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macfrog · 2 months ago

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homesick

a cowboy like me one shot

oh, i missed these two. here's a little check-in on my favorite morally irresponsible outlaws.

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: you spend the weekend back home in austin with joel.

warnings: age gap (early 20s/late 40s), twinge of angst, piv sex in the shower (beware of slippage). you know the drill with these two. part of the cowboy like me universe, but can probably be enjoyed as a standalone.

word count: 6.3k

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“This is Joel Miller. I can’t come to the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to ya.”

You wait for the beep, pacing along a wall of steel cylinders. The laundromat is stifling, the machines’ drumming deafening. It’s eighty-something degrees out, and it’s only six o’clock.

“Pick up, Miller. Hello? Hello? I know you’re there. Can’t come to the –” you clear your throat, strum the twang in your vocal cords, “– Can’t come to the ph-owww-ne right n–”

The line clicks as he picks the handset up.

“Did you call just to make fun of me, kid?”

You halt, spinning on your heel. “So you were screening me?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t notice the time. I’ve been out back with Tommy.”

“Oh,” you mellow, tongue curling around your ice cream, “We don’t have to call right now, you know. I’m just doing laundry.”

“It is six there, right?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me keep you. Go hang with your brother.”

Joel sighs as he sinks back into his couch. “Keep me. He knows you were calling tonight. He’s probably outside fraternizing with the neighbor, anyway. Won’t even notice I’m gone. Laundry, huh?”

“Mhm.” You suckle on the lip of the waffle cone. “It’s a beautiful night, and I’m stuck being force-fed Mötley Crüe and watching a steel drum shred my panties.”

“Sounds like a good time to me.”

“Enough, cowboy.”

“I like Mötley Crüe,” he chuckles. “They got some hits under their belt.”

“Name five.”

“Five,” he says. “You’re asking a lot there, darlin’.”

“Of Mötley Crüe or of your memory, old man?”

Joel hums. “Should’ve seen that one coming, baby.”

You boost yourself up onto one of the dryers, swinging your legs. If there were anyone else in the laundromat, you’d care to hide your fluster – but you’re here on your own, and the man just melts you. All girlish and giggly, you feel his words swirl around your stomach like sweet honey.

“Tell me about your day,” you say, covering the flutter in your voice with another mouthful of ice cream.

“Well,” Joel says, “weather’s fine, work’s fine. Almost done with that renovation for your favorite clients.”

You gasp. “The old couple with the cats?”

He grumbles. “That’s them. They still hate me, by the way.”

“The couple, or the cats?”

“…Jury’s out.”

You snicker.

“Then, uh, I called Sarah, had some dinner, and now here I am talkin’ to you.”

“Hm. I’m your favorite part, right? I’m your favorite part of today?”

Joel pauses, breathing for a moment. Slow, quiet, but sure, he says: “You’re my favorite part of every day.”

The smile on your face cracks, crumbles into something more pained. Your heart sinks.

It’s been three months since you were last home. Technically, it’s been seven weeks since you were in Austin – but Joel was out of town for the weekend, and you spent four days cleaning your dad’s gutter and watching westerns.

It’s been three months since you were last in Joel’s arms. In his house, in his clothes, in his bed. Three months since you heard his voice not through the crackle of a thousand miles apart; since you smelled him on your skin, not on the flannels you’ve stolen from him.

Three long, tough months.

And it means nothing, anyway. All this missing each other. So you tell yourselves, and so you tell everyone else. You’re not together, you’re not committed. You’ve been seeing other people, so has Joel – even if he’s only been on two dates in the nine months since you moved away.

Spending a casual weekend together here and there is enough to get you by. It’s easier this way, right? It’s cleaner. There are no crossed wires, no strings at risk of becoming tangled.

Only – your entire relationship is woven in tangled strings. Messy, knotted, twisted around your fingers and threaded through your ribs. A summer’s worth of weaving yourselves closer and closer together, only to be pulled apart come fall.

It didn’t take long to prove that when a knot is pulled, it only binds tighter.

It only binds sorer.

“Anyway,” Joel says, “your turn. How was your day?”

You gulp, slipping down from the dryer to check on your wash. If you speak, you’ll break, and if you break, you’ll sob.

“Baby? You still there?”

“Yep,” you croak. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and shake your head. “I – uh…Yeah, my day was fine.”

The line quietens.

“You sure? Everything okay at work?”

Your reflection blinks back at you in the window of the machine, warped and molten. She opens her mouth and replies, “All good.”

He can read you even three states apart. “Let me call you back. Hold on.”

The call disconnects before you can protest. Over your shoulder, another regular shuffles into the laundromat.

She smiles, skin supple and sun-spotted, looking but not looking you in the eye. She slides her full basket over one of the machines on the other side of the room, and tosses her clothes into the drum.

When your phone vibrates again, you pass by her and out onto the street.

Joel’s pixelated living room stretches across your screen.

“Joel,” you sniff, “Joel, it’s –”

“Can you see me?”

“No, you gotta flip your –”

“…never know why the damn thing don’t –”

“The button with the arrows. The camera button, Joel, it’s –”

His coffee table flips, and in place – straight, dark brows drawn tight in a frown. Crows feet, scar across the bridge of his nose. Peppered hair a little longer than the last time you called, beard a little thicker.

The only person in the world who can weaken your knees and splinter your chest, in one fleeting glance.

“Hi, baby girl,” he whispers, expression softening. “Look at you.”

You slump against the warm wall, sliding down. One sight of him, and your knees give. “Oh, my God, I miss you today.”

Joel laughs. His head cocks, smirk tugging at his lips. “I miss you every day.”

“Yeah, that’s – that’s what I…” you sigh, “…That’s what I meant. It’s just – some days, you feel a little further away.”

“Today one of those days?”

You nod. A car soars by, whipping hot air from the road which pours over your bare legs. “It’s just…been a day. That’s all.”

“We can talk about it, if you want. You’re hell of a lot smarter than me, darlin’, but I’ve had my share of bad days before. Never does any harm to get it off your chest.”

He smiles. It breaks your heart.

He works ten hours straight, some days. Out at the crack of dawn, home with only enough time and energy to nuke something in the microwave. Somewhere amongst that, he fits in beers with Tommy and ridiculous DIY jobs your dad elicits his help for.

And still – he sets aside an hour or two every few nights, specially for you. He collapses into his couch, decaf in his mug, and puts the world to rights with you on the other end of the phone.

The meaningless work dramas, the paper building up on your desk. The commute, for the love of God – the traffic jams you swear will one day be the death of you. The last thing Joel needs is to listen to your problems on end, and you tell him so.

“Bullshit,” he replies. He shakes his head, takes a sip of his beer. “I asked, didn’t I? Talk to me. Tell me what’s goin’ on.”

You groan. “I just…I wish I could turn my brain off. Just for a little while. No meetings, no call times. No helping my dad trim the trees in the yard when I’m home for the weekend.”

He laughs. “He rope you into that one too, huh?”

“Sure did.” You tense your fist, wince at the memory of splinters you were still plucking from your palm even weeks later.

“I got nothing to complain about,” you tell Joel, “I know that. This job is…it’s right where I want to be. Just – sometimes, I miss being back in Austin, following you around Costco and hiding from my dad. It’s like life was simpler then.”

Joel chokes. “I guarantee you,” he coughs, thumping his chest clear of beer, “life was not simpler. Not by a long shot. Goddamn.”

He swings to his feet and wanders across the room to his kitchen. Past his armchair, past the guitar mounted on the wall. Past the dining chair he always hangs his coat from. You know the anatomy of his home better than your own, it feels like.

You sure as hell miss it more than your own.

“Lemme see…” Joel squints over his phone. He leans over his kitchen counter. “What’s next weekend look like for you?”

You shrug. “My weekend off.”

“Nothing planned?”

“Nothing yet.”

He nods. “I’m meeting a supplier on Saturday afternoon, but if you can stand to be without me for a few hours, then…”

His eyebrows lift.

So do yours. “Then…?”

“I can look at flights,” Joel says, “get you booked tonight. Pick you up Friday, drop you off Sunday. Spend the whole weekend with your brain shut off, if that’s what you’re lookin’ for.”

A wave of warmth floods through your chest. Relief, maybe – or simple adoration for the man on the other end of the phone. Most likely, the way it always seems with Joel, it’s both at once.

He loves you. Enough to break every rule in the book. To go behind his best friend’s back for an entire summer. He loves you enough to let you go, watch you follow your wildest dreams, and then be the safety net at the end of each long day, each hard night.

He loves you enough to scratch everything off his calendar for a few days, just to make sure you’re okay. Just to hold you in his arms, heart beating a rhythm he knows better than his own. Just to sing you to sleep, and wake you up with burnt toast and runny eggs.

You pull the collar of your shirt over your nose and weep into the material. “I ever tell you how much I love you?”

He smiles. “Not half as much as I love you.”

“Gross.”

“I know.”

The laundromat door flings open.

Face now flushed and hair scraped back, the woman clocks you immediately and throws a pointed finger in your direction. “Are you coming to get your panties or what, little girl?”

She clicks her teeth and disappears again. The blind hanging over the door rattles with the force it slams closed.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you whisper, heaving to your feet. “Better go get my panties.”

“Why?” Joel’s making his way back outside. “Ain’t like you’re gonna need ‘em.”

You scoff. “Talk later, cowboy.”

Austin welcomes you back with a delayed flight, a screaming seatmate, and a raging headache.

The airport is busy. Loud busy. All chittering couples, hordes of kids with nauseatingly bright backpacks. You drag your suitcase through to arrivals, careful not to trip over the wheels of the stroller ahead.

When you spot his tall, dark figure weaving between bodies, the gate hushes. You move towards him by instinct, parting the crowd as you go. The magnet in your chest senses its partner drawing nearer, and nearer, and nearer.

And nearer, until he’s reaching out. He’s close enough that his hands land on your waist, and it’s the first time in three months that you’ve felt this weight – his weight, the way only he feels – all around you.

Joel pulls you in to his chest. He locks you in, resting his chin on your head.

“Hi, honey.”

You inhale his scent, breathe in the comfort of him. “Hi,” you exhale.

Tears prickle at your eyes. It feels stupid. He looks down at you, thumb swiping across your cheek, and a salty droplet spills.

“How was the flight?” he asks.

“Good.”

“You okay?”

“Perfect, now.”

“You look perfect,” Joel grins, “Look like the sun.”

And you could swat him away, could shrug him and his flirting off. The sun sure as hell doesn’t look stewed in three-hour plane, too tired to move and too clingy to unhook from her dad’s best friend’s arm.

But that’s not what he’s saying, is it?

You do look different. You feel different. You feel brand new. Golden – just like the sun.

These days, it feels like there are two versions of you. One, you’ve spent the better part of a year polishing off – electric and vibrant, eyes wide and head spinning, moving through her day like gliding on air and then collapsing in a heap come nightfall. Chaos with a clipboard and call sheet.

And the other – slower. Steadier. Surer on her feet, simpler in her ways. Dust under her heels and a Texan shine in her smile. Honeylike; moving where her body tells her to go, drinking up the world as she pleases.

There’s a moment, stood under the fluorescent lights of the terminal, where you feel the first give way to the second. Safe now, in Joel’s arms, to slip back into her old, worn boots and shutter her mind – even just for this weekend.

“Come on,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around yours. “Let’s get you home.”

And there never seemed like a better idea than that.

He keeps your things in his shower caddy.

Bottom basket, strictly yours. Shampoo and conditioner and bodywash and a loofah, all exactly where you left them last time you were here. He says it as he cranks the handle, holds his palm under the flow until it’s just right.

“The strawberry stuff…?” Joel nods to the bottle, face screwed.

You gasp. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “Like it on you. I smelled like a fruit farm for a week, baby.”

“Makes a change from wood trimmings,” you mutter, peeling the shirt from your chest.

Joel glares over his shoulder. “You wanna say that a little louder?”

“No, sir,” you whisper, and step into the cubicle.

The water pours over your head and down your spine, breathing life back into your body. You close your eyes and let it wash down your face. LA feels so distant, so lost to the steam and serenity in Joel’s ensuite.

He lingers in the doorway, watching as you turn under the shower. He smiles when you hold your hand out and flick your fingers.

“Soap, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, dropping it in your palm.

You slip the velvety bar over your skin. The soap lathers in thick, milky bubbles, cascading over your chest down to your hips. Your hands lift from your navel to cup your breasts, pinching your nipples between soft fingers.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He crosses his arms, shoulders tensing. “Easy, darlin’. Dancing with the devil here.”

It burns low in your stomach.

You pass him the bar back. “Maybe I want to dance,” you murmur. “Maybe he does, too.”

His eyebrows lift. “Maybe he does,” he agrees. He trades the soap for shampoo, tapping the bottle against your hip.

The heat grows under your skin. Having him watch, his close eye on you as you wash the suds from your hair and slick bodywash over your skin.

His eyes drift from your chest to your waist, looping up to your soaked eyelashes and dripping bottom lip, diving again between your legs.

Hungry. Starved, even.

Three months of secret photos and sexy phone calls to get you both by. Three months of imagining you, fist around his cock in the dead of night, coating his stomach just with the thought of you.

And right here, right now, in his shower: the real thing. The forbidden fruit. Body hot and skin soaked, just as desperate as he is. Just as needy.

You step forward, reaching for his shoulders. Arms around his neck, dampening the collar of his shirt, you pull him closer.

“Dance with me,” you whisper against his lips, stealing a kiss.

Joel’s gaze darkens. He takes your jaw and tilts your head back. Voice like thunder rolling over you, he warns, “I told someone we’d be somewhere.”

You smile, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “We’re running late. Something’s come up.”

His arms lift and you pull the cotton over his head, tossing it to the floor. He’s the same solid sculpture as always. Strong and wide, torso scattered with hair which thickens across the span of his chest.

He rids himself of his boots and jeans, kicks his underwear off, and joins you under the water. So big that he corners you, so tall that he has to adjust the showerhead.

Pressed up against your body; warm, manly scent raining over you. He’s hard, tucked right by your hip, rutting gently as he steals kiss after kiss.

He’s addicted to it. To you. Has been ever since that first night, the first taste of poison. Has been, probably, since that first glimpse of you last summer. For all the wrong reasons and in all the wrong ways, for better or worse –

You break him open. You make him weak.

Joel groans when you wrap your hand around him. That familiar weight in your grasp. He glances down to watch your slow strokes, fighting back a filthy smile.

“Missed you,” he breathes, voice lost to the patter of the shower. He slips a hand between your legs. “Ain’t gonna last long, are you?”

“Fuck,” you hiss, grinding into his palm. You toy with his bottom lip, nipping at the edges of his smirk. “We got all weekend. Just – just fuck me.”

He hikes your leg over his hip and lines up. A blooming ache when he notches at your hole, tip teasing your entrance.

Your back curls. You wrap your arms around Joel’s neck, whimpering into his chest.

“’s alright,” he kisses your neck, “Just take it nice ‘n slow. Get her used to me again, baby.”

He pushes inside, two heavy hands on your waist. Always in control, always easing you in. He holds you delicately, moving inch by inch, watching the twist of your brow and bite of your lip before sinking in further.

He reaches up and tilts the downpour to the wall. Lifts your fragile body, split in two on his cock, and pushes you against the tile.

Your cunt aches as he slides out. She clamps around his tip. It hurts – but you don’t want to let him go.

“Stay,” you cry, nails digging into his shoulders. “Stay inside me.”

He hums and presses his lips to the hinge of your jaw. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here.”

His hips move forward. Your cunt opens for him the deeper he moves. Like welcoming him home, remembering the way it feels to be this full. The stretch of taking him, the air stolen from your lungs. The love you can never find the beginning nor the end of.

And then he’s moving quicker, sharper, one arm wrapped around your neck to cradle your head. Hips snapping against yours, slowing to a roll when you yelp.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear – how good you’re taking him, how tight she is. How much he’s missed this, missed her, missed you. Never wants to let you go, never wants to be anywhere except right here, feeding you his cock and watching you come undone.

“Made for me, huh?” Joel grunts. He presses his forehead to yours and slips the words across your tongue. “All mine.”

“All yours,” you echo, weeping under him. The flame catches and curls around your stomach.

The missing piece to the last nine months. The dead-end dates, the hazy hookups. Awkward good mornings, and goodbyes that never seem to come quick enough. Sneaking off home to shower the scent of it away, to replace it with something sweeter.

Him.

Because none of them are him.

They don’t make you laugh and they don’t make you come. They don’t see you, don’t hang on your every word. They don’t – they can’t break your world apart and paint it something new. They don’t know your every move, don’t understand the most fleeting glances.

You could spend forever circling every bar and every diner; what do you do for work and where did you grow up. You could chase the tail of every flannel shirt, search all over for that twinkle in his eye.

They’re not him. They’ll never be him.

Joel coaxes you where he needs you. He fucks you until you’re quivering in his arms, head rolling across his shoulder. His thrusts begin to stall, breathing turns to panting, teeth sink into any part of your skin he can find.

He moans into your neck. The sound nudges you towards the edge.

“I’m close, baby,” he grits, “’m so close.”

You look up at him through tear-soaked eyes.

Three months. Since the last time he touched you, kissed you, fucked you like this. Since the last time he lost control, came deeper inside than anyone before, or anyone since.

Three months since the last time you held him in your hands, lined your lips with his, and begged him to stay in you.

Joel laughs. “Dangerous little game, darlin’.”

But he’s fading. He’s falling under, same as you are.

You want it. You need it. Need to be full of him – that ache when you walk, the warmth leaking down the inseam of your thighs. The feeling of being his, all his; ruined and wrecked in the sweetest way.

“Stay – inside,” you plead. “I want you to – want it so bad.”

“Keep begging, honey. Sound so cute when you’re desperate.”

“Please, Joel,” it’s getting harder to hold, “Just wanna feel you in me –”

“I know, I know,” he shushes.

You tense in his arms, gasping. “I’m gonna – come –”

“So,” Joel smirks, “come.”

And it snaps.

You scream into his chest. Your climax pulls you under, drowns you in a heavy wave of pleasure. Your hips lock, legs clamp around his waist as you cry out.

He plants a hand flat against the tile to steady himself. He holds you still as his own orgasm rolls through, pumping your swollen cunt with each rush of warm release.

You collapse against his body, bubbling and mumbling something incoherent.

He hears you, though.

He shuts the water off and rocks you back and forth. His cock slips from between your legs. “Shh, shh,” lips to your temple, “’s my girl. Such a good girl, baby. So good for me.”

You hum in response and pull yourself upright. You trace the shape of his beard, soaking wet and soft under your touch, following the droplets of water to his chin.

He kisses the tips of your fingers. “I love you,” he says. Chants it like a prayer, leaning closer and closer until his lips are against yours. “Love you more ‘n anything.”

You giggle. “You’re tickling me.”

Joel nuzzles his nose into your neck. He wriggles his fingers under your ribcage. “Can’t get enough of you,” his tongue swipes across your hot skin, “Swear to God, baby, you’re killing me.”

“Joel,” your head falls back with a clap of laughter, “Joel, stop – oh, my God, you have to stop, please – Joel!”

He hoists you onto his hips and turns. Hands still exploring, still pinching and squeezing everywhere they shouldn’t be, he carries you out to his bedroom and drops you onto the mattress.

“Here,” he chuckles, wrapping a towel around your body. He knots it over your chest and rubs your waist, before flopping down onto the bed with a sigh.

You roll over on top of him and fix the dripping hair from his forehead. “Missed you,” you whisper, trailing kisses along his collarbone.

He smiles. His heart flutters beneath yours. “Missed you more,” he says.

His semen drips between your legs. He’s softening against the inside of your thigh. The bed is soaked, sheets that’ll need changed before you sleep tonight. You’re tired, spent, pussy throbbing from the loss of him – and it’s all so perfect.

Being here, with him. Seeing him, feeling him on your body. In your body, for crying out loud. Holding him, kissing him, loving him up close.

It’s fucking perfect.

“What are we running late for?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes flutter open. He cocks his head, frowning.

“You said we had somewhere to be,” you clarify.

“Oh,” he winces, “Uh, your dad’s. He’s havin’ us for dinner.”

“Oh,” you echo. “When is he expecting –?”

He glances at the clock. “Half hour ago.”

“Nice.” You push yourself up, slipping from his grasp. “Well, this is about to be awkward.”

Joel folds his arms behind his head. He tracks your flurried movements: lugging your bag across the floor, tearing through it for an outfit that doesn’t scream, Your best friend just fucked me senseless in his shower.

When you straighten and lift your arms, eyes wide, his lips turn.

“You said you wanted to dance, baby. I was just following orders.”

The sun filters through the leaves, breathing back and forth with the sway of the trees.

You’re horizontal in a deckchair, feet in Joel’s lap, blanket around your shoulders. Full on burgers and baseball talk; if it weren’t for your dad’s riveting conversation about his new lawnmower, you’d probably be asleep.

“Ride-on,” he tells Joel, nodding. It makes gardening a real thrill, apparently. He flicks a hand over the span of the yard. “Whole thing done in less than twenty minutes. Hank says he’s half a mind to make an investment himself.”

Joel purses his lips. He strokes your ankles soothingly. “Sounds like a good buy,” he placates.

Your dad drums on his armrests, admiring his yard some more. He mumbles something about raking the leaves, painting the fence, then – with a vigor that makes you jump, he taps your arm.

“How’s work, kiddo? Still rockin’ ‘n rollin’?”

Your eyes flash across Joel’s. The hell does that even mean?

The corner of his lip twitches. Your guess is as good as mine.

“Yep,” you lie. “Living the dream, Dad.”

Joel says nothing. He hasn’t told your dad why you came home – hasn’t even mentioned the tears outside the laundromat. Your secret is safe with him, you know that. Some puzzles are easier to figure out, the less eyes that are on them.

He hasn’t even brought it up with you yet. Granted, you’ve been home all of four hours, and a solid quarter of that time has been spent naked with him back at his place – but he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

This weekend doesn’t have to be about work. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be about you feeling homesick. It can be as simple as you hadn’t seen your dad for a few weeks, or you heard the news about the damn lawnmower and just had to pay a visit.

It’s what you’ve always loved so much about Joel. It’s what reeled you into him in the first place.

He just lets you be. No questions, no pressure, no worries. He knows you’ll figure it out – you always do. And if he knows that, then it makes you believe in it, too.

Dad sinks back into his chair with a sigh. “What’s on the cards this weekend, then?”

“Joel’s down San Antonio way tomorrow,” you yawn, “Some supplier meeting.”

“You don’t feel like a road trip?”

Your eyes roll to Joel. He’s already staring back. You cock an eyebrow, smirking into your glass.

His shoulder rolls in a shrug. “Your call, chief,” he says, tipping his drink to you.

The minute he mentioned the meeting last week, you knew you’d be tagging along. Two hours each way and an hour in between is too big a chunk of your weekend together to miss out on.

That – and you’ve missed Joel’s front-seat singing.

It doesn’t matter what you planned on doing – rolling around his bed for three days straight, driving to San Antonio and back. Hell, trimming your dad’s trees and cleaning his guttering.

As long as you’re doing it with Joel, it’s enough.

It’s what you came home for in the first place.

The drive passes quickly enough. Joel’s truck doesn’t have Bluetooth, and he only keeps three discs in his glove compartment: Don McLean’s American Pie, a Guitar Classics compilation album, and a blank disc with SARAH MILLER, SECOND GRADE scrawled in Sharpie.

He whips it from your hands when you fish it out of the compartment.

“Listen, listen to this,” Joel says, slotting it in the tray. “Found it a couple weeks ago. I listen to it when I’m drivin’ to work.”

Her squeaky, seven-year-old voice punches through the cabin. “Welcome to my presentation –” she roars into the mic, pausing when a voice picks up in the background. “Huh?” Sarah asks.

“You’re holdin’ the mic too close,” Joel murmurs, almost fourteen years younger. “Farther. Farther,” he says, and then – “Alright. Go.”

“Welcome to my presentation on Amelia E-Earhart,” she resumes, clearing her throat. “She…Oh, Daddy, we gotta restart. I forgot to tell ‘em my name.”

Joel covers his laughter with his fist, reciting it line for line. “Tommy said he’s gonna make her a copy for her birthday,” he says.

“Oh, my God. She’s gonna hate you guys, you know that, right?”

He nods. “I’m countin’ on it.”

Sarah rounds off a few facts about twentieth century air travel before Joel swaps her for the radio. He hands you the disc and you place it safely back in the glove compartment.

You curl up in the passenger seat, swinging your legs over to his lap.

He rubs your calves and glances over, smiling. “You okay over there?”

“I’m more tired than I was when I landed,” you reply, and he laughs.

You haven’t had much of a chance to catch up on sleep. The second you made it home last night, your dress was on the floor at the foot of Joel’s bed. He woke you this morning with his lips on your thighs, your underwear around your ankles.

He was midway through cooking breakfast when you floated into the kitchen to return the favor. The toast burned, the eggs shriveled to a crisp, and your knees bruised.

Fuck it, right? You’ll miss him when you’re gone. When all that’s left are the memories, and the sound of his climax through speakerphone.

An afternoon spent on the road is good recovery time, then, for all that’s waiting for you when you make it back to Joel’s tonight.

A few off-key covers of fifty number ones from the last fifty years later, you’re pulling into a barren lot headered by a beige trailer. The supplier springs out – a beefy guy with a full head of thick, white hair. He crosses the lot as Joel parks up.

Joel rounds the truck, pausing when he spots you lingering at the tailgate. He curves a hand around your neck, thumb circling over your pulse point. “You comin’?”

You twist the hem of your tee around your finger. “Maybe I’ll stay out here and wait. It’s a nice night, and you ain’t gonna be too long, right?”

He shakes his head. “Be as fast as I can. If it gets dark out, you come inside, alright?”

You shuffle into his embrace. “Promise.”

He kisses your head and steps back. “Here,” he slips the flannel from his shoulders, “If you’re sittin’ out. Got my phone if you need me.”

He disappears inside and the door falls closed. A cluster of moths twirls around the light on the trailer’s side. You hop up on the bed of the truck, crossing Joel’s shirt around your frame, and nestle against the back window.

The sun pulls down towards the horizon, sending dregs of daytime in ripples to the stars. She’s still alight just beyond the trees, still burning a hole in the sky. She winks at you from a distance.

The world looks different from Austin. Bigger, like the view from your bedroom window. There’s always more, just beyond the horizon. There has to be more, right? More than four pink walls and a chest of drawers. More than Sal’s store, more than Rita’s cross stitch.

You chased that more halfway across the country – only to realize it was in your hands the whole time.

Him and his lazy smile, sarcasm as thick as the accent he speaks it in. Rolled up sleeves and messy collar; a half-empty cup of coffee and a cracked watch face.

He’s all the more you could ever need.

You’re still perched on the tailgate, staring skyward, when Joel finishes up.

He swaggers across the lot, tan arms speckled with dry dirt, boots kicking up dust. He tosses a fistful of papers in the front seat, then drifts around to settle between your knees.

“Hi,” he whispers, tucking his nose under your jaw.

“Hi.”

He plants his hands either side of your hips and kisses your neck. “Home time, sweet girl.”

You glance over your shoulder.

This time tomorrow, you’ll be on your flight back. Row twelve, seat C. Joel’s flannel over your shoulders, slowly forgetting the scent of him, mile by mile. You’ll sleep with it tucked under your chin until it no longer smells like oak or pine, or the mint bodywash he uses.

You’ll miss it the way you’ll miss him. Holding onto every last moment. Deep morning voice, warm, safe embrace. The rumble of a laugh in his chest, the glimmer or mischief in his eye. The touches he saves just for you; the words he whispers when the lights turn out.

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“Can we go watch the sunset somewhere?”

Joel glances off behind you. His eyes flit back to yours, sunlight catching their ochre and setting him ablaze.

“Get in,” he pulls you down, “I know just the spot.”

It’s almost dusk by the time you reach the outlook.

A twisty dirt road which opens up between some trees, halfway out of the city. Joel reverses the truck and parks in the clearing. The two of you slide onto the tailgate, sharing a bag of fruit gums he had stored alongside Sarah’s CD.

The stars turn one by one, dotted across deep indigo. The last of the day’s blush still lingers where the city meets the sky. Tucked between trees and twilight, it feels as though you’re the only two in the world.

Joel holds the bag out, and you pinch a couple pieces of candy. “How you feelin’?” he asks, looking out to the skyline.

“Okay, I guess,” you mutter. “This has been a nice reset. I wish I could take you back with me.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t.”

“No?” you suckle on the sweet fruit, “I think you’d fit right in.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He shakes his head, pinching your chin. “Naw, LA is yours. It’s something you did, all by yourself. I am so proud of you, honey, do you know that? I mean, I miss you like hell, I really do…”

He glances back down, rustling the bag in his hands. He’s hiding, you know him well enough. Staring at his lap instead of in your eye. When he looks back up, there’s a glimmer along his waterline.

“…But the way I feel any time you call, and I know…I know you’re out there doin’ something you actually give a shit about. You ain’t stuck here, too big for your own bedroom, too comfortable for anywhere else.”

He slips a hand over your knee and squeezes.

It’s infuriating, how right he always is. You’re working your fucking ass off, and for good reason. Austin was always too small for the world inside your head. Missing each other is a price you’re both willing to pay, for the luxury of not missing out on every dream you’ve ever had.

But –

“What if it keeps getting harder?” you sniff, “What if I need you more?”

Joel clicks his teeth. “’s always gonna get harder. That’s life, darlin’. But the hard times won’t last forever. And when it feels real tough, and you feel like you can’t do it no more, you call me. You jump on the next flight. You switch your brain off, and you let me take care of you for a little while.”

You shake your head. Tears break loose, rolling down your cheeks. “I can’t ask that of you, Joel, you got your own shit to worry about –”

“Baby.” He sighs. “I’m old. I’ve done everything I think I oughta do. You know, the days I know you’re gonna be callin’ at eight o’clock – it’s all I can think about. I’m at work checking my watch every five minutes.”

You giggle, turning into the crook of his arm.

“It’s true,” Joel snickers, “I’m like a goddamn teenager. That’s what you do to me.”

He catches you and pulls you against his chest.

“What I’m saying is – there ain’t nothing that matters more to me in the world than you. My own shit to worry about? You mean – you?”

“Shut up,” you scoff, spitting tears into his shirt.

“You call,” he says, resolute, “and I’ll be there.”

“I’m calling,” you whisper. “I’m always calling.”

“Then I’m always here.”

You sit back, bracing yourself on Joel’s thighs. He wipes the wet from your cheeks and fixes his shirt over your shoulders.

“You know, one day,” you tell him, “you’re gonna get a call, and it’s not just gonna be for the weekend.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“One day, I’m gonna come home forever, Joel.”

“I know,” he repeats. “And I’ll be on the front porch waitin’.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #fic: cowboy like me

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dabisbratz · 1 year ago

Text

𝒮𝒲𝐸𝐸𝒯 𝒯𝒪𝒪𝒯𝐻 — shouta aizawa x male reader

w.c: 12.4k

warning: dbf!shouta, age gap, (sho in his early 40s, reader is 23), bottom!reader, daddy kink, breeding kink, dirty talk, feminization, mentions of gettin ‘knocked up’ regardless of anatomy, sneaking around, creampie, unprotected sex ( wear condoms ! ), praise/degradation, brat!reader, jealousy, mutual teasing, reader has an oral fixation, improper use of lollipops, mentions of exhibitionism, blowjobs, cumming untouched/hands free orgasm, ‘ taboo ’

sonny says..: not proof read, msorry !! did lotsa jumpin around while writin this. . . n five months later !! she’s all done !! ໒꒰ྀི⸝⸝T ˘ T⸝⸝꒱ྀི১ ♡ m’a lil rusty, forgive me !!

You’re back home for the summer.

Well— not entirely. You’re back at your family’s summer house for the season. Gifted from your grandparents, it teeters at the beginning of a beach, crystal sands and clear, blue waters that stretch out into the horizon. You’ve been looking forward to it since you’d graduated, even if it did come with a set of overbearing parents and a sinful amount of sunscreen.

The air is hot and thick, sticking uncomfortably to your skin through the windshield as you watch an everlasting stretch of greenery and trees pass you by. The road has stretched on for miles, every upcoming exit and street sign blending into one as each hour passes by. You’ve got the company of staticky radio stations and news outlets, spewing something nonsensical about sports, politics, car insurance. . . But it’s the trip you enjoy more than the destination. Traffic and all, you prefer it over the muggy air and parental scolding. Though, the beach is nice. . .

“You’re sure you’re taking the right route?” It’s your mother speaking, her voice crackling through the speakers of your car. You’re sure she’d smack you upside the head for the aggressive roll of your eyes in her. . . general direction, but she’s not exactly within eye-contact distance. Not for another five minutes, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this for years,” You have— it’s true. Though you’re only twenty-two, you’d driven this distance since you’d left for college. There’s a sound akin to the sucking of teeth through the radio, and you have half the mind to turn around and restart your road-trip all over again.

“Why’s there so much attitude in your voice?” Her cheerful, smiley voice suddenly sounds much more shrill, to your chagrin. You thrum your fingers along the leather of the steering wheel, biting back a long, drawn out groan.

“There isn’t any,” Gravel crackles under the weight of your rubber-tire car, snapping and popping into the air as it makes a smooth halt into the driveway. Shifting gears to park, the radio switches off with the twist of your keys. And, perhaps with more force than necessary, you’re slamming the door to your car and face to face with your mother. Her phone is still in hand, eyebrows pinched at the thought of her very own son hanging up on her. “. . . attitude, Ma.”

She hugs you with a squeal, ushering you up the stairs to your childhood ‘home.’ It’s almost exactly like you’d left it— save for a few recent porch decorations and repainted walls. You hope the years have been kind to it, with the irregular weather and constant pipe problems. Floorboards creak under your weight, welcoming you home after a few long years of studies. There’s an everlasting stream of bubbly speech behind you, your mom speaking, but there’s already so much to take in.

The air is fresh and salty, hints of beachy winds flowing upstream through the doorway. It smells like home, and looks like it too, as you situate your small duffel bag by the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Your room. You hadn’t packed much— there was still a dresser overflowing with old clothes in your bedroom, after all. And now that you think about it, you should probably change into something more fitting for the weather.

“I know you just got here,” The sound of ice swirling against glass catches your attention, and you turn to face your mother. “But could you bring these out to your father?” She’s holding a tray of decorative glasses— or at least, you’d always thought they were— full of oblong ice and freshly squeezed lemonade. The glasses are stocky enough to adorn lollipops— one each, which are probably sickeningly sour. Topped with tiny, colorful umbrellas and intricate swirling straws. It’s almost like she’s trying to impress someone, with the way she’s put so much effort into the drink’s presentation.

Your lips curl to form a playful ‘no’, a boyish smile pulling at your cheeks when she huffs— as if she already knows what you’re about to do. So you shake your head instead, stealing the tray with one hand, “Let me change first.”

In hindsight, wearing clothes about. . four years too small wasn’t a great idea. The shorts that once fit you perfectly— before your growth spurt— are now much too short, like they’ve been tossed around in the laundry one too many times. You feel almost naked, moving the pink hem down with the shake of your legs.

Your mother insists they look just fine, a dramatic downturn to her lips as she rambles on and on about how fast her boy has grown up. Still, as you walk through the sliding glass doors parallel to the open patio, the sunlight bathing your legs does nothing but make you feel stuck under a rapidly growing spotlight.

It all clicks as you walk outside— the detailed drinks, the smell of barbecue and fresh coal. There is someone she’s trying to impress, someone other than your father. Maybe both of them. On a good day.

Wiping the bead of sweat from your brow, your eyes squint at the man in front of you. Around your dad’s age— maybe slightly younger, he stands at a whopping six foot something. There’s age in his face, and worry between his brows as if he’d spent most of his youth grimacing. His hair is long and black like charcoal, save for a few streaks of gray and a salt and pepper ensemble of stubble littering his chin and jaw. Two scars— forming a cross of sorts, one beneath his right eye, horizontal and thin. But the other is much longer, starting below his brow and ending at his cheekbone. It draws your eyes to a milky gray iris— heavily contrasting against the natural black-brown of his left one. It’s pretty, cloudy and almost pearlescent.

His silhouette— tall and thick, with broad shoulders that travel on and on as he crosses thick biceps over his thick chest. He’s standing in the way of the sun, and yet, it peeks through his long hair in small, short leaks. And, surprisingly, his waist is small in his black tank top. If you feel hot he must be scorching, draped in black— down to the beaded bracelet adorning his wrist. His hands— they’re big, maybe enough to cover the entirety of your face, curled into loose fists at his biceps.

And— right, you’re here to help, not gawk. But you can’t help it, shifting your weight from one leg to another as his intimidating gaze slowly sweeps you over. He’s like sex on legs, and if you can squint enough to get the sun out your eyes, you swear you can see the imprint of his cock through his black shorts.

“Uh,” You blink dumbly after introducing yourself, and suddenly the tray you’re holding is weightless. “Ma made these. I’m supposed to help. . . or something. . .”

“Or something.” The man echoes, but it’s quiet and you barely catch it. His voice is deep, way deeper than your own, rumbling in your ears and smooth like butter. Almost husky, with a dark edge to it as flames roar in his face. But it makes your father laugh, hearty and jubilant as he bounces over to where you stand. He gives you a small pat on the back as a greeting, ushering out a small, “son.”

The heat emitting off the grill is enough to make a grown man cry, but neither of you wince when you walk by it. Cold glasses of lemonade are handed out, fingers imprinted on cold condensation painting the surfaces of each glass as they’re passed around— one for you, one for your dad, another for him. You watch rivulets of water drip from his fingertips, down his wrist, past the collection of veins adorning his forearm.

“Mr. Aizawa,” There’s a beat of silence, but it’s quickly filled once you’ve been introduced. “World’s cruelest teacher.”

“Shouta Aizawa.” Is all he says, a correction of sorts, voice grumbly as his fingertips brush against your knuckles. Your eyes flicker down to where he’d touched you, his skin warm and inviting despite the roughness of his palms. You see now, that he’s accompanying your father, occasionally taking over when he walks back into the house every. . . five minutes or so.

“An old friend of mine, we go way back.” Your parents have an odd habit of rambling, it seems, because you and the handsome stranger make exasperated eye contact as your dad begins to reminisce on old memories. “You met him a few times— remember? He’ll be staying with us, so be respectful, you hear me?” His gaze seems to dip for a moment, down your lips and straight to the extra exposed skin of your thighs, then settle back to the ocean before you can comment.

But those five minutes must start now, because after a firm squeeze to your shoulder your father heads inside, leaving you alone with his. . . friend. He’s awfully quiet, busying himself as the patio door slides shut— occasionally sighing as he wipes away the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand. It’s obvious you’re staring, maybe a bit too hard, but he’s the best scene around, really. Even with the beach right behind him.

And maybe it’s wrong to think this way— but he’s hot. Old enough to be your dad and then some, sure, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive. He almost makes you nervous, the slow blink of his eyes as he pays you no mind.

