#time loop sixty

[itsybitsybatsyspider]

i want that slut covered in blood and traumatized by his actions

[ltcolonelcarter]

Talk to Amanda ↳ the chess board in the zen garden, battle for detroit

[nartothelar]

Re the timeloop comic, the fact that time stopped looping when Emmet succeeded at saving Ingo means the universe itself wanted Ingo to survive…

Or perhaps emmets will was enough to sway the universe itself

[asherasgayagenda]

ASHE CRAZYB SLICE OF LIFE ANIME OPENING MV

I WASNT EXPECTING THAT BUT I THINK THEY DID IT SOO WELL!!!!! AAHHSHFGEGREHSGRHEGR AL THEPLACEA THEY GOOO AND THEIR HAPPY EXPRESSIONS WHAT IF I WAS MELTING CHCBZBBXHSN!,!.?.?,!?’.?.??!!,!?!,!.!.?.?.,?.,!,,,

[prestisssimo-tempestuoso]

just spent two nights reading this year’s reddit madoka rewatch threads and now inquiring minds would like to know just how long gen urobuchi spent developing the story how long he spent writing the script and how long he spent rewriting the whole thing until it’s one of the finest examples of cinematic perfection to ever exist on a screen

[constellation-sapphic]

At the end of the day it's me and the song that threw me back into my religious trauma

[gutsby]

Waiting Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

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

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

Part 2 | Part 3

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

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

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

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

All you needed was a ride home for the holidays.

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

Joel frowned.

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

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

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

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

“Hey! You can’t hit a woman!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get—I swear to God, kid—DOWN!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The police officer hadn’t bought it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Needin’ a room?”

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

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

“Smoking or non?”

“Smoking, please.”

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

“King or two Queens?”

“Queens,” you and Joel answered in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright.”

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

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

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

“Mr. Miller! You forgot your keys.”

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

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

You turned back to Joel.

“Here you go, Daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck, he needed a shower.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck this.

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

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

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

“Sofa’s broke,” you said.

Joel blinked.

“Broke?”

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

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

“You can sleep there.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Miller Lite. Eyes up here.”

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

Joel swallowed.

“Tails, what?”

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

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

“I wasn’t—”

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

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

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

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

You raised both brows, mildly amused.

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

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

Joel tensed under your touch.

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

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

“What game?” he asked.

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

“Too Hot?”

“You heard me.”

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

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

The thought made Joel’s stomach turn.

Presently, you wrinkled your nose up at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I bet you will.”

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

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

“Are tongues allowed?” he hummed.

“Everything but hands,” you shrugged.

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

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

Joel Miller was showing off for you—the bastard.

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

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

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

“Twenty since I felt one this good.”

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

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

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

Even through the towel, he felt huge.

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

All of a sudden, Joel’s movements stopped.

He peered down at you with a curious look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Some lone remnant of ire flashed in your eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel.”

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

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

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

Neither of you had laid a hand on the other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Touch me, Joel, please.”

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

“Nah.”

Curt and cruel as ever. Then:

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

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

“Motherfucker.”

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

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

“JoelbabypleasebabyfuckmefuckohfuckitfeelsoGOOD.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Out.”

This motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared him down, incredulous.

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

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

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

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

You were still hungry as shit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You almost fell over yourself trying to get to it.

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

You nodded back and sidled up to the snack dispenser.

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

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

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

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

“Like this?”

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

A bag of Trolli Sour Brite Crawlers dropped out.

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

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

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

Well.

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

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

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

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

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

Daddy?

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

“Y’all been spying on us?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Like that guy from Narcos,” Trent snickered.

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

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

“We’re about out.” Micah announced.

Seconds later, Connor was turning to you.

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

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

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

“Do I?”

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

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

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

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

“You think so?” you hummed.

“I do. I really do.”

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

“Wyatt can fight.”

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

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

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

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

“Six.”

“Fifteen at least.”

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

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

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

“Twenty.”

“Honey?”

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

It was Joel, of course.

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

Clutched in one hand was a Burger King takeout bag.

“Daddy. Hi,” you breathed.

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

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

Instinctively, you recoiled.

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

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

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

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

Joel raised both eyebrows.

“No?”

His expression, directed to you, was infuriating.

“Fuck no,” you answered.

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

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

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

No one moved.

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

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

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

“You’re a brat,” he fired back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If that’s what you—”

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

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

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

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

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

So you took off running.

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

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

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

Fat chance, Miller.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he pulled you over his lap.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel grinned at the spot he was watching, humorless.

“That easy, huh?” he mumbled.

Again, before you could speak, Joel continued,

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

You fuck with my head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, Joel,” you whimpered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

“How high?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cobwebs and all.”

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

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

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

“So Prohibition-coded.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good?”

“Great.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel, please,” you begged him.

“Baby, I’m—”

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

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

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

Dad 💙

Fuck.

FUCK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It stopped.

Then started again.

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

It stopped once more.

The screen stayed black.

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

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

“Answer,” you hissed.

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

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

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

“He-e-y man.”

You were so fucking dead.

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

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

A beat.

“She’s good, she’s good.”

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

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

“No, she’s been a trooper—just fine…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man beneath you looked enraged. Aroused.

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

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

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

“This is not a fucking game.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel,” you choked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He couldn’t finish off like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, dad!”

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

Might as well make it fun while it lasts.

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

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

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

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

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

“My sweet girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You covered the mouthpiece.

“I can’t, Joel.”

“Sure you can, sugar.”

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t need much more instigation than that.

You came. He followed.

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

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

Until it was in you.

Sticky, sweet dripping inside you.

You pushed Joel hard in the shoulder.

“Did it…”

“What?”

“Joel!”

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

“JOEL!”

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I— fuck.”

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

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

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

“What’s…ovulating?”

You wanted to tear your hair out at the root.

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

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

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

“Where are you going?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel turned his head and almost groaned.

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

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

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

“I’m not actually her dad!”

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

“I SURE FUCKIN’ HOPE YOU’RE NOT!”

[animentality]

You know that scene in John Wick 2 where he (John Wick) gets hit by a car and then he immediately fights the assassin driving that car, Cassian, and then they battle for like sixty minutes on the streets of Rome, shooting over cars, knife fighting, falling down a whole flight of stairs, and then grappling and grabbing each other on the cobblestones, yelling and grunting like a bunch of dudes having good old fashioned fun, and then finally they end up smashing right through a window and coincidentally landing in the assassin hotel "safe area" where they're not allowed to fight anymore...

and then they go and have a drink together?

I thought they should've fucked.

So I wrote a book about assassins who do that sort of thing regularly. Check it out here.

But I added what the scene was lacking, besides the fucking part...

Demons.

The scene for anyone who doesn't remember or doesn't know it.

This book has:

an improbable amount of badass, LGBT, demon summoning assassins (the absolute best of the best being transgender).

a scott pilgrim style plot, involving one pansexual demon summoner having to fight all 7 of his exes for the sake of his newest contract.

a nonbinary weather controlling demon, trapped on earth. also, one of the exes.

a blind smartass with a nasty mouth and nastier eye-related powers.

a city on the brink of annihilation, trapped by forces unseen and unheard and unknowable.

the most bombastic and ridiculous magic system ever constructed by man.

and maybe...just maybe...an angsty gay time loop romance (the best narrative trope) but you didn't hear that from me.

It's dark, it's humorous, it's romantic, it's riddled with absolutely insane fight scenes, and most importantly...

It's unabashedly queer and unrealistic and silly and yearn-y.

And I'd really appreciate if you'd help an indie author out, with a sale or a reblog! Agents and publishers told me that it was too queer for regular audiences...and that the concept was just not very compelling.

They might be right, but it still had to exist. I still had to make it, anyway. You know. You have to make the art that you want to see in the world.

Anyway.

Sorry for the long post...you can check out my website for future releases.

And last thing: Character commission of the MC, our lovably slutty pansexual assassin Sebastián Monterey:

And cheers! Sorry for the long post. Have a good night.

[ohtobeleah]

Secret Sacrifices // Jake Seresin

Prologue: [BrainBox]

Summary: Managing the Hard Deck isn’t always easy, especially when a certain Naval Aviator is always just one step away.

Warnings: Illusion of family loss. Jake Seresin X F!reader. Witness Protection Reader. Situationship. 18+ Content.

Word Count: 1.6k

Author Note: I’m getting back into writing after a few weeks hiatus, any feedback, comments and concepts will be greatly appreciated.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The human brain can be seen in scientific communities as the most mysterious organ in the human body. The human mind can generate up to seventy thousand thoughts a day, which means there are around two thousand nine hundred thoughts created every hour. 

“Mommy!”

The human brain can store around about two point five terabytes of information at any one time. That capacity of storage is equivalent to about three million hours of television reruns or one million high-quality photos. Take your pick. 

“Come on—wake up! WAKE UP PATRICK!” 

The human brain can generate an electric current of about twenty-three watts. That’s enough to light up a round bulb. And although the human brain only accounts for two percent of your total body weight, it consumes more than twenty percent of the human body's total energy. 

“Please don’t leave me, not now—oh god please don’t leave me.” 

The length of all blood vessels in the brain, if combined, would reach a maximum length of about one hundred and sixty thousand kilometres. That’s enough distance to wrap about the earth’s circumference four times over. 

“Mommy I’m scared!” 

Each nerve neuron in the human brain has up to ten thousand connections with other neurons, not only that, but there are upwards of one hundred billion neurons in the brain. Which means there are more than one thousand trillion neuron connections formed in the human brain. 

“We just have to keep running baby.”

The amygdala, a part of the brain responsible for coordinating emotions, has an information processing speed of upwards of twenty ms. This speed is even faster than the speed at which humans can perceive something. 

All of these facts lean towards the idea of the human brain being some sort of supercomputer that we have been given. Programmed into our very existence by evolutionary biology. 

“No baby girl you stay with Mommy, it’s okay—don’t you close your eyes again okay?”

And yet? Despite all the wonders and capabilities that the human brain can accomplish—Your brain keeps you stuck in a time loop of unimaginable grief and despair. 

“Brewer?” The world around you had seemingly stopped for a few moments. The regular Friday night hustle of the Hard Deck had all but dissipated into silence when the overwhelming haunting noises of your own personal hell had become too loud to drown out. “Hello? Earth to Brewer?” 

