm,” you smiled, meeting him halfway. you both smiled into the kiss, but it was slow, sickeningly slow, with no impulsivity and nothing at stake. lips barely grazing each other’s, gently, not fully kissing, not yet. art’s non-bandaged hand slid over your jaw, settling to the place just below your ear before he closed the (very) small gap between.

the kiss stayed slow, art’s lips pressed to yours sweetly, gently, easily. and it filled the void every empty kiss with patrick left in you. his lips were soft, and so were yours, your berry lipbalm the cause. your lips almost melted into his, the way it felt like you were meant to kiss him. your lips fit together in a way where they never really had with patrick. or anyone, ever.

mouthes open, just slightly, taking in as much as possible in a kiss while still moving with only patience. the breaths in between filled with the feeling of you smiling against his lips. his heart pounded in his chest, about as hard as it did when the adrenaline kicked in earlier. but it was just you. only you.

and the kiss was slowly undoing the ache he’d felt for two months. his chest was full, heart pumping, feeling warm. and actually happy. really happy. there was no pain to be felt, not in his hand, not in any manner. your hand on the back of his head, fingers slowly moving through his hair, sliding over his jaw. it was only a few minutes, both of you not wanting to stop, not for anything, but there was a knock on the door. and you both pulled away, both a little dazed. art’s cheeks and nose were visibly pink and he for sure was wearing your lip balm at that point.

“it’s probably patrick,” art said. “he’s got… weed.”

“he’s got weed?” you smiled, standing up over him. “think he’ll knock again?”

“probably,” art replied, reaching up and pulling you back down into a kiss, your body between his legs on the edge of the bed. another kiss, just a little faster this time, your hands cupping his face gently. interrupted once more after twenty seconds by patrick knocking. you pulled away with the prettiest grin and went to answer the door.

patrick came in with a knowing look that he shot art before questioning art’s bandaged hand. the story unravelled over a joint and a good amount of laughter and for once art was able to enjoy his friend’s company without those nagging thoughts and feelings. you might have been patrick’s with the facade, but this was real. art’s hand rested on your thigh and before the night truly ended, the proper plans were made. not only to report your jackass of an ex, but to get dinner after.

[macfrog]

brother | joel & tommy

massive thank-you to @elliespuns who was kind enough to send me so many gorgeous photos of joel and tommy to choose from for this piece. i really, really appreciate it, lovely 🤍 forever indebted to and forever obsessed with you!

pairing: joel miller & tommy miller summary: tommy visits his brother's grave. warnings: lots of grief, brotherly love (but sad), spoilers for tlou2 word count: 900 words

masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🤍 | posted first on ao3!

We brought you home in a mottled sheet.

Pathetic, right? I know it, brother. I’m sorry for it. Shit, I’m sorry for all of it.

It’s the best we could find – the best they could find. The kids, I mean. I couldn’t’ve found my own two feet when they eventually managed to wake me. The room swelled into focus and everything was doubled, everything swaying side to side, all violent like.

I could hardly string a sentence together. My head felt heavy with blood, hearing still shot to hell. The first thing I did was look for you.

And oh, Jesus, Joel, did I see you.

I spat the words out in a sob. Be careful with him, I said. I couldn’t get to my feet quick enough; couldn’t reach you with my shaking hands. That’s my goddamn brother, you hear?

He’s my brother.

They found an old pallet and made a sled out of it. We tied it to Old Beardy’s breastplate and let him lead you home. Figured the old timer’s used to the weight of you by now, right?

He kept shaking his head the whole way, kept huffing these deep, achy breaths. I’d never heard him do that before – none of us had. Like he was in pain, almost. I don’t know if horses know grief like we do, Joel, but it sure seemed like he knew. He just…knew.

The gray lump of you jolted and jerked behind him. The more I looked, the more I felt like throwing up, and still – I couldn’t look away from you.

The shape of your head – this crimson bloom where your skull had been broken. Square shoulders, sturdy chest. Long legs and boots still laced – the way you once taught me. Make bunny ears, twist ‘em around each other. Yeah, just like that. Now, pull.

Tall frame, protective frame. Used to plant yourself between me and anything you thought might hurt me. Used to wrestle with me in the backyard, stomach my damn windmill punches like they were nothing.

Man, I don’t know how you ever taught me to throw a half-decent one, but you did. Mom would call us inside and you’d pat my back and say good job, little brother.

Good job. What kinda fucking job did I do this time, huh? When it mattered? Where was I, when my brother needed me most?

On my goddamn ass, that’s where. Blacked out. I couldn’t get to you, no matter how hard I tried.

I tried, Joel. I swear to you, I tried.

It was all of it, all at once. The blizzard, the woman, the room – Christ, that room. So much blood I felt it lining the inside of my lungs. So much that I can still smell it, taste it, like it’s become me. Like everything I look at is tinged red; the color of rust, the color of rage.

The room, where I became just the one. Lost something in my sleep. Hit the ground with a heavy thud, swam back to the surface to find I was short. Something taken. Something stolen.

And I’ve been without you before, Joel, but at least I always got to give you a piece of my mind on the way out.

You remember summer camp, that year I was real homesick? I don’t know what it was. Maybe just knowing you were all those miles away. You remember I wrote you about a hundred times? Jesus. I know you’re laughing, too.

I spent that whole summer with a smile pinned to my face. Counting down the days. I’d turn over in my sleeping bag, pick at the skin on my thumbs and wonder what you were up to. Wonder if you were missing me as much. Wonder if you’d thought about me at all that day.

Well, here I am. Wondering much the same.

I miss you, Joel. I don’t know what to do with that. There ain’t no bus home at the end of this; no big brother and his dirt bike waiting for me in Austin. It’s only been a week, I know that – but my ears won’t stop ringing, and I haven’t stopped looking for you.

It wakes me at night. This pain in my chest, like I’m swimming for that surface over and over, and all I ever do is drown. I wake saying your name. The doctors say it’s just bad dreams, just part of the process, but I know what it really is. I’m calling on you, and you never come.

It’s about damn time I realized you ain’t never gonna come. You’re never coming back. Not to me, not to this place. You’re on a path I can’t follow, brother. We’re on our own from here on out.

Goddamn it, Joel. Why the hell’d it have to be you?

Maybe if we’d gone a different route that day. Maybe if we’d spent a little longer in the stables. We were tryna outrun the weather, sure, but we could’ve spared a few minutes. Shit, I would’ve spared anything, if it meant I’d still have my brother.

Sun’s coming up over the mountains. I better get going. Got a mighty long journey ahead of me. I’ll make things right, Joel, I swear.

Go on, now. I’ll bet your Sarah’s waiting.

See you round, brother.

[hunkpossession0]

Stealing my former high school bully’s body was so easyyy. Look, now I am hot, and the best part is that I’m gay.

I leaned back in the plush leather seat of his—no, my—new car, savoring the feeling of power. God, I’d waited so long for this. All those years of torment, the sneers, the shoves into lockers, the homophobic slurs... they were all a distant memory now, fading away like smoke. The only thing that mattered was this body I was now inhabiting, perfectly sculpted and oozing confidence.

I smirked at the reflection in the rearview mirror. His—my—strong jawline, the chiseled features that had made everyone swoon, and those piercing blue eyes that used to look down on me with contempt were now mine to control. And control them I would.

The plan had come to me after a particularly rough night, one too many drinks mixed with the lingering bitterness of my high school years. I’d always been obsessed with the idea of revenge, but not the kind that left scars. I wanted something deeper, more satisfying. I wanted to become him. To live the life he’d never appreciated and do it better.

It wasn’t hard to find a spell. You’d be surprised at how many dark corners of the internet are devoted to body swapping. A few emails, a payment sent in crypto, and a strange-looking amulet later, I was ready. The ritual was simple enough—though it took a lot of concentration. But the moment I slipped it around his neck while he slept, it was over in seconds. I woke up in his bed, in his skin, and he… well, I don’t know where he is now. I like to imagine he’s trapped somewhere, conscious of what’s happening but completely powerless.

The first thing I did was check myself out in the mirror—really take in everything I’d just acquired. This body wasn’t just hot; it was perfect. Years of disciplined workouts, clean eating, and who knows what else had transformed him into someone who looked like they walked straight off a magazine cover.