“So you’re staying with us, huh?” You eye the juicy meat he’s been flipping for the last five minutes, golden brown and sizzling in the heat. It’s rather thick, soon to be lazily flattened by the tongs he's holding and— you can’t help but wonder. . . Is he good with his hands?

“Don’t make a habit of asking strange old men questions like that.” It’s not entirely clear if he’s serious or not, but he’s certainly assertive. Like a firm, guiding hand placed at the nape of your neck. Your eyebrows pinch in confusion, but before you can ask what he means, it clicks. You’d said it out loud, let it float into the air like an everyday, casual question. But Aizawa doesn’t seem exactly bothered, more passive (if anything), as he takes a swig of the fruity, sour concoction.

“You’re not strange.” Is what you conclude, slamming the tray down hard enough to rattle its contents, and the man notes your lack of regard. Even with a slight spill you don’t bother to clean, you’re already turning to walk off the patio and dig your toes into the hot sand before it can be mentioned— but not without plucking a lemon coated lollipop free from its icy enclosure of glass. There’s an arrangement of seashells hidden beneath the coarse mounds of the glimmering seaside. Different sizes and colors, different textures and shapes. Where some would scrape the soles of your feet, others would glide across them. But as a kid you’d liked the search for tiny crabs much more than the search for shells. Though you’re much older now, you’re not afraid to say you miss it.

“But I’m old?” Aizawa says, not too far behind you from where he stands. There’s a light glint of dry humor in his voice that sends butterflies down your throat and straight into your stomach.

“Yeah. Old enough.” Your small laughter is sweet, dancing in the air in a way that has Shouta nearly pressing his palm flat into the skillet— just to check if his heart is still beating. What do you mean by that, anyway?

There’s a divot where the tightness of your shorts dip into your skin, pressing against the plush skin of your ass whenever you bend over. Even as you’re upright, Shouta can’t stand to look for too long— you’re a real, proper, honest and genuine distraction. Yet here he is, watching you move around on your hands and knees, ass taut and round— shorts tight enough to show off the cute bulge of your balls from behind. And now that he’s really looking, it’s obvious you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He shakes his head, grunting to himself as he peels processed cheese free from its plastic packaging. You just met, that’s not right, you’re simply just minding your own.

“Ugh!” You share a groan, and for completely different reasons. Aizawa can’t help but watch you scramble in the sand, presumably after whatever sea-creature that had the pleasure to pinch you right on the finger. But you seem happy once it’s retrieved, stuck in the seclusion of its tiny shell as you hold it in your palm. From what he can see, you’re not much of a brat at all. Maybe your parents are just too hard on you. He’s always known them to be dramatics.

Still, he has half the mind to drag you over by your ankle, or maybe to press your handsome face into the sand while he fucks you from behind. Ever since you’d brought out that damned lemonade— tugging on the hem of the fabric as if you’d suddenly grown conscious of just how short they were— he’d been hard. And now he has to listen to you grunt and groan over the smallest of injuries. . . His best friend’s son, his presumed pride and joy.

He’s fucked.

From where he stands, slightly elevated, he can see the bulge of the sweet protruding from your cheeks, stuck afore your teeth. Cute, as it swishes from side to side, stuck in your mouth as your occupied fingers caress the diaphanous shell in the palm of your hand. Your lips move, puckered, around the sucker, curled and glossy with molten sugar— it’s hard to make out exactly what words your mouth forms, yet Shouta doesn’t think he’d be able to listen anyway.

Turns out the creature was a hermit crab.

Shouta learns this at dinner, the day’s hard work shared on plastic platters and glass

bottles in the middle of the beach. There’s a roaring flame between the four of you, it casts golden embers along your skin every so often, crackling into the air. Cicadas chirp with the night’s welcome, loud and joyful in retaliation to the silent, serene fireflies and settling ocean.

You’re all sipping on beers, some more than others, but it’s enough to loosen everyone up. Even Shouta, whose eyes look lidded with sleep the more he drinks. He’s not incoherent, he never is. If anything he’s observant. For one, you have an awful habit of holding onto this evening’s lollipop, it seems, as you have it situated between your fingers like a cigarette. Sometimes your grip around it tightens, like when your mother wraps her hand around his bicep, squeezing the flesh in small, sporadic rounds. And though neither of you want to say it, let alone think it— you’re jealous. That’s the second thing.

Even with Shouta’s knee brushing against your own, you can’t help it. He’s so warm, muscly legs pressed against your own in a manner that’s almost electrifying. You want it all to yourself, to suffocate in his heat and capable hands.

You zone out of the conversation, blinking at the fire with reserved eyes until a thick screwer pokes at the flesh of your shoulder, leaving behind a tiny dimple. Jet black hair invades your vision for a moment, smelling of faint seasalt and warm cologne, until you turn, “What?”

“You want chocolate on your marshmallow, right?” Your mother asks for him, squeezing a transparent bag of thick, soft marshmallows. It’s tossed to you in a flash, to which you catch, but not before stealing a glance at the man beside you. His jaw sets, poking out from the mass of stubble. Like she’d stolen a precious moment away.

“Right,” You mumble, stabbing the skewer through the excessive amount of sugar. The stick hovers above the fire, the sweet melting to a crisp, flaky brown. Sticky and gooey, it slowly begins to lose its form. Through all the conversation you can’t help but glance at the older man to your left, taking in the glow of yellow and orange caressing his tan skin. His silhouette is bold and broad, legs spread wide as he sits on a thick log. What was once brown turns a deep, dark charcoal. “Oh, shit! Fuck. I meant shoot, sorry.”

You’re not supposed to swear in front of your parents— Aizawa’s paternal intuition picks that up. But shoving the marshmallow into your mouth, even as it has yet to cool down, he doesn’t quite get. Either way, your expression. . . it’s sickeningly cute. It’s cute to watch you fumble. With lips pursed into a tight line, cheeks bitten and eyebrows pinched with apology despite how obviously uncomfortable you are with the piping, burnt sugar spreading along your tongue.

His heart could almost burst.

“You’re fine, kid.” Shouta’s voice is a gentle whisper, airy like the waves brushing against the shore. With his eyes caught on the sticky white lingering on your cheek, he's desperately aware you’re not a kid. The way you move and speak, the way you carry yourself. The way you suck on lollipops like they’re something else. He’s never been one for dirty jokes or subtle innuendos but. . . yeah, this is doing something to him. His fingers twitch with want, the desire to wipe it away and rub his thumb along your lips. He should really get it together.

And maybe the fact that he’s more worried about your parents being in the way than the fact that they’re your parents proves that.

But they’re pretty preoccupied, lost in conversation neither of you are exactly interested in. Whirling his own marshmallow, chocolate melts down its fluffy outside. It’s steaming, hot and fluffy after twirling around the fire. Looking at it now, it looks comically small in his large hands, much bigger than your own. His lips part, cool air leaving the ‘o’ shaped mold of his mouth as he blows on it with a low, “Here.”

There they go again, mouth open as your pink tongue covers your row of bottom teeth, Shouta doesn’t let go of the skewer despite the light squeezes you press along his knuckles. Instead he holds on tighter, lifting and reaching until the desert melts in your mouth and sticks to your lips. Messy on purpose, your heart plummets into your tummy when dark eyes watch marshmallow fluff pull away from between your teeth. Hungry, starving.

“I can do it myself.” You mumble, wondering if the heat prickling your skin is from the brush of his fingers against your own or the wilting fire.

“Can you?” His expression is tired and flat, but his voice tilts with blooming amusement. It’s odd, the way you’re so quick to shut him down. You almost respond more openly when you hear sneaky comments or listen to gossip— ‘that boy just doesn’t know what to stop,’ ‘why’s he such a smartass?’ — spoken about you directly by you.

“Yeah,” There’s a shine in your eye that isn’t just a product of the glowing fire. Mischievous, almost. “I don’t break that easily.”

Shouta could definitely take your dad in a fight. It’s the first thing that pops into mind as the two of you stand in the dark, dimly lit kitchen. Your parents had gone off to bed almost an hour ago, and with the clock approaching half past midnight, it leaves you two alone. So, yes, he’s considering who would win in a brawl because he can’t stop staring at his best friend’s son and his pretty, kissable lips.

They’re sheen with spit, your pink tongue licking them over as you scrub away yesterday’s dirt from the kitchen counter. It’s a noncommittal motion, your arms wiping suds and heavy contents of water along the granite surface. Yet you seem absolutely dead-set on getting that one stain. The stain that has your ass brushing against his side, bare skin rippling the harder, lazier, you scrub. Not that there’s even a stain to clean.

Yep. He’s fucked.

You suppose he should be focusing on the dishes— not that there’s much of those either— but his attention strays.

It carries him through the motion of leaning over, his body practically draping your own as you bend at the waist. Black hair again, wisps of it, lightly pressed against your back as he leans down, lips by the shell of your ear and an arm trapping you in. His cock is pressed right against the swell of your ass, and he may have to consider slipping it between his waistband.

“I think you got it.”

“Oh, really?” Your hips are moving again, side to side as you scrub shapes into nothing. “Double check for me?”

A low groan sounds behind you, big hands at your thighs that squeeze enough to have the plush skin bruised and tender in the morning. His hand travels, snaking up your thighs to meet the silky skin of your ass. Spread nicely with the way you’re bent over, warmth radiating off each globe as his thick pointer finger loops around the thin layer of pink cotton pressing against your balls.

It’d be so easy, perfect access to slip his thick cock into the warm, tight walls of your hole and pound you against the counter. You could sit on his dick for the whole day, drooling and dumb the more the head kisses your prostate again and again and again. Your Daddy could fuck you on your dad’s favorite sofa, make it squeal and whine under the weight of him filling your fucked-out and used cunt over and over.

Dark pupils blow wide as he pulls the fabric away, watching your hole flutter around nothing. He coos, sweet and deep. Just give him a minute, he’ll give you everything you need. Everything and more, until you’re a braindead fucktoy with glassy eyes and sticky, dripping holes. Until—

You’ve slipped past his arm, twisting as your growling stomach makes itself known. You inhale a quivering breath through your nose, eyes wide and expecting and waiting. His best friend’s son, wriggling and writhing under his palms, handsome face twisting as pearly teeth bite at your stout bottom lip.

He’s almost frustrated with himself, voice flat and distant when you puff out your cheeks. Forget a distraction— you’re a real, honest brat. “You’re still hungry.”

“I’m a growing man, Sho.” It’s almost consequential how your voice cracks, breathy and teetering the edge of a whine as he releases his grip on your body. Light from the fridge illuminates your silhouette in a yellow, halo-adjacent glow, and once again Shouta is staring a little too hard at his best friend’s son as he bends forward at the waist.

Aizawa weighs the juxtaposition between the middle of that sentence for a moment before his breath catches in your throat. Sho. You’d called him by a nickname, ten times sweeter than the candied fruit (grapes, are they?) you’re now sinking your teeth into. You’ve grown alright, and the proof stands hard, throbbing, and pressing against your shorts once you’ve returned to face him. It’s obvious your ploy with the fruit was just something to keep your mind off cumming in your cute, soft shorts— but he’d honestly have preferred to see that.

“I can see that.”

Rough palms press into your jaw— firm, but not aggressive, until fingers close and clasp at your cheeks. A dissolving layer of baby fat at your cheeks spills between his stern fingers, and you blink as the older man turns your face from left to right, then reverse. Seems he’s got a nasty habit of looking you over, breaking you down— bare bones. You still have enough room to chew, teeth grinding on the crystallized sugar with a hard and resounding crunch.

There’s always something in your mouth.

Dark eyes flicker to the lump appearing and disappearing in your throat as you swallow, sweet sugar dotting your lips, “You’re hard.”

“Yeah,” It earns a dark chuckle, though there’s not much light humor in it, “So are you.” His lips curl as he releases his grip, slow and lingering.

“Usually,” your gaze drops to his lips. “When two men,” Then up to his deep, dark eyes as you press against him, chest to chest. His cock twitches against the heat of your body, you can imagine it now— thick and pretty, curved upward with a sticky head and throbbing, heavy veins. “Make eachother. . . hard, they—”

A door slams upstairs, the air going still as your breath catches in your throat. As if that single disturbance has stolen all the oxygen in the world, your body goes rigid and stiff, and the sound of tired steps make their way descending down wooden stairs. The candied grapes are swapped for thick fingers, with light peppers of hair at the knuckles, and you can’t help but suck the seasalt right off.

“Behave.” He takes a single step back, dripping with indubitable authority that makes you feel light and airy. Ready to bend at his will with lazy eyelids and hazy eyes. It’s not a question, not a suggestion— it’s a demand.

“You’re still up,” Your father, shameless as he walks by the two of you with barely any coverings, makes a sleepy gesture in your general direction as he opens the fridge. “Both of you, huh?” He sounds faintly out of breath, and his skin sheen. The mental implications make you cringe, taking a step toward the characteristically nonchalant man who’d just stepped away from you.

Shouta’s eyes narrow.

“Don’t tell me I’m being replaced!” He’s always been a loud man, your father, but it seems tonight his one-too-many beers have finally caught up to him. It’s just a joke, the both of you know it, but you can’t help the prickle of heat poking at your throat. You’re pulled in by the back of your head, your father’s hand pressed against your hair as he holds you in a firm side-hug, “Rather Mr. Aizawa be your old man?”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Your smile is wide and tantalizing, heavy and dripping with something that has yet to be named. “Are you a good Daddy, Mr. Aizawa?”

Then, his eye twitches, “When I want to be.”

Your laugh is instantaneous and loud, an awkward thing that stretches into deep silence. There’s a lot of things you’d like Mr. Aizawa to be— rough, gentle, sweet, and mean. But your dad? It’s laughable, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. And sure, maybe the title you'd like to use on him sounds similar, but they’re most definitely not the same. If only he knew.

“I’m sure you’re the best,” He watches you smile, opposite ends of your mouth pulling at your cheeks in a motion that doesn’t quite meet your eyes— but it’s convincing enough. “Better than your other friends, right Dad?”

Shouta is avoiding you.

You know it, you can tell! He’s always gone nowadays— a couple weeks into your vacation and you can only count a mere handful of the times you remember seeing him. You’ve barely talked, barely stole a few glances here and there— he may as well have disappeared. He’s out somewhere, somewhere that involves your father, and the ocean, and his generously sized deck-boat. You don’t want to say it, but you know you’re the reason why. You’ve gone a bit overboard, perhaps, with the flirting. Ever since that night— even before then, it’d become a natural habit of yours to call the man Daddy.

And, now, he’s grown even closer to your parents because of it. Whenever you come down for breakfast they’ve already finished, leaving your plate in the microwave— as if you’d want cold, limp eggs and soggy, get charred bacon. You want to scream, really. There’s your mother, who leaves lingering touches and bats her eyelashes like some sort of schoolgirl. You feel almost evil for the rage that sears your blood— even more so when your first thought is she’s pushing fifty.

Then there’s your father. Who is and always will be, not if you can help it, closer to Shouta than you ever will be. They drink together a lot, the guest more in moderation, but it still hurts to see them laugh about old times— over, and over, and over again. Even when you’re the topic of conversation, despite your presence being completely ignored, it hurts. You’re right here.

So you mope, lounging around in your swim trunks. Your skin sticks to every surface, humid and thick as your mother complains to you about getting some sun, stepping out the house, then something about how you need to fix the look on your face. She says the warm rays on your skin will do you some good, the salty water of the sea against your body will toughen up your bones and loosen your muscles. But there’s really only one thing on your mind.

It trickles into about an hour and a half when Mr. Aizawa finally comes back. Your father too, you suppose, with flushed cheeks that only sake can replicate. It’s once you’ve been pulled outside and forced to stand in wet, thick sand that washes away from your feet with every sweep of the shore— that they return. Once the sun has begun to set, yet still bright enough to have your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, they return.

“There’s my boy!” No one’s boy, actually. Your father shouts with an intoxicated wave, and the grimace on Shouta’s face is hidden behind his whipping hair as he slows the boat to a stop.

Or at least, you think so. It’s hard to see with the sun in your eyes, yellow and orange flakes of the gold star percolating your vision.

It dances along the surface of the ocean, pretty and shimmering the closer you step, the further you go, until you’re submerged in water from your knees—down. There’s a shout, something akin to a ‘catch!’, and you have barely any time to react to the ball that’s flying to you with an oddly precise amount of speed and velocity. You gasp, whipping your head back to catch the ball between two sea-soaked hands.

“What the hell?!” Your hands sting, pretty eyes blinking back at the two silhouettes in your vicinity. Mainly at Aizawa, who hasn’t even acknowledged you, let alone looked away from the resplendent horizon. And what’s so good about that? Of all things to look at— you’re right here! You don’t leave with the setting sun, nor do you only ever arrive with the rising one. You’re a constant, and you know you don’t hurt to look at.

So you throw the ball back, all your force behind it with a smug look on your face until it smacks Shouta in the leg— right in the center of his calf with a horrifying thump of a sound.

“Fuck,” You shout in horror, despite it all. Despite the desire to maul him the last few weeks, rushing forward into the water with the cutest tremor to your brows. “Fuck, okay, shit, my bad!”

And it seems you can’t move fast enough to wade through the rippling waves, where schools of tiny, nipping fish and textured shells had twirled and danced about through the currents of pellucid water. But Shouta seems just fine, almost as if he’d forgotten how to react to the feeling of getting punted with a ball at full force. He picks it up, waves it in his large palm, and throws it back. You can hear it tear through the air, just as it smacks you in the shoulder with so much force you don’t register it at first.

Numbness spreads along your arm, eyes blinking up at the older man who laughs. It’s quiet yet hearty, and not at all a pretty sound. It’s more contagious if anything, a wheeze of sorts, but your lips still curl into a petty frown regardless. You can make out a huff of “Your face!” broken up with laughter, biting back on his tongue.

“I’m not laughing.” You grumble, rubbing at your shoulder with faux diligence.

There’s an eerie smile on his face, enough to send shivers down your spine as water drapes your face and drips down your body— boat engine revving with ferocity as the men float off into the boarding dock— Aizawa’s presence arrives just as fast as it leaves.

You’re left to your devices, gawking as you process the last few minutes— his smile, your brattiness and stupidity, the way you’d only just noticed his prosthetic leg— at the mention you can feel miscellaneous fish brush against your own, scales shining through the transparent waters. You can’t help but smile too, wiping it away with the back of your water-draped forearm. Fuck.

It’s only been a month and you’re smitten. He’d left you in favor of your father again, and all you can do is giggle about it.

There’s not much you know about the man— now that you think about it. There’s been a brief drunken mention of him having kids of his own, a little girl, you think. Maybe a son? Despite his affliction for quiet, Aizawa looks as though there’s more he wants to say. To share, to tell. Your father must know it all, seeing as they grew up together, and part of you can’t help but feel a bit jealous.

Hmph.

“What’re you sulking for?” His voice has broken you out of a daydream, turning your body to look him in the eyes. The man of the hour— Shouta. You almost hate how quick you are to melt under his gaze, squaring your shoulders with the stability of poorly glued popsicle sticks.“That ball bounce off your head, too?”

“I’m not sulking.” You watch him walk around the perimeter of the shore, slow and calculating, with his hands balled up in the fabric of his black t-shirt. He pulls it overhead, tummy contracting and biceps rippling— it still manages to catch you by surprise, how much muscle he’s hiding under his baggy clothes. Your brain sets off a symphony of ooh’s and ahh’s, unable to tear your gaze from the light rise and fall of his chest.

Your eyes trail back up, past the bend of his collarbones, up the display of stubble on his throat— he’s staring right at you.

“Uh — I wasn’t. . anyway. . What’re you looking at?”

His lips twitch, briefly pressed together before relaxing as he steps into the cold water. He’s slow, hair rippling just as smooth as the ocean, the further he moves forward. And, despite that, he slowly curls a finger to and fro, as if he’s talking to a small kitten. “C’mere.”

You’re frowning when you trudge forward, hesitance in your step. “Mr. Aizawa,” you grumble, still something of a cute little sound, using the prefix your father introduced him with. Something about it makes Shouta’s frame stiffen— the title, or maybe the pettiness behind it. It’s not like you call him that when you’re in a particularly good mood. “You didn’t seem to want me around earlier.”

“Quiet,” He tuts, clicking his tongue as if he knows the game you’re playing. But despite the curt, clean-cut execution of his tone, his thumb finds your cheek with the same gentleness as a spring breeze. “Your parents were always around earlier.”

Oh.

You play off your surprise well enough, swatting his hand away with a deep grunt. Sure, it feels good. His hands on your skin— such rough palms that cover your body — but you’re not desperate. Not entirely, not even when he fixes the twist of your face with a quick look to your furrowed brows. You settle for a sigh, grumbling, “They don’t have shit to do with me.”

“You’re, what, twenty-five—“

“Twenty three.” You interject, almost proud you can correct him. Rivulets of water trail down your arms, and his gaze seems to follow its motion.

“Twenty three,” He echoes with something of a breathless sigh tilting his voice. For a moment you think it’s the interruption— he’ll work on it later. Maybe he’s been struck by just how much younger you really are. “They have everything to do with you. You’re still their kid, I doubt they’d be enthusiastic about leaving you alone with an older man. A stranger, at that.”

“But they did,” You look around, as if to prove your point. Shouta’s never been one for dramatics, let alone those fueled by snappy attitudes and rolling eyes, but it looks cute on you. Maybe even cuter if it were accompanied by tears. “They left us alone. . . Half naked. . . At a beach. . . Alone..”

“I get it. We’re alone,” Shouta’s voice has always been so deep, rumbly and tired and smooth in your ears but even more so when he’s irritated. “Drop the attitude.” It’s different in a way. Leaves no room for argument, though you still feel the overwhelming need to stomp your foot and keep on pressing. You can’t help the shudder, nor the goosebumps crawling up your thighs. It’s just so fun to push his buttons, to watch his passive face twist for a split second as he processes your words.

It’s not exactly hard when he allows it. Shouta lets you push until your heart’s content, only reprimanding you with a glance or cleared throat— and it’s almost eerie. You can’t help but feel

like you should be anticipating something, even as you stand flush against his thick body in lukewarm ocean water and he looks at you with contentment.

Then it occurs to you. . . He’s letting it build up.

“And you’re not a stranger, Mr. Aizawa.” Obviously you’re softening the blows, so he watches you step forward, arms crossed over his thick, plush chest. You’re just so cute, brushing past his overwhelming seriousness with a smile— albeit sly. He can’t stay mad forever. It’s not fair, how cute you are, with lips stretched out and teeth on display, with the apples of your cheeks rising, and the cutest little twinkle in your eye. He wants to kiss you. . . He wants to kiss you so bad it’s starting to hurt.

Especially when you lean forward, sunlight bouncing off the ocean surface and across your body— painting you in pretty, golden slivers of glow. Across your face, your chest, your stomach, your thighs. It’s been a while since he’s felt his skin against your own. Since he’s run his large, calloused hands along your body.

“What happened to ‘Daddy’?” He asks, absentmindedly.

“What?” You break his trance, looking down at yourself with a hint of something Shouta can’t quite place. Uncertainty, perhaps? Vulnerability, maybe. It’s odd, you usually prance around so confidently. You wear the tiniest— tightest— clothes known to man, have the smartest mouth, egg him on day in and day out.

That’s not it. You look smug. You’re playing him for a damn fool.

“Nothing.” Aizawa sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. It’s wrong— it’s cliché, maybe even taboo. He wants to wipe that look off your face. He wants to kiss his best friend’s son stupid. The man he’d just shared parenting advice to, the man he’d spent years upon years of highschool, college, divorces, with. It’d been so innocent when he’d visit— maybe he should’ve never stopped. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back to see you in full bloom, so handsome and lithe and sweet.

“ ‘Nothing,’ ” You echo, snarky as you mimic the flat, detached tone of Shouta’s voice. If you weren’t sulking before you definitely are now, readying yourself to push past him like some spoiled brat who was just denied their favorite candy after being caught trying to steal it nonetheless. So He holds onto your bicep, squeezing the flesh as it flexes with your feeble attempt at struggling.

“Are you done yet? Or do you need a minute to calm down?” He shifts his weight, voice calm and level as he holds you still despite the straining. Not a single hair on him is out of place, his tranquility almost alarming.

“Let go, old man!” He has to ignore the rush of adrenaline the back and forth gives him— the way he has an incessant urge to squeeze your jaw just a bit tighter.

“Hey,” You watch his lips curl to coo, a tone somewhat akin to a parent shushing a fussy child. Your face is turned to face him directly, “How many times do I have to talk to you?” Then impossibly close as his warm breath pans over the expanse of your face, “What’d I say about the attitude?”

“I don’t care what you say about it.” Your face is squished against his palm as you go to squirm your way out of his hold, but with the way his head angles down toward your face— you can barely get the words to sound convincing. There’s a giggle in your voice, like you think his frustration is amusing.“You like it, don’t you? Forget strange, you’re dirty!”

He’s the only thing keeping you upright, eyes narrowed and lidded, “Stop fuckin’ playing with me, little boy.”

“Dad never lets me drive the boat,” Though the man can sense your whining from miles away, it still manages to catch him off guard. Shouta quirks a brow in questioning, hand hovering a polite foot away from your calf as you stand to walk along the wading boat floor. “Destroyed his last one when I was a kid,” (He doesn’t have to know you were actually nineteen when you did.) You speak in a tone that makes him think just maybe you consider it more your father’s fault than your own. “This one’s nicer anyway.”

“That’s wasteful.” Aizawa bites the inside of his cheek, brows furrowed into a familiar line. Had one of his kids done that it’d be a completely different story. Surely one they wouldn’t be proud of telling either. Through the corner of his eye he watches you dig into the cooler, scrabbling past the beer bottles and iced hennessy, to pull out an ice cream.

“To you,” You spare him a glance before finally plopping down in the passenger’s seat with much more force than necessary— especially when sitting on a boat. “I did him a favor.”

The cooler did a poor job— your ice cream is already melted and soft once it’s unwrapped. Thick, velvety cream that you lap up with your tongue dribbles down your knuckles. He should find it gross, but your pretty eyes flickering upward to meet his own as you take one long, slow lick up each bend of your fingers has done the complete opposite. Fuck. It’s hot— your sticky fingers and messy lips, your pinched brows and tiny, pleased whines.

If only it were his cock.

Shouta’s thick. Much thicker than your ice cream, he’s sure you’d feel a good stretch to your lips if you wrapped them around the head of his cock. You’d probably whine about how hard you have to try, how heavy it is on your tongue— how much it’s stuffing you full when it hasn’t even slid down your throat yet. You’d cry too, maybe, with drool slicking your chin and coating his dick in a pretty, shiny layer of thick saliva.

“Want some?” You lean uncomfortably forward, though your legs are over the arms of your seat and draped across Shouta’s lap. Already close, Shouta can smell the oreo on your tongue and vanilla cream by the corner of your lips. “You’re staring pretty hard.”

“Sit up,” The deflection is an answer in itself, yet the dark-haired man can’t find a reason to look away. “Before you hurt yourself.”

Instead, you take his wrist, thick and decorated with a long vein, to fiddle with his fingers. They’re long— healthy, strong, clipped haphazardly— big. He watches you split his fingers apart, lacing your free hand with his own— and though he remains with all five fingers up, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the urge to close them around your much smaller ones. Shouta clears his throat while you hum, lapping at your ice cream before pressing your lips against his knuckles, “Want you to hurt me instead.”

“Hush,” There’s a sharp intake of breath, dark lashes fluttering as multicolored eyes glance past your shoulder. It’s evident he wants to say more— in the way he shifts his weight to lean outward. “You hardly know me.”

Your foot nudges his upper thigh, pressing into the firm skin as the boat moves further toward the horizon. It feels more secluded that way.. Private, even. As if there’s only the two of you left on the dreamy island. Your face looks a bit exasperated, like you’ve never had to work so hard in your life, and he has to admit it— it’s cute.

“I know you grew up with my dad,” He ignores the venom behind your tongue as you mention your father, letting out a low hum of confirmation. “I know you have two kids— adopted, right?”

“Hitoshi and Eri.” He interjects, voice soft and fond. You’d never noticed it before, but now you’re acutely aware of the gentle presence of breeze and rippling waters. Shouta’s relaxed face is much sweeter, still creased with age but not quite as deep. The cute, pinched dips between his brows are gone, but you know how to bring it back.

“Lucky. Wish you were my Daddy instead,” Aizawa isn’t sure which word he’s more hung up on, nor how it's so easy for you to completely twist his words— but as much as it rushes to his cock, gets him twitching in his pants and throbbing all the way down his heavy shaft— he doesn’t like it. You talk entirely too much. With lips much too sweet and sheen with cream. With a tongue that flicks and presses against your teeth when you smile. With a pretty voice he could listen to, all day. Something that’d sound better through choking and gagging—ragged and crackly and used. Your lashes flutter, soft and gentle against your cheek. “How old is Hitoshi? My age? If he takes after you, then. . .You’re just—“

“Listen to me,” Perhaps it’s not very characteristic of him, but he just can’t stop. Shouta moves without thinking, pressing his fingers into your cheeks until your lips are puckered. “For as long as I’m here,” he offers a squeeze. “For as long as your father is here,” then another, “Turn. It. Off.”

Your face melts into something floaty and distant, the smirk melting right off your face into something much more preferable. His thumb is so close, so close to your pretty lips. You blink once— twice, even— before regressing back into a grin, lips pressing against his long fingers. Fucking brat.

“I’ll just have to hit up Hitoshi sometime, then.”

The persistent comment nearly knocks him over, straight off the boat and plummeting into the cerulean depths of the sea. Instead, Shouta finds it better to step on the gas. . . To ignore the prickling heat in his blood, to ignore the easy taptaptap-ing of your fingers against the screen of your phone. It’s so easy for you to say anything around him— like a deliberate disregard for his reaction. His fingers thrum against the tiller, then wrap around its leather exterior to squeeze, and he doesn’t miss (not even for a second) the glance you give him through the corner of your eye.

The silence is almost painful. The motor speaks for you, loud and rushed and heavy. Aizawa’s jaw sets, clenched at each chiseled edge. His eyebrows furrow deep, angry, and his lips remain tightly shut. You can’t help but stare, watching his hair whip in the wind, dreamy and mellifluous. Not a moment of eye contact is shared, and you feel yourself slinking back into the white leather of your chair for the first time this evening.

Come the wooden dock just adjacent to the shoreline, Shouta’s throwing away wrappers (they’re all yours) and unbuckling his seatbelt. Your arms cross, a pout heavy in your lips as your eyes flutter closed. . Almost as if you being unable to see him makes him unable to see you.

“C’mon, baby.” You both miss the nickname, and despite the tension, it feels so natural dripping from his tongue.

Still, you whine. Mind occupied by your nearly offset tantrum prior to getting back at the dock. “I’m staying outside.”

“You’ll get heatstroke.” Shouta sighs, stepping back to lift you into his arms not even a moment later. You consider it ironic, for a moment, he always wears black despite the scorching heat. Bent at the waist as he leans over the open inside of the boat to unbuckle your seatbelt, his face remains stoic as your arms flail and fly to push him away. Your pretty face morphs into a nasty scowl, grumbles and mumbles toppling from your lips— you’re embarrassed.

He sets you down on the creaking wood, hands placed steady at your waist and shoulder to keep you upright— in your feeble attempt at escapism, your last result was simply going limp.

You just won’t budge, standing planted at the end of the dock despite the tugs to your biceps, forearm— hands, wrists. Your last attempt at pushing him away ends up in stumbles, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stomp down the polished dock, eyes hardening with the contact of deep, dark pools in Aizawa’s irises.

You were holding hands.

It’s been days. You haven’t left your room in days. At first, Shouta doesn’t worry. He doesn’t think twice about it, doesn’t question why you don’t come downstairs. When he asks your parents about it it’s always the same thing— ‘That’s just how he is when he doesn’t get his way,’ or ‘He’ll come around.’ The more he asks, the mode suspicion, More questions, mostly wondering why he’s so enamored by their son— even if he had been closer to you when you were younger. But that was long ago, and you hardly remember.

And that isn’t even it.

He starts to worry, to feel bad, on day six. Not a single sound that even points to your presence. No creaking floorboards, no music playing from your old, antique and overpriced record player, no sounds of muffled laughter. It makes him feel out of his skin, like a bystander watching the inhabitants of this very beach house go about their day like nothing is wrong. But this wrong, so very wrong—

He wants you. His boy, his brat, his best friend’s son. It’s wrong and it’s taboo, but so help him, he yearns.

His feet had carried himself upstairs before his mind could, following after you a good half-hour later. You heard him on his way in, the shuffle of his slipper-clad feet from the outside of your door. Still, you’d made no effort to move, no effort to free yourself from the cocoon of your childhood blankets, no effort to open the door despite his gentle knocking.

“You ready to talk yet?” He was willing to brush it all aside. The pushing, the persistent flirting, the slight disregard for his feelings, the mentions of his son. Really, he was jealous. Maybe it’s unsavory for him to admit, maybe he shouldn’t think of his son as competition. And he knows, of course, there’s nothing there— he’s only ever competing with himself. He just can’t help it.

Maybe he’s a bit spoiled too.

“I don’t like being ignored.” Your voice was small, but he could still hear it through the door. He heard it all, every implication. His sweet boy, his spoiled brat. You froze, just briefly, before he let himself in. The door creaked slowly with its open and close, a gentle click of the lock as the air grew thick.

Your old bed is small and creaky. Almost as much as the underused floorboards, your old bedroom screams with just as much personality as it does neglect. There’s tiny figurines, posters, awards, memorabilia— but it’s all too clean. Even if it has collected dust, not a thing is out of place. Pristine. There’s a few scattered photos— awkward haircuts, familial pets, the works. . Unapologetically you, maybe when you were just a tad bit more naive— but you nonetheless. It even smells like you, just with a hint of sea salt and warm, summer-y vanilla. Shouta wants to bury his nose in it.

“None of my fancy college boyfriends liked it here, Maybe ‘Toshi would.” You shift your weight as Shouta sits at the edge of your bed, the springy mattress creaking ever so slightly. There’s something left unsaid between the small string of words— and it’s sour. Twists on Shouta’s tongue, like he’s bitten into old bread, and it’s not just the mention of past boyfriends. Sure, that’s not exactly what he’d call this. . . relationship, but it’s not like it’d feel wrong. And he’d certainly feel bitter if his son were in his shoes. “Guess my sheets weren’t silky enough. Can tell you what was, th—”

“I like it.” It’s simple. The admission— simple and sweet, like it’s obvious. Shouta watches your lips part for a moment, just to close again, like a fish out of water. You look so small when you’re caught off guard, glancing to the side and shifting your weight onto your palms as you sit in the comfy middle of your bed. He knows what you’re doing— redirecting the conversation by flirting (it does get his heart beating, he’ll admit it)— and it makes you seem softer, almost.

He watches you sniffle for a moment, a quiet sound as you shift your knees with exuberating coyness. Your eyebrows furrow, cheeks puffed into a pout because, “That's it? You just ‘ like ’ it?”

He’ll give it to you, you never give up. He’d been warned, he was skeptical, and he’s been proven wrong. And, in the brunette’s head, you’d tallied over three strikes. Perhaps he was being too lenient. And now, Shouta, the weak man that he is, simply wants to indulge.

“What else would I say?”

“That it’s nice,” You cock your head to the side. “That you’ve never seen a room so nice. Which m’sure is true, anyway. . Are you low income, Sho? I can’t imagine what it’s like being a single father of two— or one, since Hitoshi moved out forever ago.”

The older man takes a breath through his nose, and out through his mouth. Pretty irises flicker down to meet the rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers pinch the bridge of his nose. Then, like the tidal wave of emotion has washed away back into shore, his voice is level as he speaks, “You spoke to him.”

“You ignored me,” You say it as if it’s obvious, simple, that if you can’t have Shouta you’ll have to settle for the next best thing. And though it’s not entirely true, you only really stalked his social media to learn more about his father, you don’t think your heart can stomach seeing pride swell in Aizawa’s chest. “Wanted your attention, Daddy.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath through his teeth, cold air rattling the bones as he watches you stare up at him. Your eyes look softer, boyish, wider at this angle. His pink tongue darts over his equally pink lips, “You don’t know what you do to me.”

“Show me.”

“Shh, sh, sh,” Shouta’s cock slips down your throat with a low grunt, the slippery walls clench around the fat head of his cock. Just as he imagined it, cutting off pretty whines and gasps, head bobbing back and forth— like you can’t tell whether it’s too much or too little. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his thick, sticky cock nestled against your throat— but it feels good, heavy and throbbing in a way that makes your brain shut off so quickly you drool. It sticks to his shaft and slides down his balls, painting your chin in a syrupy-sweet layer of saliva, but you’re too far gone to wipe it away. Such a good boy.

He must’ve said it aloud, because there you are nodding, lazily bobbing your head as he grinds in and out of your mouth. There’s a loud, sticky sound coming from your throat, squelching and soaked, obscene in a way that makes you whimper around your heavy mouthful of cock. He’s quick to correct himself— you only ever seem to behave when you’re stuffed with his dick, and he can’t have you thinking your behavior is acceptable. With a grunt, deep and velvety, Aizawa pushes deeper into your mouth until you gag— tight throat convulsing and quivering around his shaft.

You slurp loudly, choking and gasping as you struggle to pull back. His balls hit your chin, heavy and sticky and so fucking good as tears stream down your face. You’re starting to get into it now, making a mess of yourself as you stick out your tongue to lick along the prominent vein on the underside of his cock, eyes focused on the rings of saliva holding you together. Shouta pulls out to let you breathe, his cock quickly liding upupup your throat and past your lips until all you can do is whine and lean forward, lips wet with spit as you chase after what you’ve been wanting for the past month.

“Stop fuckin’ moving. Let Daddy use your throat, wanna hear you cry on it,” The bulge of his fat cock shows in your throat, in and out, in and out, in and out.

You want to whine, to beat your fists against his thighs, and kick your feet— it’s all so much. He has you by the hair, big hand pulling and tugging, lifting you on and off his cock like a warm, tight fleshlight. You fail to bite back a growl, though it emits more as a cute, pathetic sound, glassy eyes focused on his cock being shoved down your hot, wet throat. It’s so easy to press your lips against the darkness of his pubes, to smear pre along your pouty lips and cheeks. His cock jumps in your mouth, thick and long and curved, leaking at the tip.

It’s hard to adjust to the stretch, sputtering and gagging with such cute, greedy sounds. You’re getting ahead of yourself, eager, tongue lapping at the achy underside of his dick, pressed against his balls. And, with a gasp, Shouta pulls out, huffs and unintelligible groans filling the air. The blushing head of his cock taps against your cheek. Once, twice, again and again. “C’mere.”

And yet, despite all that bark, your eyes barely make contact with the ones above you. Instead they trace the pulse of his shaft, how heavy his cock hangs between his legs, how it makes his long fingers almost smaller in comparison. The way pre dribbles from the tip, sticky and warm and oh, so inviting. It’s as if he can read your mind, knows how badly you miss the weight of his thick cock stretching your throat, “You can do better than that," and you almost can't believe it.

