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usetheeauthor · 29 days ago

Note

love your writing.... can i request some lex luthor x fem!reader smut, where it's reader's first time? maybe she's the young, new intern or secretary and lex is drawn to her from the start, obsessively and possessively.

Ahh, thank you! I might've gone overboard, but this was fun to write 🥰

Mine to Keep

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: You’re just the new intern at LuthorCorp, until Lex Luthor’s obsessive interest pulls you into his world. Promoted to his personal assistant, you find yourself tangled in his possessive games. When he scares off a coworker who asks you out, you’re left alone with him, exactly where he wants you. For your first time, he’ll make sure you know who you belong to.

Tags/warnings: smut, dub/con, power imbalance

It was only your first day, barely four hours into your first real job since graduating college, and already your hands trembled under the weight of the tray. Six coffees, four teas, two pastries, all balanced with a white-knuckled grip as you stepped out of the elevator onto the top executive floor of LuthorCorp.

You weren’t supposed to be up here. Fresh interns and junior assistants like you never set foot on this floor unless someone higher up demanded it. When the senior associate you’d been assigned to, Claire, who hadn’t even bothered to learn your name yet, barked at you to “be useful” and shoved a company card into your hand to fetch coffee for the entire team, you hadn’t dared say no.

Now you wove through a maze of glass-walled offices, the air filled with the low hum of men and women too important to glance twice at you. Halfway to the main conference room, you felt it: the sudden prickle at the back of your neck, a hush under your skin that told you you were being watched.

You risked a glance through the glass and your stomach dropped. Lex Luthor sat at the head of a long table surrounded by his inner circle, deep in a discussion you couldn’t begin to follow. But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking straight at you.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t nod or turn away. He just watched you with an expression so sharp and unreadable that your feet froze on the polished floor for a heartbeat too long.

A wave of nerves slammed into you. You ducked your head, letting your hair fall forward to hide your face, heart hammering as you forced yourself to keep moving, the tray rattling just enough to betray your shaking hands.

You told yourself it meant nothing, that you hadn’t ruined your first day. But you had no idea you’d just become the only thing he could think about.

Your nerves settled once you finally reached the conference room. Claire was waiting just outside the glass doors, scrolling through her phone without glancing up.

You cleared your throat. “Ms. Dalton? I have the—”

She looked up with an annoyed flick of her eyes, snatched the tray from your hands so quickly you nearly lost your balance, and shoved it at another assistant.

“Took you long enough,” she muttered, heels clicking as she turned back to the glass doors.

You murmured an apology that no one heard and shrank back a step toward the hallway. But you couldn’t help one last glance. Lex Luthor still hadn’t looked away. Now he was leaning back slightly, one hand propped under his chin, half-listening to the man beside him talk. But his eyes, sharp and cold and hungry, stayed locked on you.

A tiny voice in the back of your head begged you to run. Instead, you lowered your gaze and turned away as fast as you could.

You didn’t see the faint curl at the corner of his mouth or the flicker behind his eyes that promised you wouldn’t stay out of his reach for long.

You spent the rest of your afternoon trying to shake it off, burying yourself in mindless tasks: filing forms, fetching copies, answering Claire’s clipped requests. You nearly convinced yourself you’d imagined it, the stare, the weight of it, the way his gaze pinned you in place.

By the time your shift ended, your feet ached, and you regretted not breaking in your new shoes before starting. The thought of crawling into bed and forgetting all of this was the only thing that kept you moving.

Claire snapped her fingers at you, pulling you out of your daze. You flinched so hard your pen clattered to the floor.

“Mr. Luthor wants to see you,” she said, eyes still on her laptop.

You froze. “Me? Why—”

Her sharp look shut you up before you could finish. “His office. Now. Don’t keep him waiting.”

Your mouth went dry. You wiped your palms on your skirt and made yourself stand. The elevator ride to his office felt twice as long this time. You stared at your reflection in the polished doors, fixing your hair, practicing a polite smile.

Security was waiting when you stepped out. The guard didn’t smile, didn’t say a word, just opened the tall glass door and motioned you inside.

His office was bigger than your apartment, maybe bigger than your parents’ house. Cold marble floors, spotless floor-to-ceiling windows with an immaculate view of Metropolis. And Lex sat behind a desk that looked like it could swallow you whole.

He looked up the moment you entered. That same stare hit you again, sharper now, as if he’d been waiting just for you.

“Miss,” he said, your last name slipping so easily from his mouth it made your stomach flutter. He gestured at the door behind you. “Close that, would you?”

Your fingers trembled around the handle. The soft click of the latch sounded too loud in the quiet room. When you turned back, Lex had leaned back slightly, elbows braced on his armrests, studying you like he was reading secrets straight from your skin.

“You did well today,” he said finally, voice calm, too calm. “I hear you handled Claire’s mess without complaint.”

You swallowed. “I was just doing my job, sir.”

The corners of his mouth turned up in something like a smile. “I like that. Quiet. Willing. Smart enough to follow instructions.”

Your breath caught, unsure if it was praise or a warning, or both.

Lex let the silence stretch long enough for your mind to run in circles. He leaned forward, folding his hands together on the polished desk. You couldn’t help but notice how tall he was even sitting down, how every inch of him seemed to fill the room.

“I think you’re wasted where you are,” he said. “I could use someone like you closer. Right here. My new personal assistant.”

You blinked, stunned. “Sir, I just started. I don’t know if I’m—”

His faint smile widened, his eyes glinting with something dark that made your stomach twist. “You’ll learn. I take care of what’s mine.”

You opened your mouth but the words died in your throat. The hum of the city far below was nothing against the rush of your pulse in your ears.

A promotion. Directly under Lex Luthor. You should have felt lucky. Grateful. But under the weight of his stare, you only felt small and caught.

Still, the words came out anyway. “Yes, sir.”

His smile turned slow and satisfied. He leaned back, big enough to make you feel like you’d been caged without even touching you. “Good girl.”

Your chest tightened. He gestured to the sleek chair across from him. “Sit. Let’s talk about what comes next.”

And before you could second guess it, you did.

You obeyed before your mind caught up with your feet, perching on the edge of the seat. He asked you simple questions, about your schedule, your degree, your family back home, but each answer felt like peeling your skin off for him, strip by strip, until you were laid bare and small and so very alone.

By the time you stumbled out of his office twenty minutes later, cheeks flushed, pulse thrumming like you’d run a mile, you barely registered the elevator doors closing behind you.

You didn’t notice Lex still watching through the glass wall, eyes gleaming.

Your second week as Lex Luthor’s new personal assistant passed in a blur of frantic emails, long hours, and learning how to read his moods by the tiniest shift of his expression. It should have been exhausting, and it was, but every time you felt the panic creep up your throat, you reminded yourself: this was an opportunity people would kill for.

Claire barely looked at you now, except to snap that you were “Luthor’s problem” when she passed you in the hall. Other assistants avoided you, whispering that you must have done something to get so close to the man at the top.

But not everyone kept their distance.

You’d only met Peter after your promotion: a junior analyst, barely older than you, bright and quick to smile. He found you one afternoon in the break room, struggling to fix a stubborn lid on your coffee mug.

“Need a hand?” he asked, laughter tucked into his voice. You jumped, nearly spilling the coffee all over your skirt.

He caught the cup easily, steadying it with a grin. “Hey, I’m harmless, I swear.”

You let out a breathy laugh that felt foreign in your mouth. He was easy to talk to, and easy to look at, too, with messy hair and sleeves rolled up like he didn’t care if he looked too casual in LuthorCorp’s cold halls.

For a few minutes, he made you forget the cold glass office and the weight of Lex’s eyes following you everywhere.

“Can I buy you a real coffee sometime?” Peter asked, after you’d both lingered too long at the counter. His grin was boyish, teasing.

Your pulse skipped. You shouldn’t, part of you knew you shouldn’t. Relationships with coworkers never ended well. But you were twenty-two, you never made time for dating in highschool or college, and his smile was too warm to resist.

You nodded. “Sure. That would be nice.”

He pulled out his phone, thumbs tapping quickly as he added your number. “Perfect. Friday?”

You said yes. You didn’t notice the small, black dome in the corner of the break room ceiling, didn’t see the tiny red light flicker as Lex watched the exchange unfold in cold, perfect detail.

Peter didn’t even make it out of the building that night.

He’d stayed late, finishing reports, humming under his breath, replaying your smile in the break room on an endless loop in his head. By the time he packed up and stepped into the deserted hallway, he was the last worker on the floor.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, but instead of the echo of the empty lobby, Peter found himself face to face with Lex Luthor.

Peter froze mid-step. He managed a stiff smile, suddenly feeling nervous about his wrinkled shirt. “Mr. Luthor, sir, good evening-”

Lex didn’t return the greeting. He stepped forward, close enough that Peter instinctively backed up, his shoulder blades pressing into the cold elevator wall.

For a moment, the silence was so complete that Peter could hear the faint hum of the security cameras overhead.

Lex’s voice was almost gentle when he finally spoke. “Peter, is it?”

Peter’s mouth went dry. “Y-yes, sir.”

Lex looked him over, unimpressed, eyes flicking to the cheap phone half-visible in Peter’s pocket. “You spoke with my assistant today.”

It wasn’t a question, but Peter scrambled to answer anyway. “Yes, sir. Just, just small talk. She was having trouble with her mug, and I—”

Lex tilted his head. It was such a subtle thing, a fraction of an inch, but it made Peter’s pulse stutter in his throat.

“I don’t pay you to distract my staff,” Lex said, so calm it took Peter’s brain a second to catch up to the threat coiled beneath the words.

Peter swallowed hard. “I-I didn’t mean-it was just a coffee-”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Lex’s smile was razor-thin. “You’re going to pretend it never happened. You’ll delete her number. You won’t speak to her. You won’t even look at her. If you do…”

Lex paused, looking down at Peter’s shrinking form.

“Let’s not find out what happens next, hmm?” Lex said softly. “Be smart, Peter.”

The elevator chimed again, and Lex stepped back just enough for the doors to slide open behind him, like the moment had never happened.

Peter didn’t move until Lex was gone. By the time he stumbled out into the warm night air, his phone was already out of his pocket, your number already erased.

You’d never know why he ghosted you, why the young man who made you laugh in the break room now avoided your eyes like you carried something contagious.

But Lex would know. And that was enough.

The silence from Peter lasted two days. Then three. By the end of the week, you’d stopped pretending he was just busy.

He ignored your texts. Didn’t answer when you called. In the halls, when you caught sight of him, he ducked his head and turned down another corridor so fast it made your stomach twist.

You replayed every moment in your head: the coffee, the shy smile, the promise of Friday. You wondered if you’d misread all of it, if you’d said something wrong, or if he’d heard something about you that you didn’t even know was being whispered behind your back.

You pushed through your day on autopilot, hiding in bathroom stalls during breaks, pretending you didn’t feel the stares when you came and went from Lex’s office.

That Friday evening, you stayed later than you meant to, sorting files on Lex’s massive desk under the soft hush of the floor’s low lights. You didn’t hear him approach until his shadow spilled over the pages in front of you.

“Why the long face?” His voice was so gentle it startled you, as if he’d appeared out of thin air.

You jumped, clutching the stack of folders to your chest like a shield. “I’m sorry, Mr. Luthor. I was just finishing up-”

Lex reached out, taking the folders from your arms with a touch so casual it made you shiver. He set them aside, close enough that his fingertips brushed yours.

“I didn’t ask what you were doing,” he said softly. “I asked what’s wrong.”

You hesitated. You shouldn’t tell him. It didn’t work. It wasn’t his problem. But when you looked up, the worry on his face looked so real, so warm, and you were so tired of feeling like an invisible ghost drifting through glass hallways.

“It’s stupid,” you whispered. “Just… someone I thought was a friend. I guess I was wrong.”

Lex hummed under his breath, a sound halfway between sympathy and something else you couldn’t name. His thumb brushed a stray lock of hair from your forehead, tucking it behind your ear.

“People disappoint you when you let them close,” he murmured. “That’s why you shouldn’t waste your kindness on those who don’t deserve it.”

Your throat tightened. You managed a shaky nod, embarrassed by the tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

Lex’s hand lingered against your cheek, his palm so warm you almost leaned into it without meaning to. “You’ve done so well here,” he said, his voice low and sure. “You’ve given me no reason to doubt you. You know that, don’t you?”

You nodded again, your breath catching when his thumb traced just under your jaw, too soft, too close.

“I take care of what’s mine,” he murmured, words sinking into your skin like a brand. “You know that too, don’t you?”

You swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Lex smiled, that slow, satisfied curve of his mouth that made your pulse skip for reasons you didn’t dare name.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Now, why don’t you let me take care of you tonight?”

You barely had time to process what he’d said before his thumb brushed your lower lip, a fleeting touch that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Sir-” The word came out too small, too soft. You meant to say more, to remind yourself he was your boss, that you shouldn’t, but the rest of it vanished when he leaned in, so close you could taste the faint bite of his cologne in the air.

“Let me take care of you,” Lex murmured, his lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. His other hand cupped the side of your throat, the warmth of his palm sinking into your skin like it belonged there.

You should have pulled back. You should have said no. But you’d spent weeks walking on eggshells, with eyes on your back and whispers at your heels, and now, in this hush, his voice was the only thing that sounded certain. Safe.

When his mouth finally met yours, it was gentle at first, coaxing, patient, as if he wanted you to lean in on your own. You did. A small, helpless sound slipped from your throat when his tongue brushed yours, when his grip tightened just enough to make you shiver.

When you pulled back for air, his eyes flicked over your face, searching, hungry, like he wanted to carve this moment into stone.

“You’re mine, sweetheart,” Lex murmured against your lips, the endearment sharp enough to cut. “Say it.”

Your cheeks burned. You shook your head weakly, a protest half-formed, swallowed whole when his teeth grazed your jaw.

“Say it.” His hand slipped to your waist, fingers digging in just enough to hold you still. “You belong to me. No one else.”

Your voice trembled when it came out, so soft it barely felt real. “I’m yours.”

The smile that spread across his mouth made your heart stutter. He kissed you again, deeper this time, tasting the words right off your tongue.

He sat down in his chair, pulling you down into his lap. You didn’t resist, jumping in surprise at the feeling of his arousal against your ass. His mouth found yours again, stifling any sort of resistance that you might’ve said. His left hand held your waist while the other slid under your blouse. His fingertips brushed against your skin, making you jump, and you couldn’t help but clench your thighs together, feeling a pool of warmth emerge in your nether regions.

His hand pawed at your breast, pushing your bra cup down with ease before he started pinching and tweaking your nipple. You gasped at the contact, shuddering at his touch. You needed to stop this before it went too far.

Your hand rose to his chest, and you pushed against him gently, moving your head back so that you could catch your breath. “Mr. Luthor, I think we should stop.”

Lex paused, eyes searching yours. He clearly wasn’t used to being told no. “And why is that?”

You felt small under his gaze and stared down at your lap. “Y-You’re my boss, and it isn’t appropriate.” Your hand left his chest, and you twiddled your thumbs together nervously. “And I’ve heard the rumors: people here already talk about me behind my back because they think I slept with you to get a promotion.”

Lex didn’t say anything for a moment, eyes taking in your flushed cheeks and wrinkled top. “You shouldn’t listen to what insignificant people have to say.” The hand under your blouse let your nipple go, his hand pressing against your chest, fingertips slowly tracing your clavicle.” And from what I can see, your body wants this. So why don’t you just give in?”

You closed your eyes, embarrassment flooding your system. He could read you easily. “It’s just that-” You huffed out, frustrated, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I haven’t done this before.”

Lex didn’t respond, and when you looked up at him, you saw that he had a look of surprise on his face for the first time knowing him. He quickly cleared his expression, the hand under your shirt leaving before he cradled your face. “Sweetheart, are you saying this would be your first time?”

You nodded slowly, feeling horrible. You were a virgin in your 20s. You were too focused in high school and college to ever date around, and once you graduated you felt completely overwhelmed by inexperience to even think about dating. Well, that was until Peter, but after he ghosted you, your already low self-esteem crashed completely.

“I’ll be careful,” Lex promised, his thumb gently rubbing away tears that had begun to flow down your cheek. His lips came down against yours again, and he kissed you deeply, enjoying the taste of your tears. You reciprocated, hands reaching up to wrap around his neck before he stopped.

“Do you trust me?” You searched his eyes, finding that they were sincere, and nodded.

Lex quickly claimed your lips again, making sure to be gentle.

Lex pushed your skirt up until your panties were visible. He groaned seeing the wet spot that had appeared on the fabric before he ground his hips against you. His hand wrenched your thighs apart, and before you could resist, his thumb brushed against your clit, rubbing you through the fabric.

Your voice caught in your throat, your hips moving down to get more friction.

“That’s a good girl.” Lex continued his ministrations before pausing, ignoring the whine that left your mouth as he pulled your underwear aside and sank a finger in before continuing to rub against your sensitive nub.

You had never had anything other than your own fingers touch yourself, and feeling Lex pleasure you left your mind blank for everything except the feeling of lust. He continued to finger you, adding another digit.

“Can’t wait to be inside.” He watched his fingers disappear into you, mouth practically watering.

You rocked your hips against him, head leaning into the crook of his neck. “Please.”

Lex’s fingers spread inside of you, and you squirmed in his lap. “Please, what?”

Your breath came out fast, and you closed your eyes out of embarrassment. “Please fuck me.”

Lex’s fingers left your pussy, and you groaned, walls clenching on nothing. Lex moved his leg so that your weight shifted to one side, giving him access to free himself from confinement. The clink of his belt unclasped, and you felt the warm length of his manhood against your thigh.

You shivered, beginning to have second thoughts about sleeping with your boss before his hands both grabbed your waist and picked you up, making it so that you were hovering over his cock.

“You’re going to remember who you belong to.”

The blunt head brushed against your wet folds, and Lex had to suppress the urge to bury himself into you immediately. Your body tensed up, becoming rigid.

“Relax, sweetheart.” His thumbs made small circles into your waist, and he pulled your body down. He started grinding his length against you, getting it wet from your arousal. The head of his dick caught at your entrance, and your body froze, seizing up.

Lex cooed at you reassuringly. “Deep breaths.” You obliged, breathing in and out slowly. “This will hurt a little, but it won’t last long.”

He pulled your body down over him, and you buried your head into his shoulder, breath hitching feeling his intrusion. Each inch he slid into you burned, and your body stretched around him to accommodate. Tears started falling from your eyes again, staining his shirt, and he reached one hand up to caress your hair. “Shhhh, you’re doing great.”

Lex strained not to fuck up into you as hard as he could, wanting to savor the moment of sinking into you. “Just let me make you feel good. Let me make you mine.” His other hand moved down, and he started rubbing your clit again before slowly pulling out and pushing back in.

The burning pain slowly began to pass, replaced by an overwhelming sense of pleasure. Your moans mixed with the wet sound of slapping flesh, and you started to move against him, bouncing up and down on his cock.

Lex growled feeling you move on him, taking it as a sign that he could go harder. You could feel the pool of warmth in your stomach grow and grow as he fucked you, thumb circling your clit. Your pussy clenched around his dick, and Lex huffed out a laugh. “Are you about to cum? Are you going to cum while riding my cock?”

You moaned, nodding your head. “Yes, please!”

Lex held you against him, caging you in. “Good girl. That’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

Within seconds you fell apart, thighs trembling and body going limp as the tightening, building pressure snapped. Lex groaned, feeling his own orgasm approaching, and he fucked even faster, chasing it before he bit down on your neck, groaning out as he spilled into you.

You laid against his chest, panting heavily, a clouded mind starting to clear as you realized the magnitude of your actions: you not only just lost your virginity, but you lost it to your boss.

Lex seemed to tell that your mind was racing, and he rubbed your back, still holding you against him while he stayed inside you, feeling his cum start to leak out.

“Let’s take this to my place.”

You woke the next morning, tangled in expensive sheets that didn’t belong to you, the faint sting of bruises blooming like secrets along your throat and hips. You shot up out of bed, memories from the night before flooding back to you. Lex’s warmth lingered on your skin, even after he’d slipped out of bed hours before, murmuring something about early meetings, kissing your temple like you were something precious he’d come back for.