Actually, make that literally off a magazine cover. I found a stack of fashion magazines under his bed with his stupidly gorgeous face plastered on them. He’d somehow turned his pretty-boy looks and gym rat habits into a full-fledged modeling career. I guess that explained the ridiculous number of selfies on his phone, each one showing off a different outfit or a perfectly timed flex in front of the mirror.

So yeah, I wasn’t giving up the gym. If anything, I was leaning into it. It’s not like I had to do much to maintain this body—he’d already done the hard work, and now I was reaping the benefits. I still hit the gym daily, if only to flex for the mirrors and admire my reflection. The attention I get now is incredible, and the best part is, I can be shameless about it.

Of course, I couldn’t wait to see what Grindr was like from this side of things. Installing the app was the first thing I did once I figured out the password to his phone. The moment I uploaded a shirtless pic, the notifications started rolling in—an endless stream of thirsty messages. Guys were practically lining up for a chance with me, throwing compliments, and I have to admit, I loved every second of it.

I’d spend hours swiping through profiles, chatting up whoever caught my eye. The way people reacted to me now was night and day compared to before. No more awkward small talk, no more second-guessing myself. I could tell someone to meet me at the gym just to watch me lift, and they’d show up without hesitation.

And the best part? I’ve started getting more gigs, just from a few posts on social media showing off his—no, my—body. Modeling agencies are all about that lean muscle, those killer cheekbones, that smirk that could melt anyone on the other end of the camera. He’d never really appreciated what he had, but I’m about to take this career to the next level. I’ve already got a photoshoot lined up for some luxury brand—an easy way to rake in the cash while showing off.

His—my—Instagram is blowing up too. I’m always in the gym, flexing and posting thirst traps for the masses. The likes pour in, and the comments? They’re pure gold. People are practically worshipping me, and I’ve only just begun. This body was wasted on him, but now that it’s mine, I’m going to enjoy every moment of it.

Every time I flex, every time I see a new message pop up on Grindr, it’s a reminder of just how sweet this revenge is. Not only did I take his body, but I’m living his life better than he ever could. I’m hotter, more confident, and finally free to be myself in the best possible way.

This is just the beginning.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Monsters Reimagined: Kobolds

I started playing d&d during 3rd edition, which presented kobolds as a trap happy gaggle of dragon obsessives who were counted as the weakest but smartest of the traditional dungeonfodder humanoids. Other than being lizardy they were presented near identically to goblins, both being petty and cruel and resentful over their small stature and the place it meant they occupied in the world. This overlap is actually one of the reasons I haven't gotten to kobolds before now, as I kinda felt like I covered most of it in my writeup for goblins a couple years ago.

Since Kobolds are a reoccuring request however I eventually decided I was going to give the people what they wanted. My plan was to talk about d&d dragonsimp kobolds vs. warcraft candleloving kobolds vs. jrpg dogpeople kobolds, and how all of these relate back to creature's mythological origin but hey wait a minute the official forgotten realms wiki says WHAT ?

Huh, that sounds like a weird sort of projection from a man who's super insecure about his height. I wonder if the original dragon magazine listed as a source here has anything more to.. Oh.... OH-NO

Living space, huh? Extinction of weaker peoples, eh? A religion based around survival, insularity, obedience, and the defeat of stronger enemies through attrition, yadon'tsay? Man, the canine kobolds might be on to something because there's an ORCHESTRA of dogwhistles going on here.

Friends, there's a lot to unpack here, so like a kobold with a pickax lets dig in

Where it started: the connection between kobolds and goblins and gnomes predates d&d back to mythological roots, as all are names shared by the european folklore character of "weird little guy who lives under the hill and plays tricks on us". Kobolds have an even more delightful bit of etymology attached, as miners blamed them for magically transforming valuable silver for (at the time) worthless cobalt. Originally my rehash of kobalds was going to centre on them as tinkerers/engineers for this reason, as alchemical cobalt batteries sound rad as hell.

Kobolds are in this way also part of the greater traditions of "mine spirits", Knackers, tommyknockers, and the like. Who play tricks on miners, and are just as likely to cause disaster when displeased as they are to warn of it when befriended.

Then the d&d authors did what they always do, they pilfered the name of folkloric creatures for the game while ignoring actual mythology, drawing hard and fast lines and making up rigid catagories as they went.

What's wrong: Given their proclivity for traps, sneak attacks, and guerilla tactics you end up getting a LOT of comparisons between Kobolds and the Viet Cong… which I find very telling.  So many of the original d&d antagonists were vessels for middle aged geeks of the 70s and 80s to hit back at their insecurities ( whether it be challenges to their masculinity, sexuality, or something more existential) it doesn’t surprise me at all that d&d has an enemy that let american boomers rehash their nation’s at the time biggest military debacle. 

Kobolds are so weak and undeserving you understand, they’ve only survived because they’re tricky, but this time we’ll get them, if we come in with enough firepower and hirelings to get through the meatgrinder we can finally hit them where they live and deal with them for good. 

D&D worldbuilding imagines kobolds as “the other” from an occupier’s lens: resentful of their rightful displacement, nursing their hatreds in the shadows, emerging only to attack or to steal and despoil what they’ve been denied. They have no ambition, no culture, no wants beyond being a threat for the new dominant power. They’re cowards for using traps and poison and tactics on those here to plunder their homes. 

What’s worth Salvaging:  While the 3e revision of kobolds as dracomaniacs is a welcome change from their old lore I’m not especially fond of it. Overuse of dragons is one of the things that most turns me off general fantasy media. Any group of sapient creatures serving a dragon is just as likely to form a dragoncult, it doesn’t make kobolds special. 

That said, if you did want to double down on kobold dragon worship you might consider spicing in a few elements from my revamped version of Tiamat, painting their reverence not just as ego and overcompensation but as a desire to emulate and become…certian kobold enclaves possibly using sorcery or alchemy to transform a chosen among their people into a fully fledged wyrm. 

While we’ve mostly tossed alignment to the curb where it belongs,to distinguish kobolds from goblins it might be worth leaning into their lawful aspects; Underfoot foremen and notaries and  work crews addressing things with a utilitarian collective effort before scurrying out of sight when the shift change occurs.  Where as goblins are screwball and slapstick onto the verge of cartoonishness, perhaps kobolds are practical and industrious to the point of causing problems: They dam a river to access a sacred cave heedless of the disruption and flooding it’d cause, they tear down, occupying and restoring a derelict mill and restoring it to function regardless of who owns it, undermining the foundations of the duke’s palace following a vein of copper in the nearby hills. 

This efficiency-focused attitude also helps thematically define mechanically minded kobolds against gnomes and dwarves as the game’s other tinkerers:  They share the practicality of dwarven artisans and the inventiveness of gnomish artificers, but lack the sentiment the other two place on what they make.  Kobold craft is often regarded as lower quality, but that’s because resource efficiency and easy replaceability are primary metrics upon which they judge something. 

Artsource

[chaoticace2005]

Top Hazbin Hotel Songs so far: (order not super relevant because I jump a lot between my favorites so it’s hard to have a definitive ranking.)

(Note: ALL the songs were bops. There wasn’t a single one I disliked. I’m just going off which ones hit me the hardest and are now living in my head.)

1. Stayed Gone- this song is just so fucking catchy. The quick talking of Vox at the beginning is great- displaying confidence while also clearly overcompensating. The music is pretty repetitive at first but in a comforting way, being simple in terms of number of instruments. And then Al comes in and changes it up. I love the way these two argue- Al just roasting the hell out of Vox was great. The rivalry between these two is great and so entertaining to watch.

2. Loser Baby- so cute. Keith David’s voice was amazing. Loved Angel and Husk’s chemistry. Angel’s shock/annoyance at Husk at first is hilarious. Also songs like that and Crooked (from Helluva Boss) really are saying something’s we really don’t hear often enough: that things are a mess sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you’re alone. Both songs acknowledge the messy parts of the characters and both say “I see that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care for you.” Plus it being in the same episode as Poison? Their messages complimented each other well and kind of closed the story for it.

3. Poison- Blake Roman is just- wow. No words. When this song came out a couple weeks ago I had it on repeat obsessively. We get to see Angel’s internal thoughts- his self-blaming for all the shit that’s happening, and how hopeless he feels. The emotion poured into this is astounding. It was amazing as a stand-alone song, and then the way the show integrated it in episode 4 made it hit even harder. It’s definitely A LOT- but sometimes that’s what makes such hard hitting songs, being so personal.