Better? Your eyes flicker to the saliva dripping from your chin, suddenly aware of the slick pre smeared across your pretty cheeks and the heavy pants leaving your lips. What gets better than this? You let him use your throat like a new fleshlight, cried on his cock and muffled the sounds in his pubes. Ignored the aching of your own cock just to focus on his own, absentmindedly bucking your hips into nothing, even if it made you look like a pathetic puppy. Fine— you can show him better. You can break him first.

You blink rapidly, tears clumped in your pretty eyelashes, lips parting to, indubitably, sass the older man. “What, need help gettin’ it up? Fuck you, can do it m—”

Prideful boy. Shouta will have to fix that.

“— I wasn’t asking.” You really fucked up now, eyes wide as you’re lifted up by your throat and manhandled into Shouta’s strong arms. He smells good, and just as strong, as your face is pressed into his chest and your tiny, tiny shorts are pushed past your thighs. The air is cold, it spreads goosebumps along your skin, and you’re sure Shouta can feel them along his palm as he grabs handfuls of your ass. He ignores your off guard ‘Hey! I wasn’t done!’, ignores the squirm of your waist, ignores your poor, weeping cock.

Being the smooth, calculated man that he is, you’d expect Aizawa to put a rhythm and pace to his spankings. But no, there’s nothing for you to latch onto but the bundles of his hair as he hands out sporadic, random, and hard smacks along each globe of your ass. There is no back and forth, no favoring one over the other— it’s just where he wants, when he wants. If he wants to watch your thighs convulse and jiggle beneath his heavy palm he will, and if he wants to smack your hands away from his wrists as you tug and tug— he will.

Shouta groans when you let out a particularly pathetic cry, biting your lip and whimpering into his warm skin. You can feel his big hands part your cheeks, squeezing the skin until it spills over each finger and your ass has turned tender and sensitive. He coos, feeling you squirm and wriggle against his hold, “S’it too much? Daddy’s poor baby.”

It shouldn’t sound so sweet coming from his lips, even when it’s condescending and rough, even when he’s cracking his palm down again and again despite your kicks and squeals.

But it does.

“Da—ddy. . !” your voice quivers, hips rocking to an uncoordinated tune. So little contact and yet it feels like so much, his hot palms against your warm skin. . . The tears rolling down your darling face. . . The way your cock throbs against your tummy, your mouth aches with emptiness, your hole twitches beneath the weight of his fingers. The thought makes you want to whine all over again, body squirming and trembling as he holds and kneads the flesh of your ass.

“Quiet. I should shove my fingers down your throat to shut you up,” Shouta murmurs, so unnecessarily mean, kissing the dampness of your forehead before his hand cracks down against your plush ass three, four, five more times. You try to keep up your resolve, pretty legs trembling and knuckles clenching— but it’s just so hard. Being a brat is easy— it’s fun— you’ll give up a few tears, cry and pout, get your way. Easy. So you won’t break and give him what he wants. He’ll have to work for it, get a taste of his own mean, mean medicine.

Delayed gratification.

Wet llips open to speak, something smug and almost smart, but it’s reduced to a wet moan. You feel it—fingers spreading apart the globes of your ass, and more cracking down between them, on your empty, pretty little hole. For a moment your brain slips out of your body, thoughts static and turned to mush, fuzzy and convulsing where you lay. You process the sound of hushing, the feeling of wetness, the sound of slick spit against your skin. . . Thick, merciless fingers rubbing and tapping and sliding against you.

“Oh, god,” You sob, eyes fluttering shut and eyebrows pinching the second more pressure builds and— oh, a finger slips inside. “Fingers— that’s, oh god..” Inching in slowly, rubbing against your velvety walls and so fucking slick you’re beginning to see stars. Whatever you had your mind set on earlier flies straight out the window, your brain short circuits as your sopping hole flutters around his fingers, sucking them in.

“Fuck, baby, look at you clench on Daddy’s fingers. Want Daddy to finger-fuck this cute little cunt silly?” If you could see his face you’re sure he’d be smiling— an eerie thing, eyes trained on his fingers getting sucked back into you. Such a needy boy. “C’mon, say it. Tell Daddy you want his big fingers in your sweet, greedy little pussy.”

You can’t help it, hole throbbing rhythmically along his long fingers, squelching and gushing with stickiness. The swell of your ass ripples as you wiggle your hips, rising and falling to grindgrindgrind. “Fuck me already, c’mon, old man.”

“That what your little ‘boyfriends’ do?” Your lip quivers— he hadn't even flinched at the sass— and instead used your own words against you. “Oh, baby. They didn’t give that little boycunt the attention he needed, hm? That why you throw so many tantrums?”

Your hand finds his wrist, fingers wrapping around thick and strong limp just enough to get his hand moving, trying to guide him deeper, faster, harder. He should reward bratty behavior, but the words spill from his mouth almost immediately, “That’s it, just needed something to fill you up, nice and full.”

It’s ironic— he says it just before pulling out his soaked fingers. And, at your nightstand, opens the drawer to retrieve lube. You watch him pause, eyes scanning the contents of the drawer until his lips quirk downward. Lollipop wrappers. An ungodly amount— you really went on a hunger strike because he ignored you? For six whole days?

“What am I gonna do with you.” He sighs, but grabs a sucker regardless, tearing open its pretty, pastel blue packaging to reveal its red, shiny hard candy. He pops the treat into his mouth, holds it on the right side with his teeth, and squirts a generous amount of lube over the globes of your ass. His hands slip and slide as he guides it around, watches it dribble down your thighs and relishes in the way your hole opens up for him, soaked and sticky.

Your eyebrows pinch, hips wiggling as he pulls the lollipop free from his mouth and directs it against your own, “Suck,” He murmurs, but it’s forced past your lips before you can process the demand. Here come more tears, burning your nose as you hiccup out a tiny, overwhelmed, “Daddy?”

“It’s okay, I’m here,” He coos, circling the pad of his thumb along the rim of your hole. Even as your feet instinctively kick, there’s no reaction from him, just a pleased hum. “Keep sucking, atta boy.”

His thumb feels like a lot, makes you squeal and shiver as he presses it inside, and something hot and wet accompanies it. That's good, the heat of his tongue licking and sucking at your throbbing rim, bubbly spit dribbling down his chin and caught in his stubble. One hand is focused on fucking your boyhole raw, till your brain goes numb and you’re incoherent. His palm presses into the small of your ass, tongue working hard until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, and your mouth flies open in a silent scream. He takes the opportunity to snatch the lollipop back, keeps his tongue pressed against your walls until—

He trails the glossy sphere of the candy down to your sloppy little hole, nudging and prodding until he slowly works the lollipop inside. “You can take it,” He growls, eyes trained on your fucked-out face. He can feel it, the tightening of your balls, the way your hole aches and pulses with the treat inside you. “That’s it, sweet thing. Wanna make this pussy cum, give it t’me. Let Daddy have it..”

He murmurs, and suddenly, instead of the treat that he’s popping back into his mouth, there’s the head of his perfectly thick, so big, cock pressing against your slick, thoroughly fucked-out hole and—

Oh.

“Sweet.”

You sob into nothing, back arching and spongy walls clinging down on Shouta’s cock as it’s worked inch by inch into you and— you can’t fucking believe it. You fought for so long, put on a bratty attitude and stomped your feet. Why would you ever push Shouta and his cock away for so long? Your breaths are short. Tiny little gasps as his large hands grip your ankles, spreading your legs open to get a better view of the thick dick pumping you full. Your pretty little hole, sheen with spit and lube, exposed and on display for him and his cock. And, yeah, this is everything you’ve ever wanted and more. . . You want him to break you.

“You’re— fuck, you’re so gross, Daddy,” Shouta grits his teeth, “Ohh, havin’ your best friend’s son on your fat cock, fuckin’ my pussy so full. . !” You’re straight up babbling, cross-eyed as each thrust knocks coherent thoughts out your brain. A real, proper slut, desperately humping upupup to fuck yourself on his dick. With this position— knees to your ears and holes on display, you barely have the control to move— but it’s cute to watch you try anyway.

“Shut up and take it,” He rasps, voice deep and scratchy in a harsh whisper as his hips snap back and forth. “Don’t want mommy and daddy to hear their son calling someone else daddy, do you?”

“Daddy— Daddy, my pussy—“ You’re babbling, it’s all you can do since Shouta is all force with his thrusts; takes what he needs, feeds you his cock good and so, so deep. Over and over, you let out broken whines, desperate for it, looking down as best you can to watch your own cock bob and jump against your tummy, thighs sticky with spit and lube. You can hear the sound of your slutty, pathetic moans, the wet plaplaplap of skin, lube trailing and frothing between your bodies as Shouta fucks into you. You can’t stop twitching— your legs, your hole, your cock.

“This is Daddy’s pussy,” He corrects, angling his hips just right, the heat of his cock pressing against every special spot you’ve got. Every bundle of nerves, every silky, spongy wall you’ve got wrapped around him. “Just like that,” You’re gagging for it, pouty lips parting with open-mouthed pants as he continues to watch your hole tighten around his thick, veiny cock. He has to swallow down his own drool, reaching deeper into you, your body jerking back as he pounds, and pounds, and pounds. You may not be a good boy, but you’re a damn good slut.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. . .” Your breath is caught in your throat, and if you could, you’d scream, your body tensing as your cock throbs and bounces, cum spraying across your bare chest — stickiness shooting out your spent cock until you’re twitching, handsfree and body set ablaze. Shouta shows no signs of stopping, instead keeping his cock inside you as he flips you around, eyes narrowed. He fucks you through it, watching more cum squirt from your cock, leaky hole milking him for all he’s got.

“Dumb sluts love cock, baby. S’that what you are?” His voice is a low purr, pressing your face into the mattress, watching your ass fall back onto his cock until he feels himself aching hard, hard enough to start cumming inside you.

“Yeah, mhmm,” You drool into your pillow, absentmindedly fucking yourself back onto him. You’re desperate to chase after it, the searing spiral of pressure growing in your stomach, tight hole bearing down on his cock. “Daddy’s slut, s’me!” For a minute you think you’ve passed out, everything going dark as you ride out his hard thrusts, offering tiny movements of your own, up and down to satiate the erratic spasming of your hole, to feel his balls slap against your thighs.

“Good sluts take Daddy’s cum,” Your eyes, so glassy and empty, is what gets him, groaning loud as he pumps a load inside you. “Take it, boy. Let Daddy knock you up.” It’s messy, and downright pornographic watching his cum leak out of you, just for him to fuck it back in with the head of his dick. Shouta’s cum starts to kiss your insides and spurt straight onto that small bundle of nerves— fuck, it’s so deep. His thrusts are erratic and sloppy, thick rope after thick rope frothing around his shaft as he fucks it deeper inside. You never want it to stop, not the groaning or moaning, not the filthy sounds, not the cum filling up your hole till you can’t move.

He ignores your needy, overstimulated whines when he pulls out completely, his spent cock hanging heavy between his thighs. Even when you’re limp and boneless, body trembling violently, you want more.

“Da— Da—ddy,” You sob, eyes squeezed shut as strong arms pull you up and into even stronger thighs. Sitting on his lap now, Shouta coos hums, basks in the sight of his pretty boy’s afterglow.

“Daddy’s here. I’m here, I got you.” He whispers into your shoulder, and that’s all you need to hear. The thought of his best friend melts away— you’re more than that. You’re not just his best friend’s son. . .

You’re Shouta’s boy.

Summer is coming to an end.

There’s a seasonal chill in the air and it’s getting dark in the early afternoon. The beach has switched its course, currents changing direction and fish disappearing from the shoreline. The weather is turning, branches are starting to grow bare and bloom in color, the wind picks up, and the clouds have yet to dissipate into the sky. . Shouta helps you pack, grumbles when you press chaste kisses against his skin the whole time— shuts down the stomps of your feet while you whine, “I don’t wanna leave.”

“Spring break,” Is all Shouta says, his mismatched eyes downcast in a way that highlights his long, pretty eyelashes. Then, voice barely audible, he whispers, “I don’t want you to, either.”

Your body visibly straightens, giddiness painting your boyish face as you smile wide and big. The older man almost regrets saying it, huffing with you lean impossible close to hug him tight. “Will you call me?”

“Whenever you want,” He says, as if it’s the most simple thing in the world. You watch as he throws your large bag of lollipops into your carry-on backpack, but not before plucking a treat free from the others. “You know I will.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

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reasonsforhope · 5 days ago

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"Environmental groups are claiming victory after Mitsubishi Chemical Group dropped plans for a $1.3 billion plant in the heart of Louisiana’s industrial corridor.

In the works for more than a decade, the chemical manufacturing complex would have been the largest of its kind in the world, stretching across 77 acres in Geismar, a small community about 60 miles west of New Orleans. Tokyo-based Mitsubishi cited only economic factors when announcing the cancellation last week, but a recent report on the plant’s feasibility noted that growing community concern about air pollution could also hamper the project’s success.

“The frontline communities are fighting back, causing delays, and that amounts to money being lost,” said Gail LeBoeuf with Inclusive Louisiana, an environmental group focused on the industrial corridor along the Mississippi River known as Cancer Alley.

The nonprofit group Beyond Petrochemical declared the project’s failure a “major victory for the health and safety of Louisianans.”

According to Mitsubishi, the plant could have produced up to 350,000 tons per year of methyl methacrylate, or MMA, a colorless liquid used in the manufacture of plastics and a host of consumer products, including TVs, paint, and nail polish.

The plant was expected to be a major polluter, releasing hundreds of tons per year of carbon monoxide, nitrogen oxides, volatile organic compounds, and other harmful chemicals, according to its permit information...

In July, a report on the plant’s viability warned that a global oversupply of MMA and fierce local opposition made the project a “bad bet.”

Conducted by the Institute for Energy Economics and Financial Analysis, the report said that credit agencies are paying more attention to “community sentiment” about petrochemical projects, particularly in Louisiana. In Geismar and other parts of Cancer Alley, there’s a “disproportionately heavy concentration of polluting industrial facilities” and Mitsubishi could become “entangled in a decades-long dispute involving issues of racial inequality and environmental justice,” the IEEFA report said.

Geismar residents are surrounded by about a half-dozen large chemical facilities that emit harmful levels of air pollution. Of the more than 6,000 people who live within the 3 miles of the planned project site, about 40 percent are Black or Hispanic, and 20 percent are considered low-income, according to federal data.

“The air here is already so dirty that the kids can’t play outside anymore,” said Pamela Ambeau, Ascension Parish resident and member of the group Rural Roots Louisiana.

The proposed plant is the latest in a string of failed industrial projects in Cancer Alley. Since 2019, local activism was instrumental in halting the development of two large plastics complexes in St. James Parish and a grain export terminal in St. John the Baptist Parish. All three projects would have been built in historically Black and rural communities."

-via Grist, January 16, 2025

#louisiana #united states #north america #cw cancer #petrochemicals #mitsubishi #cars #car manufacturers #pollution #air pollution #public health #good news #hope

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nouearth · 6 months ago

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dancing with wolves.

pairing. glen powell x male reader.

word count. 8.8k.

summary. journeying from town to town provided glen a solitude he’d always dreamed of. however, since meeting you, it was all he could complain about.

content warning. smut, western!au, top!glen, yearning!glen, loner!glen, bottom!reader, prostitute!reader, love confession, established relationship, passionate love-making, gagging, deep-throating, handjob (r!receiving), blowjob (r!giving), spanking, overstimulation, milking, anal penetration, breeding.

Cases of whiskey and cider were stacked in a column of two. Six units per beverage, twelve in total as Glen triple-checked the count and label. Though he’d never made a mistake in his deliveries before, it was his vigilance that maintained his good repute amongst the townsfolk. His attentiveness and efficiency in deliveries allowed for trust to be built between him and the towns he’d distribute to.

Months and more, the head of these establishments he’d work with didn’t seem to mind Glen’s uptight and reserved nature. Rather, they were used to it. Penned him as ‘Gunpowder’ because of their inability to see through him, as if the smoke from deflagrated gunpowder had impaired their vision.

As long as the goods were delivered in mint condition, who was to complain that the brooding man marched right on out after receiving his payment without uttering a single word?

Not to mention, his sturdy build was a warning itself to those who’d dared.

“Nearly doubled the shipment from last time.” It was an observation noted to himself. A low mutter that the owner of the saloon caught with a smile, because frankly, the mustached man was known to run the folk’s ears off.

There was a reason why he owned a saloon, and not Glen.

He dropped his payment into his drawstring bag and tucked it into the inside pocket of his shirt. Crime was growing rampant, even in a bustling town like New Vale where a dust storm couldn’t ward off its folks from drinking into the night. Glen wasn’t sure what to make of it. Whether to call them idiots for ignoring the highly alarming signs of bandits gradually killing their way to the west, or brave for living their lives without a single regret.

One would’ve had the same vacillation between labeling Glen as an idiot or a man, for traveling 40 miles and more in his saddle, while the threat of murders loomed over his head. “God damn, I did! Business been growin’ ever since we’d expanded to include the whores. The fellas can’t keep their hands off of them!” Glen’s ears pricked up from the way the shorter man described the main attraction to his saloon. The man was practically ascending to heaven, tugging on the straps of his suspenders to ground him to the wooden flooring while he boasted about how much of a brilliant man he was for charging patrons by the hour, and taking a percentage of a prostitute’s pay.

All Glen could do was watch in stoic disgust while the man relished in his own pride, in his own greed.

Though, only for a few seconds before a feeling of guilt and shame took over Glen’s conscious, calling him out on his hypocrisy, on this selfish desire that all the men in the saloon had collectively shared.

He wasn’t much of a better man than the drunkard swaying in his seat, completely shit-faced with a shot glass in his grasp.

Glen tucked his hands into his pockets, leaned to the man’s ear, and lowered his voice to a hush. “The boy in today?”

Coincidentally, he felt a spare coin in his left pocket. The silver ridges scorched his skin like it had come straight from the devil’s fountain, prodding his urges.

“Should be cleaning out back, but I’ll let ‘em know you’re here. You know his room.” The man collected the single coin with a smug grin and tipped his hat. “Nice doing business with ya, and… get y’self a drink. On the house. I’m beginning to treasure your presence.” The march of his steps out to the back were resonant, even with the ragged rhythm of the piano blaring in Glen’s ears as he walked for the stairs.

- - -

The room was left as Glen remembered it.

The thin walls closed in on the oil lamps mounted on the walls. It didn’t take much to light up the room. As bright as candles could be lit, it only emphasized how truly compact the space was. Glen couldn’t imagine that no more than two men could be comfortable standing in this lodging, let alone reside in it. Luckily, Glen was a simple man. He hung his coat on the wall and took his boots off, a much needed relief from the compression at his feet, and he felt satisfied sitting on the miserable mattress. Not from the space, no. Not when he could hear other patrons like him revel in their own pleasure, albeit muffled by the thin walls.

No. It was because he got to see his boy again. Twice a month, like how it had been for almost a year now, and Glen could feel the two weeks of labor thanking him as a huge weight seemingly lifted off his shoulders.

Traveling from town to town and shipping out whiskey and cider didn’t take much of a toll on his body like herding cattle, but it was uninspiring. Sight-seeing was tranquil, but the sun was beating down on him harder this month. It was tiring. Always on his saddle, on his feet, and now with the threat of robberies ramping, on the defensive, all without so much of a break.

It was lonely.

And though it was his own fault, it made the moment of seeing his boy all the more special.

Touching you was even more cathartic than he’d like to admit.

Two hard knocks, a beat, then three more, and the door opened.

“You sleepin’ already, Bighorn?” You teased, chuckling to yourself when you could see Glen rise from his position as you locked the door.

Bighorn. The endearment made Glen chuckle.

Glen watched you come into the light as his elbows supported his body, legs extended to stretch the tight muscles in his thighs and calves. A button-up and suspenders, your typical attire as a novice cook. It had to be illegal to look this striking in hand-me-downs covered in flour.

“A second longer, and I would’ve demanded for a refund.” Glen quipped with a simple grin. It was all natural, his body responding to your approach by gathering himself onto his feet. You worked him in mysterious ways. Every step you took, Glen met you half-way.

Yearn weighted Glen’s heart to match the heaviness of your boots scraping against the floor until you stopped. He stopped in his tracks after, your wide smile reflecting off of his simpler grin, and Glen remained silent, taking you all in with the removal of his hat.

It wasn’t the first time his eyes ever tracked a man, nor was it the first time his heart ever sped up, but you had this power, this presence, that made him feel anew with the way you looked at him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your chest close to his own.

Surely, he knew he wasn’t going crazy feeling like his affection for you had shot up like a bull for the past month. And the month before that.

And the month before that.

“And I would’ve made it up by makin’ sure you get the best sleep of your life. How’s that sound?” You met his eye level, unabashedly smiling wider than you had ever greeted him before.

He felt flat, like he’d been hit by the train itself. A sharp jolt that sent goosebumps all over his skin, and it was like you read into his soul, because your hands roamed around his body, warding off the tiny prickles over his skin with a caress to his broad chest, over his forearms, against his neck.

It didn’t take long for Glen to realize you were the curator of the bumps on his skin.

“Sounds like an overpromise...” Glen chuckled along with you, his larger hands feeling up your waist, backside, then to your arse, where they felt perfectly at home in his palms. His gaze was just as curious, peeking at the collar of your shirt that revealed the smallest amount of your neck. To your lips, marveling over ruby flesh he’d often daydream about while riding across the plains.

It was becoming a routine. Where the weeks leading up to the end the month felt like the world had a vengeance against you, and this month was surely taking out its worst out on you.

“You got a haircut.” Glen noticed the shorter length of your hair, pushing it back with a swoop of his hand. He then took ahold of your jaw, maneuvering it cheek by cheek to stoically marvel over your cut.

“Was gettin’ hot. Boss man didn’t like how it collected sweat.” Your fingers worked around his collar, unfurling the fold, then folding it back into place. “You like it?”

“I can see your face clearer. You look good.” Glen’s fingers raked through your hair once before messily ruffling it. You responded with a shove to his chest, knocking him back onto the bed with an unexpected laugh. “Guess I didn’t need to worry about whether you were eating or not. Christ, you gettin’ stronger too.”

A dull ache settled in his chest. He wanted to say something more than, “You look good.”

No, it fit you. The trimmed hairs on the sides matched how blunt you could be.

“You bring any gifts for me?”

“You’re sweaty, and that makes me aroused.”

“You pushing 40. That only makes me want you even more.”

“No one can fill my mouth like you do, Glen.”

On the contrary, it also framed your face like you were an angel who didn’t spout nonsense that would render him speechless. Though, he’d gotten used to that now. It made you all the more endearing, how someone could look as passive as you, have a mouth like that.

“Bastard��s been pushing more tasks onto me since business been growing. Same pay too. Man is too cheap to hire another employee. Don’t think I look any different though.” It took all the energy out of him to not sigh when you straddled his lap. He was swelling nicely beneath you, harder and thicker the more you rut your arse against him. “Or… maybe you’re just getting weaker?”

Glen rolled his eyes. “Don’t get so cocky, boy. Wouldn’t want me to beat it out of you, would you?” Your breath hitched when his palm struck down on your left ass cheek as a warning. It was effortlessly done, yet the subtle sting was more than enough to pull a groan out of you.

You brazened yourself, narrowing your eyes into his drawn gaze as you leaned closer, and pulled him halfway up by the collar. “Not if you call that a beatin’.” Your lips grazed against his, and just when Glen leaned closer, you pulled away and resumed your ruts, pushing your arse back onto his palms simultaneously.

“You gon’ regret that.” It was animalistic. The way you drove your hips into him, and the way Glen desperately responded back, groping your ass hard and pushing you flushed to his groin, to the weight of his bulge. He buried his groans into your neck, biting a patch of skin that would draw out whimpers in between your taunts.

“I ain’t regret nothin’-“ A loud yelp slipped from your mouth. His palm suddenly came down on your ass again. Harder, like the snap of lighting had bit into your skin. It shuddered you to think that it had hurt as much as it did while you were clothed. Yet, that didn’t stop you from unbuckling and drawing out your belt, and then Glen’s.

“That the best you got? Like a bee-sting. I ain’t impressed.” You muttered into his neck, kissing at the hot flush of skin after stripping you and Glen down to undergarments. Gradually, you worked his top off, licking and kissing every show of skin that would meet your lips, until he was deliciously bare-chested before you.

“I’ll break your damn ass if I have to.” Glen said through gritted teeth. His arms were folded behind his head, cushioning it while he watched your mouth worship every contour of his body like he was a king. Your mouth would latch onto one side of his ribs, suckling on a freckle, while the other admired his abdomen with several, drunken strokes. It took the trail of his stomach hair to pivot your mouth lower, to slip your hand into the opening of his drawers until it was inevitably full with Glen’s semi-hard cock, meaty and thick in your palm.

“You spendin’ the night?” Your ears perked up at the sound of his groans, your gaze followed the source. He was clearly desperate for more than the laze of your strokes as your grasp was loose and open, favoring to feel around his cock than against.

“That’s what I paid for.” His hips bucked once you began massaging his cock, throbbing harder in the palm of your hand.

“I’ll make sure it’s worthwhile, then.” With one hand continuing to knead at the tender muscle, you stripped the drawers off of his body, tossing it onto a pile of clothing in the corner.

“Look at me when you talkin’.” It came out more aggressive than he’d like it to, but your eyes lit up when he caught your gaze, a smoldering smile plastered across your face while you stroked him with your knees pressed to the mattress.

“You stressed or what? Don’t usually talk like this to me.” Stripping yourself bare, you resumed tending to his cock after, gulping at the unholy sight of the meaty tool drooling with a thick and ample amount of pre-cum that would surely stain the flooring if you hadn’t caught the sticky rope with your tongue.

You looked extra handsome tonight, Glen thought. Maybe it was the haircut working wonders on him. Making him act all crazy like he’d been bewitched. One strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead when you spat on his cock, and had your grasp around him not remind him, he would’ve forgotten to breathe.

“Just been thinking about my boy. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.” You lapped up his cock while he struggled to pour out his words. It was like molasses, the way he’d pause himself to say the right thing so he wouldn’t scare you. Coincidentally, you seemed to be enjoying the taste of his pre-cum like it was molasses as well, sucking it out him with sunken cheeks.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about filling that filthy mouth of yours with even more filth.” He hissed as you began tonguing his slit.

“Y’know how much I love the taste of your seed.” You dragged your tongue over the head, polishing it with several needy sucks, while your gaze maintained on his. One hand was wrapped around the shaft to hold Glen steady, and the other was cupped around his heavy balls, stretching and fondling the loose stretch of skin.

“I know. You like how it’s warm in your mouth, don’t you?” The grasp around his thick cock tightened. Fingers pressed into his veins, stroking the aroused muscle while your mouth worked on his glans, plump and swollen against your lips.

“And how salty it is. Taste better than your whiskey.” Sweat and musk had built up in the thick hairs of his pubic, in the crevice of his glans as you inhaled his scent. The smell of his cock made your own swollen unbearably hard.

“You like my cock too. Like how heavy it is on your tongue.” He had his fingers running through your hair, keeping any strands from obscuring your eyes as you watched him, just as he had been watching you.

“Nothing better than feelin’ my dirty mouth stretch because of the size of it. Can barely wrap my hands around your tool. My asshole struggles too, if not more.”

You loved sucking on the head. It was tender in your mouth, leaking with salt that made your tongue dance into the slit for more. It was beautiful to look at too. Every now and then, you’d slip him out of your mouth to marvel over the glistening view of his cock, swollen in your own spit.

“Yet it don’t stop you, does it? You keep sucking with that hot mouth of yours. Fucking with that tight ass of yours.” He sat up to stretch his hand from your neck and then down to your spine, repeating the affectionate gesture when he’d reach the limit of his mobility.

“Your cock is my liquor.” You held his gaze with pride, proudly slapping his wet cock across your cheek, against your lips, onto your tongue, because you weren’t ashamed for desiring men.

You weren’t ashamed for needing Glen.

No amount of prejudice can suppress your very existence.

“You doin’ a whole lot of talking, and not a lot of sucking.” His hand was strong on the back of your neck, massaging as if it would warm your throat up.

You purred, finding the increasing pressure on your neck welcoming as it naturally opened your mouth back up. Your tongue teased Glen for a little longer. Patience had been wearing thin, you could see it in his eyes as they hardened over the lazy trail of your tongue, unbearably sliming at the underside of his heavy cock. His grasp on your neck was clutching, pulling at your tender skin to maneuver you north and wrap your mouth back around him. But you were resisting. You were going to suck his cock on your own terms, on your own accord, flaunting your tongue over his stiffened pole to warm him up because you had all night with him.

You were beautiful like this, working your spit over his cock with your hand, while you silently leaned up for a kiss. He granted those rubies of yours a chaste peck, then another to the dried drool at the corner of your mouth, then another, a fulfilling kiss to your mouth that had drawn out simultaneous groans from the both of you because it was unapologetically more than lust.

You stroked his cock harder, to the warmth of his tongue as it slipped inside of you, keen to explore the cavern that had made his cock feel so glorious, to explore the mouth that often sent Glen into a spiral simply from his own imagination after the very minute he would depart from you.

His heart was beating, accelerating like it had soles to run on, and all it took was the palm of your hand caressing his chest in soothing swoops to ground him back to reality, to the kiss that had been broken in favor of you returning back to your original position between his legs, mouth agape and taunting as ever.

“Only because I want you to hear what it sounds like when I’m swallowing your cock.“ With those final words, you slid his cock into your mouth without letting your gags falter you.

His cock was heavy, maintaining the girth from base to tip as you took more of him after every cycle. Tears brimmed in your eyes when you’d choke on one attempt of slotting him down your throat. Then they dripped, rolled down your supple cheeks, when you’d work yourself through your gags until your throat closed in around his tool. You’d lie there with your throat stuffed to the brim, your lips clamped shut from the very base despite the fur of his pubic hairs tickling your lips to open back up.

Your ears rattled from your conscience begging you to end your torture, but watching Glen marvel at that mouth of yours made you endure the looming threat of fainting all the more worthwhile.

“Christ.” Drool spilled from either side of your mouth as Glen helped you stabilize with a palm to your nape. He gently pushed at the sound of your gags, keeping you situated against his groin in case you’d pull away. “You know how to make a man happy, don’t you?”

“Mmfgh—“ It was pointless responding, but Glen expected it. You always had to get the last word. The last sound.

He maneuvered you by the neck, pulling you back then forward again, your throat making ungodly sounds around his cock in midst of doing so. Occasionally, he’d meet you halfway and thrust himself into your gags, churning the arising saliva that foamed in your mouth back down your air duct, making you choke in the process.

“You miss my cock that much, boy?”

“Mmff-guh!”

He’d pull you back just in time, his cock releasing from the tight hold of your throat like a cork barricading liquor, and you didn’t waste a single second to fill your lungs again with the arousing air.

“You gon’ kill me with that thing, bastard.” Your spit resembled fizz that would spew out from opened cider. Glen kept it to himself, but he thought you looked dashing like this. Flushed in the face, cheeks stained by dried tears, nostrils stung with sniffles, you’d collect your composure quickly after, brazen yourself as if nothing had happened, but from the tremors in your hands, you were dismantled despite working your hand on him again.

“Too much for you?” He asked, reaching over with a hand to knead at the center of your throat. Glen didn’t show many moods, but you were well aware when he was either aroused, angry, or concerned, simply by the movement of his brows.

You lifted your chin upon the warm of his hand greeting you, grinning at the raise of the man’s brows. “I jest. Too much? Yes. But that’s the fun in it. Not knowing when to stop because I’m so addicted to you.”

“Should be a poet. You’d know how to charm people with your words.” He sighed into your mouth when he pulled you over, kissing you delicately while one hand lowered to gather his cock and yours in one hold, stroking the throbbing masses.

Glen was never too fond of feeling like this.

This warmth that was similar to downing liquor, yet not quite as strong or as scorching as to the sensation of aged spirit burning his insides.

It was foreign. The heat liked to spread around his body, the aftermath of hot rain he’d reckon. It was steaming inside of him. Pleasant and restful while his muscles eased. He felt like those biscuits he’d eaten for morning, noon, and evening. Buttery, warm, and pillowy.

That feeling only happened when he was with you.

It was unnerving how much power you held over him without you even realizing. How he’d weaken under the light of your smile, or even the dazed stare of your eyes, where Glen often found himself concerned with for the remaining month as the shadows beneath your eyes would grow with every visit.

You shouldn’t have that effect on him, because no one has managed to ignite such feelings inside of him. Yet you have, effortlessly so, without missing a single beat, and it was alarming to realize that his solitude had become unbearable since you’d came into the picture.

Frightening, where his solitude would feel like abandonment had something ever happened to you.

“Poets don’t make a home.” You whispered lightheartedly before breaking into soft, hushed moans, where Glen would happily devour as you resumed kissing him with tongue, running your hands over his muscles in meantime.

“And whoring yourself out does?” He sat up, pulling away to raise a questioning brow.

It was naive of you, but Glen knew better than to lecture you in the meantime. He hadn’t seen you in a month and he wasn’t letting a simple discourse interrupt that.

You shrugged, kissing at the underside of his jaw after he pulled you onto his lap. His hands were on your hips, his cock rubbing between your ass cheeks. “No, but at least I get fucked hollow out of it.”

“Forget what I said. If your mouth is this vulgar, I can’t imagine what you’d write on paper. You’d end a famine with folks dying from shock at your smut.” Without warning, one finger slipped inside of your hole. You clenched from surprise, but eventually welcomed him in with the languid kisses Glen would provide on your neck, on your shoulders, and on your chest.

“That’s a good thing, ain’t it?” You arched forward into his embrace, pushing your ass out as Glen twisted another finger inside of you, stretching your hole with two fingers. “I saved the world…” You moaned out in a manner that sent tremors down Glen’s spine. To his cock, when he stuffed another finger inside of you, and curled deep into your resistance. “Don’t do too much. Wanna feel you.”

“You silly.” The keening sound you give out rendered him speechless, along with the dew of your body and face, thinly layered with cold sweat of your own desires. Your hands braced on Glen’s shoulders as he pistoled his fingers inside of you for a little longer. Twisting, spreading, turning, curling, throttling, until you begged for him, in whispers, in hot kisses that muffled your sounds incoherent.

But Glen was an attentive man; tasting your tongue to feed off of your words, urging you to repeat with a smack to your ass. You would, desperate and delirious as you pushed your ass into the sting of his palm.

“Can’t take it anymore. I need you inside of me. C’mon.” You reached behind to stroke his cock with your spit, simultaneously pressing his shaft between your rump.

“You actin’ like you don’t get hollowed out daily.” Glen’s touch was tender on your cheek, holding the left side delicate in his palm, while his hips moved against your hand and grind, taunting your patience.

“Not like this. Always thinkin’ about you when someone else fucking me. They don’t do it like you.” It came out as a whine, a needy sound as you angled his wet cockhead against your pucker, dangerously pressing when you lifted your hips.

“They don’t satisfy you like I do.” A statement, rather than a query.

“They don’t...”

Glen was good at casting doubt on people.

Lies were often evident through the eyes. Novice liars either looked away, or stared too intensely like they were trying to convince themselves.

Your gaze yearned, lingered in search for Glen’s blessing. He held your gaze for a moment, catching a glimpse of stars in your pupils like he wasn’t aware that it was the candles’ doing. Getting lost in your eyes wasn’t warding off the warm feeling in his body. Rather, it began manifesting a smolder, burning more despite kissing you once to fan it away, to make the light in your eyes—the way you looked at him disappear.

He pulled away quickly to look into your eyes again. Burning now, he was burning.

Again, his lips sealed over yours, and then he pulled back to stare.

The stars winked.

Again.

A few morphed as one, seemingly emptying the space in your pupils.

Again.

No, Glen was wrong. They weren’t emptying space.

And again.

They were creating space.

He began witnessing the birth of a few more stars after every turn, crystal-like as they glimmered in your pupils once you smiled at his behavior.

Glen was in silent hysteria, finding himself spiral from one look you’d given him. It was different. Completely unlike anything you’d ever spared him. It felt true. Pure. Honest.

Loved.

There was no way out. He couldn’t find a way to escape if he’d tried. Burying his face into your neck didn’t work. You smelled like bread dough, ones you’d been kneading in the back of the kitchen. Ones he had eaten and marveled over before even meeting you.

Simply closing his eyes had no effect either, as your hand was on his cock, chasing after the throbbing with patient strokes.

“They don’t.” Glen repeated after you, a confirmation into the underside of your jaw.

Glen was never a man who lost. At least, he never lost without putting up a fight. When he spared you one more glance at the sound of your groan, he felt himself crumble and completely melt. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel it. Feel himself melting until all that was left was for bone to be rattled with as you sank yourself back onto his lap, hands braced on his shoulders while you welcomed his cock inside of your cavity, inch by inch

“You’re an angel, y’know that? Every time I see you, I feel like my sins been washed away.” Glen ran a finger along your taut rim, marveling over the way you looked right now, bouncing on his cock, over his lap, your cock swinging in for the ride. He harbored his moans into the crook of your neck, fogging your skin with the warmth of his breath, until you’d break into cold sweats.

“Ironic, ain’t it? What loving a man can do?” You groaned and grunted with exertion as you worked your way lower in tiny thrusts. “They don’t make love to me like you do, just as I don’t make love to them like I do for you. ” You confessed with conviction, and let gravity weigh you down onto Glen’s cock, taking him into your sturdy body. “Only you.”

Glen didn’t hear that right, did he? Loving someone? It was difficult to concentrate with the way you were working his cock. It was a glorious feeling being back inside of you, compact and warm like how he’d remember breaching you.

You felt so stretched, uncomfortably yet pleasantly filled when you’d lift your hips until only the cockhead remained, and rammed his cock back in with a strong drop of your ass. Your forehead rested on Glen’s, and you could feel every puff of breath he’d exhale. Hear the restraints in his panting as you tied your arms around his neck, and let your weight push him flat onto his back, properly straddling him.

“You love me? What you talking ‘bout?” He didn’t have the will to stop you. You were so eager, absolutely high on your arousal as you rode his cock with desperate rhythms, but he needed to address the revelation, for his sanity.

First off, you beat him to the punch. Had it originally played out in his mind, Glen was the one to confess about his feelings, not you.

“What? I-I ain’t say nothin’ ‘bout that.” It must’ve slipped. You didn’t know when, or how, or maybe Glen was a mind reader because you definitely didn’t say that, did you? You rocked your lower body in quicker ruts, hoping it would distill any remaining questions, and looked off to the corner, silently cursing at yourself.

“You’re lying.” His grip on your hips was sudden, making you come to a pause.

“I ain’t lyin’—“ Your brows furrowed, exasperated at the interruption. Luckily, Glen’s cock was still hard inside you, somehow throbbing even more as you witnessed something clicked within him.

Glen took ahold of your body, arms secured around your waist, before stepping off the bed and carrying you to the lone rocking chair in the corner of the room. “So, you hate me?”

“What? No, I don’t hate you. You—I—Glen, put me down.” You groaned when Glen sat down on the chair, the position driving his cock impossibly deeper into your body.

He refused despite your attempt in wriggling yourself free. You were strong, but Glen was stronger, tightening his arms around you. “Then what is it? I want to know how you feel before I feel like a fool for loving you too.”