You dressed in a borrowed shirt, legs trembling, mind numb as you traced your fingertips over the marks he’d left. You’d told yourself it wouldn’t happen, that it couldn’t. But now it had, and the part of you that should have felt regret only felt hollow relief. You were his. You didn’t have to wonder anymore.

By the time you made it back to your tiny apartment that morning, the world felt softer, hazier, until you saw the bright yellow notice taped to your door.

NOTICE TO VACATEVIOLATION OF LEASE TERMS — 7 DAYS TO VACATE PREMISES

Your stomach dropped. You read it three times, fingers trembling, willing it to say something else. But it didn’t change. Noise complaints, they claimed, a dispute about late payments that made no sense. You’d never been late on rent once. But when you called the leasing office, your voice small and broken, the woman on the other end just repeated the same lines: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the decision is final.”

You packed one box before your hands started to shake. You tried calling your parents, but your thumb froze over the call button. You were terrified of telling them that you failed at adulthood so quickly.

So you called him. The only number in your phone that felt like a lifeline, even if you knew you shouldn’t.

He answered on the first ring. “Sweetheart.”

Your voice broke before you even got the words out. “I’m sorry to call, I know you’re busy, but I just… I need a few days off. I just got an eviction notice so I have to find somewhere. I don’t know where to—”

Lex didn’t even let you finish. “No.” The word landed heavy, final. “Don’t worry about that.”

“Lex-” You tried, but your throat closed up around the rest.

“You’ll come here.” His voice softened, warm and low. “Just for now. Until you’re on your feet again.”

You swallowed, fighting the desperate flutter in your chest. “I can’t just. I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden.” The edge in his voice cut off your protest like a blade. “You’re mine. You’ll stay here. You’ll rest. You’ll focus on work. I’ll handle the rest.”

You hesitated, your mind chasing every half-formed reason to say no. But he spoke again before you could find your words, his tone suddenly soft, coaxing: “It’s only until you’re settled, sweetheart. You trust me, don’t you?”

Your lips parted. The answer was there before you could stop it. “I trust you.”

“Good girl.” You could hear the smile in his voice, warm, gentle, binding. “Pack a bag. I’m sending a car.”

You told yourself it was just for a few days. A week at most. Just long enough to find a new lease, somewhere cheap but safe. Just long enough to get back on your feet.

But the days bled into each other. Your things found drawers in his closets. Your favorite mug appeared in his kitchen. Your name slipped onto mail addressed to his penthouse.

And when you finally worked up the nerve to bring it up, sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Maybe I should look for my own place…” Lex only smiled that slow, quiet smile.

“Why would you do that?” he asked, brushing his thumb along your jaw, tipping your chin up until you had no choice but to look him in the eye. “You’re already home.”

You tried to laugh it off, but his fingers tightened just enough to remind you: you weren’t leaving. Not really. Not ever.

And when he kissed you, soft and patient, you let him, because some part of you knew it was already too late to want the door to stay open behind you.

#lex luthor x reader #lex luthor x you #lex luthor x y/n #lex luthor #nicholas hoult #superman #superman 2025

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usetheeauthor · 29 days ago

Text

Yea i think im gonna need more of this

This was sooo damn good. Something is def the matter with me because I didn’t know I was this much of a masochist and yet here I am wanting him to throw me in the river lol

Amazing work!

Hell On Earth

Pairing: Lex Luthor x Reader

Summary:

“But, Mr. Luthor, I have to—” “Maybe I should replace you with a paperweight,” he cuts in coldly. You sigh, eyes dropping to the floor, shoulders tight as he launches into the same exhausting rant. “...or even a toaster. Toasters have a function. They have a purpose. They serve it. But you? All you do is fail at every turn—pathetic.” You stand there, fists clenched at your sides, fighting the urge to bite your lip. Even now, your degeneracy knows no bounds. Maybe it’s some kind of psychological issue. Or Stockholm syndrome. Or just a complete collapse of self-worth. But the way he sneers at you, the venom in his voice, the sharp precision of his words… God help you, it does something to you. Or Lex is the worst boss, he's rude, demanding, and downright evil but... you think he's kinda hot.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ Explicit Content, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, humping, degradation kink, masochist!reader, drunken confession, power dynamic

WC: 4.1k

A/N: Nicholas Hoult is just too fine as Lex, I had to click-clack on my keyboard and write this.

***

Your boss might just be the death of you.

Just hearing his name gave you a headache. You even think about him when you go to sleep. Nightmares of a skyscraper-sized Lex towering over you for all your nights and days, not to mention the freaky sex dreams, but those had to be locked away somewhere dark and never spoken of.

He doesn’t tolerate anything. Not mistakes, not excuses, and definitely not tardiness.

So you rock up to work 5 minutes late and hand him his coffee, knowing this might just be your last day on earth.

“The coffee is cold.”

Fuck me sideways.

“I don’t want your excuses,” he snaps, before you can even open your mouth. “Do you think failure is something I reward here?”

You highly doubt it. Even so, it wasn’t your fault. The line at Jitters was impossibly long since the location nearest to LexCorp was destroyed by a giant lizard man of sorts. Plus, he never even really drinks the coffee; it’s “burnt swill” and far too cheap for his liking. He only tells you to get him one to make your life that little bit harder, like a complete dick.

“Mr. Luthor—”

“You can’t even bring me a hot coffee, and on top of that, you were late. Maybe I should just fire you and replace you with someone who knows how to use a clock.”

His words are like daggers to the chest, but you’ve built up a pretty good resistance. Better to grin and bear it. This job paid quite well, considering the soul erosion, and having to deal with his temper tantrums and occasional threats of defenestration (at least it wasn’t the pocket universe prison). But it had benefits, and a good dental plan.

“I should just build an assistant.”

You hold back a sigh, Lex has told you this a million times, the same rant just repackaged in a different way.

“...one that doesn’t whine and make excuses and disappoint me.”

He looks you up and down as if assessing you. Compared to other assistants, you had lasted longer and you hadn’t even run out of his office crying… you saved that for the drive home.

You plaster on your best fake smile, the one that says I’m dead inside, but still very employable, and offer with practised calm, “Would you like me to get you another one, Mr. Luthor?”

He stares at you for a beat too long, like he’s deciding whether your continued existence is worth the effort.

“…Make it extra hot,” he finally mutters, turning away.

“Well? Don’t just stand there like a malfunctioning Roomba. I need a hot cup of coffee.”

“Yeah, I know…,” you reply, voice tight.

“If it isn’t to my liking, it goes in your face.”

***

It’s a Friday night, and you weren’t able to escape Lex’s office until well past 9, finding yourself late for hanging out with your friends, again.

Now you’re at the bar, drink in hand, trying to shake off the day. You’re probably drinking a little too much.

“Slow down, tiger,” one of your friends teases as you take another big sip.

“Trust me, I need it,” you mutter, barely hiding the exhaustion in your voice.

“Why do you even work there?” your friend asks, half-laughing, half-concerned. “He sounds like an actual villain.”

“You know why. It’s good pay, there’s a ridiculous benefits package, and lots of free swag… I got an iPad last month, plus…”

“Plus?”

You hesitate, taking a sip of your drink. If you weren’t so emotionally drained and buzzed, you might have lied.

“Plus, even though Lex Luthor is the worst human I’ve ever come into contact with… he’s kinda hot.”

Your friend chokes on their drink, nearly spitting it out. “Excuse me?”

You shrug, face half-buried in your glass. “He’s evil, yes. Morally bankrupt, obviously. But have you seen his jawline? And his eyes are like…,” you toy with the straw in your drink, coyly, “So blue.”

“Seek help,” they laugh.

After too much drinking, your friends stopped you from climbing on top of the bar and loudly declaring your love for mozzarella sticks; it was obvious. You’d definitely had way too much.

“I can go all night, guys, like don’t worry about me…,” you slur, wobbling slightly as you point at no one in particular. "Imma party till the sun down."

“The sun is already down and you need to rest,” your roommate muttered, helping you into a cab like they’d done one too many times before.

“So stubborn….” you pouted, slumping against the seat.

The cab takes off toward your house, the city lights blurring outside the window. Everything seems hilarious for absolutely no reason, until your phone buzzes, and the name on the screen nearly sobers you up on sight.

Lex Luthor.

“Yello?” you answer, a little too brightly, still halfway laughing.

“I need you back at the office immediately,” he says, voice sharp and without patience.

You glance at the time. Midnight. You audibly groan for at least five long seconds. “You’re joking, right?

Silence.

“M’not going anywhere near the office tonight…” you mumble, pressing your forehead to the cool glass of the cab window.

“If you want to keep your job—”

“Oh, shut up, Lex,” you snap, startling even yourself with the boldness. “It’s midnight. I’m like drunk. I just tried to dance on a bar. I can barely spell LexCorp right now, let alone walk in a straight line. So, unless the building’s on fire or Superman himself is currently punching your face through your desk," you pause to chuckle a little at the thought, "...this is gonna have to wait until I’m sober.”

A pause.

“...You’re lucky I’m in a forgiving mood.”

You let out a snort-laugh. "Kindly, fuck off."

You hang up.

The cabbie side-eyes you in the mirror. “That your boss?”

“Satan.”

You get another call, his name flashing on your screen like a curse.

“I’m giving you one more chance—” he begins, already seething in anger.

“Just because you’re all rich and like, hot and stuff, doesn’t mean you can call me at all hours…,” you slur, words tumbling out in chaos. “Do I want you to…I dunno, fuck me into next week? Perhaps. Do I think that I'd make a most wonderful cocksleeve for you, most definitely, but… You can’t call me in when I’ve already left for the day, you psycho!”

There’s a brief silence on the line. You can almost hear him recalibrating, trying to decide if you’ve finally lost your mind or just your job.

“Y’know what? Suck my dick, Lex.”

And you hang up again.

The cab is silent once more.

You lean your head back, eyes closed, a smug smile tugging at your lips. For the first time all week…you actually feel free.

***

Waking up the next day, you’re dying, head pounding like a jackhammer on concrete, mouth dry, and vision blurred. You can barely open your eyes.

You can barely remember the night before…it was a chaotic blur featuring shots, mozzarella sticks, and some questionable dancing.

Your doorbell rings. Once. Then again. Then again.

It’s way too early to be doing anything. It's one of your only days free from Lex, your sacred, holy, do-not-disturb-or-you-die day.

The bell keeps going off like someone's leaning on it.

You groan, dragging yourself out of bed, stumbling over a pile of laundry and empty takeout containers.

“Just a second, damn!” you shout, voice hoarse, tripping over a shoe and narrowly avoiding stubbing your toe on the doorframe.

The bell keeps ringing until you yank the door open.

“Satan!” you screech.

Lex Luthor, in the flesh. Looking pristine. In a suit. On a Saturday.

Without hesitation, you slam the door in his face.

Nope. Absolutely not. This is one of your Lex nightmares or maybe a hangover hallucination.

The bell rings again, and your heart sinks like a stone.

You slowly open it. “M-Mr. Luthor…”

He pushes past you like he owns the place, surveying your apartment with a look of barely concealed disgust.

“How…quaint,” he mutters.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, still clutching the door like it might protect you.

“I told you I needed you back at the office. Since you decided to ignore my very generous warning, I’ve come to you,” he says, glancing at a stack of empty chip bags like they personally offended him.

You stare, still in pyjama pants and a shirt that may or may not have cheese stains on it.

“Warning?” you repeat, blinking in confusion, your brain still booting up through the hangover fog.

Lex’s face shifts into something worse than anger, an evil smirk, smug and dangerous. “You don’t remember what you said to me last night?”

“We… talked last night…?” you ask, already feeling your soul start to leave your body.

You’re screaming on the inside. No, no, no. You’re a loose cannon when drunk. Lex steps closer, lowering his voice like he’s savouring every syllable.

“Oh yes. You were quite… spirited.”

You clutch your forehead. “Don’t tell me I threatened you. Oh please, don’t fire me,” you whisper, feeling the weight of every reckless syllable from the night before crashing down like a building demolition.

You stand there, suddenly very aware of your penguin pyjama pants, dishevelled hair, and clothes from last night strewn on the floor. Why is he here? You wonder. To fire you in person? To humiliate you in your own home? To casually mention he bought your entire apartment complex and plans to bulldoze it into a LexMart?

“I’m not here to fire you,” Lex says flatly, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

You let out a huge sigh of relief and, without thinking, throw your arms around him in a big hug.

“Really? Oh, Mr. Luthor, I swear I’ll never let you down again, I—”

“Unhand me.”

You freeze, then awkwardly peel yourself off him.

“I’m here to ruin your weekend,” he says simply, adjusting the sleeve of his very expensive suit like nothing just happened. “There’s a crisis at the lab. A very expensive one. And my top assistant, unfortunately, is you.”

You blink. “So… this is punishment?”

“Correct,” he replies. “Put on something that doesn’t feature flightless birds and be downstairs in ten.”

He turns and starts walking toward the door.

You mumble under your breath, “I hugged Satan.”

“I heard that,” he says, without turning around.

***

He definitely didn’t need you to be there.

He was fully immersed in the crisis himself, typing, calculating, and talking to himself in that way that made you question whether he needed any staff at all. Meanwhile, you sat off to the side, bleary-eyed, hair still damp from the world’s fastest shower, trying to make legible notes while your vision pulsed with every heartbeat.

Your hangover was still very much present, despite the painkillers you'd downed on the way there. Every flicker of the lab lights felt like a personal attack. Lex’s voice was like nails on your skull, and he was hammering away, trying to break it.

“Keep up,” he snapped without looking at you.

You jumped slightly, pen scratching a crooked line across the page. “I am,” you mumbled, even though you’d zoned out for the last five minutes thinking about the breakfast you didn’t get to have.

He gave you a side glance. “You look like a dying Victorian orphan.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples and trying to will your brain back online.

“So you think I’m hot,” he says casually, not even bothering to look at you, just staring at a holographic schematic like he hadn’t just dropped a verbal grenade.

“Huh? Oh—I, uh…,” you stutter, your voice cracking under the weight of your own embarrassment. “I wasn’t thinking last night.”

The memories of all the unhinged shit you said came back to like a brick being lobbed at your head. It was beyond painful, you’ll never say the word “cocksleeve” again.

He hums, completely unfazed. “Clearly.”

You sink lower into your chair, wishing the floor would open up and swallow you whole.

“I mean… it was the tequila. Tequila makes me say things. It also makes me... emotional.”

That emotion was horniness, so it’s not a lie. Why couldn’t it be sadness? At least if you cried to him on the phone, you’d be able to see if he had a heart.

“For future reference,” he says, still focused on his screen, “if you’re going to confess your attraction to your boss during a drunken meltdown, at least own it the next day.”

You blink at him… He wanted you to own it? You could do that.

“I mean… well, yeah, you’re hot, but you’re also my boss,” you admit, voice a little shaky.

“Confidence is rare these days,” he replies, not looking away from the screen.

You chew on your lip. “It’s hard to be confident around someone like you.”

He finally looks up, eyes sharp but amused. “Brilliant?”

“Crazy.”

You chuckle to yourself, shaking your head, thinking about his antics. “I mean, you threw a chair at a lead dev because they said they might not meet your impossible deadline. You also—uh—sent half of HR to Siberia for 6 months after they tried to intervene. And not to mention the obsession with Superman…”

You catch the flash of his jaw tightening. Okay, maybe that was a little too much honesty.

“I’ll shut up now,” you mutter quickly, eyes darting anywhere but his.

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Go get me coffee. Obviously, that’s all you’re good for.”

The words sting, even though they shouldn't. You’ve heard worse.

***

After your drunken insults and confession, he’s been meaner, so much meaner. He went out of his way to assign you pointless tasks, fed you the wrong details for meetings just to watch you scramble and to give him an excuse to shout at you, and even had you write and make revisions to a speech he had to give, only to not use a single word of it.

“But, Mr. Luthor, I have to—”

“Maybe I should replace you with a paperweight,” he cuts in coldly.

You sigh, eyes dropping to the floor, shoulders tight as he launches into the same exhausting rant. “...or even a toaster. Toasters have a function. They have a purpose. They serve it. But you? All you do is fail at every turn—pathetic.”

You stand there, fists clenched at your sides, fighting the urge to bite your lip. Even now, your degeneracy knows no bounds. Maybe it’s some kind of psychological issue. Or Stockholm syndrome. Or just a complete collapse of self-worth. But the way he sneers at you, the venom in his voice, the sharp precision of his words…

God help you, it does something to you.

You're so far gone, you don’t even know whether you want to slap him or crawl into his lap and beg for validation.

He steps closer, close enough that you feel the heat of his words. “And I wouldn’t have to listen to it talk back.”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”

Also, you swear he’s stalking you. He asked you to come in over the weekend again, and when you lied and said you were out of town visiting family, he texted back your exact location. With a text saying:

Lex Luthor, Devil Incarnate 😈: Here in 30 minutes or you're fired. 9:00AM

Or the time he remotely hacked your car, on your day off again, and had it drive itself to some barren stretch of highway, and called you just to “talk without distractions.” You sat there, white-knuckled and silent, while he calmly explained a new workflow system over the phone, blasting through your car speakers, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Or when he had your favourite sandwich from our favourite sandwich place (that’s an hour away) delivered to your desk before you even realised you’d forgotten your lunch at home. You didn’t eat it, though; there was no way to prove it wasn’t poisoned.

It was emotional torture, back and forth, whiplash from cold indifference to laser-focused obsession. You never knew what version of Lex “Satan” Luthor you were walking into: the calculating genius, the passive-aggressive tyrant, or the man who sent you coffee just to make you question if it was laced with something.

The week had been brutal, and today? He was being insane, which was saying something. You were running on no sleep, your nerves fried, and it all caught up to you. You fucked up. Big time.

Missed a meeting. Sent the wrong deck. Double-booked his 3 p.m. with a LexCorp Board call and a classified tech demonstration with a Department of Defence liaison. Total scheduling collapse.

To make matters worse, Superman had apparently just finished dragging half of Metropolis out of a crumbling building, again, so Lex was on edge, seething with resentment and ego bruised beyond repair.

He kept you late. Everyone else had gone home. The halls were silent, the office dim and sterile, and you could feel the tension like static in the air.

“You’re shallow and stupid,” he snaps, glaring at you like you just insulted his favourite suit.

“...not any less than your girlfriends,” you shoot back without missing a beat.

His eyes narrow. “What was that?”

“It’s not a lie,” you say, “But I don’t get it. I mean, why them? You don’t even seem to like anything about them…”

“Sex.”

You choke on the word, air catching in your throat.

“Sex,” he repeats slowly, eyes locked on yours, “and they look good on my arm, fun to toy with in my free time, disposable when the game gets boring.”

You look down, suddenly feeling the weight of his words.

“Oh.”

“Does that bother you?” he asks, voice low and probing.

You shake your head, suddenly very flustered, words caught somewhere between your lungs and your lips.

Before you can react, he’s closing the distance, walking you back until your back meets the cold edge of his desk. The chill seeps through your shirt, but it’s nothing compared to the heat from his intense gaze locked onto yours.

The room feels impossibly small, despite it being as big as Lex’s ego.

“Say what’s on your mind.”

What are you supposed to say? But that little, stubborn part of you wishes it was you, that he’d hold you, tote you around, and fuck you all the while telling you just how useless he thinks you are. What’s wrong with you? Maybe you really did need to seek help.

“I…that’s good for you and them, I guess.”

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he takes in all of your expressions, reading your mind like an open book, seeing every messy thought clearly displayed on your face.

“Remember what I said. Own it.”

You swallow hard. “But what if you throw me in a pocket universe to rot…forever?”

He shrugs, lips curling into a lazy smirk. “I might, either way.”

You take a shaky breath. “Okay, fine. I… I would like… to perhaps engage in… activities.”

Tired of your endless stammering and beating around the bush, he grabs your wrist and tugs you toward him with no warning, then kisses you like he’s been holding back for far too long.

It’s sharp and commanding, no patience, like he’s proving a point. Like he’s tired of talking and you’re not getting out of this with clever quips or awkward half-confessions anymore.