“What?” You frowned as you shook yourself back into existence. What you found, or more accurately, who you found standing before you across the bar made your heart skip a panicked beat. “Jesus Seresin, you scared the hell out of me.” You sighed as you felt your heart beating rapidly inside your chest. The same heart that had loved and lost so much. The very heart that right now was plagued with the dilemma of falling for the sandy blonde who stood before you with eyes that could rival the Emerald City itself. 

“How?” Jake questioned as a confused frown took over his face soon after the words left his mouth. “I’ve been standing here for like two minutes just watching you zone out like some space cadet.” The chuckle that escaped Jake's slightly parted mouth soothed your beating heart into a steady rhythm. 

Oh. How long had you been zoned out for?

“What can I get ya?” You decided to let it go as you shot Jake a short but harmless smile. There was no need to ask or spend too much time focusing on how long you’d been stuck standing still cleaning the same spot on the bar over and over while your thoughts consumed you. Besides, you didn't really want to know how long Jake had been standing there looking at you like a moth drawn to a flame. 

“The usual, times four thanks barkeep—“ Jake replied as he reached into his back pocket, finishing out his wallet. A simple brown leather moment that always made you feel like your past was trailing right behind you. “Plus a lemonade with lime for the underage Back Seater.” There it was, that signature Seresin smirk accompanied with that wink. Insufferable. Cocksure. Endearing. 

“Four Budweisers and a lemonade coming right up.” You smiled once again as you threw your bar towel over your shoulder and got to work. Jake took the time to perch himself on one of the empty bar stools that littered the outskirt of the bar. Patrons buzzed around the Hard Deck like there wasn’t a care in the world to be had on a Friday night. “And lay off Bob, he gets your drunken ass home more often than not so you should be more thankful for his intolerance to alcoholic beverages.” 

Jake beamed at your lighthearted remark, they came few and far between. Whenever he was graced with the pure nature of your smile or your dry sense of humour, Jake reveled in it. So much so the crush he harboured had become common knowledge to half of Miramar. Yourself included. He wasn't a shy man, far from it. Jake knew what he wanted and, usually, he got it. 

But you? You had been playing hard to get and hard to crack ever since you showed up to the Hard Deck around six months prior. From the first moment Jake saw you he’d been caught hook, line, and sinker. Six months of chasing the same girl round in circles. 

“What had you lost, Brewer? Daydreaming on the clock isn’t usually your thing?” Jake asked as he got comfortable, leaning forward on his elbow as he watched you grab four Budweisers from the cooler fridge beneath the bar. He didn't miss the look on your face, the one that would occasionally replace the mild-maned stare you'd give off to slightly agitating customers. It was a look Jake couldn't really read–one that he wasn't sure if he would ever get to the bottom of, but he let it go, didn't press.  

“Just got caught up thinking about how I'm gonna spend my Sunday off.” Of all the lies you could’ve made up that seemed to be the most believable. 

“What are we doing on Sunday, Brewer?” Jake teased as you placed the still-capped amber bottles on the bar before him. The smirk he wore said it all, he was waiting for you to bite. And bite you did. 

“God, you've got tickets to your own show don't you, Seresin?” You shook your head with a laugh as you popped the caps on the beers you'd collected. “I– am planning a reset, just have a lot of housework to get done, laundry, meal prepping, self-care.” You teased the meaning behind self-care as you reached for the soda gun. “Which reminds me I need new batteries.” 

Jake caught the look in your eyes as you filled the glass to the brim with ice with your free hand and let the liquid drain from the gun. “Kinky girl, you sure we aren't hanging out on Sunday?” The smile, that damn infection smile that could light up the darkest of rooms made your head spin. But you couldn't go there. Harmless flirting was one thing, but crossing that line could cost Jake everything. 

He wasn't even aware of how close he was tempting death. How close he was standing to fire. How close he was standing to a woman who had lost everything in the name of being a good person. 

Unlike Jake, you had already lost everything. 

“In your dreams, Bagman.” You chuckled lightly, Jake's order was all but done. “Cash, Card or on Bradshaw's Tab?” The question remained unanswered for a few moments as Jake just sat there taking in the sight of the bartender who had him wrapped around her finger with ease. A spot he wouldn't mind staying forever if you'd let him. But for now? He knew he had to play the long game: Catch me if you can! you had forced him to play. 

“You tempt me, but card it is.” Jake confirmed as he fished his card from his wallet. “Someone has to keep Rooster from going into financial ruin.” It only took a few seconds for you to place all of Jake's drinks, the four beers and one lemonade with lime, onto a carry tray. “I think Payback’s been piggybacking on his bar tab too.” Jake smirked as he gave you an all-knowing look. You had been caught red-handed, but it was all circumstantial evidence at best. 

“Never took you as a softy.” Bradley Bradshaw still owed you an apology for his drunk and disorderly behaviour a few weeks ago. Behaviour that saw him hurling abuse your way when you cut him off. The guy was going through a breakup of sorts, of course you felt bad. But until he said he was sorry? His tab was racking up a pretty penny of top-shelf liquors and extra beer orders from the boys. “But fine, tap your card whenever you’re ready.” 

“This place is starting to charge a premium price for cheap booze ever since they hired a new manager.” Jake let out a sigh laced in banter as he paid for his order, the tip he left never went unnoticed either. Jake was good like that, he always tipped with a smile and a few extra bucks to make his almost cheesy pickup lines and banter worth your while. “And there's a lot of things you don't know about me Brewer.” With one final wink and signature smile, he was off. 

“Funny.” You mumbled to yourself as you watched Jake walk away back towards the same booth the boys all lingered around whenever they weren't hogging the pool table. The same booth you frequented the most. The same booth you gave a little more attention to–because Jake Seresin, despite all your might, had a hold on you that you couldn't seem to get out of. 

“I guess I could say the same damn thing.”

***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Tags: 🏷️ @a-reader-and-a-writer @xoxabs88xox @hiireadstuff @buckysteveloki-me @athenabarnes @els-marvelvsp @blindedbythelightt @tayl0rhuynh @na-ta-sh-aa @kmc1989 @sunlightmurdock @mamachasesmayhem @jaxfart @lauenderhaze @sugarcoated-lame @maisie-rebloging-blog @captainmoonknight @seitmai @shanimallina87

[webslingingslasher]

hey, love ur writings, can i have one where the reader is meeting peter’s family and she starts drinking and gets a little tipsy. reader isn’t a big fan of pda, but starts kissing peter and showing him affection in front of his family, making him blush and everything

*cleaning out my inbox.*

Normally, you’re good. Especially when around Peter’s family but his aunt poured the community punch a little too heavy handed and now you can’t stop thinking about how cute he looks. 

“Kiss.” Not an ask. A demand. It surprises him for a second, briefly pausing from his conversation with a family friend before giving a peck. It does just enough to allow him to finish, even building the strength to walk away and entertain yourself. 

Until your boyfriend was all alone, then, you’re wrapped around his side and dotting kisses anywhere they’ll hit. “What’s with the attack?” He’s not complaining, not one bit. But he is looking around to see if anyone else is watching him get loved on. 

“Kiss me!” He can’t when you’re busy doing it for him, he fights your hold to have you stand in front of him. Your arms loop around his neck, you’re kissing him in a second and in Peter’s opinion, it’s not PG. He draws the line at tongue, he can’t have May knowing he does those things. Or confirming that he does those things. 

“No, no, no.” A gentle ease, you follow his face, a kiss to his chin. “Peter, c’mon, kiss me. Just one more.” You pucker up, he’s not going to leave you hanging, but untangling your hands from his body and holding them steady let you know he was controlling this one. 

It’s a measly peck. It’s basically nothing. 

“No, a real one.” Peter dodges your kiss, you gasp and step away. “Fine. I was just trying to foreplay tonight, but no, now you’re getting nothing.” 

Peter pulls you back in, you still can’t get your hands back. “You’re trying to make a baby at my distant cousin’s birthday.” 

“I just wanna kiss you, I promise.” Peter’s staring you down, he knows that’s not all there is. He blames his aunt, a blush spreads when she appears and nudges his shoulder. “Don’t worry, we already got a kick out of it.” 

A group of women in their sixties cheer from the deck, you brightly wave and smile. “May, your juice is so good. Also, tell your nephew to kiss me.” Peter looks right at her, “don’t tell me to do that. It’s weird.” 

May nods, “do it and I won’t have to tell you.” 

You light up, you’re getting what you want. But this time Peter spins so his back is the only thing in view and not the insane, dizzying, mind high kiss he left you with. 

[ltcolonelcarter]

enough time has passed, i think. please explain time loop sixty. 😔

oh anon. I cannot believe I’ve suckered you in like this

the short version: when I first found dbh I got stuck in sixty being Connor’s “clone” and wrote a fic where sixty intercepts connor at cyberlife tower as usual… and dies during the course of that interaction… but wakes up as if nothing happened. it’s a time loop! centred around sixty’s very narrow experience of life, and what it’s like for him emerging in the shadow of Connor, while also wearing his shoes…

its also a thinly veiled excuse for me to give sixty an identity crisis, hurt him for angst and For Fun, and make jokes about putting that boy in the washing machine. I tag art and posts that give me these vibes as time loop sixty so you can share in my vision, or laugh at his pain, or just wonder what kind of maniacal nonsense I’m on. dealer’s choice

anyone who wants to talk to me about loop sixty is welcome to do so, you might even help me finish the final chapter some time this year soon

[lokisgoodgirl]

Deeper [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: [Oneshot] You and Loki have a sensual reunion in the Tower swimming pool. (w/c 2.3k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Fluffy Smut. Language.

Your face dipped beneath the still surface of water with every careful spread of your arms. There were sixty-four lengths in a mile. So far tonight, you had swum eighty-six. The calmness of the swimming pool on the second highest floor of the Tower had been a godsend while Loki had been away. It helped soothe your nervous heart and fill the empty nights - if not your empty bed.

An undercover operation; arms deals, shady characters with suspicion and murder baked in the soul. You felt a shiver roll down your spine as you dipped a final time beneath the surface.

Your fingers wrapped around the cool ledge at the deep end, taking a breath before turning and readying to push away from the wall. And that was when you saw him.