Though, not like he had to hold you with much strength considering your bewilderment stunned you in place. “What? You love me?”

“You tellin’ me you don’t know? What was all that “makin’ love” speech about?” He was just as perplexed as you were. His chest felt heavy with disappointment. He’d been overthinking it, hadn’t he? Glen was a liar, someone who tried to convince himself of the impossible.

“It felt like you were making love to me. Don’t mean that I thought you actually did.“

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

A deafening silence as you two stared at each other. You were about to leave his lap, only for him to bound you back to him at the last second.

“Well, I do. I love you.” Glen stated matter-of-factly, a peculiar tone to his official confession, you couldn’t help but chuckle at it.

“Bighorn…” You sighed, surrendering into his arms with the slouch of your body, your chest colliding onto his. Frankly, the thought of being with Glen made you happy, yet nervous at the same time. “You know it don’t matter whether I love you or not. Nothing is gonna happen beyond this. Nothing can happen, unless you wanna risk your life. Mine too.”

“That’s something I’m willin’ to do. I’ve risked my life traveling plains, through towns, carrying expensive liquor. Nothing I won’t do for you.” Your heart felt like a pond with thrown rocks skipping across the surface of water.

“Absolutely not, and that ain’t the same. How you gon’ love me when you’re ten feet underground because of the fact that you love me?” You crossed your arms, frowning at his persistence because… well, it was working. More rocks began breaking the solitude of the pond.

“From the heavens, hopefully. Can leave you with my horse. Got a ranch back at home too. Can leave you with that. You’d have a house like you’d always wanted. Carry on with my business.” Pure dreams. That was all they were. Dreams.

“That’s only if I ain’t buried with you, Bighorn.” As much as you seemed resistant to Glen’s imaginations, you found yourself picturing a better life for you as you buried your head into his neck, listening to his tales. Living on a ranch like he’d described. Cattle and sheep would run free while you struggled to keep up with Glen as you joined him on this new lifestyle. It would be hard work, but by dawn, you’d slip into bed with Glen after dinner, and deem that it was all worth it in the end.

“At least we’ll be together, one way or ‘nother.” He kissed you at your neck, laving your skin in the weakest kisses, almost like he was beginning to surrender to your defiance. “So, you love me? You love me too?”

“I—Bighorn—Glen…”

He’d come a long way since you’d met him. Describing him as quiet was an understatement. He refused to make small talk when you led him into this room for the first time. It was a quick exchange, a shameful one as Glen power walked out of the saloon without sparing you a single glance. Now, he often spent nights with you, refusing to let go of you even in the deep of his slumber. In retrospect, you could’ve left when you had the chance. You had many opportunities even, to find a better life in the next town, and the next.

The thought of having Glen disappear from your life felt like death itself, so you didn’t, knowing that he would eventually down the line.

A year later, and he hasn’t.

Love makes you do crazy things.

“You know I love you, Glen.” You rubbed his chest sweetly, forewarning him of the disappointment you’d never relieve him from. Tears formed at your waterline, threatening to leak, so you pressed your face deep into his neck, wiping them against his skin. Your heart felt heavy, like it wanted to burst out of your chest to stop you from pushing him away. It would’ve killed you, but at least it would’ve saved Glen the disappointment. “I love you too. I’m glad we sorted that out, but we—”

“No, stop. No more. I love you.” He cut you off with a sudden kiss, whispering into your mouth after. “I love you, and I need you, you understand me?” His palm was back on your rump, kneading at the tender, yet toned flesh, while the other hand pressed his growing erection back to your pucker again, prodding. “No more buts.”

“But—“ Your breath hitched when he slid himself in again, stretching you out like before, yet it felt like an endless slide, digging all the way into the deepest part of your body, like Glen was going to cradle your heart, until he was rooted deep inside of you, balls flushed to the cleft of your ass.

“(M/N), I’ll take care of ya. Whatever happens, I’ll take care of it, you hear me?” Glen cradled your head, kissing at your cheek while you returned to burying it in between his shoulder and neck. “Let me see you.”

“H-hmm, m-mhm—“ His cheeks burned as you made those wanton noises in midst of revealing yourself before him. Flushed in the face, cheeks stricken with tears; one would’ve mistaken you to be ill. Though, in a way you were. You’d been struck by incurable illness that was love.

Glen clicked his tongue, frowning in wonder. “So, so, so pretty. You look so pretty.” He began thrusting into you, resuming where you two had left off. “You look even prettier now that I’m making love to you, you know that?”

“You love me.” You bit your lip, holding back moans because you needed to hear it from Glen again, hear of his devotion for you.

“I love you.” He whispered through grunts, spreading your ass cheeks wide, and you pressed your body forward, arching your ass out as his thrusts ramped up. His cock slammed up into you with raw passion, devoting his remaining strength to holding your ass up, and making himself work for you, all in the name of love.

“I love you.” You repeated between needy whimpers. You soon began to bounce up and down, hands braced on Glen’s shoulders, while you joined his thrusts with your own movements, meeting him halfway. His large cock reared you from behind like a hammer to a nail, pummeling you without break, without the chance to let you breathe.

It was rather the opposite, to knock the breath out of you.

You watched close, mouthing at Glen’s neck, then jaw, until you reached his lips, where you’d let hungry moans delicately fall into place. Glen found you breathtaking as you lost your mind with primitive lust.

“You belong to me, you hear me?” Glen said simply, his features calm. “No one else fucks you like I do.”

Your arms tightened around his neck for a hug. Glen seemed absolutely serene in his love, with you on his lap, fucking yourself into his cock. On the other hand, you were absolutely wrecked. Glen was fucking you harder, knocking guttural moans out of you on each thrust. Your own hole clenched when Glen lifted your ass up, pulling his cock completely out of you until you were squeezing nothing but warm air. He’d expertly dip a finger inside of you, to feel how stretched you were, play with your rim because of how swollen it had gotten, before stretching you back to capacity as he brought you back down on his cock, and onto his upward thrust.

“No one makes love to me like you do.” You panted through his batter, each syllable of word rattling in volume as you had absolutely no sense of it. Glen hummed in agreement while he fucked your ass and jerked your cock all at once. He was taking care of you.

You knew what he meant in the long run; tending to your injuries if you’d happen to fall off his saddle, hosing you down with water when you’d take a dive in the lake, feeding you the last bit of his biscuit because he never liked seeing you hungry. A life far from neglect as Glen had made you realize that you and him shared the dream.

But for now, he was taking care of you. Meticulously so as Glen remembered all the spots that made his tongue taste sugary when you’d moan in his mouth. Glen’s thumb caressed your frenulum, using the pre-cum your cockhead had been spitting to slip his touch in the tightest crevices. The pad of his thumb sailed smooth over the neck of your glans, flicking, pressing, rubbing at the swollen flesh of skin. You sounded so sweet and looked so serene under Glen’s touch, a complete antithesis to how you’d normally present yourself.

Glen was familiar with the roll of your eyes; from the way you’d interact with displeased customers at the bar, or from his demand to hold you throughout the night. But would you hold it against him if Glen revealed that he preferred seeing the whites of your eyes from being fucked impeccably in the ass? With his thick cock, battering your insides until you’d remember the shape of his cock? The motion of it all, digging deep into your ass, into your guts, pummeling through your need to clench hard around him, failing to pause him from hitting that sweet spot, or else you’d spill. Your hands curled into his chest as they were braced on the sweaty surface, and you’d never felt so desired, especially with your reflection in the vanity staring right back at you, providing you a simple glimpse of how beautiful you looked to Glen.

You’re a dirty bastard, Glen reckoned you’d confront him with, only before bending over the mattress and spreading your ass cheeks for him. You lucky that I’m as well, Bighorn.

No. No, you wouldn’t hold it against him.

You were perfect.

“Close.” You warned, then dropped your head lower to kiss him on the lips, spilling your moans into his mouth in midst.

Your hips bucked into his fist while simultaneously rocking back into Glen’s cock. His hold on you was secure, clutching to keep you as close to him as possible. You toyed with your nipples, pinching and tugging on them, and Glen accepted those gestures as a silent invitation for him to wrap his lips around one nub at at a time, suckling on the perky bud until you’d gone swollen. You’d join his lips for another kiss in gratitude, thanking him with your tongue as it explored his warm mouth, licking into his panting, his grunts, his devotion for you. You swallowed his spit after, and your fate with Glen was sealed and optimistically beyond your control.

“You look like an angel right now, but your hole’s the devil. Squeezing around my cock like this, holding me so tight like you’re afraid I’m ‘bout to pull out of ya. Christ, you’re so tight. You my dirty angel. My sweet devil.” His hand had abandoned your cock in favor of taking your ass into both palms and spreading them like before, fucking his cock up into you.

Your eyes shared pleasure with his, only your pupils had seem blown since he’d started angling his hips in a way that sent tremors to your body. With your cock in your hand, you gazed down at Glen with dazed passion, lips parted to warn, yet only little sounds had come out instead. “Glen. Christ—“ His cockhead tickled your sweet spot at first, a brief brushing that you didn’t think much of other than the fact that it made your body tremble. But Glen persisted, shifting his body against your gorgeous, helpless, and needy body, and fucked your tight body with force, teeth-bared, sweat beading on his forehead. Your mouth fell open, and your face slackened with unadulterated pleasure. “Damn you, I’m gonna come—“

Glen shuddered, witnessing your gaze blur in and out in an attempt to focus on him as he was on the brink of his control himself. “Do it,” he urged you. “I want you to. Come from my cock. Gonna come too, inside of your hole.”

You wailed when Glen’s strong thighs slammed into your sweaty ass. A thunder of delicious sounds: your wails and his growls, the bruising smacks of flesh to flesh, the hard rocking of the chair, scraping against the floor; they created a symphony that was nearing a crescendo. Faster. Harder. Deeper. Glen pounded up into you, and your ears blared with sounds of Glen’s pleasure. Your fist pumped your cock until your forearms began to burn, veins pulsing through to power you to your high.

He was gutting you, hollowing your hole out until it would recover just in time for his next visit. You’d remember him for the remaining weeks, his cock pummeling you until your melodic cries had shifted from want to euphoric need.

“Glen..!” You yelled.

Glen kissed you deeply and bit your lower lip, one hand steeling you by the nape to hold your forehead to his. He doesn’t plan on letting go. Watching you like this, submerged in unconditional pleasure, was just as gratifying as hammering into your prostate. “You feel so good, angel. Look at you. Look at that pretty smile, you’re so happy to be filled with my cock.

You were so full of cock, of Glen’s cock, and you cried from it. Cried from how Glen was taking care of you so well, back to fisting your cock, kissing your neck, pounding your insides out.

Love has never felt so good.

Finally, you came with an arch of your back. Glen’s fist released just in time for thick and heavy ropes to splatter on his chest. Glen stiffened, his eyes daring back and forth between the exhilarating expression on your face and the obscene visual of your cum flooding Glen’s fists as he wrapped his hand back around you, and worked you through your orgasm.

“M-mmfgh, come inside— Need it. I need you.” With your eyes on his, you leaned down to kiss him and take his hands into yours for balance, raising them over his head. They were sticky shut from layers of your cum, but that only made it more thrilling as you rode him. You lifted your hips and brought it down without a single pause, burying his cock inside of you to the hilt.

“Angel, fuck— I’m coming.“

You swallowed his growls, warnings of the inevitable, yet you accelerated like you didn’t hear, slamming your ass down repeatedly, chasing after his high. His hands suddenly grasped hard onto yours, sponging cum out from the locked hands and letting it trail down your arms, and his hips bucked. You could feel his thighs flex, see rapture possess his very being as his gritted teeth no longer could contain the trumpeting sound of his moans, his muscles pulsing. With one more press of your ass, you buried Glen’s cock and felt him come inside of you. Heavy and thick as his hot seed stained your walls. Creamy like butter, when you slowly milked him inside of you with gentle rhythms of your hips. It felt sublime, having your insides contain Glen’s devotion for you.

“You the devil himself…” Glen groaned and his body twitched as you emptied him of seed, stopping once you were satisfied. He then released your hands to embrace your waist, letting you slump into him with relief. Your head rested on his shoulder, and your eyes closed shut.

“You really mean it? You’d wanna live on a ranch together, or something?” You asked, feeling his heart come to a calm with your palm providing soothing strokes to his chest.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He turned, pressing his nose to yours. One hand caressed the small of your back, and occasionally would fondle your rump. Warm and plump in his grasp, he couldn’t help that he was in love with every aspect of you.

You thought about his question for a moment, pursing your lips before shaking your head. “No.”

“Then that’s your answer.” He assured with a kiss to your lips. “We ain’t gotta do it now, or the next month, or the month after that. When you’re ready. Just wanted to know I want a future with you.”

“Me too...” You muttered, playing with his chest hair to distract the sudden conflict you’d been harboring from him.

Silence filled the room for a moment as he watched you intently. You picked up his hat from the floor and fit it on yourself.

“There’s that ‘but’ again. What’s the problem?” Glen chuckled, his heart racing again despite maintaining his composure. He playfully flicked the rim of his hat down, making it tilt on your head, and cover your sight line.

“Hey—You ain’t gon’ like it.” You adjusted the hat, sighing in defeat when Glen watched you with vigilance.

“What?” He sat up, making you straighten your posture in turn.

“Think the sheriff’s not gonna like the sound of me quitting.”

“You kidding?”

“Nope.” You pursed your lips again, then sighed. “He’s boss’s most loyal customer. Pays well too. I mean, I don’t know. I may be wrong, but… think he likes me beyond what I do for him. Buys me gift from the city and all.“

“Well, he’s gonna have to prove it. I ain’t leaving without a fight. Not until I’m dead, and even then, I’ll be watchin’ over ya.”

“You a mad man.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#glen powell x reader #glen powell x male reader #glen powell x you #glen powell fanfic #glen powell imagine #x male reader #male reader #x reader #x you #male reader insert #male reader bottom #bottom male reader #male!reader #nou.fics

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tokkiwrites · 3 months ago

Text

𝚄𝚗𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙼𝚢 𝚂𝚔𝚒𝚗. (2)

mom's fiancé/bf! joel miller x f! reader • part one here

Summary: Your mom's new fiancé, Joel Miller, is the kind of man you could never shake out of your mind—rugged, rough, and embodiment of your long-buried fantasies. He's been your next-door neighbor for years, and the crush you harbored through your teenage years never really faded. Now, he's with your mom, and they're planning to get married. You should want her to be happy, but you can't ignore the tension growing between you and Joel. It's something that was never meant to happen. But as you uncover Joel's true motives for being with your mom, you realize maybe your feelings weren't one-sided after all. And maybe, despite everything, you’re the one he really wants. tags: stepcest kind of, age gap (reader is in her mid 20s and joel in his mid 40s), forbidden romance, emotional conflict, slow burn, sexual tension, complicated family dynamics, heartbreak, Joel being an emotionally complicated bastard, ANGST, cheating, infidelity, nsfw, head f receiving, p in v unprotected, breeding kink, cum eating & fingering for like a sentence. /ᐠ - ˕ -マ⁩ authors note 𑁯 ✿ you asked, and i delivered. PART TWO IS HERE YALL. i hope I didn't let you down :( 5.52k words of pure wrongness, but hey, it's joel, so it's okay (haha, not). not proofread, so if you see any errors, just close your eyes pls thank you.

The weight of that night lingered in every breath you took. The memory of Joel's touch, his hands tracing every inch of your body, had seared itself into your skin, refusing to fade. It wasn't just the physicalㅡ it was the way his voice had trembled when he whispered your name. The way he'd held you like you were something sacred something he couldn't afford to lose. But you both knew that after last night, everything had changed. There was no going back

The secret you now carried inside you was heavier, pulling you further into an abyss you couldn't climb out of. And the worst part? You wanted more. Now that, you had tasted what it felt like to have him, the craving for him was worse than ever. You were addicted. The first morning without him felt empty wrong. You should have been able to bury the night, to bury the guilt, but instead, it gnawed at you, weaving into the longing that wrapped itself around your chest like a vice. You scrolled through your phone again, reading the last text he had sent.

• miss you, baby. I can't stop thinking about you. Wish it was you here with me.

your heart twisted in your chest as you read it again, your fingers hovering over the screen, aching to respond. He was gone. He had left early that morning with your mother, whisked away on a honeymoon that was supposed to be filled with love and joy: A honeymoon that, in a cruel twist of fate, was meant to celebrate his new life with her.

But here he was, texting you and you couldn't help but answer the pull that tied you to him. You could practically hear his voice when you read his words, feel the roughness of his hand brushing against your skin in the way your body still hummed with

the memory of him, and your cunt still felt him deep inside of you. Your fingers shook as you typed your response:

• I miss you too.

You stared at the words, hating yourself for them, but unable to stop. You hit send before you could think twice. A sick sort of thrill coursed through you as you imagined him reading it, imagined him lying next to your mother, his phone lighting up with your message, pulling him back to you even from miles away.

You had woken up in his arms, tangled in the sheets, the air between you still thundering with the afterglow of the forbidden but impossibly sweet. You had watched him get dressed in silence, his eyes lingering or you with a mixture of longing and regret before he had leaned down, kissed you hard, and whispered, "This changes everything." that it had. You hadn't stopped thinking about him a second since. But the worst part was, neither had he. Another message came through, lighting up your phone, pulling you from your thoughts.

• I need you. Being here with her feels wrong, baby. don't know how I'm gonna survive his week without touching you. ❤️

your breath caught in your throat as yot read it, heat blooming low in your belly. He missed you. He wanted you. Even while he was supposed to be with her, on their honeymoon, he was thinking about you.

You hated the way it thrilled you, how the hought of him being with your mother didn't make you sick with jealousy, but instead only intensified the twisted longing that had wrapped itself around your heart. You knew it was wrong, god, it was so wrong, but now that you'd had him, you couldn't stop wanting more. You typed back, your fingers moving quickly, not giving yourself a chance to reconsider.

• need you, joel, I dunno know how to do this.

the truth of those words settled over you. you didn't know how to do this. how to navigate this mess of secrets and lies, of immense guilt. All you knew was that the need for him hadn't gone away: it had only grown stronger. As you waited for his response, you lay back in your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you mind replaying every moment of the night before. Your phone buzzed again.

• ill find a way for us to be together.

it was insane. It was dangerous. But he means it. And so did you. this impossibly tangled knot that you couldn't unravel, no matter how hard you tried. And part of you didn't want to. You wanted him. Still. More now than ever.

Your phone vibrated once more

•When I get back, I need to see you. Alone We'll figure this out, I promise.

You were already too far gone

Joel’s name lit up your phone screen, the buzzing pulling you from your thoughts. It was a shock, seeing him call. You hesitated for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen, before finally answering. “Hey,” you said softly, your voice shaking slightly. “Hi, baby.." Joel’s voice came through low and rough, like gravel under your feet. There was a pause before he spoke again, the silence thick. “I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to hear your voice.”

Your heart plummeted at his words. The sound of his voice alone sent a shiver through you, bringing back everything from the night before—the touch of his hands, the way he’d kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the feeling of him filling you up. You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whine. “I’ve been thinking about you all day,” you confessed. There was a soft sound from him, almost like a groan, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “I’ve been thinking about you too, baby. I can’t stop. You under me like that, full of my cockㅡ it’s all I can think about. I keep replaying it. I miss you so much.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Hearing him say it made it all so real, the intensity of it, the wrongness, and yet how much you both wanted it anyway. You squeezed your eyes shut, the memory of his hands on you still fresh, your skin tingling. “It’s been so hard," you whispered. “ I hate that you’re there with her...” The words slipped your lips before you could process them. He exhaled deeply, like he was struggling to hold himself back. “I know,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I’m trying to be here, I really am, but all I can think about is you. You’re all I want. I wish I was with you right now, not here.”

What he was saying hit you hard. He was supposed to be on his honeymoon, with your mother. But here he was, calling you, telling you how much he missed you, how much he wanted to touch you, hear you moan his name again. It was twisted, but you couldn’t deny the way it made you feel—desired, important, needed. “Joel...” You didn’t even know what you were asking for. You just wanted to hear him say more, to fill the aching silence between you. “I can’t stand being away from you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Being here with her… it’s all wrong. 'm thinkin' about you the whole time. I want to be with you, not hidin' this.” The admission made your heart race, your body responding to the urgency in his words. You sat up on your bed, the phone pressed tight against your ear, needing to hear more.

“I need you,” you whispered, not caring anymore about what it meant. “I don’t know how to stop wanting you, Joel. I made everything worse. I don’t know what to do.” Joel’s voice came through soft but strained. “I don’t want you to stop. I don’t want this to end. I need you too, baby. I’ve needed you for so long, and now that I’ve had you…” He trailed off, breathing heavy on the other end of the line. “I can’t stop thinking about it. About us. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this week without you.”

Your heart ached hearing him say it. You imagined him there, lying next to your mother, feeling the same torment that was tearing you apart. The thought should have made you feel worse, but all it did was make you crave him more. “When you get back...” you began, your voice unsteady. “What’s going to happen?” There was a pause, tension .” I don't know, little girl. But I need my hands on you again, feel you around me, kiss yaㅡ we'll figure it out."

Before you could respond, you heard a faint sound in the background—your mother’s voice, calling for him. Your stomach twisted, the weight of everything crashing down on you. You felt like throwing up. He was still with her, still living this life he didn’t want, while you waited, caught in the middle of it all. “I have to go,” Joel said quickly, his voice urgent. “But I’ll call you again. I miss you, baby. We’ll figure this out.”

And then the line went dead.

You stared at the phone in your hand, the silence deafening. Your mind raced, thoughts tumbling over one another, but all you could think about was him—how much you still wanted him, even knowing how wrong it was. The pull between you was too strong, and you didn’t know how to stop. his last words were ringing in your ears—“We’ll figure this out.” But would you? Could you?

Your hand shook as you placed the phone down, the weight of everything suddenly pressing down on you with crushing force. The room felt colder, emptier, like all the air had been sucked out the moment his voice disappeared from the other end of the line. You had been holding it together, balancing the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating, but now, in the quiet of your room, the dam finally broke. You pressed your palms to your face, feeling the burn of tears already welling in your eyes. You couldn’t stop it. The guilt, the longing, the impossibility of it all—it came crashing down like a wave, and you were powerless against it.

A sob escaped your throat, low and broken, as you curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. The tears came hot and fast, spilling down your cheeks in heavy streams. You didn’t even try to hold them back. You wiped at your eyes, but the tears kept falling, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. You hated this—hated how torn you felt. Hated that, despite knowing how wrong it was, you couldn’t stop wanting him. It made everything feel impossible. You wanted him so badly, it ached. But the guilt—it clung to you, wrapped itself around your heart and squeezed, suffocating you with its weight.

The sobs came harder, your body trembling as you rocked yourself, trying to find some sort of release from the storm inside you. The image of Joel lying beside your mother, on their honeymoon, gnawed at you, twisting the knife deeper into your chest. How had you let it come to this? How had you fallen so far, wanting something you knew you could never truly have?

But even through the disgust, through the pain, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His voice, his touch, the way he had looked at you. It had felt real. Too real. And now it was like you were caught in a spiral, unable to pull yourself out. You cried harder, the sound of your sobs filling the quiet room, your heart breaking under the weight of it all. You pressed your face into your knees, feeling the dampness of your tears soak through the fabric of your jeans.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had wanted to make your mother happy, to stay away, to be the good daughter. But Joel—he had always been the one thing you couldn’t resist. And now that you had crossed that line, there was no going back.

The phone buzzed softly beside you, the screen lighting up with a new message. You didn’t need to look at it to know who it was. Even now, your heart still reached for him, wanting more of the thing that was tearing you apart. But you couldn’t. Not right now.

So, you sat there, curled up in your bed, crying alone, knowing that despite everything, despite the pain, you were already too deep. And you weren’t sure how to climb out.

the time slipped through your fingers.

The sun had barely set when you heard the familiar sound of tires crunching on the gravel outside. Your heart raced in your chest as you glanced out the window, the bright glow of the headlights cutting through the dusk. Joel’s truck. They were back. He was back. you hated that he had to go away for work so often. even though the honeymoon ended early, he had to leave again for something regarding his job, so this was the first time you saw him in weeks.

The past week had felt endless—long days filled with quiet moments where you found yourself staring at your phone, hoping for a message that never came. After that phone call, everything had felt suspended, like you were teetering on the edge of something you could never go back from. You had tried to keep yourself busy, but every time your mind wandered, it drifted back to him—the sound of his voice, the memory of his touch. The longing, the guilt, the jealousy... it was all there, swirling together in a storm you couldn’t control.

You stood by the window, watching as Joel’s truck pulled into the driveway next to your mother’s. He climbed out, his tall figure silhouetted against the setting sun, a bag slung over his shoulder. You saw him exchange a few words with your mother, who was already standing on the porch, a wide smile on her face as she rushed over to greet him.

You blinked, shaking off the sudden wave of jealousy that washed over you. Stop it, you told yourself. She’s your mother, and he’s with her. You pulled away from the window, trying to steady your breath. But it didn’t help. The pit in your stomach only grew deeper. You couldn’t escape the feeling—the weight of what had happened, the shame that gnawed at you. You had always known this day would come, but that didn’t make it easier to face.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden. You froze for a second, your heart thudding against your ribs. Your mother called out, “I’ll get it!” But you knew it wasn’t her who he had come for. it was you. so you rushed in front of her, muttering a soft "i got it." When you opened the door, you saw him standing there, looking every bit like the man you had spent the last weeks fantasizing about. His dark hair was tousled, his eyes still shadowed from the exhaustion of travel, but there was something else—something hungry.

He was wearing a simple flannel, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong, calloused forearms. He looked worn, but somehow more real than before. More him. You could feel your nipples harden at his sight. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low.

You nodded, feeling the tension coil tighter between you. For a moment, neither of you said anything—just stood there, caught in the gravity of what had happened, what you both knew but weren’t quite ready to speak.

Your mother’s voice interrupted the silence. "Come on in," she called out from the living room. "I was just looking at the pictures from the trip. Joel, why don’t you show her the ones we took from the beach?" Joel glanced at you, his eyes searching your face, but you forced yourself to smile, hiding the turbulence inside. You could already feel it— those pictures, the idea of him sharing his time with her, touching her, laughing and smiling while you were here, waiting, stuck between two worlds.

As you stepped into the living room, Joel followed, and your mother handed him a small photo album that just came in the mail with a beaming smile. "Look at this one, Joel. It’s from the sunset on the beach. I swear, the sky was never so perfect!" she exclaimed before heading to the kitchen to make some drinks for the three of you. Joel opened the album, flipping through the pictures. There they were—Joel and your mother, side by side, arms wrapped around each other, smiling as they stood by the ocean. You could see the joy in your mother’s face—the happiness you had always wanted for her, but it still stung. The sight of them together made your chest tighten with something you didn’t want to acknowledge. were you jealous?

Joel glanced up at you, sensing your discomfort. He cleared his throat, his voice lower than usual, as if he was trying to say something that hadn’t quite formed yet. "I missed you," he said quietly, glancing back at the pictures.

You stared at the photo of Joel and your mother standing on the beach, their hands intertwined. The image of them together, so carefree and happy, only deepened the ache inside you. You clenched your jaw, feeling the jealousy flare up—jealous of the way they had spent those days together. Jealous that he had touched her, laughed with her, shared moments you had longed for. He caught the shift in your mood, the way your eyes narrowed at the pictures. You couldn’t hide it. Joel stepped closer, his tone more serious now. "Hey, don’t look at it like that. babyㅡ"

You blinked, feeling the sting of unshed tears. "Like what?" You asked, trying to mask the hurt in your voice. "Like I’m..." He paused, his eyes searching yours, his hand hovering, almost as if he wanted to reach out but stopped himself. "Like I was with her, and not with you."

"But you were." You blurt it out.

Your heart hammered in your chest. The way he said it made the jealousy bubble up even more, but there was something else in his voice too—something like regret, like he was just starting to feel what had happened between the two of you. "I just..." You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "I can’t do this, Joel. Seeing you with herㅡ it hurts."

Joel’s face softened, and he took a step closer, his hand finally finding yours. His touch was grounding, reassuring in a way you hadn’t expected. "Hey, look at me," he said softly. "It wasn’t like that. I’m with her, sure. I promised her, and I’m tryin' to be a good man for her, but it’s not the same. You’re different. You’ve got a hold on me, baby. on my soul and heart. I can’t explain it.." You stared at him, your heart a mess of confusion and desire. His words sent a wave of relief through you, but it didn’t erase the pain. You wanted him, but he was still bound to your mother, and that fact ate at you from the inside out.

"I can’t pretend," Joel said, his thumb brushing the back of your hand. "it’s not something I can just ignore. And I won’t let it destroy you or me. It’s just... hard to figure out where to go from here." Your breath caught in your throat. "I don’t want to lose you," you whispered. "But I don’t know how to do this—how to live in this space between what’s right and what feels so damn wrong."

Joel’s expression darkened for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him as well. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. "I know it’s messy," he murmured. "But it’s not goin' anywhere. I’m not goin' anywhere."

There was no easy answer, no clear path to walk. But in that moment, as you stood in the same room as Joel and your mother, no matter how hard you tried to fight it, you knew that whatever happened, you couldn’t walk away from him.

Not now. Not ever.

The early evening sun cast a golden glow across the kitchen as your mom stood in front of the mirror, giving herself one last look before grabbing her purse. She hummed to herself, the excitement of her night out with friends clear in her every movement. She was still glowing from the wedding, from the honeymoon. The happiness on her face felt like a knife in your chest.

"You're sure you'll be alright here?" she asked, her voice light, not really expecting a different answer from you. " I won't be too late." You nodded, trying your best to keep your smile steady. "Yeah, Mom. We'll be fine. You deserve to have fun." Your mom turned to Joel, who was leaning casually against the kitchen counter, his hands tucked into his pockets. "And you.." she teased, stepping closer to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I know you're not much of a party guy. Try not to be too boring while l'm gone."

Joel chuckled lightly, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I'Il behave,"' he promised, though his eyes flicked toward you for just a moment. a brief, loaded glance that made your heart flutter.

Your mom laughed, oblivious to the tension in the room, as she slung her purse over her shoulder. "Alright, don't wait up for me. I'll be back later." She waved, her heels clickingsoftly against the floor as she headed out the door.

The sound of the car starting up, the engine humming, and the tires rolling down the driveway were the last reminders of her presence before the house fell into silence. The quiet between you and Joel was immediate, heavy, as if the very walls of the house knew something had shifted. You stood there, not sure what to do. "Guess it's just us now," Joel said, his voice low, rough around the edges. He knew what he was doing. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady.

"Yeah... just us." You could feel his eyes on you, the same gaze that always seemed to see right through to the heart of you, the gaze that made you feel vulnerable exposed.

Joel pushed off from the counter, taking a few slow steps toward you. His movements were deliberate, careful. "You alright, baby?" You looked away, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to pull together some semblance of control, but it was no use. "I thought i could handle it, being here with you..." Joel's jaw tightened, and he stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "It's been hard for me too," he said quietly, his voice strained. He reached out slowly, his hand brushing your arm, the touch so soft it sent a shiver through you. "This whole thing," he muttered, his eyes dark, intense, "it's not what I thought it would be. Not with you here. It ain't easy for me either."

Your pulse raced as you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "I don't know how to stop," you whispered, your voice trembling. Joel's hand moved to your waist, his grip gentle but firm. His touch was warm, grounding, but the fire between you was undeniable. "I can't stop." he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "i've tried, but..."

He trailed off, his eyes flicking to your lips. You could feel the pull between you growing stronger, the tension wrapping tighter around you, making it harder to breathe. "Joel.." you gasped, not sure what you were asking for. "I know, baby.." you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. "I need you." you finally muster some courage. Joel's eyes darkened at your words, and before you knew it, his lips were on yoursㅡ soft at first, tentative, but when he felt you respond, the kiss deepened. His hand moved up your back, up into your hair, pulling you closer, his touch igniting something inside you that you had been trying to keep buried.

The kiss was everything you had been wanting, everything you had been denying yourself. It was soft but intense, slow but deliberate, and it left you breathless. But even as you kissed him, even as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him, the reality of it all lingered in the back of your mind.

you pull back for a second. "We shouldn't be doing this." Joel's grip tightened on you, his eyes searching yours. "i know, darli'. we shouldn't." He pulled you in again, his lips finding yours, and this time there was no hesitation, no second-guessing. It was raw, intense, and everything you had been craving. His hands moved over your back, your arms, as if he couldn't get enough of you, as if he had been holding back for too long. You let yourself forgef everything. He picks you up and places you on the cold kitchen counter, your legs wrapping around his middle. "Need'a taste you, sweet thing." You moan as he undresses you from your flimsy shorts, pulling them down and getting on his knees in front of you. "No panties, baby? filthy little thing." Though it wasn't on purpose, you can't help but blush at his reaction. Joel inched closer, rogh beard rubbing against your plush skin, making you jolt. finally, he sticks his tongue out, dragging it through your dripping folds. you grab onto the counter, leaning back on your hands as you try to bite back moans. "Look at ya, dirtying your moms counter. don't you feel bad?" he teases. you don'tㅡ for anything. it all fades away. the moment he digs into you, your eyes roll to the back of your head. joel circles his tongue around your swollen bud agonizingly slow. you try to push his head further, signal him to go faster, but he's adamant that he takes his time.

it doesn't take long until you feel yourself unraveling, that pit forming into your tummy as your muscles tense up. Just then, Joel pulls away with that, leaving you gasping for air. "Not yet, baby. want you to come on my cock." he was so vile, wiping his face with the shirt he had on before undoing his pants. they fall to his ankles and he scoots closer so that he's between your legs, his lenght resting snug between your puffy lips.

"Please, joel, don't do this to me.." You whine, unable to resist longer. "Pretty desperate thing. 's okay, I'll give it to you." With that, he pulls you closer and aligns himself with you dripping entrance. even if it wasn't the first time with him, it still stings, the stretch deliciously painful. "Fuck, baby, look at that. this pussy was made for me, yeah? say it baby. say this pussy is mine." he grabs you harshly by your face, as he pushes in fully. " 's all y-yours, joel, 'm all yours."

"damn right you are. my little girl, so eager to take my cock.." he deliberately snaps his hips, the tip slipping past your cervix. the pain was taking over your body, and you let yourself sob as joel holds you close while he starts moving. " 's okay, sweet thing. i got you. you're alright, you can take it." you are alright.

Joel leans down to capture your lips into another kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, igniting a spark within your core. The kiss deepens, filled with an intensity that speaks of desire. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his fingers trace delicate patterns on your skin. The world around you blurs as he pushes inside of you faster, harder, and you hiss softly through the kiss. he's moving his hips the same rhythm as your heart that was pounding against your chest. "I can never get enough of you.." he growls through broken grunts as he moves into you, your walls clenching around him. "Joel, godㅡ" he leans down again, planting soft pecks across your collar bones and down to your breasts. "yeah? c'mon baby, tell me how good it feels."

"feels so good.." Your moans echo through his head like a melody, and you can feel Joel's grip onto your waist growing tighter. the familiar pool into your lower belly makes its presence known as your back arches against his hold, one hand slipping under one of your thighs as his lips write kisses from your neck to your pebbled nipples "I'm so closeㅡ" Your little cries are enough to send him over the edge. "I love you so much, baby, shitㅡ 'm gonna come some deep in you. feel me in your little tummy?"

your heart almost stops. he loves you. joel loves you. he said he loves you while he's drilling into you on your mom's countertop. and he's your mom's husband. as he's fucking deeper into you, the words slip out without warning, no second-guessing. "I love yㅡou, Joel!" he closes his eyes, forehead resting agains yours as his hips buckle from releasing white ropes of warm liquid inside of your velvet walls, the feeling overwhelming and suffocating. you wait for him to calm down a bit before you bring your hands to his face and pull him up for another kiss. You both catch your breath. finally, he breaks the silence, while taking his shaft out of your pulsing cunt.

"fuck, baby... look at the mess you made. you bad girlㅡ lick it up now." you whimper as you try to move your limp body down the counter, bending yourself over to lick up the juices and come that dripped from you. joel licks his lips, watching as his seed trickles down your thighs. he takes two fingers and with no warning sticks them up in you, as you still lick the cold surface. "Want it all in you." you feel his warm, thick fingers swirling around your cunt, pushing back in any come that may have slipped out. "You'll look so pretty with my baby in you."

Joel loves you.

taglist ⭐️ ㅡ @eviispunk @1-800-sluttysadness @joeldjarin @whimsiwitchy @guelyury

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel tlou #joel x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller angst #pedro pascal angst

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darknight3904 · 4 months ago

Text

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘔𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘰𝘯'𝘴 𝘧𝘢𝘳𝘮, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/ 𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 6.6𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

The Munson's farm was a welcome sight after nearly two days on the road. Despite your protests, Logan insisted he would drive the past 40-something hours. The shitty car Logan had bought couldn't reach above 60 miles an hour and then getting stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic had caused Logan's mood to worsen.

"We're only staying for supper." Logan declared when he pulled the keys from the ignition.

You glanced into the backseat at your companions, who looked even more tired than you were. Your gaze fell onto Charles who gave you a sly wink in return. If he could still use his powers you were sure he'd be in your head saying that Logan was full of shit.

You grumbled in frustration when the potato in your hands slipped and bounced to the floor. You had killed two men a few days ago, and now you were struggling with a potato the size of your fist.

"It's alright, I can do it. I'm sure you're tired." The woman, Kathyrn, said.

"No, let me help. You're giving us a free meal, the least I can do is help cook it." You smile, scooping the fallen vegetable off the tiled floor.

You'd never admit it to her but your lack of potato peeling skill is due to the pain in your hands. The swollen veins and unhealed cut from earlier are driving you up the wall as you peel and slice away. You can tell Kathyrn wants to ask you about them but is keeping it in.

"It's a skin condition." You lie, "It's not contagious though, don't worry you're safe."

She gives you a kind smile, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

"I get it a lot, don't worry about it." You reply

She nods and then moves on to preparing ingredients for what looks like a pie.

"Your home is beautiful." You compliment, unsure what to say. It's been so long since you got to talk to another woman. You don't count the old lady who works at the motel with you, all she talks about is her bunions. Laura doesn't really count either, all you've heard was screams when she sliced those men up days ago. That and her growls when the convenience store's horse ride stopped working. Logan had saved the horse from an early death by gifting a quarter to the little girl, buying her another ride.

"Thank you." Kathryn says, "She's old but we love her."

"It's better than where we live." You say, thinking of the ugly smelting plant you were glad to finally be free of.

Kathryn eventually shoos you away from the potatoes and teaches you how to roll the pie crust out so it doesn't stick to the cutting board, and then she lets you taste the sweetest blueberry you've ever had.

Charles calls your name from his spot on the couch, pointing out Logan who was descending the stairs.

"Oh, Logan." You smile, "Did you trim your beard?"

"No."

He's lying. What an idiot.

Will had insisted Logan take a shower, Logan had resisted but the friendly farmer eventually wore him down, telling Logan he smelled was enough to get him into the bathroom.

"You look nice." Kathryn compliments

Logan gives her a small nod before crossing the room to you.

"What're you cooking?" He asks, leaning against the counter next to you.