4. Hell is Forever- Alex Brightman killed it as always. I listened to this one on repeat dozens of times. It’s so insanely catchy. The rock(?) music that comes in to cut Charlie off? Also this song nails in the fact even more than Adam SUCKS. And while this is happening we are delivered the logic behind the angel’s choices- explicitly saying “yeah we don’t care. Murder is fun :)” AND are given the information about major conflict of season- that the extermination day for moved up.

5. Respectless- got brain worms from this. The way Velvette dropped in and changed the whole genre of the song was A W E S O M E. Her and Carmilla both SLAPPED. Also the line “I’m the backbone of the Vees” was just- I just loved the energy of the song. Major Six vibes. I’d love Lilli Cooper to sing more in the show!

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

ALL IS FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR - PART 1

Pairing - Jonathan Crane x fem!reader

Summary - When you were attacked in your own home, you confined yourself with Jonathan to help you heal. Until you learn a sickening truth that changes everything.

Warnings - extreme NON-CON, dub con, rough sex, drugging, oral, hand job, grinding, manipulation, stalking, controlling.

Word count - 6.9k+

Notes - I've been working on this for a long time and after many rewrites, this is the first of a two part story. This simple idea turned out to be so long that I had to split it up otherwise I would never finish it. Probably the darkest story I've written. Please note story isn't in chronology order. Comments/messages are urged if this even deserves the second part please. And I'm sorry but I hate proof reading.

For the first time forever, you felt as if you’ve finally recognised your priorities. You wanted Jonathan, you needed Jonathan. In desperate need of your call for help, you visualized screaming his name. Not the authorities, not a knight in shining armor, not a God, it was Jonathan. 

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop trembling as you remained curled up in a ball in your kitchen. The room was as dark as the deepest corner of a cave and it was as cold as ice on this winter’s night. All of your thoughts didn’t match up with each other as if they were scrambled in a pan like eggs, you struggled to remember where and who you were. 

Hesitantly, you gripped onto the edge of the counter, your knuckles turned white as you pulled your aching body up as your hands searched and patted over the counter top. Feeling the home phone in your shaking hand, the buttons flashed a dim white light, but it was all a blur to you as you dialed the number. Holding the phone to your ear with an unsteady grip, you listened to the phone ring. Praying to any God that he would answer. Right when you thought the call was going to ring out, you heard his breathing on the other end of the line for a brief moment.

Your friendship had recently hit rock bottom with Jonathan, it was your fault, you know it was. You shouldn’t have been drinking in such an emotional state, you shouldn't have dressed the way you did, you shouldn’t have looked at him in that manner. You were selfish, merely wanting somebody’s complete attention. You've always led on Doctor Jonathan Crane, the ruthless misanthrope psychiatrist who had an undying obsession with you. But that night, you foolishly crossed the line you were determined to stay away from.

“What is it?” Jonathan answered, not sounding pleased to be answering a call at this time of the night, or by you, most likely both. But you were so relieved to hear his voice that you couldn’t help but to sob out loud. It felt like a massive weight was lifted off of your shoulders yet you never felt more empty. Your voice choked as you attempted to say something, anything. “Darling? What’s wrong?” Jonathan continued, his tone completely switching as he voiced his concern. 

“I- Johnny… I-I” you cried, lost for words. 

Your mind was still fuzzy as you looked down at your body, your pajama shorts ripped in multiple spots and dried fluids all over your flesh. You could hear him begging you to tell him what was wrong, had something happened to you? But you were still too deep in a state of shock and confusion to say anything. No matter how desperately you wanted to beg Jonathan to come save you, all you could do was sob. 

“Calm down, I’m leaving right now sweetheart. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Please stay calm darling” he promised you before hanging up the line. If he could stay on the phone with you, he would.  

As the line went dead, you collapsed back onto the floor, curling back up into a ball as your body trembled in mental and physical distress. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t do as he asked, how could you stay calm after this?

Jonathan used the spare key you gave him to open the door and quickly punched in the security code to your alarm system. Rushing down the dark hallway, he was calling out your name repetitively and flicked on the lights in the kitchen to reveal the heavily intoxicated you. Jonathan rushed to your side and kneeled, your eyes were glued shut from fear, your teeth chattering as he slowly went to touch your shoulder. Startled, you shrieked and flung yourself back, hitting your head on the wooden counter which caused flashing white lines through your darkened sight. 

“Shhhh” Jonathan soothed, pulling your body towards him, embracing you. Your body was as stiff as stone under his. “It’s just me sweetheart. Jonathan, it’s Johnny” he clarified, rubbing your back as he pressed his warm lips to your cold temple. 

Your mind was still unclear with whatever hardcore substance was in your system and you struggled to keep your eyes open. Your skin felt filthy, as if you were drenched in grease. It was difficult to breathe, your chest tight and throat dehydrated. The feeling of agony weighed heavy on you, keeping you locked to the cold tiled floor. You looked at Jonathan with hesitation through teary eyes, not trusting him. 

When you realized it really was him you cried into his chest, letting it all out, holding onto him for dear life. Gently cooling by your ear to help calm you down, Jonathan rocked you back and forth as his eyes wandered around the lit room. He could see the havoc of your kitchen. The utensils spread all over the counter, broken glass and water on the floor.

“I’m here, you’re safe now” Jonathan promised you and despite your disoriented state, you knew his words to be true. 

Doctor Jonathan Crane was an intriguing character. Many would use precise words such as: bumptious, narcissistic, cunning and barbaric when describing him. He was a walking hazard. They’d all warn you to stay away from him, he was expressed as a psychotic genius who lets Hell rain in Arkham Asylum through his experiments for his own intellectual growth. 

To you, he was kind, understanding and never failed to make you feel like the most important person in the room. You cannot lie, your friendship with Jonathan was certainly unconventional. But Jonathan was smitten by you, and you felt tenderness with the idea of always having someone there for you. 

After almost an hour of blubbering on the floor, you laid back in the passenger seat in a dopey state, wrapped up in his coat as he cautiously drove you back to his house, gazing over to you every few seconds. The paranoia of that man, that monster coming back was too overbearing. Jonathan inwardly deemed that he would be able to take better care of you. He never had optimism in others, especially to the care of you. When the engine’s rumbled came to a sudden silence in the garage, Jonathan completely looked over to you, his fingertips brushing over your jawline. He grabbed your small bag in the backseat first, he’d pick up more belongings in the morning. Opening the car door for you, he wrapped his arm around you protectively and picked you off the ground bridal style. 

“Do you have any idea what he gave you sweetheart?” Jonathan projected as he carried you to his bedroom, laying you on the bed. Gently, you shook your head. “Well, you don’t look like you're overdosing…” Jonathan observed, checking your pulse. “But better to be safe than sorry” he murmured. 

Jonathan disappeared and reappeared swiftly, standing by your side with medical equipment. The vital signs were quickly checked. Besides your disorientation and heightened sense of fear, you showed no physical symptoms of an overdose. 

“Any chest pains? Nausea? Abdominal pain?” Jonathan asked slowly and you continued to shake your head. Humming in response, Jonathan searched through his bag and picked out a tablet. “Take this” he instructed. 

But you were skeptical as you squinted your eyes to the small white pill. Jonathan sighed and motioned the pill towards your lips. Your dry lips parted as he slipped the pill into your mouth, followed by the rim of a water bottle to help swallow it down.

“You need a bath, then I’ll make you some tea, okay?” Jonathan told you, caressing your forearm. 

Nodding in agreement, you watched Jonathan slip into the ensuite and you heard the water running, Your body lightly trembled as you closed your eyes and when you opened them again, you were in the bath with Jonathan kneeling beside you as he ran a cloth up and down your now warm skin, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The water had a scent in it, lavender you believed. The steam dancing up into thin air over the water. 

You looked around your surroundings and then down as you saw your exposed body. Your arms instinctively went to cover yourself as your whimpers began to grow. A hush left Jonathan’s lips as his hand intertwined with yours to help calm you. He gave you a stern stare that screamed for you to stay calm. Yet his soft eyes were begging you to trust him, you took a deep breath in and laid your head back. It’s nothing Jonathan hasn’t seen after all. 

