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#its like little kids yelling FUCK
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wally learned something new today!!! why doesn't he show us what-
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ah.
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alchemist-shizun · 1 year
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I've come to the realization that I've known about mdzs for about 4 months and so far I've been juggling in my head 3 different songxuexiao fic ideas (ones actually not ship fic only about post canon song lan and inner turmoil which we love) and SOMEHOW all of them involve little kids to a certain degree, either raising them or having a group of little ducklings following u everywhere u go.
This is a first and a pattern I wasn't expecting but I guess I'm welcoming it!
#mdzs#songxuexiao#theres like. modern swtting au where songxiao adopt a kid out of specific circumstances and xue yang shows up after a while#hes late with starbucks /j but their kid parent traps him as well#then the second one a canon divergence from the novel where an issue sees xxc bringing both zichen and a captured xy to baoshan sanren#xy is there mostly bc xingchen wouldnt know what the hell to do with him and theyre on a time limit#HE DOESNT GET TO TAKE HIM TO ANY BIG SECT. when they get there xxc brings sl to his master for treatment for stuff i havent figured out yet#but its BAD#and while xingchen waits he comes back to find xue yang is cornered SURROUNDED BY a myriad of younger disciples#theyre listening intently to the stories he tells and theyre so engaged by the plot and frequently ask questions#and ngl its kind of a cute vision#AS FOR THE LAST more canon compliant fic we have post yi city song lan doing his wandering cultivator life#stumbles upon a street where some older men are picking a fight with a child#the child is definitely a street child. orphan and homeless. he seems too softhearted to defend himself so sl helps!#ofc it doesnt end there Because this is a whole ass child who needs help so he decides to do what he can#little kid is gripping so HARD at his robes too hes terrified. thats also how he finds out in some twisted sick fate that fhe child is..#missinf a fucking finger. and now he has to resign himself to the idea of being constantly reminded of a certain someone as he raises him#because he WILL raise him its the right thing to do cant trust anyone these days#okay thats all if u read up until here hi im idya come chat with me about yi city arc im friendless /hj#but seriously im so insane about this arc and the characters i need someone to yell with
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Where's that post about moms will come into your room and display signs of mental illness.
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crackheadass · 10 months
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are kids today still making creepypasta ocs?? is that a thing still or am i outdated
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greetingsfromuranus · 7 months
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Haven't watched the big picture show yet but I think eddys bro is the kid that eddys parents totally fucked up on, and by the time eddy rolled around they were like "Yeah maybe we shouldn't beat the shit out of our kids" but by then it was too late cuz eddys bro was already doing it for them
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rosymorns · 1 year
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nothing will remind you how many people should not be parents like the comment section of a video of a four year old being upset over something.
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blogalreadydoesntexist · 10 months
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hi extreme fucking tw/cw whatever for shit below because ao3 is a disgusting fucking shithole
im fucking serious, im here because alex (host) fucking threw up. he doesnt throw up at shit like this, he didnt even throw up when watching that one pool death scene from final destination even though hes terrified of water and shit. ill make an intro for me (gynt) later but right now i really really dont fucking care.
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fucking off yourself man. im sorry i know that hes against saying that type of shit publically because people are ableist fucking dickbags but holy fucking shit man.
'reverse rape' fucking freak, holy shit. motherfucking creep thinks that men being raped isnt a fucking thing i guess.
fucking piece of shit even said they might use her even younger version in one. disgusting ass fucking degenerate i hope you DIE damn.
they use trans-fetishizing goddamn terms as well, 'futas are so hot i want a real one' kys what the actual fucking hell is wrong with you.
alex (again, the host) opened up ao3 because tumblr doesnt really do fics centering around nimona only to be bashed over the head with this fucking fic. he then threw up (he hadnt done so in ages since he hasnt been sick and hes NEVER thrown up over a piece of media) and i ended up fronting.
'proship doesnt hurt anyone' i fucking fear for any nimona or ballister or anyone from anything anywhere really fictives out there. fucking pieces of shit.
hope your account is found and i dont know fucking mass reported or whatever shit pisses your fucking disgusting ass off. kys.
cant do fucking emojis or any shit that we use on keyboard so ill just use my fucking initial. fucking disgusted by this shit.
-g
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musubiki · 2 years
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can you tell us anything about the upcoming new snake witch??? 🥺💖
yeah!!! i dont have much for her but i have some !!!!
pre-timeskip when mochi first meets her, shes 10 years old. still very small. so then post-timeskip when mochi is ~20 shes ~14 ish and getting closer to overtaking her mother as the snake witch
extremely shy. the backstory is that the current snake witch (her mom) had another older daughter who was supposed to be the next snake witch, but got killed by the coattails shortly after she began tranfering. the older sister was mochis age, and i think they wouldve been good friends
said death of sister lowkey traumatized the other snake witches daughter and she doesnt talk much now. shes afraid of becoming a witch but ultimately knows she has to one day
her mom doesnt put any pressure on her to take over as the snake witch, and has told her before that she can find someone else if this isnt something the daughter truely wants, but she feels obligated to because of her family and also to not let down her sister
(btw the boy who was in her sisters guild then pledged himself to look after her so she has one guild member already waiting for her, but beyond that does not have many if any friends. hes like an older brother to her)
she likes mochi though!! maybe its some weird psuedo-attachment because mochi reminds her of her older sister, but baby snake witch girl doesnt feel as afraid next to mochi
terrified of lime because hes so much taller next to her and also hes grumpy a lot
loooong braid that almost reaches the floor. medium-light olive hair color (think like the color of snake skin)
the type to hide behind people because shes too nervous to talk
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boygirlctommy · 1 year
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watching this phantom boot for the second time today auaghhh
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My dads finally going out of town
I get 4 days of unimpeded dog training
#i mean thats the least of why ive been ready for him to leave#hes also just been annoying as fuck lately and i need a break from him#he'll go along with the dog training once its started hes just a stubborn asshole that wont try new training methods cuz its not#what he was taught was most effective#and also if i try to tell him what to do without showing him why it works he'll get all grumbly and be all ''dont tell me how to#train my dog''#and obviously im not expecting a ton of progress in only 4 days#but shes smart so she should pick up on the clicker=good shit pretty quick#i will bully my dad into using less aversive training methods if its the last thing i do#mostly cuz i hate seeing chewby anxious but also cuz his yelling makes ME anxious#also its kind of embarrassing to be around him when chewby is barking at someone and he starts counting to 3 like shes a little kid#and then going ''whatd i say??'' when she doesnt listen#like. i get mike taught her to respond to counting like that#but its clearly not that effective#based on how precious reacts to it imma say he also pairs it with...other aversive methods..which i am absolutely not ok with#like i get that shes not my dog but nah man we aint fuckin doin that#and its honestly painful to watch#like im not like. a professional or anything. no where near that. but idk man. yelling does not seem to be working so maybe#try something else? maybe actually try working with her a bit?#outside of when shes doing thing you dont want her doing?#shes a smart dog that has a lot of energy. she will absolutely benefit from training sessions#if i knew anywhere near by for sheep herding training id see if she liked that lol#she has the focus for it#shes got the herding dog stare down
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snekdood · 7 months
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ig my biggest issue with fandoms is the almost... false closeness thats there in them? ig since i was a kid and wasnt good at enforcing boundaries and was just excited to find ppl with the same interest I didn't really think about it but be real like, there was a vibe that it was "okay" and "fine" to expose a lot about ourselves to eachother that... i think if we knew eachother irl... we'd hafta be a lot closer than that to see or hear about that stuff...
#like ig am i the only one who thinks its kinda weird when ppl would pass fanfics around??#ig its just kinda normal now or whatever but think about it. youd hafta be closer friends with someone- besides just sharing an interest-#to see their slash fics right?? doesnt it seem kinda weird that ppl used to be so willing to toss that out there#ig the level of anonymity helps but my point isnt rly about the fics so much as it is... sharing information thats personal to you#i definitely didnt know how to assert boundaries as a kid- like i just didnt know it was an option for me to be like 'no i dont want to do#that' -wow that sounds really fucked up outloud huh!#ig my autonomy was taken from me so much as a kid i kinda just assumed i wasnt the one who got a lot of choices#and no one really taught me enough about internet safety .-. my mom did once but... she didnt push very hard#and that ended me up in a lot of shitty situations- like on here. how i posted a pic of myself when i was a fuckin child#sexualizing myself and some adult commented something suggestive back to me and ig i just. thought i had to accept the situation#like i just. thought it was ok to happen. ig since i had so many ppl rob me of my bodily autonomy before that it just seemed normal#or at the very least it was something i couldnt change so i didnt try and at the time figured i had to accept as normal#and since no one intervened to tell me what any of those ppl did to me was wrong i just. didnt think about how it effected me or if that#even mattered#so why is my life so dark exactly whys it gotta be like this tho#ig its kinda hypocritical of me to post this. i mean i use my account as like a diary sometimes or that im just yelling into the void lol#but thats also kinda because of all of this honestly. i think i realized i didnt want it to be that way for a while and stopped#but after all the shit with my abuser on here its like.. i feel like i cant not be as open as i am?#idk its like... a testimony or something ig. idk how to describe it. ig i just feel like ill always hafta be defending myself online from#everything. and if i dont talk about every little thing that makes me fucked up then people wont leave me tf alone about shit i cant contro#or change. like i cant go back in the past and not do whatever. but also as far as any actual harm ive done there isnt really... much there#ive had shitty ideas normalized to me sure but i dont really feel like i passed those ideas on to anyone really
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gutsby · 3 months
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Waiting Game
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Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: Joel Miller has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.
Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Praise. Overstimulation. Sweet, possessive, slightly obsessive and pussywhipped Joel. Daddy kink. Drug use. Angst. Accidental creampie. Joel fucking you while on the phone with your father.
Part 2 | Part 3
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“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad presses. A hint of concern rises from his end of the line.
At length, Joel grips both of your legs and brings them up over his shoulders, and he grins before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.
“Yes!” you yelp as you crush the phone to your ear, hoping your father can’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”
Aside from the fact that he smoked like a chimney and bumped far more Billy Joel than any man ever should, Mr. Miller was an A-OK friend—your father’s best friend.
All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.
From the second you’d set foot in his old Ford Bronco, you sensed this trek wouldn’t be an enjoyable one—thirty-hour road trips rarely ever were—but you leaned back in the passenger seat, propped your feet on the dashboard, and bopped along to ‘You May Be Right’ for the fifty-fifth fucking time that morning and smiled.
Joel frowned.
“Dogs off the dash,” he muttered, swatting at your bare, polished toes before you kicked his touch away.
“Shotgun puts her feet up, driver shuts his cakehole.”
That wasn’t even how the saying went. Oh well.
Joel slowed the car to sixty in the right-hand lane and smacked your ankles even harder. You yelped.
“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”
“I’m not hitting a woman, I’m hitting a little gremlin,” Joel tried not to grin as he delivered another tart slap to your foot, and you almost jerked into the passenger door.
He momentarily righted the car before it went veering into the lane beside it, seized one of your feet, and tried to forcibly shove it off the dashboard, to no avail. As soon as he moved one limb, the other would glide right back up to take its place; Joel’s hands were big, but they weren’t massive enough to grab hold of both of your legs at once and make you stay the fuck there, Christ’s sake.
You liked to see him flustered. Brought a whole new hue to his tough, stubbled cheeks that folks rarely got to see. You squirmed in your seat when he reached for your side.
“Wh—NO! No tickling!” you cried, trying your hardest to roll away.
But the man was nothing if not a lover of cheap shots and filthy antics. He’d never played a clean game in his life and wasn’t about to start now.
His gaze darted from the road to your writhing form, pinned against the door and begging him to stop, while he pressed his foot harder on the gas and smirked.
“Too much?” he teased, “Say pretty, pretty please.”
In other words: give up. You would do no such thing. Your elbow jutted out to the side and clipped his fingertips sharply, and right before he could reach for you again, you were heaving yourself up and leaning almost halfway out the open window, trying to shy away from his touch.
“You fuckin’ nuts?! Get down!” he yelled.
“But it just may be a luuuunatic you’re lookin’ for!” you sang along to your old friend Billy Joel and pretended not to see, or hear, Joel Miller twisting desperately across the center console to take hold of your belt loops.
“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”
Joel had just managed to finagle a loose, feeble grip on your denim waistband as he tried to keep the car from soaring across three lanes of traffic, was just about to yank you back inside and give you a red-faced, fatherly lecture of a lifetime, when a sound startled you both.
A siren, and a set of flashing blue lights behind you.
You scrambled back in your seat and swallowed a lump in your throat the size of a peach. You turned off Mr. Long Island.
“Great! Good fucking going,” Joel griped beside you as he flicked on his blinker and started to pull off the road.
Dogs no longer on the dash—and a very pissed off cop pulling up behind your car on the shoulder of the road—you got the feeling this would be a long couple of days.
You hadn’t even made it outside the city limits of Boston.
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Somewhere between Richmond and Roanoke, the two of you turned off the highway to find a place to sleep.
Joel had sat and stewed and ignored you for the customary duration of about two hours before choosing to re-engage in conversation, but deep down, you knew he was still kind of irked by that reckless driving citation he’d received. You couldn’t help but feel responsible.