Satan in a suit has it going on.

Your brain goes static. Your knees might’ve buckled if the desk behind you wasn’t there. He pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “Is that clear enough for you?”

“Crystal.”

His fingers snake into your hair, yanking your head back, and a surprised yelp escapes your mouth.

“This is how you’ll pay me back for your terrible performance today.”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”

He tugs you back to him, your lips crashing together. Your breath catches, heart racing as the world narrows to just the two of you in the dimly lit office.

***

Since that day…well, you may or may not be having sex with him regularly.

Sex with your super evil boss isn’t exactly what you expected, but when it’s that good, it’s hard to stop.

And yes, may or may not be a masochist, because the way he’d pull you aside after a brutal meeting, his voice low and commanding, then take you somewhere private to fuck you senseless…it was addictive.

Sometimes, without warning, a sleek car would pull up to your place late at night, and a driver would escort you to his penthouse, where the city lights blurred into the background while he took you again, hard, fast and like he could take you apart whenever he wanted.

Now you’re in the middle of getting railed against his desk, your body completely naked, while he still has the majority of his clothes on. This was a normal occurrence in your life now.

Your breasts press against the cold, smooth surface as you arch back, moaning loudly. Thank goodness his office is soundproof; otherwise, the noises you’re making would surely echo down the empty halls.

Sloppy sounds of his movements fill the room, you’re so wet you’re practically melting against the desk.

“Please!” you beg.

“I don’t care if you finish or not,” he leans in a little closer, his breath hot against your ear. “If you want to, you’ll do it when I say.”

Your arms are pinned firmly to the surface as he drives into you relentlessly. He likes seeing you so messy. It’s a raw, desperate reminder of what he’ll never be: a submissive, devoted mess that lives only to please someone else.

“I’m going to count you down, so you better not disappoint me.”

You shake your head profusely, you know if you don’t cum when he tells you, he might not let you cum at all.

“No, no, Lex, I’m not ready…”

“5.”

A five-count? He wanted you to fail.

Your pulse quickens, every nerve on fire as the countdown begins, each number a test of your limits.

“4…”

You bite your lip, trying to concentrate on getting there on time.

“3…”

Your pussy flutters around him as you feel yourself starting to get close.

“2…”

His grip tightens, and you feel his cock start to twitch inside of you.

“1…”

He floods your needy cunt with his cum, a satisfied moan escaping his lips as you whimper and writhe, loving how completely he fills you.

There’s no tenderness or aftercare; he pulls out, letting his seed dribble out of you and onto the floor. That’s your problem now.

“Wait, but Lex, I didn’t—”

“I told you the rules. It’s not my fault you weren’t able to cum for me the way I wanted.”

“But I was… I was so close.”

The pitiful look on your face is exactly what he wants. In his mind, you only deserve to cum on his terms, not your own.

You’re wrecked beyond repair but still manage a desperate, “Please…”

He arches an eyebrow, that familiar evil smirk curling on his lips.

“If you want to cum, hump my shoe.”

You think: how much is your dignity worth? Is it worth an orgasm? He smirks again, clearly enjoying your hesitation.

Apparently, it’s not worth much, because the next thing you know, you’re on your knees, rubbing your dripping cunt against the tip of his expensive shoe, rocking your hips like a woman possessed, chasing the orgasm he refused to give you.

“Can I use my fingers?” you whine, desperate to feel something press against your G-spot again. All it would take is a few thrusts…

“No. You lost that privilege.”

You pout but keep moving and try to hold onto his leg for leverage, but he slaps them away.

“Hands behind your back.”

Grinding your clit against his shoes as best as you can without holding on to him, you feel yourself getting closer. You’re losing your mind, and he’s... scrolling through his phone?

This arrogant little—

“Please, look at me, Lex,” you plead, voice trembling.

He keeps his eyes glued to his phone, completely ignoring you like an asshole.

“Lex, I’m so close, look at me.”

He continues scrolling, absorbed in whatever could possibly be so interesting when you’re right here.

“I’m begging you to look at me.”

The second he finally looks down at you, your hips stutter uncontrollably, and you lose yourself in a shattering orgasm.

“Fuck—fuck, Lex…” you cry out before resting your head against his thigh. You don’t even get a moment to catch your breath before he’s ordering you around again.

“Clean up the mess on the floor, and yourself, you look…” he trails off, pulling away from you and pacing the room.

“Draft up a report. I want it done by the end of the day. And I want a coffee from Jitters. If it’s cold, I’ll throw you in a river.”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”

Main Masterlist

#lex luthor #lex luthor x reader #superman #smut #x reader #lex luthor smut #superman 2025 #superman fanfiction #lex luthor fanfiction #dc fanfic #dcu fanfic #hoult!lex luthor

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usetheeauthor · 29 days ago

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What is this new wave of people calling fanfictions gross and disgusting? What happened to artistic freedom and expression?

On every app I go there HAS to be someone bitching about how “Joel is mischaracterised and he would never act like a pervert”

Did you know that you can just scroll? Or even better, delete the whole app while you are at it.

Most of the time people do this as a hobby, something to escape from, to cope with something even if it’s the most disgusting shit ever—it is fiction. You don’t like age gaps? Fine! There are tons of fics that are without.

It’s also mostly young folks writing fics with age gaps like duh?? They are seeing themselves in their fic, I wouldn’t write for a reader that’s in her fifties too.

It’s fantasy, it’s fiction. It’s not your right to call people disgusting, it’s not your right to call someone out. People put warnings and tags, if you don’t like what’s in there, you don’t read it. It’s that easy.

Like I don’t get it how it’s not that easy for some people to just scroll. I see a trope that I don’t like and i’m like “huh, that’s a thing.” And just scroll.

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usetheeauthor · 1 month ago

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Crashing on the rocks

this is a mess of love, lust, and Joel Miller’s terrible timing. read the chapters in any order your heart (or hormones) desires. wanna follow a path? the masterlist has your back.

pairing: jackson!joel x f!reader

summary: María it's pregnant again, and Joel doesn't take it very well.

tags: established relationship (married), age gap (30s-60s), angst, pregnancy talk, arguing, joel is stubborn af, smut, grief (again yes ik), unprotected p-in-v, implied infertility, emotional damAGE, outdoors sex omg, crying joel (nooo), smut with feelings, where my horny girls at.

w/c: 2,7k

a/n: Hey! so your comments and reblogs help me a lot so I really really appreciate your support and the messages i've been receiving. just a quick note to show love. thanks a lot!! happy reading!

Good times never last. Not in this house, anyway.

It’s like an omen. At least, that’s what you call it. It comes with the spring rain, with his silence, which is, somehow, even quieter than usual. It grates on you. It itches differently, and you don’t even know why.

Since before bed. Since dinner at Tommy’s. Since Maria announced she was pregnant again. His face soured. He clung to the excuse of being too tired just so he could leave as fast as possible.

He didn’t even congratulate her. Tommy hated that. You know he did. But he still hugged Joel, like an apology.

For moving on. Like anyone would.

He didn’t go on patrol because of the rain. He doesn't take stormy nights anymore, not since you asked him not to. But the truth is, nothing clears his head more than a disaster outside to distract from the one inside. He barely spoke when you came down for breakfast. Barely looked at you when you brought up the leak in the hallway.

“Joel, if this is about—”

“It’s not about anything. I’m just not in the mood” Joel says as he stands from the chair, pushing it in and grabbing his mug with one hand to take it to the sink.

“No one’s in a bad mood over nothing, Joel.”

“I am.”

You watch him walk off to the living room and sink into the couch, draping an arm over his face with a deep sigh. After a moment, you follow. You don’t want to push him. You don’t want to invade. But the kind of love you feel when he’s like this, it burns. It has nowhere to go.

Who wouldn't care when someone they love is in a state like this?

“Quit lookin’ at me like that” he mumbles. He doesn’t need to see you to know. Arms crossed under your chest, fingers pinching the hem of your white nightgown, teeth nibbling the inside of your cheek, eyes soaked in worry.

“How should I look at you?” you whisper.

“Not with pity.”

Joel suddenly sits up. Those eyes, you hate those eyes. That’s the way he looks at people he wants gone. Not you. Not you.

“You’ve been lookin’ at me like that since last night. Since Maria said she was pregnant. Like…” He trails off.

You frown and step around the couch.

“Like what? I wasn’t lookin’ at you any kind of way.” Your hands settle on your hips. The rain outside has darkened the morning, casting a gray shadow over the living room. Joel stands.

“Like I’m some useless old fuck who can’t even give you a kid.”

Your eyes follow him. Hurting. They hurt for the thought that he could even think something like that. Useless. You stare at him for a long moment. You don’t dare speak, because if you do, the only thing that’ll come out is a flood of words soaked in tears.

But he takes your silence the wrong way.

“I know it eats at you. I know you lay there at night wonderin’ why the hell you ever agreed to be with me. I ask myself the same damn thing. Why I dragged you into this life. Why, knowin’ how fucked up I am, I had the nerve to be so goddamn selfish and bring you into this house where you don’t even get to dream.”

Joel bites down on the edge of his frustration the way you’ve learned to read. The tears don’t gather in his eyes, but they coat his voice, cracking it down the middle, and it wrecks you.

“Joel, I never said any of that.”

“But you wrote it.”

Silence.

“That was years ago. And you had no right to… to snoop.”

A dry laugh slips out of him. He turns his head to the side, arms crossed now, shaking his head.

“You thought shit about me too, back then. Stuff you don’t think no more. Or maybe you still do, and that’s fine. I ain’t perfect. But don’t you dare put words in my mouth. I never said you were useless.” You lift a finger, pointing at him. His eyes drop to your hand, then lock on yours.

“You thought it last night.”

And the way he says it. So damn sure. It guts you. How do you pull a thought like that out of this man’s head?

“Joel, I didn’t think anything except how you might be taking it. You got like this when Benji was born, too, and I understood it then, just like I do now.” Your eyebrows pull tight, your brain scrambling for words that might drag him out of this mess of stories he spins for himself.

“I know how it feels watching the world move on after what happened with S—”

“No.” Joel squeezes his eyes shut and turns his head sharply, swallowing hard.

“I’m sorry. But you know what I mean, baby.”

Silence.

Joel rubs his palms over his eyes. You hear him. Barely. A small sniff that rips your chest apart. His shoulders shake. He doesn’t want to look at you. Doesn’t want to show you.

“I dream of you like that, and it fucks me up” he whispers, eyes still averted. “Full. Walkin’ through the house. Carryin’ somethin’ that’s ours…” Joel looks up at the ceiling and swallows again. His eyes are shattered. You know what he’s remembering, even if he won’t say it.

A world he never imagined losing. A smile he wasn’t supposed to let go of. A night that still wakes him up. A “Daddy” he can’t even remember the sound of anymore.

His one and only babygirl.

Joel brushes past you suddenly. Heads out the back door into the rain. Dosnt care that he got no coat, no umbrella. He just wants to outrun the noise in his head. You watch him through the window, disappearing into the little woods inside the community.

You don’t even think. You go after him the same way he left. Heart in hand.

Still in your nightgown. Barefoot. Chest wide open. Because when it comes to Joel, you do everything with your heart in your hand.

You cross the yard in three steps, shove the gate open with your whole body, and the sharp sting of gravel cutting into your feet doesn’t stop you one damn bit. Your nightgown clings like skin. Your wet hair sticks to your shoulders and neck. The spring air is thick with cold, you’re probably gonna catch a chill. Doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

“Please, Joel. Don’t run from me.” When you finally find him, one hand resting against a tree trunk, the other over his eyes, you stop a few feet away.

And he sees you.

Soaked. Desperate. Looking for him.

“Joel, enough of this” you say, with what little voice you have left. “If you’re scared, that’s okay. I’m scared too. But don’t run when it feels like too much. Give it to me.”

You open your arms, blinking heavy tears and raindrops from your lashes. “Give it to me. Whatever it is. I’ll take it.”

Joel moves toward you. Slow steps. Eyes all over you, his gaze feels like hands. Heavy. Rough.

He sees the fabric clinging tight to your body, shameless in the way it reveals you. How it hugs your belly. Traces the shape of your breasts, your nipples. The way it curls over your hips, your thighs. How the strap slips down your shoulder. How it draws your shape, the one that’s pulled sighs from him for years.

The shape he has wanted to fill. The one he has wanted and needed to leave something of himself inside.

For years now.

He approaches while his hands are already bridging the distance, settling over your shoulders. Caressing down to your hips.

“Why’d you do this to me?” He whispers with a rough edge. With melancholy.

“‘Cause you ran”

He shakes his head with a faint amused smile and presses his forehead against yours, nose nuzzling against yours.

“I mean this. Why do y’keep runnin’ after me after all I’ve done…” His stubble scratches against your cheek as he dips to kiss your neck, softly, arms wrapping around you.

“Because I love you. And I would never think you’re useless” Your hands come up to cup his jaw and make him look at you in the eye. “All I think of you is what I do day after day. Stayin’. Here, with you.”

“You feel obligated, baby, I know…” He whispers against your lips.

Your hand slaps softly against his cheek. He snorts, burying his face into your neck.

“You’re too much for me…” Joel rasps and you know he’s on the edge of crying again. “You deserve what you dream”

“I deserve it with you. And I’m happy because at least you tried”

Joel looks down at you. Your eyes, your lips. His whole face melts lightly into a bittersweet expression of love and nostalgia. Of the world he wants to give you, of the dreams in your eyes, of the future that is always unpredictable, of you being there, of trying every day to not lose you.

And you are asking for nothing.

Nothing else than an ounce of his presence.

He always feels like he could melt every time he sees you, and not in the horny way but in the way he feels like you disarm him with just your eyes. He feels bare, he feels helpless. You build him cathedrals out of moments and he just gave you this old house and a town barely standing.

And you, still ask for nothing.

Joel kisses you, leans and kisses you as if you were the oxygen he’s been needing since he walked out of the house. You give him your lips, your tongue, your meat and bones. You give him the love you keep, that its all his to take. Because with Joel, it’s like that. All or nothing.

Joel walks you back until your back brushes the tree behind you. The gasp you let against his mouth makes him growl softly against your mouth. Your gown is nearly a joke with how transparent it has become now.

His hand curls around the back of your thighs and lifts you enough so you can wrap your legs around his waist. His heat, his weight presses against the slick seam between your thighs, that sweet nook he adores and yearns for.

You’re both soaked. His jeans heavy with rain. Your gown clinging to skin. It doesn’t matter, you only feel him. His kisses are slick against your jaw and throat. Your toes curling with every slow grind of his hips against the curve of your cunt. Your favorite kind of pressure. Slow, devastating.

“Joel, you’re killing me, babe…” You whisper against his ear. Almost drunk.

His hand slips between your legs, yanking your soaked panties to the side. His thumb slides through your folds, and he lets out a low curse.

“This what you think of me, huh…” A dark laugh rumbles in his chest, and your face burns. He's the only thing that gets you wetter than the goddamn rain.

He lifts his thumb to his mouth, sucking it clean while your fingers fumble with his belt. He doesn’t give a damn that you’re out in the woods, in the middle of a storm. Fuck anyone who might see. You’re soaked, rain and arousal, and he has no choice but to take it into his own hands.

Joel slap your hands away and leans kissing you again. Thumb still buried between your pussy lips, swirling over your clit in slow and firm circles.

“That’s it, sweet…” He whispers softly between harsh smooches against your mouth. Breaths clashing against the other, harsh and loud. He slides, finally, two thick fingers inside you and it makes you arch against him with a cry.

“I can’t take this anymore.” He wraps an arm around your waist, his other hand holds you by your thigh and carries you back to the house.

“Joel, the floor—”

“I’ll mop it with my damn tongue after I’m done with you, don’t worry” He drops you on the couch. Your soaked form dampens the cushions. His flannel drips, his jeans leaving dark imprints on the carpet once he kicks them off.

“C’mere” Joel grabs you by the hips and brings you to his lap. Hands kneading and pawing every inch of you. His mouth attaches to your breasts through the fabric of your gown. “You look like a dream, baby…” He whispers against your sternum while one hand slides down to ruck up your gown, over your ass.

“Take it off, Joel..” You whisper back, holding from the backrest behind him.

He finally slides the gown over your head. You lift your arms and the piece of wet fabric ends up in the floor with the rest of the clothes. He lifts his hips when you begin to pull at his waistband and the boxers are discarded too.

You let go a choppy laugh when he wraps his arms around you and brings you down with him on the couch, laying together, wet and tangled in front of the hearth. His cock rests nestled against your cunt, his mouth attaches to yours while his hand traces the planes of your back, the other cradles the back of your head.

Joel feels you sliding your hand between you and sliding him to your slit. He stops kissing you, mouth agape against yours, waiting for that moment. He lets out a low moan with you when he slides inside. One hand goes to your hip, holding you against him, guiding you while he fucks you sideways, slowly.

The sweet brush of his bone against your clit. He keeps feeding it to you, inch by inch, until the tip kisses that aching spot inside. Your mouth falls open with a soft gasp. You push yourself up on one arm, lowering yourself fully onto his cock like you were made for it.

“That’s my woman… Yes..” Joel whispers, drunk in your feeling, one hand caressing up your torso. He tries to keep it together, you can see it. Eyes clenched shut, head tilted back, jaw tight. Those pretty, high-pitched moans he swallows down. You love them. You love how helpless he sounds.

“I want to hear you, Jo…” You whisper, hands settling on his thighs, behind you. He takes a long breath when he stares at the way you start rolling your hips, how you show him how you take him. A hard gulp. A sweaty forehead. His cock pulsing.

“I’m gonna..”

“Do it..”

He grit his teeth and throw his head back.

“No, look at me” You caress his jaw and bring his eyes back to you. Joel obeys and locks eyes with you. He looks as if he’s about to cry. Looking at you while he’s about to come makes him feel as if he’s levitating.

Maybe he will.

You feel him pulsing inside you. Hot, sticky, dripping out of you already, around himself. He gasps as you chase your own orgasm, using him, making him roll his eyes backwards, having to close his eyes and curl his fingers around your waist. Your walls gripping him make him sit up and gasp against your throat, coming again.

“Twice?” You breathe a soft laugh while combing your fingers through his still damp hair and Joel chuckles against your jaw.

“Yeah, maybe.” Joel wraps his arms around you, caresses your ass and back.

The fire crackles. The rain keeps pouring. His kisses are timid across your shoulder even if he just rearranged your guts.

Then, you suddenly sneeze and wrinkle your nose, blinking up at him with a jerk of your head.

“Oh, great” He chuckles and lifts a hand brushing your hair off your face. His eyes wander over you, slow and fond. “That’s what happens when you run out into the rain wearin’ nothin’ but a damn nightgown.”

“Then don’t run into the woods in the middle of the rain. You know I’ll follow”

He nods. Silent. Smooches your lips.

“I know.”

he just misses his babygirl 😔

#pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #fanfic writing #jackson!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut

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usetheeauthor · 1 month ago

Text

Endgame

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Your dad knows. Now what?

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Age gap. Daddy kink. Breeding kink. Semi-public sex. Creampie. Squirting. Belly bulge. Drinking and drug use. They’re horny and IN LOVE, your honor. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk!

Note: This is the song I see Tess and Reader dancing to LOL

Word count: 16.5k

dividers by the lovely @saradika 💞

You looked beautiful walking down the aisle.

Really, in this floor-length gown, bouquet poised comfortably in front of you, and your hair styled to perfection, Joel Miller was certain he’d never seen a prettier sight in his life. You were walking to him, smiling.

He stood at the end of that aisle, in front of all your family and friends, sweating bullets and in disbelief.

Now would be a terrible time for his dick to get hard.

What with the way the lace and tulle were hugging your frame and how fitted those fucking black slacks were on the outline of his own lower half, he could probably be fully erect and showing everybody in attendance just how attracted he was to you now, and then what would happen? The wedding would get cancelled? Postponed?

Sorry folks, the man of the hour has a boner the size of Texas tucked under his briefs; can he get a day to relax?

No, he’d need a week for that, at least.

Seven full days of doing nothing but fucking you straight through the mattress could put a dent in the hard-on he was about to be sporting. He was a terrible person for it.