Jonathan wrapped the towel around you tightly after he guided you out of the tub, his hands rubbing up and down your shoulders as he walked you into his walk-in wardrobe. He helped you dress into your pajamas, yet the short sleeves and pants made you feel insecure. Your arms wrapped around your body and Jonathan cocked an eyebrow to you. After studying your expression, he pulled out his old university hoodie and slid it over your head. You sighed in relief, the scent of him still strongly on the fabric. 

Trailing after him like a lost puppy to the kitchen, he flicked on the kettle and plucked out an apple from the fruit bowl. Whilst waiting for the kettle to boil, he quickly sliced the apple into bite sized pieces and hand fed you bit by bit. 

“It’ll help calm your mind” Jonathan exhaled as he poured the hot water into the herbal tea. The mug was set beside you as he watched you momentarily, waiting for the tea to cool down. 

After a few minutes you took a small sip and breathed out, fresh tears pricking at your strained eyes. Everytime you closed your eyes you could see him, that monster, creature. Shifting your focus directly onto your tea, the two of you stood in silence, Jonathan’s eyes still set on you. The clock read 4:08 as its hands ticked loudly. 

He took your mug as you finished it. “I’ll sleep on the couch” he stated, gently pushing you in the direction of the bedroom. You came to a sudden stop as you turned around to face him. 

“Please don’t… Stay with me” you weakly begged, dreading the idea of being alone. 

Jonathan’s eyes softened as he nodded in agreement and he guided you to the bedroom. He laid you comfortably on the bed and vanished into the walk-in wardrobe, returning in cozy pants and a long sleeve top. You slipped underneath the bed as his blue eyes stalked you, Jonathan slithered onto the bed and underneath the covers like a snake, pulling your fragile body towards his. Your breathing was staggered as laid your head on his firm chest, he left the lamp on, caressing your back as your tired eyes urged you to shut them but you were too afraid of seeing him again. 

After what felt like hours of just laying there, even though it was only a few minutes, your breathing got rougher as the memories began to control your thoughts. Your hand wrapped around his side firmly and Jonathan looked down. 

“Breathe in darling” Jonathan whispered. 

“What?” you frowned, looking up to him. 

“Breath in” he softly smiled, you did as he said. “Now breathe out” he continued on. Breathing out, Jonathan coached you to do it over and over again. 

Your chest relaxed as you laid your head back onto his chest, your tired eyes taking over you as you continued to breathe in and out at a steady pace. He whispered calming thoughts by your ear, he was so good with words.

“That’s a good girl” Jonathan whispered as you fell into a deep slumber, free from fear just for now. 

You met Jonathan at Gotham University. Everyone on campus despised him, a cocky know it all who’d jump at a debate whenever it raised on the surface. Jonathan was the first in all of his classes, no matter how hard all of the other students tried, he was unbeatable. But you couldn’t help but to be curious with his presence when you’d see him around campus. He was cute, charming if he wore the right clothes, but he was certainly a unique character. Jonathan was passionate, eager and sharp. 

He was in the year above you so you never had a real reason to talk to him. But if you’d walk past him in the hallways you’d greet him, he would never reply back however, hardly acknowledge your existence nevertheless. Yet sometimes you’d look up wherever you were on campus and catch him watching you. Like you were a gazelle in an open field. Usually people would instantly look away after being caught, but he continued to stare, as if he was studying you, dissecting you apart with his ocean blue eyes. 

It wasn’t until your second year when he approached you in the campus gardens, blocking off the sunlight, you looked up to the boy with dark hair. “Is it Professor Dickens or Winston that has you in such a state of distress?” Jonathan questioned you cockily, staring down at you with a sly grin, his hands behind his back. His rectangular framed glasses made him look goofy yet somewhat intimidating. 

After a short silence, you responded with a light chuckle, “Dickens” and Jonathan hummed loudly.  

“Ah, I do not speak from experience. However, many find Professor Dickens to be rather… rigorous” Jonathan replied, leaning over to look at the book you were studying. “I remember that textbook, it was rather unchallenging. What are you struggling with?” Jonathan asked, kneeling down next to you now to look at your jots in your notebook. 

“All of it really” you sighed, furrowing your eyebrows at how he is actually associating himself with you. “I had to leave town for a few days, my grandma was very ill. Professor Dickens didn’t approve of my appeal for an extension” you muttered slightly, feeling a wave of anger at the situation. 

“No issue, I was Professor Dickens star pupil” Jonathan responded, taking your notebook off of you without consent. Jonathan was all of his Professors’ star pupil. “I’ll be sure to make you the next” he grinned at you.

Your peculiar friendship rapidly continued to blossom over the months. Multiple times of the week you’d find yourself residing somewhere hidden on campus with Jonathan, sharing reports, experiments and research with one another. He became your mentor, tutor, inspiration to strive for brilliance in your education. 

Jonathan didn’t seem to be as evil as everyone made him out to be. However, you quickly realized that this behavior was merely reserved towards you. Not that he ever did any romantic gestures towards you. You could just read his eyes like a children’s book. Shamefully, you liked Jonathan, a lot more than you wanted to. Jonathan was a puzzle that you had this urge to try to solve, yet at times the pieces you’d connect together felt sinister which you ignorantly chose to ignore.

To Jonathan’s clear distaste, you were already in a relationship. Daniel was your high school sweetheart, but that relationship quickly went sour as you graduated. If you weren’t so comfortable with him, you would have broken up with him at the first red flag. No one should put up with the abuse and neglect he showed you. Especially with the bad habits he had picked up during your relationship. But you were young and naive, too afraid of what life would look like without him. 

Jonathan became aware of his maltreatment towards you when he noticed a light bruise over your jaw and a horrible excuse as to how it occurred. He knew you were lying by the way your cheeks would turn a few shades darker. This situation was no exception. But he said nothing, surprising with how he was always proud to state his opinion. Jonathan unhappily went along with your little lie to keep you content. 

Then, Daniel disappeared into thin air. Packed up all of his belongings abruptly in the middle of the night and never saw his face again. It wasn’t a surprise really, he had a cocaine issue, most likely made a few bad friends in the dark alleys of Gotham. You weren’t sure he ran away, or if something far sinister had occurred. Nevertheless, it was a shattering experience. But you had Jonathan to lean on for support and you couldn’t be anymore grateful. 

Expectedly shortly after, Jonathan confessed his feelings for you confidently yet emotionlessly. He was extremely understanding when you said that you couldn’t think about seeing people again yet and how you’d hate to ruin your friendship. Because it did mean so much to you. Jonathan only couldn’t resist keeping those thoughts inside of him any longer. Your friendship continued on like normal. 

When Jonathan earned his doctorate, you demanded he’d celebrate with you. As if he even had any other options. You were going to plan him a special night, but he had already beat you to it, he was such a control freak. The night was spent at one of Gotham’s finest restaurants. He wore his finest black suit and you wore a gorgeous bodycon silk green dress. It was the first time you had ever drank with Jonathan, you had a bottle of champagne on ice to share. Traditionally, Jonathan placed his card in the folder and flashed you a grin. It was one of the best nights of your life, living in luxury, gratefully with him. 

“I know I told you no gifts, but there is one thing that I wish from you” Jonathan exhaled as he parked his car outside of your apartment block. He looked over to you slowly and you could feel your heart pound in your chest, your throat tighten as if something had tied rope around it. 

You knew exactly what path he was walking down, this day was bound to pounch back at you again. When else then after an unofficial romantic dinner at one of Gotham’s finest?

“Yes Johnny?” You awkwardly chuckled, the streetlamps illuminating his expression of despair. 

“A kiss” he whispered, his look begging you to agree with him as he straightened his posture. 

“Jonathan” you warned, breaking eye contact immediately. What else should you have expected? It was your typical romantic dinner, he paid the bill, now you had to pay up with a different currency. 

“Just once… Every time I heard students snicker behind my back about how I… Couldn't pull…” Jonathan’s tongue clicked as if a drop of venom fell onto it. “I could never help but to feel embarrassed with them being correct, for once” he continued on, looking away from you in the same. “But yes, I have never had the pleasure of kissing a woman before, especially someone as beautiful as you” Jonathan admitted, sighing dramatically at the embarrassment.  

“Never?” You frowned towards him, feeling slightly guilty. 