Though it had been pretty funny when the state trooper had approached the car and pointedly asked, “What the hell was your daughter doin’ danglin’ outta this thing?!” Joel was nowhere near as amused as you, but he managed to roll with it and told the cop you were just trying to wave to the cows in the fields passing by.
The police officer hadn’t bought it.
He probably would have arrested you both if you hadn’t been such a coquettish flirt and somehow managed to persuade the man to let your ‘dad’ off with just a ticket.
You had hoped that would temper Joel’s anger some, but if anything, the sight only seemed to make him more mad at you. You weren’t sure why.
Presently, you pulled up to Balmaceda’s Mountain Lodge and cast a bleak look at the front office before you.
This looked nothing like the snug, homespun mountain retreat you’d been picturing in your mind. Ahead of your car, there stood a single-story concrete slab of a motel, tilted to one side and consumed almost entirely by the dark of night and wide open wilderness. A big block letter neon sign displaying the owner’s name in red now barely flickered above a muddied, pinkish glow. You groaned.
But before you could complain to your travel companion, Joel was already stepping out of the car and heading toward the main office. Hastily, you followed after.
“No way, Miller. No fucking way are we staying in Murder Motel,” you hissed.
“Bal-ma-ceda’s,” Joel intoned with a maddeningly accurate lilt, ignoring your protests, “I think that’s a Chilean name.”
He swung the door wide for you to enter and pretended not to see you shoot him a glare as you strolled in.
“Needin’ a room?”
The lady behind the counter barely graced your entrance with a look.
“Yes ma’am. Whatever you got,” Joel replied, smiling.
“Smoking or non?”
“Smoking, please.”
Of course he would. You could already feel the fetid stench of American Spirits wafting up to your nostrils.
“King or two Queens?”
“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.
At first, the woman nodded, flicked through a rolodex on her desk and nosed through a couple yellowed pages in front of her. Then, frowning, she looked back up.
“Sorry. All the Queens are took up. Rest of the rooms are being fumigated but the one—” she tapped a manicured nail on the motel map, “—and it’s got a King. That okay?”
No. No, it was not. You opened your mouth to speak but were shortly cut off by the woman before you could.
“Of course, if you don’t want dad hoggin’ up all the sheets, there’s a pull-out sofa for him to sleep on.”
The sixty-something desk clerk offered a smile, and you likely would’ve returned the favor if you hadn’t been so deeply nauseated at the thought of everyone around you assuming that Joel was your father. You chanced a look at the man, who seemed equally uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. You sighed.
“Alright.”
Defeated, but marginally pleased that you wouldn’t have to share a bed with your ‘old man’ that night.
Joel paid and signed the papers without another word, or look, to you or the woman. By the looks of it, he just wanted to book the room and get the hell out as fast as possible, his brow pinched inward and lips zipped tight.
He’d turned to leave so quick that he was almost approaching the door when the lady called out,
“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”
You hardly needed to steal a glance in Joel’s direction to see that he was flushed. Even blushing a bit.
You strode over to the counter and intercepted the keys she was dangling for someone to take, then politely, finally, were able to manage a smile and a thank-you.
You turned back to Joel.
“Here you go, Daddy.”
In a blink, the small silver set was pelted in his hands, and the man nearly dropped them—and lost his balance. By some miracle, Joel managed to catch them between his big sweaty palms and step aside just in time for you to saunter past him, straight through the door.
“I’m starved,” you announced, then, averting your face to hide your smug expression and lower your voice a bit, “Feed me, Daddy.”
In that moment, Joel thanked every last one of his lucky stars that his pants were made of denim, and that the denim itself was thick. And that the woman at the front desk was swift to turn her attention back to her tabloid magazine, away from you two, and didn’t look up again.
If they weren’t, and if she hadn’t, it would’ve been plain as day to see that Joel Miller was sporting a hard-on.
A huge, swollen hard-on that made it almost impossible for him to walk and haul luggage and try to keep apace with your steps as you sailed along the gravel drive. So big the man had to will himself not to limp, not to make it known how stiff he was, until he eventually failed at both.
Once you’d grabbed your bags back at the car and made it up to your place, you entered Room 102 with a lightness you hadn’t felt all day. Joel slogged behind with all of the baggage and a boner beneath his jeans that probably could’ve cut sheet metal, if needed.
He was fucked. No doubt he’d have to enlist in the Witness Protection Program after your real father found out that his best friend had gotten visibly bricked up for you, his one and only daughter. How awkward holiday dinners were bound to be from that point on; how humiliating it seemed to him to pop a chub at a thing as dumb as saying ‘daddy’; how batshit insane it was that he hadn’t gotten laid in almost a year, and you were still, somehow, the only one he wanted to break the dry spell.
Joel was better than this. A fucking pro at self-control and all things dirty old guys didn’t do. He could chill out.
He just needed to rub one out in the bathroom, fast.
So, while you flopped down on the bed, Joel dropped every bag and made a beeline for the toilet. Slammed the door so hard he probably could’ve knocked the thing off its hinges, but he didn’t care. He was wrestling his belt, button, and zip off in a second. Then haphazardly turning on the sink to mask the sounds of all that was to come. No pun intended.
He yanked his thick, throbbing, rock-hard member out of its confines and had to hiss through his teeth to keep from moaning. The sensitivity he felt was unbearable, the front of his boxers already painted with pre-cum.
Gingerly, Joel wrapped one hand around his cock and raised the other to anchor himself against the sink. He slid his palm, which he’d just barely lubricated with some spit of his, up and down the shaft and groaned. A welt of pleasure formed in his chest, and he rubbed even faster. And, in spite of his legs feeling a bit like jelly, he stood there and fucked his fist and wished with every bit of himself that it was your warm, lush folds opening around him instead. Stifled a groan and would’ve paid any sum of money to hear your moans spilling out while he thrusted. The act here was more mindless and reflexive than anything else—jerking himself and soaking in the sharp, fiery sensations that shot up through his body.
To him, at least, it was all purely physical. Mechanical.
Nowhere near as euphoric and otherworldly as it would have been with your hand actually curled around him.
Or your lips. Or your tongue. Or your tight, wet cunt.
Fuck, he needed a shower.
Blindly, Joel moved inside the tub to his left and yanked the curtain shut over a space almost two times too small for his frame. He turned on the water and made it hot. Then he fisted his cock again, pressed his head to the shower wall, and pumped himself as fast as his forearm would allow him—trying all the while not to think of you.
You, with all your wily, shrewd ways were still the daughter of the man who guzzled down IPAs with him at the local dive bar every Thursday night over jalapeño poppers and buffalo dip. The man who clapped him over the shoulder and shook his frame with the kind of good-natured sneer that only a best friend could make, ‘A man as suave as you oughta get some tail every now and then. Go find you a gal and fuck her brains out, Joel!’
But the only ‘gal’ Joel wanted to rail was the one who called that man ‘dad’—and just called him ‘daddy’ for the first time that night—and he hated himself for it.
Sparks of pleasure continued to ignite across his lower half as he jerked himself in the shallowest, short pumps. He flicked his hand back and forth, circled the tip with his palm, and felt a groan start to claw at his throat. He tried to picture any face but yours but failed miserably.
All he could think, see, or breathe was you—imagining your lips enveloping the head of his cock, jerking him softly, taking him down to the back of your throat and bobbing that pretty little face up and down his length.
That sweaty, desperate fist of his just wasn’t cutting it.
For the first time, Joel couldn’t make himself cum.
Now even more pent-up and pussywhipped than he’d been when he first started, he slammed his palm against the wall and flung the shower handle in the opposite direction—turning the water as cold as it could get.
Five minutes passed, and the icy spray had scarcely left a dent in his raging erection. Joel stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his hips, and stood in front of the mirror to see that he was still very hard.
Fuck this.
He bunched his strewn aside clothing together and held it over his crotch, discreet as he could, and waddled out.
And, either the temperature inside had just jumped fifty degrees or the world outside had just caught fire, but Joel’s face was flooded with heat the second he exited.
You were sprawled across the bed wearing nothing but a thin white tank, shorts, and fuzzy socks—and a scowl.
“Sofa’s broke,” you said.
Joel blinked.
“Broke?”
You nodded toward the busted sleeper couch at the far end of the room, torn to pieces and kicked a half-dozen times since you’d tried unfolding it in Joel’s absence.
The jaws of the old steel frame had simply refused to give way, and now the sofa was so out of sorts and misshapen that you had no hope of putting it back the way that it was. You sank further in the bed and pointed to the floor.
“You can sleep there.”
Joel eyed a flat sheet and a pillow laid across the carpet, visibly coated in dust and grime. He turned back to you.
“You’re smokin’ crack if you think I’m doin’ that.”
“Be grateful I’m not making you sleep in the car, daddy.”
Again with that fucking name. Joel tightened his grip on the clothes he was holding over his dick and tried to fight a thousand dirty thoughts threatening to seep back into his head.
Unfortunately, the dirty thoughts had hands—and were beating his ass to a bloody pulp when he first caught sight of your nipples poking up through your shirt. Just when the man might have started to drool or else begun humping that pile of clothes, you snapped your fingers.
“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”
Fuck.
“Got a…stain on your shirt,” he grumbled in his defense.
“Shut up. Now, we can flip for the bed if you want.”
By turns, Joel’s focus was slowly coming back, and the man was trying like hell to find a place on your face that didn’t arouse him to no end—to help ease the intrusive thoughts and all. So far his search had yielded nothing.
“Like, uh…coin?” he asked. Endearingly stupid.
“Heads, I win,” you said, nodding, “Tails…”
Joel swallowed.
“Tails, what?”
“Tails, you tell me what was going on in your head when you were jacking off to the thought of me just now.”
Your words came out in a hurry, almost too quick for Joel to comprehend. He still heard them, though, and nearly choked on his spit when he tried to swallow again.
“I wasn’t—”
“You were,” you bit back, “I heard you moan my name.”
Joel didn’t remember that. Joel didn’t remember much of anything that had taken place in that bathroom apart from being implacably horny and unable to bust a nut. You stepped off the bed to stand in front of him.
“What? Cat got your tongue all of a sudden?” you sneered, “Think I’m just gonna run off and tell my da—”
“Don’t,” Joel’s response was immediate, insistent. Then, setting his jaw in a way you knew too well, contemplating about fifty different thoughts in the span of two seconds, he pressed the clothes pile to his crotch even tighter and sighed, “Don’t…do that, please. I’ll take the floor.”
You raised both brows, mildly amused.
“I said we could flip for it. C’mon,” you said.
“Ain’t got any coins.” Joel was already retreating to his makeshift sleeping pad on the floor, eyeing the shag carpet for any traces of blood, piss, or rodent droppings. Before he made it too far, you reached for his arm.
Joel tensed under your touch.
“We can try something else.” Your voice was cloying, almost too sweet to be trusted.
It had just dawned on you then how bare the man standing before you was. Clad in only his towel, every taut, toned inch of Joel’s body was there on display—coated with sweat and a fine sheen from the shower, his skin practically shone in the glow of the bedside lamp. You watched him shift in place and saw the towel around his hips stir along with it. He never let those old clothes in his hands move an inch away from his groin, though.
“What game?” he asked.
“Something my roommates showed me,” you began, “‘Too Hot.’”
“Too Hot?”
“You heard me.”
“What, like— like Spin the Bottle, or some bullshit?”
Joel could just picture it: a gaggle of your college pals huddled around an old, empty bottle of Bud Light as you watched it turn circles again, and again, and again on the dorm’s linoleum floor. You tugging at the sleeve of some oversized man-child from a frat Joel couldn’t name, leaning in and beaming like the insatiable flirt he knew you to be, asking that boy if he wanted to sneak off somewhere and let his tongue take a tour of your mouth.
The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.
Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.
“Spin the Bottle? That’s rookie shit,” you made another face reminding Joel, once more, how little he knew of the life you lived 1,900 miles away from Austin, at college.
He still couldn’t shake the thought of those boys.
“No, Joel,” you shook your head, drawing your syllables out for effect, “‘Too Hot’ is just…edging your opponent.”
Joel’s throat tightened, and he tried not to let his eyes widen too much, but he was almost certain they had. Before he even knew the words he was saying, the thought of your father taking his fist—or a shotgun—to his face made him blurt out in response, stammering,
“We can’t— I can’t— can’t lay one finger on you, darlin’, you know that. Your dad would murder me.”
To his surprise, the smile on your face only widened.
“Bingo,” You stuck one pretty finger in his face like he’d made the world’s finest discovery, “You can’t touch me.”
“Huh?”
“That’s the whole fuckin’ game, Miller. We can kiss, but we can’t touch each other with our hands. First one to crack and grope the other player loses the game.”
Your expression now was something just shy of sadistic. Watching him with keen, narrowed eyes and a wicked little grin, it seemed you were half-expecting him to fold on the spot. No way was this a game your college friends taught you; you just wanted to play him. Make him lose.
And Joel was a man who couldn’t stand to lose, no matter the stakes.
You watched that failure-averse glint eclipse every shade of lust in his eyes, at least momentarily. Suddenly, Joel didn’t look so fearful of your father’s wrath or what lurid implications this night might bring—he just had to win.
“You suck, you know that?” he said, at last, dropping his makeshift shield from the front of his towel and knocking you flat on the bed with a single push.