Still, you beamed at him with a look that said you’d love him for the rest of your life, and that was all that mattered in the moment. It was most of what consumed Joel’s thoughts as you made the procession toward him.

For better, for worse.

For richer, for poorer.

In sickness and in health.

To love and to—

“Fuck,” Joel muttered under his breath.

Beside him, his best friend—your father—shot him a look

That gaze told him everything he needed to know. Essentially: ‘Stop eyefucking my kid or I’ll kill you.’

And Joel knew he meant it.

He had the scar on his right temple to prove it. A mostly healed orbital fracture that still gave his old, weathered face a tougher look these days. Bruises gone but not entirely forgotten. The memory of his friend holding his head underwater for at least a minute, maybe longer.

That was after Mark had caught him kissing you once.

The first time he ever came to learn that his friend had been fucking his daughter for the last several months.

Mark had almost murdered him that day.

Now, he was standing beside him on his wedding day.

Joel blinked, and someone was clearing their throat. He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but he sensed it was probably time for him to grab the rings.

Then hand them over to his friend.

Since, you know, it was Mark’s big day.

Joel was just the best man, and you were one of the bridesmaids now standing across the way from him. Your expression was lax, to the point of looking almost bored, and Joel didn’t miss the way your brows raised slightly while you watched the ring exchange take place in front of you. Slyly, your eyes flitted to his; your lips twitched.

Dad and Helen picked the ugliest fucking bands, huh?

Joel had to bite back a smirk seeing that.

You were right. This was weird: begrudgingly accepting parts in the wedding of your father and his first love-former mistress and pretending like it wasn’t odd.

Given the fact that your dad had very begrudgingly accepted you and Joel as a couple after almost six months together, though, he wasn’t about to complain. No one could have predicted that the man who had beat him mercilessly in the ocean with a travel mug and almost put him in a coma would now have him as his best man and invite him out to dinner on a semi-regular basis. Joel would say this arrangement was just fine.

Ideal, even.

Right up until the time he’d divulge to his friend that he planned on marrying you someday, this would be great.

Mark was open-minded, and he tolerated having Joel around for now dating his only daughter, but that was mostly because you’d refused to see or speak to your dad in the weeks following his little ‘outburst’ in Galveston. After Joel had been concussed and kept in the hospital for close to a week pending a neuro eval, you’d sworn you would never let your father near you until he’d apologized to Joel and ‘calmed the fuck down.’

Joel reckoned that his friend seemed pretty sedate as he kissed his bride and turned toward the crowd, celebrating the vows they’d just taken.

You cheered with them.

You smiled sweetly enough, clapping and looking as breathtaking as he’d ever seen you, and your gaze lingered with them for maybe ten, fifteen seconds.

Then it drifted back to him.

It always went back to him, and Joel would never get used to it for as long as he lived. With a smile that was almost forlorn and fingers that were practically itching to put a ring on yours, he clapped, too, and he watched you.

Before he knew it, the ceremony was over.

The real party didn’t start until ten o’clock.

After a brief intermission spent traveling to the reception hall on the outskirts of Austin and pregaming hard with Tommy and Tess all the way, you feared you might topple over before ever setting foot on the property. You cradled a miniature green BuzzBall in your left hand and a flask of something strong and cheap in your right. Your dad just got married again, and you planned to drink until that stopped feeling weird to say. Just like your father probably thought each time he looked at you and Joel.

Fuck it. That was a problem to consider for another day. Right now, if you could get Joel to quit looking at you so strangely and try to enjoy this completely free boozefest, you’d be much better off. If you could decipher that look, and maybe stop worrying about the way the maid of honor—Helen’s sister—kept ogling him, you’d be set.

Tess hooked an arm around your neck and pulled you close. Her grin was wide and easy, and her eyes were semi-glazed as they scanned your immediate surroundings. You were just strolling in, the rest of the wedding party not too far behind, and music was blaring inside the rustic, spacious barn-turned-reception-venue.

“Odds of me nailing someone tonight…?” she started.

“Did F.E.D.R.A. abstinence camp teach you nothing?”

You made an effort to sound serious, but then the façade cracked in less than a second. Just remembering the time Tommy Miller had shipped you and Joel off to an anti-sex retreat, where you and Tess had met, was enough to send you both giggling your asses off. You had a sneaking suspicion your friend’s laughter was from more than just the booze, though, if you’d had to guess.

“Dude, are you fucking high?” you whispered, shrill.

Tess put a finger to her lips, as if keeping the truth secret, and you shoved her off. Playfully. Begging.

“Coke? Weed? Addy? I need you to share.”

And though you’d been trying to wean yourself off the party drugs before graduating college, tonight was different. You were letting loose more than you normally would, drunk on bottom-shelf spirits and changed into a tight, bright pink bodycon dress you’d recycled from a frat semi-formal years ago. You were teetering on heels.

“I can get y’all weed,” Tommy supplied in a second, sidling up next to you. “Gimme five and we’ll be good.”

You shot him a sidelong look, curious. The man had been livelier and brighter than you’d seen him in years since proposing to Maria a few weeks back. It made sense.

“Yeah, Dad? You got the hookup?” you teased.

“Fuck off,” Tommy chuckled, barely hiding his smirk.

Then he held up his hand, as if to say five minutes, and you believed him. He disappeared somewhere down a nearby hallway, and at the same time, the DJ at the front of the room made a too-smooth transition from one yacht rock classic to another. It reminded you of the time you’d celebrated your dad’s fifty-first birthday on a boat, and absently, you wondered whether Joel might not be available for a repeat partaking in what you did on the bridge deck together. You looked around, gravitating with Tess toward the open dance floor while you did.

Grinding to a Boz Scaggs song while everybody else was just starting to get their bearings arguably wasn’t your hottest look, but right now, neither one of you cared.

You took the center of the room while the rest of the massive group filtered in, both your family and friends and Helen’s all around, and the crowd grew quickly. String lights looped between beams overhead bathed the space in a warm yellow glow, and you knew that you could get used to this scene easily. You liked the music being played, and you loved the feeling coursing gently through your veins. The only thing that would make this moment better is if you could spot the elusive best man.

You’d agreed to keep it lowkey. Try not to make your father’s big day about you and Joel and your no-longer-secret relationship while you celebrated this occasion. But it was hard. You hadn’t been able to help but notice that Joel was treading around you a little differently than before, as if he were being extra careful not to say or do anything that might draw negative attention. That might’ve been because this was your first full-family event since you’d first started dating out in the open, and it was probably freaking Joel out a little. How do you explain dating the groom’s daughter, who also happens to be decades younger than you? What were the rules?

Apparently, Joel’s M.O. had been to stare at you intently for half the wedding ceremony, smiling in a strange and appreciative and partly inscrutable way, and then make himself scarce after. Leading you to wonder if maybe…

No, he was committed.

He was definitely committed.

Your future and his might not have been entirely secure, seeing as you were graduating in less than a month and were still waiting to see if you’d gotten that job in Austin or would have to keep searching—possibly even move out of state if you couldn’t lock down the right position.

It was scary. Growing, moving, changing in ways you couldn’t fully anticipate. Even as you bumped and grinded mindlessly with Tess, shoulders loose and hips swaying without any concern for the people dancing around you, you still worried. You always had that fear.

“I just love him so much,” you mumbled softly into Tess’s ear. The tunes had shifted to something old and country-western, and your heart swelled a little at the sound of it.

“I can tell.” Tess grinned, turning her head.

She didn’t need to say anything beyond that. Your friend clasped your hand in hers and made you do a spin, and without thinking, you did it. It made you kind of woozy.

Maybe weed was off the table.

Maybe you could enjoy this night without a medley of odd intoxicants, and you and Joel could just drive off into the night, head back to his place, and show each other just how much you loved each other, even if the next few months were the furthest thing from decided right now.

You hoped it would be enough; as you drifted toward a buffet table chock-full of hors d’oeuvres and started feasting with Tess, you really hoped that it would last.

With Joel, maybe a future wasn’t impossible. Maybe—

“—these fucking Rice Krispies are insane,” Tess cut in.

You inhaled another big, sugary clump and agreed. Your hands had been in just about every dish on this table, and, not surprisingly, it had been the sweet baked treats that kept your attention. You were devouring the shit, oblivious to any judging looks from the other guests.

Tess stuffed another in her mouth and moaned.

“If I could fuck a baked good…” you trailed off.

At the same time, a new person appeared beside you. Her face was flushed, and she was dressed just as you had been before—wearing a floor-length, mint green frock that sort of reminded you of a dentist’s office—as, apparently, she didn’t mind getting a little bit sweaty in the bridesmaid gown. She looked stunning anyway, and her face was radiant looking over the table. Then at Tess.

Her name was Sue. She was Helen’s cousin and undeniably one of the coolest people in that family.

She fucking hated the rings, too.

And some of the food, apparently.

“The Fettuccine Alfredo tastes like ass,” she remarked as soon as she’d gotten close enough for you and Tess to hear her over the music. “Anything OK to eat over here?”

“Rice Krispies,” Tess answered her through a mouthful.

Then she offered her one, and you got the sense that your friend just might get what she was hoping for earlier. Sue met her gaze with a grin and took the treat.

“Lovely. Thanks.” Then she took a big bite.

You peered curiously over her shoulder, for some reason feeling like something was around, though you weren’t sure what. Call it a sixth sense—or else just paranoia.

“Lucy really wants that guy, I think.”

Sue had just swallowed and was turning away, following your gaze to where it had conveniently landed on her cousin, the MOH. Your stomach churned for no discernible reason when you finally saw Joel beside her.

He wasn’t even looking at her.

He seemed bored to be standing, rolling a shoulder in his taut, precisely-tailored suit jacket and shifting a flute of champagne from one hand into the other. He looked debonair, completely in keeping with his surroundings.

To your dismay, you realized he also looked incredible standing next to Lucy, who was then wearing a long, strapless, cerulean dress and had her gaze latched onto him. Maybe because of this, and wanting to stifle that thought, you replied to Sue as honestly as you could.

“I don’t blame her. Such a hunk, isn’t he?”

That was the understatement of the century.

By the look in Lucy’s eyes, she wanted to eat him alive.

“She’s a matchmaker, I mean. Got this swanky, fun ass job in New York City and is always looking for recruits—even if they’re out here. You’d be amazed how many people would be willing to do long distance for a man like him.” And with a stab of her pointer finger in Joel’s direction, Sue indicated that you had the complete package on your hands. As if you didn’t already know it.

“Oh,” you said, pretending to mull the thought over.

“Well, Joel’s actually her—” Tess started to say.

“Daddy!” you gasped, caught off-guard.

Just then, the groom materialized beside you. Your dad was sweating, toting two beers in one hand and looking like he’d just run a mile. His bow tie was loose, and he had a dazed, sunny expression on his face. He sighed.

“My darlin’ daughter,” he slurred, all tender adulation.

The motherfucker was drunk.

Maybe buzzed off of something else.

“Hi, Dad,” you greeted him. You smothered a smile when he mauled you with a hug and almost dropped his beers.

“Great party, huh? I oughta do this shit more often.”

“Get…married?” Sue replied. Hopefully not again…

“Yeah,” your dad barked a laugh. “‘S’fun, ain’t it?”

“My cousin Lucy makes it happen for a living.”

“No shit!”

And if your skull weren’t throbbing so hard, you probably would’ve paid attention to the rest of that conversation. It went on for another five, ten, maybe even twenty-five minutes before you realized you hadn’t been tuning in. You were too busy watching Joel, seeing him occasionally talk to Lucy and feeling irrationally…off. Not that you suspected the two of anything but that she looked so damn good next to him. She was probably fifteen years older than you and seemed to fit your boyfriend in a way that you never thought possible. As it was, whatever you’d had to drink before seemed to be taking a double effect and then some; your head swam.

It felt like you were starting to float, almost.

You rubbed at your temples and blinked twice.

And, right as you were contemplating taking a step away for a breather of some kind, you heard your dad’s voice loud above all the rest of the crowd and the music then:

“She single herself? She looks to be about…Joel’s age.”

He didn’t even try to hide it.

He was drunk and trying to pawn his friend off—jokingly, of course. Using just enough humor in his tone not to piss you off completely, but you knew that he meant it.

You shook your head. It felt even lighter than it had before, and your fingers had begun to tingle with some discomfort. Venturing a step back, and cocking your head sideways toward the exit as you mapped out your impending escape, you felt a presence behind you.

“Wade!” A grin spread across your father’s face.

You turned and saw him. This wasn’t a complete surprise, as you’d spotted the man at the ceremony before—his family and yours had always been close, and he’d apparently had some spare time to visit—but your body was in shambles. Your heart rate had kicked up.

You weren’t sure what else to do, so you reached for the arm of your old childhood best friend, who was now standing beside you, and you tugged it lightly. Your stomach clenched for reasons unknown to you, and completely unrelated to the man whose elbow you were holding, and then you leaned over. Your voice was low.

“Hey, Wade. Wanna, uh…go outside for a sec?”

Two brows jumped up, and he nodded.

Before long, the two of you were strolling outside the building, through the two huge double doors and then drawing toward the patio in the back. You could only imagine what Tess and your father were thinking, knowing better than anyone else what this looked like.

Right now, it felt like your brain was a big pile of mush.

You just needed a stable body. Someone to lean on as you headed outside and possibly yakked your guts out.

Wade crouched as soon as you did. You took a pit stop right by the closest patio table, and, squatting and squeezing your eyes shut as a light wave of nausea washed over you, you could hear his voice beside you.

“You alright? You—shit, should I go get someone?”

Probably Joel.

If he weren’t currently getting needled into taking some sweet, amazing, age-appropriate woman from NYC out for dinner next week, you’d say you would love to have him here. You were also sincerely hoping your father would shut the fuck up about your relationship and just try to accept that you and Joel were staying together.

Maybe.

For now.

If you ever got this fucking job offe—

“You need a minute? Water or anything?” Wade asked.

With his hand resting on your back and his words wonderfully soft in comparison to the blaring music indoors and the constant ringing in your ears, he was a comfort. You shook your head, and you tried to stand up.

He helped you. You took a seat, gingerly, and breathed in.

The softest, slightest giggle followed it.

“Want me to get your dad?” Wade pressed, sitting too.

Something rich and smooth started to pool in your chest. Your lungs expanded again, and it was like a gust of wind had filled them up with new feeling—a lightness.

Your head quit pulsing as much. In its place, there was a faint spreading of heat, from the base of your skull to the top. You didn’t know what to make of that, except to say:

“Wade?”

“Yeah?”

“Did…Dad ask you to ask me out at any point tonight?”

You met his gaze and tried not to smile. Wade paused.

“Well…” he started.

“Shit.”

“He might’ve mentioned it, like…once,” he went on, a little bit sheepish. “Said you were dating some old guy.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

His best friend.

If Joel Miller was such a great guy, why couldn’t he be good for you? Why couldn’t your dad just…move on?

“How old are we talking, anyway?” Wade hummed.

“Almost…Almost as old as my dad. His friend.”

Wade’s eyes widened.

“Well, goddamn. Is it Tommy?”

“Nope. His brother, Joel, actually.”

“That is beekeeping age, dude. Damn.”

And as your friend said it, you noticed that his expression softened. His eyes shone. Your own concealed grin from before snuck in a tiny bit. Your head continued to spin.

Wade grinned, too, and then your resolve evaporated.

You couldn’t help but laugh: “Fuck off. Seriously.”

“You’re the one bangin’ the Crypt Keeper.”

“Say that again and I’ll kill you, Pritchett.”

But you and him both were already dissolving into giggles. Just like when you were kids. It was simple and easy, without a hint of there being anything more to it.

You laughed longer than you probably needed to, but your head and your mind within it were just so light. A heady feeling shrouded your senses, and the evening air around you seemed to prick at your skin. Every inch of moonlight shining down on the patio felt brighter, too.

You sat side-by-side and stared out at the dark, vast expanse of land beyond the yard. The rolling hills. Your mouth was dry, so you tried swallowing a couple times, even licked at your lips once. Wade cleared his throat.

“I should’ve known it was Joel,” he resumed presently. Amusement lingering in his tone. “The way he was staring at you every other second of the ceremony…”

“Like I had a big stain on my dress?” you teased.

“Like he was head over heels in love with you.”

When he said it, Wade’s voice was still light. His words didn’t harbor any particularly heavy feelings, and after you tilted your head to him, you found the man smiling.

“You know I’m right,” he said simply.

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed quiet. Another soft, cooling rush rolled in, and you couldn’t quite tell whether it was a breeze or something deeper, beneath your skin. You’d never had somebody tell you a thing like that; silently, you wondered how obvious it was

And if Joel wasn’t ready to do this openly, in front of everyone you knew, well…what would you do about it?

What could you do if he ended up changing his mind?

You blinked twice and tried to brush those thoughts aside. As if reading your mind, or maybe just wanting to head back into the party, Wade stood. He held out a hand to you, wiggling his fingers in a beckoning gesture.

“Wanna come?”

“I’m alright. Be just a few minutes.”

You didn’t need to communicate that you wanted the alone time; Wade went back in. You were glad of it, no matter how much you enjoyed your friend’s company, and for the first time that night, you really missed Joel. Selfishly, you wanted him all to yourself, and you wanted those other folks inside to know that you were together.

Not just friends. Not just fuckbuddies. Committed.

In love, like Wade had said.

Perched on an old wooden bench as you were, you pulled your knees to your chest. You crossed your ankles, and then you rested your chin on one of your knees, peering out across the broad, darkened, and sweeping horizon. Your vision might’ve undulated a little, and your tongue could’ve felt as dry as crumbling parchment in your mouth, but your overall mood was one of gentle quiescence. You blinked slowly, and you sighed.

Waiting.

Joel wouldn’t waste another second.

He was sick of waiting, tired of having to pretend to give a shit about whatever the person in front of him was saying—most of the time, it had been a relative, a friend of a friend of a friend, or else a woman with a big, hopeful smile, looking to find an opening to give him their number. He wasn’t new to the world of weddings, had been to dozens and dozens over the course of his life, but this time, unlike any other occasion, he’d come with a date. You. The urge to be close again was painful.

Why he’d decided to let you mingle and make rounds on your own in the first place was no mystery to him. Joel saw how happy you looked with Tess, how carefree and full of life you always seemed in environments like these, and then he noticed how many looks you and him had gotten at the wedding. None of them were approving.

Joel didn’t have time to think about that now, though. Even if the faces of the people closest to you, including your own father, still followed him around like a shadow and plagued his every other waking moment, he had made up his mind not to worry again until you were back.

Together.

Touching.

Possibly—

“Fucking—” Tommy paused to catch his breath, falling right into step with Joel before he picked the pace up. “—nuts. This wedding is fucking insane, ain’t it, Joel?”

“I guess.”

His head was thrumming with a strange feeling, as if he couldn’t quite get his bearings like he normally could. About an hour ago, after one glass of champagne, he’d decided to stop drinking. Now he was blinking through a haze and searching the venue desperately for you, with his brother being a pain in the ass trotting alongside him.

“There she is, lovebird,” Tommy said suddenly.

Joel breathed a sigh of relief seeing you in the crowd.

At the center of the dance floor, just parting ways with your dad after what looked to be a quick father-daughter dance, your gait was decided and stiff. Your shoulders were squared, and you moved through the throngs of wedding-goers as if your mind were a hundred miles away. Fortunately, your path led you straight to them.

“Baby,” Joel started, reaching for you.

You paused, as if caught off-guard, then blinked.

“Dad is…such an asshole sometimes,” you said vaguely.

Weakly.

Joel’s chest tightened at the sound, and his fingers threaded through yours instinctively. He wanted to lift your hand to his mouth and press a reassuring kiss there—though, getting the sense it might not go over too well around the present crowd, he didn’t. He tried to speak.

Tommy talked over him, “Your dad bein’ a menace?”

“Spewing absolute fucking nonsense.”

“Like what?”

Those words came from Joel, concerned.

Briefly, your gaze flitted to his, and the mist before his eyes thinned a little. He still felt light-headed, but it was more akin to a need. Desire. Wanting to protect you here.