As if it wasn’t as clear as day, he never spoke about his natural urges with you. A part of you was convinced that he would come out as asexual one day. It was all so extremely rare for him to get along with others, he would never do a sneaky link, especially during the academic period. No wonder he was always such an asshole to others. 

“Unfortunately my brilliance in psychology doesn’t even out my ill-manners towards others” Jonathan exhaled, biting on his lips at the unfortunate truth. 

Perhaps it was the champagne urging you towards him, but Jonathan just looked so sweet and innocent right now. You couldn’t help but to feel sympathy for him, especially after all he has done for you. 

“One kiss…” you stated, holding up one finger. 

Jonathan gently nodded and leant towards you eagerly, his hands snaked to your back to pull your bodies together. If only you could hear how rapid his heartbeat was. He was hesitant, so you closed the distance and pressed your lips against his. 

Jonathan hummed, his mouth opening ajar for his tongue to slip out, subconsciously you allowed his slippery tongue inside your warm mouth. His hands slowly slid up your back as your tongues danced together in the silent atmosphere. Right as you noticed your body being drawn to him you abruptly pulled yourself away from him. The pair of you silently caught your breath. 

There was a brief moment of silence, your mind still registering how intense of a kiss that was. How strong it felt when it should have felt like nothing. 

“Thank you darling” Jonathan smiled as he leaned back into his seat, but his hand danced over yours and you allowed him to. 

“We need to find you a hooker to get you laid” you laughed, playfully smacking his hand. 

If your studies didn’t teach you much of manipulation, Jonathan sure did. He was a puppeteer, you’d never want him to attach strings to you. Considering how afraid you were of getting his claws on you, you seemed to forget the leash you had on Jonathan. He’d do anything for you, you’d be lying if you said that you’ve never taken advantage of that. But at the end of the day, your relationship with Jonathan was simple and fundamental. To his dismay, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

There was this unwritten debt between Jonathan and yourself. He gave you favor after favor without hesitation over the years accompanied by a toothy grin. Jonathan continued to mentor you in your last year of university despite having a demanding full time profession. Landed you an interview at Arkham Asylum when you were in desperate need of a job. It was only temporary to be in the forensic psychiatric department, working with the criminally insane just wasn’t your ideal workplace unlike Jonathan’s. You were much more interested in neuropsychiatry. He gave you an excellent reference for your current job. Realistically, you shouldn’t have gotten the job with a salary that good, but he made it work. Jonathan has been your rock for years, you egocentrically seemed to forget how much you really did depend on him. 

It made you feel like a horrible person, but he was already clingy enough with you, not that you seemed to complain, you enjoyed the company. You’d talk most days despite your busy schedules. The pair of you would spend the majority of your free days together by exploring museums, watching theater performances or going out for a lovely meal. The blind eye would assume the pair of you were a couple, sometimes you even wondered if you were. 

Jonathan hated it when you hung out with others, especially if you didn’t tell him prior. A foul word never slipped his mouth, but you could hear it all in his tone, if not see it in his stern expression. Sometimes you’d tell him of your dates just to get him to back off every once in a while. Doctor Jonathan Crane was a jealous man around you, because he couldn’t have you the way he wanted to. A part of you grew to find it stimulating over the course, because he had no control in the situation. 

Yet your love life was hopeless. The vitality of your sex life purely depended on one night stands after a drunken night out. Whenever you were asked on a date, he’d ghost you before the second date. So you gave up on dating for a long time, focusing on your work instead. At the end of some nights with an empty bottle of wine, you’d think of Jonathan, the potential there was with him. But you would always feel your stomach turn, or throat tighten at the thought of being completely his. 

But then, you unexpectedly fell for your new coworker Anthony Gray. Anthony was a total catch, confident, charming, respected, physically built and loving. There was this instant spark that neither of you wanted to deny, eager to pounce on the sensation. Within the workplace you found yourself sneaking around with him, kissing him, touching him, feeling him inside of you. The workplace had a conflict of interest policy, let alone a no fucking on the job policy. The two of you kept your affair hidden, there were eyes everywhere in Gotham and you’d be stupid to get fired over having dinner in the wrong place. If it wasn’t in the building, you’d be at one or another’s house. It was a thrilling sensation to keep your relationship a secret from everyone in Gotham, including Jonathan, but the pair of you were figuring out how to make it work publicly. 

Telling Jonathan of your little love affair was the least of your priorities even though the relationship was growing more stable by the day. Even though you never gave him any hints of mutual affection, he seemed to be eternally entranced by you. Patiently waiting for the opportunity to have you, claim you, own you.

Unknowingly, well slightly knowingly, you distanced yourself from Jonathan. Only by missing a few phone calls from him and sounding distracted over the phone when you did answer. Typically, Jonathan picked up on this unusual behavior within a snap. Suddenly showing up on your doorstep one day as if to catch you out, with a loaf of bread in his hands. 

“Oh, Johnny! What brings you here?” You chuckled, looking him up and down. 

“It had been a while, so I thought I’d surprise you. Grabbed it from that market place we use to go to every weekend” he answered, heavily emphasizing on the words ‘use to’. 

After an awkward moment of silence, you took a step back and gestured to him to come inside, he took your offer instantly. 

“So, what have you been up to?” Jonathan asked, his tone making it sound like a demanding question. 

“Just working really, going out a few times” you replied, hoping the lie will lead him down the wrong path as you pulled out the bread knife from the block. Jonathan hummed as he dropped the bread onto the cutting board, almost in a forceful manner. You turned back to him, frowning as you tried to read his emotion. 

You’d think with your doctorate in psychiatry you’d be able to completely read him right now, but in moments like this, he was a wolf hidden amongst the trees.

“Everything okay Johnny?” You murmured. 

There was a low groan that left his lips, his eyes twitching slightly as he debated to say what he really wanted to say. “Just backed up with a lot of paperwork” Jonathan eventually answered, spinning on his heel to pull the butter out from the fridge.  

You weren’t ready to shatter his heart into millions of pieces, not yet. Especially in such an isolated setting, it made you feel anxious to the core. Just a few more weeks, of peace, of zen with Anthony. Then you’d break the news to Jonathan, perhaps your friendship too, and most certainly his heart. 

You brought Anthony over to your house the next day, unaware of a lingering figure across the street who’s knuckles turned white and teeth gritted together. 

After a few slow knocks, you lowered your head as you waited patiently for the door to open. You look down at your dress again, you had changed your clothes multiple times. Everything you put on made you feel ugly and insecure. The door swung open, Jonathan gave you a sympathetic look as he gestured you to come inside. His hands briefly rested on your shoulder as he took off your coat, revealing your simple yet elegant black dress. Leading you to the living room, you sat on the space gray couch, eyes looking over the small cheese board. 

Jonathan wandered off to the kitchen, his back turned to you as he picked up two wine glasses and a fine bottle of shiraz. The sound of the dark red substance gracefully falling into the glass filled your ears as you played with the rim of your dress. 

“So, how are you feeling?” Jonathan asked softly, standing tall as he held out your glass. 

“Like shit” you mumbled, accepting the glass without hesitation and downing half of it within one big chug. Jonathan snorted lightly as he sat down next to you. 

“Darling, darling, darling” he sighed, his lips resting on the rim of the glass. You rolled your eyes at his lecture like tone and expression. Feeling like he was going to scold you like a child. “You should have had me meet him first, for a third party perspective and opinion” Jonathan continued on after he took a sip. 

“Didn’t realize this was mediation Jonathan” you gritted your teeth. 

When Anthony didn’t show up to work one day, you found it extremely odd. Presuming that he would have contacted you if he wasn’t going to be showing up. You had messaged him a couple of times during the day but they were all left on delivered. It wasn’t until you got home from a tiring day's work that you saw the letter in your mailbox. By the time you got to his house, everything looked to have been moved out through the open blinds. 

“I’m sorry darling, I am” Jonathan swore. 

It was an opposing response from Jonathan. Yes, he was sorry with how negative you were feeling, but he couldn’t help but to feel happy at the outcome of your relationship. His fingertips brushed over your bare knee as you finished the glass, motioning the empty glass towards Jonathan for a refill. 

He chuckled lightly and took the glass from you. The taste of grapes lingered on your tongue as you waited for his return. The glass was almost filled to the rim. Jonathan wasn’t much of a drinker, he always claimed how alcohol could kill his intellectual potential. But on nights like these, he made an exception for you. 