“You wish I would,” you grumbled, heart still jumping up in your ribcage all the same. You scooted back.
“I bet you will.”
The man was a menace when he had the will to be.
At length, Joel crawled over your body and made room for himself snug between your legs. The bulge that he’d been trying to hide all this time was now heavy on your center, pressed tight to your stupid-thin shorts and the panties you’d conveniently forgotten to wear. He grinned.
“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.
“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.
Try as you might to play it cool with him, though, every fibre of your being was alight with desire for the man on top of you. You flitted a look between his soft brown eyes and slightly parted lips and could’ve melted in that bed had Joel not lowered his head and dove right in for it.
His mouth was far gentler than expected. Reverent, even. He slotted his lips between your own and made a fine, delicate showing of just how tender and adept he could be while imparting his slow, sweet kisses. Skirted his tongue across your bottom lip before driving it inside, coaxed your mouth open to him in a matter of seconds. He was graceful. And patient. And lithe with that tongue.
Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.
“Sweet little thing,” he groaned against your mouth, “Ain’t felt a tongue this shy on mine in a long time.”
Of course he’d try taunting you, too. Same old Joel.
“What’s it been? Two years since a woman let you touch her?”
“Twenty since I felt one this good.”
You would’ve liked to reach around the back of his head and seize a clump of that thick, dark, grey-speckled hair. But you couldn’t. Your hands remained plastered to the duvet beneath you, and then, just slightly, your fingers started to curl inward. Joel’s palms laid flat on either side of your head.
It felt weird; mashing lips, teeth, and tongue with a man who’d been alive about twenty years longer than you and went further back with your father than you could even remember. What felt even stranger was the fact that you couldn’t touch him, or take him between your two hands.
Joel’s tongue continued roaming every contour and crevice of your mouth like he had an ache for this taste that he just couldn’t quench. Your tongue tried keeping up, too, but frankly, you were too preoccupied by a pulse between your legs—your parts and Joel’s practically throbbing in time with one another—to work just as hard.
Even through the towel, he felt huge.
You whined when Joel started to grind up against you, and shortly, those fingers of yours that had just been grazing the sheets before were gripping them. Tight.
“Earlier…” Joel murmured between kisses, hips working a vicious pace against you, “You said you were hungry.”
“Yeah?”
“Sorry—starved,” he corrected himself, and you almost could’ve smacked him for being so smug about it.
“What’s your point, Miller?” You were fisting the sheets beneath your palms and gyrating your whole body to meet the motions of the man currently dry-humping you.
All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.
He peered down at you with a curious look.
“I could go for something to eat, too,” he declared.
You blinked. Stared. And just when you’d opened your mouth to say, well, maybe you should’ve grabbed us a bite to eat when we passed that Burger King on the way in, dipshit, Joel’s torso started to move down your own. Slow and painstaking as ever as he made sure not to graze one inch of your skin with his hands while he did.
You leapt back against the headboard, almost cracking your skull on the wood.
“Joel— Joel,” you hissed as the heels of your feet dug into the mattress below, and Joel just sank even further.
Then he was slowly, scrupulously pinching the fabric of your shorts between each index finger and thumb, gaze trained close on your lower half to make sure he never touched you, and he started pulling it down.
“This isn’t—” you started again, only to be offered a soft shush and an even quieter rustle of the cotton material sliding down both your legs.
You dropped your head on a pillow and probably could’ve burned a hole in the ceiling with the wide-eyed look you fixed on one spot, in utter disbelief of what he was doing.
“No panties, huh?” Joel observed. Gentle puffs of his breath were now fanning across the whole bare expanse of your lower half, and your pyjama bottoms were shortly discarded. His face was just hovering there, and you could tell that he knew you knew by the way he lowered his voice and brought his head to have only the tips of his chin stubble grazing your abdomen, “You needed this.”
Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.
“I don’t need shit from you, Miller. You need me. And you’re gonna lose this.”
Even though your gaze was still trained to the ceiling, you could feel him grin against your delicate skin.
“Hey,” he mumbled, “You said tongues are fair game.”
Fuck me, you wanted to keen the second his lips made contact with your…lower ones, and Joel swiftly got to kissing you there just as he’d done to you above. Hot, soft, and tender as the first rays of morning sun heralding a new day, he sponged his lips across the seam of your heat and made as if to massage the place, gently.
You could hear as well as you could feel that effusion of desire leaking out of your cunt and pooling around the man’s mouth. How eager he was to lap it up with his tongue, to grace your ears with those delectable squelching sounds, he caressed every inch between your folds and only sank deeper when you whined above him.
“Joel.”
Right now you couldn’t look down. Not with the way your legs were already trembling around his head, your chest heaving with the fastest, most frenzied breaths. You’d sooner die before you watched him unravel you like this.
“Darlin’, you’ve got a man soaked.” Some sound almost resembling a chuckle reverberated between your thighs and sent a brand new shockwave of pleasure in its wake, “You like it when daddy uses his mouth on this needy, wet cunt, don’t you?”
Yes, yes, you did. But your answer was nonverbal: a sharp curl of your toes and a grip between your fingers so tight across the sheets that he saw you veritably could’ve torn the linens in two.
Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.
Joel was perfectly content to make do with his mouth for now.
“Got those sheets all balled up, you’re fixin’ to rip ‘em.”
“My tongue make ya feel that good, honey?”
“Poor thing can’t even breathe it feels so nice, right?”
So he’d seen you hiccup, try to steady your breaths, and fail before succumbing to a string of lewd moans. Joel saw you, and knew how you felt, as if he’d had his own secret gauge for how good his mouth was doing you in.
Surely, he could’ve sensed the words before they ever came out of your mouth.
“Touch me, Joel, please.”
His tongue was just then making a lazy circuit around your clit, mouth saturated in your juices, when he smiled.
“Nah.”
Curt and cruel as ever. Then:
“No matter how fuckin’ perfect this pussy is, I ain’t losin’.”
He completed the arc with his tongue and took your bud between his lips, sucking in. You almost screamed.
“Motherfucker.”
“Miller, baby, Miller. Close, though.”
And just when you thought he’d had his fill of cheeky games, Joel sucked your clit even harder and flicked the tip of his tongue against your bundle of nerves until you were writhing, crying on the bed above him,
“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”
It was a bit tough to decipher through your strangled, desperate moans, but Joel got the picture. Heeding your requests, he kept at that pace above your clit and slid his tongue back and forth, over and over, lapping up your honeyed glaze like it was the finest thing he’d tasted. Scruff harsh against your thighs, lips soft in a perfect suction, Joel Miller had your head swimming in desire and your better judgment dissipating before your eyes.
At the first sign of bliss, your muscles clenched, and the last linchpin of your resolve crumbled right along with it.
You carded your hands through Joel’s hair and grabbed hold of those locks with a full-throated moan, using his head for shameless leverage to buck and rut your hips into his face as you rode out the peaks of your high.
And, ever the gentleman, Joel fought like hell to keep his lips and tongue connected to your core while you writhed above him—this time at liberty to work his arms under your thighs and hold them since you’d given up the game. He would’ve smiled if he weren’t so narrowly preoccupied, seeing you thrash about and moan out loud and fuck his face like it was the last thing tethering you to earth. He liked seeing you come undone beneath him.
A bit too much, if he were being completely honest.
While you made the languid descent from ecstasy and your breaths were still slowing in your chest on the bed, Joel was back on his feet. Padding toward the bathroom door, slamming it shut behind him as he had before. When he returned in a minute or two, he was clothed. He fished for his keys in the pockets of his snug, stonewash Wranglers and made a face. He didn’t look at you.
“I’ll be back,” he said, starting toward the door.
“Back?” You sat up, perplexed, “The hell ya goin’?”
“Out.”
This motherfucker.
“Did I miss something? Were we not just seconds away from getting down to some how’s-your-father?”
Joel visibly grimaced at your choice of sex slang. Under the circumstances, you would concede it wasn’t ideal.
“O-kay, sorry,” you returned, crossing your legs out in front of you, “I mean…don’t you want me to get you off?”
Again, Joel’s expression twisted into something just shy of overwrought, weary, and repulsed—a look that you couldn’t begin to understand, for the life of you—and you watched him flit his eyes from the bed to the door, again and again, seeming to be pining for the sweet release of leaving your shared motel room as soon as possible.
You’d been with your fair share of emotionally avoidant fucksticks, but most of them didn’t ghost until after they’d gotten their nut and felt no reason to stick around. Joel’s exit seemed premature. Strange.
“So you don’t want to fuck?” you asked, deadpan. You’d never been one for beating around the bush.
“Can’t,” Joel shook his head, bringing one hand to rest on his hip while the other fiddled uncomfortably with his car keys, “Your dad…that’s just— that’s crossing a line.”
“And being nose-deep in my cunt isn’t?”
You stared him down, incredulous.
So now he decides to claim the moral high ground, after coaxing you to soak every inch of his beard and cum all over his tongue? How very fucking charitable of him.
“That’s different,” Joel retorted, rubbing his knuckles in a nervous tic, “That was a game. I won. We’re done.”
You set your jaw just tight enough to keep your tongue in check and refrained from firing off a brash, unsavory remark. It wouldn’t do either of you a lick of good.
You let him leave. Joel had told you that you could keep the bed, he didn’t mind, and then he slipped out the door without another word. Leaving you cold and alone on the soiled, tawdry floral bedspread of Room 102, wondering what the hell had gone so wrong in the span of the last five minutes. From the center of the bed, you could see Joel’s Bronco pull off into the silent, frigid night.
You were still hungry as shit.
Rolling onto your side and rummaging through the bags at the end of the bed, you found nothing even remotely edible—save for, literally, one of Joel’s brownie edibles—and you groaned out loud. You threw your shorts back on, stepped into your old Luccheses, and did a quick circuit around the room to find your jacket before you left. As it turned out, you’d forgotten it back in Joel’s car.
You dropped to your knees and went back to tearing through luggage, searching for some suitable outerwear.
By the end of that second suitcase foray, though, you found you had nothing of your own that was hefty enough to brave the below-freezing temperatures outside, so you had to settle on a dark brown, fleece-lined coat from Joel’s bag. It was durable enough but about four sizes too big—and reeked of cigarette smoke.
You trudged outside, not really knowing where you were going or what you were hoping to find. Your stomach growled, and a few cool gusts of wind came to lap at the bare skin of your thighs where Joel’s spit was still drying.
You stepped a few feet out and turned toward the road.
Bal-ma-ceda’s, you read the seedy neon sign and heard Joel’s enunciation of the name ring between your ears.
What you wouldn’t give for the greasiest, girthiest, barely-FDA-approved 7-Eleven corndog to kill your thoughts about that sleazy little fucker right now.
You started toward the convenience store across the street but quickly found that it was closed—along with every other establishment on that stretch of road. You glanced toward the front office and caught a glimpse of your old friend dozing behind the counter. The speakers outside were playing a tinny rendition of ‘Piano Man.’
Just as you tried not to barf in your mouth at the sound and silently primed yourself for a long, long trek through the boonies to the nearest gas station, you stopped.
In a compact little breezeway that cleaved the motel in two, you saw light pool around an old vending machine.
You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.
Never mind the fact that there were about half a dozen ragtag teens decked out in camouflage and comically tattered denim cutoffs crowding the area. All absently smoking and blowing o’s, or else sipping on cans of beer in the cramped, concrete passage, they looked bored. A couple lazy smiles broke out upon seeing your approach.
You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.
Then you zeroed in on the first sugar-packed products you could find: a pack of sour gummy worms and a bottle of Sprite—no, Mountain Dew—and a chocolate bar. Maybe a bag of Cheetos or Fritos thrown in for good measure. All of the snacks were probably stale as shit and hadn’t seen a replacement since dinosaurs roamed the earth, but you didn’t care. You were prying singles out of your wallet and salivating before you could think.
“Gotta kick it a couple times ‘fore it’ll spit anything out,” one of the boys lounging around you piped up.
You’d just inserted a couple bills and were waiting for the machine to dispense your gummy worms, when the thing appeared to stall. Stuck in its tracks, like he’d said.
You raised a brow and tapped the toe of your boot to the appliance, turning toward the one who’d addressed you,
“Like this?”
“Nope. Nuh-uh.” The redhead got up and strode over, where his much bigger, square-toed boot delivered a kick to the vending machine that almost toppled it.
A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.
The kid—who actually happened to be nineteen years old and a student at some college a few states away, along with his whole group of friends—was kind enough to repeat the same ritual for all of your treats. You’d just gathered your stuff together and were about to thank him for his services, when the guy presently stuck a hand in your direction and introduced himself as Connor.
Then Blake. Then Micah. Then Wyatt. Then Trent. All traveling with their team for a tournament that weekend.
Then a beer was held out to you. You declined. A little homemade deer jerky? No, thanks. How ‘bout some Oreos? I’m good on snacks, really. Well, shit, you seem a little high-strung, why don’t you take a hit right here? And Connor pulled his dab pen out from his pocket.
Well.
You hadn’t smoked in a minute. You might’ve decided to take a bite out of Joel’s brownie back in the room, but you hadn’t known how strong it was—or where the fuck he’d gotten it. The pen this stranger was offering you was one that looked similar enough to the kinds you’d seen passed among your friends a hundred times before that you felt comfortable taking one hit, maybe. Two max.