His question goes in one ear and out the other. You're focused on the flannel and jeans he must've borrowed. They're a bit too small but you thank the gods above that Will Munson is smaller than Logan because the fabric is certainly hugging him in all the right places. You swore his jeans would split if he even tried to bend down in them. Thank god Charles had convinced Logan to stay. This was officially a glorious day in history. In fact, you're sure if they actually ripped you'd be sent right to heaven.

"She is working on a blueberry pie, my mother's recipe," Kathryn answers for you.

"Don't fuck it up." Logan teases, reaching out to gently tap your hip

His tone makes you bristle and has you breaking out of your trance and kicking at his shin. He lets out a hum of discontent but ignores whatever pain you might've caused him.

"Watch your mouth." You scold him, looking over at Laura, and particularly, Nate sitting on the floor, playing a game of checkers.

Logan scoffs at your command before stealing a blueberry from the bowl and popping it in his mouth.

"There won't be any pie if you eat all the ingredients." You groan, snatching the bowl away.

"Just give me one more," Logan asks reaching for the bowl that you keep from his reach, "I'm a growing boy."

"Go take a nap." You swat at his hand, and he hisses in pain when your hand hits his, "You're not growing, you're like a thousand years old."

"M' not tired." Logan lies, reaching again.

"You're full of shit." You reply

Kathryn lets out a warm laugh, "You two are cute. Bickering like high school sweethearts."

You feel your face warm and Logan shakes his head beside you, clearly flustered as well.

"They basically are." Charles says suddenly, "They used to be students at my school."

"Who had a school?" Will returns from his nightly rounds with his animals.

"My uh Dad was just telling your wife about his school for...special needs kids," Logan says

"They were both his students," Kathryn says

You can tell she likes the picture Charles has painted. Young love blossoming and lasting a lifetime, it was like something out of a movie.

"Logan never paid attention to me while we were there." You smile, "Too hung up a girl named Jean."

Logan glances over at you unsure of what to say or do.

"It's alright though, I've got him now." You assure, hoping you haven't overstepped by mentioning Jean.

Dinner and pie eaten, you find yourself fixing blankets on a small pullout bed the Munsons offered you and Logan. You were glad Logan had relented and agreed to stay. One night wasn't going to kill anyone.

"It's nice here." You say into the darkness, thinking of how wonderful this day had turned out.

"Yeah, it's fine," Logan grumbles, slinging an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him

"This is what life looks like, Logan." You say, hiding your face in his neck

"We'll have a life once we drop Laura in North Dakota." He says

"We really have to take her there?" You ask despite her foul attitude, the little girl was growing on you. If you closed your eyes tight enough you could even see yourself raising her with Logan by your side of course.

"She's not a stay cat. Besides, if we keep her they won't stop coming after us." Logan reasons honestly

"She's your daughter, Logan." You mumble into his skin sadly

"Never asked for a kid." He answered, his gruff voice normally calms you but tonight it upsets you.

"I know, but-"

"No buts. Go to bed." He says

"Gotta go pee." You lie, not wanting to be near him just this second. Didn't he feel anything for Laura?

Logan lets out an angry sound but lets you go, saying something about coming back quickly.

You tiptoe upstairs to the bathroom, trying not to make the steps creak too much. The bathroom door opens and you run right into Kathryn.

"I am so sorry." You say quickly

"It was my fault." She says, "I shouldn't swing the door open so quickly."

You look at her and her face is green with some clay mask that she applied.

"Nice mask."

You mean it as a joke, just a friendly jest since she reminds you of an alien right now.

"Would you like some? It's an overnight mask, it keeps the skin soft."

You back peddle, insisting she doesn't need to do that.

"Oh please, I've only been blessed with a son, as much as I love him it'd be nice to have a girl around here every once in a while."

Before you know it, you're sitting on the closed toilet seat while she paints your face with the cucumber scented stuff.

"Oh, I should've asked if this was going to hurt your skin." Kathryn suddenly pauses.

"My skin?" You ask

She glances down at your arms.

"Oh, right. It's fine. My uh skin will be fine." You affirm

"Does your daughter like doing girlie things with you? I try to take Nate shopping and all he does is whine." Kathryn says, "Always asking me when we can go home or buy some overpriced pretzels."

You're not sure if Laura would like "girlie" things. You suppose the closest you'd gotten to it with her was at the casino and then in the hotel when you detangled her hair. Not that it matters since you'd be dropping her in North Dakota and then running off to buy a stupid boat.

"Honestly, sometimes I can't tell what she's thinking. She's...not my kid." You say, according to Logan, she's not anyone's, "She let me brush her hair the other night though."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just presumed since you and Logan seemed so close." Kathryn says, "It's nice she lets you do things like that for her."

"Logan and I aren't even married." You say, glancing down at your left hand.

It didn't matter, marriage. So many things were more important right now. You did wonder though, would he ever ask? Sure, the two of you had just finally...well you didn't even know what you were to him. A girlfriend? Partner? Lover?"

"Men, they're always wasting time aren't they?" Kathryn sighs

"Tell me about it." You respond, thinking of the past year you spent pining over Logan. Did he feel the same way the whole time? Why did he bother waiting so long?

"You're done." She declares, "Tomorrow morning you can wash it off and your skin will be softer than ever."

You glance in the mirror at your now-covered face. Honestly, you look ridiculous.

"Thank you." You sheepishly say

"No problem." Kathryn smiles

You bid Kathryn goodnight and then float back down the steps to a now-sleeping Logan. As soon as you slip under the covers, he shifts, moving to rest his head on your chest.

"Long bathroom break." He points out

"I fell in." You joke

Logan lets out a short laugh, arms squeezing your sides.

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"Goodnight, Logan."

You wake up the next morning to Logan's booming voice scaring you.

"What. The fuck."

You look over at him, his eyes are wide and he looks utterly confused.

"What is your problem?" You groan, wanting to go back to bed

"What happened to your face?" Logan asks

"You shouldn't say that to a woman, Logan." You say, "It's a face mask relax."

"You're blue." Logan points out, distaste evident in his voice.

"Good." You grumble, where was his energy coming from? "And actually I'm green. It's cucumber scented."

"You know that alien emoji you sent me a few days ago? That's what you look like right now."

"You're an asshole."

You drag yourself upstairs, this time to go to the bathroom for real, and to wash your face off. Upon your return, you see the asshole er you mean, Logan, has propped himself up on the pillows and has his glasses on, paging through files Laura had in her bag.

"Much better." He says looking at you over the edge of his glasses

"Glad my face appeases you." You roll your eyes, trying to pretend he doesn't look otherworldly with those glasses.

"You don't need that shit. Pretty just the way you are." He says, motioning for you to join him in bed again.

You crawl over to him, resting your back against his chest. Your eyes scan the papers he holds, looking at all the nameless children Transigen has made.

"What're you looking for?" You ask

"Just, reading, bub. Wanna know more about this Transigen shit."

You nod and reach out to trace the scars that litter his left hand. Basking in the silence you let yourself relax on the soft sofa bed with Logan behind you.

"What are we, Logan?" You ask suddenly overcome with the need to know.

"What?" He asks, dropping the file that was opened to Laura's page onto his lap.

"What am I to you? I want to know what you're thinking. Is this some short-lived fling because I don't want to end up crying my eyes out over you if you were never taking it serious to begin with." You asset, sitting up and facing him

Logan sighs, taking in your determined face. He reaches out and takes your hand in his, tracing the ugly veins that mar your skin.

"You used to scare me you know." He says, pulling the glasses off his face.

"What?"

"Your feelings I mean. Back when we first got settled in Mexico and you were cooking and doing shit for me. It scared me, your feelings, my own for you. The idea of committing, it used to scare me."

"So we're some, what? Some casual thing?" You ask as a pit of despair opens in your stomach.

"What? No. Would you let me finish?" Logan asks

"Sorry."

He nods and starts again, his voice full of hesitance.

"But now I...shit I'm not good at this."

"Keep going."

You squeeze his hand in reassurance, hoping he opens his mouth again. It takes a moment but his deep voice fills your ears again.

"I want this, " He motions between the two of you, "You and me. For however long we have left in these shit bodies, I want it."

He pauses for a second scarred hands taking yours. "If you want to label it, we can. Lovers, partners, boyfriend, girlfriend. I don't care. I just..."

Logan meets your eyes and you let out a small laugh full of joy,

"I want you to be mine."

You smile and gently push the files off his lap, replacing them with yourself. Looping your arms around him so they rest on his shoulders, your hands run up the back of his head and thread through his hair. A gentle, chaste kiss is pressed to his lips. The scruff of his beard tickles as you pull away.

"I'm all yours."

"Good." He laughs, leaning in to let his nose brush yours, your eyes flutter shut as you take him all in.

Logan flips you onto your back and you let out a gasp that is entirely too loud considering the early hour. Logan presses another kiss to your lips and then to your forehead.

"Wanna show you how much you mean to me." He rasps, as he begins to pepper gentle kisses down your neck.

His hips grind into yours and you let out a quiet whimper when his fingers slip below the band of your pants.

"No panties?" Logan whispers, his voice teasing.

"It's more comfortable like this." You pout truthfully

"Easier access too."

Your face heats up in embarrassment but you don't have much time to feel ashamed as his thumb begins to circle your clit while his others push into you. Your eyes scrunch shut as your hips begin to arch up off the pull-out bed.

You let out a small gasp when he pulled his fingers out to spit down on them, easing the slight burn that had been there before. You can tell his ego is soaring with each groan and whimper that leaves your lips.

His spare hand comes up and tugs at the bottom of your shirt. You indulge him and pull it off, grinning when he lets out a deep groan. Your eyes shut again when his head dips down to gently suck at one of your breasts, tongue working wonders on the sensitive flesh.

"Open your eyes," Logan commands suddenly.

You let your eyes flutter open to meet his intense gaze.

"So pretty." He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

It's all so intimate as you whimper his name when your climax begins to build. your hand flies down to where his is, gripping his wrist like you want him to stop.

Logan lets out a low chuckle when you cum. He claims your lips with his own, swallowing the loud moan that threatens to wake the whole house.

"Can I suck you off?" You breathily ask when he finally lets you go

Logan looks over at you, obviously not expecting that to come out of your mouth.

"You don't have to." He says, his eyes falling to your lips.

He was definitely imagining them on his cock. What a pervert your man was.

"C'mon, I've never gone down on anyone before. Let me try with you." You smile

Logan's head snaps back up, "You mean to tell me you've been alive how long and you've never gone down on a guy...or girl?"

You shake your head and he pauses, letting his eyes rake over your still-clothed body.

"How's that even possible?"

"Dunno." You shrug and drop to your knees in front of him.

Your hands come up to his pants and gently tug, silently asking for permission. He shakes his head but lifts his hips up anyway.

Your hips wiggle in excitement when he pulls them down, letting the fabric pool at his ankles. His cock springs up and you marvel at it. It's the first time you're seeing it for real. Unless of course, you count that time you accidently walked in on him masturbating a few months ago. He couldn't look you in the eye for a week after that incident.

"Remember that time I walked in on you?" You breathily ask

Logan's face turns red at the memory. You can tell he doesn't want to be reminded.

"You shouldn't have seen that." He says, his voice full of guilt.

You grin, "I just wish you would've asked me to join you."

And then you're licking your lips and gently kissing the tip of him. You gently let your fingertips brush up him before opening your mouth and spitting.

"Keep going." He orders, his voice is desperate.

You do so happily letting your mouth open up and take him in. Gently sucking at first but slowly becoming a bit rougher as he lets out quiet noises.

"Fuck." Logan gasps from above, "You sure you haven't done this before?"

Your hands stroke what doesn't fit in your mouth and the salty taste of precum is staining your tongue. The slight ache of your jaw is becoming annoying but you ignore it, looking up at Logan whose eyes are shut tight.

"Ah, fuck me," Logan declares as a warm spurt of cum hits the back of your throat. His head lolls back and you groan and try to swallow it all down as he fills your mouth, whimpering when it begins to spill out of your lips.

Logan gently pulls his hips away from your mouth and pulls you up towards him. He looks up at you as he sits on the bed while you stand, placing your hands on his shoulders. His hand comes up to wipe at the cum that's escaped your lips.

"That wasn't your first time doing that." He rasps, his voice heavy with euphoria.

You give him a sly smile, "No, it wasn't."

The sound of creaking steps has the two of you jumping back under the covers. You haven't seen Logan move this fast in ages as he yanks the covers up so you're covered. You feel a laugh bubble up in your chest as he scrambles to tuck himself back into his pants, clearly not interested in traumatizing whoever is walking downstairs.

"Morning, Howletts." Will greets, walking into his kitchen.

"Morn-"

Logan's voice is a bit higher than normal and he coughs a bit.

"Morning."

Guilt wells up in your chest. You and Logan had just defiled this man's poor pull-out sofa bed. It doesn't help that Logan's big hand is resting on your hip, drawing teasing little circles on your skin.

"Good morning." Kathryn greets the two of you as she descends the steps

Luckily she too, goes off to the kitchen, asking her husband about coffee. You're about to demand Logan pass you your shirt which lays forgotten on the floor when much to your horror, Laura walks down the steps.

Your prayers are denied when instead of entering the kitchen, she walks towards you and Logan, sitting on the recliner opposite of you.

Logan looks over at you, unsure of his next move. The obvious one is that he should get up and attend to Charles who is surely awake now but you don't want him just leaving you half-naked. A small groan escapes your lips and you look at Laura who is already staring, probably trying to work out why the covers are up to your chin.

"Laura, can you um, grab that shirt at your feet?"

She glances down before passing it to you. Logan lets out an amused chuckle before gently lifting the blankets to hide you behind them while you redress.

"Keep laughing and I'll cut your dick off." You threaten, pulling the shirt down your body.

"You like it too much to do that."

You send a rough punch into a muscled arm and he drops the blanket.

"Hey, don't hit me." He says, a frown on his pretty face.

You stand up, ignoring him and beckoning Laura to go to the kitchen with you. She walks ahead of you and quick as lightning Logan reaches out and gently slaps your ass. You whirl around to see his face full of boyish amusement, making him look years younger.

"Wasn't me."

Charles somehow manages to convince Logan to spend the day with the Munsons, claiming he's too tired to leave. You can't quite tell if he's faking or not, but before you know it you're watching Logan help Will with the horses you saved on the road yesterday.

"You sure you have to leave tonight? You and Logan still look exhausted." Kathryn points out as the two of you lounge on the front porch in rocking chairs.

You couldn't admit to her that the source of both of your exhaustion was from defiling the sofa bed.

"Ah, well we should make up the lost time. Plus we don't want to overstay our welcome." You sigh

"Nonsense. Tell you what. I'll give you our phone number. If you guys ever pass through here again, we can get together." She smiles

"We're not that cool, you don't want to spend more time with us." You reject

"I happen to think you and your little family are wonderful. Besides even Laura and Nate are getting along, he even let her borrow his iPod." She points over to the two kids, Laura is watching Nate climb a tree, iPod in hand.

"Alright, fine." You relent, not having the heart to tell her you didn't plan on ever driving through here again.

"Great, I'll be right back."

Your eyes scan the peaceful land you're sitting on. The setting sun and the chirps of birds fill your eyes and ears as you look around. Eventually, your eyes fall on Logan who has shed his shirt, leaving him in the white tank top he often wore. Your eyes greedily drink up the exposed skin as his arms flex while he helps lift a hay bale for Will. As disgusting as it might be you want to run your lips across those sweaty biceps, this morning had not been enough to quelch the fire in your stomach. Logan was simply a wet dream come true.

"Does he know you check him out constantly?"

Kathryn's voice has you sputtering, embarrassment flooding your system. She laughs loudly and passes you the paper with her number.

"I saw you last night when he came out in that flannel and jeans, I'm honestly surprised the seams didn't burst, your man is rather muscly." She teases

"Ah yeah, Logan has always been well-built." You say, thinking of how strong he was.

"When we were lying in bed last night, Will asked me how long it'd take for him to look like that. I told him not in a million years."

You laugh freely at that, trying to imagine Will Munson suddenly becoming as muscle-filled as Logan was.

Kathryn lets out a love-sick sigh, "I never want him to change though. Will is perfect in my eyes. Just the man for me you know?

"You two gossiping about me?" Will asks stepping onto the porch

"We sure are. All bad things." You grin, "Like the time you left the toilet seat up."

Will laughs, his warm gaze landing on his wife, "I haven't done that in years."

"Sun's setting. We're leavin' soon Logan declares as he walks over, shaking Will's hand in thanks.

You nod and stand up, shoving Kathryn's phone number into your jeans pocket.

After one more dinner, Kathryn insisted on it, you're packing the truck up, while Logan is arguing with Charles upstairs who has spent the day in bed, reading and eating a package of double stuff Oreos.

"Shit." Kathryn curses over a sink of dishes

"You alright?" You ask

"Fine, There's this water main about a mile or so away. Assholes shut it off every once in a while." She sighs, "Will! Waters off again!"

You watch as Logan tosses his bag into the bed of the truck, glancing over at Will who is already walking off in the direction of the water pipes.

"I'll be back soon, try to get Charles out of that damn bed." He says

"How?" You groan, knowing how strong-willed the old man was

"I don't know. Remind him about young mutants or some shit." Logan sighs, obviously tired, "Just try to get him in his chair at least."

You nod and take a step closer to Logan, hooking your fingers into his belt loops, and pulling him in so his chest brushes yours.

"And make sure Laura doesn't try to steal their kid's candy. I saw her eyeing it up earlier." He says

"Got any more orders for me, Sarge?' You tease

"Sorry. I just...We need to get a move on before they find us again. They're using Caliban to track us." Logan worries, resting his hands on your hips while you place yours on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

"I know." You say sadly, thinking of your pale friend.

"See you soon, sweetheart," Logan says, leaning down to rest his head on your shoulder, his face buried in your neck.

"Logan?"

"Mmm?"

"I love you."

You can feel the smile that stretches across the weary face you want to wake up next to for the rest of your life. He brings his head back up and the porch light makes his eyes twinkle just the slightest bit.

"I love you too."

A gentle kiss, unlike the ones you've shared before, is pressed to your lips and then he's walking off, the darkness swallowing him whole.

Charles is aggravating, he kicks and swears when you go to grab him. You sigh and collapse onto the floor on the other side of the bed. If he wasn't your father figure, you would've smacked him by now. You loved him but he was testing your patience.

You glance over at Laura who is laying on the floor, her eyes shut. She looks peaceful, like a normal little girl. You want her to experience a real like, one like Nate Munson has, winning track meets and doing math at the kitchen table with her dad. You want to experience it with her, fill the shoes of her nameless mother, and have Logan truly be her father.

"I'm sorry," Charles whispers into the darkness

"For not cooperating? Good. Now let's get you in your chair." You say, resting your head on the side of the bed.

"I remember it. Westchester."

Your heart drops to your feet. You and Logan had agreed never to tell Charles about what happened that day. You both knew it'd break his heart to know what happened.

"I've hurt so many. My family. People I've never even met.

Heavy footsteps thud in the hall and a big shadow casts its way into the room, blocking out the hallway light. Logan. That was fast.

"The past two days have been the best days I've had in a very long time." Charles declares

You want to agree with him, to validate his feelings but your voice dies in your throat, so you listen instead, just like Logan is.

"And I know I don't deserve it."

Charles' voice breaks up mid-sentence and the sound of it has tears stinging your water line. Tears for him, for Laura, for yourself, for your friends who he accidentally killed. For Logan who you knew you'd never have enough time with, your failing bodies would one day claim the love story between the two of you.

"I think I finally understand you, Logan."

The soft shifting of sheets hits your ears. Logan must be trying to pick Charles up.

It's the sound of claws unsheathing that has you confused. What was he doing?

Your stomach drops when you see it. A monster bearing Logan's face and body stands before you. A single hand pressed to Charles' chest is what your eyes focus on. Just barely you can see the adamantium glinting in the low light.

"What the fuck?" You breathe

A loud scream snaps you from your trance. Laura.

The little girl who you've become so fond of is on the imposter's back, her own claws unsheathed, stabbing and tearing at him. You rush to Charles' side, placing your hands over the wound in horror. He mumbles something and tries to push your hands away.

"It's alright, we're gonna keep pressure on it, okay." You say, trying not to panic, "Just look at me. Deep breaths okay?"

Charles nods, his hand coming up to wipe at the blood that's trickling from his mouth. His eyes look behind you to Laura and the monster struggling. You should turn to help her, you should, but you can't leave him. Charles. The man who took you in after your parents threw you out when your mutation manifested. Charles, the man who taught you how to focus it, how to control it, how to use it. Charles, the man who was dying in your arms.

"It's alright, eyes on me, it's just you and me."

The man in the silver wheelchair is odd. Sometimes, you can hear him in your mind. But today, he's speaking out loud as he asks you to focus on the blood that courses through his veins. Instead, you focus on his brown hair that is shiny in the sunlight. It's like he's spent some time styling it before coming to see you in this huge home of his.

"Calm your mind and focus. You can control your powers, they are gifts, I'll help you to see them the way I do."

"It's alright...eyes on me...it's just you and me." You gasp and your voice begins to wobble, you can't do this.

The sound of clinking restraints and the crack of a baseball bat have your mind reeling. You take Charles' hands and press them to his chest, whispering that he has to keep pressure on the wound.

You turn around just in time to watch the sixteen-year-old boy you've come to care for drop to the ground dead. Fresh blood pours like a fountain from the six holes in his chest.

Rage courses hot through your veins, bubbling up like a volcano as the click of a shotgun is heard. Kathryn.

You try to block it all out as you will Nate's to come to you, to serve you.

It doesn't.

You scream in frustration as Kathryn's voice shouts at you to run. heavy footsteps are closing in on her. Laura's loud yelling has your world spinning as you stare at the puddle of blood on the ground. What was happening to you? Were you really this useless? Letting your friends be murdered? Letting a little girl be kidnapped by some clone who shouldn't even exist?

The shotgun goes off, it's followed by a slash and another loud scream from Laura. A thud sounds and you know Kathryn is dead. Butchered like a fucking animal.

You wrap your arms around yourself and scream, you scream for your powers, for your friend and her son, for Logan, your Logan to come save you.

"Calm your mind and focus. You can control your powers, they are gifts, I'll help you to see them the way I do."

As if it's magic, the blood bubbles up and begins to move as you will it to. Your mind burns as you bend it to your will. The discarded baseball bat sits on the ground, and you scoop it up. Charles says something but you miss it, that freak of nature won't be taking Laura anywhere tonight.

You pass Kathryn's corpse. Her eyes are empty as she stares up at the ceiling. Her blood follows you down the steps where the clone is.

Laura lets out a loud shout when she sees you behind her. The clone spins on his heel and he cocks his head to the side, like he's confused you're even here.

You can sense it, in his blood. The x-gene, the one that makes a mutant, is there. It's strong, stronger than yours is, stronger than Logan's. A killing machine stands before you.

Laura is discarded like she's some piece of trash as the clone tosses her across the room and onto the kitchen table. Long claws glint in the light as they slowly extend from his hands. You answer it in good faith, the blood you have from your friends is fashioned into long tendrils and sharp and deadly, and the baseball bat sits in your hands as extra insurance.

"Give me the girl. Give her to me and you can leave."

You try to reason with it before you begin a suicide fight.

No response comes but instead, he charges at you, ready to kill.

Your brain feels like it's ready to burst as you let the blood loose, directing it to impale him, to send him flying. He smacks the table and goes flying through the wall into the front yard, taking Laura with him. In some other world you'd be able to use his own against him, pinning him down and blowing him up would be so much easier. But, you're scared. Scared of what it will to do you.

"Kathryn!"

Will Munson has returned to a dead family.

"What happened? Kathryn?!"

He asks when he enters his destroyed home and sees you, blood tendrils floating next to you. He glances up the steps and you know he sees Kathryn lying there, eyes glazed over, unmoving.

"Nate!"

He's dead too. You don't have the heart to tell him.

"What the fuck did you do?" He asks staring at you, "What did you do to them, freak?!"

You want to tell him it wasn't you but you can't. He takes a step back and your instincts kick in. Your hand flies up and the blood of his wife and son hit him in the chest, sending him flying into the kitchen.

And then, he's back. Logan. Your Logan has returned. He races up to you and his hands cup your face but he doesn't say anything. You whisper for him to go get Charles and he listens. Telling you to stay put. Your skin burns as much as your brain does when he leaves you.

Laura is screaming again as you walk after her ignoring Logan's words. The clone is fighting what looks like a bunch of men in cowboy hats. An expensive truck's headlights illuminate the bloody scene.

"There's another!" A voice yells when one man sees you

He loses his head to adamantium claws while trying to run away.

You catch a glimpse of a man in a white lab coat. He's yelling something that your throbbing mind can't process as you set your powers back on this clone. Blood, sharp as glass skewer the imposter as you pin him to the ground, others wrap around his feet, as he is spread starfish on the ground.

Your mind is breaking down, you can feel it. Your senses are dialed up, you can practically taste the blood of the fresh corpses beside you. A loud shout breaks the trance and you whirl around to see Will pointing a shotgun at you.

He fires it.

You turn your head and block the shell with a wall of blood. Your grip weakens on the clone, if this goes on too long, it'll escape.

He fires again.

Logan yells your name, he is carrying Charles out of the house.

"Marvelous, marvelous." The man in the lab coat is speaking to you.

Your mind is going numb, you have to finish this.

"You, my dear are simply extraordinary! Oh the power in your genetics, the future of mutants!"

The van behind him explodes and you lose your control of the blood. You're sent flying to the ground, and blood splatters down, falling like rain as it covers you in its metallic scent. The scent of your singed hair burns your nose. The lab coat man has been knocked out by debris.

Will Munson's shotgun cocks again, yet it never fires.

The clone has unknowingly saved your life as he sends three clean claws into Will's belly before letting him fall to the ground. You feel guilt when you realize you're relieved that Will Munson is gone, unable to gun you down.

Logan is calling your name and when the imposter lifts you up from the ground you see him running as fast as he can to you with his limp that never goes away.

You turn to stare this animal in the eyes. Its heart is beating rapidly, pumping blood to his body so he can kill all these people, so he can kill you. The fear from earlier goes away, you know you can do this. The blood is there, it's just a matter of focusing.

And then, it's rearranging itself, arranging itself at your command.

Claws dig into your belly and a white-hot pain follows as they're removed. It lets out a grunt, the first noise you've heard from it all night as its nose begins to bleed. You're going to rip this thing in half and send it back to hell. Maybe you'll see it there.

You feel it, your brain collapsing in on itself as you let out a yell, a last-ditch effort at getting your powers to truly be your own again.

The ground is cold and hard as you land on it with a thud and a splash of blood explodes across the grass. The monster is sent flying backward into the tractor behind it, impaling it on metal spikes.

Pride surges through your system when you see its head, a chunk of it is missing and it's no longer moving. Faintly you're pretty sure its heart is still beating, what matters to you though is that Laura is safe. Whatever that thing was, it wouldn't be moving for a while.

Your mind is blank as you lay in the grass. Vaguely you can feel the blood you're drenched in, it's ruined your clothes, the casino sweatshirt Logan bought for you to hide behind is fucked, no washer in the world could get it clean again.

And then he's there, above you, scooping you up, holding you to his chest. You can feel his heart beating as he says your name, telling you it's okay, that you're okay.

You want to reply but your mind can't formulate any words, they come out as incoherent gasps as Logan holds you tightly. He holds you and gently rocks back and forth. You feel warm tears trickle from his eyes down your neck as he presses a kiss to your skin.

He shifts again and his forehead presses to yours and his eyes meet yours. His hand gently cradles your face, brushing your hair from your eyes and wiping at the blood that's splattered on your face.

"My pretty girl,"

His voice is nothing but a whisper in the wind as his salty tears stain your face.

"I'm so sorry."

His words, filled with regret seep into your skin like they're secrets just for the two of you to know. Your bleeding brain is a mushy mess as you try to get it to cooperate one more time.

"Logan,"

Your voice is so quiet you swear he didn't hear it. But, he does, he always hears you when you speak.

"I want..."

"I want...to meet you again...to live a life with you"

Perhaps thats the wrong thing to say because he's even more upset now. Bushy brows knitted together in sadness, you're sure you even see his lower lip tremble a bit.

"We will, we'll meet again. You're tangled in my soul now, I'll give you a life, a real one. I promise."

You swallow thickly, trying to get your tongue to say them, your dying words,

I love you.

They die on your tongue and you want to cry out in frustration. Instead, you think them. You think them. You think of the many nights you spent beside Logan at the smelting plant watching a movie on the old box TV he found for you, you think of how his lips felt against yours just this morning, legs tangled in the sheets brushing his. You think of how he looked when you first met him, fresh-faced, smoking that stupid cigar of his.

Logan's thumb brushes the tears that leave your eyes and you sigh. His skin was warm in contrast to yours and it felt like stars were dancing across your skin as your eyes raced to memorize every inch of his face. You wanted to keep him as your own forever.

You'd see him again one day, in another life perhaps.

After all, he promised.

But wait! There's more... Logan and Reader's story continues in The Other Life

Tags:

@gigabitemyass @1cam8 @personofsinterest @corruptedcruiser @flamingbisexual08

@arrozconpepitoria

@e-ak

@nikos-a-clown

@evanpetersmood

@loganhowlettsboyfriend

@persiar9

@khaylin27

@veggie-eggrolls @nicolebarnes @mystiquesvendetta

@squishyfruitloop @lulalovez @mrs-ephemeral

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stonedstr8 · 5 months ago

Text

TOKE 'N STROKE

"Ads are getting so damn invasive." Lucas thought to himself, clicking skip on yet another pointless car commercial interrupting the video essay he was watching. "You think the algorithm would know its audience by now, I'm too gay to drive!"

He laughed a little bit at the joke, running a hand through his soft, bleached blonde hair. He was the epitome of a high-maintenance twink, with his smooth, hairless body and perfect sense of style. He was smart too and liked to boast about it, with a scholarship for his English Lit degree and being made President of his university's LGBT Chapter, which he was hoping to use as a stepping stone to become Student Body President next year.

Leaning back again in his chair he reached for his cellphone, seeing a text from his boyfriend Alex.

Alex: "Hey cutie, still busy with finals this weekend, but have time for a dinner date Sunday night?"

He smiled to himself, giving an eager text back to set it up, and to wish him well on his upcoming exams. "Ugh, I need to start studying too, Monday's going to be one hell of a final... I'll focus on it and head to the library after this video and-"

Just like that, his train of thought was interrupted again by a stupid ad, this time some obnoxious psychedelic visuals and a bad electric guitar riff blared out of his monitor. It startled him so badly that he seized up for a second, accidentally clicking the ad and being brought to their store page. "Broski's Bud's, one stop ship and shop for weed strains to fix your brain..." He rolled his eyes at the cringe marketing, getting ready to close the tab when a pop-up opened trying to tell him all about a deal he 'wouldn't want to miss out on'. "No thanks, stupid site, you can keep your Bro Buds or whatever to yourself." but every time he hit X on the popup another would open, being more and more insistent each time about new deals, until finally a desperate '90% OFF AND SPECIAL STARTER KIT AS A BONUS WITH YOUR FIRST PURCHASE' filled his screen. "FINE," he scoffed at his computer, "I'll take a look at the stupid site. My therapist suggested I try out weed to help lessen my anxiety anyways, so might as well get a good deal on it..."

Clicking the pop-up added the 'starter kit' to his cart, it was a pack of pre-rolled blunts and some sort of mystery box, but the description didn't help him understand it much either. "Get ready to step into the zone and open ur mind with this one bros, Broski's Buds bestselling strain, Toke 'n Stroke, is sure to change your life by stimulating a high never felt before! This isn't your sissy uncle's strain, this shit puts hair on your chest like a real man!"

"God this is so cringe, I bet they get all kinds of business marketing to the dumb jocks in town, no wonder their brains are mush. Still, it's just weed and for $20 I might as well give it a try, I probably won't find it cheaper anywhere else..." sitting in thought about it for a few seconds, Lucas finally filled in his payment info and placed his order, getting a free upgrade to same-day delivery since they seem to have a storefront a few miles from his apartment.

"Well, there goes my library plans I guess, I'll have to wait around for delivery since my package will probably get swiped otherwise..." Lucas sighed, turning off his computer and plopping down onto the couch, picking up his Switch to play Animal Crossing and kill time.

A few hours passed and the sky got dark before finally a long buzz came from his intercom. "Took them long enough, it's nearly 9pm!" he complained, putting his jacket on to head downstairs. When he got down there the delivery guy had already gotten into his car again, driving away and leaving Lucas to carry the package back upstairs all on his own. It was bigger than he expected, taking both hands to lift it and keep it stable. "Jesus, this thing must weight like 40 pounds! What did they put in here?"

After a bit of struggling and the occasional break to catch his breath, Lucas pushed his package into the living room, collapsing on the floor next to it for a while. "After that workout I'm surprised I don't look like the douchebags around campus." he laughed to himself, bouncing up to get a box cutter and pry his package open. After taking the carton of pre-rolled blunts out, he started into the box with a bit of confusion and disgust, pulling things out one after the other.

"A sleeveless tank top that says 'Toke 'n Stroke Bro'... A pair of douchey sunglasses... Some red gym shorts, socks and slides... Ew, a snapback saying 'Who ate all the pussy?', why the fuck would anyone wear this!... And 2 dumbbells, no wonder this thing was so heavy! All of this is useless shit that's gonna end up in a donation bin now, I'll have to drop this trashy stuff off tomorrow on my way to the library... But hey, at least the weed seems fine, smells... potent." He said, tossing everything back into the box and taking a whiff of one of the blunts.

Kicking back on the couch again, he played with the blunt in his hand for a while before finally having the courage to light it up, taking a hit. Immediately he started coughing, not used to the sensation, but it did make his brain start to feel... fuzzy. "Damn, okay I need to push past it and get used to it." he said, lighting up for another hit of the blunt, this time barely a cough escaping his throat, feeling suspiciously more used to it. Then another, and another, until finally the whole blunt was gone. Sitting in his daze for a while, he enjoyed the sensation of his mind drifting around experiencing the high, his anxiety melting away as if he didn't have a care in the world. Eventually he decided to try and get up, but his body slumped over off the couch and hitting the floor, the room fading to black...

...

When Lucas finally came to again, the first thing that hit him was the strong smell of weed floating around in the air. "Damn bro, did I smoke the whole set or what..." he laughed groggily, getting ready to stretch out and get back to laying on the couch before he was startled by the sound of moaning blasting from his TV, eyes shooting open in confusion. On the screen, two busty lesbians were making out, them taking turns groping each others boobs and fingering each other. "What the fuck bro, how long has this been on?" he cursed, nervous that the neighbors nextdoor might have heard it playing as he started desperately looking for the remote.

When he couldn't find it in the cushions, he got up from the couch only to be met with his feet kicking a bunch of empty beer cans. "Dude, there's gotta be 2 dozen thrown all over the floor, did I have a party or something? I don't even know anyone who drinks beer..." he mumbled, going to scratch his head in confusion, but was even more confused when instead of his hair he felt a hat on top of his head. "Huh?" he thought, as he looked down at the floor again, noticing that instead of his skinny jeans and converse he was now wearing the socks and slides from the box, along with the sleeveless tank top and the shorts too. He stumbled his way to the bathroom door still baked out of his mind, mouth dropping open at his reflection in the full-length mirror in front of him.

"Broooo, am I dreaming or what the fuckkkk is going on" he said in disbelief. No more was the cute, pale twink he used to be staring back at him. Instead, a douchey bro he didn't recognize was standing face to face with him. Tanned skin, pillowy muscles, his once blonde hair turned into a brown buzz cut and with that stupid "Who ate all the pussy?" hat slapped over it. He touched his face, feeling along his chin where his once smooth skin now had a rougher texture, and a trashy chinstrap sprouted from his jawline. He slapped his face a few times in his daze, trying to wake up from the dream and growing more confused each time nothing changed.

Turning around and staggering back to his living room to try and make sense of what's going on, it hit him that he barely recognizes the room anymore. His apartment used to be perfectly maintained and well-decorated, now there was beer cans all over the floor, along with dirty socks and cummed-in underwear, greasy pizza boxes and chip bags all over the table and counter, the decorations on his walls had been torn down and replaced with posters of chicks in bikinis and sports teams, his Switch replaced with an X-Box and a stack of COD games next to it, DVD cases of trashy bro-comedies were thrown around near the TV too... Then the smell hit him, it STUNK in here, like a sickening mixture of weed, cheap body spray, and sour BO wafting in a heat around the room. "Bro, it fucking reeks in here... Or wait..." he mumbled as he gave himself a whiff, "I fucking reek!"

After a bit of stunned silence he finally started to process things in his brain again. How the fuck did he get like this, was any of this even real, and how does he get back to normal? He plopped back onto the couch, picking up his phone to see he had a handful of missed texts and calls from his boyfriend before noticing the time... 2:00pm. On Sunday. He had somehow been blacked out for 2 whole nights, with no memory of anything that had happened. While getting ready to call his boyfriend back, Lucas felt his insides rumbling and at first he thought it was from the munchies because of all the weed, but then he realized "Oh bro, all that double-cheese pizza is really gonna fucking..."

*PHRRRBBBTTT!*

His body instinctively lifted its leg as it pushed out the loudest and most obnoxious fart he'd ever ripped in his life, as his body seemed to react on its own, letting out an immature laugh and wafting the air before muttering "Fuck yeah bro, smells like victory!" He leaned back into the couch, remembering he needed to call Alex, but the loud moaning on the TV caught him off guard again. This time he locked eyes with the screen, the cock in his shorts immediately bulging and straining at the sight of the lesbian porn before him. "I really need to turn this shit off and get whatever's going on sorted out..." he thought, but he realized he couldn't move his hand to reach for his phone, instead it reacted on its own, reaching down his waistband to pull out his cock and start stroking for the busty babes on TV.

"All I do is Toke 'n Stroke, bro..." a voice in his head seemed to say, except it didn't come from within, he spoke it directly out of his own mouth.

"Wait, I didn't say that bro, it's-" he tried to talk, realizing that his thoughts echoed around stuck in his own head, not even leaving the lips of his own body. He was just stuck there, watching in a dazed horror as he went on autopilot.

"Toke 'n Stroke bro, I'm such a loyal customer Broski's Buds will HAVE to take me as a hype boy this time haha!" his voice spoke again, continuing to stroke for the porn on TV, Lucas's eyes stuck fixed on the screen. Suddenly though, he was interrupted by his phone vibrating, a text from his boyfriend coming through.

Alex: "Hey cutie, I hope everything is alright? You haven't answered my calls or texts in a couple days, I know it's busy with all your studying but we do still have dinner planned for tonight. Still on for me to pick you up at 5?"

"Oh thank God," Lucas thought, reading the message, "I can tell him what's going on and have him come over to help me fix this shit!" Unlocking his phone, Lucas let out a sigh of relief as he got ready to reply, only for his body to still be taken over by whatever douchey daze it was stuck in.

Lucas: "dont u ever come around me u faggy creep, if me or my bros ever catch u within 100 feet of us we'll give u the beating of a lifetime! fuck around n find out if u dare to show ur face here."