When you were three drinks in, your thoughts and emotions came to light, just as Jonathan predicted. “I just-” you slurred, fingers trailing over the rim of the glass. Your eyes watered at the thought of Anthony and how he left you without proper closure. You blinked hard, the wine hitting you much harder than predicted, perhaps that’s what happens when you’ve hardly eaten all week. “Don’t understand” you eventually finished your sentence in a mumble as Jonathan returned with your fourth glass of wine. “He told me he was fixing things with his ex, moving across the country to be with her. I didn't even know about her…” You sighed loudly, feeling your eyes prickle and swell up. 

“He’s a moron who cannot appreciate beauty, what else do I need to say darling?” Jonathan cocked an eyebrow to you, swirling the remaining drops of wine in his glass. 

You felt dizzy, your thoughts were slightly disoriented as you hummed longly in return. There was a gentle sway in your body, as your tongue poked into the wine. Jonathan finished his wine and placed it on the coffee table with a clink. 

Leaning closer to you, your heartbeat picked up and you could feel jittery over your skin. Were his eyes always that captivating blue? Your stomach turned, in a good way, a way you’ve forgotten about for so long.

“You deserve to be treated so much better” Jonathan confessed through a sigh, his arm snaking behind your back to pull you closer to him. 

Of the few times you’ve drunken with Jonathan, he has never been this touchy. Yet, you couldn’t help but to feel a new sensation of this. 

“I know, I’ll get over it eventually” you responded, avoiding eye contact with him. Yet you couldn’t help but to enjoy the warmth and security of his arm around your body. 

“Do you know how a man should treat you?” Jonathan murmured, a small sly grin on his lips. 

“How?” You frowned towards him in a growing blurry vision, unknowingly leaning closer to him. 

“Worshiped every day, body, mind and soul” he answered calmly, his eyes slowly examining your body. 

“You don’t mean that” you lightly scoffed, bringing the drink back to your lips to distract yourself, as if that will do any help. 

When you put the glass down on the coffee table, Jonathan took your chin in his hand. Staring at one another, you waited for him to make a move, but he just admired you, his lips ajar open as his thumb rolled circles over your soft skin. 

“I do” Jonathan vowed. Your head felt unfocused, your body felt like it was floating. This was like you were in a dream. “I can treat you so much better. I will treat you so much better” Jonathan corrected himself, now gripping onto your inner thigh instead of your chin. “Just give me a chance to show you how you deserve to be loved” Jonathan pleaded, pressing his forehead against yours. “Please” he begged softly, waiting for you to open the door for him. Your face turned away at his words, at his pleading. 

On any other night, you probably would have ran for the hills. But tonight, you desperately wanted to get Anthony out of your mind. It felt contradicting with how right and wrong it felt. But it didn’t phase you what would happen tomorrow, you wanted Jonathan right now. 

There was no response from you, Jonathan took that as his que to guide your face to directly look at him so he could kiss you. It surprised you with how soft his lips were, the way he hummed softly as he gently pushed his tongue into your warm mouth. After a quick stiff moment, your stance relaxed and you leaned closer to him. Your arms naturally wrapped around his shoulders to pull him closer to you. Jonathan groaned into your mouth, his hand pulled your hips over to straddle his lap. 

It felt so wrong, but he was so skillful with that tongue of his. Your logic was imprisoned by your sensations right now. Soft hands running up and down your heated skin, you couldn’t resist but to moan back into his mouth. Your cunt was aching for him so you non controllingly began rocking over his already formed boner. He nibbled at your neck, causing you to giggle as you grind over him in an unsteady motion. 

You lifted your hips up slightly as your hand brushed down his torso, Jonathan’s head fell back as he watched you, his mouth open. There was a slow moan from him as your hand cupped his crotch, Jonathan grinned widely, his own hands slipping down to unbutton his trousers. Quickly, your hand slipped underneath his underwear and you were stroking his firm size slowly. 

“Let me take you to the bedroom” Jonathan pleaded and you hummed in a daze like state. 

Jonathan picked you up and impatiently carried you to his bedroom. Giggling like a child over his shoulder, Jonathan laid you onto his bed, your flats falling off in the process. He straddled you down just as quick. The lamp was already on so you took a good look at his expression. 

An animal. That’s what you saw initially despite your heavily drunken state. A predator who was ready to attack his prey and you were helpless right now, the back of your mind was hoping that you’d just sink into the bed to get away from him. 

He wasn’t as gentle as you’d hope him to be as his soft hands groped your body. “What are you doing?” You murmured, as he slid down your body, his knees landing on the floor. 

There was no response from him except a groan. He pulled your hips forward and scrunched your dress up. It felt like fireworks exploding up your skin, the way his fingers trailed over you. Jonathan pulled your thong off of your legs, kissing your inner calf afterwards. 

“Wait…” you objected, common sense trying to snap you out of this trance, but he ignored you. 

“Waited so long for this, so, so long” Jonathan moaned, crawling up your lower body until his breath reached your bare cunt. 

Kissing your inner thigh, Jonathan looked at you, just wanting to take your nervous expression in for a moment. He placed your legs over his shoulders as his tongue slithered over your core. Your abdomen tensed and legs tightened around his head. His tongue zigzagged over sensitive skin, causing a rather loud yelp of pleasure. It was humiliating with how fucking good he could use that tongue of his. 

Your growing orgasm built on your tummy as his tongue slipped inside your sweet hole. Your fingers gripped into his hair to pull his head away, it was just all so much, you felt like you were blacking out. But Jonathan’s head was stuck in your cunt like it was glued. He was lapping you up as if he was starving, his left thumb found its way to your clit and rubbed desperately to make you release. 

“Jonathan” you moaned, eyes squeezed shut. 

Jonathan only moaned in response, his mouth full of your sweet substance. You tried to hold it off, but failed miserably, coming all over Jonathan’s face without warning, your hips rocking in rhythm with your orgasm. However, Jonathan greedily ate you all up, quickly climbing on top of your body. He swiftly pulled your dress off over your head and his hands trailed over your breasts. A small laugh left his lips as he ripped off your nipple covers, his crotch pressed into your abdominal.  

Jonathan smiled wickedly to you and even though you were still in your post orgasmic daze, you could see the craze in his eyes. But you were too intoxicated and horny to scrutinize him. Your arms reached out to pull him closer to you. With his smaller size, you didn’t expect his back to feel so firm. Kissing each other hungary, Jonathan’s hands quickly tried to undo his trousers. 

His hips flexed back as he pulled out his size. Your lips separated as he stroked himself a few times, looking down to your entrance. Even though your vision was blurry, you could see how big he was crystal clear. You gulped heavily as Jonathan hovered back over you with his tip pressed against your entrance. Jonathan gave you a soft kiss on the lips as he began to thrust in.

“Oh! you feel like heaven. I have found paradise…” Jonathan declared through moans. He was most definitely the largest you’ve ever had. It was hurting more than pleasuring, but you were so wet. “Your cunt wraps perfectly around my cock darling” he praised, his hand brushing over your flustered jaw. 

“It’s hurting” you whimpered, your body stiff underneath his. Jonathan blinked a couple of times but didn’t respond. 

“You’re mine, all mine. Always have been, always will be” Jonathan grunted as he fully pushed himself inside of you. Your walls squeezed around his cock as you grumbled in agony. “You’ve finally come to realize” he exhaled, his hand brushing the side of your face as the pleasure slowly overthrew the pain. 

His words seemed to have sobered you up. This is exactly what you were afraid of, this turning into ownership. Jonathan could see the glimpse of horror in your eyes, he smiled widely as he gradually picked up his speed as your canal adjusted to his size. 

You wanted to throw him off of you. But your mind was so engaged in your physical sensations and drowsiness of the alcohol that you could only lay back and guiltily enjoy yourself, expressing how satisfied you were by your moans. 

“Jerked off to the thought of you every single fucking night” Jonathan grumbled out, his nails digging into your flesh. “Such fucking torture” he spat. 

Jonathan pushed your thighs apart as his cock traveled in deeper, groaning like crazy as his balls were slapping against your skin. His grip on your upper thighs will probably bruise by the morning. The mixture of both of your moans was heaven to his ears. You’ve never seen Jonathan smile so much, he couldn’t wipe it if he wanted to. 