You felt stupid as soon as you’d sucked in every breath, but you ended up taking four hits in total.
You hacked and sputtered and blinked up at Connor, who was grinning big.
“Alright, hardass,” he chuckled, taking back the device.
“Daddy know you smoke?” Wyatt cut in with a sneer.
Daddy?
There was no fucking way Joel looked that old for everyone to think he was your father. You inwardly cringed.
“Y’all been spying on us?”
“Ain’t shit else to do around here.” That was Blake.
You tried to swallow but found your throat much drier than it had been before. And not just from the weed.
“He doesn’t care,” you said, managing a shrug.
It wasn’t entirely false. Joel did give no fucks about you.
“Dude looks like a— a fuckin’ DEA agent or something,” Micah said, amused.
“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.
You’d never seen the show and didn’t particularly care to know what law enforcement archetype Joel appeared to embody—in fact, you didn’t want to discuss him at all.
Just as the first fuzzy beads of warmth began to roll into your head, you were already planning your exit strategy. Thank Connor for his selfless assistance and cannabis, bid the group a good night and the best of luck in their upcoming lax tournament, and be done with this shit, ASAP. You were still trying to steady your tongue in the bone-dry cavern that had become your mouth when one of them kicked at a near-empty case of beer at their feet.
“We’re about out.” Micah announced.
Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.
“Wanna…restock in our room?” he asked, the corners of his lips twisting into a smile as he looked down at you.
You crinkled your nose and shook your head. Connor leaned his whole weight against the vending machine between you, seeming unconvinced by your answer.
“I don’t believe you,” he said, “I think you wanna come.”
“Do I?”
You only entertained the backtalk because your brain was currently swimming in a far-off, pleasant void of contentment and indifference. Every sharp edge dulled in your mind, to an extent, and your body at ease. You didn’t have to be home to anyone, anytime, and Joel was probably halfway plastered at a dive bar down the road. You didn’t move back when Connor stepped forward.
He wasn’t even that close. You could leave whenever you pleased.
“For sure. I think you’d enjoy our shitty beer and even shittier company. We can smoke some more, too.”
The man certainly had a way with words. He muscled in a bit closer.
“You think so?” you hummed.
“I do. I really do.”
“And you’re willing to risk the wrath of my dad if he finds out where I am?” You made it sound like a challenge.
“Wyatt can fight.”
Connor motioned toward his friend, who was mindlessly chomping on deer jerky in his lawn chair off to the side, glossy-eyed and hammered. You couldn’t help but laugh.
“Okay, but make sure he’s ready. I can only stay for five.”
Connor seemed wounded as he put a hand over his heart in mock dismay.
“Only five minutes?” he griped, “Why not ten? Or twenty?”
“Six.”
“Fifteen at least.”
You folded your arms over your chest and felt an opaque haze beginning to settle over your brain. It wasn’t quite a high, just a lightness of being that drove tender little streaks up your spine. Like Joel, tickling at your sides while you writhed around in the front seat of his car.
This time you took the beer Connor offered and cracked it open. He seemed pleased—and taken by surprise—to see you down the drink in spite of the overflowing foam.
“Ten,” you returned once you’d swallowed it all.
“Twenty.”
“Honey?”
The last voice didn’t belong to anyone in the group. You turned on your heels and almost coughed up your beer.
It was Joel, of course.
Standing at the threshold of the breezeway like a surly, disconcerted parent, of all things, watching you like he’d just caught you red-handed in the most horrific of acts.
Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.
“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.
Apparently your attempt at casual came across more slurred than anything else, because Joel stepped closer.
‘Let’s go’ was all he said. No accusations, no threats, no outward displays of emotion found anywhere on his face. Just a gruff ‘Let’s go,’ and a free hand reaching for yours.
Instinctively, you recoiled.
“We’re just talking,” you said, gesturing behind you. If you could have seen the uniform looks of discomfort and agita, damn near treading on fear, among them all, you probably wouldn’t have bothered.
“Good. Now you’re leaving,” Joel supplied in a moment.
He was blissfully indifferent. Asserting his will in a space where, less than one hour ago, he couldn’t bear to share a room with you, much less impart a shred of dignity or care to your condition. He had nerve, that was for sure.
“I’m not leaving,” you said, a touch more venom in your voice than you intended.
Joel raised both eyebrows.
“No?”
His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.
“Fuck no,” you answered.
A few of the guys behind you sucked in a breath as if to say, ‘Okaaaaay, time to go!’ but then Joel pressed,
“For someone who wants to be treated like an adult—”
“Adult?” you scoffed, “You treat me plenty like an adult, Joel. Just whenever the designation suits your needs, huh?”
No one moved.
Well, Joel flinched a bit. Then he squeezed your wrist.
Truly, you never failed to underestimate the man’s brute strength when it came to carrying you off at will—but there you were, being yanked behind the big, bad Joel Miller as he hauled you off to who-knows-where. You scowled but didn’t bother to steal a glance behind you at the beer, boys, or vending machine treats you were being forced to abandon. All you could do was stare a hole through Joel’s skull and tug back—largely ineffectually.
“You’re an ass,” you spat, digging your heels into the gravel terrain as he pulled you along.
“You’re a brat,” he fired back.
In a minute, the exterior of Room 102 was coming into view; Joel was practically toting your ass like a knapsack.
“You just abandoned me back here, Miller. You— you don’t get to pretend like you give a fuck now.”
“I was getting you Burger King, for Christ’s sake.”
Joel was fiddling with the lock now. Simultaneously juggling your hand, the paper bag, and a set of keys that didn’t seem keen on cooperating, he huffed, disgruntled.
“Even got you those—” Joel grunted, thrusting his shoulder into the door, “—fuckin’ curly fries you wanted.”
Your jaw slackened. That was supposed to make it okay?
“Joel, FUCK your curly fries!” you cried, “Are you seriously still trying to play good guy right now?”
“If that’s what you—”
“No. You don’t get to tonguefuck your friend’s daughter and buy her a goddamn Double Whopper and act like it’s all good. Sure as hell don’t get to dictate who I talk to.”
Like he had before, Joel cringed to hear your crude language—particularly as it related to what he had done to you but didn’t seem capable of owning up to just yet. You couldn’t bear another second of that look.
“Fuck this. I’m sleeping in the car,” you grumbled.
You thrashed your arm out of Joel’s hold and started off in the other direction. Picked up your pace when you heard the bag of fast food drop to the ground and Joel trotting after you. Calling your name.
Even at your most brisk, you knew you couldn’t outstrip those big, beefy legs of his. He gained on you in seconds.
So you took off running.
Joel gripped his side, thinking, ‘Aw, hell’ before breaking out in a sprint just as fast.
You were pissed at how far he’d parked this time around. You caught sight of the old Bronco perched a ways away from your room and almost opted to change course on the spot, to the front office—maybe dive behind the counter and beg that poor old woman to give you another place to stay—but you kept at it, anyway. For once, you were glad to have had Joel beat by so many years, because the man’s endurance was, evidently, shit.
“Hey, s— stop!” Joel shouted after you.
Fat chance, Miller.
You closed in on the car. Joel rarely ever locked it.
Your hand secured a grip on the door and jerked it back. It swung right open.
Just as Joel was pulling up the rear, you had the driver’s side slammed shut and your palm laid flat on the door lock knob—shoving the little black lever down each time Joel tried to unlock the car.
It was a fruitless endeavor, you knew; you couldn’t keep the man out all night so long as he had the car keys in his hands. You could piss him off some more, though.
“You won the fucking game, just take the bed!” you said, straining against the door with your weight pressed hard on that knob. Joel was furiously working to get it open.
“I mean it, Joel, I-I don’t wanna sleep in there wi— shit.”
You leapt back in your seat as Joel flung the door wide open. You scrambled across the center console, made a desperate grasp at the passenger door to climb out the other side, but your ankle was taken between two hands. Just as you tried to slink out on the opposite end of the vehicle, Joel pulled you right back in. Flipped the center console up so you were sprawled flat across the bucket seat at the front of his car and pinned underneath him.
Then he pulled you over his lap.
Not into it—nestled on top of his crotch, with your ass pointing up in the air. Joel’s big ass Carhartt jacket was bunching up around your torso, collar crowding you up to the chin. Your twisted just far enough to meet his gaze.
“What do you want from me?” Joel demanded, “What?”
You stared up at him, poring over your options in the span of what seemed like two milliseconds. Wondering, silently, why he wasn’t touching you anywhere.
“I want you to fuck me, Joel,” you replied at length.
Seated between driver’s side and shotgun, Joel looked perfectly unperturbed, raking a hand through his silver-flecked hair and letting his gaze trail up to the ceiling, as if considering something of grave importance.
“And what after that?” he asked, still staring at the roof.
Before you could reply, though, he was forging ahead,
“What happens when I can’t even look your dad in the eye knowin’ I’ve been balls deep in his little girl, and every fuckin’ time I’m over at your house or you’re over at mine, I’ll be thinkin’— no, dreamin’ of what it was like to have you wrapped around my cock, screamin’ my name and takin’ it so deep inside you like I know ya want it?”
You paused a beat. Had to bat your eyes a couple times to rid your head of those filthy thoughts he’d planted.
“We could, uh— fuck…then…too,” you ventured quietly.
Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.
“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.
Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,
“I can’t even cum with you on my mind,” he said, and for a split second you thought that might mean he wasn’t attracted to you in that way, when he swallowed hard and closed his eyes, “I’ve tried beating off twice today—in the bathroom and as soon as I left earlier—and I can’t…even get close with you here. You fuck with my head.”
You fuck with my head.
Without meaning to, your hips stirred over his, and Joel audibly groaned. At last, he dropped a palm to your ass and gave it a taut smack, and your whole lower half reverberated with the sensation—and a welt of pleasure.
“You think I want it to be like this?” Joel said, voice strained, fingers kneading over the flesh he’d just struck, “Think I enjoy havin’ the biggest set’a fuckin’ blue balls known to man whenever I’m around ya, honey?”
You winced when you were spanked again, letting out a whimper into the seat’s charcoal-colored upholstery.
“I can help with that,” you hissed, feeling him massage the spot once more. You arched your back into his touch.
“No. You’d make it worse,” Joel shook his head, “Once I get a feel inside this sweet cunt I’ll never wanna stop.”
At the soft rumble of his words, you felt yourself growing aroused. Noticeably so. Your skin broke out in broad swaths of gooseflesh every place he touched, and in the wake of those hands grew a pool of dull warmth. Sticky, slick, soak-straight-through-your-shorts sort of warmth.
Joel’s hand hovered about an inch from the source.
“We’d get bored eventually. It’d be fine,” you said, words crawling off of your parched tongue with some difficulty now. That faint, heady feeling from before had become a high, finally, and it seemed every sense you possessed was ablaze with desire. You were barely able to breathe, much less speak, but there you went, rambling anyway,
“Soon enough, you’ll get over the thrill of screwing me, and I’ll find a nice, polite, age-appropriate boy to spend the rest of my life having nice, polite sex with, and we can both pretend like this never happened. Deal?”
It was quite possibly the dumbest offer you’d ever made.
Joel slotted his hand between your legs to rub against that dampened patch of fabric. You almost jumped.
“Yeah? Just fuck around and forget about it?” Joel spoke, and you truly couldn’t tell if it was a sneer or real sincerity, as your eyes were squeezing shut, “Is that all you want from me, sugar?”
His fingers slipped beneath your shorts and made swift, easy contact with your heat. You buried your face in the seat and tried to muffle the sounds that were clawing their way out of your chest, while your hips tilted up.
“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.
By now, your head was spinning, in a daze, that you almost didn’t notice him tug your shorts down your legs. Or take them off at your ankles. You did get a sense of when he was breaching your folds—taking two, meaty fingers and trailing them up the slick glaze of your cunt.
“Doesn’t seem like this pussy wants ‘nice and polite’ to me,” Joel murmured, eyes gradually fastening to that lovely, exposed spot pointed up to him. He wet his lips, “Needs somethin’ else, doesn’t she, darlin’?”
Speaking of your pussy in third-person wasn’t something you ever thought could be hot, but coming from Joel? While his fingers traced up and down the seal of your entrance, tips circling your tight, hot, throbbing hole? Arousing didn’t even begin to cover it.
You pushed your ass back, and Joel chuckled above you.
“Wanna fuck daddy’s fingers? Is that it?” he taunted.
No, no, no—you wanted his cock buried inside you. But now you just needed reprieve from that ache, and your senses were practically on the fritz trying to get it.
Your hips rocked back and forth over his fingers—sliding the two digits in and out of your cunt with each motion—and, as much as Joel would’ve liked to make you beg and wait a little, your desperate pleas as you fucked his hand were more than enough to satiate him. He worked his free arm under your body and pinched hard on one nipple, eliciting a soft moan of ‘Joel’ underneath him.
“Oh, baby,” he breathed, watching you rut your hips for more friction, “That’s it, baby, fuck daddy’s fingers. Use my hand to make yourself feel good— that’s my girl.”
At the last, you probably could’ve cum on the spot, and Joel could tell by the way you clenched around him. He nudged a third finger between your plush, sensitive walls and heard your moans take on an even higher pitch.