Loki was leaning silently against one of the tall pillars surrounding the still water, reflections bouncing in ethereal waves across his face; eyes creased at the corners in a secret smile. He was half bathed in shadow, strands of hair hanging loose at his temples with the lengths drawn back into a ponytail. A perfectly fitted suit clung snug to his imposing body, the black material making him look like a shadow transfigured to flesh in the gloom. “Hello, love.” he murmured, the echo carrying around the tiled space. “Stay where you are, please.” he commanded calmly, seeing your excited failed attempt to hoist yourself up to the edge. “Right...there.” You knew you should ask how the mission had gone. Quite well, you expected, considering he was back three days early. But right now, Loki clearly wanted to play. A thrill roared through your blood; hot and wild as the heels of his dress shoes clacked against the tiles with each measured stride. He paused at the precipice of the shallow end, leaning down achingly slowly and unlacing his brogues before slipping them off. He knelt at the top of wide stairs which disappeared beneath the lapping surface, before rising to his full height. Nimble fingers moved to the buckle of an expensive leather belt, the whip as he yanked it from its loops making your pussy clench beneath the water. Loki’s eyes never left yours as he unzipped the sinfully fitted trousers, letting them fall around his ankles. He stepped out, kicking them to the side.

You felt your grip against the ledge falter as he began to toy with the waistband of his black underwear. The smooth wall of the pool slipped against your back, making you kick your legs harder to stay afloat. The urge to begin swimming towards him was almost unbearable. You blinked as he peeled the tight cotton over his hipbones, toying with you as the waistband caught on his growing bulge before letting them fall to the ground. “Come to me, darling.” he purred, his velvet voice seeming to fill every pocket of air all the way to the high ceilings. “Slowly.” You swallowed the well of saliva that had formed on your tongue. God, how you loved him.

Stroke after stroke, you moved as slowly as you could while your heavy gaze bore into the sight of your god shrugging off the bespoke suit jacket. It joined the pile of discarded clothing on the floor before he reached up and pulled the hair-tie from its hold. Curls unfurled around his shoulders as long, pale fingers moved to the knot of his silk tie – digging in and releasing it with a firm yank.

Your breathing was completely out of time with your movements, the heavy throb of desire beating in your core seeming to pull you deeper. The water was treacle. Every brush of your arms that had felt effortless minutes before, now a mammoth task. He began unbuttoning his shirt just as you reached the halfway point. “Stop, please.” he enunciated slowly, making your breath hitch as you splashed upright. Your hands grazed on the surface to the side, keeping yourself afloat as Loki began to descend into the gently lapping water. You bit your lip, seeing the curve of his muscular calves submerge as he made his way confidently down the stairs. Loki's cock was hardening furiously with anticipation, swelling with the same heat smouldering between your legs. It bobbed with every slow step. And he was still wearing the shirt. The half naked god waded through the shallows, pausing to dip himself once beneath the peaceful surface. He ascended soaking wet, throwing his sodden hair back over his shoulders. The soaked white cotton clung to every valley in his chiselled torso, dark shadows visible through the shirt where the rock hard muscles dipped and rose. His hair wrapped in inky tendrils down his neck, drops of chlorinated water rolling over his cheekbones. He was so fucking beautiful. And he was all yours. In four effortless crawls, he reached you; the force of his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he kicked backwards pushing you against the nearest side of the pool. Loki’s breath was hot against your wet skin as you spluttered, the intensity of his stare making you quiver in his arms. “Norns, how I’ve missed you.” he whispered with a groan, wet kisses trailing the angle of your jaw.

Your fingers toyed at the opening of his shirt, tips relishing the feel of him pressed against your body after so long apart. “I know how much you love to undress me from these contraptions.” he chuckled, drawing himself away from the lure of your exposed neck. You smiled. “How thoughtful of you.” you coyed, enjoying the flash of his dimples that followed. Loki slipped a finger under one strap of your swimming costume, eyebrow rising as it slid easily down your bicep. The other followed. You arched your back, allowing him to tug the chest down around your waist. He moaned in appreciation, exhaling into a passionate kiss which fastened to your lips like a wave sinking into sand. His tongue massaged inside, caressing your own as your swimsuit slid over your thighs and into the void below with a final solitary tug of his fingers. Loki's hard chest pressed against the curve of your breasts, flattening you desperately beneath his violent kiss. The wet cotton dragged against your nipples, ferocious passion in every sway of his jaw as he consumed you. Your fingers dragged through his slick hair, tangling in the mess of thick strands that spread on the water’s surface. Without warning, he hoisted you to perch on the cold side. You gasped as the cool air bit against your soaking skin, the rough of the edging grazing your thighs before he wrapped his fingers over your dripping calves and placed them gently over his shoulders

“Close your eyes.” he murmured, the low lapping waves against the side tiles making you shudder as you did what he asked. You knew his feet would be flat on the bottom of the swimming pool floor, the blue hued water caressing teasingly around his biceps as he slid closer and nuzzled against your inner thigh. “My beautiful woman…” he whispered wistfully, licking a trail over the skin before he latched to your pussy. Your head fell back, heavy strands of clumped, wet hair slapping between your shoulder-blades. Loki’s tongue swept softly against your slit, his hands massaging up your spread thighs before pulling your ass closer with a gentle yank. He moaned softly as your sex rolled against his open mouth, tongue slipping inside your channel sticky with fresh arousal. Your hands slid over his slick scalp, pulling him deeper. Baritone growls vibrated against your centre, every flat lick of his talented tongue making you thrust into him. Your palms braced on the floor behind you, feeling yourself fall backwards with a shameless groan of pleasure. Loki chuckled against your pussy, his sharp jaw waxing and waning as he ate you out like he was conducting a symphony. It was perfection. With him, it always was. Your thighs juddered against his shoulders, making his fingertips dig tighter into the soft flesh. Climax was close, and he knew it. Wet slurps rose muffled between your splayed thighs, only the god’s brow visible above your hips. He looked so fucking good buried in your needy pussy. He always did. You felt the point of his tongue trace from the base of your slit to your swollen bud, flicking in a straight line to the side. It moved in a licentious circle, stalking your entire tingling sex in a teasing dance before landing on your clit again. His eyes moved up to meet yours, the smouldering hues of his irises darkened by lust and delayed gratification before ducking down. You arched your back as he began another ascent up your messy centre, the staggered gasp from your lips taking you by surprise. Your hips began to shake as he flicked his head to the right, his tongue capturing a delicate fold in a gentle suck. Shallow pants made your chest rise and fall as he hovered, before repeating the movement, lower this time. A staggered moan of his name filled the air. His name. He was pleasuring you with his name. Loki licked his lips, cheekbones sharpening as he lowered himself to deliver the final sexually devastating blow. “I..-” you whimpered, making Loki laugh softly beneath your spread cheeks. His hands tightening around your thighs, pulling your ass flush against his chest. Making sure you could see him work, he lapped gently at your asshole. The pathetic whimper from your throat made a knowing smile tug at his lip, before he released a final straight lick against your little cunt. You couldn’t draw your gaze away from his, the restraint etched on his brow as he drew it up your sex with aching slowness. Your hands flew to meet his own, grasping desperately as he suckled your clit with needy abandon; feeling the spurt of your hot juices coat each soft massage of his tongue.

You felt your whole body relax, the slip of water against your legs as you fell down around him on autopilot. Loki's hands were fastened on your waist, guiding you over the edge of the pool to join him. Your bare chest slid again the heavy cotton stuck to his torso, one of the buttons of his drenched shirt catching on your nipple bringing you back to reality.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered, the ache of longing in his voice. "More than anything." you replied, sliding your hands over his broad shoulders. Your lip quivered, the force of your love for him reflected back twofold in his bottomless eyes.

Loki's hands rested on your hips, pulling you flush against his stomach. There wasn't a sliver of ebbing light between your bodies. At some point, the vibrant orange sunset through the window had faded to a panorama of glittering New York lights. The tails of his shirt floated upwards, resting on the surface. With trembling fingers, you made quick work of the buttons, peeling the arms off to reveal his flawlessly firm alabaster skin. "I love you." you sighed, before Loki kissed you again.

He adjusted you slightly, before the thick tip of his cock nudged against your entrance. Fresh cum from his attentions still clung there; knowing its purpose. "I love you." he said firmly. "Always, I will come back to you.” His warm breath skating up the curve of your cheekbone, before he nuzzled possessively against your temple. “Always." he whispered against the dripping skin.

Dual groans of ragged relief echoed around the swimming pool as he squeezed into your keening heat, dragging against the friction of water. He filled you to the hilt, bottoming out with a careful thrust of his muscular hips. Your back slipped against the side of the pool, the cock impaling you the only thing stopping your body slopping beneath the surface. At some point, he had wrapped your legs around his waist, taking control as you fell apart beneath his touch.

Your back slid up the tile as he fucked you, the slow gyrations of his thrusts making you bounce steadily up and down. Nails dragged down his back, a hiss escaping his parted lips as he shook away inky slathers of hair that clung to his bladed jawline. Sweet murmurs of praise fluttered in the air, chiming with the rhythmic lap of waves against the side. Your fingers gathered Loki’s sodden hair, curls transformed to obsidian lengths that fanned on the water with every squat as he made your world spin. Glittering skyscrapers radiated behind his head, a line appearing and evaporating between his brows as he tried to withhold his moans of pleasure accompanying each slow slap of his hips. He had been undercover for far too long. “Let me hear you Loki…” you whimpered, feeling yourself tighten around him. “I want the whole Tower to know my lover’s home.” He growled, bracing a hand against the edge of the pool beside your shoulder. You heard the crack of porcelain, crunching as he clenched his jaw with a feral rumble. It crumbled beneath his grip, flecks of white plaster descending into the water which had begun to slosh violently around your tight bodies. His forehead pressed against your own, shallow pants becoming ragged and fierce. “F-fuck...darling...jeg er h-hjemme.” His breath caught as he spoke the words. ‘I’m home’, you thought with a gasp as he plunged deeper. Loki’s moans became frantic, primal, loud– every drag of his rigid cock tipping you over the edge a reminder that you were his. Every masculine whimper of pure desire from his lips a reminder that he was yours.

When Loki was gone, you always realised just how much you loved him; his absence draining your world to fading shades of sepia. And when he returned, you felt yourself fall inexplicably in love all over again; in deepest greens and brightest gold. His love consumed you. And each time, deeper.

Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @ravenwings73 @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @mandywholock1980 @lokisninerealms @daggers-and-mischief @sinsandguilt @skymoonandstardust

[capybaracorn]

These children left Gaza but still suffer mental trauma from Israel’s war

Through art and bonding with each other, 68 children evacuated to Bethlehem are working through their pain.

19th of March 2024

Bethlehem, occupied West Bank – A group of children from Gaza are in an art workshop in Bethlehem’s SOS Children’s Village, 102km (63.4 miles) from Rafah, the southernmost city in the Gaza Strip.

