umnitsa

[umnitsa]

That`s exactly how I imagine Alexei playing FIFA in The Wolf and the Hare 3 HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH Oh god lord almighty!

I’m going to need a defibrillator if I keep watching this. David Harbour, the man that you are…

🤭🥵😻🥰🔥💜

[umnitsa]

⋆˚✿˖° EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI ⋆˚✿˖°

Jim Hopper x Reader

Soft dom!Hopper just wants to enjoy his newspaper, but you keep pestering him for sex… 😏 Dry humping, thigh riding, p in v, rough oral, throat pie

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“You need to get off so bad-,” Hopper grumbles dismissively. “-You can hump my thigh.” He glances at you over his newspaper. “Somethin’ tells me you’re desperate enough to do it, too.” He shifts down in his chair and pats his lap, offering you a seat. “Take it or leave it, kid,” he mumbles. “Cause it’s all you’re gonna get.”

You scowl at Hopper as he disappears behind his paper again. Frustratingly, he’s absolutely right about you (as he usually is). You are desperate enough to settle for Hopper’s thigh right now, even though his dick is what you’re really after. He doesn’t need to see you to know you’re approaching, or that there’s a look of frustration on your face. Hopper grunts a little at the pressure when you settle over his thigh. He adjusts himself and his hand accidentally grazes your hip; his eyes snag yours over the paper. “You’re not wearing panties,” Hopper says, momentarily distracted. “Must’ve been so sure I’d drop everything ‘n fuck you-.” He chuckles. “-That’s cute-.”

“-Shut up.”

Hopper’s eyebrows lift in surprise. He raises his hands, feigning surrender: “Easy, officer. Take what you need.”

And you do. With your arms wrapped snugly around Hopper’s waist, you cage his left thigh between yours. Crinkles form beside your eyes as they squeeze shut, your focus intent on satisfying the ache between your legs.

Against your knee, you feel Hopper’s cock stiffening. He grunts now and then behind his paper, still ignoring you while he lets you use him. Witnessing you in such a desperate state is exciting Hopper in ways he didn’t expect. Denying you the thing you want most is a power trip, and knowing you crave his cock that badly makes Hopper feel powerful.

He bounces his leg under you and chuckles when you gasp in response. “No fair,” you pant. “You werent supposed to-ungh-you aren’t supposed-.”

“-Since when do you tell me what to do?” Hopper counters gently, but firmly. Your slippery cunt glides back and forth in the slick patch you’ve made on Hopper’s thigh. He folds his paper and lets it land on the floor by his chair. Big, warm hands slide up your body, cupping the bouncing globes of your breasts. Your nipples perk against Hopper’s palms. He kneads the soft flesh of your tits and works his way down to your hips, groping you as his erection swells against your leg.

He lifts you slightly and shifts so his cock is lodged between your thighs, strained beneath the zipper of his jeans. You moan softly into Hopper’s shoulder as his hands slip under your ass, helping you grind against him. His chest dips in a deep exhale as the impact of your bouncing nudges his tip. Hopper decides he’s had enough of letting you dry hump him; he needs to feel how wet you are. With an impatient grunt, Hopper shifts you back onto his thigh and hurriedly fumbles his jeans undone. After a quick adjustment, his cock is in his hand, standing tall and thick with a large bead of precum glistening at the tip. He bounces you up again- “Get on,” Hopper grunts- and you sit your cunt on top of him, your sticky lips spread apart as you sink over his tip.

You descend onto Hopper slowly, swallowing him inch by inch till your pubic hair is indistinguishable from his. He reaches around and grabs a handful of your hair, locking you in place while bucking up into you. The punch of Hopper’s fat cock lands heavy between your walls, his weighty balls smacking your ass at the end of every thrust. He yanks your head back so your chin is tilted to the ceiling and his mouth seizes your neck in a series of hard, sucking kisses. Little red marks trail down your shoulders in the wake of Hopper’s assault while his cock bullies your cunt into obedience. Sweat beads in his hairline, his sharp eyes heavy-lidded but focused. He watches your tits bounce between his body and yours, the stiff peaks of your nipples rubbing through the fabric of his shirt.

The ceiling goes in and out of focus as a powerful climax seizes you. Hopper tightens his grip around you while your body bucks and jerks, but he never eases his thrusts. Pumping you up and down on his cock like a sleeve, Hopper forces you to endure every brutal, beautiful moment of your orgasm at full force, stroking your walls relentlessly as they suck and convulse around him. “Go on,” he orders you, his palm smacking a firm warning against your ass. “You wanted this cock so bad-show me you earned it.” Hopper’s stomach tenses against yours as you bounce on top of him, his skin moist with sweat and your cum smeared against it. He clutches your tit in his palm while his other hand holds you steady at the hip, squeezing and kneading the warm, pliant flesh he owns. You snap and lurch into Hopper’s body, convulsing around him like something possessed. He’s broad and strong enough to withstand the assault as you lose control, spasming in his arms, his name broken as it tumbles from your lips.