“Hurts,” you whimpered, with no real indication of pain. You just felt stretched out, stuffed, and aching again. The only ‘hurt’ was not having even more of him in you, “Need more of you daddy, please. It hurts.”
Joel wanted to see you cum on his fingers. He really did. But when you got down to begging and pleading for his cock like that, the man’s whole heartbeat throbbed in his jeans, and he simply didn’t possess the resolve to refuse.
He hoisted you upright in his lap so you were straddling his hips. The fabric of his jacket hung loose off your frame and both of your arms as you latched around him.
“Are you high?” Joel asked, voice evening out all of a sudden to pin you with a serious look.
“Yeah.”
“How high?”
“I can consent, Joel.” Your thighs tightened around his sides, and your hips had already begun to stir.
“Not just can consent—do consent. Do you want this?” Joel’s hands moved from the small of your back to cup your face. You gave him a squished-together pout.
“Yes, I want this,” you managed through pinched cheeks. When Joel released you, you lowered your own hands to the buckle of his belt.
It felt foreign and familiar at once—this age-old ritual of fumbling for each other’s clothes and wrestling to get them off, like your bodies might catch fire if you didn’t act fast enough. Joel was a tad more graceful as he shrugged his jacket off of you, peeled your tank top off, and helped you maneuver your bare limbs around him. You, on the other hand, felt half-feral and every bit the wide-eyed novice while you stripped his body garment by garment and wordlessly told him just leave the jeans, I can’t wait another fucking second. Joel bit back a grin and had to steady you above him, feeling his cock twitch against his tummy but still slowing down enough to remind you, shhh, shhh, honey, it ain’t goin’ nowhere.
You had a tough time remembering that as you rubbed your wet centre over his shaft. Feeling so good you feared the feeling might escape any second, you whined.
“I know, baby, I know,” Joel cooed as your head fell in the crook of his neck, “Still hurtin’ somethin’ awful, hm?”
The tip of his cock just barely grazed over your clit and you buried your face even deeper, nodding furiously; Joel leaned forward to grab some item out of the glove compartment behind you and braced your body to him.
He tore something with his teeth. You craned your neck just slightly.
“Don’t laugh,” Joel muttered, voice momentarily stifled by bright, metallic wrapping.
“Is that…” You straightened up enough to cock a brow at him. Joel’s tongue rolled across the inside of his cheek.
“Cobwebs and all.”
Beneath your gaze was the flimsiest, dust-ridden, damn-near vintage condom—a decade old, at least.
“You buy that before or after the Great Depression?” you teased.
“Shut up.” Joel was already working it onto his dick.
“So Prohibition-coded.”
“I can find something to shove in that mouth, y’know.”
You were having too much fun at the old man’s expense, blissfully unaware that Joel was about one Gen X joke away from making you suck three of his arousal-soaked fingers. When you opened your mouth to speak—to try another wisecrack or else question the integrity of this ancient relic of a rubber—Joel crashed his lips against yours and made you mute with his tongue instead.
At the same time, he slowly eased himself inside you.
Your mouth fell open when you sank down on his length, fully, but no sound came out. You just gripped Joel’s shoulders and peered into his face as if to say, ‘Shit.’
No way any man was ever meant to feel this good.
No shot your walls were fitting his cock like a glove.
Joel soaked in your gaping, wordless stare with a nod.
“Good?”
“Great.”
You’d give all eight inches of the man a goddamn standing ovation if your legs weren’t feeling like jelly. Joel let out a small grunt when you clenched around him.
“Nice and…easy,” he said, as much to himself as to you. He pinched your hip in one gigantic hand and held you there, “Let ya take a second and adjust, alright, darlin’?”
“But Joel—” you whined, already trying to slide back up.
His grip kept you impaled on his dick, anchored in place. With the other hand, he brought a thumb to your clit.
“Just feel me, sweet pea,” Joel said, slow and languid as molasses while he touched you, “Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
You couldn’t be sure if the man was a sadist or the world’s biggest fan of cockwarming—or just polite.
The bare, slightly-less-sexy truth was that Joel hadn’t done this in a very, very long time. Even the sex he’d had, close to a year ago, was something more of a flashbang than a bona fide carnal experience; he’d just bent a perfect stranger over the bathroom sink and drilled her. This was a fever dream, a first to end all firsts, and at present, Joel felt himself toeing a razor-thin line between self-restraint and bliss by just your presence alone.
In short, he didn’t want to fuck it up by busting too soon.
When you rolled your hips and squeezed your eyes shut above him, well, Joel almost fell into a panic.
Think of golf. Differential equations. The weather in Kuwait. Anything to get his mind off of how tight your pussy was holding him in, how lithe your body worked to grind above him while he sat there, so helpless and—
“Big,” you whined, stretched to the fullest you’d ever been. Unable to bounce up and down like you wanted but still squirming for more friction, “So big, daddy.”
Hockey. Geometry. Wind patterns around the Maldives. He held you even tighter, but your motions were growing desperate. You had to start moving.
“Joel, please,” you begged him.
“Baby, I’m—”
About to cum. I am two seconds away from cumming.
“Need you now, need you so—” your voice broke off in a moan as you sank your nails into his muscly shoulders, “So bad, daddy, please, please, please—”
On the seat beside you both, your phone lit up, buzzing:
Dad 💙
Fuck.
FUCK.
Your eyes locked on Joel’s in a shared look of panic and horror, and for once, your bodies stopped, perfectly still.
You knew your dad too well. Just as much as Joel did.
Your father wasn’t the type to call late at night unless something was up. And he wouldn’t stop calling until someone picked up.
“Should we…?” That whisper came from you.
Joel was frozen in fear, eyes now glued to the screen.
“Just…give it a sec,” he breathed, “Might be nothing.”
But his tone couldn’t mask the dread behind his words. He gritted his teeth and watched the phone ring.
It stopped.
Then started again.
The pair of you clung to one other in the old Ford’s bucket seat like your dad might veritably hear the two of you having sex from 1,300 miles away if you moved.
It stopped once more.
The screen stayed black.
You let out a small sigh and felt your eyes start to close.
Then the trill of a ringtone under Joel’s ass started up the second they’d fluttered shut, and suddenly your gaze was wide, and frightened, and freaking the fuck out when you realized that your dad was trying to reach Joel.
“Answer,” you hissed.
“What?!” The whites of Joel’s eyes were bigger now than you’d ever seen them.
“He’ll know something’s up! Just—” you slipped your hand under Joel’s rear, completely devoid of any sexual insinuation this time, and yanked his old iPhone 6 out of his pants, “Answer it. Now. Be cool.”
Joel’s expression was still paralyzed with terror, but he brought the ringing phone to his ear anyway. Gingerly tapped ‘answer’ once you’d smacked him on the bicep.
“He-e-y man.”
You were so fucking dead.
Your face hovered mere inches away, and you could almost hear the warble of your father’s voice on the line.
“Great,” Joel answered, stilted as a puppet with someone’s hand up its ass, “So good. How are you?”
A beat.
“She’s good, she’s good.”
For a moment, Joel’s gaze flitted to the spot where your bodies were still connected and you saw a flash of desire, followed by guilt, then his head tip back to close his eyes as he tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
“In the bathroom…Uh-huh…Phone must be dead…”
“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”
“Somewhere just shy’a Bedford, I think…”
You listened to Joel drone on and clench his jaw, and every now and then you’d feel a squelch in that tiny space between you two when one of you moved, and it occurred to you then that it probably was not in your best interest to stay seated on his dick while he talked. You shifted your legs underneath yourself to get up.
When you started to slide up Joel’s shaft—the first time you’d ever really moved, mind you—you felt a knot in your tummy start to tighten. The friction was to die for.
You sank back down and heard a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it.
At the same time, Joel groaned. Then stopped himself. Then coughed—profusely.
“Sorry, just got a little—” Suddenly, a fiery set of eyes were searing holes in your head, angry as they were desperate, “—tickle in my throat is all.”
You ignored the strained Southern drawl and the eyes that looked ready to put a bullet between your own, and you rocked your hips again. The sensation was just too good. Your body practically acted of its own accord, and suddenly you were bouncing up and down in Joel’s lap.
The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.
Ready to wring your neck and maybe spit in your mouth.
“World’s movin’ too. damn. fast,” Joel seethed, trying to communicate to you semi-covertly while you rode his cock, “She’s one hell of a— firecracker, man, I’ll tell ya.”
You heard your dad’s laughter on the other end. While the sound subsided to chuckles, Joel grabbed your neck. He covered the mouthpiece for a second, then, in a murmur,
“This is not a fucking game.”
He squeezed your throat so tight you probably could’ve lost all circulation going to your head, but you smiled.
In spite of the hot, glowing embers of pleasure taking shape at the pit of your stomach and the coil that kept twisting and swelling inside, you grinned down at him. Then you mouthed, softly, ‘Yes, it is,’ and you rocked your hips against him even harder.
Joel drew in a breath through his teeth and watched you ride him with bleary, half-hooded eyes—keeping one hand on your carotid as the other hand cradled the phone to his ear. The man was transfixed.
By the pinch of just one set of fingers, you knew you were done for. A dwindling supply of oxygen, combined with your high and the hundreds of nerve-endings being brushed by Joel’s cock every other moment, you were spiraling toward release and didn’t know how to stop it.
When Joel pursed his lips and lifted his hips to start fucking up into you, you had to let go. Couldn’t hold on. You grabbed hold of his forearm, still hovering across your throat, and you moaned as the bliss washed over you. You slid your needy lower half back and forth, squeezed that tanned, tough arm practically bulging with veins above you, and you came around Joel’s cock. You whimpered his name, again and again, feeling him stroke your walls and fuck you through a euphoric high.
The next thing you felt was the seat cushion behind you—and the shift of Joel’s body weight pinning you down.
His cock hadn’t slipped an inch when he flipped you over; his grip was still secure on the phone.
The only thing that had changed was that look: malicious and vindictive with the hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Joel felt you pulse around him, starting to come down from your high, and he just decided to fuck you even harder.
“Shouldn’t be much longer now…” Joel hummed aloud, lowering a hand to your throbbing clit and muttering a soft ‘Uh-huh’ to your father while you clawed at his wrist.
“Joel,” you choked.
Now the feeling was too much. You were still so wet, raw, and sensitive that the pad of his thumb almost drew a shriek from your chest when he moved his finger in circles. You heard them chat about football. Joel shared a short, strained laugh with the man on the other end and pretended not to hear your whines as he continued to rail you senseless in the front seat of his car.
With the diversion of the phone call keeping his own climax at bay, Joel was free to fuck you as rough as he pleased—and couldn’t be more in awe seeing you veer close to the edge, again.
“Please, daddy, please,” you beseeched him, tears springing to your eyes as Joel’s thrusts kept shaking you.
He just shook his head and smiled as if to say, ‘Hold still.’
“It’ll be fine,” he said, “Mahomes is next-level. Best they can do is keep their heads down and take it, y’know?”
Your own soft, aching hole was taking the beating of a lifetime, and somehow, you managed to meet Joel’s gaze with a look that almost struck him as loving. That blissed-out, cockdrunk look of pure debauchery crossing your eyes in a way he hadn’t come to find in ages, if ever, was intoxicating. He felt the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him again, and suddenly he was pumping you faster, drilling you harder, gripping your throat and starting to sense his own climax draw near.
He couldn’t finish off like this.
Not talking shop and Super Bowl to your father—no.
Joel had to do something you might rightly hate him for for the rest of your life, and never forget, or forgive.
He lowered the phone, and right before he did, said,
“She just stepped outta the bathroom, actually. No, yeah, she’s right here. Wanna say hello?”
Your heart skipped a beat and nearly jumped into your throat. You tried to shake your head—fast—and even went so far as to try and dodge the phone when Joel brought it down to your ear, but that motherfucker had a grip like you couldn’t believe and wouldn’t stop stroking inside you or holding you down. You hated that you found Joel’s total dominance and control…kind of hot.
You flashed him the most nasty, bratty, ‘I’ll get you for this, Joel’ look you could muster anyway, and when he pressed the phone to your cheek, you mouthed a few more silent expletives before changing your air entirely:
“Hey, dad!”
Joel knew he was cooked from the second you said hello. Something objectively malevolent inside him got a rush to hear you speak to your dad in such a contrived, high-pitched tone of voice, knowing the unspeakable things he was doing to your body the whole fucking time. He could focus, now, with no need for any strained civilities of his own, but deep down, he knew it wouldn’t last long. He would not last long.
Might as well make it fun while it lasts.
“He…did,” you hummed, flitting your eyes up to Joel when he brushed your lower lip with his thumb—still holding the phone up for you while he rutted into you, “No, nuh-uh…Mr…Mr. Miller didn’t mind, no sir.”
Shit, the sound of you saying ‘sir’ was something that made Joel’s whole body lurch with pleasure. He made a mental note to have you call him that later and stroked your lip once more.
You tried to turn your face away—telling Joel, wordlessly, that you couldn’t keep up this conversation with your father if you had a thumb in your fucking mouth, but Joel didn’t care. He watched you pause for a moment, let just the tip of his finger press into your tongue, then, battling your better judgment, wrap your lips around the digit almost cautiously and suck. He knew you liked it, too.