Lucas screamed internally as the message was typed out and sent in front of his very eyes, before his hand moved to block his boyfriend's number and turn his phone off. "Something is seriously fucking wrong with me bro, I need to-"

*PHHRRRRBBBTTTTTT*

Another obnoxious and sickening fart blasted out of his ass, filling the room and breaking Lucas's thoughts down into a daze again, as he felt around under the couch for something before pulling a sweaty, well-used fuck toy of a girls ass and pussy up from the mess.

As Lucas once again locked eyes with the TV, he took another hit from his dwindling blunt stash, finishing up the last one. After throwing what was left onto the floor, he prepared the fuck toy and slid it right down onto his cock, starting to bounce the toy up and down as he edged himself closer to finishing.

"If I can't figure out a way to snap out of this, I'm so fucked..." he thought, as his voice spoke again. "Toke 'n Stroke bro, this chick is soooo getting fucked!" He moaned, as he shot his thick load into the toy, feeling some of his braincells permanently shoot out with it, sloppily wiping the mess on the cushion next to him as he laid back, feeling his insides start to bubble again.

Lucas had a lot of Bro Time to catch up on, but luckily his new favorite weed strain was making sure that he was a captive audience until he was fully converted and assimilated into just another Bro.

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 5 months ago

Text

Wonderwall

Rating: Teen Pairing: No Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 4,550 Summary: Your ex boyfriend Simon is marrying Sabrina, the woman he left you for. You were sure you'd have have a date in time for his wedding... too bad you were wrong. Once again. your best friend Maria has to save the day by letting you use her handsome, single brother-in-law that owes her a favor as your date. Warnings: fluff, idk what's going on with me but there's so much fluff, soft joel, fake wedding date, rom com vibes, crying over a broken vibrator, no outbreak, maria and tommy are married, sarah and kevin live, british ex boyfriend, reader and joel are close in age (reader is 36, joel is 40), alcohol, i know the gif is marcus pike but i can't stop seeing young joel in this gif, anyways here's wonderwall, no use of y/n, not beta read

A/N: This was written for @justagalwhowrites' Joel Miller Birthday Celebration. Thank you to the always wonderful @ohheypedrito for suggesting the fake dating trope when I asked her what to write.

Masterlist

Fizzy mimosas, fluffy pancakes, crispy hash browns, and sweet maple syrup. Brunch on Sundays with Maria has been a long standing tradition for the two of you. Fifteen years of friendship kept stronger by always promising to make time for each other no matter what is going on in your lives.

These days, Maria’s raising a toddler while building a very successful career in the Austin district attorney's office whereas last night you cried over your vibrator dying while trying to pull an orgasm out of you for an endorphin rush. God knows you need one.

You’ve been in a hole since the arrival of Simon’s wedding invitation. The man you spent your most youthful and fulfilling years with is now marrying Sabrina, the beautiful co-worker he crashed your relationship for. Yeah, yeah, your twenty year partnership was already headed for the cliff, but her perky tits and pouty lips sure did speed up the demise.

“So, Simon’s wedding is next weekend, how do you feel?” Maria interrogates from across the table.

“Fine!” you stuff a pancake triangle into your mouth. “It’s fine! I’m fine!”

“Mm,” she lifts a skeptical eyebrow. Why do you lie to her? She makes three figures locking away liars, she can spot them a mile away. “Let me guess, you still don’t have a date?”

“Ugh, no, why did I mark two on the RSVP?”

“I told you not to,” Maria shakes her head

“Yeah, but, I-I want to show him I’m doing great without him.”

“Babe,” Maria grabs your hand and squeezes it, “I say this with all the love in my heart… you’re not doing great.”

“I knoooow!” you sigh, closing your eyes. “I just thought… I’d show up in my pretty dress with a hot man on my arm and show Simon I’m happy and fulfilled without his love.”

“But you don’t ha–”

“Please, I know. I just– I’m happy for him in some really odd way but I also want to be… happy for myself.”

“Okay,” she nods before taking a deep breath, “here’s what I’m going to do for you. You know Joel?”

“Your… brother-in-law?”

“Yes, he owes me a favor, soooo, he’s going to be your date,” she sits back folding her arms across her chest with a smug smirk. “He’s handsome as hell and a good man but he’s very quiet and intimidating to those who don’t know him. He’s perfect for this situation.”

You do know Joel… just not very well at all. There have been random run-ins at Miller family parties, but nothing more than a quick “hello” and “how are you?” exchanged between the two of you. He seems the opposite of your Dartmouth educated, polo playing yuppie of an ex. “Yoo hoo,” Maria waves her hand in front of your face catching your attention. “Does that work for you?”

“Oh, sorry, yeah, I think… it does,” a relieved smile lifts your face.

Maria has, once again, fixed your problem.

—-

RING… RING… RING…

Your fingers nervously tap against the countertop. “Come on, pick uuup, pick uuuup, pick uuu–”

“Miller,” a deep voice answers.

“H-Hi, uh, Joel?” You feel a third your age, like you’re right back in middle school calling the cute boy in your science class because your friend dared you.

“Speaking.”

“Hey, uh, you’re my wedding date? Maria… she gave me your number so we can plan?”

“Oh, yes,” his voice softens. “Saturday, right?”

“Yeah, uh… I think it might be good to go over a story for us before the big day.”

“Right,” he chuckles, “I’m all ears.”

—-

Your eyes roam down your notes from the call. “So, we formally met at Kevin’s graduation party. I call you ‘honey’, our first date was to a movie and then to pizza. We’ve been together for a little over a year. You hate sushi and love tamales. You don’t like water slides. You play the guitar. You have a daughter named Sarah who’s a senior in high school. You own a construction company with Tommy… I think that’s about right?”

"Believe so," the bass of his quiet voice causes goosebumps to pebble your skin. If he's doing this to you over the phone, what will the wedding be like?

"Okay," you settle against your sofa, "and for me?"

Papers shuffle before Joel clears his throat. “Hm, okay. I asked Tommy for your number after Kevin’s graduation party. You work at an insurance company, but you dream of owning your own bookstore one day. You love mashed potatoes. I call you 'baby.' Your favorite color is bronze. You’re a night owl forced to be an early bird. You love Taylor Swift unapologetically. You like staying over at my home because your favorite coffee place delivers to my house.”

“Perfect. I know this is totally weird and all, but, thanks for doing this. Sometimes I allow my pride to sabotage me... and Maria has to come in and save me.”

“She’s good at that.”

“Thanks again Joel.”

“You’re welcome,” his voice feels you with warmth. “I’ll pick you up on Saturday.”

“Yes, Saturday. Until then, have a good week.”

“You too.”

After saying goodbye, you hang up with a plume of butterflies in your stomach.

—

“Okay! Get ready!” you shout from behind your bathroom door.

Your Sunday brunch date with Maria has been moved up to a Saturday afternoon primping and preening spree in your home as she helps you get ready to watch the once love of your life marry someone else.

You step out of the bathroom to find Maria sitting cross-legged on your bed. As soon as she sees you, she leans forward with wide eyes.

"Wow," she breathes, her voice filled with awe. "I mean, seriously, wow."

"Really?" you ask, giving a twirl in your mauve dress, adorned with a delicate print of sequined flowers blooming across the bodice.

“Really,” her eyebrow angles as she nods, “I can’t wait for Miller to have to deal with keeping his cool around you.”

“What?”

Maria just smiles, “Let’s just say, you look hot, that’s all I’m going to say.”

___

A shiny black truck pulls into your driveway. Panic jolts through you as you watch the door swing open from your front window. Out steps Joel Miller, impeccably dressed in a black suit. Oh good lord–he’s your date. Like, date date, as in the guy you’re going to be spending the rest of the night with. The anxiety over Simon and Sabrina’s wedding fades into the background, replaced by the overwhelming challenge of maintaining your composure in the presence of someone who looks that stunning in a tuxedo.

The doorbell rings.

Okay, okay, you got this.

A gust of pleasant autumn air hits your skin when you open the door. Oh good LORD, he looks incredible. His hair is longer than you remember, falling in gentle waves you dream of running your fingers through. His beard is neatly trimmed, though slightly patchy with a strong mustache that frames his plush lips. He has a shy smile, his dimple makes a divot you want to press your finger into. His simple black suit stretches around his obviously toned and broad shoulders.

“Hi, it’s uh, nice to see you again. Come on in,” you say, opening the door wider and stepping aside.

“Course,” he replies, striding in past you. His hand twitches nervously when he turns and takes how you look fully in. “You look– y’look beautiful.”

A flush of warmth spreads through you at the compliment from the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, now standing in the middle of your living room.

“Oh, thanks, uh, it’s not every day your ex boyfriend of twenty years gets married to the woman he left you for… so I guess I needed to show off.”

“It’s–yeah–good,” he stammers, his eyes darting around the room, clearly avoiding your gaze.

“Well, uh, I just need to slip on my shoes and grab my bag, then we can get going. Make yourself at home.”

“Sure thing.”

As you head down the hall to get your things, you hear him let out a long sigh.

Don’t worry dude, I get it. It’s going to be a long night.

“So, um, I know, this is awkward,” you say, returning to the living room and dropping your shoes on the floor, “but I’m really grateful to you.”

He chuckles, sitting on the edge of your couch. “S’alright. I can’t say no to a free meal and open bar.”

“If I still know Simon’s taste, it’ll be a top-notch open bar too,” you muse, slipping into your high heel and bending over to fasten the buckle.

You glance up when you hear Joel’s breath catch. He’s staring intently at you–more specifically, at your exposed leg and thigh, courtesy of the high slit in your dress.

You really had to pick the dress that Maria dubbed “the revenge dress,” didn’t you? He clears his throat and quickly averts his gaze, but the charged atmosphere lingers. You try to ignore it, buckle your other shoe and grab your clutch.

“Ready?” you ask.

“I am," he replies, standing up and adjusting his neck tie, a hint of color warms his cheeks. .

—-

Joel’s truck looks quite out of place pulling into the Hurts Family’s grand estate. Of course Simon’s getting married at Father & Mother’s sprawling manor. You can’t help but wonder if the altar and ceremony will be located in the same conservatory you and Simon lost your virginity to each other in.

The whole drive over, you and Joel practiced your spiels, all the while you tried to ignore the waves of attraction that vibrated between you and him in the small cab of his truck.

He pulls up to the valet and reluctantly hands his keys over to the college aged kid before hurrying over to your door, cutting in front of the doorman to help you down. What a gentleman.

Soft violin music floats through the air and white flower petals line the walkway leading into the massive estate that once felt like your second home. A nagging thought lingers in the back of your mind that you’re about to live what should’ve been your wedding day.

You breathe out deeply, Joel grabs your hand as he guides you into the house.

People mingle, some you don’t know, many you do. Aunt Billie, Uncle Martin, the cousins from Manchester, Simon’s favorite professor. Familiar faces surround you, what the hell were you thinking this would be okay?

You’ve known this home since you were twelve, Simon showed up in your seventh grade algebra class, a new student with bright blue eyes and blonde hair, you thought he was the prettiest boy you had ever seen, even before he spoke… the British accent would’ve been enough to sweep you off your feet. It took a couple years of friendship before you both admitted your crushes on each other, the confessions happened in the movie room, just down the hallway you stand near.

Love is fleeting, love is hopeless. You’ve learned to care for yourself like Simon once cared for you, but now in this home you used to sneak into, you feel just as alone as you did the day you moved out of the house you shared with him for a decade just two streets down from here.

“Hey, you okay?” Joel leans in and whispers. “Squeezin’ my hand mighty hard.”

“Oh,” you blink, refocusing on him, “I am, it’s just… really bizarre and everything. Seeing so many familiar people I haven't seen in years feels strange.”

“You’re doing good, I got you,” he says, letting go of your hand, and wrapping his arm around your waist, guiding you farther into the mansion.

___

The impressive altar stands in the conservatory–you know your ex well– this windowed dwelling means everything to him. Everywhere you look, peach and champagne flowers are nestled among lush green foliage. You and Joel settle eight rows back on the groom's side, just a few feet from the bench you lost your virginity on. Jamie, Simon’s friend from college, sends you a kind smile when you sit next to him.

Your foot taps nervously against the stone tile, keeping rhythm with the soft string music lilting through the air. You take a deep breath to center yourself as the processional begins. The family minister you’ve known since you were fifteen leads the way then–Simon. Still just as handsome, in that specific pretty way that drew you to him as a teenager. The slight waves of his dark blonde hair are more controlled and slicked back. His slender body is topped by wide shoulders from all his years of playing polo. His equally handsome brother Liam follows, along with a handful of friends you used to consider your own.

Joel’s arm wraps around you as Simon takes his place at the altar, his fingers resting firmly on your bare shoulder just in time for the bridal procession to begin. Everybody takes their rightful places waiting for the bride. Simon stands at the altar, laser focused on the doorway, oddly, you feel a sense of happiness for him. Maybe you feel less lonely with the comfort of Joel’s strong arm around you, maybe you’re just caught up in the emotions of the day.

As you expected, Lia and Ewan, Simon’s niece and nephew, are the ring bearer and flower girl. You were at the hospital when both of them were born. You taught both of them how to swim. They used to call you their aunt.

The small orchestra begins playing “The Wedding March,” the audience stands in anticipation of Sabrina’s entrance. The curtains part and she appears shimmering down the aisle in her ivory dress. Okay, you have to admit, she looks gorgeous. Joel pulls you closer, his hand rests against your hip as Sabrina and her father pass your row. You’re grateful for his presence, even if it’s just a comforting distraction that just happens to be pretend.

The look on Simon’s face is unmistakable when he takes Sabrina’s hand–it’s the same look he would give you whenever he told you loved you all those thousands upon thousands of times.

You take your seat, Joel’s hand finds your shoulder once more. It’s going to be damn hard to concentrate on the ceremony.

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today.

—

You survive the ceremony… thanks to Joel and his calloused hand rubbing circles on your shoulder. As Simon and Sabrina lead the recessional out of the conservatory, Simon spots you and sends you a knowing wink and smile when he spots Joel next to you. Maybe it’s a good thing you attended, it’s the final picket placed in the closure fence.

“You good?” Joel whispers in your ear while watching the rest of the party leave. You turn to respond, failing to realize his face is now right next to yours. His lips now sit a breath away from yours. Panic slips in, overwhelmed by the thought of anyone catching an awkward moment like this, especially since you’re the ex girlfriend the groom left for his brand new bride.

Fuck it. You lean forward and place your lips against his, leaving a delicate peck against them. At least now you’ll have this moment that’s just for you.

—

The warm autumn sun is beginning to set casting the preened and pristine gardens of the Hurts Estate in amber tones. Thank god for the cocktail hour and open bar.

You sip your champagne and smile at a few familiar faces while gazing out upon the vast lawns you used to spend lazy days sunbathing and playing croquet on. What a bizarre homecoming of sorts. Joel is taking his role seriously, constantly checking on you and never leaving your side.

A familiar voice calls your name, pulling you from your reverie.

“Oh sweetheart! It’s so lovely to see you!” Simon’s mother, Adeline, greets you with kisses on both cheeks before pulling you into a warm hug. You’ve always liked the woman and she always adored you. She turns to your date, her eyes lighting up when she looks Joel up and down.

“Addy, this is my boyfriend Joel.” A rush of excitement is sent through you at the simple introduction. “Joel, this is Simon’s mom, Adeline.”

“Good evening ma’am,” Joel says, extending his hand to shake hers gently. “It’s quite beautiful here.”

“Oh, thank you! Aside from our two boys, this is our pride and joy. There’s nothing better than seeing your child get married in the place you call home.” .

“Well, I’ve heard a lot of nice things about this place, you have a lot of good memories here, right baby?” Joel looks at you with an affectionate smile. Oh he’s good.

“I do,” you smile warmly at Addy.

“Oh sweetheart! That makes me so happy! You’re always welcome here, I’m so happy Simon invited you!”

“I am too, it’s so nice to see you,” you say, realizing how much you truly miss her. You spent twenty years of your life around so many of these people before being cut off cold turkey from them.

“Shoot! I better keep moving and making my rounds! Do enjoy the bar, and make sure tell them Addy sent you; they’ll give you the real good stuff. Joel, are you a whiskey man?”

“Yes ma’am,” Joel replies with a nod.

“We’ve got some Old Rip Van Winkle, aged 25 years. Just tell them Adeline insists and they’ll pour you a glass.”

“Thank you ma’am,” Joel says gratefully.

“Oh, I like him darling!” Addy winks before turning to leave, her gold dress gleaming just as bright as her personality.

—

The large tent erected for the ceremony glows in pink and orange hues. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling overflowing with roses and garlands. It’s gorgeous and opulent everywhere you look.

You’ve been nervous about your table assignment since you sent in your RSVP. Who will you be stuck with? You prayed it would be strangers versus people you used to call friends. You thank your lucky stars when you’re led to table eleven, where you’re greeted warmly by strangers. You tell your new tablemates you’re an old friend of Simon’s, Joel grabs your hand and gently holds it while you introduce yourselves, shocked you still haven’t had to utilize the stories you and him invented.

Ladies and gentlemen! Please welcome for the first time, Mr. and Mrs. Simon Hurts!

The two lovebirds make their grand entrance, glowing and grinning in their newlywed aura before the symphonic melody of “Can’t Help Falling In Love” begins to play. Hilarious, the last time you heard this song it was on a playlist Sabrina had made for Simon… a couple weeks before your ultimate separation. You got into a fight over the amount of times he’d play it, he told you were overreacting and being dramatic, you should’ve trusted your instincts right then and there.

They look so happy and gorgeous together, dancing their first dance surrounded by all of their loved ones inside this picturesque setting. It should’ve been you…

Joel leans in closer, wrapping his arm around you, stealing your attention from your spiraling thoughts. “I can’t play this song on violin or cello, but I can play it on guitar, maybe I can play it for you sometime.”

You look up at him, your eyes locking with his, “I–I’d like that.”

“Thought you would,” he smirks, before leaning down to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

He’s been touching you all night, always considerate and tender, as if he holds an actual amount of reverence in his heart for you. God, he’s either the sweetest man to ever live, or he should give up the construction job, move to Hollywood and start acting.

—

Simon and Sabrina make their rounds after dinner, they’re a table away laughing and galavanting with friends you used to call your own. It’s been over a year since you last spoke to him and now as the ultimate final thing you’ve been dreading is near, you’re nervous as hell. Joel casually drapes his arm around the back of your chair before leaning forward and pressing his lips to the top of your head, helping subside some of your anxieties.

“You good?” he checks in with a soft whisper.

You nod, scooting closer into the shell he’s created for you with his large body.

Simon catches your eye with a warm, gentle smile as he leads Sabrina over to your table. You can’t be too mad at him, he’s been nothing but a gentleman since he forced the end of your already faltering relationship. Sabrina, well–she was just a better match for him. You wish them well, no matter how much it still seemingly hurts. You just want Simon to miss you a little bit.

The newlyweds greet the rest of the table, collecting well-wishes and flattery from the guests before turning their attention to you and Joel.

Simon bends forward and gives you a tight hug before thanking you and saying how lovely it is to see you. Sabrina says hello, you tell her she looks beautiful, she returns the favor.

Simon extends his hand to Joel and introduces himself. “I’m Simon, I’m sure you’ve heard a bit about me–hopefully some good,” he says, his ever present British charm helps cut through the tension radiating off of Joel’s gruff reservedness.

“She has,” Joel replies, shaking Simon’s hand. “I’m Joel. Nice to meet you both. Congrats. S’been a lovely wedding.”

The four of you make casual conversation. Joel mentions he’s a contractor, Simon’s eyes light up before he mentions how he wants to build a pool house. Your heart twinges a bit when you remember it’s all for pretend and there’s no way Joel could take the job. Joel makes a joke about how dinner was better than a No. 5 from Whataburger, eliciting a ruckus laugh from the newlyweds. You feel good, until the sinking feeling inside rears its ugly head and reminds you this is all a sham.

Sabrina nods to Simon in an unspoken understanding that they need to move on with their greetings. Joel wishes them well and thanks them for the lovely party. You smile and do the same.

“It’s good to see you happy,” Simon says as he gives you a parting hug.

If only he knew…

You’re quiet as you watch Simon and Sabrina walk away, Simon’s hand is placed on Sabrina’s back lightly stroking up and down. Joel softly says your name, breaking your concentration on the happy married couple.

“I like this song, let’s dance,” he says, rising and extending his hand to you.

“Wonderwall?” you ask, taking his hand and letting him lead you to the dance floor. “Let me guess, you can play it on guitar.”

“I do,” he confirms with a smile, pulling you close against his body. His large hand splays against your lower back, and yours finds its place on his firm shoulder. The wedding band has slowed the song down, couples gently sway around you. The twinkling lights above reflect in Joel’s dark brown eyes. You can’t stop looking at him, he can’t stop looking at you. The moment is intimate, to any other wedding guest, you look like a couple just as in love as the newlyweds.

You rest your head against his chest, breathing in the scent of his cologne–woodsy, smoky, with a hint of cinnamon. His thumb strokes against the skin of your hand as your bodies synchronistically move together. This doesn't feel like pretending at all.

The song ends, Joel makes no move to pull away, and you don’t either. The first notes of the next song begin and you recognize the drumbeat anywhere. You can’t believe you’re hearing it here, of all places.

“We can leave the Christmas lights up till January��”

“Ohh,” you let out a soft sigh against Joel’s chest, feeling your heart drop. “This was going to be our first dance song, I-I told him it as soon as I first heard it all those years ago.”

Joel tilts his head down, his concerned brown eyes peer into yours. “M’sorry, did you want to stop?”

“No, no, it’s–I can’t leave the floor during this. What if he sees me?”

Joel nods reassuringly before tightening his hold on you and pulling your joined hands in closer. His head rests on top of yours engulfing you with his broad body, like your own personal fake wedding date security blanket.

Your heartbreak slowly dissipates, mended by the gentle touch and attention of Joel. The song ends, he asks if you want to get a breath of fresh air, you gratefully nod before taking his hand and telling him you know a place.

—

The breeze rolling off the lake sends a chill across your skin, Joel takes notice, quickly removing his jacket and places it over your shoulders without hesitation.

“Thanks,” you say, sinking into the leftover warmth of Joel.

“No problem,” he says, shuffling his neck tie open and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his crisp white dress shirt. “I’m burnin’ up under it.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence as you watch the tranquil waves lap at the shore. “Sorry about earlier. It was just… a shock to hear that song. He moved on so quickly and I feel like I’ve just been left wondering how I can so easily be… replaced.”

“No need to apologize,” he sighs, “I’m not good at any of this stuff, but, you don’t seem like someone that’s so… easy to get over.”

Your heart skips a beat when you look over at him. The soft ambient glow of the full moon reflecting off the water bathes him in an almost ethereal glow, making him look like a knight in shining armor who walked through a portal to help save you from your own wounded heart you’ve been trying to heal for the past two years.

“Guess you just don’t know me very well then,” you joke, trying to slow down the thoughts racing within your heart and mind.

“No, but I think I’d like to,” he says, turning to you with a sincere look in his eyes.

“I-I’d like that too.”

Joel hesitates for a moment before asking, “There’s a new Curtis & Viper movie releasing next week. Did you want to go with me?”

“Like a real date?” you ask, your voice tinged with excitement.

“Suppose it would be. We could recreate our ‘first’ date that we told that one aunt of Simon’s all about. We’ll get pizza at the place across the street.”

“I’d love that,” you say, your excitement clear in your voice.

From across the yard, you can just make out the sound of the band playing for the wedding guests.

Joel takes a deep breath and turns to you with a warm, playful smile. “I feel better asking you here so you know I’m being for real. I really want to dance with you. May I have this dance?”

“I’d love nothing more,” you reply, a smile spreading across your face as he pulls you closer.

You remind yourself to send Maria a bouquet of flowers for setting up your fake wedding date as you settle into his embrace.

#joel miller #pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader #joel miller tlou #joel tlou #tlou joel #no outbreak!joel miller

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defectiveporcelaindoll · 6 months ago

Text

Chapter 1: The Manuscript

“He thought about how they said-

Since she was wise beyond her years everything had been above board. Now he wasn’t sure…”

series masterlist

pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU AFAB!Reader

summary: an unsub with a taste for couples and power imbalances leads Doctor Spencer Reid not only back into the classroom but down the hypothetical aisle with the BAU's newest Probie for an undercover assignment that may change his life.

genre: slow-burn romance?

cw: age gap (Spencer is in his 40s, reader is 24), a couple y/n’s (I’m sorry, I know I’m sick of it too.), fake marriage, possibly eventual smut in later parts we’ll see, female reader she/her pronouns, bad writing! lemme know if I missed anything! And as always, lemme know what you think!

wordcount: 1.3k

“The professor said the write what you know”

Spencer sat at his desk, anxiously scribbling away at a case file that he knew he simply wasn’t ready to hand over just yet. Not ready to let go or say goodbye. The office was deserted with the exception of Emily still fussing around in her office like she always was these days, just like Hotch before her, and Gideon before him. Back in the days when he was the youngest member of the team— god how things had changed.

“Looking backward might be the only way to move forward-”

six months prior:

"Come on, Em. She’s too young. I’d hardly say she has any real-life experience, and as helpful as she’s been, she certainly doesn’t have the field experience. And you want to drop her into an undercover operation at a university thousands of miles away? I just can’t logically wrap my mind around how you think this is our best option,” Spencer sighed, anxiously pacing the length of Emily’s office. Maybe it was the lights, but more likely it was the outlandish plans being laid before him that were bringing on the all-too-familiar throb of a migraine.

Emily cleared her throat, glancing up at Spencer with a tight-lipped, not-quite smile. “If you would let me finish, I wouldn’t be sending her alone. I’d be sending her with you. The unsub—or rather, unsubs—are targeting couples where the man,” she pointed to him, eyes widening as if to say keep up, “in the relationship comes from a position of power above the woman.” She wildly waved her hand toward the door, motioning to the woman sitting just outside the office.

“You’d be posing as a professor, which technically isn’t anything new for you. Though we might have to rub a little dirt on your good name.” She shrugged, glancing back down to shuffle through the pile of files on her desk until she found the one she was looking for, holding it out for Spencer. “A handsome professor and his new, albeit young, ex-TA of a wife... forced to move after your relationship went public. Tragic.” She quirked a brow, offering Spencer a playful smirk. He did not return it, instead rolling his eyes as he thumbed through the file containing what could be his life for the next couple of months.

“Look, if we place you both at the university, she’ll fit in with the students, you’ll fit in with the professors, and now we have eyes and ears everywhere we need them. It’s logical enough, Spencer, and she’s already agreed as long as you’re up for it.”

There was a long pause as Spencer’s mind ran wild, figuring the probability of everything that could and likely would go wrong if he agreed to this plan.

“Look, we’ll even count this towards thirty days of teaching if that sweetens the deal at all?” Prentiss let out an exhausted sigh. Clearly, this was her only option, and everyone else, even the higher-ups, had approved this plan. It all now sat on Spencer’s shoulders. All he needed to do was agree.

“Fine…” he mumbled, his palm digging into his eye socket briefly trying to dull the growing pain behind his eyes. If Prentiss noticed, she chose not to address it. “Great! See, maybe it’ll be good for you? The faculty housing looks nice-ish..? And you’ve gotta admit, Y/N is sweet. I think she’ll learn a lot from you.”

Before Emily could finish her statement, Spencer turned on his heels, stalking out of the Unit Chief's office past the probie, her doe eyes fixed on him like he was a predator. Her gaze startled him in a way that sent him tripping over his own feet. He quickly righted himself, not daring to glance back at the younger agent on his way to the kitchenette.

An hour and several cups of coffee later, Spencer Reid found himself at the round table, sitting perfectly still as his breath caught in his lungs, watching the young woman in front of him sign her name on the dotted line. It’s official; Doctor Spencer Reid is officially a married man—sort of.

It felt so absurd, having to sign a marriage license. Though, logically, he understood. If they were using Spencer’s name and reputation as a backbone for this assignment, there should be a paper trail. At least when it came to this, he knew Penelope could fabricate anything and everything else they might need, but this silly piece of paper, declaring them man and wife—that was free and public information that needed to be real.

“So…” Y/N's voice was soft as it attempted to cut through the heavy weight of the awkward atmosphere. She fidgeted, tapping the pen against the table.

Spencer cleared his throat, eyes raking over her as the voice in his head told him once again that this was an awful idea, that she was too young, that she had no field experience, and there were far too many ways this could all go south. He tried his best to shake them off. “If you don’t mind me asking, I don’t mean this to be rude. I was a young agent—actually one of the youngest agents the BAU has ever had—” he caught himself in his ramble, his eyes searching her face for any kind of discomfort before blinking harder than necessary in an attempt to focus. “Sorry—uh, how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I’ll be twenty-five in October… so twenty-four.”

"Right..." he chuckled, shaking his head, "that means...w-when you were born I already had two PhDs and was nearly finished with my third."

She groaned, a slight blush covering her cheeks as she fought the embarrassed grin threatening to take over her lips. “Doctor Reid—”

“Spencer.” He cut her off, offering a tight-lipped smile. “I—Uh… you can just call me Spencer. I don’t think couples typically use such formality when they’re addressing each other…”

“I guess you’re right,” she said, offering a little nod. “Spencer,” his name felt too personal on her lips, “I—” a rosy blush creeping up her neck as her mind went completely blank, every thought she’d ever had lost in the warm glow of his golden eyes.

As if on cue, Emily entered the room, a smirk on her lips as she observed the younger, seemingly awestruck agent gawking at her favorite genius. “Hope I’m not interrupting, but I thought these might be useful?” She shrugged, placing a velvet box down beside Spencer before sliding the other across the table to fall into the younger woman’s lap. “Congratulations. I now pronounce you man and wife or whatever they say—beware, Penelope is likely going to throw rice or glitter or whatever she found in her desk at you as you walk out of this room. You’ve been warned. And I’d say kiss the bride, but frankly, I don’t want to see that. Wheels up in thirty.”

With that, she offered the new couple a nod before retreating back out of the conference room, back to her office, leaving them to open the velvet boxes. The rings were simple, nothing too flashy, like something you’d expect a professor to be able to afford without breaking the bank.

“Right…” Spencer said, sliding his own ring onto his finger before rising to his feet, his fingers awkwardly clenching and flexing at the unfamiliar weight. “Maybe if we don’t leave together, Garcia won’t ambush us.” He turned towards the door, hesitating a moment to glance back at the woman he could now call his wife. “Unless—unless you’re ready to go… we could, uh, head out together?”

“Oh, yeah, of course!” Y/N nodded quickly, jumping to her feet as she organized the pile of papers back into their folders and into her bag. She crossed the room, stopping beside Spencer. She glanced up at him, her own ring feeling heavy on her finger as she hesitantly reached out, offering him her hand. He looked at her for a moment, his eyes going back and forth between her waiting palm and her eyes before reluctantly accepting the offer.

“Shall we, Mrs. Reid?”

“Now and then he re-reads the manuscript. Of the entire torrid affair~”

Chapter II: Guilty as Sin

Thanks for being interested in my silly little concept 🩵

@flowerpott1978 @olives-and-sunshine

#mgg #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds evolution #spencer reid imagine #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction

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flrlgreen · 5 months ago

Text

pure (toji fushiguro x virgin reader)

a/n; the toji thirst is never-ending

cw; fem reader, toji is in his early 40s, reader is a virgin, reader is in college, inexperienced reader, reader is in her early 20s (no older than 21), loss of virginity, baby trapping if you squint, reader has a vagina.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that decides to sign up for one of those sketchy meet and fuck websites that pop up in troves on those nasty porn sites.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that was a little apprehensive about meeting up with people from the site, but he was a man with needs after all. it’s been forever since he’s had a good fuck.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that lucks out when he meets you. a cute early 20s virgin girl that found herself on the nasty website desperate to lose her virginity to fit in with all of her friends.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that wastes no time messaging you and to his surprise you were legit and willing to meet up. and even better, you were just a few miles away.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that is surprised he hit it off with a woman almost 20 years his junior. and was even more surprised at just how sweet you were to him.

ꨄ dilf! toji fushiguro that invites you over to his place after you finish your evening classes to hook up.

“ah! fuck!” you cry out when the hot tip of toji’s cock kisses your cervix over and over again.

the way he has your legs damn near behind your ears allows him to go even deeper. his sharp thrusts make you babble and drool all over yourself. he was good and knew what he was doing. his thrusts had intent behind them and he knew the exact spots he needed to hit to make a woman feel good, especially a virgin.

toji seemed to be enjoying himself letting out a few breathy moans when your gummy walls squeeze and spasm around his thick cock.

“fuck mama. you’re so fuckin’ tight. tightest pussy i’ve ever had-” he groans, pulling almost completely out and slamming back into your warm heat.

the compliment goes straight to your core and you involuntarily clench around him once again. the fact that such an experienced older man would say such a thing made you feel warm inside.

“tojiiii~ feels so good- i feel weird- ah! in my tummy!” the pitch of your voice heightens towards the end of your sentence. the feeling in your stomach is something you can’t explain and have never felt before, but it felt good in a way you couldn’t quite describe to him without feeling embarrassed “yeah? feels weird?” toji says in a teasing tone, speeding up his thrusts. “that’s called an orgasm mama. am i making you feel that good?” he chuckles and kisses your cheek that’s now dampened with tears.

your doe eyes look into his emerald green ones while his cock pistons in and out of you. “t-toji! can’t hold back anymore-!” you whine arching your back and biting your lower lip. ‘don’t hold back mama. cum for me.” he hisses thrusting harder and deeper into your tight core.

he knew he wasn’t going to last long.

the way your poor abused cunt was milking his cock dry made him inch closer to the orgasm he desperately chased after. “tojiiii-” you sob while curling your toes when the knot in your stomach becomes too much to bare. your first ever orgasm washed over your body. the mere sight was too much and toji couldn’t last any longer.

“god- i’m cumming-” he lets out a loud groan and thrusts one last time into your cunt before emptying himself in your sensitive hole.

“‘m sorry baby, i came inside.” he sighs while pulling out his softening cock while a stream of white liquid flows out of your cunt. your legs finally rest for the first time that night when he places them on either side of him before leaning in to give you a kiss on the forehead. “i-it’s fine I don’t mind.” you smile knowing there was a possibility you could become pregnant with his child. <3

i didn’t know how to end this LMAO

317 notes · View notes

anyamaris · 2 months ago

Text

Make Me

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x F!reader

Summary: Things between you and your long time best friend take a turn one day into forbidden territory-will you be able to go back to the friendship that you hold so dear?

Genre/AU: Best friends to FWB, non-idol au, angst/smut

Rating: 18+/M for mature

Word Count: 5782

Warnings: Adult Language, unprotected sex, playful banter/insults, unexpected sex, creampie, mild angst after the deed

A/N: Thank you to my beta readers @pars-ley @colormepurplex2 @yoonguurt you're amazing! @pars-ley for the ridiculously gorgeous banner and @cafekitsune for the dividers!

I was going to do this in a one shot, but I got a bit carried away and this will end up being at least two parts.

Taglist: @lapydiaries @bangtanwritershq @thebtswritersclub @ksmutsociety @frenchkisstheabyss

Dinner parties at Yoongi’s are always a great time, the combination of Sky’s hosting abilities and both of their cooking skills make any event they throw a complete smash.

You glance at the group bantering in the other room as you gather the dishes from the table, laughing at the chaos already starting.

“Stop, you’re a guest,” Sky tells you, but you just ignore her and continue to help despite her narrow–eyed look.

Giggling, you take off into the kitchen as she sighs behind you.

“They’re so cute, I knew they’d eventually end up together.” You tell her as she follows you, noting your glance at Namjoon and your long-time friend, Ty.

“Of course, totally called it.” Sky agrees, and you share a secret smile.

Since they first met, Sky has been whispering to you about the inevitability of it, and as always, she’s spot on.

Well, almost always, you think, smiling inwardly.

Her own story with Yoongi was something to behold, that was for sure.

A squeaky, wheezing laugh greets your ears as Sky swats you away from attempting to do the dishes, so you finally give up to go find out what is going on in the other room.

Before the door to the kitchen swings shut, you smirk as you hear Yoongi’s deep voice.

“You’d better leave those, baby, or -”

Shaking your head, you go plop down next to Hoseok, eyes locked on Jin as he rambles on about some incident at the practice room.

“What’s he on about?”you ask Hoseok, leaning over towards him as your eyes just watch the animated man yapping a mile a minute.

“Who knows, I tuned him out a while ago.” Hoseok chuckles as he shakes his head.

“Did someone bring the WD-40?” you ask as Jin lets out another one of his signature windshield wiper laughs.

“Yah!” he says, eyes wide with fake anger as he turns on you, causing the whole room to erupt into laughter.

You shoot a wink across to Ty, who is curled up with Namjoon on the opposite couch as Jin and Jungkook resume their little argument.

Sky was almost always right, you think again, settling in to enjoy the evening.

You open your eyes to your phone blaring at you, your jaw cracking as you yawn and clear the morning fog from your mind.

You know it’s Jin before you even look; he’d somehow managed to get ahold of your phone and used his ridiculous laugh for his personal ringtone.

You just shake your head as you slide the answer call button.

“Hey, something up? Shouldn’t you be working?” You ask, rolling your neck and rubbing the sleepiness from your eyes.

“Yeah, I should be but a pipe burst at my place and the whole ceiling came down. Dealing with this for now, but I have a favor to ask…”

His voice is punctuated by people talking in the background and you can hear him cover the phone with his hand as he answers something.

Probably the landlord and workers, you think.

“Of course you can come stay til it’s fixed, Jin. You don’t even need to ask.” you tell him, sitting up to swing your legs out of the bed.

“Ah, thank you! I appreciate it, you know I won’t be a bad roomie.” You can hear the relief in his otherwise tense tone.

“Didn’t want to ask the newlyweds?” you tease, knowing very well Namjoon’s place would be very...unwelcoming to guests at the moment.

His snort just has you grinning as you make your way to peek into the guest bedroom, already taking stock of what you need to do to get it ready for him.

“Seriously, I’m all for them being together but that’s different than rooming there…ugh the noises alone…”

You can only laugh at his tone and nod as you turn to go make a list of things to do today.

Step one, coffee.

“Sure you don’t want to stay with Yoongi and-”

“Don’t even say it, you know how bad it was last time.” he groans.

“Yes, yes, I don’t want to hear the details again about my friend's sex life. Grab whatever and I’ll have the room ready. You still have your key?” you ask, setting about your morning routine.

“Yep. Are you staying in today?” he asks, and you can hear the voices calling for him once more.

“Yeah, I may run out for a moment but other than that I’ll be here. Go take care of that. See you in a bit.”

You hang up, letting out another big yawn as you pad over to peek into the fridge.

I’ll have to run to the grocery store too, you put on your mental checklist.

One of the things you love the most about when Jin comes over is cooking together, so you always have to make sure you have some fun things to work with.

Deciding to put off your writing for the day since Jin is coming, you focus on getting some laundry going before heading out to grab some things.

The weeks following Jin temporarily moving in go as they normally do for the two of you.