The children are working on depictions of the three-day journey they took from Rafah to Bethlehem, a convoluted journey to cover a distance that could be driven in an hour.

Like all Palestinians, their movement is constrained by the Israeli government, which severely limits the ability of Palestinians to move around in normal times, a situation made worse by the war Israel is waging on Gaza.

Sixty-eight children were evacuated this month from Rafah’s SOS Children’s Village to the charity’s facility in Bethlehem, accompanied by 11 caregivers who were looking after them in Gaza with the support of the German government.

Expressing pain and fear

For their comfort and privacy, the children – aged two to 14 – cannot be interviewed or photographed directly, but Al Jazeera was allowed to observe their workshop and interactions.

One girl was focused on cutting out the word “Rafah” and glueing it to a corner of her sheet with a sad, scared, frowning face glued sideways next to it.

From there, she wound bright yellow yarn down the page, wrapping it in a loose knot around an angry face, then winding it in big loops until it reached “Bethlehem”, which she had glued in the opposite corner.

[See embedded video in article]

Already close-knit because of how SOS Villages are structured, the children seem to have gotten even closer during their long journey to Bethlehem.

One boy leans over and patiently helps a younger boy figure out what to do with his sheet, explaining that the different faces were there for the little boy to express how he felt at different points in the journey and waiting for his younger friend to position them before explaining the glue stick.

At the other end of the room, a five-year-old boy has gotten tangled in his jacket because the sleeves are inside out. His 14-year-old buddy takes it off and sorts it out, putting it back on him and pulling him close to her for a big hug once he is ready to join the activity.

Dr Mutaz Lubad, an expert in art and psychological therapy, says this guided art session allows the children some release, to open up a space for them to express what is on their minds through their art.

The loose knots show points in their journey from Rafah to Bethlehem where the children were confused or scared, Dr Mutaz Lubad says [Monjed Jadou/Al Jazeera]

“Because children often find it difficult to express what they’re feeling verbally, we work on looking into their struggles through their art,” Lubad told Al Jazeera.

In guided art activities like this one where everyone is asked to produce the same thing, the children are able to choose their colours, the expressions on the faces they pick for different points in their journey and how convoluted they make the glued yarn to represent their three days of travel.

Asked about the significance of some children putting loose knots into their yarn journeys, Lubad said: “The knots represent points where the children were exposed to situations that confused or scared them, but the fact that they by and large used loose knots shows that these are things they feel they are able to overcome.

“One boy’s piece was especially expressive. When he was told he would be moved from Rafah, he feared the unknown, feared leaving his room and home. Then during the trip, he was worried and stressed by turn until, finally, he was relieved to be safe in Bethlehem. All that is shown in the expressions on the faces he chose.”

Protecting the children

The Rafah SOS Village is still open and receiving children whose families have died in the war or who have become separated from their relatives. There are several children who remained in the Rafah facility after their legal guardians refused their evacuation from Gaza.

[See embedded video in the article]

Maintaining contact with the children’s families – if they have any – is an important part of maintaining their community ties, but trying to find out which relatives have survived and which have died has been nearly impossible, Sami Ajur, programme manager at the Children’s Village Foundation in Gaza, tells Al Jazeera.

Despite the difficulties the foundation is facing during the war, it is continuing its work, he adds, pointing out that the Rafah facility is actually seeking support to expand its operations so it can receive more of the children being orphaned or separated from their families every day in Gaza.

The trauma the children are experiencing due to the war on Gaza manifests in many ways, including anxiety, incontinence, nightmares and insomnia, Ghada Harazallah, national director of the Children’s Villages in Palestine, says, adding that their mission – protecting the children – has not changed.

At sunset, the children from Gaza and the children who live in the Bethlehem Village will have a group iftar to break their  Ramadan fast.

The structure of SOS Children’s Villages worldwide encourages a family-style relationship among the children and between them and the adult staff. One staff member is assigned as a “parent” to each group of children, who are raised in “family” clusters where they can bond with each other.

[See embedded video in the article]

[ihavethedreamies]

Expert | Easy to Expert (3 v7)

Lee Yongbok (Felix) & Bang Chan - Stray Kids

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~4.6k

Felix/AFAB!Reader/Bang Chan

Genre: Reader-Insert, Smut, Fluff, Fluffy Smut

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Lingerie, Pet Names (Love, Pumpkin, Baby Girl, etc.), Multiple Partners, Oral (M! & F! Receiving), Sixty-Nine, Threesome, Double Penetration, Anal Play, Sex Toys - Butt Plugs, Anal Sex, Bang Chan has a Monster Cock (of course), Cockbulge (hmm), Unprotected Sex (Bad Idea, Don't Do It), Daddy Kink gets awakened, this is actually really soft and fluffy believe it or not, Bromance

Disclaimer: I do have the whole cock-bulge thing in this. I understand this could be a bit offensive to some who are on the heavier side (I am in that group as well). I also have the reader being pretty short even though I am 5'7". The reason being is I have a size difference kink/fetish, mostly because I am not small, and so I put it into a lot of my stories. Sorry if this doesn't align with your body type, but I also imagine a character in my place for these, so I don't sometimes take into account what others do.

Author's Note: This is the last one I am writing in this series, so let's see what absolute nonsense shows up here. I'm going to TRY and tone it down…

PS. I wrote the first not before I wrote the story, and this is after. This went a COMPLETELY different direction than I thought it would. Get ready for tooth rotting fluff AND smut.

PPS. Bang Chan is my bias and Felix my bias wrecker so that is why this one ended up like this…

-> Part 1 <-

-> Part 2 <-

-> Ver. I.N. <-

-> Ver. Seungmin <-

-> Ver. Hyunjin <-

-> Ver. Han <-

-> Ver. Lee Know <-

-> Ver. Changbin <-

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

"What?" Chan stopped dead in his tracks, Felix continuing past him. He thought for a second that he was hearing things, or someone else's conversation. The younger man stopped as well, turning back to his best friend.

"(Y/N) wants a threesome, you in?"

"Why are you asking me?" Chan sputtered and Felix shrugged casually.

"She asked for you specifically so…"

"She asked for ME?"

"Yes?" Chan's head was swimming. He had to admit, ever since he found out a few months ago you couldn't cum, he was looping in his head. It wasn't romantic intentions behind him trying to figure out what he could do for you…Not at all. He had been trying to convince himself he no longer had romantic feelings for you, especially since you started dating Felix. It was obvious to the others, even Felix, but he appreciated that his hyung denied it even to himself.

"Are you sure?" The eldest of the group asked your boyfriend.

"I wouldn't be asking you if I wasn’t. She picked you like a month and half ago, I've had time to think about it." Felix huffed, amused. Chan was getting flustered, and the younger man knew why.

"Are you thinking tonight?" They were already on their way to your apartment for movie night.

"Well…yeah. We can move it though."

"You really think I can just sit and watch a movie with you two now?" Chan shook his head, but continued walking. Felix fell into stride next to him and they continued to your place.

Felix messaged you when they were about fifteen minutes out, and you scrambled off the couch to get ready. To say you were excited was an understatement. But you were also lowkey terrified. It was not a hidden fact among the friend group what Chan was packing. You had even heard from other girls on campus. Not a traditional player by any means, he had been around the block. He was an incredibly sweet gentleman, but a lot of girls just wanted to fuck him to say they conquered the beast. That was literally what they said. The thought made you shiver as you prepared. Stepping out of the bathroom, you looked yourself over in the mirror. Felix had gotten you a set of wolf cosplay lingerie, fitting for Chan. It was more or less a bikini lined with gray fur. The silicone plug he got you a month ago now had a grey furry tail attached; the texture tickled the backs of your thighs. A matching headband with grey ears sat on your head, it was a little too big though, so you hoped it stayed on. Furry cuffs surrounded your ankles and wrists as well. The bottoms of the set were more like shorts than panties, but there was a hole cut out of the crotch which gave access to your cunt as well as let the tail plug sitting in your ass. You shook your arms to get rid of some of the nerves. Though, they just came back two-fold when you heard your boyfriend and his friend arrive. Your shaking increased as you padded to stand at the foot of your bed, waiting for them to remove their coats and shoes and meet you in the bedroom.

"Go on, bro." Felix told Chan, his accented English hitting your ears. Were they going to speak like that the whole night? Fuck yeah.

"Oh, baby girl!" Chan was floored as he entered your room. You looked so fucking cute, his heart thumped hard, and he felt his pulse in his cock too. The pet-name did stuff to your insides, and you nervously wiggled, the tail wagging a bit from the momentum. To be honest, before you and Felix hooked up, you were tempted to go to Chan. With his reputation, you were sure he could have managed, but you in no way regretted that it was Felix. Your boyfriend followed him in and came to admire you as well. You turned toward him as he settled only a foot away from you.

"Good job, love." He praised and you both turned back to Chan. He was still gaping, and you were still too nervous to look him over completely. He just had grey sweatpants on and a black sweatshirt. You desperately wanted him to take it off so you could get a better look at him. You had seen his perfect body many times, but you wanted to touch it. Your fingers fidgeted with themselves, the black painting nails at the ends catching Chan's eye.

"Rules?" You prompted Felix and he looked at you, back to his friend then shook his head.

"Just tell him no if you want." he told you and you blinked, then again. Seriously? He would let his friend kiss you? Fuck your holes and fill you with his cum? That was four of the rules out the window. Plus, if he wasn't going to lead Chan through this, then the final one was trashed as well. The thought made your core clench as you finally looked back to the other Australian.

"Go on." Felix assured you and you took a hesitant step forward, then trotted over to Chan who was still looking at you in awe. His hair was brushed up and back some, framing his forehead. You would have been fine just looking over every detail of his handsome face, but you needed even more. Your small hands went to the zipper of his hoodie, and he let you pull it down. He huffed at your pout when you saw he had a t-shirt underneath.

"It's below freezing out there, baby girl." He told you, amused by your reaction. You mumbled something incoherent, and he laughed. The sound pierced you, made you let out a small whimper, pushing his sweatshirt off. He continued to watch, amused, casting a glance at Felix who looked just as entertained by you. You took a deep breath, sneaking your hands under his shirt and mewling as your warm fingertips brushed over the ridges of his abs. With his assistance, you removed the shirt completely and Felix saw your thighs clench. While he wasn't thrilled by how turned on you were already, he wasn't too surprised either. You were honest with him and admitted you almost went to the eldest for assistance before you and Felix got together. He appreciated your honesty, and therefore trusted you. Didn't mean his pride wasn't a little hurt.