He knew it by the way you bobbed your head, hummed, and nodded every time he thrust inside your aching walls and dragged his cock back out. The way your teeth clamped hard on his thumb whenever he grazed a particularly sensitive spot and how your lips held him in like a gag, or some other thing to keep you quiet amidst the moans and the whimpers bubbling up in your chest.
Suddenly, Joel was at your other ear, lips grazing skin and tongue praising your every move.
“My sweet girl.”
“Doin’ such a good job stayin’ quiet.”
“Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t ya, darlin’?”
From that point on, every single one of your father’s words over the phone fell on deaf ears—all you could hear was Joel. All you could feel was Joel. Your lips parted as if starting to speak, but all that would come out were small puffs of air, perfectly in sync with each one of Joel’s thrusts.
“You okay, hon? You sound…distracted,” your dad pressed. A hint of concern rose from his end of the line.
At length, Joel gripped both of your legs and brought them up over his shoulders, and he grinned before kissing your ankle and shoving his cock even deeper.
“Yes!” you yelped as you crushed the phone to your ear, hoping your father couldn’t hear any of the filthy sounds down below, “Just a little stretched—I mean stressed out, is all.”
The sick, smug fuck currently wedged eight inches deep inside you almost burst out laughing. If you weren’t so perilously close to your fourth orgasm of the night, you would’ve told Joel to take a long walk off a short bridge.
“Just worried about grades a-a-and all,” you stammered.
Joel leaned forward and almost tore a scream out of your chest—his tip was kissing the edge of your cervix now.
“Yes, sir. I will.” You tried your hardest not to whine and almost let out a sigh, “I’ll…ask him about it, for sure.”
As bone-crushingly fun as this all was, Joel was close.
He could feel it in the furthest recesses of his stomach; he was about to blow his load.
So, leveraging his weight to strike just the right angle and pushing his thumb in to stifle your moans, Joel sped up and drew even closer, face-to-face, so he could see your every expression from a hair’s breadth away.
He was so near he could hear your dad’s droning voice. See you struggle to take cock the closer you got to your release. You hadn’t cum in such quick succession…ever, really. All but one of the guys you’d let between your legs before seemed like amateurs compared to Joel, and to be honest, you weren’t sure if you could make it to four.
You popped his thumb out of your mouth and mumbled some ‘Sure, okay’ or other to your dad before casting a pleading look up at Joel. His hips were working up to a ruthless pace.
You covered the mouthpiece.
“I can’t, Joel.”
“Sure you can, sugar.”
“Joel,” you hissed, and tried to grab his wrist, when you felt your stomach start to cave. Every exposed inch of skin gave way to waves of heat, and your toes curled in. Worst of all, Joel was letting out sounds you hadn’t ever heard—short, ragged breaths that broke off in low groans—and it felt as though he were cradling your head. Holding you to him. Your eyes were locked on one another, your mouths practically panting in time, and what parts of you had not yet become commingled with him were practically coated with sweat. And shaking.
Then, in tones that rang like music to your ears:
“Alright, I’ll let ya head to bed, then. G’night, pumpkin.”
Your dad hadn’t even fully hung up the phone before you flung it across the car. Heels dug deep in Joel’s back.
“Cum for daddy,” Joel coaxed, “Cum all over this cock.”
You didn’t need much more instigation than that.
You came. He followed.
And it probably split his eardrum in two having his name screamed so fucking loud, but frankly, Joel hadn’t seen a reason for going deaf that he could’ve enjoyed so much.
Then, he didn’t sink so much as simply collapse on top of you while you both kicked back and let the waves of ecstasy roll over you. You adored his warmth in spite of the heat practically suffocating you both in that car.
Until it was in you.
Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.
You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.
“Did it…”
“What?”
“Joel!”
You flipped your legs down and tapped his abdomen furiously, telling him, pull out, pull out right fucking now, and Joel gently obliged. Dragged his cock three-fourths of the way out when a frail, tattered condom came loose around the head of his cock and almost fell off entirely. That damn prehistoric rubber had broken inside you.
“JOEL!”
“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”
Joel scrambled to get his cum-drenched cock and what remained of the condom away from your body, but the damage was done. You started throwing on clothes.
“I’m ovulating this week, I am so fucking fucked!”
Joel swallowed, shimmying his boxers and jeans back into place and scoping the front seat for his shirt.
“What’s…ovulating?”
You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.
There was no way this man had survived half a century on earth and didn’t understand the menstrual cycle.
“It means I can get pregnant if we don’t get a Plan B up in this bitch immediately. Let’s GO!”
That part seemed to click. Joel almost fell over himself trying to find his keys, while you slid out of the Bronco.
“Where are you going?!”
“To— to try and get some of this shit out of me first!”
Joel bounded after you, and within the first steps, you were sprinting across the parking lot. Your sweaty, half-naked companion tried—and failed—to slow you down.
“Are you not on birth control?” Joel huffed.
“Are you not capable of buying condoms more than once every fucking decade—or three?” you snapped.
Your strides were growing wider and more frantic by the second. Joel clutched his side and struggled to keep up.
“I’m…sorry,” he grunted, more embarrassed and worn-out than anything at the moment, “I’m sorry, darlin’.”
“‘Sorry’ doesn’t get your cum out of me, daddy.”
Your words couldn’t have gotten any more caustic or merciless—or inopportune—if you tried.
As it was, you were passing by the breezeway where all the bored lacrosse players were still lounging around, cracking cold ones, and craning their necks to see what the fuss outside was all about. The sounds of your feet racing fast on gravel and you and Joel’s raucous, bickering back-and-forth had caught their attention, and shortly, Connor was sticking his head around the corner. His expression—along with all the faces behind him—had twisted with horror. Confusion. A visible look of disgust.
Joel had just slowed down to catch his breath. He doubled over and braced both hands on his knees.
“I’ll fuckin’…duct tape my dick next time I hit it, honey!” he wheezed, barely loud enough for you to hear but perfectly audible to all the terrified guys around him.
Joel turned his head and almost groaned.
Then he was straightening himself back up, starting to retreat from the group who had him pinned with genuinely frightened—and nauseated—looks.
Joel normally wouldn’t care. This time, though, he threw his hands up and thought, fuck it, I’ll clear the air.
Over his shoulder, he grinned, yelling back to the guys:
“I’m not actually her dad!”
All of them stared back. Half-jealous, half-awestruck, Connor stood up, raised his beer, and called after him:
“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”
7K notes · View notes
c-nstantine · 2 months
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Bruce being Cockblocked
Description: In which Bruce just wants to fuck his wife
Warnings: Bruce being horny, cursing
Word Count: 1.2k
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It was rare but Bruce had allowed himself to sleep in. He found it so much easier to sleep in with his beautiful wife next to him. Her leg was currently slung around his waist and her bonnet-covered head was on his chest. He sighed in contentment. He liked to watch her sleep and it was a rare treat for him. He felt her stir against him as her eyes fluttered open. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and she looked at him with a sleepy smile.
"How long do you think we have before the kids barge in?" He asked with a smirk. He rolled on top of her and hitched one of her legs against his thigh. He pressed his morning wood into her core. 
"Maybe thirty minutes," She nearly moaned as he licked her neck. 
"I can work with that," He murmured, placing kisses down the side of her neck. He raised her nightgown carefully and was pleasantly surprised when she wasn't wearing any panties. Just as he lowered his boxers, there was a knock on their bedroom door. 
"Mommy, can you sign my permission slip? It's due today!" The voice of little Thomas Wayne said while jiggling the doorknob. Bruce had never been more glad that he locked that door the night before. 
"I'll be in the shower," He groaned as he rolled off of his wife.
-
It wasn't until a week later that Y/N and Bruce had another moment to themselves. Bruce had once again remembered to lock their bedroom door. His wife sat in front of her vanity doing her nighttime skincare routine with her curls pulled back into a puff. 
"I missed you," He said wrapping his arms around his wife's shoulders. 
"I missed you too," She spoke softly while making eye contact with him through the mirror.
"The twins and Thomas are asleep," She mentioned with a small smirk playing upon her lips as she turned to face her husband.
"Does that mean I have my beautiful wife to myself?" Bruce's hand caressed his wife's soft face and she leaned into his touch. 
"Yes, you do," She pressed a small kiss to his lips that quickly grew to be more passionate. Bruce reciprocated quickly and allowed his hands to find her waist. The two broke apart for air just as there was a knock on the door.
"Hey, ma. I threw up," Jason whined from the hallway. Bruce had forgotten that Jason and Dick were spending the night in the manor. Y/N had mentioned it being a part of their family bonding period.
"You are twenty-one (?) years old, just clean it up," Bruce yelled back across the door. He sighed in the nape of her neck and she just patted his back reassuringly. 
"No, I want ma," Jason lightly slapped his hand against the door. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Jason Todd was a 240 lb and 6'3 man even though Y/N tried to set him up with her friend's daughters.
"I'll be right there Jason. Go lay down," She said using her 'mom' tone. She heard his feet shuffle away and realized it was most likely going to be a long night.
"You're such a good mother," Bruce said when he realised that Y/N would be leaving him to tend to their second eldest son 
"That's why you love me," She placed one final kiss on his cheek before going to the kitchen for ginger ale and 
-
Y/N hummed as she walked into Wayne Enterprises. Everyone knew who she was and no one thought twice as she entered Bruce's office and closed the door behind her. She smiled as her husband looked clearly stressed out but there would be time for that later. 
"Bruce, I brought your lunch," She sat the brown bag on his desk and took a seat in the chair across the desk from him. She crossed her legs and smiled. She wore a fitted dress and cardigan while her hair was free in its coils today. Bruce's eyes trailed his wife's delectable thighs up and down.
"I'd rather be eating something else," He muttered before smiling at her lazily.
"Bruce!" She reached up and swatted his arm. Bruce just chuckled and pretended that her swat hurt.
"I miss my wife. It's been so long since we..."He admitted, his eyes never leaving her. If Bruce had one definite kink, it was most definitely eye contact.
"Do you remember the first time we had sex in your office?" She walked over to him and leaned against his desk. She even rocked it a bit to check its stability.
"Trust me, I've had the desk reinforced since then," He stood in front of her and pressed a kiss to her lips. His hands found the familiar curves of her waist and lifted
"Hey, Bruce. Here's the files you asked me for. Oh, hey Mom," Tim walked into the office with a bright smile. The boy looked surprisingly refreshed which means he was most likely napping in his office.
"Hey, Tim," Y/N said with a bright smile.
"Are you guys eating lunch? Can I have some?" He said noticing the brown bag that was on the desk. Tim managed to ignore the fact that his parents were clearly engaged in some sort of make-out session before he walked in.
"Sure," Bruce groaned. He liked spending time with his kids, sure but now he would have to go the whole day with boner like some kind of teenage boy. 
"It's okay," She patted his shoulder once again and offered him a small kiss of pity.
-
"Is Bats okay?" Barry asked Clark as the two of them observed Bruce from the Watchtower. Bruce had bumped into the recruits repeatedly and yelled at one of the government agents aboard. Normally, he would've just said something a bit rude and brushed it off.
"What do you mean?" Clark asked.
"He's been snippier than usual. He's also like a little angry," Barry explained, shuddering at the thought of being yelled at by the Batman. It happened once and Barry went crying to Diana. Never again, he thought to himself.
"I'll talk to him," Clark agreed after watching Bruce stab his mashed potatoes with a fork.
"Bruce, you okay? Everyone's noticed that there is something up with you," Clark sat next to Bruce, who had just slipped off his cowl. He sighed loudly and ran one hand through his hair.
"Clark, I'm only telling you this because no one would believe you," Bruce spoke without a hint of malice. 
"Okay?" He didn't know if that was a compliment or not but was overall glad that Bruce had agreed to open up a little.
"I haven't had sex with my wife in a while," Bruce admitted quietly.
"Well, you are of a certain age now. It's normal that you can-" Clark figured this was an age problem. He wasn't quite sure how old Bruce was but he knew it was older than most members of the Justice League.
"Getting it up is not the problem. The problem is that my kids hate me and keep cockblocking me," He was positive his kids didn't hate him but at this point, he thought they could sense when he wanted to have sex with his wife. The twins have even started crying whenever he would kiss Y/N.
"You'll get through it, buddy," Clark smiled and patted Bruce's shoulder softly. Bruce simply looked at Clark's hand in disgust before Clark walked away. Bruce, in fact, did get through it. It did take him buying a hotel and reserving the whole thing for the night but it worked. 
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Taglist: @flyestvenustrap @megamindsecretlair @blxckdesire @prettyvintageafternoon @lilbanas @certifiedloverwoman @melissa-ashe @hoyoooo
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2K notes · View notes
bambiesfics · 2 months
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Cock in a Gloryhole - Ellie x reader
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𝜗𝜚 Author’s notes ✦ public sex, reader deepthroating Ellie’s cock (strap-on), Ellie cums untouched, Ellie yearns for readers lips, very hyper-sexual descriptions. Ellie’s strap is almost exclusively referred to as a cock/dick/etc, pining, missed connection. This is a filthy fic.
Ellie’s a slutty gay and very judgmental.
!!! [please help palestine] !!!
kisses u. ⋆ 𝜗𝜚 ˚⟡.