He also seemed to refuse to break eye contact with you, as if he was studying you or was afraid you’d run away if out of sight. His nostrils were flared and jaw clenched as he continued his pleasure-filled attack. You were pulsing around his size, his breathing seemed to stagger, pace losing its rhythm. 

“Come on darling, one more time… I know you can be a good girl, come so I can” Jonathan moaned. 

You can’t tell if it was a beg or a demand. His words were so gentle, but that look in his eyes was as if hell would break loose if you failed to comply. Regardless, you did as he asked, clenching as tight as you could around him as you cried out, your back aching as you swore you could see stars. Jonathan quickly followed, falling completely on top of you as his arms quickly snaked around you. 

He kissed you passionately as he pumped his seed deep inside of you. When his lips pulled away from yours, he was moaning your name over and over. A wave of exhaustion crashed over you. Your eyes felt so drowsy, all of your energy completely drained dry. Jonathan caressed your cheek as your sight was quickly consumed by darkness. 

What have you done?

[papaya-twinks]

just an assistant - l.n

Warnings: angst, swearing

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

A/N - I was convinced not to wait another two days to post it - yes, I have the next two parts written but I’m torturing all of you xoxo

@landinhoe @mayalou @horseymchorse3

You were a good assistant, so, so much better than Maddie, and for some very, very unusual reason, Lando found himself almost...excited for when you would arrive. “How early can I bring back her arrival?” Lando asked, sitting in his own apartment, his phone to his ear as Zak sighed, 

“Our contract doesn’t dictate that, and we’d need to increase he salary, which we can’t afford,” Zak said. Lando groaned internally, he wanted you there for as long as possible. Currently, you were hired by McLaren, meaning they paid you, not Lando. Then it hit him. “I’ll hire her,” Lando said, “with my own money,”. 

“What, like, she stays round yours and works there too?” Zak asked, the idea almost absurd to him. Zak could tell his lead driver was catching some kind of obsession with you, but this was honestly desperation. “I don’t decide for her, Lando,” Zak said, the Brit groaning on his end of the line. “I’ll talk to her,” he muttered, hanging up. He was gonna have a hard day tomorrow. 

You arrived at the MTC at 9am, as per your contract timings, going to pick up Lando’s coffee on the way, as you walked up the stairs. This time, you were adorned in a pretty, flowing blue summer dress, your hair tied back out of your face in a high ponytail. You knocked on the door, unlike last time, Lando expected you, and opened the door. 

Lando had his own room in the MTC where he’d stay unless he had meetings, the room with a few outfits and clothes, along with team wear and other things. Thought he was technically only supposed to stay there for team events, he usually found himself arriving from his apartment straight here during the week of the British Grand Prix. 

The sight in front of you was somewhat surprising, usually, Lando would be wearing a hoodie and joggers or whatever random, comfy outfit he’d have, whereas today was different. Lando was standing in front of you, his curls neat, albeit the single lock that hung in his forehead, adding to the boyish charm. 

He was wearing a tight fitting black r-shirt, his biceps bulging through slightly, along with loose black trousers, white trainers on his feet, adding colour to the outfit. His neck and collarbone was adorned with chains and a necklace with a cross pendant, his large fingers accented with silver and black bands, wrists littered with bracelets and looking fresh. 

“You look shocked,” he mused, taking the cup from you as he sat he down on the sofa, gesturing to your usual arm chair. You cocked your head at the sight, a cup of bubble tea on the table. What was going on? Why was he acting different? “So I noted what you drank yesterday, is that such a big deal?” Lando said, his usual cold demeanour returning as he looked you up and down. 

Pretty outfit. “Wanted to talk to you,” he said, clasping his hands together as he leaned forwards, putting the cup down onto the table silently.  “Sure,” you said, trying to blind back the surprise etched across your features. “How’s the salary doing?” he asked, a question which surprised you. Since when did he care?

“It’s okay,” you shrugged, “I get on okay,”. He nodded slowly at the words. Lando probably couldn’t relate, what with never having experienced a loss or lack of money. “Would it help if the wage was increased?” he continued, as if choosing his words carefully. Increased? Was he offering you a raise? “It would be helpful, yeah,” you mumbled, scratching your neck. 

“I can’t give you a raise, though,” he said. Part of you was a little upset he couldn’t, but then again, he didn’t owe you anything. “But,” he said. But? But what? It could happen? “McLaren can’t afford to give you a raise,” he said, “but I can,”. This was confusing now, what was he trying to tell you? “But that means I have to hire you,”. 

“Like, you pay me? And I work for you still?” you asked. “Yeah, but you come home with me too,” Lando said, “and you stay in my guest room,”. Your eyes widened at the prospect, staying either Lando and in his house? The thought of it was somewhat daunting, in some aspects, as well as exciting. Maybe. You’d finally pay off your mortgage or something. 

“Do I get holidays?” you asked, ready to negotiate a contract. Your eagerness to negotiate made a smirk flicker to his face a grin on his features. “You do,” he said, a hint of reluctance in his voice, “but I pay you triple to do housework too “. Triple?! What kind of idiot would you be to say no?

One week later.

You inhaled sharply as you stood outside Lando’s door, wearing a small, cherry red minidress, looking pretty as ever, before you raised your hand, knocking gently on the wooden frame. It took a few seconds for Lando to rush down the stairs as he opened the door, his eyes landing on you. You were coming inside his home. Wow. 

He was wearing a green hoodie and grey joggers, looking comfy as he nodded his head curtly to you. Lando said nothing, taking the suitcases from behind you and putting them at the foot of the stairs. “I’ve got a list of things for you to do,” he said leading you inside. 

You didn’t even know why you’d expected for him to be any different, nicer even, that would ridiculous. “Here,” he waved a piece of paper in front of you vaguely, pushing it into your palm as you took the paper from him. “My stuff..?” you asked, gesturing to the suitcases at the foot of the stairs. 

“Pack it away in your own time,” he reminded you now that your work hours were no longer the same, and you finished at eight. “Listen,” Lando said, stopping you as you were about to start the first task, which read - ‘Clean the living room’. You paused as he gripped your arm, pulling you back to where you were originally standing. 

“I’m taking off five quid from your monthly salary,”. Five pounds wasn’t a lot, compared to what he was paying you, but it still confused you. “Well, I’m the one buying the food,” he said, “you’re only cooking and eating it,”. He had a fair point, actually. “Alright,” you nodded, Lando’s face still stern and emotionless. 

This was gonna be a long day. Or week. Or month. 

Who knew how long you’d work for him? 

[sequinsandfins]

Me: I should definitely get my @motorsport-halloween fic finalised and ready for posting.

Also Me: How about you just write some of that AU that's been sitting in your WIPs since APRIL where Daniel is a famous actor and Max is still a driver. 506 words.

Daniel Ricciardo is following you.

Max reads the last point in the daily update from his team and his brow furrows as he tries to place the name. It sounds familiar, but he can’t recall where he has heard it before. 

Max is a Formula One World Champion, but Daniel is a famous actor. Part of the second wave of the ‘Australian Invasion’ of Hollywood. Daniel never starred in Home and Away or Neighbours, but he had made it in the city of angels anyway.

Daniel’s tumble down the F1 rabbit hole starts in May when he’s filming a movie. Their shooting schedule lines up perfectly with Qualifying sessions and the Race every week, and there are enough people in the hair and makeup trailer who follow it that it’s always on while Daniel sits getting ready.

He becomes obsessed. 

Daniel remembers F1 being in Adelaide when he’s little, remembers a boy in his class who was obsessed. He recalls that his dad might have wanted to go one year, but Daniel had cared more for the stage. 

Now though, he has the luxury, once filming finishes, to continue to follow the season.

He wonders how easy it would be to get paddock access to any one of the races around the world. “Not hard at all,” is the answer he gets from Blake.

Daniel’s infatuation with Max Verstappen happens early into his F1 discovery. 

So what if he’s got a competence kink?

Daniel has 43.6 million Instagram followers. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous about adding the World Champion. He probably has hundreds of new followers a day. It’s Daniel’s own small following list that he knows might cause interest. 

He considers creating a finsta just to follow Max but decides against it and starts following him anyway.

Daniel starts posting stories about following the races, getting into F1 and shouting out when Max wins. Lando Norris, who apparently has been following him for years starts liking them and sharing them. Daniel starts following him as well.