“Making stupid comments about me and…Joel.” You gestured toward him, movements jerky. “More backhanded bullshit. Jokes. And he is so high.”

Tommy perked up at that.

“But your dad doesn’t smoke.”

“I know! I have no idea how he—”

Shortly, his brother was turning to him.

“Joel, what did you do with the Rice Krispies I gave you?”

Joel frowned. Knit his brows and didn’t have to think.

“I set them out for the other guests to have. I—”

“Fuck!” Tommy swore. “Are you shittin’ me?”

“No. Why?”

“Those were my fuckin’ edibles, man!”

His brother’s whole expression blanched. His eyes all but bulged out of his head, and he turned around quick, probably to find the table where his goods had been stashed. Then, swiftly, he pivoted right back to you.

“You had some, too?” Tommy asked.

“Me, Tess, Sue—” you started.

“I’m gonna shit myself.”

Then he was off.

It had all happened so fast, Joel didn’t know what to say. The weed would certainly explain the haze that had settled over his mind, the uptick of his heart rate, and the heightened degree of panic when it came to hearing about your dad. In a very faint silver lining, at least the reception was adults-only—the youth were in no danger of getting baked, and it looked like the treats had only been passed around your immediate group. It didn’t alleviate every concern, as evidenced by your present expression, but at least you were both OK. For now.

Joel leaned down to press a kiss to your hand like he’d wanted to before, but you constricted your grip before he could. You tugged him sideways, over toward an exit.

“We’re leaving.”

And though that tone seemed to brook no argument, Joel slowed. He let you lead him through the space, out the front doors and into the warm summer night, but when you made it three or four steps outside, he dug his heels into the ground. He squeezed your hand gently.

“Sweet pea…”

“I’m just sick of him, Joel! He said he’d made his peace with this—with us—and like a fucking idiot, I believed him. Now he’s doing what he always does, and he’s going back on his word. Treating us like we’re…we’re…”

“Naïve?” Joel finished for you.

“Like we’re stupid for trying to do this!”

You’d said it with such force, releasing his hand and throwing your own in the air with a helpless, angry look. It was clear that tensions were high; no doubt elevated by the influence of drugs, but also just disgust with your father. The problem went deeper. Joel watched you with a tender gaze, wanting to take that pain away from you.

“Am I stupid?” you asked. “Am I stupid for thinking we—”

“Darlin’, don’t even say that. Please. We’re alright.”

“We can’t even kiss in front of people, Joel!”

Those words were steeped in indignation. For half a second, Joel suspected the feeling might be directed toward him, but then your features softened. Quickly. The anger melded to hurt, and you shook your head.

Your voice was hoarse when you resumed.

“You look better with her. Like you…fit.”

That left Joel gobsmacked for more than just a moment. He couldn’t even process what you’d said, where it had come from, or who on earth you might’ve been talking about then, when you went on, heedless. He swallowed.

“Girls close to your age, like Lucy—”

“Are you serious?”

He blinked.

You were being sincere. His whole body tensed, and in a movement that seemed more autonomic than conscious, he scowled. He straightened up, his suit jacket suddenly feeling three sizes too small, and he shook his head at you. For a moment, he showed his age.

“Now I know you ain’t thinkin’ straight,” he started, voice stern like a father’s. The two of you were buzzed, amped up, angrier than normal, and Joel shortly felt as if it were his job to make things clearer. To show you how he felt. “After everything we’ve been through already, you’re gonna stand there an’ tell me I would be better off with somebody else? Someone a little closer to me in age?”

Your lip trembled, but you nodded your head.

“Y-Yeah. Maybe. I don’t know, it’s just—”

“Do you even hear yourself right now?”

“I’m just saying it might be easier!”

“What, if I loved someone older?

“Dad seems to think it’d be—”

That snapped Joel’s resolve.

Before that, he’d been trying to rein in his frustration, try not to let it break loose on you. But with the mention of your father—the same man you’d just been vilifying left and right—he couldn’t stay silent. He wouldn’t be calm.

The man could do little more than grit his teeth and take your hand. Not pressing too hard, he still led you away, firmly, and his strides didn’t slow until he reached another spot outdoors, closer to the parking lot.

Shortly, you were against a wall. Joel pushed you up and nudged you back, your spine pressed flat to the surface with the sounds of the reception humming behind you.

Your legs didn’t wrap around his waist immediately; instead, they parted, just far enough to allow him between, and you reached up softly to cup his face.

You wanted to kiss him—it was the most natural thing.

Tightening his grip on your hips, Joel edged you further back. You slid into the shadows, away from two wide-open doors, and in this position, he reckoned you could hear him better. He was glad of this when he leaned in.

With a slight sneer in his tone: “Yeah? Dad thinks so?”

“Joel.”

His name was more like a breath. Or a moan. Your legs spread even wider, about to draw him in at any moment.

“Good thing daddy knows better than him. C’mere.”

In a blink, his lips were trailing across your cheek. Grazing your mouth. Feeling you out while you tipped your chin up to him, asking the man wordlessly for more.

Joel knew you well enough to sense when you were needy. It was clear as day when his hands slid up your thighs, taking the material of your hot pink dress with them and pulling tight. He reached between your legs, and your breath audibly hitched. You panted for him.

“Joel. Please.”

“You think someone else would ‘fit’ me better? Hm?” Joel echoed your words from earlier and watched you wince a little. Eager as you were, you didn’t want to fight.

Not anymore.

Joel obliged you, and he tugged your panties to the side.

He undid his belt, buckle, and zip in fewer than five seconds, and then he stepped even closer to you. He didn’t wait for you to try and jump up; he gripped your right leg and nudged it up. He hooked it comfortably around him and held your gaze as he angled himself.

The blunt head of his cock swiped through your heat maybe once or twice, and Joel could feel from those movements alone that you were soaked. Desire dripped from your center and coated him, and he couldn’t help but glance down. He watched your folds flare with each rutting motion, and he could hear it, too. Little whimpers matched the noises of your body meeting his, and Joel decided then that he wouldn’t make you wait any longer.

He sank in.

He didn’t need to be stern; from the way your body was open to him, hole aching and needy and wet, he pressed his hips once and was able to slide his cock in gently. This, contrasted with his words, was something else.

His voice was low and guttural as he murmured:

“I’d say we fit just fine. Don’t you think so?”

And as if to punctuate his remark, he drove in to the hilt. He shoved his cock so deep that he swore you’d be able to feel him in your throat, and then he held it. He looked up from the sight of your cunt getting stuffed with him, and he saw your mouth pop open. A strangled moan succeeded that look, along with a, ‘Fuck me, Joel.’

“That ain’t no answer.”

He withdrew to the tip. Fucked in again.

Your thigh trembled against his side as you reached up and squeezed his shoulder, a deeper moan spilling out. This only propelled Joel to pose his question again, lower

“C’mon. Say it. Ain’t—” A firm withdrawal. A sharp thrust. “—one fuckin’ pussy’ll fit me better’n yours. You know it.”

“B-But—”

“Ain’t just sex, neither. You mean everything to me.”

Joel could see the effect his words were having; in addition to the whimpers and the whines, your gaze was holding his own in the softest, rawest look. Your grip tightened on his white starched collar, and the neediness that Joel had seen before seemed to seep through your fingers. You held him close while he fucked you hard against the wall, and he would be lying if that feeling didn’t drive him insane: knowing that you needed him.

He would make you his wife someday.

That was why what you’d said had thrown him off as much as it did. He wasn’t expecting it—was too busy dreaming up all the different ways you two would be painting your babies’ nursery, taking road trips out to the beach or Santa Fe or any number of your new favorite vacation spots you would no doubt accumulate over the years. He was thinking long-term, and here you were, wondering whether he might not want somebody else.

He would show you what he wanted.

He could feel the way your back started to arch off the warm, wooden wall and how your pussy squeezed him tighter. He could feel each pulse; he relished it, and he fucked you deeper. No doubt, if someone were to walk outside the reception hall, take four or five steps to the left and turn their head, you’d be caught. You’d be entirely fucked, standing with your bodies mashed together and your clothes all thrown askew. Try as he might to have styled his hair that morning and kept it manageable, now, it was disheveled and wild. Damp and dark and gray as it had ever looked, grayer than the first time you’d ever done this. Absently, Joel wondered if you’d still love him after all those hairs had gone white.

As if in reply, you pulled him close for a kiss. You tugged the short, dampened curls at the nape of his neck, and you angled your hips. You accepted each thrust while he mumbled against your mouth, in between sloppy kisses.

“Feel me in here, baby?”

His free hand slid to your belly. The fingers splayed out.

“That’s where I belong.”

Another stroke. A soft and slow circling of his palm.

Faintly, he could feel the outline of his cock beneath your skin, and he knew you felt it, too. He sensed this from the way your eyelids fluttered and your walls clamped tighter around him, as if your cunt were trying to suck him in as deep as he could go. Joel wasn’t so mean as to deny you that feeling, so he went on. Kept talking gently as he did.

Perhaps owing to the high or the anxiety he’d been feeling all evening, the sublime ecstasy of being sheathed so far inside you, or else his most primal instincts kicking in, Joel’s thoughts were unyielding. They refused to be ignored, turning swiftly into words.

“Stay with me.”

The same ones had been plaguing him all day. Watching you walk down the aisle, smile and bat those pretty lashes at him, standing there completely oblivious to how badly he wanted this forever. It overpowered him.

He couldn’t resist the temptation to tell you all the rest.

While his hand traveled from your belly to cup your face, and your own pleasure continued to mount inside you at the steady cadence of his thrusts, Joel leaned in. His nose brushed yours, and he felt your breath hitch.

“Marry me.”

And, as if on cue, a spasm followed it. Not so much a squeeze but a sharp, concerted seizing of muscles more intense than Joel had ever felt it before, and your jaw went lax. Your lips parted just in time for him to kiss you again, work your tongue with his own, and keep mumbling those words over and over and over again.

You let him say it; you didn’t push him away or make fists in his suit jacket, telling him it was too soon, you weren’t ready. The truth was, you probably weren’t right now, but you likely knew that Joel was saying it to let you know. The reassurance was something you needed, and finally, it seemed, you found your voice again. It was soft.

“I—I want to. I want you, Joel.”

Your eyes were glazed, and your expression was strained in the midst of what looked to be the most dizzying climax of your life—Joel could feel the pulses continue to work themselves down his dick as he fucked you through it. Your arms wound around his neck. You nodded slowly.

Salt-and-pepper stubble tickled your cheeks with every movement. Wrinkled, sun-spotted skin made a stark contrast to your own, a belly that was broad and soft and slightly rounded over the place where his belt normally sat rested flush against your front. He’d never felt so close watching your gaze latch onto his. His balls ached.

“I want your babies someday, too,” you whispered softly.

There was a smile in your tone as you said it, and Joel could only groan. Of course you had to tell him that now.

“I’ll give you one right here,” he panted. “Right now.”

“Gotta graduate first. Get a real job,” you giggled.

“You’ll be on maternity leave your whole career.”

Joel didn’t mean it, really—he wanted you to achieve your goals, same as he always did—but the thought of you carrying his kid was tempting. It made his hips rut forward, cockhead nudging your cervix with a question.

A plea.

As fast as this had all played out, it didn’t seem you were keen on keeping him waiting for much longer. Your fingers threaded through his grays and pulled gently again. Your lips grazed his own, and your smile grew.

“C’mon then, old man. Show me.”

And he did.

Feeling maybe fifteen or twenty years younger than he was, and momentarily forgetting that you were the daughter of his best friend—the man whose wedding reception was taking place behind that very wall—he let his mind go blank. He felt his cock seize the reins and then empty himself inside, buried as deep as possible.

Idly, he hoped that it would stick.

Your shared reckless, wanton words may have been partly a product of how needy and horny you both were, but maybe there was more to it. Maybe you wouldn’t ask him to buy a Plan B tomorrow morning and just let it be.

He couldn’t wait for the day you met his gaze with a look of pure excitement, practically overflowing with joy as you told him it worked. Maybe that wouldn’t happen for months, or years, or however long you needed to feel secure in that decision, but Joel knew he’d be patient.

He’d be everything you needed and more. With ropes of his cum painting your insides and his cock pulsing gently, lips caressing you all over, he knew that it was only a matter of time. His friend would come around.

In the meantime, Joel decided he was done hiding.

After you’d adjusted your clothes and proceeded to take up residence at a nearby table, Joel pulling you into his lap and stroking your hair until your breaths had finally quieted against his chest, he led you inside. He held your hand all the way to the center of the room, where the crowd on the dance floor was just then starting to thin. It was clear you’d be visible to everyone there, and he watched your eyes dart left and right before flitting to his

Two big, callused palms held your waist. He moved at an easy pace, falling in time with the few couples that were dancing around you. More than once, he nudged your nose with his own, and his words reached you gently.

Most were notes of reassurance. Others were mumbled ‘I love yous’ and ‘Can you believe this is gonna be us someday, tyin’ the knot in front of all these people?’

That seemed to quiet your anxiety, at least for now. Even when he leaned down to take your lips in a kiss, when his fingers slid down and rested just above your rear end, you didn’t balk. If anything, you leaned closer to him.

The warmth of your body beneath his touch and the love etched in every feature was promise enough; he showed you the same, and when, at length, you decided it was time to call it a night, he didn’t hesitate. He led you off, his brain still buzzing on a high and the taste of your lips.

He didn’t register the look the groom gave him for long.

It might’ve lasted for a second or the whole time he was dancing with you. Leaving with you. He had the sense that that gaze was there, but the realization was as quick as anything to leave him. Joel might’ve decided to leave that well enough alone and simply slide out a side door, but then he remembered that this was his oldest friend. For as long as Joel could remember, Mark was a friend.

The man might’ve tried to drown him at one point, but that was all water under the bridge, both literally and figuratively. Still holding your hand in his, he diverted your course toward your father. He tried forcing a smile.

Your grip tightened on approaching. You frowned a bit.

Joel tried keeping his tone as casual as it could be.

“Hey, man—”

Your daughter calls me daddy, too. My cum is dripping out of her cunt right now, and you don’t even know it.

“—congratulations again. Give my best to Helen.”

After he said it, though, it was almost as if your dad had heard the words that he was thinking in between; his brows drew together, and his expression visibly hardened

Joel stuck out his free hand to him. Mark didn’t take it.

Instead, his friend’s gaze drifted to you beside him.

In the blink of an eye, the words were falling out.

“Are we done here, pumpkin?” he asked you.

And that tone was undeniably calm—so much so that Joel had to do a double take just to make sure that he heard him properly. Your grip constricted even tighter.

“Done?” Your own tone was flat. Puzzled. “With…what?”

Your father gestured between you and Joel, and slowly, his mouth curved into a smile. It was slight and sardonic. Those eyes holding yours were evidently meant to mock.

“This,” Mark answered simply. “Are we done?”

“I don’t—” you started, blinking.

“Mark.”

As soon as Joel spoke, his friend’s gaze—clearly inebriated—darted to him. It seemed more like a snarl.

Then, glancing back at you: “I’d say you’ve punished me more than enough now, sweetheart. You can stop fucking my friend to make me mad. It worked.”

His words were both scathing and reductive.

Summing up your entire relationship to such a sentence as that, including an accusation that you were doing it all just for him, was absurd. The tone of it floored Joel, too.

And yet he couldn’t do a thing, because you were speaking next. Your hand unclasped from his swiftly.

“You don’t even know what the fuck this is,” you spat.

“Oh, don’t I? I was a bad dad, I know that. An absent one. This is your way of showing that, by making sure my life is a living hell as long as you’re here, being used by him!”

And then his friend pointed, so as not to be misunderstood in the slightest. Your eyes widened.

You looked as if you were trapped between fleeing and just shoving the guy off his feet, as hard as you could.

You settled on a simple, scornful, “Fuck you.”

“You know I’m right. You can’t deny it.”

“We love each other, Dad. That’s it.”

And though Joel knew it wasn’t his place—this seemed more like a conversation between father and daughter, not for the boyfriend wanting to prove himself in some way—he tried chiming in anyway. He opened his mouth to speak, and at the same time, he saw your dad sneer.

“And if you believe that, you’re just as dumb as your mother. Nothing better than a stupid fucking slut.”

The next moment escaped him; it all happened so fast.

You grabbed a full, cold drink off the closest table, and you flung it directly in your father’s face. You let the cup jump from your hand and strike his nose in the process.

Then you turned and left.

It was as simple and as ugly as that.

Trailing behind you, briefly casting one stunned look over his shoulder toward his friend, where it seemed everyone else in the reception hall was staring as well, he saw the look on his face. He read the shock and pain clear as day.

Frankly, Joel no longer gave a fuck.

Hours later, your dad’s words still stung to remember.

Days later, they made it a little more difficult to eat.

Weeks later, on the morning that was supposed to mark the culmination of your entire academic career to date, you found yourself slumped on the floor of a bathroom stall, still dressed in your crimson cap and gown, and you wished that you were, for once in your life, able to make a decision that didn’t end up hurting someone. You also sincerely hoped this nausea was just a passing phase.

You got on your knees and threw up in the toilet again.

Outside, a soft voice cut in over the hum of fluorescents.

“You want me to get Joel? He’s been worried about you.”

“No.”

Your reply was almost too quick. You held your hair tight and shook your head, as if your roommate could somehow see it, and then you tried again, quieter.

“I’m—I’m alright. Just give me five minutes.”

As it turned out, you needed twenty.

When you reemerged from the bathroom, expression drained and skin sweating a lot more than it probably should have been, you expected to find Joel chatting with Aly’s parents. Cracking jokes with Dallas. Maybe checking his phone for the time, because your flight back to Austin was leaving that afternoon. You’d barely managed to get your dorm packed up in time, and you felt sick for almost all of it. The graduation ceremony was just the cherry on top. Of course, your dad wasn’t there.

That, you’d anticipated. You told him not to come.

What you weren’t planning to see was Joel standing outside the bathroom with his hands crammed full of pills—DayQuil, Dramamine, Advil, any bottle or brand you could think of, he had. He also wore a wan expression.

It almost matched yours, although you weren’t about to share that the reason for your sickly tinge was due to nonstop vomiting. It seemed you’d been feeling that way ever since your father had kicked you out of your childhood home and told you to live with Joel.

He hadn’t said those words, but ‘stupid fucking slut’ had had all of the same effect. Since then, you’d been scarce.

Sick as a dog and trying to convince yourself that it was simply issues with your old man making you feel like this.

It couldn’t have been anything other than that, because you had just graduated college, were still waiting on not one, but three callbacks for jobs in and around Austin, and your lease at your first apartment started next week. Your life was just beginning to look a little brighter, with Joel by your side and cheering you on every step of the way, and you couldn’t stand the thought of it changing.

You waved the medicine off as soon as you saw it.

“Joel, I’m fine. Really.” You tried forcing a smile.

“I just got it from Aly’s mom and a couple other parents around—had some Advil in my car, and we could go to Walgreens before we hit the airport. Do you need me t—”

“No. I feel much better now. Just had to sit for a little,” you cut him off, standing on tip-toes to kiss his nose.

“We sat for the last two hours,” Joel said, frowning.

Pretending not to hear that last remark, you turned to Aly. You stretched your arms out to your best friend and now former-roommate, and you tried not to look too sad.

You clearly failed miserably at that, because Aly scoffed.

“Don’t gimme that look,” she said, hauling you into the biggest, tightest hug that very nearly reawakened your nausea. “I’m gonna come and visit ‘til you’re sick of me. Seriously. Joel’s just gonna have to suck it up for now.”

“Oh, he will,” you murmured, half-smirking and half-wanting to cry. Everything made you teary these days.

You weren’t ready to say good-bye to anyone. Anything. This period of transition was difficult enough without having to move back home not having your old home, and now parting ways with your closest friend on a random sunny Saturday afternoon like it was nothing.

The waterworks were close, but you managed to keep them at bay through sheer force of will. You drew back.

“Don’t open this until you’re home,” Aly said suddenly.

Then she was pushing a makeup bag in your direction.

It didn’t look like anything out of the ordinary, as simple and nondescript as the little gold pouch happened to be, but you had no idea why she was handing it over to you.