"Oh, my god." You gasped out, your touch tickling Chan some. He laughed, his gorgeous smile distracting you for a second.

"Can I kiss her, 'Lix?" Chan asked politely and you leaned in some more.

"Yeah, I guess." Your boyfriend allowed and you let him kiss you. He was rough, more so than you expected. Chan knew better, he was there to fuck you, not make love to you. He would leave the sensual kisses to Felix. He tilted his head, his hand going to the back of yours and his slid his tongue in your mouth. You keened at the feeling. He was good. Too good. You pulled back a trail of saliva connecting your mouths.

"D-don't do that again." You muttered, your face red. He nodded, humming in agreement. Felix snorted playfully. His trust was well placed. Not wanting to step over the line, Chan stayed mostly still as you sank to your knees before him. Seeing him shirtless in the grey sweatpants was already sinfully attractive, you wondered what he would be like fully naked. An adonis carved out of marble for sure. There was already a bulge from his hardening cock, but it was mostly hidden by the thick material. He laughed at your eagerness as you hastily pulled the waist band away. Your eyes widened as he stepped out of his pants. He was nowhere near being fully hard, but his black briefs were already straining.

"Fuck." You wheezed. You were salivating like the wolf you were dressed as. You fiddled with the tag on the black choker you had on, Felix's name engraved into it. As long as you only fell for Chan's cock, it was fine. You turned to look back at your boyfriend anyway and he gave you a reassuring smile. He had looped over every possible scenario in his head over the last month, knowing to almost a T at that point what would make you react in what way. So far, no surprises. Even though to some you hadn't been dating long, you spent as much time together as possible, so he knew you well. You had been friends for years before then too.

"C-Can you…" You drifted off, wanting to get a good view of Chan's briefs coming off. He smiled and did as you wordlessly requested. He felt a little sheepish under your gaze, honestly, as you ogled him. Adonis indeed. You literally watched his cock harden further under your appreciating gaze. You licked your lips, desperate to wrap them around him. Felix ended up not speaking the rule you had first decided on, but you were a bit worried about what it would do to you to let Chan cum down your throat.

"Can we do something?" Chan suggested, snapping you out of your daze. He also looked at Felix.

"Sixty-nine?" He finished the request and Felix stiffened a bit. Knowing Chan, he might be able to make you cum from that and your boyfriend wasn't sure if he was okay with that. The eldest was definitely the expert of the group and mastered the art of sex like the instruments he could play. But, when he looked into your big, pleading eyes, he couldn't say no. With a slow nod you hopped to your feet giddily and Chan chuckled, following you to the bed. He nodded for you to climb over him once he was on his back. Straddling his face, he wrapped the tail around his hand just to hold it out of the way. The panties gave him perfect access, the fur ticking his cheeks a bit though.

"Sit on me, baby girl." He urged and you lowered your hips. You weren't expecting the immediate pleasure you got from his tongue. He immediately swirling it around your clit, sucking hard. You gasped, falling forward, finding the head of his now fully hard cock in front of you. Once again, your eyes met Felix's and he nodded. Eagerly, you wrapped your hand around Chan's cock, your fingers not even able to touch. You wrapped your eager lips around the head, your jaw protesting some at the stretch. Chan rumbled under you; his strong arms surrounded your thighs to hold you where he wanted you. Your moan vibrated through his dick as you got as much as him as you could in your mouth. It would be too dangerous for you to let him into your throat, you had to center yourself by finding Felix again. He loved that you kept thinking of him throughout. It was also more arousing than he thought it would be, seeing your mouth full of his best friend's fat cock. Chan ate you like a man starved and your boyfriend could see the characteristic twitch in your hips that meant you were close. You were more shocked than Felix that the other man was getting you to the edge so fast. His hand twisted in the tail again, tugging it slightly, and took your clit between his teeth, rolling it and you fell forward as you came, swallowing his cock deeper. Chan grinned as your cunt dripped on his tongue and he let the tail go, letting your orgasm ride out. When you came down, you pulled him out of your mouth, panting for breath.

"Okay, baby girl." Chan eased you to roll off of him, you landed on your back, still breathing harshly. Tears pricked your eyes and Felix instantly came to your side, petting your head softly, shushing you. You looked at him, so pitifully, ready to cry.

"Hey, shh, love." His heart broke seeing you like that and Chan got up on his knees next to you. He could tell you were crying from emotions, not physical feelings, but he still felt bad. At the same time, he was extremely proud of himself for making you cum like that. He had satisfied the goal he set in the past, not ever thinking to dust it off and complete it. Chan's heart thudded again, this time in sorrow. You were too precious.

"I'm sorry, Felix." Your breath hitched and he leaned down to kiss your forehead, petting your hair. Instantly he felt bad for feeling jealous.

"Love, (Y/N), its fine. I'm not mad." He chuckled a bit to reassure you.

"Really?"

"Yes, sweet. I just want you to feel good, okay?" He hummed and you nodded, sniffling. Chan finally saw the relationship dynamic you two really had. It was a dominance and submissive one, but Felix played the role so softly. And you were so cute with it, not a hint of being a brat.

"You want to keep going, baby girl?" Chan made sure and you nodded shyly. He smiled warmly and helped you sit up, removing the loose headband so you could stop fiddling with it.

"Can I take all this off her?" Chan asked and Felix nodded. You sat there like a good girl as Chan gently undid and removed everything from you but the black choker. He even took the tail off the plug, leaving the silicone toy inside you. The other man also took the tie from your hair, letting it fall over your shoulders. The way he looked at you actually warmed Felix's heart. He also knew if you asked him, he would be open to letting Chan in on your relationship. If it was him…he could share you. That was something to bring up later though. You shivered a bit, now a tad chilly and Felix smiled, climbing on the bed to hug you from behind.

"Good girl." He soothed and helped Chan maneuver you to sit on his lap, back to him. Felix placed a soft kiss to your lips, and you whined at the feeling of Chan's cock wedged in the cleft of your ass. Felix had decided not to turn the vibrations on, planning it as a surprise. The encounter turned out to be softer than he originally thought it would be.

"What're you thinking, 'Lix?" Chan knew him too well, could see the gears turning. His eyes met the eldest's and you looked up at him too. His eyes cast to yours. It wasn't a secret that you had a huge crush on Chan about a year ago, but you never pursued it. Little did you know, Chan had liked you too, for a while. He didn't even piece together, that's what it was at first, but Felix knew. Even when Chan would deny it to himself, Felix knew. Felix could still sense your love for himself, but he also saw how you looked at his best friend.

"You want him too?" Felix asked and you didn't understand the question at first. Wasn't that why he was there? The other man figured it out immediately though.

"Felix-"

"I'm not stupid, hyung." He huffed playfully and his true meaning registered.

"Felix?" you asked him, implying your question in your tone. Are you sure?

"We can discuss it after, but don't feel guilty." Your boyfriend kissed you softly on your cheek under your eye.

"Want him here?" Felix continued, helping you settle on Chan's lap, stroking his fingers through your soaked folds. You nodded softly, letting the man behind you hold you in his arms. You felt so secure, even more so with Felix there too.

"Think you can make her cum again?" Felix challenged and the other man smirked.

"Let's see." He nuzzled behind your ear, one of his hands sliding down your stomach till his fingers hit your clit. You whimpered as he swirled over it, then slid both fingers home. You sighed as his fingers filled you. They were thicker and longer than Felix's, but just as talented it seemed. His palm rubbed hard over your clit as he scissored the digits in you, the pad of one finding the rough spot on your back wall. You twitched when he rubbed over it and Felix watched the gears turn in Chan's head. His fingers left your core, rubbing back up to your clit, and he exposed the little nub further. He was an expert, Felix decided. He learned your reactions instantly, knowing just what to do next. Chan then fucked three fingers into you, harshly pressed against your further exposed clit with his palm. His fingers crooked hard and up, his palm swirling your clit and you shivered hard, head tossed back to land on his shoulder. You were close. Once again removing his fingers, he took your button between two fingers, pinched hard and pulled your nub, and Felix watched your cunt spasm as you came. The slight bit of jealousy he still felt dissipated when he saw the way Chan looked at you. He nuzzled your temple with his nose as you trembled, kissing the crest of your ear. As you shuddered, coming down again, your head rolled so you could look at him.

"Fill her up, hyung." Felix allowed, smiling as your eyes widened.

"'Lix~" You reached out for him, Chan still loosely hugging you to him. The eldest smiled fondly as Felix came to you, the smile on the other’s face was so warm. Chan could tell how much you two loved each other, and he was honored you both were willing to let him wiggle his way in. When he was within reach, your hands stroked over your boyfriend's pretty freckle covered cheekbones.

"Let’s have Channie fuck you, hm?" He cooed, the words racier than his tone implied. You whined with a nod and Chan chuckled softly at your cuteness. You both were so cute.

"Okay, baby girl. Tell me if it’s too much." The man behind your spoke into your ear, his arms holding you closer, his right hand coming to cup your left breast. You never got much sensation there, but you did flinch a bit when he pinched your nipple. Chan loosened his hold, moving his hands to rest at your hips, and Felix's moved to your waist. You let them move you around like you were a ragdoll till you were kneeling, cunt hovering over Chan's cock.

"Good girl." Felix praised, kissing the corner of your mouth as they both led you to sink on the eldest's dick. The feeling knocked the air out of you, he was so fucking big. You couldn't help but ponder how much bigger he could be if he was taller. He whispered soothing words in your ear, Felix kissing over your collarbone. You breathed, using the same technique as when your boyfriend fucked into your ass. Chan groaned, your cunt was so hot and tight, and he could feel your slick gummy walls perfectly. It made you all the more addicting. He could also feel the bump of the plug in your ass through the walls of your cunt. When Chan felt your cervix kiss the head of his cock, he halted your descent, a good inch or two left.

"M-more." You pressed and Chan rubbed circles over your lower stomach. He smirked, he could feel the bulge of his cock already, and you mewled when he pressed down.

"You sure, baby girl?" Chan's voice had gotten huskier somehow, deeper, rumbling through you. Felix smirked and lowered his voice himself, bringing his mouth to your other ear. What your boyfriend planned on saying next would probably earn him a playful smack later, but he was so eager to see your unfiltered reaction. Your eyes were already blank, nothing but cock on the brain.