Early mornings where Jin is waking up as he makes his way out to early practice or the studio, as you are finally closing your laptop after an all-nighter.

Your schedules have a brief overlap, allowing you to catch up with each other about random things over quick shared simple breakfasts before he’s rushing out the door as you shuffle off to sleep the day away.

Completing your most recent chapter ahead of deadline, you find yourself slowly getting back to a regular schedule and can catch up with some more social activities.

Yoongi had taken Sky with him on some kind of work related trip, and most of your friends were busy with their own schedules.

You hadn’t the heart to harass Ty too much with the new relationship, knowing that her infrequent text responses are a good sign that she’s likely quite busy.

Lounging on the couch, you scroll through the most recent conversations.

“Namjoon’s keeping her occupied.” you hum happily as Jin leans over your shoulder to read the text on your phone.

The scent of fresh soap washes over you and you glance behind at the man now hovering over you.

Clad in only a towel around his waist, his damp hair tickles your cheek as you turn to raise your eyebrow at him.

“Is that my towel?” you ask, sighing at the cute little sunflowers now adorning his otherwise naked body.

“It looks good on me.” He winks at you, and you can’t help but push his face away, rolling your eyes at him.

“I left one for you, Seokjin! I just did the laundry! Why are you using mine?”

Walking around to go grab a water bottle from the fridge, he just takes a long swig before he’s turning to finally answer you.

“Don’t want to share?” he grins, reaching out to lean against the wall beside him.

“Ugh, don’t pose to try to look sexy, Jin. Now I won’t be able to use that again, just the thought of your dick tainting my pretty little flowers….” you sigh dramatically, looking back at your messages.

“Try?!” He scoffs, and you try to keep a straight face while his voice rises, anticipating the incoming rant.

“”Mhm…try.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m considered very sexy! You should have heard the staff talking about how handsome I am at the company today-!”

You merely nod, not looking up from your phone as he continues, doing your best to not burst into laughter.

Nodding absentmindedly, his rant finally just turns into muttering as he wanders off to hopefully put on some clothing.

It was always a good day when you got Jin to rant, it just means this is a win for you.

“What do you want to cook?” He asks as he shambles back out, finally drawing your attention as you finish answering some texts.

“Now there’s a question…” you say, hoisting yourself off the couch to go poke around with him in the fridge.

By the end of the evening, you find yourself in your normal spot, lounging with your leg over Jin’s, his arm perched behind you on the back of the couch as you watch the most recent episode of the drama you’d both decided on.

It was nice to have something to look forward to with your schedules being so wacky lately, and by the time it finishes, you’re happy to find that you’re tired while it’s still dark out.

Covering your mouth to hide the big yawn, you extract yourself from your best friend, checking the time.

“I may be able to sleep tonight and get up at a normal hour tomorrow,” you say.

Glancing over, you can’t help but smile at the half-asleep man blinking as if he didn’t fall asleep halfway through the show.

“Go to bed, sleepyhead.” you tell him, reaching out to ruffle his hair as you make your way to your room.

“Yeah, bed.” he echoes sleepily, but before you can close the door to your room, he calls out.

“Hey, tomorrow the guys want to go out. Letting you know ahead of time that I won’t be back til afternoon Saturday.”

You nod, appreciating the heads up.

“Alright, I almost forgot tomorrow was Friday. Thanks for letting me know.” you wave to him, closing your door before heading to flop on your comfy bed.

Good, you could lounge around and have some alone time, you think.

It’s not as if Jin being here is a hardship, of course.

But you did miss not having to worry about having pants on in your own home.

Not that Jin would care, but you had some decency.

It’s not like you wanted to go around flashing your best friend, even if he does use your towel like a jerk.

“So, when are you two announcing that you’ve moved in together and have been having a secret relationship this whole time?”

Sky’s text from earlier just makes you shake your head, and Ty’s “Just get it over with and we can all be happy couples, girl.” only adds to your exasperation.

“Quiet, both of you.” you murmur, tossing your phone on the comforter as you curl up in bed.

As if you haven’t had this conversation with pretty much every single person in your friend group, or heard some semblance of this mindset.

At this point, you’d both started to play into it, much to the dismay of your friends.

Have you ever had feelings for Seokjin?

You surely appreciate his attractiveness, as much as you like to tease him.

He really is very handsome, of course.

But all of them are handsome in their own ways.

Ty and Sky both knew about your secret crush on Hoseok years ago, and that had gone nowhere for the same reason you’d never even attempted to think beyond the basics with Jin.

Especially with Jin.

You’d given up the idea before you let it get out of control or even let on about it.

Your friendship matters so much more than a physical relationship, even if you’ve pondered what it could be like.

This dynamic had been established basically from day one, way back in your first year of college when you’d met their friend group.

As friends, you two were so open and honest, to the point of hilarity.

He could match your energy and you enjoyed getting him as riled up as he got you.

You may tease each other and pretend to argue, but you’ve never actually had a true fight.

You knew once that line was crossed, feelings would get complicated.

There was something special between you two and you treasured what you had right now.

For all you knew, the perfect dynamic of friendship you currently have could quickly turn into a really bad match if you ever dated.

You guarantee that Jin would agree with you, so there was nothing more to talk or think about.

Sighing into your pillow, cursing your friends for making you think about the same stupid things for the millionth time, you close your eyes to get some rest only to hear your phone ding one last time.

“I used your loofah too.”

“GODDAMNIT, KIM SEOKJIN!”

You launch a pillow at your door as you hear his distant high-pitched laughter and clapping through the otherwise quiet apartment.

“Where did I put my-aha!”

You glance up at the man currently acting like he hasn’t packed everything he’s needed well ahead of time.

Rolling your eyes as he scoops up his favorite hoodie from the back of one of the kitchen stools, you can only shake your head as you return your focus to your last email of the day.

“Hey, I saw that.” he huffs, padding to the door to get his shoes on, “Don’t miss me too much, brat. I know you’ll be counting the hours while I’m gone.”

This draws your attention, eyebrow raised as you give him a deadpan look.

“Oh Kim Seokjin, how I pine for you. Whatever will I do without your presence nearby?”

Your monotone coaxes a laugh from him as he checks himself over once more, then turns to nod at you.

“I know, it’s tough but you’re strong. You’ll survive this. Hwaiting!” He raises both fists to you before saluting.

Snorting at his antics, you just shake your head and return to your email to send it.

“Yeah yeah, have fun, catch lots of fish, yadda yadda, don’t get eaten by a shark…”

Before you can finish, the door is swinging shut, the sound of Jin singing loudly slowly fading down the hall as he leaves.

“Dumbass,” you mutter, unable to keep the smile off your face.

Closing your laptop, you stretch and look around your now empty apartment.

“Ah, freedom for a night!” You say to the walls, bouncing up to go change into something comfier.

The plan for the evening is to lounge around and watch some music videos, cooing over your current idol crush all while not wearing pants.

Letting your mind wander, you calculate how long Jin has been staying with you.

A little over a month at this point, you think.

He’d just gotten the call this week that his place would be ready very soon, so he wouldn’t be here much longer.

Though, it was no hardship to cohabitate with him, definitely not.

Most of the time, it was more comforting knowing someone was around, even if he steals your used towels and laughs like a hyena.

Still…

You love your best friend, but a girl needs her alone time.

When was the last time you even got a chance to release some pent up sexual frustration?

You’re not entirely sure how it’s been for him, but you know for sure that it was a little too weird to even make use of your special drawer next to your bed knowing he could be listening in at any time.

Not that you’re ashamed of masturbating, but there was also the idea of making him uncomfortable as your guest.

Though, in reality, you know he’s more likely to bring it up at breakfast and tease you about vibrator noises than feel embarrassed over it, like he did last time.

Regardless, it has been a while since you’ve even gone on a date, let alone had any physical encounters.

It’s not necessarily a plan to do anything tonight, but knowing that if you get in the mood you can do so openly.

“Right on the couch!” You announce, letting out a little cackle as you toss on an oversized nightshirt, sans bra.

Ahh liberation, you think, stopping to contemplate your special toy drawer.

“I'll be back for you later, Dannie.” You pat your little end table as you shuffle out to the couch, plopping down and not giving two shits if your panties are showing.

Smug and content, you settle in for a nice, cozy, intimate evening with yourself…and maybe a few named friends.

Deciding against getting too freaky right away, you find yourself lounging happy on the couch.

A little over an hour has passed since you turned on the newest music on YouTube when you hear the sound of the door being unlocked .

Stiffening, you sit up straight, tense at the unexpected intrusion.

Who else had a key besides you and Jin??

Confused, and grateful you’d stopped singing at the top of your lungs due to the song ending, you feel your heart leap into your throat a moment before the door swings open to reveal Jin.

Blowing out a relieved breath, you place your hand over your heart.

“Holy shit, Jin!” You almost yell, falling back on the couch, fear dissipating into annoyance.

His big, wide eyes blink absently at you, confusion written all over his face.

“Sorry, sorry, I should have texted. The trip got canceled at the last minute so we ate before I came back.” He sighs, tossing his bag on a nearby table as he removes his shoes.

“Well that sucks,” you say, glancing at your phone. “At least they fed you.”

He just nods, finally turning to face you and take in the scene.

“Did I interrupt?” He asks, leaning against the door frame as he scans you.

Unwilling to give him the pleasure of your embarrassment, you just feign annoyance as he gives you a cheeky smirk.

“Never seen a girl without her pants on before, Jin? I understand.” You shoot back, turning back to your TV, using the remote to pretend to look for something to watch.

He snorts, huffing out a laugh.

“You know, if you missed my handsome face that much, you could have just told me.”

“Ha!” You retort, rolling your eyes, “There goes my plans to masturbate on the couch to porn, not to you.”

Instead of laughing or walking away, the frustrating man just waltzes over, plopping himself down beside you.

“Oh by all means, don’t let me stop you.” He gestures to the TV, never taking his eyes from you.

Oh here we go, you think, narrowing your eyes at him.

Eyeing the arm he tosses casually across the back of the couch behind you, you fight the urge to elbow him in the gut.

It always starts like this with you two.

Your mouth is faster than your brain half the time when he says infuriating things, and vice versa.

It's the majority of the reason you get along so well, but also the reason for some serious competitive moments.

The self congratulatory look on his face says it all; he thinks he’s already won and you can’t have that.

“The last thing I’d want is to embarrass you by showing you something you’ve never seen before.” Your eyes are locked on the television as you try to ignore his gaze.

He chuckles, relaxing as he gestures to the screen, “Oh please, as if Namjoon hasn’t ruined computers downloading-” he starts but you cut him off.

“Oh I don’t mean porn, Jin. I mean you seeing a woman experiencing pleasure in your company.”

It’s almost adorable how his lips twist up and purse, and you can’t help but gloat inwardly as the barb hits its intended target.

Before you can bask in the early victory, he’s leaning in close and you can’t help but shiver at how his warm breath tickles the shell of your ear.

“Perhaps if you had better taste in men, you wouldn’t have to rely on that little stash of fake dicks in your drawer so much.”

Swallowing, your eyes narrow at his comment even as his fingertips dip into the strands of your hair to tease at the nape of your neck.

He chuckles softly, blowing gently into your ear as you seethe, your mind reeling because that one is a little too close to home, and he promised to never bring that up again.

You can feel your cheeks stain as you struggle to not let him win this one.

“That one hurt, didn’t it?” He teases and you just nudge him with your shoulder as you turn to glare at him. “If your taste ever improves and you need a real man to show you-”

He winks and you just snort at him, unwilling to concede that his little touches and nearness is affecting you much more than his taunts are right now.

You can’t stop yourself from leaning in closer to him, reaching up to brush back a strand of dark hair from his brow.

“Oh don’t worry, Seokjin. I’ll make sure to call Hoseok.”

His eyes fly wide open at your words, head snapping back as he blinks at you in his typical dramatic way.

“HOSEOK?” He yells, and you can’t help but start giggling as he goes to grab you, dodging him and rolling off the couch before bouncing up to stick your tongue out at him.

“What’s wrong, Jin? Jealous?”

You dance over near your door to put some space between you, giddy at watching the vein in his neck pulse and his jaw clench.

You don’t know why, but sometimes invoking Hoseok’s name just gets the best reaction out of him.

His eyebrows shoot up as he slowly stands, and the stern look on his face has your stomach doing somersaults.

God, why is he so hot? You think off handedly, trying not to admire the width of those goddamn shoulders.

“Are you scared?” He retorts, ignoring your question, eyeing you as you go on the defensive.

You let out a huff, pretending to toss your hair as you eye him from head to toe.

“Scared? Of you? Unlikely, I could have you pinned in an instant.”

It’s his turn to scoff at you, and he raises a hand and gestures at you, beckoning you over.

“Come here and prove it then.” he taunts, giving you his signature smirk.

There’s a beat of silence as you stare one another down and you tense before you toss out your next words.

“Make me.”

The tension in the room builds as his eyes seem to darken, hardening yet dancing with excitement as he lowers his head.

The squeal you let out echoes through the room as he finally springs towards you, your heart thumping wildly as he rushes at you.

Barely evading him, you dart into the kitchen, putting the island between you as he chases, feigning back and forth before sprinting back into the living room, then down the hallway.

“You can’t outrun me-!” He calls out, and you can’t refute that fact, but you’re sure as hell going to try.

Laughing and shrieking, fear and excitement coursing through you, you can feel him gaining and you make the mistake of looking back over your shoulder to check.

Unfortunately, this causes you to overshoot the door to your room, allowing him to all but slam into you as he wraps his arm around your waist from behind.

Lifting you and spinning you as you kick your feet, you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

“Make you, huh?” He pants, forcing you around so you’re facing him.

You can’t stop letting out little giggles and yelps as he cages you against the wall, grasping one of your wrists to hold you in place.

As if his body pressing you against the wall isn’t enough to keep you there.

Catching your breath, you try to stop laughing as you suck in air.

“Mmm, yes make me.” you quip, looking defiantly up at him.

His dark eyes flit back and forth across your face, then down at how he has you pinned to the wall, then back up again.

His throat bobs as he swallows heavily and the reality of the position you’re in suddenly hits you.

His body pressed against you, arm over your head, the bulge in his pants stiff against your thigh.

Breath hitching, tamping down on the arousal that slams through-you just blurt out with a laugh,

“Kim Seokjin, are you hard?”

The rosy tinge that creeps up his neck fascinates you as you wiggle your hips a little, causing him to gasp and he loosens his hold on your wrist in shock.

“Thinking about Hoseok gets you going, eh?” You tease, taking advantage of the moment to slip under his arm and rush into his room with a cackle.

Your head is spinning at just how much you want to find out what would happen if you explored this avenue, your body reacting to everything much faster than your brain can talk any sense into it.

Your name echoes through the apartment in a deeper tone than you’re used to him using, almost in warning as you leap onto his bed to scramble away from him and possibly find something to use for bartering.

Maybe his plushie-?

Shit, my ass is completely exposed, you think a brief moment before you feel his hand clamp around your ankle like a vice.

The thought that this is an extremely dangerous situation for you both flits through your mind as he yanks you down the bed towards him and easily flips you over, his weight landing on you as he pins you down.

“You’re such a little shit, you know?” He states simply, battling with your arms as you attempt to tickle him, finally managing to restrain you by holding your wrists down on either side of your head.

Assessing your current position, you can’t see any path to freedom as you wriggle beneath him, your tangled limbs combined with his full weight on you not allowing for a way out.

Snickering at his comment, you only nod happily as he stares down at you in a mixture of frustration and…amusement?

Something has his eyes gleaming as his chest heaves against yours.

Countless times you’ve played this little cat and mouse game, and countless times you’ve found yourself in positions much like this with Jin.

But for some reason, tonight feels different, as if there’s a tight rope you’re both walking and one little slip up will have you both falling into unknown depths.

It’s as if time stands still as the tension in your stomach coils, both of you studying one another as if silently daring the other to push.

“I know.” You say, your voice huskier than you’re used to hearing it.

Shifting, you swear you can feel the pulse in his erection against your inner thigh and you involuntarily clench as your mind battles with your rising lust.

“You’re not wearing a bra.” He states, definitely not a question.

“I’m not.” you reply, acknowledging how your nipples have been responding to his chest rubbing against yours.

“I won…but you’re cheating.” His voice is softer now, yet there’s an edge to it that has you wanting to rub your thighs together to ease this tension.

If only he wasn’t pinning you down.

“Lies.” You claim, but your body rebels eagerly as you wiggle beneath him.

A small struggle ensues until you manage to push your legs open so that his very sizable cock is pressing right where you want him most.

What am I doing?

The thought is fleeting as much more important needs are making themselves known.

The breath leaves Jin in a woosh, followed by a soft groan as his hips jerk forward against you.

Heat spreads through you as the entire situation teeters on the limits of just playing around, and you know that if one of you doesn’t give in then this could be a very complicated predicament.

Yet, the “giving in” you desire most right now isn’t putting a halt to things.

Heat pools in your lower abdomen as your buried, forbidden longing claws its way to the surface to make itself known.

“Admit defeat.” You finally say, even as your hips lift against him.

You can’t help but relish the way his eyes roll, his lips pursing as he lets out a grunt at your tactics.

Silence fills the room as you both search one another’s eyes, asking something that you can’t form the words for.

“Is that what you really want?” He inquires softly, head tilting as his eyes flit back and forth as if implying something much more than simply giving up.

Only a moment ticks by before you nod once, your heart beating in your throat, then he says one simple thing that changes everything.

“You win.”

His mouth is on yours before you can take another breath.

The hands gripping your wrists disappear and your arms are snaking around his neck, his fingers slipping behind your neck as he rubs his thumb against your pulse.

A low keening noise leaves your throat as his plush lips dance over yours, his tongue slipping along the seam as you open eagerly for him.

Fuck he can kiss, you think dizzily, even as his free hand slips down to tug at your shirt hem.

Time stretches and compacts as you both tear at each other’s clothing in a frenzy, only parting lips to tug one another’s shirts over your heads to toss them away.

His scent overwhelms you, his own natural scent of nectar mixed with the cedar and fig of his cologne.

It’s a fragrance you’ve always loved but now it’s spiraling you out of control as moisture pools in the fabric of your panties.

You breathe a wanton moan into his mouth as his large hand cups your tender breast, kneading and brushing the pad of his thumb across your taut nipple.

“Brat.” he groans as your back arches at his touch, his lips skimming down the column of your throat.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as your other hand traces a path down his spine.

“Prick,” you retort, even as his teeth nip at your collarbone.

“Shut up.” he grunts as your legs wrap around him.

“Fuck me,” you respond in kind even as his hand leaves your neck to slip between you, yanking desperately at the button of his pants.

His only reply is freeing himself finally, kicking off the rest of his clothing then assisting you as you tear at your panties, not even caring if they’re ripped in the process.

You’ve both gone beyond the point of asking at this point.

You cry out in euphoria as he only takes a moment to look down between you to position himself before he’s thrusting deep within you.

Your blended moans are swallowed as his lips crash against yours once more, his tongue plunging into the depths of your mouth as he stretches you deliciously.

Tears prick the back of your eyelids at the insanity of it all, the heady mixture of pleasure and relief, the almost sacrilegious act you’re both committing.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more than you want this right now, with him.

The thought has your head spinning, pushing the implication of it away as you rake your fingernails down his back, his deep moans followed up by soft whines barreling you inevitably to a rapid climax.

Before you can even fully realize it, you’re clamping tightly around him and breaking the kiss to scream his name loudly as your climax rips through your entire being.

Your name drips from his lips as sweat drips from his brow, his face contorted in beautiful ecstasy as you pry your eyes open, needing to see him as his hips snap against yours.

“Again, let me see you-” he gasps out, lowering his forehead to yours, his eyes locked on yours.

You can only nod as you swallow harshly, cradling his head as you grasp at his shoulders, unable to look away as his wordless cries grow louder and more desperate.

His lush lips part, his cheeks flushed gloriously as you urge him with your eyes, with your hips, with your cries to let go for you; with you.

His hips stutter as you feel yet another orgasm tear through you, his moans reaching a crescendo as he thrusts forward one final time, emptying within you in a hot flood.

He buries his face into the crook of your neck as his entire body quakes, hips stuttering erratically as he collapses fully onto you.

Your fingers comb through his now damp hair, a layer of sweat clinging to both of you from the exertion as you both attempt to regulate your breathing.

You can feel his heart racing against your naked breasts, and time extends as you both lay entangled in a spent heap.

“Jin-” is all you manage before he’s shushing you, lifting himself before his mouth is covering yours, silencing whatever it was you are about to say.

As your sanity slowly returns, you open your mouth to say something, anything.

Grateful, you surrender to his wordless command.

It’s not as if anything you could say now would make any sense after that.

Darkness surrounds you as you open your eyes slowly, the fog of sleep clearing as you feel a heavy weight pressing on your chest.

Reality slams into you as the crown of Jin’s head becomes slightly visible in the dim room.

Your heart thumps as you gaze at him, cheek pressed against your left breast as he breathes softly in his sleep.

The ache between your legs is far too welcoming as you study his gorgeous pouty lips, his dark lashes only highlighting how handsome he is, especially like this.

You tentatively reach up to caress his cheek, gently tracing his eyebrows, his cheekbones, his lower lip.

He snuggles you at the touch, his lips twitching in an almost smile as he smacks his lips happily in his sleep.

Oh fuck this is so dangerous, you think, panic washing through you.

What the fuck did we just do?

Feeling dread wash over you, all you can think to do is slowly extract yourself from the slumbering man, pausing every so often as he stirs until you can slip from the bed.

Before you can collect your thoughts, you need to get away from him…now.

As you shut his door softly, you place your hand over your heart as your mind races.

The last thing you expected was to be sneaking out of Jin’s room with his semen leaking down your thighs.

Scurrying to the bathroom, you barely manage to suppress the frustrated scream bubbling up in your throat.

Did you just ruin your perfect friendship?

#bangtanwhq #btswritersclub #lapydiariesnet #ksmutsociety #Kim Seokjin Smut #Jin smut #Seokjin smut #BTS Jin smut #Seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #BTS fanfic

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yourlocalsmutwriter · 20 days ago

Text

This year, I want to be a wetter, I mean better person - Mark Webber x reader

cws: age gaps (reader is in her 20s, Mark is in his 40s), perv! Mark, semi-public, squirting, dirty talk, author loves dilfs and hopes that one day dilfs will love her too

Whichever spirit possessed your parents to decide to move to the middle of nowhere, England was a hidden blessing. It may not have seemed that way when you had to endure their company for the 4 hour drive from the airport or when you knew that there was no one fuckable for miles. Not that you could get down and dirty under a family roof, whether it was somebody else's or your own. Nothing more haunting than staring down at the lone poster of Fernando Alonso from his Renaut era on your hideously painted walls while cumming. Or, more accurately faking an orgasm. So you spent a nice, festive Christmas Eve and Christmas in your new family home. Catalogued everything that went wrong in your life to land you in this position from the 26th onwards. Actually explored the town and found that at least 1 bar (as if it would have more than that not on the main street) was open on New Years.

Your parents were not party people. By 8, they had tucked in on the couch and were yawning through a holiday concert of some Dutch guy. You shimmied into the one presentable dress they had seemed to pack from your childhood home. "Conveniently," your cute clothes were in storage, and the owner was somewhere in Dubai at the moment. So you have to make do with this black piece. It's not your first choice. But at least the fact that you had grown some tits since being 18 a few years ago was comforting. You pass your parents by with a promise to not be long now. Being met with a sleepy "Don't worry, sweetheart." you know that they're going to sleep through the fireworks anyway.

To nobody's surprise, the bar isn't crowded. The raging bull is in a pathetic state. Some top 40 hits radio station is playing. The floor is sticky. The bartender looks like he's your parents' age, and it doesn't seem like he knows just what goes into your favorite Long Island iced tea. You sit down and ask him to keep pouring you rum and cokes until either he runs out or your wallet is empty. You sip his very boozy concoction slowly, as you're texting your friends. Complimenting their party fits. Asking details about potential hookups. Looking at pictures of their pets in ugly sweaters. As midnight draws near, someone else actually gets inside the bar. You look up and see a pair of green eyes and holy shit, it's a holiday miracle. It's Mark Webber. 9 time GP winner. Manager of your current favorite driver on the grid. Ultimate celebrity crush, Mark Webber. With the grace of a newborn giraffe, you slide out of your chair. You don't want him to see you, but at the same time, you need it to survive. There goes your cover of not knowing who he is. Now, the bar name makes sense. It all aligns like a jigsaw puzzle. The car themed coasters. The signed cocktail napkin framed on the wall. The only “fancy” drink on the menu being named the Aussie grit.

After you not so subtly go to the bathroom to reapply your lipstick and try to work wonders with a mascara wand, you go back to your place at the bar. Only Mark is next to you, bendy black straw into his namesake cocktail.

"Look, I don't know how much they paid you to tail me here, but I can double it." he says, and you're confused.

"You're some kind of journalist or something.” You shake your head, still too stunned that he's here, talking to you.

“Don't tell me you're just some big city girl whose boyfriend brought her to meet the parents, and now you're single because you found him groping his cousin. Because, believe me, that romcom's more of a staple than you think." He continues.

"Wow, how bad is this town that a young woman in a bar on NYE is news. My parents moved here in April. I'm visiting them for the first time. And so far, I haven't encountered any guys, much less the ones that think the best part of waking up is Folgers in their cup." You explain.

"Are your folks the couple who hate each other but are always bragging about their daughter's graduation in March?" Mark guesses, and you are once again stunned by just much this small town gets to people. Not only does a man that's starred into many of your wet dreams know your parents. No, that's not enough, he also knows they're not the perfect relationship role models. You can't help but wonder if it's hereditary and also the reason you haven't brought home a partner. Pushing that to the side, you reply to him with

"Just the ones.”

"You know your dad thinks we're best friends, and your mom keeps asking if I can hire you at Porsche or McLaren." He says and suddenly all the facetimes with your parents come back to you. The man with a very nice house who they invite over for tea sometimes. The one that's been a little under the weather lately. The one who drives a sports car to the center.

"You're motorsport Mark? Of course you are. Be grateful that you don't have any kids my age because I'd practically be your daughter in law too." You speak before you think, momentarily forgetting about the man's wife and kid. Then you wonder why he's out here with you and not back at home. You're inching to ask, but there is no way to say “are you divorced, and if yes, can I ride you into next year, please?"”. Especially after he hits you with a reminder of why that's a bad idea.

"You should be happy that your parents are proud of you, sweetheart. And that they want you to stick around with them here." He says.

"If I was, wouldn't I be about to watch the fireworks with them?" You ask.

"Still some time until that, isn't it? Wanna make it count?" He replies to your question with a question.

You agree, and there's two more Aussie Grits on the bar. The bar tender also places two laminated sheets of paper and two markers in front of you. The comic sans text on top says "New Years Resolutions" and the neat little lines give you 5 rows to write in.

"Sick of hearing us talk, aren't you?" Mark asks the other man, and the latter just grunts.

"Bet I can write mine before you finish your drink." The former driver says, clearly still a speed fiend. You shake on it, and you start chugging the strong drink. Meanwhile, he's adding chicken scratch sentences to the A4.

He beats you, and to his credit, all his resolutions are thought out and personal. You're happy to see that he's put "do more for Oscar" in there and giggle at the "post more on Instagram?". While you're still reading, he's busy gloating, making fun of you for not learning the most important thing in college - how to hold your liquor.

"What, like you could do any better. Mark, I'm surprised you're standing after the drinks you already had. I bet that I'll have to see you get locked in here till the morning for your own sake." You say, both posing a challenge and remembering the "beauty" of some more traditional British pubs. You hope that the one booth you see is at least comfortable. He doesn't back down, and you're on the clock, writing down what you want to accomplish in 2025. But your brain is buzzing from the drinks, from the way liquid is dripping down Mark's chin and onto his pants, by the fact that you're a horny drunk and the unavailable dilf next to you is too delicious to pass on. You lose, unsurprisingly. Handing over the list, you absent mindedly say

"You know I wouldn't mind your help with the last one, I'm sure you can make it happen, wink wink, nudge nudge.". You're referring to the item "attend my first grand prix," a dream of yours since getting into the sport. But apparently, in the rush, you had added a more nsfw goal under it. Because the item on your list that ended it prematurely was, in fact, "squirt for the first time.".

"You wanna double-check your work before saying things, sweetheart. " he asks, and you're mortified when you do. You start apologizing and gathering your things to leave. Mark places a strong hand on your bare thigh to stop you.

"I never said I wasn't going to do it. I'd be glad to. I'm just making sure that here and now is the place you want to bring this up." He says. Your jaw drops, and you're like a fish out of water.

"Aren't you married?" You ask. It's not the first that you thought would come out of your mouth. Yet, you have to hear him say it.

"Divorced. Technically, in the process of, but no ring. Empty house, and a cold bed. Only my left hand for relief." He says and you're picturing Mark pumping his cock in his fist. You cross your legs and clench your thighs slightly, which doesn't go unnoticed by the older man. He moves his hand and spreads them.

"And you, sweetheart? Do you have some secret boy toy to make your switch into adulthood more fun? Or a nice pretty girl like yourself that you've been shaking up with since your dorm days?" He asks.

"No. Same as you, but I use my right hand. My clit's too sensitive if I switch up my technique." You say, hellbent on making that man go crazy for you.

Mark looks around and tips a crisp 50-pound note from his wallet. You can't help but notice the little blue wrapper peeking out of the Italian leather. He calls over the bartender and asks for "2 coffees when we come back." You think the Aussie's going to take you to his car. Have you ruin his custom leather seats and make you lick up your mess as punishment? You guess he might even take you to his house, not that you have any idea where it is exactly. Ask you to hold on tight as the headboard to his once marital bed slams against the wall. Makes sure your sensitive little clit humps against the pillow as he's fucking you from behind.

But Mark drags you to the men's room instead. Spreads your legs and makes you grab the sink.

"You know I'm a man of few words. And as much as I'd love to start you off with a hands-on approach, I think you haven't earned it yet. So let's show you some videos first, huh?". He pulls out his phone and opens his Google drive. He's got a folder titled xxx and in it is maliciously organized subfolders by years.

"I can click any of them? And I'll see you making a woman squirt?" You say, impressed.

"Never met a girl whose pussy I couldn't make gush. Although I'd stick to the pre-retirement years." He says and you settle on a 2012 video. You know the later ones probably feature his ex. But this one stars a faceless blonde, all curves and moans. You squirm when Mark smacks her ass, watching it jiggle. You keep your eyes on how his tongue slides between her folds. You try to ignore how he's rolled up your dress and is just staring at your underwear. Watching it get wetter and wetter. You're too preoccupied with younger him to ask for his touch now.

The next video is a brunette, with pierced nipples and a possible disdain for Mark. That's gone when he slides into her, fingers pinching her clit. He makes her come too, and the next one and the one after that. You've seen enough. You turn and find him eye level with your cunt, long legs bent into a squat. He may be more than a decade older than in the video, but an old dog doesn't stop learning new tricks.

"Mark, I need you, please." You beg, beyond ready to be treated like one of his "little starlets" from the spank bank. You wonder if he'd film you too. Have your pussy soaking his cock in your juices as a memento of your time together.

"How do you want me, sweetheart?" He asks.

"Need you to fuck me, want to feel your cock inside of me, please." You moan out. And he's a perfect gentleman, because he promises he'll give it to you.

But first he slides his fingers to the front of your underwear and two of them are on your clit, rubbing. Maybe it's because of his height, that the length has spread even to his limbs. Maybe it's the dexterity, the sheer speed of his movements. Usually you'd prefer it starting slow, and building up. But with Mark, it was all climbing, starting at a 100 and moving towards 200 and above. Your hips are bucking against him, searching more. He slows just for a second in order to thrust two fingers inside of you.

"Look at you, already a mess. Did I get you so rilled up, sweetheart. Does this old man do it so much for you?" He asks and smiles as you can only groan and beg for more. He's not someone who draws out things, so he tells you to keep it up for him as he opens the condom package. He watches you whine that your fingers don't feel as good, that they aren't enough.

"Oh sweetheart, just you wait. You're going to be ruined." Mark says as he feeds you just the tip. He makes you take your hands off, replacing them with his. He thrusts up, matching his movements on your clit.

"It's too big, please." You say. Were you asking him for more or to stop? Your body seemed to favour the latter , because you were practically dripping on the bathroom floor. Mark uses his other hand to bring you closer to himself, his shallow thrusts pumping deeper and deeper. He's hitting that spot in your body, the one which you didn't even know existed.

"Be good and cum for me, will you, sweetheart? I don't have all night. So unless you want me to drag you out like this and fuck you on the town square under the fireworks, you better let go." Mark says. He does miss how tight you get around him when he talks like this. He continues, telling you how good you make him feel and how he can't wait to see your pretty orgasm face.That's what tips you over the edge. They're tears coming out of your eyes, you're pretty sure you're drooling and Mark's cock is indeed soaked with your juices. You can hear the obnoxious squelching of his last few thrusts, before he also comes.

He's still inside you when your alarm rings, the sound coming from your purse, long forgotten on the floor. You scramble to turn it off.

"One minute to midnight. Well, it's more like 20 seconds now." You announce. Mark takes your face in his hands (still slick with you) and kisses you gently. He doesn't have the heart to tell you that this is the first kiss he's had all year. You don't have the heart to tell him the same. All you know is that your return flight might be rebooked to a later date. You finally found something interesting to do in your parent's new town.

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 x you #f1 imagine #mark webber x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber smut

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fernandopiastri28 · 6 months ago

Note

Enjoying sometime off with Logan in Miami

sticky sugar taste- logan sargeant

warnings; pure smut, pwp, nastiness, 18+, oral (m&f recieving)

She’s gonna smack Logan when he gets home for leaving her on delivered like this. Trying to fill the void, her hole, she presses two fingers inside of her cunt, groaning at the touch. It feels good, almost good enough to tie her over, but the nagging desire and desperate want for it to be Logan’s fingers instead ruins the satisfactory feeling.

It’s near practical torture, she thinks, Logan’s been out all day without a single word to her. In all fairness to him, it’s a media day, and he’s been running back and forth trying to film as many little clips and challenges talking about just how proud he is to be Amercian and how special the Miami gp is to him.

But honestly, would a single text really hurt?

The worst part isn’t even that she just really misses him- she’d seen him only a few hours earlier when they’d first woken up and just lazily made out for about half an hour until he had to leave. The worst part is how painfully horny she is.

Sure, she has herself to take care of that- she is perfectly capable of doing so, but it’s not the kind of horny where she just wants to cum, she wants Logan to.

The influx of Logan content coming from his own account, the williams pages, and the F1 account has been fantastic. Cute photos of him posing in a Miami Dolphin’s jersey, him doing those little Q&As about his favourite foods, taking photos with random fans that bump into him.

But just seeing his face on her phone screen every two seconds really isn’t helping her case. In all fairness, he’d probably text her if she texted him enough. He’d have enough time to quickly tap on a text notification and punch out a few words for her- she knows he would.

Logan

I miss you ☹️☹️☹️

She knows that his response won’t be immediate, and she’s fully prepared for that. However, she doesn’t just want to send those two messages and his response be something cute and sappy like ‘Aw, I miss you too. See you soon ❤️’ Which is just such a typical Logan response, she wants him rushing home the second he sees her texts just to help her feel good.

So they’re quickly followed with,

Lo i’m really horny

And youre not here ☹️

Need you, all of u

Until he reads them, she’s only got herself, so she shucks her pants off, tossing them in the general direction of the laundry basket, and shuts her eyes, letting her left hand absently drift between her legs.

Logan’s at her favourite bakery. It’s been her favourite since the grand prix last year- the one that sells the glazed donuts and cinnamon rolls that she still hasn’t stopped talking about after nearly a year. The line is miles long, so it must be an agreed upon fact that this place is genuinely good.

Unfortunately, due to how long the line is, he’s had to take even more time away from her to go here, and because he’s trying to eb a good boyfriend and surprise her with this, he hasn’t told her where he is. That means for the past two hours that he’s been easily free to text her- he hasn’t.

He feels pretty shitty for that, but hopefully she won’t be too mad once the sugary scent of the pastries fills their hotel room.

His phone buzzes in his pocket against his thigh four times, two at a time. He doesn’t have to be a genius to know who it is- his lovely girlfriend, the chronic double texter.

He leans over, looking at how many people are infront of him in the cue. There’s maybe 15 at most, so he’ll be out of here within a half hour and home around 10 minutes after that. 40 minutes, that’s all, he only has to ignore her texts for 40 minutes.

Eventually though, Logan’s resolve crumbles and he switches on his phone, checking her messages. The first two are cute, and he feels a bit bad for the fact that he had to leave so early. However, he chokes on his breath when he reads the next two.

The two messages that he has no right reading out in public.

Im out in public please have some decorum

He’s attempting to be funny because if he doesn’t and instead gives into what she’s saying, he might start barking over text.

Well.

Maybe not quite that far, but damn near close enough.

Seriously Lo im in agony without u

Come home i need you so badly

Oh fucking hell. The line atleast is moving quicker than he’d predicted, but that means he has to face the cashier while being so incrediously hard and just order an assortment of baked goods.

Ill be home soon i promise

He makes his order, slamming the money on the counter while muttering out a ‘keep the change’, just to keep the interaction as quick as possible. He’s handed a brown bag with the four items- 2 cinnamon rolls, 2 donuts which was going to make for a perfect afternoon snack/dessert.

At this rate, they’re gonna be eating eachother instead of the pastries.

My underwear is soaked

Touch yourself baby, wait up for me

He switches his phone off, figuring for the drive home it’s safer to not be sexting his girlfriend while on the freeway. He might be a professional at driving, but that certainly doesn’t mean he’s confident enough to drive home while discussing what they’re planning on doing together when he walks through the door.

She wishes Logan would’ve given her an estimate of what ‘soon’ meant, because that could mean anywhere from 5 minutes to an hour. For her sake, she hopes it’s the former. She’s disgustingly sticky, laying on her stomach while she watches fucking tiktok edits of him. She’d started with just looking through photos he’d sent her over the course of their relationship, then evolved to needing a bit more than that.

Currently, any video of him working out was doing it for her.

I’m touching myself to pictures and vids of u

You look so good in all these interviews bae

It’s words like those that she knows makes Logan go genuinely crazy- which is the intention, obviously.

She gets no reply, which honestly, is a bit discouraging, but maybe he’s just on the way home and can’t reply right now.

She prays that’s the reason.

I wanna suck your dick when you get home

Until you cry

Like the most mindblowing head holy fuck

Please?

I fell asleep after you left and i dreamed about riding you

Make my dream come true?

It’s a pretty corny line, so ‘once upon a time’ fairytale-esque, but at this point, she’s confessing just abiutanything in the hopes that Logan is reading the messages and he’s getting increasingly more riled up from them.

It’s a bit difficult to type with one hand, so her texts are going through slower now.

Fuck Lo, i miss your dick so bad

I think im going insane, nothing is helping

Genuinely she would commit crimes at this very moment just to have Logan’s cock in her, but she shouldn’t say that- that’s wrong.