You cocked a brow, accepting it with a puzzled look.

“What’s this f—” you started to say.

“For later. After you’ve settled in, and if things don’t…”

Aly paused, choosing words carefully before going on:

“If another ‘friend’ doesn’t come to visit you in a month.”

And although she was smiling while she said it, the implications were plain as day—and you didn’t like it.

You groaned.

“Aly, I am not—”

“I’m not saying you are! Just to be extra safe.”

“I had my friend two weeks ago. That’s not the problem.”

“You bled for one day. Didn’t even fill a tampon you said.”

“And I took Plan B the last time we…and, I mean, we’ve been using condoms every single time ever since then.”

You hated that this would be your last topic of discussion with your friend. At the same time, you knew that it was entirely true to her always looking out for you. She’d seen you sick as anything these last couple weeks, and it was only natural for her to be concerned. She probably figured that you wouldn’t buy whatever was stashed in this bag yourself, so she went ahead and did it for you.

You hoped you wouldn’t need to use it.

You hugged her again and wanted to stay.

After Dallas had assailed you with a similarly suffocating hug to your first, nearly crushing two ribs in the process, and you’d said your good-byes to the rest of the family and a few other friends, you regrouped with Joel. You headed out to the parking lot with him, taking off your cap and unzipping your gown to reveal a short white dress underneath. The afternoon heat was blistering.

Joel eyed you up and down once.

Twice.

He smiled and pulled you into his side as you walked.

“How’s it feel to be an official college grad, darlin’?”

As soon as his hand landed on your waist and pulled you in—when you felt the warmth of his breath on the top of your head before he placed a soft, affectionate kiss there—you couldn’t help it. The sun was shining too bright, and the stomach that you’d sworn was far too empty by now to heave again evidently had had a mind of its own.

You turned and puked on a Porsche.

Joel never knew fatherhood could be so difficult.

Standing in the old, half-dilapidated kitchen of his grandfather’s home, staring through the screen door leading out to the yard, he looked long and hard at the overgrown child sitting politely on the back porch steps.

Her eyes shone with a sweetness that he couldn’t ignore.

“You ain’t sleepin’ in here. I don’t care what Mama said.”

The big, brown eyes blinked up at him. The head cocked.

“And don’t be actin’ all mopey ‘bout it, neither. We’ve been feedin’ you, keepin’ you clean this whole month, tryin’ to find your real family in the meanwhile, and what’s the thanks we get? A steamin’ pile of shit in the living room. You ain’t spendin’ the night again, capiche?”

The kid scowled. She bared her teeth once in frustration.

Then her tail shortly quit wagging, as if she’d actually understood the meaning of his words, and she slumped.

With her head now resting on her front paws in a patch of grass off to the side, the inky black night beyond consuming everything but the little swath of light emitted from the bulb overhead, she watched him.

She huffed through her nose, clearly annoyed.

“Billie!” a voice sing-songed from inside.

That sound came from behind Joel, somewhere in the bedroom. It made the ears of his yappy, furry friend perk up, and no sooner had it rang out than the dog was padding back up the steps and right to the door.

With an expectant, See?-I’m-Fine look, she peered up.

“Go. Away,” Joel ordered, tone stern and authoritative.

Or at least trying to be. He couldn’t deny those eyes were his fucking kryptonite, and the longer he stood there watching her, the more his will began to crumble.

Then a hip bumped his. A flash of something in his periphery, and suddenly, you were slotted in between him and the door, ogling the ratty ball of fur on the deck.

You swung the door open at once.

“C’mere, sweet girl,” you crooned.

The lab bounded happily inside, sidling right up to you with her head held high. If Joel hadn’t known any better, he could’ve sworn he saw the little beast grin over at him.

Beaming somewhat smugly, as if to say, ‘I told you so.’

“That thing is not sleeping in here,” Joel huffed.

You turned to him, crouched by the dog.

“Says who?” you asked him.

“Says me. Damn dog already pissed and crapped and—”

“She’s just a baby, Joel. We can potty train her.” Then, scratching her behind the ears again. “Right, Billie?”

Joel put his hands on his hips, paternal consternation painted all over his face. He hated having to do this.

“You know we can’t be givin’ her no names, baby. It’ll just make it harder when we gotta give her back to her folks.”

You deflated a little hearing that. Kneeling on linoleum in an oversized gray tee that had once belonged to him, hand stroking over the yellow fur with an almost mournful touch, you chewed your bottom lip.

“Well, what if…what if we were her family?”

It just wasn’t realistic for the time being. You’d be moving into your apartment next week—and of course, the complex had a strict ‘No Pets’ policy—you were still on the hunt for a job, his own workload was getting heavier and heavier by the day, and you both had a busy month ahead. From Tommy and Maria’s destination wedding in just a few short weeks to the Billy Joel concert he’d bought tickets for and a million other things, it wasn’t wise at all to be taking on the responsibility of a pet.

Joel said as much by crouching beside you and the dog and stroking the lab’s back. He tried to use the gentlest tone he could muster up while he looked you in the eye.

“We agreed this was just a temporary thing, sweet pea.”

“You can’t always…plan for this stuff, though, right?”

You peered back up at him, and he sighed.

“No. No, you can’t. But with the place we’re at right now, I don’t think it’d be fair to either of us—or to this sweet little puppy—if we tried growing our home right now. We just don’t have the time to care for a dog. And I know you’d wanna be the best Mama you could possibly be.”

Joel expected that to get an understanding reaction out of you. A slow nod of your head, a little twitch of your lips to say that you saw what he meant and that you agreed with him—a pet just wasn’t in the cards for you right now

Instead, you burst into tears.

You rose to your feet and proceeded to flee the kitchen, hand over your face and sobs quick to rack through you.

Joel sat there, stunned for several seconds before the realization could even fully dawn on him. The dog beside him whined. She tilted her head to the left and watched the door where you’d gone out of, and then she stood up herself, about to follow you out. Joel shortly stopped her.

“Stay,” he commanded.

This time, thankfully, the lab obeyed.

She didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of missing out on all the action, but she was wise enough not to try any stunts. With a little huff, she plopped down on the floor and watched him leave, same as she had done with you.

Joel’s head was whirring with too many thoughts at once to worry himself with anything else at the moment. He lumbered into the bedroom that he shared with you and looked around—you couldn’t be found on the bed, in the reading nook, packing clothes and going, so he figured…

“Honey?” Joel knocked loudly on the bathroom door.

He waited a second and heard nothing. Instinct told him not to barge in immediately, but curiosity and worry both seized him in a chokehold at once. He put his hand on the doorknob, and, following another brief pause—after calling your name and getting no answer—he walked in.

When he did, you were already turning from the sink.

Your eyes were clear, and your cheeks were dry; all that was left to remind him that you’d just broke down crying in front of him a minute or two ago was a faint ring of pink around your irises. That part you couldn’t mask.

The rest was an uncanny performance, though.

You forced a smile and tried breezing past him in the doorframe. Muttered something about this ‘ridiculous PMS’ and how ‘emotional these hormones make you.’

Joel didn’t believe a syllable of what you said—and even if your outburst were due in part to hormones, he wanted to know how he could help. Make you feel better. He took you by the shoulders before you could pass, and he stopped you in the door. He pressed your back gently to the wooden frame to make you meet his look in turn.

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What was that?” He tried making his voice sound as soft and calm as possible.

Then you smiled again. Practically leered in his face.

“I just get in these moods. You know I do. I really—”

“What? You think I’m stupid now or somethin’?”

And Joel didn’t intend for those words to come off so abrasive, but the circumstances—that plastic painted grin twisting so casually at the corners of your lips—had him fit to be tied, and that irritation was only growing by the second. His grip slid down to your upper arms, firm.

He hated being so fatherly, but he knew he had to say it.

“You and me, we’re gonna talk this over like two adults. Only way to work things out is communication. Now s—”

“I might be pregnant.”

You spoke, and in the same instant, his lower back broke.

That was what it felt like, anyway—every time he got a muscle spasm at this age, it felt like someone had taken a cattle prod to his spine and had a field day with it. Like his vertebrae were composed of the same material found in glow sticks, and somebody much, much bigger than him had just snapped that motherfucker in two, it—

“Shiiiiiiit, shit, shit,” Joel cursed over and over.

You froze. Your mouth fell open.

“I knew it. I…fucking knew it.”

That was an accusation.

A charge, more like.

Joel’s eyes widened, both with the pain blossoming from his lower back and the realization that you thought that his reaction stemmed from being disappointed about you possibly having his child. Your eyes welled up with tears all over again, this time shameless and staying put.

You turned and strode off just as he reached for you.

Joel couldn’t move far or fast in his present condition, so he placed a hand on the small of his back and wobbled behind you, wincing a little as he called out your name.

“Baby!”

“Said you wanted a whole brood of kids seconds before shooting your load in me, but the second I mention a pet, suddenly I’m the crazy one. Forget about your baby batter actually fucking doing its job and maybe knock—”

“Sweet pea, listen to me. Please.”

You were throwing clothes into a suitcase. The two of you had only planned to spend the weekend at his granddad’s, so you didn’t have very much to pack.

“I’ve heard enough.” You rubbed your bleary eyes.

Tears were flowing freely down your cheeks now, and Joel was rounding the edge of the bed, pain still radiating up his back and a million emotions coursing through him at once. Almost simultaneously, another spasm hit, and this time, it all but bowled him over.

Joel found himself crouched by the bed where you were busy chucking shirts, skirts, panties, and socks into your bag, and his whole lower back suddenly seized with pain.

Fuck middle age.

“Joel?”

Just as quick, you stopped what you were doing.

“Joel, oh—oh fuck, are you having a stroke?!”

Now it was his turn to feel taken aback.

Gripping the old, flimsy bedspread in one hand and his back in the other, Joel shook his head fiercely. Quickly.

“N-No. No, hon, I’m fine.”

He felt a million years old.

You rushed to his side, not a crack in your joints as you squatted. Your tone changed completely, and your hand started rubbing circles in his back. Thankfully, it wasn’t where he was hurting, and he could manage, hoarsely:

“Just my back. Are—Are we havin’ a baby, darlin’?”

“I have no idea! Are you dying on me, Miller?”

“Not quite—”

“Because if you are, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Those words were harsh, but the voice that spoke them was alarmingly small. Soft. Your eyes were as wide as saucers, and you couldn’t stop touching him the second you suspected that something was amiss. Your anger vanished. Joel took one, long look at you then and almost forgot the agony he was in. His lips twitched.

“Y’ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy. Just…back spasms.”

“What?”

“Happens when you’re over the age of forty and exist.”

“So you should be used to it, after a hundred years?”

Little shit.

You were helping him to his feet. Making him sit on the bed. Joel couldn’t help the little grunt of amusement that pushed out of his chest, but he also wasn’t in the mood to be humorous. His head was still throbbing. Spinning.

“S’why I was cussin’ up a storm right after you told me…it was just my damn back. You know, darlin’, you know…” Now his own voice was failing him. Joel was short of breath and sitting up from the headboard, trying to hold you in some way. Luckily, you let him take your hands. “Ain’t a soul on this earth I’d rather start a family with…”

When he squeezed your palms, you pressed back gently.

You didn’t retreat, but your voice wasn’t quite the same. Your eyes met his, almost hesitating, still glossy and wet.

“But you don’t even want a…a dog together. You said—”

“I know.” Joel winced, now regretting his choice of words earlier. “I know I said that we were busy, and maybe we don’t have all the resources right now to make it…easy.”

He had to pause, and perhaps you thought it was for effect, or because his back was still hurting him some, but the truth was that it had just started to dawn on him. His throat grew tight; he couldn’t swallow, and suddenly, it was his own eyes blinking fast. Stinging with emotion.

“But a baby?”

His voice splintered with that last word. He tried, although he couldn’t bring himself to go on just yet.

“I—I don’t know for sure,” you interjected, hurried. “Haven’t taken a test or anything. It’s just been weeks since I was supposed to have my period, and I’ve felt…”

The two of you were perched on the edge of the bed, and across from him, Joel saw your face looking pensive. His eyes rounded with a realization, memories flooding back.

“At graduation. You were sick,” he murmured. “You…?”

You chewed at the inside of your cheek.

“I’d been sick. Aly bought me a test.”

“But you didn’t take it?”

“No. I was too scared.”

You looked like you might’ve been about to say more, when, at length, your brows pinched, and your whole expression looked like it was about to cave in on itself. Like you couldn’t control the wave of emotion rolling in.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

Joel wrapped you in his arms, and you started to sob.

Not like that slight, tight-lipped flow of tears that had started and ended before he could even blink; this one was long and poured straight into his chest, like a weight that was being stripped off of your back brick-by-brick.

You’d talked about babies before. You’d met his gaze with a bright, twinkling look in your own and told him you couldn’t wait. In softer, sensual, at-times spontaneous moments, you had sex and let him finish inside you, and you both went wild at the thought of his seed maybe sticking, but this? The reality was a different thing.

Joel let you cry as long as you needed, and he stroked your hair. He leaned back against the headboard, you safe and secure in his grasp, and he told you the truth.

“I love you,” he said, soft. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere, hear?”

You proceeded to sniffle, fisting his shirt, “But you…”

“Want this. Want you. Want the baby. The dog, the house, and the yard with the white picket fence. Everything you can think of, with you, I want.”

Another brief pause, and you peered up.

Joel went on without having to think.

“I only said what I said before ‘cause I thought it was the right thing to do. You’re just startin’ out in life, and I’m old as dirt, itchin’ to settle down and have you all to myself. But I know you’ve got stuff to figure out, like what you wanna be and where you wanna go, and I just want whatever that is to be your decision. Your choice.”

Those last words seemed to leave an impression. You blinked slowly, and then you sniffled again, thinking.

“Whether it’s a baby, this dog, a house, or anything else, you and me have all the time in the world to figure it out.”

Perhaps unconsciously, your hand then drifted to rest on your belly. The sight of it made Joel’s heart not only swell but want to burst in his chest, and he had to rein in his every impulse just to kiss your forehead and stay calm.

It was hard.

You searched his gaze.

“Whatever it is, I want it to be with you, Joel,” you said.

And when you tilted your chin up half a degree to press your lips to his, it was over. He kissed you deeply, with a feeling that would’ve almost surprised him if it weren’t so thoroughly embedded in his body by now. Every inch of him needed you, and every inch of him wanted to protect you, to keep you safe, and make sure that you knew he was ready to take this step. If you were ready.

Staring into your eyes after the two of you had pulled apart, both still sniffling and shedding some tears and laughing every now and then at how insane this was to be going through, Joel hoped that you would be ready.

“I love you, Miller,” you mumbled gently against his lips.

“I love you more,” he muttered back, and he meant it.

He was ready.

It all came down to Boston, the Bronco, and Billy Joel.

The singer’s namesake, a perpetually happy-go-lucky yellow lab, now sat between you and Joel in the front seat of the old car, panting loud. You didn’t blame her.

Currently, it was 103 degrees at the start of another blistering Austin heatwave, and the Bronco’s A/C was shot to shit. Your furry friend was keeping a brave face, but deep down, you knew she was dying inside listening to the Piano Man while waiting for her dad to pick up the pace. You couldn’t deny you were silently missing the winters in Massachusetts and wishing Joel was a little bit quicker with dressing. Beside you and Billie, in the driver’s seat, he was lacing up his left shoe.

He wore loafers, a crisp white polo, and khaki shorts.

The man had never looked more like a dad in his life; later today, you’d be finding out for certain if he was.

Seven days ago, you’d decided to wait a week before taking an at-home pregnancy test. Seven whole days hoping for that bloody chaos you’d come to despise the majority of your life—and still, to the present moment, nothing. You’d just parked outside Tommy and Maria’s house, planning to spend the afternoon celebrating them closing on said house, getting married in less than a month, and Maria landing a big promotion at her job.

You know, adult stuff.

Marriage, home ownership, career success, the whole nine yards. The only place you and Joel might’ve had them beat was a kid, but even that wasn’t a sure thing.

You wouldn’t tell anyone until it was, and once it was—if it was—you reckoned you’d be an absolute fucking mess.

You were already half-insane over the prospect of being a mother, much less learning that you were. At the same time, irrationally, you couldn’t keep your hands off Joel.

It was like the man had become a fucking drug lately.

Your sex drive was already through the roof as it was, and you’d always been wildly attracted to him before, but this was new. It was different. Nothing had ever made you more feral or needy than…whatever the fuck this was.

Presently, Joel hiked up his shorts even higher on one leg and opened the driver’s side door. He propped his foot up, about to try and fix the laces again, when Billie dove across his lap. She tore off down the lawn like her tail was on fire all the way to the backyard, where the sounds of the barbecue could no doubt be heard to her.

“Damn dog,” Joel muttered. He smiled saying it, though.

You were too busy ogling how big his thighs looked straining against cotton, wanting to take a bite out of one

Right as he fixed the wayward loafer laces and turned to say something to the effect of, ‘You ready, sweet pea?’, you reached over him and slammed the car door shut. You pulled—no, wrenched—your panties down your legs from under the hem of your red gingham dress and then straddled Joel’s lap. Then you changed your mind. You pried yourself off the old man and made your way into the backseat, where you two would have some room.

“You comin’?” You pouted up at him in the rearview.

It took Joel a half-second to process. He blinked.

“In…in the driveway?” He looked around briefly.

You knew the question, as well as the momentary bout of bewilderment, was mostly perfunctory; he’d gotten used to you needing him at all hours of the day, in the most unconventional places. This wasn’t the weirdest spot you’d done it by a long shot. Not even in the last week.

“This was the first place we ever had sex, y’know,” you said, batting your lashes at him sweetly. Teasing him. “Back when you defiled me coming home from college.”

“That ain’t how I remember it.” And Joel was already coming after you. Clambering over the front seats.

Then he was under you, lying down a little awkwardly with his gigantic frame taking up most of the space in the backseat. You sat on his belly. Lifted your dress skirt.

“You jumped me, didn’t ya, pretty girl?” Joel smirked.

“Might have. I was horny,” you replied, smiling, too.

Vaguely, you recalled calling him daddy in the lobby of that seedy backcountry motel, and the rest was history.

Now you were undoing his clothes again. Taking him out, same as you’d helped him do on that first night, and the overwhelming heat in the vehicle today hardly bothered you at all. You were reminiscing—brushing his bare tip between your thighs and smearing your wetness with him. You straddled his hips and looked around you both.

“My purse.” You reached over, mumbling, “Condoms.”

Joel grabbed your thighs and nudged you up his body before you could make it far. While fucking with rubbers and having him inside was the first thing on your mind, something else was on his. He angled you over his face.

Feeling stubble on your inner thighs, you whimpered.

“Y’let daddy have a taste first, right?” Joel hummed.

You had.

You and Joel had played a game of ‘Too Hot,’ and he’d topped it off by finishing you off with his lips and tongue. In keeping with tradition, it seemed only fair to give him the chance to do it again, but you were impatient, too.

The headrest beside you got a hard squeeze, shortly. Your fingers curled into the cushion as you grit your teeth together and Joel’s tongue swiped up your slit.

Damn, he felt good.

You hadn’t even needed the foreplay, and here he was, licking through your folds like this was the key to his own happiness. Like nothing would make him more content.

At length, you looked down and watched him do it. You scanned the tanned, weathered plane of Joel’s forehead, every wrinkle and sunspot and sign of aging that you had come to love over the last months, and you whined again

His tongue stroked you methodically and deliberately. He coaxed your clit with just the tip and then sucked the little nub between two soft and plush lips. Everything about the pressure was delectable, from the warmth of his mouth to the way you felt the grays in his stubble tease your skin to how expertly he worked you over. Pleasure mounted, and Joel’s efforts increased, too.

He let you fuck his face. You rode it, basically, but with even more force from how he’d grip the sides of your legs and rut your hips hard over his waiting, open mouth.

Even lying supine under you, Joel was always in control. You loved not having to think a damn thing while he was pleasuring you like this—or in any position, really—and you could just shut off your brain. You’d hold the headrest in one hand and a clump of dark, silver-streaked hair in the other, and simply breathe. Hiccup, moan, curse aloud occasionally, all of it in a good way.