"Tell daddy how you want his cock." Felix ordered you and Chan gasped as your cunt squeezed him hard. He huffed, thinking he misheard what Felix whispered to you at first.

"Want daddy deeper~" You whimpered and the men both groaned at your plea.

"Yeah?" Felix teased you further.

"Yes, sir~" You pled to him instead and he smiled. You were too fucking cute. There was a very specific reason Felix preferred you called him sir during sex, and that reason was splitting you open on his cock. At first, he didn't want to use 'daddy' because he was jealous, thinking it might make you think of Chan. Especially since you jokingly called the eldest that all the time. But now…everything worked out perfectly.

"Okay, pumpkin." Your boyfriend's pet name for you changed and the new word made your core pulse around the other's dick. Chan knew that you both went full into roleplay mode at that.

"Daddy~" You whined, and he laughed, acquiescing. You yelped when his hips shifted under him better, letting him thrust up hard, burying his cock all the way in you. Words escaped you, only a string of babbles left you. Felix smiled and shuffled down the bed more. Chan watched, curious, and almost protested as the other man moved. He just let Felix do whatever though. Your legs were spread to sling over Chan's, holding them open. Felix's hands came to your inner thighs, spreading you further and he marveled at your folds straining to take Chan's massive cock. Your entire body jerked when he flicked his tongue at your swollen clit, his tongue lightly brushing over the other's dick. The man's arms tightened a bit around you as you slumped into him further, and with one more flick of Felix's tongue, you fell apart again. At this point, your cunt was burning from the overstimulation, but your boyfriend knew if you got over the crest of pain, you could just keep on going. After your spasms went away, he sat back to just watch again, nodding to Chan.

"Ready, baby girl? Want daddy to fuck ya good?" His hand came to rest under your jaw, putting just enough pressure for you to feel it but not restricting your airway.

"Please!" You mewled, head lolling back and forth. His other hand was still on your stomach, and Felix put his hands on your hips to help, lifting you slightly and pressing you back down as Chan fucked up. You gasped, your cunt stung from the friction, but the pain was so good as the man behind you railed you. It was a good thing Felix was okay with Chan joining, you thought on later, because you didn't think you could live never taking him again. You were definitely a size queen and Felix marveled at you taking his friend like a champ.

"Ah, fuck, (Y/N)~" Chan was getting close, and he looked to your boyfriend, asking permission. Felix looked at your fucked out expression.

"Cum in her." he told Chan, and he got as deep as he could and let go. Your stinging core piqued, the pain burning into pleasure, and you weren't sure if Chan filling you with his sticky cum was what put you over or Felix's voice.

"Oh, good girl~ Fuck!" The man moaned himself as he felt his cum overflow from your cunt and drip down past his balls and onto the bedding. Felix was still rock hard, not having came or been touched at all that night, but he was fine dealing with himself in the shower if you were too tired.

"Felix!" You reached for him again and he came back to you.

"What do you need, pumpkin?"

"You…" You pouted and he smiled bright.

"I don’t think your cute little cunt can handle more." He cooed and Chan huffed playfully. He was still hard and really didn't want to pull out anyway.

"Let’s turn her around." He suggested to the younger man. You keened a bit when they moved you around. When your chest met Chan's, he sunk back into you, the new position and angle let him sink deeper. You shivered, falling into him and he laughed.

"You're so cute." He praised. He was content to let you warm his cock, watching Felix scooch forward. His fingers wrapped around the plug, and you breathed as if through muscle memory as he pulled it out. It clattered onto the floor from his tossing it. Could your body handle him filling your ass with Chan in your pussy? Guess you all would find out soon enough. Your breathing shifted when you felt Felix's cock at your pucker, he barely pressed the tip in as he took the lube Chan had reached for on the nightstand. Drizzling more onto himself, he started to ease inside you. You shivered, your back hole welcoming the familiar intrusion.

"So good, pumpkin." Your boyfriend praised. To get in you best, he had to swing his leg over Chan’s, but he didn't mind. Chan helped him adjust you some and they both let you adjust to being completely full. Each breath you pressed out carried a slight moan and your little noises brought grins to both of the men's faces. After witnessing everything, as well as your even-tighter-than-usual canal clenching his cock, Felix knew he wouldn't last long. Might be for the best anyway considering your physical and mental state. Your nails weekly dug into the skin of Chan's chest where you laid as Felix pumped his hips. His thrusts were short and deep, and your body rocking slightly brushed your sensitive clit against the skin of Chan's pelvis. A defined vein that led down to his cock gave just enough of a differing pressure as you rocked.

"Okay, love, I'll fill you good than you can take a bath. Daddy and I will take care of you tonight and tomorrow." Felix picked the pace of his thrusts up and Chan hissed some as your cunt clenched hard and your nails carved crescents into his skin.

"(Y/N), be a good girl for daddy and cum." Chan's words were all you needed, and you came one more time, Felix spraying your insides white. From the tight clench and the wait, Chan was sensitive himself and you cumming made him fall apart with you two. Even more jizz spurted out from where your body met Chan's and more of the sticky goo leaked from where Felix was inside you. You were a complete mess and Felix wouldn't have it any other way. Your consciousnesses faded, your eyes slipping closed, and the two men praised you for doing such a good job for them. Deciding to just clean you up with a towel for now, Felix helped you rest on your side as you slept, leaving the blanket off you, your skin still hot. Your boyfriend petted your hair as Chan took a quick shower and then they switched places.

"Are you sure?" the eldest asked, stroking your hair softly when Felix sat on the bed behind you.

"You love her, right?"

"I-I…" Chan swallowed hard.

"Hyung?"

"…yes."

"I didn't want to admit it before, but she likes you a lot. I know though that she loves me too…I think she deserves the world, but why not throw the moon in along with it?" Felix meant every word. He loved you so much that he wanted you to be loved twice as much, if not more.

"Well, guess I should change my name to Moon, huh?" Chan huffed and Felix rolled his eyes at the horrible pun.

"Just promise me when you two get married that I can be the best man." The eldest continued and your boyfriend smiled down at you.

"Of course. Wouldn't have anyone else."

-> Ver. I.N. <-

-> Ver. Seungmin <-

-> Ver. Hyunjin <-

-> Ver. Han <-

-> Ver. Lee Know <-

-> Ver. Changbin <-

-> Part 1 <-

-> Part 2 <-

Masterlist

[ml-nolan]

Postlude

Here's a little one-shot in the Layers of the Sun Dreamling AU that I've been thinking about for months. It's set shortly after the final chapter of Music When You Speak. Enjoy! 💜🖤💜🖤💜

Approx. 1156 words | Rated G | On AO3

-------

Ever since he gained the internal stability to do so, Dream started keeping an eye on the LAPD unclaimed property website. It was a choice that Dr. Gault had at first been wary of, worried that it would keep Dream trapped in a horrible memory.

"Are you sure you want that thing in your house? Would it not be triggering to see it day after day?"

"The memory will never leave me, no matter what I do," Dream had replied.

Truthfully, with the treatments Dr. Gault had administered, the ghost of electricity surging beneath his skin, the feeling of being trapped like an animal, the acute pain and indignity, had faded. When he remembers his brief but violent captivity now, it is like looking at a still life painting rather than inhabiting a looping film sequence.

"Owning it seems more like…justice. Like my due. And like what…it…deserves," he told her. 

When he put it that way, it did not take her long to understand.

This morning, he sits at the countertop, drinking black tea as the sky brightens from indigo to light blue through his westward facing windows. As the cloud cover evaporates, it reveals the texture of windswept white caps on the ocean. Refreshing the website on his laptop screen, he finally sees exactly what he's been waiting for all this time.

By the time he hangs up the call with his broker, a familiar car is pulling into the driveway, followed by a less familiar truck. Today Hob is moving in, completely and for good.

After one more long look at the photo drawn up on his screen, Dream shuts the laptop.

—

There isn't much to unpack. Hob has been slowly moving things over from his little townhouse ever since Dream bought this place. Plus, he'd unloaded a lot of his stuff on Matthew, Wanda, Martin, and whoever else wanted his old junk.

He’d brought over his cheese toastie maker, naturally. The bed they bought together so Dream would be more comfortable goes in one of the guest bedrooms. The few records Hob keeps at his house go into the listening room, and all his tacky little knick knacks go into a room that Dream has set aside especially for him. When Hob calls it a man cave, Dream wrinkles his nose like he's just smelled spoiled milk.

"We are both men," Dream says.

"Right, but here I can put up my collection of neon beer signs and taxidermy." 

"You have none of those things."

"Says you. You didn’t know me during my redneck phase.”

Dream has the most adorable wrinkle of confusion between his eyebrows. Clearly he has no idea whether Hob is joking or not.

“Just kidding, love,” Hob says. He grips Dream's waist with both hands, and Dream allows it, just the way Hob knew he would. And just because he can, just because he loves that put-upon look on his face, Hob plants an extra-wet kiss on Dream's lips. Dream wipes it off with a scowl, but he's blushing down to the collar of his crewneck t-shirt.

As the moving truck disappears around the bend in Dream’s private road, Hob cards his fingers through Dream's mess of sable hair.

“Sooooo…care to give me a tour of my new bedroom?”

Dream grins, but he shakes his head.

“I am waiting on one more delivery," he says. "I need your help making space in the workshop."

—-

A wiry blonde, possibly in her sixties (or older given the way people in this city fight the natural aging process) slides out of the passenger side of a white delivery truck.

“That took no time at all,” Dream says as she approaches. "Ethel, this is my partner, Hob Gadling."

Hob looks radiant as he shakes her hand. But then, he always looks radiant to Dream.

Ethel gives Hob a curt nod, then sighs as she fusses with the tablet in her hands. “Bit miffed they posted the thing before calling me. I told my contact months ago money was no object." 

"You succeeded. That is what matters," Dream says. He has waited patiently, and the fruits of his patience are now in front of him. All past obstacles are irrelevant.

Two men roll up the door on the back of the truck and lower a metal ramp. The instrument is even more massive than Dream remembers, but then again, everything from his state of mind, to the size of the space they inhabit, to the circumstances under which he is seeing it, is completely different. 

Better, obviously. And completely on his terms.

Hob raises his eyebrows as they roll the piano down the ramp on its study casters, but he doesn't interrupt as Dream settles up with Ethel, as the two men negotiate it down to Dream's workshop and set it in the space he and Hob had spent the last half hour clearing.