My throat feels so empty

Let me blow you please 🥺

Why am i begging you i know youll want it anyways

The emoji is a good choice, she wants Logan to know just how painfully needy she is for this right now. Her two fingers curl up inside of her, desperately trying to chase an orgasm she knows she won’t reach for as long as Logan isn’t physically right next to her, but you can’t hate a girl for trying.

Time seems to float away from her in her hazy state. She forces herself to diassociate, pretend time isn’t real and that she isn’t real in the hopes that time will pass quicker. Her past 12 messages are all still unread as far as she knows, definitely unanswered at least, so she’s holding out hope that he hasn’t crashed or something and he’s just trying to get home as quick as possible.

She rolls over, opening the drawer of her bedside table. She has a blue ‘toy’ in there, williams blue specifically. It’s been helpful on many occasions when Logan hasn’t been around to help, or when they’ve had to do this sort of thing over the phone.

Her fingers wrap around it, keeping it in her palm as her arm falls heavy to her side. At this point, she’s too exhausted to keep doing anything to herself. Since she doesn’t know how long she’s supposed to wait up for Logan, she just lets herself drift towards sleep- figuring he’ll come quicker if she’s asleep anyways.

Logan grabs his stuff out of his car, the brown bag tucked safely under his armpit so he can use both hands to read the obscenely lewd messages that have been flooding his noifcations. His cock jerks as he scans over each new message, his head ducked down as he makes his way through the hotel. To his luck, he doesn’t have any crazy fans like Lando or Charles do that cue up inside his hotel so he doesn’t have to worry about stopping to sign something for a fan while he is painfully hard and reading texts about his girlfriend begging to suck him off.

A bit of him, no, all of him is desperately hoping she’s still up for that because a good blowjob sounds like the best thing ever right now.

He doesn’t even realise he’s gotten into the elevator until he’s standing infront of the hotel room door, searching his pockets of the key card. It happens to be wedged into his wallet into the smallest section which means it takes a solid minute to try weasel it out.

His patience is seriously being tested today.

Logan kicks his shoes off, closing the door behind him, waiting just long enough to hear the click that indicates that it’s locked before he pounces straight towards the bedroom. He drops off his stuff just next to the kitchen counter, taking care to placethe bag ontop of the table. He opens the bedroom door, a small smile spreading across his face at the sight.

Her clothes are scattered across the otherwise tidy and pleasantly decorated hotel room, the bedsheets pulled over to only one side of the bed, a head of long hair just visible where the blanket ends and the pillow begins.

But the ache that’s straining against his jeans is enough for him to snap out of the lovey feeling and back to the horny one. “Hey pretty,” He tugs back the blanket of the bed, not too much that she’ll have a bad reaction, but enough to wake her up, a proper wakeup in which she’ll be ready for him within minutes.

“Ngh, five minutes,” That’s exactly what Logan was aiming to avoid.

“No, up we get,” He slots his hands under her armpits, sitting her up. “C’mon, you’re gonna make good on your promises, aren’t you?”

There’s a blank expression on her face for a second, then there’s that moment of recognition. “Lo,” Her voice is thick with a mix of lust and sleep, “I’ve missed you,”

He snickers, feeling his whole body grow warmer, “I could tell, I read your texts.” He tugs his shirt off over his head, watching a smirk spread across her hazy features. “Really that desperate? Begging to suck me off?”

Her cheeks are painted a pale pink- she loves this type of teasing, the oen that Logan borderline mocks her for how needy she is. It never gets to the point where it’s classified as mean, and if it ever scrapes that boundary, they both know to back off. “I really wanna,” She looks up at him through her lashes, the whites of her eyes prominent and contrasting against her dark pupils.

“On the floor,” She clambers onto it, a mess of legs and blankets as she falls to the ground about as gracefully as she can. Logan looks like he’s about to fuss over her before she shakes her head, assuring him that she’s fine. Once she’s got a pillow under her knees, she reaches up to undo his belt.

The worst thing about men’s pants- there’s just so many steps to take them off. Undoing the belt, pulling it out, undoing the button, the zip, then finally you reach the boxers. With girls, you often just push their skirt up and you’re ready.

Logan assists her with his belt just to get the process moving along quicker. He lets her take back over when it gets to just undoing his jeans just because he knows she loves the control she gets over this part. She doesn’t play around too much with his jeans, eager to get them down, but once she’s met with an eyeful of his boxers- then she decides to do a bit of teasing of her own.

She kisses him through the soft cotton of his boxers. The front of them are pulled taut over his erection, straining and begging for release. His hand finds it’s place in her hair, gently pushing her face into his crotch. “Mm, playing around like you weren’t begging to be shut up with my cock down your throat?”

Her brain is already beginning to feel foggy. It often does when they do this, she gets that dreamlike pleasure where nothing quite feels real, but it certainly feels really good. Her index fingers hook into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down.

She’s seen him like this more times than she could probably count, but it’s always the best sight. She opens her mouth, kitten licking his tip. Whines fall from her own mouth, controlled and even breaths from his. It’s not yet drastic, definitely not debauched or overstimulated.

Not that she’d done this with many guys before Logan, actually maybe only one or two a few years back, but she really can’t imagine ever being with someone else like she is with Logan. He knows her- inside and out. He knows what’s too much, what’s too little, what is just perfect. He knows all her little signs and actions, the ones that speak louder than words when she can barely say it out loud.

She wraps a hand around his cock, which he tuts at. “No hands,” They go behind her back, and she’s left looking back up at him with big eyes, waiting for him to do something. He strokes her hair, slowly guiding his cock into her lips, “Suck, baby,” He cooes.

There’s no doubt that Logan’s a bit of a challenge to take, long and thick, but he knew to which point it was too much and how much got her to that perfect mindless place. Her tongue trailed along his slit, precum gathering on it.

Her mouth is that perfect soaking warmth around his tip, swallowing down a few inches, moving back and forth. There’s something in both of them that wants to take it to the furthest point, she wants to try and force herself as far forward as she can, take as much as humanly possibly, and he wants to fuck her face- force her to take it.

But that’s lust talking, and as much as they’re both horny as hell, they also have respect for eachother and themselves, so they treat this as a softer moment. “Is this exactly what you’ve been begging for all day, baby?” He murmurs, his finger drifting between her cheek and temple.

She can hardly respond, so a hmnh! suffices. He pulls out just far enough that her lips are wrapped around his tip, both red and swollen. Logan groans, rolling his hips forward in a painfully slow rhythm. There hasn’t been a second in which their eyecontact has broken, so she just stares up at him, big glossy eyes.

Eventually though, just the very tip of it is hardly enough for either of them, so Logan slowly works her onto his cock, pushing forward slowly until he’s buried deep into her throat, not quite all of him inside her.

Strands of her hair curl around his fingers, making it easier to tug and pull her in any direction he wants to. There’s drool dribbling down her chin and onto her neck, her lashes clumped together with tears.

There’s a familiar clenching in his stomach that indicates that he’s painfully close to cumming, so he tugs her off. She stares up at him in confusion, wide eyes of almost betrayal. “Up on the bed,” He instructs again. She lies against the large stack of pillows, legs bent up to the ceiling. Her knees are red and raw from kneeling for so long, so clearly the cushion didn’t help that much.

She’s only got a pair of lacy white underwear on by this point, soaked to mould to the contours of her cunt from how wet she is. Her nudges her legs apart, lying down inbetween her thighs. “Colour?”

There doesn’t seem to even be a moment of doubt, “Green,” Logan laps her cunt through the thin material of her panties, filling his mouth with the familiar taste of her. He genuinely thinks he’d die a happy man between her legs, but he doesn’t want to, because that means he wouldn’t be able to do it again.

Ideally, he wishes he could just do this for the rest of time.

Breathing whines and moans escape her mouths, chants of his name filling the room as her slender fingers card through his hair, yanking it. Not too hard that it means that he should stop, but hard enough to let out some of her energy.

“I- I missed you so fucking bad today,” She whimpers, her head thrown back against the pillow. Logan can’t help but smile, he loves how bad she needs him because it means the feeling is requited. “Where- were you?”

“I know,” He stops just long enough to answer and press a searing kiss to the inside of her thigh, “I was just- yeah, tying up some last minute errands,” The answer seems to satisfy her enough to calm down and just give into pleasure.

It doesn’t take much longer before her hips stutter and she cums, gushes of wet across his lips. She rides it out and Logan helps her the whole way before her whimpers indicate it’s all too much. He then finds his place back up at her mouth, kissing her. It’s sticky and wet, and they can taste themselves in each other’s mouths, but it feels so good to be kissing againl even if it was only a few hours ago they’d been doing it.

They flop down on the bed for a bit, stroking eachother’s hair until she decides she wants to continue making good on her promise. She scoots inbetween his legs where is still hard cock is resting heavy, and takes the head into her mouth. He lets out a grunt of surprise, which then turns to a heavy exhale.

It comes easier this time around, alternating between licking and sucking, taking him deeper than before. Her hands find their place gliding up his stomach and chest, running over his defined set of abs. She looks up at what she’s doing, which doubles as looking up at him.

Similarly to how she’d been earlier, he has his head thrown back and he’s whining, thrusting up into her. Since he can’t see what she’s doing, she has full creative liberty. She tweaks at his nipples, pink and pointed. He lets out a moan from the very back of his throat, his hips thrusting up into her throat. “Holy fuck,” He groans, pushing her head down further, only applying the slightest pressure.

It’s not long before his noises are becoming more high pitched and flooding out quicker, “Close,” He mutters, and she stays right there, moving at the same pace. He spills into her mouth, thick white strings of cum painting the inside of her warm wetness.

They stay silent like that for what seems like hours, her face smushed up against his stomach, his hand brushing through her hair. “Was that enough?” She shakes her head, ‘hardly’. He’s on the brink of sleep, and he thinks she is too until she suddenly sits up, her face twisted like something’s bothering her.

“Did you get donuts?” Seriously how on earth could she smell them through the door. He nods, smiling tiredly at her. He makes some lame explanation of how that was the reason he was so late as she drags him out of bed snd towards the source of the sweet smell. “I love you, I love you!” She squeals, wrapping her arms around his neck as soon as she sees the brown paper bag.

He grins, burying his face in her neck, “Love you too,”

(sorry this took me so long to write and i hope you like it, i've been lost for inspiration. also, shoutout to sunny who was the biggest motivator for me to write this-i hope you enjoyed the nipples part)

#logan #logan sargeant #logan sargeant smut #formula 1 #f1 rpf #f1 #formula1 #formula one #williams #oscar piastri #miami grand prix #lando norris #carlos sainz #charles leclerc #smut

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k-s-morgan · 3 months ago

Note

"many people insist he was in the Blitz ( I don't mean fics, I don't mind that, I mean in canon discussions) so my post was specifically for the Blitz. For the 40's bomb, that you brought up, not my post, Tom left soon after, 7 days after. And as for the '44 bombings- Tom has already killed 4 people by that time- FOUR. I think it's safe to say death and suffering of the people around him wasn't one of his concerns.

Tom's fear of death doesn't have to come from bombing. Plenty of people fear death that had never been bombed. It is stated that his fear of death is because he thinks himself above all humans, it's in relation to his power, he says this to Dumbledore at 11 BEFORE ww2 started. He already said 'mom can't have been a witch because she died'. But yes, this post was about Dumbledore not sending Tom into the Blitz, like many people say, as if Dumbledore personally delivered Tom to the Nazis."

What do you think about this argument? I've written fics of Tom witnessing the Blitz. I thought that it was canon but I have had people argue that it is not. What do you think?

Hi! That's a really interesting topic, but one I came to dislike because it feels like most people have very black-and-white takes on it. I actually got involved in one of such conversations just recently. Maybe even the one you quoted from? I don't recall at this point.

Since I prepared a lot of materials for ATLWETD before writing it, I can give you a full answer supported by the research and some news clippings. It's going to get long, though!

So, first - the Blitz. Indeed, Tom never had to face it. It lasted from September 7, 1940 to May 11, 1941, and Tom spent this period at Hogwarts. However, the Blitz was neither the start nor the end of London bombings - and bombings of the surrounding areas and UK in general.

Citing from Mark Clapson, "Air Raids in Britain, 1940–45":

"A common misconception of the Blitz in the United Kingdom is that London was the only city under attack from September 1940 until the Nazis also turned their fire on other cities and towns in mid-November. Yet even before the Blitz on London began, other urban areas in the UK had been attacked from the air.

As the Battle of Britain drew towards a defeat for Germany, the first significant raid on a major British city took place in Cardiff and Newport on 10 July when over seventy German planes attacked the South Wales docks. In July and August, Birmingham, Coventry, Hastings, Liverpool, Newcastle and Southampton were all subject to air raids, signifying that when the main Blitz on the provinces began, industrial and coastal towns and cities were going to be key targets for the Luftwaffe … As Tony Mason shows, the first raid on Coventry had been on 18 August 1940, when both industry and housing were bombed."

Most of these locations are within the 200-300 km of London. Hastings is less than a 2-hour drive away. People don't live in a bubble, so hearing and reading about the bombings getting closer had to be terrifying for a child-Tom.

Now, getting even closer to London. The timeline taken from this website:

"16 AUGUST 1940

A series of raids were leveled against Norfolk, Kent and the Greater London area with airfields as the main targets, including Manston.

London suburbs were bombed, including Wimbledon and Esher, where shops and houses were hit. Bombs on Maiden, Surrey, railway station killed staff and passengers and put both lines out of operation. To the north, Gravesend and Tilbury were attacked, and bombs fell on Harwell and Farnborough aerodromes."

Tom would have definitely experienced the impacts of these bombings at least in some ways because the sound of explosions travels miles ahead. People would be in an increased state of panic, not knowing if London was going to be the next target any other second now.

A photo of the news clipping from August 17, 1940, titled: Germans Bomb London Suburbs:

From this website:

"A still earlier, and better recorded, raid took place the night before, on 15 August. 30 bombers targeted RAF Croydon aerodrome, which was then considered part of Surrey rather than London. Several people were killed, with damage to the aerodrome and nearby housing."

The distance between Croydon aerodrome and London is just 10 miles. Again, this is something the impact of which Tom would have very likely heard personally - add to this the feeling of fear and uncertainty over when and where the next attack is coming, and you get a recipe for a serious psychological trauma. Tom was only 13 at this time.

From the same website:

"Many sources state that the first bombs to drop on London landed in the early hours of 22 August 1940, affecting Harrow and Wealdstone (technically not then in London, but within the London Civil Defence Area). These caused damage to two cinemas, a dance hall, bank and houses, but nobody was killed. A further strike on 24 August [in London] killed nine people, and prompted retaliatory attacks on Berlin."

So, by these accounts, Tom experienced the bombing of his city directly at least once and likely heard the impact of bombings from the suburbs at least twice. Could be more - there were several bombings close, and we have no idea where Tom was in those specific moments. He could be taking a walk to the West End, going to the suburbs with his orphanage, and so on.

He was lucky to miss the bombings that followed (until 1944), including the Blitz, but I really hate when people dismiss the psychological impact of seeing your city in ruins, witnessing the massive destruction, and not knowing whether the bombs are going to drop again today. It's not like the Germans announced, "Hey, the Blitz is over, you're safe now!" Of course Tom thought he might experience another bombing, and of course this thought scared him.

The summer of 1944 was terrible for London because that's when the V1 were dropped. Quoting from The Blitz Companion by Mark Clapson again:

"Yet during the summer of 1944 worse was to come, and it would manifest itself in a frightening new weapon. For some months rumours had been circulating in Britain about a flying bomb that had no pilot and which could be guided almost mysteriously through the air at great speed to attack the capital city. This was the V1, the ‘V’ standing for vengeance … The V1s killed over 5,000 people and injured 15,000."

The timeline for these attacks is here.

This one is trickier, though, because based on Harry's era, by 1944, Tom already came of age by wizarding standards. So there is an argument that he could finally use his magic and leave London. On the other hand, he was still a minor by Muggle standards, and we have no idea what Hogwarts rules and laws of his era stated - meaning that it can all be up to interpretation.

For those who prefer to imagine that Tom was there: maybe back in 1944, a wizard had to be 18 to be considered an adult, and the limit was dropped closer to Harry's era. Or there was a rule stating that Hogwarts students must continue to live in their assigned places up until they graduate, especially in a Muggle world - because if a minor disappears from Muggle care when they are still enrolled in a magical school, it could trigger the involvement of authorities, which might be something Hogwarts would want to avoid.

We can't make strong arguments here because the canon says nothing about these details. So, if someone wants to imagine that Tom missed the bombings in 1944, there are very logical reasons to support such a view, but if someone wants him to have experienced it, it's also easy to imagine.

Either way, whether Tom lived only through the bombings of 1940 or both 1940 and 1944, to deny that he was affected by the war is to reject the most basic human psychology, in my opinion. Anyone would be terrified when they are surrounded by destruction and death, when they are confronted with the idea of their own mortality and when they feel helplessly trapped. And Tom saw the war horrors every summer even when there were no bombings.

I'm a war victim myself, and I don't feel safe on the days my city is not attacked. Because I know that the situation can change every other second. The psychological effect of bombings is devastating even when you aren't physically affected.

Does Tom's trauma justify his canon actions in any way, though? Of course not. Did his war trauma cause his fear of death? I think it was definitely at least some part of it. How couldn't it be? It's exactly because he considered himself above others is that his fear could be this amplified. He probably hated sitting stuck in a dangerous zone with the people he despised, threatened by the beings he didn't consider proper humans.

Maybe the war didn't give birth to Tom's fear of death, but I think it obviously contributed to it heavily since, again, he was living in one of the very targeted places, and he lived through at least one London bombing.

Also, yes, I do think Dumbledore and Dippet were absolutely abhorrent for sending an orphan child to a war zone when it was so easy to give him shelter. They were responsible for Tom's well-fare, and this responsibility shouldn't disappear in the summer. Tom could have easily been killed - again, it's not like the Germans announced when they were going to bomb or not bomb London and other areas. Letting him stay at Hogwarts or finding some family to take him in - or an inn! - would have been beyond simple.

Dumbledore also definitely knew Tom is related to a Slytherin bloodline, so there had to be families willing to take him in for this alone. Sure, it could be dangerous in other ways for a child as self-focused as Tom, but he was still a child, and his safety had to come first.

Finally, there is an argument that Tom was moved along with other children from London since it was supposed to be mandatory. This is also something that can be looked at from different angles. The reality of people following a law always differs from the theory of it. There were many issues with evacuations at that time. About 7,736 children died in London from the Blitz alone - not everyone could evacuate, especially the poor. Maybe the Wool's lucked out, maybe not. There are claims that only children within the ages of 5 to 14 were evacuated. But also, if Tom was moved, then there is no telling if he was more or less safe there since the location is unknown. It once again depends on what a specific person wants to imagine as a part of his life.

Now, anon, as for your fics in particular: if you wrote about Tom witnessing the Blitz, it's all right - I mean, the entire universe of Harry Potter is made up. Maybe, in a world where these characters might exist, the Blitz could have happened differently - why not? We have no idea about the dates of HP canon-Blitz. The events there don't have to take place in our specific world.

So, strictly speaking - yes, it's not canon, but more in relation to our world than to the world of HP.

#harry potter #tom riddle #ww2 #london #the blitz

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cherryrikis · 4 months ago

Text

SUMMER ISNT OVER

PAIRING s2l park sunghoon x fem reader

WARNINGS eric makes a kinda offensive joke

GENRE strangers to lovers, romance/drama, summer love

SYNOPSIS driving to anaheim with your cousins was meant to be a fun trip away from the rest of the family. but when you knocked on the door of the wrong hotel room, the whole course of your trip would change.. and you’d find yourself missing a certain someone when its time to go home.

authors note - definitely longer than my standard fics (bc @hannicorpse wrote this with me !! ) but it’s only 4k ish😊

growing up in a big family meant your aunties and uncles had kids generally close to you in age. but more than anyone else, you always stuck with the same 3 of your cousins. danielle, eric, and karina. so now, you’d be stuck together for the next week as you drove through la.

“i don’t get why the drive is sooo long. like, it’s barely 40 miles from here.” eric complained as he saw the route on google maps. it was nearly 2 hours from his house in pasadena to the hotel in anaheim.

“how do you think we feel? we pretty much drove the same distance in the opposite direction just to pick you up!” danielle scoffed.

“maybe if you didn’t pop a tire and just slept at auntie’s house like we did, we could’ve been in anaheim by now.” karina. snickered.

“it wasn’t my fault! who just leaves a bunch of broken glass in MY driveway? and besides. i am not driving to long beach in this traffic.”

“you’re the one who decided to move up and out when we all stayed.” karina commented yet again.

“not my fault i didn’t wanna stay coastal. or in the hills.” “kinda is.”

with all the back and forth arguing coming from your cousins, it was getting harder and harder for you to focus on the road. you tried to ignore it, until you couldn’t anymore.

“can you guys just stop bickering? i can barely hear myself think, i literally just missed that last exit to the freeway. if anything, eric should be driving since he’s the second oldest, he’s the only boy, and he made us go out of the way to get him!” you announced in frustration.

hesitantly, eric reached out to tap your shoulder. “what now?” you sighed. “can you go to that gas station over there? i forgot to use the bathroom..” “eric sohn!” you groaned in annoyance, before reluctantly doing so.

despite taking an unusual amount of time to use the bathroom, eric did make up for his incompetence by driving the rest of the way like you suggested early on.

one minute, you’re closing your eyes to take a nap. and before you knew it, you were in anaheim, arriving at the marriott hotel.

the amount of luggage between you three girls was ungodly, especially since you’d be here for so long. yet somehow, eric probably packed more than then the three of you combined.

after finally checking in and hauling all the bags into the hotel elevator (since karina refused to get a luggage cart because she didn’t want to have to put it back), you were able to enter your rooms and relax.

you got two connected rooms instead of one big one, because it had a better deal. eric and karina shared the first room, 2343, while you and danielle shared the second room, 2345.

the singular hotel rooms alone weren’t really big, but it would still suffice. not a full kitchen, or a ‘real’ living room. on the other hand, both bedrooms were roomy and the bathroom was nice. so that was a plus.

during those first few hours after you had arrived, it was mainly spent going around grocery markets to get food and snacks to stock up the room.

but you all were starting to get hungry, craving some korean barbecue or hotpot. so, you were sat in some korean barbecue restaurant in buena park, cooking the meat before karina began to talk.

“you know, the pool is pretty nice and big. we should go check it out later.” she suggested, slightly looking up from the grill. you and danielle hummed in response.

when you got back to the hotel, turns out there were no towels at the pool. you had to ask for them at the front desk. so being the youngest, (and also being the one who accidentally burnt half of the brisket), you were forced to go and retrieve the towels.

“how many?” the receptionist asked. “uhh.. 5 pool towels please. actually.. sorry, i meant 4.” “sure thing, just let me go grab them from the storage room.”

you silently thanked the employee as she handed you the towels, before taking the elevator back up.

as the lights flashed floor 23, you walked to your room, smiling at any stranger who walked past you.

realizing you forgot the room key, you knocked loudly on the door as you waited for danielle to open up.

but when the door opened, it was in fact, not danielle. yet a handsome boy, around your age, with a charming accent. australian, maybe?

you slightly froze as the australian boy, along with three others behind him, stared at you.

“i- i am so sorry. i thought this was 2345.” you apologized, your cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment.

“ah yeah. this is 2347. i guess your room is next door. but uh, no worries. im jake, by the way.” he smiled at your shy figure. “so, what are you doing with all those towels? gonna go swim?” “oh, yeah. me and the people i’m with are gonna go see the pool later tonight.”

you awkwardly rubbed the back of your neck, scanning his room through the door frame. it was bigger than yours, but similar for the most part. two bedrooms, a full kitchen and living room. clearly, they paid for the suite. you noticed a pale boy sitting on the couch, staring at you. he was pretty cute. maybe even gorgeous. few moles, nice hair. practically porcelain skin.

you zoned out onto his face, pausing for a moment before returning your gaze back to the aussie who you now knew as jake.

“oh, you can come in if you want? you seem a little out of it.. uhh..” he stopped, waiting for you to say your name.

his words immediately brought you back to reality. “huh? oh. it’s uh, y/n. it’s okay i’ll just go back to my room. sorry again.” you mumble another apology, before leaving to go back to the correct room.

jake closed the door just as you left, letting out a laugh he didn’t was holding back. “she was so funny. she looked so scared.”

“who was that?” sunghoon asked. “some girl next door. her name was y/n or something.” jake answered.

“she’s kinda hot.” jay chuckled, nudging sunghoon with his elbow. jake and heeseung agreed, quickly discussing you and wondering if you had any friends with you. sunghoon quietly nodded in agreement. but, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. the thoughts in his head were practically louder than the voices around him. and he just hoped he didn’t accidentally mention it out loud.

however, the one thing he did say out loud, was suggesting to go to the pool. (in hopes of seeing you).

when you got to your room, you distributed the pool towels to each of them, then keeping one for yourself. you talked about how you went to the wrong room and laughed it off, but you left out the fact that all you could think about when jake spoke to you, was his cute friend with those moles.

eric scolded you for ‘disturbing the neighbors and their peace’ but honestly, you couldn’t care less. karina defended you anyway. it was kinda her and eric’s thing to just always bicker. they were more like brother and sister than your other cousins who were actually siblings.

later that night, you made your way to the pool. around 7:30pm. much to your surprise, jake and his friends were already there. “hey beautiful.” he teased, coming up to you from the pool, while his friends remained in the water.

“oh hey, i know you. were you waiting for me? didn’t take you for the flirtatious type.” you joked. “who’re your friends?” asked eric, not noticing the way heeseung had his eyes set on karina.

“right,” jake nodded. “oh, boyfriend?” he paused and asked you, interrupting himself. “older cousin..” eric grimaced.

“oohh.. um. sorry.. anyway, the one with the dark red hair is heeseung. the one with the dark blue trunks is jay. and the one with the moles is sunghoon.”

“do heeseung and sunghoon speak english?” eric halfheartedly joked.

“dude.” karina scoffed, slapping his bare chest.

“yeah..? we were all born here, in la.” jake raised an eyebrow. “so i assume you’re all cousins then?” he continued awkwardly.

“yeah.” you nodded. “that’s eric. the one next to me is karina, and the one next to her is danielle.” karina and danielle waved at jake after the introductions, but eric refused.

“don’t get any ideas.” eric crossed his arms, finally noticing how karina and heeseung were pretty much fawning over one another.

the atmosphere felt thick, and it was silent for a long while, before jake had broken the barrier.

“uh.. anyway. you’re welcome to hang out with us..” he shrugged, gesturing to their chairs before hopping back into the water.

taking up on his offer, you placed your belongings next to jake and his friends’ seats. you sat down for a moment, barely listening to how karina told eric can’t he just ask questions like that.

soon after, you moved to sit on the very edge of the pool, sticking your feet into the 10ft deep water.

you looked at sunghoon, watching as he had a contest with jay to see who could hold their breath the longest.

you noticed his habit of licking his fangs. you noticed how he’d often touch his eyebrows. you also noticed how he looked at you every so often, before hesitantly swimming up to you where you still sat.

“why aren’t you getting in?” he asked as he held onto the edge of the pool, his hands on either side of you.

“i will in a bit.” you paused. “so, sunghoon, right? one of jake’s friends?” “yeah.” he smiled, flashing his canines. “and you’re y/n, the girl who came knocking on the wrong door?” “yeah.” you grinned, mirroring him.

sunghoon hoisted himself up out the water, moving to sit next to you on the deck. luckily, he covered you in time as karina and danielle jumped in with a big splash.

“when did you guys get here?” he asked, finally looking into your eyes up close.

“just this afternoon. but we leave by the end of the week.” “yeah. us too.”

“so where are you from?” you question.

“west hollywood.”

“don’t tell me you’re one of those trashy hollywood kids.” you joke.

sunghoon playfully pouts, before breaking his act and laughing. “not even. i think i was raised pretty well.” he smiled. “but what about you? where are you from?”

“i live in long beach. but i was born and raised in beverly hills.”

“ew! don’t tell me you’re one of those trashy country club kids.” he jokes, clutching his chest.

you gasp, kicking water at him. he paused for a moment, before splashing you.

you and sunghoon were so immersed in each other and your conversations. you almost didn’t hear your cousins and his friends say they were going back up, after two hours of being in the pool.

the two of you stayed until closing time at 11pm, and even a little beyond that. you couldn’t think of a time you had that much fun with a guy.

“i had so much fun today.” sunghoon smiled with a genuine look of adoration, as he helped you up.

“i did too.” you blush before going to grab your tote bag. “we should hang out more often.”

“yeah, definitely. uhm, do ya think- do you think that i could like, you know. get your number? i mean, it’s okay if not. because like, if you’re not interested i totally get it. or if you just wanna be like friends that’s okay too. but like-”

you cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. “of course you can.” you smiled brightly, taking his phone to dial in your number, pressing the call so you could also have his number saved on your phone.

“now we could call or text each other anytime.”

he smiled. and that was enough for you.

you walked back to your rooms together, but sunghoon paused before going in. “see you tomorrow?” “yeah, of course.”

“goodnight sunghoon.”

“goodnight y/n.”

you did in fact see each other tomorrow. while both of your groups went out, you two stayed behind to spend some time together. with so much spare time (and no car), you settled to just watch a movie in sunghoon’s room.

“what movie is this?” you asked.

“the notebook.” “oh. i never watched it.” and his jaw immediately dropped in shock. “there is no way you never watched this cinematic masterpiece. now you have to watch it! pay attention.” sunghoon exclaimed, pulling you closer to him by your waist.

by the end of the movie, you were barely awake. it was good, you could definitely agree. but, in the same sense, it was so comforting, it quickly put you to sleep.

you leaned closer into sunghoon, placing your head on his shoulder. almost in the crook of his neck.

his heart swelled when he looked down at you, watching how you struggled to stay awake. why do i feel this way? i mean sure, she is really pretty. but i barely met her yesterday.. he thought.

it really put things into perspective for you both.

despite this fact, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down to press a soft kiss on your lower cheek, a centimeter or two away from your lips.

“kissing me on the first date?” you mumbled tiredly. “hey, we’re hardly here for 6 more days. let’s make it count.”

and you did exactly that, you were making every last moment count.

the next day, you went to the glendale galleria together. “i haven’t been here in so long.” you sighed, forgetting just how big the shopping center was. “it’s almost like this mall i visited up in san jose.”

you gasped as you saw a beautiful necklace. it had a dainty gold chain and a stunning pendant. “sunghoon? don’t you think this would look gorgeous with my white sweetheart top?” “i don’t know much about women’s clothing, but i know you’ll look good in anything.” he replied smugly.

“aw thank you! but- oh. nevermind it’s way too expensive.” you shrugged, going to put it back. but sunghoon stopped you.

“i’ll buy it for you.” “it’s okay, really. it’s too much.” “for that necklace? $150 is not a lot.” “but to me it is.”

he ignored you, swiping his card anyway.

sunghoon nearly bought everything you slightly stared at, despite all your protests. that night, you came home with bags of clothes, snacks, makeup, and just random items you didn’t even really need.

you felt so guilty, thinking it was a waste of his money. you wanted to pay him back but surely, there was no way you could afford it. yet sunghoon didn’t care. he wanted to see you happy.

you settled for buying him a slice of pizza from the food court or generally just any food he wanted. and that was enough for him.

on the next day, you even went to disney california adventures together. because you and your cousins just so happened to go the same day as sunghoon and his friends.

most of your time at the theme park was spent with him, often making your groups uneven. or, one of your cousins had to be with one of his friends.

you loved going into random gift shops with sunghoon, taking pictures while trying on mickey ears and random headbands. he even bought you two matching ones.

the radiator springs ride in cars land was jay and sunghoon’s favorite. sunghoon loved how he felt butterflies in his stomach. not only from how steep the slope was, but also from how you tightly squeezed his hand in fear.

the drop tower was a memorable moment to everyone. the picture that was displayed at the exit of the ride, revealed eric was actually clinging onto jake and karina the entire time.

“do not save that. if you guys actually buy this souvenir picture i’ll literally run away from home.” he grumbled in embarrassment.

“it’s okay dude. stop stressing, because you’re gonna end up grabbing onto me again when we go on the incredicoaster.” jake joked.

you all laughed at eric’s humiliation but quickly bribed him with a pretzel from the pym test kitchen (even though it was insanely dry).

you couldn’t forget about your last ride of the day, the classic, the ferris wheel. karina, danielle, heeseung, and jay, decided to go in a rocking cart. you and sunghoon, along with eric and jake, decided to stay in a normal carriage. but eric refused to ride with jake, settling for going by himself.

eric was one of the only boys in your family, so being around sunghoon and his friends seemed to make him feel a little unwanted. but you understood.

you laughed as you heard danielle and karina’s screams while their carriage practically turned upside down.

at the very peak of the ferris wheel, was where you and sunghoon had your first real kiss while the sun set in the background. “this is so pinterest worthy.” you whisper. “don’t ruin this beautiful moment for me.” he mumbled, turning to watch the view after you pulled away from him.

by the end of it, you were giggling like a bunch of high school kids.

when you walked out the park, passing one last gift shop before the exit, sunghoon quickly ran inside. and he came out with two matching stuffed animals. a baby stitch plush, and a baby angel plush.

of course, you were angel, and he was stitch.

the beach day was one of your personal favorites.

you had picked up food from a local restaurant along with some snacks to bring to the beach, like a picnic. after you had finished eating, you all went for a swim.

you and the girls were the first to get out of the ocean, watching how the boys attempted to drown each other. you murmured a few sentences between one another that evening. however, it was clear nobody was listening to each other. “no way..” you whispered to yourself as you looked beside you.

heeseung and karina were practically making heart eyes at each other, not caring about the people around them. danielle’s cheeks puffed up as she held in her laughter.

but, you couldn’t say much either. the whole time, your eyes only ever remained on park sunghoon. the man who had caught your attention from the start.

the tension between the pair was obvious. so, you and sunghoon came up with the ultimate plan.

sunghoon would complain about how he was sore from wrestling in the water, so he asked if karina could hold his bags. but, he knew heeseung would quickly come to take it from her.

after getting everything and everyone into the car, you set course back to the hotel. sunghoon drove single handed, with his right arm resting in your grasp as you played with his rings.

you gave each other a knowing look before turning around to see almost everyone else had completely fallen asleep.

there sat heeseung, with karina’s head buried in his neck. jake remained isolated next to them, his headphones on full blast, as danielle, jay, and eric rested peacefully in the row behind him.

you smiled at sunghoon, even if he couldn’t see it. but you both knew your mission was accomplished.

by day 6, you were back in sunghoon’s room again. just lying down in his bed, speaking out gently and peacefully as you held each other.

“if you stayed in beverly hills earlier on, maybe we’d have known each other earlier.” said sunghoon.

“probably. my uncle, dani’s dad, is a realtor, and he always sold houses in your neighborhood. maybe i really would have known you sooner.”

“this whole trip has gone by way too fast.” he sighed, his face buried in your hair. “at least we still have tomorrow.” you mutter.

“will we keep in touch?” “if this whole time really mattered to you, you’ll know. but, we’ll worry about it tomorrow.”

as your words slowly began to die down, sunghoon figured you had fallen asleep.

he held you tighter, bringing you closer to him. sunghoon pressed a kiss onto your lips softly, before he too fell into a wakeless dream.

technically, sunghoon’s room was really jake’s room too since they always had to share a bed. but, seeing you two together and understanding the situation, he decided to take one for the team and sleep on the couch (only after heeseung did him a favor and brought him a blanket).

and before you knew it, it was your last day together. you were sitting by the pool where you met. your feet and lower legs dipped into the cold water as you felt the warm anaheim breeze. same position, same spot.

"it's been a good week. best week i ever had. this whole trip feels like a long dream and i haven't waken up yet. like, im still in long beach, tanning in my aunties backyard." you say.

the moment felt still, everything was paused, before sunghoon spoke. "you'll visit me up in the hills won't you?"

"of course i will. you trashy hollywood kid. and you'll visit me down in long beach?" "course i will." and he pressed his lips onto yours.

a part of you wished you met sooner, and that you had more time.

when sunghoon pulled away, you didn’t want to let go. you brought yourself up to kiss him again, holding him as if you’d never see him again. because who knows when you really will?

you almost sob when it's time to go home, you think you really have fallen in love this time around.

sunghoon refused to let you go, as if you’d vanish into thin air if you’re not within his grasp. and you felt the exact same way. despite not being together for long, now you really don’t know how you’ll go on without him.

because now, the summer was over.

you two were inseparable in the moment, jake and jay literally had to pry and rip sunghoon off of you.

they were gone before you could cry, but not before he could kiss you for the last time.

“make sure to call me!” he exclaimed from the car, after jay forced him inside. “i love you y/n!” sunghoon shouted out loud, as they started to drive off.

“i’ll call you every night! i love you too sunghoon!” you called back. “more than you know..” but the last part barely came out above a whisper, as his car was gone into the horizon.

and after that, was when you finally let it all out. all the longing, and the heartbreak.

the downside of summer love, never knowing if you’ll meet again.

you sobbed quietly in the backseat alone, refusing to let your cousins see you like this. you couldn’t handle being around them right now.

for you, the amount of time you knew each other didn’t matter. it was the way you understood each other, made each other feel. the way you cared for each other, some might even say it was in the way you loved each other.

but now, it was time to return to your normal lives, go on with your jobs or school. your endless summer has reached its finale. but how could it end like this?

one minute you’re bawling your eyes out in the back of karina’s jeep. your eyes swelled up as you clutched your chest with a heavy heart. the next minute, you wake up in your driveway, watching as your cousins hauled your luggage out to your doorstep for you.

before you knew it, now you were in despair as you hugged your pillow tightly. your silk pillowcase was almost as soft as his milky skin. it was unfair. you had no idea if you’d truly keep contact, or even ever see him again. maybe this whole summer fling thing was stupid.

one good moment wouldn’t make up for all the bad that followed after. you began to think, maybe it didn’t mean as much to him as it did to you. he’s handsome. he probably gets around. i’m not the only girl.

you lay awake that night, torn between the feeling of his lips on yours, and if whether or not it’s something you’ll ever get to experience again.

but by the next morning, someone was frantically knocking, pounding, on your front door. it was much to your surprise when you saw who it was. park sunghoon.

“holy shit, you scared me! what are you doing here..?” you gasped out, still processing the moment.

“you’re fucking crazy if you think i’ll just leave you like that, angel.” he muttered, before pulling you in by the waist to reunite your lips in a desperate kiss.

you suppose whatever you were thinking of last night can be disposed of. he did come back for you, and you do get to experience his lips on yours again.

last night, you were crying to the point there was no water left in your body. only dried tear stains and your red eyes remained as evidence. but now? by the following morning, your lover boy was already at your door.

and when he finally moved in to kiss you again, you smiled, reaching up to softly stroke his warm cheek.

you realized, all doubts you had about him were insecurities. false scenarios your mind made up to keep you questioning.

because sunghoon knew he would never leave you. he’d say it a thousand times over again to let you know just how much he loves you.

the summer wasn’t over yet. not until the two of you were through. because everyday with sunghoon felt like summer.

#enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smau #sunghoon smau #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon #serena writes ! sunghoon

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