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Ellie slid her converse off of the toilet handle. The brazen girl fished for her pants’ zipper. She held her cock in one hand, and fought with the zipper with the other. The cheap metal wasn’t fastening over the straps on her hips, it was catching on her harness. “Jesus fuck. Now? Seriously?”
She rolled her eyes and smoothed her bangs down. After a few beats, the bored brunette circled the stall, then slumping against the chipped navy door. Cock in hand, balls barely zipped up. She chuckled to herself, there was probably some stupid fucking metaphor for that out there somehwere. She wasn’t going to step out like that, with the veins of her dick saying “hi” over her half zipped pants? Fuck. No. It wasn’t in the cards. But the zip wasn’t budging. Ellie felt a scowl forming; The kid was pissed. She didn’t have time for this, not now. Not when there was a gorgeous service teller at the center that she’d been mentally undressing for the better part of her visit. A woman who belonged on her knees, in front of Ellie. A woman with the perfect mouth to suck dick clean. Ellie toe’d her converses on the dirty grout lines hatch marked across the tile floor. The repetition of it lulled her into a meditation as she contemplated how to escape this awkward mess she somehow tripped headfirst into. Getting into awkward shit like this was her forté, but the benefits of packing far outweighed the headaches.
The stall next to her swung open, the clacking heels were rhythmic and sharp. Feminine little steps. A woman sat down, and did her business as she hummed. Ellie scaled her eyes along the bathroom wall that separated her and the lady. The wall was grotty. Old and well worn from years of servicing and decades of business. The maintenance was abysmal on its best day, and it made for a pleasant surprise when Ellie’s eyes zero’d in on the hole carved out haphazardly. There were still pieces of drywall sticking out past the lament of duck tape all around the hole. Ellie chuckled grimily, just high enough that the woman paused her rustling once the realization that she wasn’t alone had settled. The prick-fucking developers who were responsible for this project definitely forgot to remodel this bathrooms stalls’ when they added a new male bathroom to the bottom floor of the building. The little glory hole had a glaring missing chunk of ‘wall’ from its separation of the two stalls, and it’d had that for years from the looks of it. It had a bunch of old thin splinters of amber oak and drywall sticking out. The eyesore pointed to the empty hole like a pair of flashing neon arrows pointing to a seedy Las Vegas strip club.
Ellie doubted it got used much, if at all. If any of the prissy women who sat down to release themselves understood why there was a giant fucking hole the size of a two baseballs stacked vertically in their bathroom stall. Nah, Ellie mused. They definitely just kept their gaze straight ahead if they noticed anything amiss. A prim attempt at respecting the other woman’s privacy. Except, the irony was in the fact that, the point of that hole carved in the wall, the hole yelling “FUCK ME,” was to trample all over another stranger’s privacy. To proclaim yourself a king with a heavy cock and see if they’d submit to it.
Ellie stroked her cock, squeezing the base then working her way to the tip, warming it up in her hands. She unzipped the rest of her pants, and let the balls spring free. The balls dropped a little past the zipper, it took the edge off the pressure in her leather jeans. Mmm, now this felt right.
She took a tentative step forward, debating her next step. But then she rolled her anxiety off her back. Undulating those fast twitch muscles that lined her back to stretch and warm, to relax. It wasn’t that serious. Call it “part of the plot,” call it whatever you want. But what Ellie wanted to do was going to be insanely amusing. She needed the amusement if she was gonna be stuck here until her zipper decided to cooperate. Ellie’s converses padded to the wall, it’s toe box lined up with the bottom of it. Nosing against the edge. She lined up her cock with the glory hole and slowly fed the hole inches of her cock, until she bottomed out and her balls were trapped between her hairy pelvis and the wall. She held her breath. Her palms scaled the wall. The woman on the other side gasped, Ellie could only imagine how she clutched her hand to her chest and scrambled to pull her bag up over her shoulder. Ready to run to building security and report the “creep” in the ladies bathroom stall. The creep was Elizabeth “I <3 pussy” Williams with her cock fucking a glory hole. This would make for a hilarious prank to joke about with Jessie later. Jesse would think Ellie was bustin’ his balls, making up some new lie to fuck with his head. And she’d revel in the way his face would drain of colour once he realized she wasn’t.
Ellie grasped the base of her cock and lifted it up a little bit, practically taunting “yoohoo!” With the motion. Letting her heavy shaft say “hi” to the poor woman who was facing it head-on. She grinned again, and prepared herself to tuck her dick back in her pants like a good boy and behave.
But then she heard clothes rustling, and the tug she felt on her harness made her eyes fly open. Her heart rate picked up. Blood was rushing in Ellie’s head. She didn’t actually expect a sweet lady to open up her lips and suck her off. But the eager lips on the other side, started sucking her cockhead before she could process it. The woman bubbled saliva onto Ellie’s tip to aid in the lubrication. Then the lady sucked Ellie’s fat cock in all the way to the hilt, until her nose bumped the soft skin shove Ellie’s groin. All that could be seen were puffy red lips and the tip of the girl's nose. But it made Ellie fucking sprung. Her mind was clouded with raging lust as the moans of “…fuck baby..” whimpered from Ellie’s lips. The rest of the sentence would’ve concluded with “…I didn’t expect you to actually blow me.” If Ellie could think straight.
The girl on the other side of the stall was enthusiastic to have cock in her mouth. She was sucking up and down Ellie’s full length. Using her sloppy saliva to help her lips slide up and down the length. Ellie shoved her pelvis into the wall until both of her hip bones were bruised and beat grinding against the wall. She was greedy to feel more suction. Ellie’s chubby cock had a puffy head, and a fat veiny shaft. Her cock was the color of obsidian, just like Ellie’s harness. And her wrinkly fat balls held her squishy testes. The ones she forced all girls to palm for reality’s sake. For all intents and purposes; this was Ellie’s fucking cock. And so she could feel it when the woman on the other side gagged on her dick so eagerly, it was as if she was desperate for Ellie to paint her throat in warm cum.
Ellie started moaning the more she heard the woman on the other side gag on her. She could just imagine the way her dick was creating an imprint in her throat, sliding down and bulging. Ellie was large, she’d seen her do that to a girl before. She couldn’t help but whimper at the image of a sweet girl impaling her dainty throat around Ellie’s thick piece, in a seedy business bathroom. God what a beautiful fucking piece of ass must on the other side of the stall. A girl with the lips of a killer, sloppy and greedy. Hungry to suck off a creep. Probably with a perfect vagina to match; a hole just as sloppy, just as greedy. A hole only fit for a King to thrust into. Good thing Ellie thought of herself as a King too. Ellie decided, as she watched your red lips deepthroat her length, that the very moment the girl on her knees was done digging her tongue into Ellie’s cock slit, she’d knock down the door of the stall you were in, and ram into your glossy pussy over the toilet. You would coat Ellie’s cock in the sticky saliva held inside your puffy little hole too. Two sets of lips for Ellie to abuse.
Ellie bit her fist to prevent herself from choking out a moan. God. You popped your lips off, and stroked up Ellie’s dick with your little fist. Up and down and up and down, before you put it back in your mouth to deepthroat one more time. You wanted to nose against the pale girl's skin again, feel her bush tickle the tip of your nose. Smell the soft patch of hair, the salt of her skin. The sexy art of her bush and happy trail. Ellie yelled out a hoarse “Fuck-k!” And you could tell she came. She soaked her black Klein boxers. Maybe she came from those eager motions grinding her harness against her swollen pink clit. Or maybe she came untouched, hole spasming scarily just because of how aroused Ellie was by you. You placed a gentle kiss on her cockhead with your red lips. Ellie bit down her fist, hard. She broke skin, and drew blood.
If you could’ve, you would’ve loved to have Ellie’s real cum dribbling down your tongue instead. You stood up to pull your panties flush against your plump cunt. Finished with your prior business. There was slick dripping in between all of your puffy folds, and you knew your panties would stay wet the entire rest of the day from just the way they were suctioned to your cunt alone.
You stepped out to wash your hands, heels clacking with an air of comportment. You waited for the girl whose cock you inhaled, to come out of the stall and address you. But she never came. Her back was pressed against the wall. Instead she slid down to collect herself. So you fixed your blouse, hid your cleavage, touched up your smeared lipstick after rubbing it all off on Ellie, and massaged your nipples so they wouldn’t poke so prominently through your blouse. You shimmied in your tight skirt and clacked out of the bathroom. Leaving the girl hiding in the stall, to catch her breath and will the staccato of her heartbeat away. Ellie wasn’t new to coming untouched, but coming from the visuals and motion of a stranger sucking her cock clean? That — that was a new one. She gulped and adjusted her boxers, because fucking Christ, they were heavily soaked from her own slick. With shaky hands the pale girl fished for her leather pants zipper. Pleading with the bitchy, cheap, metallic hardware over and over, until it finally pulled all the way up.
A rapid river of relief washed over Ellie, she couldn’t afford to be stuck in there anymore. Ellie stumbled out of the washroom, hoping to find you. She snapped her head back and forth, then stumbled around in circles trying to catch a flash of sloppy red lips. She thought of going to people and asking if they’d seen a lady with puffy red lips strut by. But then thought better of it. The idea sounded dumb as rocks, even to her own horned-out brain. Ellie rubbed her cock through her pants, feeling phantom sucks from memory. You were burned in her brain, forget the cute teller from earlier. You were her new Madonna, her new whore.
In your honour, she’d stroke her g-spot to a hot strap blowjob video tonight, to keep the memory of your filthy cocksucking mouth fresh.
Ellie hoped if there ever was a next time in that glory hole for her, that you’d line your little greedy hole right up in front of the glory hole in the stall, so Ellie could make you drip your cream down her cock. She’d love to pull her dick out of you, just to marvel at the beautiful rings of milk wrapped around her veiny shaft from your own sopping cunt. Ellie savored the idea of the screams she’d rip out of you, the cries and pleads you’d wail for her ears only. She’d rip you apart, and that would be the fucking cherry on top of her fucking birthday cake.
If she got the cake, she’d love to write “Ellie ‘Hung’ Williams” on the face of it just for shits.
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2hightocare · 6 months
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SWEET NOTHINGS ✷
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Summary: You and Jungkook host thanksgiving dinner at your guys’ house, but Jungkook is head over heels in love with you.
pairing: husband!jungkook x wife!reader
warnings: pure fluff, jungkook is whipped, reader and jungkook are corny as hell, and a lot of curse words. A lot of kissing… a little bit of spanish. crying.
"Baby, what are you wearing? Are we going to match?" Your husband yells from upstairs, making you chuckle lightly. "I left your outfit hanging in the bathroom," you yell back while bending over, turning on the light of the oven where the turkey Jungkook added almost four hours ago stares back at you.
"Do I take the turkey out now, babe?" You yell for your husband upstairs to listen. "I don’t know; let me call my mom," he says. You jump, a small shriek leaving your lips as you put your hand over your heart and close your eyes.
"Fuck, you scared the shit outta me," a small chuckle slips past your mouth as Jungkook laughs with his head thrown back and dimples on full display.
"I’m so sorry, baby. I thought you heard me coming downstairs." His mouth adorned with a grin while slowly pulling you to him with his hands on your waist.
"Hi," you say as he kisses your lips.
"Hi, baby," he greets back, putting a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. "You look so beautiful," Jungkook gives you one more kiss before making you do a little spin for him.
Your brown long-sleeve off-shoulder mini dress matches his brown crewneck. His black jeans match your black stockings and black long boots you ended up stealing from your sister last time she visited. "You look sexy, so eatable I’m afraid." You look up at him with a big smile on your face before tiptoeing to give him a quick kiss before making your way back to the mashed potatoes you said you would do.
One thing about Jungkook is that he could stay mesmerized by your actions and words even if whatever you were doing was something so normal just like right now. The way your curled hair falls in front of your face, but with your hands occupied, you try to blow on it before trying to use your elbow to push it away, causing Jungkook to let out a chuckle, making his way to help you.
"I thought that was the reason you have a bow on, baby." Jungkook pushes both your long curtain bangs back to its place, securing it with the bow. "I’m not even going to ask how you were able to do that so fast," you throw a glare at Jungkook, making him burst into another laugh.
"Baby, I have to fix Ji-woo’s bows all the time." Jungkook laughs softly in the crook of your neck from behind, his hands wrapped around your waist.
Ji-woo being yours’ and Jungkook’s only goddaughter, and the only child in both of your families. You and Jungkook always brought up the topic of kids for it to always be shut down after seeing kids throw tantrums in tv shows or when going grocery shopping, which only ends with us looking at each other before shivering at the thought that one day that could be our future child.
The thought of having children it’s not completely shut down; you and Jungkook just feel like you guys will like to wait just a bit more before having a kid. Ji-woo and Bam were enough for you both.
You both sway to the song playing from the living room TV, coming from your ‘j🖤’ playlist.
"Did you ask your mom about the turkey?" You ask finally finishing smashing the potatoes, pushing the bowl to the center of the white counter where other dishes you made yesterday are gathered.
"Hm, texted her, and she said she was on her way," he murmurs from the crown of your head before finally letting go of you. "I have some to give you be right back," Jungkook makes his way to the garage door where both of your guys' cars are. As you wipe down the countertops and table, the door opens, making you look up, finding Jungkook holding the biggest flower bouquet you have ever seen.