Then they are alone again. Just the two of them and Dream's newest charge. Until now, he's only worked on smaller instruments—guitars, violins, even an old mandolin. This will be a new challenge, especially given the horrible sound the piano makes when Dream strikes a few of the keys. 

But as far as Dream is concerned, this instrument was just as much a victim in the whole Burgess affair as he was. It deserves the same level of restorative care Dream has received. And as far as Dream is concerned, he's the best person to provide it.

—

Hob watches Dream take stock of the full-size grand piano at the center of his workshop.  His graceful fingers coast over the enamel, lingering on a few nasty scratches. It must not have been treated well in the last couple years, which is a real shame. The thing sounds like it belongs in the saloon of an old Western honky-tonk. But even with his perfect sense of pitch and sound sensitivity, Dream doesn't even wince.

The reverence in his touch tells Hob exactly where the piano came from. Hob had heard Dream's testimony. He had seen the crime scene photos. The entire world had. 

"So this is the piano, huh?" 

Dream nods, lowering the heavy lid and stepping back. "It saved my life. I would like to return the favor."

Moving in behind Dream, Hob wraps his arms around his middle and hooks his chin over his shoulder. The tense muscles in Dream's shoulders and back slacken, and he leans his head back against Hob's shoulder. The delicate skin of his neck is soft under Hob's lips.

"You saved your life, too, you know," Hob says softly into his ear.

"As did you," Dream says. 

He turns his head to accept Hob's kiss, and Hob has one of those moments he often does with Dream—the kind where he barely recognizes the enchanted thing his life can become.

"So about that tour…" Hob says. Dream kisses him one more time before they head back upstairs.

[thetriumphantpanda]

The Way You Miss Me | Joel Miller (Chapter Four)

Twenty Years and one apocalypse later and you find yourself in Jackson. Convinced that having found one Miller brother, the likelihood of you finding the other was slim, you were in for the shock of your life.

Pairing | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings | Mentions of sexual acts including oral but nothing explicit, mentions of violence but again nothing explicit, and that's about it.

Word Count | 4.3K

Authors Note | Gonna be honest this one was a struggle... I've been working on this for over a week and it's certainly not my best work, bit of a filler so I hope it doesn't disappoint but we'll get into more juicy things with these two in upcoming chapters, I promise. Please let me know what you think - pop into my ask and leave some love or leave some comments and love on the post - it all helps!

Spring had well and truly sprung in Jackson. There was a slight warmth to the air which you had welcomed following the harsh winter you’d been through the previous year. The snow had melted, and you were glad to see some of the community out in the gardens preparing the beds for all the fruits and vegetables they would be trying to grow this year. 

It had been a long slog for you and your father since the outbreak. Bouncing from QZ to QZ until the last one had fallen. Then you’d been on your own, crossing state line after state line, settling for short periods of time in settlements before moving on, not sure what you were looking for until you’d fallen right on it, quite literally. 

It was snowing heavily and neither you nor your father could see you hand in front of your face. You’d praised God for the thick coats you’d managed to scavenge from a family home, but you weren’t likely to last much longer in this storm if you didn’t find shelter. Always in the back of your mind was the fact that your father was getting on in age. His knees were not what they used to be, and you’d noticed he was slower than he had once been. You’d both stopped keeping count of birthdays and years. Calendars were hard to come by in during the end of the world, but you knew it had been at least 20 years. He’d been several years older than Joel at the time of the outbreak and you both thought he was pushing sixty-seven or sixty-eight now.

Trailing through the snow you could slowly start to make out a huge gate with a perimeter around it. Turning back to yell out to your father that shelter was ahead you found him hunched in the snow on his knees. 

“Oh my God!” You’d exclaimed but the sound of the wind whipping the snow had covered it up. 

You ran as fast as you could back to him, looping your arm under his elbow to drag him up, “Come on dad, there’s a settlement up ahead, it’s not far I promise.” 

“Darlin’, just leave me, go on ahead and come back for me with help.” 

You were ashamed to admit that you had considered it. He was a heavy man, the years of travelling and trying to keep you both alive had taken its toll on both of you, but you remembered all the things he’d done for you up until this point and it wasn’t an option. He was coming with you or you’d both freeze to death in the storm. 

“Come on, just stand up for me,” You begged, “I promise we’ll be there in less than five minutes, please dad.” 

You felt him push himself up, using you to steady himself once he’d stood. You point out in front of you to show him the gate you spotted, “It’s just up there, can you see it?”  He nodded and keeping a firm grip on your arm you’d continued trekking through the snow to the gate in front of you. It was imposing and huge, you couldn’t see how far the walls went around due to the snow, but the fact that you could see three figures standing on the top, you’d bet inside was a large community. 

“What do you want?!” One of the guards had shouted down to you through the storm. 

“Me and my father, we just need somewhere to ride out the storm!” You’d called back, “We don’t need to stay, just somewhere warm until this passes.” 

You could see the man who had shouted down to you was talking to the other guard who was stood next to him before he made a signal for someone below him to open the gate. Relief flooded over you, in much the same way it did for your father who promptly collapsed to his knees again. 

You did the same as before, looping an arm to try and lift him up but this time he was a dead weight. You could see two figures running through the snow to help you, watching as they picked your father up and rushed him through the main gates. You didn’t take in the surroundings as you followed as quickly as you could behind the figures who were carrying your father, only stopping once they’d pushed through the doors of a makeshift hospital and put him onto a bed. 

There was silence as they unzipped his coat and pulled down the scarf he had wrapped around the lower part of his face to shield his skin from the cold when one of them stopped dead and turned around to you. 

“Tommy fucking Miller?!” 

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” 

Within seconds you were enveloped into the strongest hug you’d been given in your life and for the first time since the outbreak began you relaxed a little, returning the strong hug back to him. 

“How the hell did you get all the way up here?” He asked, releasing you, leaving his friend to care for your father. 

“I could ask the same thing about you.” You replied, “It’s a long fucking story.” 

At that moment, you’d been tempted to ask about Joel. 20 years and the end of the fucking world and that man was still front and center in your mind. You had almost opened your mouth to ask when your father’s coughing pulled you from your conversation. You rushed to the bed and took hold of his hand as he looked up at you. 

“Sorry Darlin’,” He’d spoken softly, “Guess I needed a rest.” 

You���d laughed, mainly through the sheer amount of adrenaline working through your veins and not because you found it funny, “You’ll never guess who we’ve managed to find?” You’d spoken, taking hold of his hand before shifting a little to reveal Tommy behind you. 

“Well I’ll never,” your father had spoken, trying to lift himself up in the bed to get a better look, “Never in my life did I think Tommy Miller would come to my rescue.” 

“I can’t believe you’re still going, old man.” Was Tommy’s response. 

That had been months ago and despite saying you’d leave once the storm had passed, the chance at a semi-normal life for the two of you and the fact that you’d found the only friend you thought you had left was enough to make you stay. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Tommy had greeted a few moments after you’d knocked on his front door. 

“Morning Tommy,” You replied, “What’s on the agenda today?” 

“I need someone to help me scout a new trail down to the power station and back,” He’d explained as you made your way to the stables, “It’ll make life a lot easier for the guys trying to get it back up to 100% but I wanted to check it first.” 

In the few short months, you’d been at Jackson you’d not quite found your place in it. Your father had finally been able to retire, spending his days in the rec hall, the church or the bar with the older elderly population, but you’d bounced around from job to job trying to find the right fit. 

The school had been your natural first choice, you’d been three weeks into your history master’s degree when the outbreak had happened so thought teaching history would be good for you, until you realized you had despised most children even before the infected took over the world, so you swiftly packed that in. You’d volunteered to help much out the horses and learn about veterinary care, but you hadn’t particularly clicked with any of the other people who had worked there, so you’d settled for following Tommy around, helping with odds and ends where you could. 

Once the horses were saddled up and you were out on the trail you realized what a beautiful day it was. The sky was clear, and it was warm enough to forgo the large jacket you’d been wearing through the winter for something lighter. Maria had packed enough food for the both of you to enjoy on the trail later and as always, Tommy had his hip flask with him, hopefully filled with liquid from one of the pre-outbreak bottles you knew he kept at the back of the cupboard at home. 

“So, I have something I need to tell you.” Tommy had admitted when you’d tied the horses up to drink and take a break. 

“That’s not ominous at all.” You’d replied, gratefully taking the hip flask from him to take a sip. 

“I didn’t tell you at the time because it wasn’t meant to be permanent,” Tommy started, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “But now it is permanent I wanted you to hear it from me.” 

“Okay, the suspense is killing me Miller, what’s going on?” 

“Joel is back.” 

You hadn’t realized you’d stopped breathing until you sucked in a shaky breath. Suddenly you couldn’t hear the birds or the running of the stream next to you. All you could hear was the blood pumping in your own ears. Joel. Joel was alive. 

“What do you mean, he’s back?” You asked. 

“He was here over the winter, maybe a week after you arrived but he was gone the next day, so I didn’t think it was worth mentioning, not with your dad and everything, but yeah, he’s back.” 

“Does he know we’re here?” 

Tommy shook his head, “Honestly Sunshine he’s been here less than two days, so we thought we’d let him get settled, but Maria is going to talk to him whilst we’re out here.” 

Tommy had been closed off about Joel since you’d arrived in Jackson. He’d mentioned that they’d run in the same circle for a while until he’d broken off and joined the Fireflies and Joel had ended up in Boston. He’d told you Sarah had died on outbreak day but was vague with the details and that had been about it. You’d not wanted to press for any more information, trying to tell yourself that it wouldn’t help anyway. You’d found one Miller brother, there was a slim chance of finding the other during the end of the world. 

“I can’t believe he’s here.” 

“I have to warn you sunshine,” Tommy began, “He ain’t the same man he was before all this.” 

You nodded, “Are any of us?” 

Tommy chuckled, “I don’t think you’ve changed much at all,” He admitted, “I don’t know how you’ve managed it but you’re still this beacon of joy.”  An involuntary snort left your nose, “I’ve done shitty things to keep myself alive Tommy, shitty things to people who didn’t deserve to have shitty things done them, but if you let that consume you, what’s the point of any of this?” 

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed.” Tommy sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Twenty years is a long time when you’re pretty sure someone is dead, I think I mourned for whatever it was we had long ago, so please don’t worry about me Tommy, I’ll be fine.” 