You were a good girl with some raging, yet-unexplained hormones coursing through your body that made you want to scream. So you did. With a thick, damp beard between your thighs and a tongue moving relentlessly through your sensitive heat, big hands leaving imprints on your hips and thighs, and a smirk searing against your center the whole time, you let out a cry that was primal.

Feral.

Your legs trembled against Joel’s face as you came, and your body couldn’t hold you upright for long after it hit. You slumped forward, into the window, and cried again.

Insatiable, too, it seemed.

Body still tight, your hips continued to rut mindlessly as if waiting for something more that you couldn’t decipher.

This time, Joel was moving out from under you. He worked an arm around your front, gently, and then, positioned behind you, slid his fingers inside your pussy.

He pumped his index and middle fingers once, twice, stretching your still-pulsing walls around them before pulling back out. Like he could tell there was something else you needed to release, he pulled you into his lap and had you sit. He repositioned you both to sit facing the front of the car, and your legs draped lazily over his.

He pushed his fingers inside you again.

Still only two, but curving them upward to pet the ridged wall of flesh and get in deeper, he kissed your shoulder. He made a rhythm of it, easily, and worked you back up to a high you didn’t even know that you needed. When you climaxed again, this time over thick, callused fingers, the lightest stream followed it. Joel made you squirt, and he didn’t stop moving his hand until it had all come out.

Then he kissed your shoulder again, lips soft and wet.

“Better?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Boneless as you felt, you still managed to turn around. Your eyes must’ve been glazed, the heady warmth of your first and second orgasms still thrumming through your veins, and you smiled softly at Joel. He smiled back.

Now he’d let you have him.

He was wise like that—old and sage and more experienced in sex than you by decades. You sometimes forgot about that. It was in moments like these that he was able to remind you: fucked out as he had you, needy as you’d been all day, he could show you just what your body could take, and what it might give to him in return.

When he filled you, it felt a little bit like coming home.

Joel must have snagged a Trojan from out of his shorts pocket and put it on while you were coming down from your high, and you didn’t mind at all. Latex-covered or not, every inch of him was precious going in, and you appreciated the consideration for your present state.

Just to be safe.

Unlike the first time you’d done this, up in the front seat of the Bronco, you and Joel were now familiar with each other. His cock stretched your pulsing wet hole, and the only words out of his mouth for the longest time were ‘I love you’ and ‘This feel alright?’ Nothing else was said until Joel felt certain you were comfortable having him there, hands secure around your hips and eyes following your every movement. He watched you hiccup and nod.

“‘M’alright. Start movin’, daddy, please,” you whined.

He knew you, and you knew him, almost too well.

Instead of gratifying you immediately, Joel lifted one broad and callused palm and cradled the back of your head with it. His brown eyes twinkled, and you could see that he was serious about taking care of you. He had to.

“My baby ain’t sore?” he asked, pointedly. “Ain’t hurt?”

“No, sir.”

You saw a flicker of heat leap to his gaze on hearing that. He let you snake your arms around his neck and wriggle your hips a little, taking in his heft and his girth as best you could. Your walls clenched involuntarily, and fuck if it didn’t feel a bit like suffocating. He was always so big.

Joel stretched you, dove to the sweetest depths of your body, and made you full. He only started moving when he saw that you were ready; then it was all soft, gentle thrusts and tender kisses. Digging deep to find that special spot inside you and hitting it repeatedly with the head of his cock. Hypersensitized as you were, it felt like every throbbing inch was in all the way to your lungs, and you couldn’t have been happier. Your head lolled forward into the crook of Joel’s neck then, and you soaked him in

“That’s a good girl,” Joel hummed. Now rubbing your back while he pistoned his cock in and out of you rhythmically. “That’s my girl. Always so sweet f’me.”

You were leaking around him, too.

Slick smeared your groin and Joel’s and made for the most obscene sorts of noises as you fucked. It practically flattened the wiry grays at the base of the old man’s abdomen, making his whole happy trail and thatch of hair beneath it a dampened mess. On top of everything, you and him were sweating. Your mouths were wet with a mix of spit and that same, tangy arousal that Joel had tongued out of your cunt, and you hummed at the taste.

Then he made things even wetter when he licked his thumb. Joel held it up, as if asking you to inspect it.

“Suck.”

The command was simple; you followed it.

While he continued to fuck up into you from below, hips grinding at a steady, gentle cadence, he pressed his thumb into your mouth. You took it in to the knuckle.

From all the months you two had been having sex, you already knew what this was for. You bobbed your head, gaze plastered to his, and you whimpered a little. You licked the warm, ridged skin and curled your tongue.

Joel groaned, and then the thumb was out. He had you leaning back, hands bracing yourself on his meaty thighs, while he lowered his touch to rub your clit.

In contrast to his languid thrusts, the little circles he made on your throbbing bundle of nerves were both fast and tight. Pressing, just like you liked them. Seeing how your head fell back on a long, protracted moan, Joel could no doubt tell that you were almost at your peak.

“C’mon, pretty girl, one more for daddy. Wanna feel it.”

Your legs trembled. Your walls tightened around him.

You were so fucking close to that devastating precipice that all you could do was whimper and whine and rut your hips against the stab of Joel’s impossibly thick cock, wanting release more than the air you breathed.

Then Joel leaned forward.

Tilting your face back up to him, pressing your nose to his nose and fucking so deep in your guts that he was almost touching your cervix, he nodded once. Knowing.

“How’s that feel, mama?”

And his cock sank even deeper.

The response in you was immediate and instinctive.

Overwhelmed as you’d been all this time, agonizing through every waking hour over how a pregnancy would completely upend your life, you felt your walls cling to Joel’s cock and pulse around him. It must have been something primal and senseless inside you, because as soon as he’d said those words, you were reaching climax.

The feeling was deep. Sweet. Dizzying to your every sense as Joel Miller met your gaze in earnest and split you down his big, throbbing cock. His thrusts sped up, and he didn’t hesitate to say it again as you came apart.

“That feel good, mama? This pussy feel nice an’ full?”

“Joel.”

His name crawled through your teeth, choked, and your cunt spasmed again. Your body milked him desperately.

“I bet she does. Loves gettin’ stretched by this cock.”

“Daddy.”

Your gaze was almost pained with how good it all felt. Pulling Joel closer to you, you panted into his mouth.

He grinned.

“Gonna make her real full someday—” he started.

“Today,” you interrupted. Chest heaving. “Now.”

“Wh—”

“Maybe you already made me a mama, Joel.”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them. Joel’s cock throbbed inside you, and his jaw slackened.

Then you felt him twitch again. His grip tightened.

He flipped you onto your back along the seat.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathed.

Another jerk. Another shuddering groan.

Without further warning, Joel’s hips stilled in place, and his eyes closed. Your legs wrapped around his lower half and tilted up to give him access, exactly like he deserved. Warmth spread in the next second, filling the latex barrier between your bodies, and you sighed.

You wished it were in you, sticky and wet.

“I—I took a test.”

Joel’s eyes snapped open.

His body lifted from yours immediately, up on his elbows, and his gaze searched your face for a better explanation.

“Four, actually,” you went on, starting to sit up with him.

Joel’s whole expression turned to stone before your eyes. Completely transformed from the strain and the bliss of his last release, the man now looked as if you’d just grown a second head. He was stunned into silence.

Then he was pulling out. Discarding the used rubber. Running fingers through his hair and moving carefully.

“Are…are you…?” he stammered. “Baby, are we…?”

You were about to answer him. You were smoothing down the front of your dress and then trying to tame your hair, but both efforts were futile. Your hands shook.

“Well, I—”

THUMP.

Thump, thump, thump.

“No sex allowed in my driveway!”

Tommy Miller beat on the window directly behind you, and you jumped. Thankfully, Joel had already zipped up.

Still, the older brother groaned.

“Would you give us a minute, dickhead?” he growled.

“No,” Tommy snapped back, tone defiant. Slamming his palm on the pane once more. “I can’t even see inside here ‘cause y’all’ve been steamin’ it up! It’s sickening.”

Gingerly, you turned and rolled the window down—cranking the thing, since Joel’s vehicle was so old.

When you met Tommy’s face, you half-expected a frown. Instead, he had on a triumphant look, like, ‘Ha. Got y’all.’

You could feel Joel’s middle finger itching to flick him off.

Beside Tommy, to your surprise—and embarrassment—you saw Maria. A hint of amusement raised her brows.

“We got a rack of ribs and a couple burgers smothered with pickles, just like you asked for,” she told you sweetly

Your cheeks heated remembering that special request.

Before you could speak, Maria went on, grinning: “Are you sure you’re not pregnant? My sister had the same cravings with her last two. Put pickles on everything.”

Joel might’ve choked on his spit. You heard him cough, right as your own throat tightened to the point of closing.

Tommy took that as his cue to interject.

“Holy shit, y’all are fuckin’ pregnant.”

As he laughed, Joel snapped:

“Don’t even start, Tomm—”

“I’m gonna be an uncle!”

While Tommy turned to shoot a too-smug, beaming look over at Maria, you were already climbing back into the front seat. Joel followed, and his expression was grim.

His brother stuck his head in through the back window.

“Tommy if it’s a boy, Tammy if it’s a girl—how ‘bout it?”

You leaned and reached for your purse. Rifling through it, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you. They were questioning.

More than a little bit scared.

His brother chattered on, oblivious.

“Won’t be long before you gotta buy diapers for the baby and him, I reckon.” Tommy gestured to Joel with a wink.

You said nothing. Your hands were too busy collecting four plastics sticks out of a Ziploc baggie in your tote.

Clearly, the man outside hadn’t had his fill of poking fun at his big brother yet, and was still waiting on a reaction, because he leaned even further into the Bronco, leering.

“What? No comeback?” he goaded you both teasingly.

While you didn’t retrieve your latest find from out of your bag, worried Tommy might see it, you did turn and smile.

This time, you made sure he heard you, loud and clear:

“Tommy, if I wanted my comeback, I would’ve wiped it off your brother’s chin. Now go get me a burger, please.”

Strangely, you’d never felt more certain—or starved for the biggest helping of barbecue, burgers, and pickles—in your life. It almost seemed like the nail in the coffin, this craving, and then Tommy and Maria saying it outright.

You had to be pregnant, surely.

You had to meet Joel’s gaze, hand still inside your purse. His brother laughed like the good sport he was, Maria chuckled and shook her head, and then the two of them were making their way back to the party in the backyard, where you and Joel would no doubt find yourselves later.

After you figured this shit out.

After you shared with Joel what you had already done.

“Darlin’,” Joel started, voice wavering the slightest bit. Then, lowering even more to say it: “Are you pregnant?”

“I don’t know.”

Slowly, you lifted the little plastic bag out of your purse, making sure to keep your grip covering most of it. You didn’t show it to Joel immediately, but his gaze was near.

Brown eyes widened. The lines around his mouth grew more pronounced as he gnawed the inside of his cheek.

“Is that…?”

“I took four tests right before we left. I know you’re supposed to check immediately, and the results might not be accurate anymore, but I…I wanted to wait first,” you said, hold tightening even more. “Didn’t wanna find out until you were there with me. Then I got…distracted, seeing you in your shorts earlier, and…anyway, I bought some others, so we can go inside and take the test ag—”

“Let’s check ‘em anyway. If that—if that’s OK with you.”

Joel sounded so hopeful, blinking a little more quickly.

He wanted to know now, despite being scared as you.

You opened the bag and nodded back at him.

“I didn’t want it to ruin the afternoon…”

You’d just taken the tests out, still holding them low so you couldn’t see them yet, when Joel’s eyes jumped to yours. His hands shortly followed, and before long, he was cupping your cheeks. Holding your gaze intently.

“Y’think findin’ out news like that is gonna ruin my day?” His tone was steeped in disbelief, and he was already shaking his head. “Don’t ever think that, baby. Please.”

And he looked so sure of it. Every worn line in his face, every disheveled salt-and-pepper lock of hair, every soft rise and fall of his chest under that bright, white, sweat-dampened polo—the man seemed secure as anything.

Your bottom lip trembled, and you winced to keep the tears at bay. You really tried, but a few slid out anyway.

“I’m scared,” you whispered.

“I know.” Joel swiped the moisture with his thumbs, and he drew even closer to kiss your forehead, pressing gently. “It’s OK. This is still your choice, remember?”

You set the tests on the dashboard. You didn’t look over. When Joel lifted his palms to start kissing the tears that had streaked down your face, you only broke down more.

Fucking hormones.

“Either way it goes, I’m gonna be here. No matter what,” Joel assured you. In between soft pecks, he was smiling.

Despite your tears, you tried smiling back.

Choking out a laugh when his stubble tickled your face.

“Baby or no baby?” you sniffled up at him.

“No matter what,” Joel repeated.

“You mean it?”

“Sweet pea, someday soon I’m gonna make you my w—”

Suddenly, another knock interrupted Joel’s speech. It was gentler than the last, though evidently hard enough.

You turned, and it felt like your face went up in flames.

Joel and you weren’t doing anything, and still, a look from that man made it feel like you’d just been caught red-handed, and nothing would likely ever change that.

Your dad had made it that way.

He was standing outside the Bronco on Joel’s side, resting a hand on the roof and leaning into the window.

And though you couldn’t quite read his look through the glare of the midafternoon sun, it was clear he looked like shit. His face was drawn, expression limp, and the eyes that stared into the car were as hollow and desolate as you’d ever seen them. It was like looking down into a pit.

Your stomach turned inside you.

At just the sight of him, you felt nauseous again.

It’d been almost a month since you’d last spoken to your father face-to-face. On that occasion, he’d called you a ‘stupid fucking slut’ and tried carrying on like nothing.

Evidently, the same memory was running through Joel’s head, as he pushed out of the car in the next second. He didn’t hesitate to shove your dad away with the door and meet him head-on, just to force the man backward again

With an expression that was flinty and stern, finger pointed directly at your father’s chest, he spoke low.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Listen, I know—”

“Go home.”

Joel’s words brooked no argument. They didn’t show him to be openly hostile or irate, just steady in his appraisal. Firm in the belief your dad needed to fuck off.

Mark peered around his shoulder anyway.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. For everything.”

Inwardly, you cringed. On the outside, you had to keep up a front like you weren’t about to break down again.

First the pregnancy shit, now back to this.

Would it ever end with him and Joel?

“Dad. Please go,” you choked out.

He only drew closer. That prompted Joel to take a step that way as well, blocking your father from gaining too much on the Bronco. Of course, it wasn’t a perfect wall.

Your dad managed to snake toward the open doorway.

As soon as he did, Joel made sure to spare him no effort: he took hold of the man’s collar, arm hard across his chest, and thrust him up against the side of the car. The motion rattled the whole frame of the old Bronco, and out of habit, you leapt toward it. You stopped halfway across the center console, gaze darting to Joel’s, and your lips parted. You were already shaking your head.

Watching yet another violent scene unfold wasn’t high on your list of priorities. Fortunately, your dad didn’t budge an inch to resist and instead only turned his head.

“Sweetheart,” he tried again, voice a touch more hoarse this time around. Pleading. “I didn’t mean nothin’ I said.”

Joel lowered his arm, but he didn’t release the collar. With a firm grip, he kept your dad pinned to the spot.

“Which part? Those ugly fuckin’ names that you called her, or sayin’ she’d be better off without me?” he pressed

Your father coughed. The force must’ve been a lot.

“I mean, all of it. Really. I regret everything I sai—”

“And you think I’m doing this to piss you off. Like Joel is some sort of ploy to make your life miserable,” you cut in.

“I know he ain’t. Not from the way you two have been…” Your father trailed off, as if the words were too weighty on his tongue. He tore his gaze from you and Joel and opted to stare off someplace else inside the Bronco then. “From how you look at him, and he looks at you, it just…”

Silence. More inarticulable blinks and a heavy swallow.

“You’ll always be my little girl, and it’s just hard seein’…”

At the same time, his gaze landed on one particular spot and froze in place. His body stiffened, and with it, the grip on his collar constricted, too. Joel clearly didn’t notice the path of your dad’s vision, and he frowned.

“Mark—” he started, low.

“What—What the fuck is that?”

Your gaze and Joel’s snapped in time to follow his look.

As soon as you did, your heart plummeted to your feet. Joel was still holding onto your father’s shirt like he could’ve swung at him at any moment, but then it was as if you could feel his whole demeanor shift. You weren’t watching his face, but you could see those eyes widen.

Joel stared, dumbstruck.

Your father raised his voice.

With the attention of everyone now glued to the four tests sitting out on the dash, it rang loud as anything:

“You’re fucking pregnant?!”

Well.

At least the waiting game was over.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader

3K notes · View notes

usetheeauthor · 1 month ago

Text

Dirty little secret.

Summary: You want tommy miller to take your virginity.

Pairing: Jackson!tommy x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+. Infidelity, manhandling, degration, darcyphilia, big age gap (40s,20s), breasts worship, breast play, biting, bruising, marking, virginity loose, mean/dom tommy.

Word count: 4.000+

You'd have to be blind not to know that you were in love with Tommy. Every part of your body wanted him. Wanted to be touched by him, wanted him to take your virginity, to have him make you his. Yet, the universe had other plans.

He was married, and there was nothing you could do to change that fact. You could never get Tommy to notice you. He was married, and his wife was, well, nice, and that hurt.

Every day when you'd see him, there would be this tiny pang of envy in your gut as he interacted with her, even something as simple as giving her a kiss on the cheek was a stab in the gut for you.

You wanted to be the one he would come back from patrol to after a long day, not her, and that knowledge was killing you Despite all this, there was no denying that your heart still beat faster whenever you saw him. You'd smile sweetly, trying to catch his eye, but his responses were always gruff and short, a terse "How ya doing" and a quick nod. You wanted more.

You wanted his full attention. But all you got was his polite acknowledgement. It was torture. Seeing him with her. It was like a knife twisting in your heart, over and over. They would kiss and chat and laugh and tease, the epitome of a loving couple, and you would be forced to sit there and watch.

Unable to look away, even though you knew it would hurt. The jealousy was like poison, and you felt like it was slowly killing you. The sun was intense, the temperature climbing as you made your way to the stable.

You chose a pale blue sundress for the weather, the soft fabric light and cool against your skin, a welcome respite from the heat. With a glass of lemonade clasped in your fingers, you made your way to the stables, heart pounding in your chest. You knew he was in there.

It was an opportunity, something you hadn't had before, and you weren't going to waste it. You stepped into the stable, looking for him.

Tommy was hard at work, his white shirt sticking to the hard planes of his chest, the fabric damp with sweat. His sleeves were been rolled up, his strong forearms on display as he fixed the broken fence in the stables.

Every now and then, a bead of sweat would trickle down his temple, his face flushed from the heat. He looked handsome and rugged and so, so attractive. Your heart was in your throat as you approached him, your eyes trailing over his broad shoulders and muscular arms, the sweat making his shirt cling to his body.

You cleared your throat, announcing your presence. "Hey." You greeted him, your voice breathier than you'd like. Tommy looked up at the sound of your voice, his eyes meeting yours. He paused his work for a moment and wiped away a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. "Hey," he echoed, his gruff voice sending a shiver down your spine. "What brings you here?" You clutched the glass of lemonade in your hand, its coolness contrasting with the heat on your skin.

"I, um, I brought you some lemonade." You held out the glass towards him, your hand trembling a little. "Thought you might be thirsty, with all the work you're doing." You tried to sound casual, your words spilling out almost too fast. "You're doing so much for this community, and it's just so unbearably hot out here. I don't want you to pass out on us because of some stupid heatstroke."

You let out a nervous giggle, your eyes not quite meeting his. You could feel your heart racing and butterflies in your stomach. Tommy took the glass of lemonade from you, his fingertips briefly brushing against yours. He seemed a little taken aback by your words, his rugged features softening just a little. "Thanks," he mumbled gruffly, taking a big gulp of the lemonade. "Just doin' my part, doll."

Your heart skipped at the nickname, butterflies swarming in your stomach. Doll. The word sounded so sweet, so possessive, coming from him. You let out a soft laugh, trying to act cool. "Well, you're doing a damn good job." You smiled at him, a hint of flirtation in your eyes.