Max doesn’t know why Lando is messaging him, freaking out about how Daniel Ricciardo is following them both.

It’s not until Summer Break that Max finally sits down to investigate what has his friend so starstruck. He opens Daniel’s Instagram and his first thought is Fuck. 

Why had no one told him this very attractive man was following him. He clicks on a shirtless photo of Daniel from three years ago and his mouth goes dry, jeans getting a little tight. He’s careful not to accidentally like the obvious thirst trap from years ago. It is an embarrassingly long way down his profile.

Scrolling back up to the top, Max only hesitates for a moment before hitting Follow back. 

His heart rate increases slightly when he gets a message notification almost immediately:

Daniel Ricciardo Hey mate! I’m a huge fan! thanks for the follow! I’m actually going to be at COTA this year, maybe I’ll see you there?

Max quickly clicks on the message and goes to reply.

[suugarbabe]

Lover

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word count: ~1.5k

Warning: mutual pining, fluff

AN: this idea came from @annaisabookworm so thank you love for the idea 🤭

You were sat at your house table, leg bouncing uncontrollably as your headmaster discussed the N.E.W.T level classes your year was due to start next week. It was the first dinner and you were already a nervous wreck. A sudden hand on your knee stopped your shaking, “You’re gonna churn the pudding with how hard your leg is jumping, y/n/n.” You turned to face the hands owner, “Sorry, Matty. S’just, these new classes this year have me a bit shook.” Mattheo smiled at you, “You’re like, the smartest Slytherin there ever was. You put too much pressure on yourself.”

You scoffed a little at his compliment, “Come of it, am not.” You ignored his latter comment, choosing to suddenly be very interested in the bowl of potatoes in front of you, scooping half onto your plate. Theo and Enzo stopped eating in front of you, eyes growing a bit large. You glared at them, “Something to say?” They looked at each other, then back to you, shaking their heads. The headmaster announced curfew for the night, encouraging all the students to indulge in the food in front of them, which most everyone did. You pushed the potatoes around your plate, barely eating. “If yer just playing wiff ‘em can I ‘ake a few,” Enzo held his fork over your plate, cheeks stuffed to the brim with chicken and beans. You rolled your eyes, pushing your plate towards him.

Blaise leaned in from your other side, “Ya sure your good, y/n/n?” You nodded, standing up, “I think I’m just gonna go back to the common room and chill out for a bit. See you guys there?” Your friends all mumbled forms of goodbye. You looked to Mattheo, who just gave you sympathetic eyes. You returned the look before turning back towards the doors and making your way to the common room.

“Ya gonna go ‘fter ‘er mate?” Enzo looked up from his plate towards Mattheo. “You know it’s vile when you talk with food in your mouth,” Mattheo didn’t even look in his direction, still staring at the doors of the great hall you had just walked through. “You know he’s right, cousin,” Draco piped up for the first time of the evening, “watching you pine after her for years is right boring at this point.” Mattheo turned his head then, “I do not pine after y/n. She’s my best friend, all of our friend mind you. I’m just worried about her. Sure, she gets anxious but it seems a little different today. I just care.”

Blaise groaned, rolling his eyes, “Come now, bruv.” Mattheo finished his meal in silence, refusing to respond to any more of his friends' teasing. He walked back to the common room in a daze, mind filled with thoughts of you. You’d been part of the group since everyone’s first ride into Hogwarts. Mattheo had known Theo, Enzo and Blaise nearly his entire life, their parents either being death eaters for his father or a loyal follower and Draco, well, he was Mattheo’s cousin so he was forced to know him his entire life. The five boys nearly missed the first train because they were goofing off on the platform, causing them to not find an empty compartment for themselves. Theo had suggested the one you were sitting in, saying you were cute. He immediately tried to hit on you like he’d seen older boys do with girls, but you had whipped out your wand and bound him. It was highly impressive for a first year, and Mattheo was obsessed. Theo apologized, you ignored him, and then you allowed the rest of the group to join you nonetheless.

Mattheo wasn’t exactly sure when the lines blurred from best friend to full on heart wrenching in love with you. It was always sort of there in his mind, that you were special…different. If he had to put a timeline on when he actually recognized a change in his feelings it would be about three summers ago, when you had asked everyone to come to your parents house for two weeks during the holiday. Mattheo had only ever interacted with you at school, in the castle. You weren’t old enough to go to Hogsmead until the following year so he never really got to see you in a non-school environment. And it was…nice, different. Something that he could see himself enjoying often. The next school year after that nearly all the boys noticed a difference in how Mattheo responded to and acted towards you. You, however, appeared to remain clueless. Mattheo almost preferred it that way, until he could really know how you felt towards him, if it were the same as himself.

When the boys entered the common room, it appeared completely empty. That was, except for a cloud of smoke rising from one of the back couches, followed quickly by a row of rough coughs coming from deep in your throat. Mattheo was by your side quicker than Draco on a snitch, ripping the cigarette from between your fingers, “What the bloody hell are you doing with one of these?” You remained laying on the couch, catching your breath, “Okay, one: that was rude of you to just snatch that from me like that. Two: nearly all of you guys do it. You always tell me it helps you relax, so…I stole some from Teddy’s nightstand.”

“Heeyy…that’s my emergency stash,” Theo was pouting, now sitting under the end of your legs. You sighed, rubbing your temples, “This is an emergency, Teddy…I’m buggin. Stressed out of m’fucking mind.” Mattheo threw the cig in the fireplace going behind him, Theo’s opened his mouth to complain again but the look on Mattheo’s face made him sink back into the sofa silently. Mattheo turned to you, holding his hand out palm up, “C’mon, grumpy, come with me.” You looked up at him, grabbing his hand, “Where we goin’?” His dimpled popped with his smile, “You know where.” You sat up now, swinging your legs down and placing your feet on the ground, “Carry me?”

He turned around, squatting down in front of you. He hooked his elbows over your thighs and around your knees while you wrapped your arms around his chest, resting your face in the crook of his neck. You giggled as he hiked you up higher and got a better grip on your thighs. Behind you Draco made a gagging face before Blaise playfully shoved his shoulder. The boys’ voices slowly drowned out as Mattheo carried you through the portrait hole, down the corridors and through the courtyard, all the way to the edge of what you both had designated as your spot: the black lake.

When he finally let you down from his back, you took your wand out, transfiguring a patch of grass into a quilt for you both to sit comfortably. Mattheo sits down first, beckoning you to follow suit. You settle between his legs, your elbows resting on his bent knees while he leaned back on his hands. You looked over the lake, it was your favorite to do at night, especially when stressed or anxious. You loved seeing the stars reflected on the water, dancing with the shifts and ripples from the creatures.

You felt Mattheo’s arms wrap around your middle, his chest now pressed against your back as he rested his chin on your shoulders, “Feeling less grumpy?” His tone was slightly teasing, but you knew he was curious about your real answer. That’s how Mattheo was, hiding his true feelings behind teasing and sarcasm. It was frustrating sometimes, made him hard to read, but right now you were thankful for it.

“A little less grumpy, yes,” you smiled into your answer, eyes still on the lake in front of you. “How’d you know this would help, hmm?” Mattheo held you a bit tighter, “Cause I know you, y/n/n. You’re my best friend.”

Friend. The word made you want to vomit. But instead of reacting you just settled further into him. “Why were you trying to smoke earlier?” You sighed, “I told you, I was just trying to relax.” You felt Mattheo shake his head, “You really shouldn’t smoke. It’s terrible for you, ruins your lungs.” You scoff, “Rich comin’ from you don’t ya think?” You felt his laugh against your back, “Yeah, but you’re better than me. Always have been. Don’t start stooping to my level now.”

You shook your head, “Don’t talk bad about yourself, Matty. I’ll make you sit out here and listen to me go on and on about all the good things about you and get all sappy just like you hate.” He laughed against you again, you both falling into a comfortable silence. Mattheo wanted to hear everything you had to say, what good things you could come up with. In his mind the list was short. You were leaning into him now. He shut his mind off, focusing just on the water in front of him.

You two sat there for a while, until you started to shiver and Mattheo convinced you to go back inside. He carried you back like before, except this time you rested your head on his back, trying your best not to fall asleep wishing you meant more to him than just a friend.