A gasp leaves your mouth as you stare at the beautiful bright red roses. "Oh my god, baby, what?" Your lips pout as he kisses them and hands you the bouquet. "Fuck, this is heavy," you hold the flowers with both hands, the bouquet covering your entire face, making Jungkook chuckle. "Baby, I can’t even hug you to say thank you," you whine, feeling your eyes slightly water. You had always been so sensitive when it came to gestures Jungkook has done for you. That one time he took it upon himself to learn Spanish to be able to ask your parents in their native language for your hand in marriage, or the one time he took you to Paris on your one-year anniversary because you told him you always wished of going but never was able to due to your parents' financial issues.
"Baby, don’t cry," Jungkook quickly takes the flowers from your grip and puts them on the counter before cupping your face and blowing on your face, making you burst out laughing. Jungkook smiles while kissing your face.
"I just love you so much," you whisper all while he finishes kissing your closed eyes. "I love you so much more," Jungkook replies back before pulling you into a hug; you immediately melt into his warmth.
"I’m so seriously so in love with you," you say against his chest while he kisses the top of your head soothing you.
"And I'm in love with you," Jungkook says muffled against your hair; you stay there for a minute just feeling each other’s warmth and comfort while "Sweet Nothings" by Taylor Swift plays in the background.
"We’re so fucking corny, I swear," you joke, making both of you crack up until both your stomachs hurt.
"You had to ruin the moment huh?" He smirks at you before leaning down to leave a big fat kiss on your lips.
"I actually have one more thing, and I need you to close your eyes," Jungkook bites on his lip, his dimples showing. "Oh my god, are you serious? You just gave me around a hundred flowers, and there’s more?" Your mouth hangs open, earning another small laugh from Jungkook.
"Okay, no, for real though, close your eyes; I’ll be right back." Jungkook disappears again through the garage door. Not knowing what to expect, you close your eyes.
Funny how the butterflies and cartwheels your tummy still does even after all these years has you feeling so happy and thankful for the person you get to spend your whole life with.
The garage door opens, which makes you giddy like a teenage girl waiting for her crush to tell them they like them.
"Okay, open, baby." You open your eyes, your mouth drops open. "You’re fucking kidding, Jungkook."
You stare at the small white fluffy kitty with grey spots, that is laying comfortably in Jungkook’s arms. Your hands make their way to your mouth to conceal the small scream you want to let out. You had been begging Jungkook to let you get a cat for almost three months now.
Jungkook’s cheeks hurt from how hard he is smiling, looking down at you and how you softly caress it.
"What’s its name?" You look up at Jungkook, who is already looking at you with galaxies in his eyes. "You choose, baby, it’s yours." Jungkook places the small kitten into your arms. “Oh my fuck, it’s mine,” you squeal as the kitten looks up at you, making you melt even more.
“No mames” (you gotta be shitting me), you say in your native language, making Jungkook smile wider as he sees you struggle to find a name.
“It’s a boy, if that helps.” Jungkook leans against the counter, watching your every move, his heart swelling. “And if we named it ‘Bubbles’?” Your head snaps to Jungkook’s, waiting for his reaction to the name.
“I love that,” he scrunches his nose before nodding up and down. “Oh my god, I’m a mother,” you pick up Bubbles into the air, softly spinning around.
“Excuse you! You've been a mother, what about Bam!” Jungkook dramatically puts his hand on his heart, acting out like he just took a hit to the chest. “Stop! I love Bammy!” You defend yourself.
You make your way to your husband, kissing his lips over and over again, causing him to smile into your mouth. “Thank you so much, baby.” You thank him for the twelfth time before the doorbell to the entrance door rings. “Coming!” Jungkook yells, hoping whoever is outside heard.
As both of your families gather at the dining table, where we had to pull some chairs from outside so all eleven of us can eat around the table.
“Okay, so who’s going to start with what they are thankful for?” your sister says as her husband pokes her side, “I say you go first since you wanna share so bad,” your brother-in-law tells her, making everyone laugh.
Your sister scoffs before raising her wine glass to the air, then giving us a look to do the same, causing Jungkook’s mom to let out a small snort. “I’m thankful for all of you guys; you seriously make my days better by just opening the family group chat,” she jokes. “And I’m super thankful for everything I have accomplished this year, cheers!”
“Cheers!” Everyone clinks their glasses in the air, beside Ji-woo, who has her chubby fingers in her mouth, giggling along with whatever we’re saying.
The table goes around saying what they’re thankful for before stopping at Jungkook, his hand on your thigh squeezes before he starts.
“Okay, your turn, my love,” Jungkook’s mom says to Jungkook, who smiles at his mom. “Corny trigger warning, please!” Jung-hyun, Jungkook’s brother, jokes, which gets him a swat from his wife. “What the-“ Jung-hyun rubs the back of his head, staring agape at his wife. The table bursts into a fit of laughter.
“Okay, well, I wanted to start with thanking everybody for coming,” Jungkook starts off, making everyone say a small ‘you’re welcome’. “I’m super thankful for my family; I truly don’t know how I could’ve possibly turned out without you guys,” he continues. “I’m grateful for y/n’s family, my second family; thank you for welcoming me into your life, and god suegra, thank you for birthing y/n,” Jungkook rambles off, causing the biggest laugh to come out of everyone.
“And I’m so grateful for my wife,” his eyes find their way to yours, making you melt into your seat like putty; a bunch of collective ‘oohs’ come out of everyone’s mouth.
“I truly love you with everything in me, and I’m so grateful for you. Thank you for making me the happiest man ever since I met you. You’re literally the best thing that has ever been mine.” Jungkook finishes with a huge smile on his face. Your lip quivers, and your hands make their way to your eyes again, hoping the tears you’re holding in don’t come pouring. Everyone around the table claps and is in awe of you both.
“What’s with you making me cry today?” your hands flap in front of your face, like if that could help the tears blurring your vision.
“I’m sorry, baby,” Jungkook wipes the tears that fall down your eyes. “I love you so much I can’t-“ Jungkook shushes you with a small kiss and softly puts your loose hair strands behind your ear.
“Okay, enough lovey-dovey shit. I’m trying to eat!” Jung-hyun says, making everyone laugh as everyone starts digging into the food they put on their plates not so long ago.
Jungkook kisses the corner of your mouth before his fingers move to the gold ‘J’ necklace he got you years ago. Jungkook smiles to himself as his thumb moves across the letter. You pull him from his sweater until his ear is at the same level as your mouth before whispering.
“I love you, now eat.” Jungkook chuckles under his breath at your words before whispering back. “Yes, ma’am.” The hugest smile stays on everyone’s face the whole night.
A/n: hi omg this is my first ever fanfic I have posted, sorry if there’s some errors hope you enjoyed.🤍 (all of this is just fictional)
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The Fight || Billy The Kid x reader
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Summary: Billy involves himself in a physical fight over you.
Warnings: violence, swearing, blood
Wc: 1,347
A/n: uh- this is my very first time writing a Billy fic so pls bear w me (especially w how they talk and stuff) bc in the the series I don’t really find Billy talking like how ppl write abt him (absolutely not hate whatsoever to those who do, I absolutely love ur fics find you all so talented 😭) so I’ll try my best to be as accurate as I can. Do let me know if I make a mistake so I can improve :)
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Divider by @pommecita
"I'd fuck her any day if she wasn't whoring herself for him," Ollinger slurs, throwing his head back to let the contents of the bottle run down his throat as the men around him laugh. Billy's head pikes up at the sound. Typical Ollinger, talking about some woman as if she was an object.
Billy watches from the other side of the room as he continues to talk to them, his voice becoming louder by the second. "hot for a fucking gringo, and that's saying something," He shakes his head his eyes half close by how wasted he was.
"Wonder how Billy would feel if I had her, don't think he's too keen on sharin?" He nudges the guy beside him before bursting out laughing. Hearing this, he realises that Ollinger was talking about you. Calling you a whore.
He slammed the bottle in his hand down on the table making a loud noise. Pat Garrett and Jessie slightly flinch before they look up at Billy who was already standing, fuming.
"What's goin' on?" Pat asks, his eyes trying to follow Billy's line of gaze. Billy doesn't answer, instead, he storms over to where Bob Ollinger was and his friends. They were all laughing until one of the guys ushered everyone and tapped Ollinger to face Billy.
He slowly turned around, seemingly not bothered by Billy's presence or the fact that he towered over him. "Have something to say 'bout my girl Ollinger? Hm?" He stands his ground, taking another swig of his alcohol as he maintains eye contact with Billy. Everyone in the room had quietened down, eyes trained on the two who never got along.
"Maybe. Wanna hear what I gotta say Billy?" He smirks as Pat Garret and Jessie had already stood up from where they were. Billy narrows his eyes at the man. "I think she's a pretty little gringa you got there, but she needs a real man, not some kid like you-" "You're fucking pathetic, y'know that?" Billy spat, venom laced in his words.
Ollinger seemed to have sobered up when he said that. He looked at Billy with pure rage. "What’d you call me, boy." His blood was boiling at this point. "I said." Billy steps closer, "You're fucking pathetic." He threw a punch at his jaw as Ollinger falls back from the impact and his lack of balance.
At this point the room was cheering the two on as they throw punches at each other. Ollinger swings at Billy but misses, he was glad he wasn't drinking as much that night. He then lunges and aims towards Billy's stomach, knocking him onto the table as all its contents fell on the floor. "C'mon Billy get up!" Garrett pushes him back up.
Billy had a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow as a trail of blood fell down the side of his face. However, it was nothing compared to the damage he did on Ollinger. "Call a whore one more time, I dare you," Billy yelled, throwing punch after punch as he was on top of him. "Billy! Billy stop!" Billy heard your familiar voice but didn't stop. All he could see was red.
From the moment you stepped foot out of your carriage that dropped you off in front of the pub, you knew a brawl of some sort was going on inside by the way you could hear cheers and the noise of furniture being knocked over.
You hurriedly walk in. You couldn't see what was going on over the tall people who stood in front of you. Weaving your way through the crowd to try and see what the commotion was about, you bumped into Jessie. "Woah there-" "Jessie, what's going on? Where's Billy?" You quickly ask him before your eyes fall onto him.
He was on top of Ollinger, throwing punch after punch. Your eyes widen in horror as you try to go to him but was held back by Jessie who had an arm around your shoulder. "Let me go! I need to stop him Jessie!" You struggle against his iron like grip. "Can't have you get involved in fight, sweetheart. Can’t let you goin' home with a scratch on your pretty face now can I?"
He says against the side of your face as you squirm, helplessly watching the fight. There was blood everywhere and you feared that Billy had killed Ollinger. "Jessie!" You thrash in his grip before he gives Garrett a look who nods and quickly breaks up the fight.
"That's enough, Billy. You got what you wanted," Pat and few other guys pulled Billy back who was breathing heavily, blood covered his shirt and hands. Billy spits on the ground. "All right, show's over!" Jessie yells as people start leaving. Ollinger gets pulled up by a few others as he's dragged away, his body limp.
"Don't you fucking go near her! You hear me Ollinger?" Billy yells before he spits more blood out. "Enough, Billy!" You exasperated, kneeling beside him to take his face in your hands, inspecting it.
Thank god there wasn’t much damage, only a busted lip and a cut on his eyebrow. “For god’s sake Billy! What happened now?” You search his eyes as he stares back at you, blankly. You catch Pat and Jessie looking at you before their eyes find the floor rather interesting. You stand up, dress already spotted in crimson as you brush the loose strands of your hair behind your ears, “What happened here?”
~
You made a beeline to your bathroom. Billy closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of her bed, he let out a groan before falling back onto the soft mattress. He starts to sit up when he hears you walk back in, a first aid kit in your hands.
You hadn't spoken a word to him since the two of you left the pub and came back to your house. You were grateful that your parents were away for the week, they would have thrown a fit if they saw you covered in blood and Billy batted up.
Moving to stand in between his legs, Billy lifts his hands up to rest on your hips but you slap his hands away. "Darlin'-" "I don't want to hear it Billy," You say, annoyance dripping from you voice as he hisses at the contact of disinfectant on his cut.
Billy lets out a sigh, his eyes trained on your angel like face as you attend to his face. "I'm sorry, I really am-" "Five times. Five times you've gotten into a fight because of me." You scoff, tilting his head firmly as you go over his eyebrow.
"You told me you would stop Billy. I can't keep playing nurse with you because you can't bite your tongue," You make eye contact with him. "You expect me to just sit around and do nothing when some guy is calling you my whore?" Billy's voice gets louder as he furrows his eyebrows at you.
You gulp, eyes looking everywhere but him. "Look at me!" He grips your chin with his thumb and index finger, "You've known me long enough to know I ain't that type of guy," He spoke, his eyes darkening.
"And you've known me long enough to know that I can handle whatever they call me. I don't need you getting into a fight every time someone foul mouths me," Your eyes begin to water. You hated seeing Billy like this. You hated how most of his fights revolved around the topic of you.
"They're all worth it, doll. You're worth it." Billy wipes away the singular tear that managed to escape. You sniffle lightly before he pulls you onto his lap, your arms securing themselves around his neck as he strokes your hair.
"Try not to get into another fight because of me," You mutter, your fingers drawing random shapes on his back as you hear him chuckle, "Can't keep any promises, darlin'" He kisses your hair as the two of you hold each other.
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