Tommy took another big swig of the lemonade, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. He eyed you curiously, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a small smirk. "You keepin' tabs on me or something?" He teased, his rough tone sending another shiver down your spine. You shook your head, trying to act nonchalant even though your heart was pounding against your ribcage.

"Maybe I am," you teased back, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Can't have the town's handyman overexerting himself in this heat, can we?" Tommy chuckled, a low, pleasant sound that made your stomach flutter.

"Don't worry about me, doll," he said, his gaze roaming over you. "I can handle a little heat." His eyes lingered on the curves of your body, taking in the way your sundress hugged your figure. You felt a thrill at the way his eyes wandered over you, the heat in the stable suddenly feeling even more intense.

You shifted, the fabric of your sundress rubbing against your skin, and you caught him watching the way the movement of your body. Your cheeks flushed, and you cursed yourself for being so affected by his gaze.

"Just be careful out here," you said, your voice betraying you and coming out as a breathy whisper. Suddenly, you felt a dizzy spell come over you, the heat and excitement of the moment catching up to you.

Your vision swam for a moment, and you stumbled backward, You braced yourself against the stable's wooden wall, trying to catch your balance. "Whoa…" You breathed, feeling weak and shaky.

"Whoa, hey hey." Tommy dropped his tools, crossing the distance between you in a few quick strides. He reached out, steadying you with a strong grip on your arm. "You okay, doll?" He asked, his eyebrows furrowed. You tried to wave him off, but your head was still spinning.

"I'm fine," you insisted, though your weak voice betrayed you. "Just need to sit down for a minute." You leaned against the wall, your knees feeling a bit wobbly. Tommy gently steered you towards an old stack of hay bales in the corner of the barn.

"Sit down here," he ordered gruffly, his hand still on your arm, his touch gentler than you'd expect. You sat down heavily on the hay bale, feeling a little lightheaded. Tommy hovered over you for a moment, his eyes studying your face. He noticed the flushed color in your cheeks and the way you were panting, both from the heat and whatever had just happened to you.

"You don't look so good," he said gruffly, You waved your hand away as he offered the glass of lemonade back to you. "No, no," you protested, feeling a bit guilty. "I made that for you. You need to hydrate." Tommy shook his head, pushing the glass back towards you. "Drink it," he ordered, his tone brokering no argument.

"You need it more than I do right now." You hesitated for a moment, feeling a little stubborn. But then again he wasn't going to back down until you drank that lemonade. So, with a small, huffy sigh, you took the glass from him and lifted it to your lips, taking a careful sip. The cold, tangy liquid felt heavenly on your overheated body.

Tommy watched you take a sip, seeming satisfied that you were finally listening to him. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall beside you, his gaze never leaving your face. "Better?" He asked gruffly, his eyes roaming over your form. You nodded, feeling a little bit stronger as the sugar from the lemonade hit your system. "Better," you confirmed, setting the glass down next to you on the hay bale.

You took a moment to catch your breath, your gaze flicking up to Tommy. He was still standing there, his tall form, his eyes watching you intently. Slowly, you pushed yourself up from the hay bale, feeling steadier on your feet now.

You found yourself standing very close to Tommy, your body mere inches from his. You looked up at him, your eyes widened in a way that made you look almost innocent, like a doe. A soft smile curved your lips, and you murmured a quiet

"Thank you." As you stood there, so close that he could feel the heat radiating off your skin. His eyes roamed over your face, taking in the sweetness of your expression. His gruff exterior softened just a little at your soft 'thank you,' and he nodded gruffly in response.

"You feeling better now?" He asked, You found yourself inching closer to him, your body seemingly moving of its own volition. You were so close now that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, and the scent of him - a mix of sweat, horses, and something uniquely him - was intoxicating.

Your eyes were half-lidded, your lips parted slightly, as if you were about to kiss him. It was as if time was standing still, Just as you were about to close the distance between you and Tommy, his large, work-roughened hands clamped down on your arms, stopping you cold in your tracks.

He looked down at you, his brow furrowing, and growled out, "Now what do you think you're doin'?" His grip was firm but not painful, his touch possessive. His eyes burned into yours, a mixture of surprise and irritation flashing across his handsome face.

You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself frozen in his grip. You had gotten a little carried away, and now you had crossed a line that you knew you shouldn't have. You could feel the heat of his body so close to you, and you could feel the strength in his hands as they held you in place.

Tommy's face was just inches from yours. Tommy's grip on your arms didn't loosen, his fingers digging into your flesh just a bit deeper. His voice, gruff and low, rumbled through the air between you. "Just what's going through that pretty little head of yours?" He growled, his eyes locked with yours. He was trying to keep his cool, but there was a raw edge to his words, a hint of frustration and something else... desire?

You could see the muscle in his jaw clenching as he struggled to keep his control. He seemed torn between his desire to push you away and his desire to pull you closer. His gaze flicked to your lips, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "You gotta stop lookin' at me like that, doll," he muttered gruffly.

"It's making it damn hard to resist you. You think I don't notice the way you look at me in the cafeteria?" he grumbled, his grip on your arms tightening ever so slightly. "I see the way you shift in your seat whenever I kiss my wife. You make it damn obvious, doll." His eyes bored into yours, He seemed to be fighting an internal battle, his body tense and coiled like a spring ready to snap.

"It's like you're damn obsessed with me or something," he grunted, his voice rough with suppressed emotion.

"Can't go a damn minute without staring at me like some lovesick lost puppy. It's enough to drive a man crazy."

His grip on your arms was tight now, his fingers bruising your skin just a little. He was getting more and more worked up by the second, You could feel your heart pounding at his words, an odd mix of humiliation and excitement coursing through you.

He had noticed your stares, your little infatuations, and he was calling you out on it. It was embarrassing and thrilling all at once. You swallowed hard, your throat dry, and managed to stutter out a response. "I... I can't help it," you admitted, your own body thrumming with the proximity of him.

"As bad as it sounds," you breathed out, your voice trembling. "I just... I just want you. You're all I've been able to think about. Every time I see you with her, I can't stand it. I want you all to myself. I want you to be the first. I don't want anyone else. Just... just you." Your confession seemed to hit him like a physical blow, He let out a low, guttural noise, his breathing growing ragged.

"Doll..." he muttered, his voice gruff and filled with something that sounded almost like pain. " you can't say things like that. It ain't fair at all." Your words seemed to break something in him, his control snapping like a frayed rope, he released your arms, his hands gripping your hips instead, his fingers almost digging into your skin. "You don't know what you're asking for, doll," he grunted through clenched teeth, his eyes blazing with hunger.

"You don't know the damn things I've been thinking of doing to you lately." He pulled you closer, his large, rough hands gripping your hips tightly, his body pressed close against yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your skin. "Ever since you came to Jackson, I've been going mad. I try to ignore you, try to pretend that I don't notice the way you look at me. But goddamn it, doll, it's driving me insane.

You're everywhere I damn look." His grip on your hips tightened even more as he brought his face close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

He smirked darkly, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "Let's keep this our little secret, doll," he whispered gruffly, his voice a low, sensual rumble. "No one has to know about this. It'll be just you and me. Our dirty, little secret."

As he whispered those words, his eyes flicked to the door to the stable, making sure that no one was coming. The thought that this was wrong, that this would be their secret, made the whole situation even hotter. He ran his hands up and down your sides, his touch possessive and greedy. "You're mine, doll," he growled, his voice low and intense.

"This, whatever the hell this is... it's just between us." You felt a shiver run down your spine at his possessive words. He was claiming you, making it clear that this was just between the two of you. It was wrong, so very wrong on so many levels, but somehow that knowledge only made it more thrilling.

"Yes," you whispered breathlessly. "I'm yours. Just yours."

With a low, possessive growl, Tommy picked you up with ease, and in a few quick strides, had you laid down on the nearest stack of hay bales.

It was soft and comfortable, and your body sunk into it a little, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. With a low, possessive growl, Tommy picked you up with ease, and in a few quick strides, had you laid down on the nearest stack of hay bales.

It was soft and comfortable, and your body sunk into it a little, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. Tommy positioned himself over you, his body pressed up against yours, pinning you down into the hay. He straddled you, his strong arms braced on either side of your head, trapping you underneath him.

He leaned down, his lips claiming yours in a passionate kiss that stole your breath away. His body was hot and hard above you, his weight pressing you into the hay. He kissed you deeply, greedily, his tongue slipping into your mouth, tasting and teasing you.

Tommy deepened the kiss, his desire for you pouring into every movement of his lips and tongue. He groaned against your mouth, his body shifting slightly, pressing even more firmly into yours. His hands began to wander, roaming over your body, his touch rough and needy. He broke the kiss for a moment, his lips moving to your neck, trailing hot, wet kisses down the sensitive skin.

He nipped and sucked, leaving marks that would be visible later. You closed your eyes and let your head fall to the side, baring your neck to him. You couldn't help the soft moan that escaped you as his lips and teeth continued to work their magic on your skin. You bit down on your own plump lip, trying to keep quiet, but failing miserably.

Tommy chuckled softly at the sounds you were making, the feel of your body trembling under his touch driving him wild. He took his time, his hands roaming over your curves, his lips and tongue tracing a path down your neck and across your collarbone.

"Damn, doll," he growled, "you're so damn sensitive." He pressed a kiss to the hollow of your neck, his teeth nipping playfully at the soft skin there. You gasped softly as his lips left your neck, trailing down to the swell of your breasts. His teeth nipped gently at your skin, leaving little marks that would be tender to the touch.

His hands roamed up your body, slipping under the fabric of your shirt, his fingertips grazing over your bare skin. "So soft," he murmured, his voice low and gruff. "So beautiful." Tommy's hands fumbled with the strings on her dress, his eagerness making him clumsy.

Tommy groaned in irritation as the dress kept getting in the way of his hands roaming freely over your body. He grabbed the thin strings tied at your shoulders and untied them roughly, causing your full round breasts to spill out suddenly while the rest of the dress stayed intact belowyour waist. As the ties gave way, Tommy's gaze immediately dropped to your newly exposed chest.

His eyes darkened with hunger as he took in the sight of your full, round breasts. He could see the faint blush spreading across your cheeks and neck, a sign of your sudden shyness under his intense stare. "Don't." His voice came out rougher than intended, but he wanted you to understand - don't shy away from him now. Not when he was enjoying the view so fucking much.

Those perfect handfuls were rising and falling slightly with your quickened breathing. "Look at me, You wanted this didn't ya, darlin'?" His tone was teasing, almost mocking, as he drawled out the words. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Why all shy now, after you were practically beginnin' for it."

"Maybe because you're staring at my boobs like you've never seen them before," you snapped back, your cheeks flaming red. Tommy threw his head back and chuckled, the sound low and husky.

"Baby girl," he drawled before leaning down, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth without warning. He started sucking hard, pulling it deep into his mouth while his tongue flicked over the sensitive peak. He could feel your nipple hardening under his tongue as he sucked harder, his teeth gently nipping at the sensitive bud.

His hands roamed up your sides, squeezing your breasts possessively while he switched focus to the other nipple, giving it equal attention. As he continued sucking and nibbling, he felt your fingers tangling in his dark curls, holding him tightly against your chest.

Your back arched slightly, pushing your breasts further into his face as a throaty moan escaped your lips. The sensation of his rough facial hair against your smooth sensitive skin was driving you wild.

"Jesus Christ," Tommy muttered against your skin, feeling your nails digging into his scalp. He loved the way you moaned and squirmed, clearly enjoying the attention he was giving your tits.

He bit down gently on one hard peak, making you cry out and push your chest further into his face. Without warning, Tommy reached down and hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, tearing them roughly to the side.

He didn't waste any time, shoving his hand inside your dress and between your legs. He could feel how wet you were already, and it only made him harder. "Fuck, You're fuckin' soaked," he growled against your skin before pulling back slightly to look up at you with those piercing blue eyes.

"Is this all for me? Did my baby girl want daddy's cock?" He slid a thick finger inside you, making you gasp loudly. He started pumping his finger in and out of you slowly, watching as you bit your bottom lip to stifle a moan.

"Look at you, spread open for me like a needy little slut," he taunted, adding another finger and curling them inside you. "Your tiny little pussy can't even take two of my fingers," he teased cruelly, scissoring his fingers inside you and stretching your tight hole. "What the fuck am I gonna do with you when I shove my big fat dick inside this tiny little hole?"

He could feel your walls clenching around his fingers as he continued to fuck you with them, his thumb brushing against your clit every so often. You were panting now, your body trembling with desire. Tommy pulled his fingers out suddenly and brought them to his mouth, sucking your juices off greedily.

Tommy licked his fingers clean, never breaking eye contact with you. He could see the flush on your cheeks, the way your chest heaved with each breathless pant. Your eyes were half-lidded and glazed over with lust. It was fucking sexy as hell. "You look so fucking beautiful right now," he murmured, his voice low and husky. He could see your breasts rising and falling rapidly with each breath, your nipples still hard from his earlier attention.

Without another word, Tommy stood up and began unbuckling his belt, his eyes locked onto yours the entire time. He watched as you bit your lower lip, your eyes following his movements hungrily. Your chest was flushed and sweaty, rising and falling softly with each breath.

As Tommy finished unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, his thick, girthy cock sprang free. He was already hard as a rock, the head purple and glistening with precum. He wrapped his calloused hand around the base, giving it a slow stroke as he stood over you.

Tommy's cock looked absolutely massive. It was thick, veiny, and definitely bigger than anything you'd ever seen or felt before.

You swallowed hard, feeling your mouth water at the sight of it. Your legs pressed together nervously as you whispered to yourself,

"Will it even fit?" Tommy smirked at your nervous whisper, knowing exactly what you were thinking. He gave his massive cock a stroke, the head glistening with precum. "Baby girl," he taunted, "this big dick was made to fuck you. It'll fit just fine in that tight little pussy."

Tommy thrn sank one knee into the hay sack while keeping the other leg standing. He grabbed your hips roughly and dragged you towards him until you were underneath him. His thick cock pressed insistently against your thigh as he loomed over you with a dominant smirk.

"Stop worrying about if it fits..." He leaned down, his face inches from yours. "I'll make sure it does." His voice was low and commanding. He shifted his weight slightly, positioning himself between your legs. You could feel the head of his cock pressing against your wet entrance.

Tommy hunkered down and roughly hiked up your dress, revealing your slick, bare pussy. He growled approvingly, the head of his thick cock nudging against your entrance. "Fuck, you're soakin' wet," he murmured, before slowly sliding just the tip inside of you.

As Tommy slowly pushed the tip of his massive dick inside you, you gasped softly in pain, gripping his arm tightly. He noticed the way you dug your nails into his skin and the soft whimper that escaped your lips. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, realizing this was your first time.

Tommy paused, the tip of his cock buried inside your tight pussy as he felt how virgin it was. He could feel the resistance, the way your body was trying to reject his massive size. He leaned down and whispered in your ear, "Breathe, sweetheart. Let me in." You took a deep breath, trying to relax as Tommy slowly pushed forward another inch.

Your grip on his arm tightened painfully as he stretched your virgin hole wider than it had ever been before. A soft cry escaped your lips as tears welled up in your eyes. "It hurts..." You whispered through clenched teeth. Tommy froze completely inside you, only about halfway in despite his considerable length.

He cursed under his breath, one hand coming up to gently cup your face while the other gripped your hip firmly. "Shh, I know it does," he murmured softly against your lips.

"Just breathe through it." He began to move his hips in slow, shallow thrusts, giving your virgin pussy a chance to adjust to his massive size.

His thumb brushed away the tear that fell down your cheek as he kissed you deeply, swallowing your soft whimpers of pain and pleasure. "You're doin' so good, baby," With each slow thrust, Tommy slid a little deeper inside you

Your nails were digging into his arm so hard he was sure they'd leave marks. He could feel your virgin walls squeezing him tightly, trying to push him out even as your body slowly accepted more of his length. "Almost all the way in,"

With one last slow thrust, Tommy bottomed out inside you completely. He was so deep that you could feel his balls pressed against your ass.

He stayed still for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling of being so completely filled and stretched. "Fuck, you're so tight," He started to move again, this time pulling back slightly before sliding back in with a slow, steady rhythm.

Each thrust hit against your untouched cervix, making you gasp and whimper.

"Your pussy is taking my whole dick like a fucking pro," he groaned against your neck. "Christ, no wonder no one's ever had this sweet little cunt before... you're fucking strangling my dick," he whispered intensely.

His hands gripped your hips harder as he began to fuck you more steadily, each thrust causing you to whimper and cling tighter to his arm.

As he continued to fuck you slowly and deeply, Tommy reached around and placed a hand over your mouth to muffle your whimpers.

He was aware that the sounds you were making might draw attention, and he wanted to keep this moment between the two of you.

He went even deeper, hitting that special spot inside you that made your body jerk and your legs try to snap shut. "Holy shit," he muttered softly, realizing he might be the first man to ever touch your G-spot.

He pulled back slightly and snapped his hips forward again, hitting the same spot. You moaned loudly against his hand, your eyes rolling back in your head as he continued to hit your G-spot with every thrust. Your virgin pussy was soaking wet, dripping down onto the floor as he fucked you deeper and harder.

Tommy could feel his orgasm building rapidly as he fucked your tight pussy. The sensation of being inside you for the first time was too much to bear.

He reached down and rubbed your clit in time with his thrusts, determined to make you come before he filled you with his cum.

Soon as Tommy rubbed your clit vigorously and pounded your G-spot mercilessly, you felt your first orgasm building rapidly. Your back arched off the floor, your body shaking as intense pleasure washed over you. You bit down hard on Tommy's hand to muffle your screams.

Tommy could feel your pussy clenching and spasming around his cock as you came hard, your juices gushing out and coating his shaft.

The sensation of your orgasm triggered his own release, and with a final, deep thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you and came undone. "Fuck!" Tommy's hot, thick cum flooded your virgin pussy, filling you up completely.

He kept thrusting through his orgasm, coating your inner walls with his seed as he marked you as his for the first time. His hand remained clamped over your mouth as you both rode out the intense pleasure together.

As the last of his cum pumped into your pussy, Tommy suddenly lifted your leg and placed it over his broad shoulder, exposing your dripping pussy and tight little hole even more. He leaned down and sank his teeth into your inner thigh, biting hard enough to leave deep, red marks.

He removed his hand from your mouth, leaving it hanging open as soft moans escaped. Your body was still trembling from the intense orgasm as he continued biting and sucking your thigh like an animal marking its territory. He looked up at you with lust-filled eyes.

"Goddamn," he muttered softly, watching your chest rise and fall rapidly. Your legs were spread wide open, one thrown over his shoulder, giving him full access to your body. He could see his cum slowly leaking out of your tight, little pussy.

"You're so fucking sexy." He ran his free hand over your thigh, squeezing and marking you with his fingers as he spoke. "Look at you, all fucked out and dripping with my cum." He leaned down again, biting your other thigh, leaving another set of marks. "You're all mine now, you hear me?" he growled possessively, nipping and biting his way up your inner thigh until he reached your hip. He bit down hard, marking you as his own.

"This pussy belongs to me. You belong to me." "Mmm..." you moaned softly, your voice weak and trembling as he marked your body with his bites. You loved the feeling of being claimed by him, loved the possessive way he spoke to you.

"I'm yours..." you whispered, your legs trembling as he held your hips open. He slowly released your leg from his shoulder, gently lowering it down before crawling back up your body. His lips crashed against yours in a passionate, claiming kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth to dominate it just like he dominated your body.

His arms wrapped around you possessively. After the intense kiss, Tommy dropped himself fully on top of you, his body heavy and slick with sweat. He took a moment to catch his breath, his chest heaving against yours.

His head naturally found its way to your soft breasts, burying himself between them as if seeking comfort and satisfaction all at once. As you looked down at Tommy, his face buried between your breasts, he looked unexpectedly vulnerable and endearing.

You couldn't help but smile softly as you gently ran your fingers through his messy hair. Your gentle caresses caused him to nuzzle further into your breasts with a content sigh, like a cat seeking affection.

#tommy miller #tommy x reader #tommy tlou #tommy the last of us #tommy miller smut

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