***

Back in Jackson, Joel was sat at the dining table in his new home, Maria sat across from him sipping from a cup of coffee. She’d brought it over for him, something from Tommy’s stash apparently. It was bitter but it had been a long time since he’d tasted his favourite drink so despite it burning down his throat, he followed Maria and took a sip of his own. 

“How are you settling in?” She asked. 

“We’re fine.” 

Maria nodded. She realized Joel didn’t trust her and she understood. If he was going to stay here for good, it would take some time for him to warm up to her. She still couldn’t understand why she had to be the one to tell him what was going on. She had become much closer to you than she could ever see herself becoming to Joel, but Tommy had insisted. Something about the female intuition being better for him in situations like this. 

“Listen, I’m not going to beat around the bush, Tommy wanted me to talk to you about something.” 

“I gathered.” 

Maria sighed, “I don’t really know much about it, but he told me there was someone you knew, before the outbreak. A girl.” 

Joel had been avoiding her eye contact up until this point, but his eyes shot to hers in that moment. Surely, she couldn’t be talking about you. He’d accepted long ago in those first few months that you were gone. Ripped apart by infected or shot by FEDRA before you could get somewhere safe. It was easier that way. Easier to kill you off in his mind so he hadn’t spent the last twenty years of his life mourning not just his daughter but the woman that had made him feel alive for the first time in years. 

“Said you had something going over the summer before all this happened,” He could see she was struggling, “Well anyway, Tommy wanted me to tell you that she’s here, been here a while actually, she and her father arrived probably a week before you rolled in the first time.” 

Joel tried not to let him emotion show but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Not only had you made it through the end of the world but so had your old man. Of all the people he had expected to find here it hadn’t been either of you. 

“Tommy is talking to her today as well so you both know, we didn’t want you to just run into each other and have the shock of your life, Tommy thought it might bring on some kind of heart attack in you and one baby is enough for us right now, we couldn’t handle Ellie as well.”  He knew she was trying to make light of the situation and under any other circumstance he probably would have laughed but he was having a hard time keeping his panic under control. He tried to ground himself, taking deep breaths into his chest. What would you look like now? Had the years of hardship been kind to you? Would you have fine lines at the edge of your eyes like he’d always imagined you would from all your smiling? Would you have scars? What had you both done to keep each other alive until now? All questions he was dying to ask you, but no. He couldn’t do this. 

Ellie was enough. One person to rely on him. He’d done unspeakable things to get them here and he couldn’t have someone else to rely on him. Someone else to keep safe. Even in the walls of Jackson where you could almost convince yourself the last twenty years hadn’t happened. He couldn’t be the man he wanted to be for you all those years ago. 

“Well, I appreciate you tellin’ me Maria,” He spoke finally, “But that was a long time ago and I got other things to be focusing on now.” 

“Of course,” Maria was standing up to leave, “I best be going, but maybe you should consider bringing Ellie to the bar tonight, it’s been a couple of days and I’m sure the rest of the community would like to meet the new arrivals.” 

He waved her off with a promise they’d think about it, silently knowing he wouldn’t be going. 

“So we’re going right?” He heard Ellie’s voice at the top of the stairs, “I’ve always wanted to go to a bar.”  “What did I tell you about eavesdroppin’?” 

***

You’d been shooting back whiskey since you’d arrived at the bar and it was now settling in your stomach and going straight to your head. Your father was sat opposite you, facing the door. You’d not told him about Joel being here, why you’d kept it to yourself you weren’t sure, but Tommy had explained on the ride back that Maria was going to invite him to the bar that night, get him to do the rounds and meet everyone that he could. 

You’d almost considered staying home, but your father had insisted on bringing you out and you knew if Joel was here to stay you couldn’t avoid him forever. You needed to get this over with as soon as you could. That didn’t stop the dull ache of anxiety settling in your chest. 

Every time the door opened; you’d watch your father’s expression for the telltale sign that it was Joel that had walked in. About an hour ago a flash of recognition had flashed across his face, but it had just been Mr Grady from the house across from yours. They’d had some idle chatter before the rest of Mr Grady’s family had joined you at the table where they’d been sat for a while. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Your father asked. 

“Hmmm?” You hummed in reply. 

“Paul just asked you a question,” He said, pointing to Mr Grady, “And you were miles away.”  “Oh, sorry,” you apologized, “I guess my head is somewhere else tonight, what did you ask?” 

“How was the trail today?”  “It was fine, clear apart from some fallen trees but it won’t take much to clear them, no signs of infected or raiders either.” 

“Good, it’ll be good for the lads to have an easier way to get down every day.” 

You’d nodded, knocking back the last of your whiskey and standing up before the front door creaked open. You almost knew what to expect before you looked to your father who looked almost like he was about to pass out. You turned around, glass in hand and there he was. Joel Miller in all his glory. 

He was still tall and imposing, broad in the shoulders, but his hair and beard had a spattering of grey hair and the expression on his face was hard, cold even. Stood next to him was a girl, surely no older than Sarah would have been when you’d last seen her. She had a look of wonder on her face as she took in the bar, the look of wonder every person who hadn’t been around before had when they saw something from the time before this. 

You’d been fine until Joel’s eyes snapped to yours. Your breath hitched in your throat and the glass you’d been holding fell and smashed on the floor, causing the low chatter to stop around the bar. Everyone was looking at you now, “Sorry.” You muttered, dropping to your knees to pick up the larger pieces of glass, more for a distraction than anything else. 

By the time you’d stood up and sat back down in your seat, Joel was at the bar with Tommy and the young girl. Even with his brother you could tell he was tense. Tommy hadn’t been lying when he said he was different. 

You’d been half listening when your father had explained that the two of you had lived close to Joel and worked together before everything went down, keeping your eyes trained on his back as he gladly accepted a glass of whiskey from Shane behind the bar. Tommy shot you a look over his shoulder whilst Joel took a drink, somewhere between an apology and a questioning look as to whether you were alright. You nodded softly in his direction that you were fine, or as fine as you could be under the circumstances. 

Mr Grady and his family left pretty quickly after that, something about his grandson being out on patrol early, leaving just you and you father at the table. 

“If anyone was gonna survive this thing it was always going to be that man,” Your father mused, sipping the last of his drink, “Just didn’t think he’d ever find this place.” 

You were half listening to him, giving him a nod in reply as you watched Tommy point to your table. You could have sworn Joel shook his head in response, but you wouldn’t bet money on it but then Tommy was pulling the open lapel of his jacket and turning him round, pushing at the small of his back towards your table. 

Within seconds, Tommy, Joel and the nameless girl were stood by your table, and you thought once you might pass out again. The last time you’d seen Joel had been the night before the outbreak. You’d snuck out to wish him a happy birthday which had of course lead to him splitting you open in the back of his truck, pulling three orgasms from you before you’d sucked him off and let him cum down your throat. He’d kissed you goodbye and promised to see you that weekend and that had been the last of it. 

“If it ain’t Joel Miller,” Your father greeted, struggling in his old age to stand from his chair, extending his hand out to him which he took, “Welcome back, you old man.”

“It’s good to see you again,” Joel replied, refusing to look at you, “Of all the people I thought to see here with my brother I’ve gotta admit I didn’t think it would be you.” 

Your father was still standing, using his hands to steady himself on the table, “Can’t say I can take much of the credit, it’s all thanks to this one.” He nodded his head towards you. 

Finally, he was looking at you. You didn’t really know what you’d expected but he was looking at you like he’d never really seen you before, despite knowing the most intimate parts of you and that hurt. 

“Hi Joel,” You greeted quietly, holding out your hand which he took just long enough to give your hand a squeeze before letting you go like he’d been disgusted at touching you, “It’s good to see you again.” 

He stared at you for what felt like forever until the girl next to him piped up in conversation, “So, can I have a drink?” 

“No, you cannot.” Joel was quick answer, “You’re not old enough.” 

“Dude, c’mon, it’s the fuckin’ apocalypse, just a little one.” 

“Ellie, I said no.” 

She looked like she was going to challenge him for a second but decided against it, then she looked to you, “How do you guys know each other?” 

You went to open your mouth but your father cut in, “We used to work together, started my business and these guys came along to help with everything, and my girl here used to look after Joel’s daughter in the evenings before she went off to study.” 

You watched Joel tense when your father mentioned Sarah, twenty years was never enough time to get over losing your first born.  

“I’m Ellie, nice to meet you.” She directed in your direction. 

You smiled warmly at her, you already liked this girl, whoever she was to Joel, “It’s lovely to meet you, Ellie.” 

“Well, it’s been good to see you Joel, hopefully we’ll see you both around a bit more, but I think it’s time for this one to get me home.” 

Silently thanking your father for saving you anymore embarrassment you quickly put your jacket on, rounding the table to loop your arm in his to escort him home. He was perfectly capable of doing it all on his own, but the two of you liked to be as close to each other as possible since his scare in the snow and after years of him looking after you it was only right you were starting to repay the favour now. 

“Goodnight.” You spoke softly to Joel as you walked past him, stopping a few seconds near Tommy to agree to help him with something the following day before leaving. 

***

Later that night, when Joel had finally gone to bed his mind was racing. He and Ellie had stayed just long enough at the bar to not seem rude before he made his excuse and took them both home. She’d gone up the stairs to her room leaving him at the kitchen table with bottle of whiskey Tommy had given him from his stash. 

You hadn’t really changed at all. You’d aged, but even during the end of the fucking world you’d managed to do it gracefully. The smile lines he’d drawn in his mind were exactly where he’d thought they’d be, your hair had a small spattering of greys in it and there was a scar that sliced through your top lip which told him however you’d managed to survive it hadn’t been easy. But you were still you, with those big, beautiful eyes he’d remembered and your soft voice that could have begged him for anything and he’d have given it to you. 

He certainly wasn’t the same man, not the man you’d wanted all those years ago on his back porch in the heat. He was old, damaged and had more emotional baggage now than he had back then. He knew he had to stay away from you, he couldn’t allow himself to give into what he really wanted because he knew, deep down, that he would fail. He couldn’t be the romantic man he’d been before, lying you down and spending hours pulling sounds of pleasure from you in his bed, wishing that he could take you out and hold your hand for everyone to see but knowing he couldn’t. 

Things were very different now and that would just mean having to keep his distance, he couldn’t risk another attachment, Ellie was enough for him. If only he’d known that a few streets over you were lying in your bed thinking the exact opposite, thinking about how you could get as close to him as possible and rekindle what you’d had, then he’d have known it was all over before it had even begun. 

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