Hopper abruptly lifts you off of him, grumbling something about how he isn’t done with you yet. He plants your spent body on the ground, positioning you how he wants you on your knees. With one hand locked in your hair, Hopper guides your slaw jaw around his cock, coated slick and shiny in your cum. Your throat spreads around the pressure of Hopper’s cock, his veiny shaft heavy on your tongue as he strokes in and out of you. His balls are wet with your cum covering them; they slap sticky and warm against your chin as Hopper bottoms out inside your throat.

Ugly choking sounds gurgle up your throat as the muscles reject Hopper’s girth. He holds your head in place, forcing your nose against the wiry hair of his bush as you struggle to take in air around his cock. Saliva leaks from the cracked corners of your lips; your eyes roll back and tears stream down your cheeks. Hopper releases your throat and when you pull off his cock, thick lines of spit and bubbles spill from your lips as you retch and cough. Hopper barely lets you catch your breath before he’s pulling you back onto his cock, pumping your throat in wet, frenetic thrusts. Frothy saliva belches from your lips around Hopper’s cock and spatters down his balls as he plunges your throat, again and again till you have to tap out. Smacking his thigh, you let Hopper know you can’t take anymore and he releases your hair, watching as you lurch away and vomit a load of frothy spit and precum onto the floor. Hopper gives you a second to recover then hoists you by the hair back onto his cock, smacking your forehead against his stomach with every descent down your throat.

You feel lightheaded, your brain going soft as Hopper’s dominance pummels you into a space of total submission. You know your role; you know your place. It’s right here, with Hopper’s cock stuffing you, and there’s no other purpose for your existence beyond this moment. He owns you, and doesn’t need words to prove it. You’re well past the point of words by the time his cock is buried down your throat. Hopper’s balls slap your chin; they’re tight and full, so heavy and it’s your responsibility to empty them. Your eyes lazily drift up and you see the intense control in Hopper’s face, the way he’s fighting with everything he has to keep from erupting inside you, to make this moment last as long as possible.

But the grip of your throat is too good-you fit Hopper’s cock too perfectly. He can’t withhold his orgasm a second longer and he relinquishes control, his body submitting to its need. Hopper growls and curses over your head as he erupts against the back of your throat, spitting cum towards your stomach, his shaft milked again and again as your muscles rapidly contract. You choke on Hopper’s cum-there’s so much of it-loud gulping sounds gurgling up from your throat as you struggle to swallow all of his load.

He pulls you back and lets the rest drain out between your puffy, fucked-swollen lips. A frothy foam of semen and spit splatter the floor in front of you as you heave over it; Hopper reaches for a glass of water on a nearby table and wraps your fingers around it. You guzzle the cool liquid down, soothing your throat. Hopper stands over you where you’re curled up on the floor, putting his dick away and zipping his jeans. “You did good, baby,” he grins down at you, offering his hand. As raw as your throat feels right now, making Hopper proud is the only incentive you need to do it all over again.

He pulls you into his arms and holds you there, making sure you finish the glass of water. When his hands begin to wander lower, you spread your legs and let Hopper fondle your pussy. Wet, slick sounds trickle up from the space Hopper’s fingers are moving, massaging a messy pattern over your clit. He slips his fingers between your labia, spreading them apart as his middle finger hones in on the raised pebble of your clit. Your body jerks in his arms at the contact, your senses on fire. With the slightest provocation, Hopper knows he can have you coming again in seconds. He decides to sit with this power, knowing you know it, too. And as morning fades into afternoon, Hopper is finally able to finish reading his paper…while keeping his finger poised on your button, making sure you stay in line…

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[umnitsa]

taking one (& another & another & another) for the team | soap x reader x ghost | inspired by: @softaestluv johnny's pent up blurb

It started as a joke. "I'm gonna die if I don't get my cock wet soon," Johnny whined, sprawled backward over the couch, legs spread, hand draped over his forehead like he was seconds away from his last breath. *"Swear I can feel it in my fucking molars, mate. I'm gonna explode."

At first, you and the others ignored him. Typical Soap — loud, dramatic, a walking sexual frustration PSA. But it didn't stop. If anything, it got worse: every mission debrief, every meal, every late-night sit around the barracks, Johnny lamented his poor, poor cock like it was a national tragedy.

When he started describing how tragic his wanks were — "My hand's too fuckin' rough, not the same, need something wet, something tight—" — you snapped. Loud enough for everyone in the room to hear: "Christ, Soap, I'll fuckin' take one for the team if it'll shut you up."

Johnny sat up like you'd just offered him oxygen.

Which is how you found yourself bent over the nearest flat surface, jeans yanked halfway down your thighs, Johnny pressed tight to your back, rutting into you like a man possessed.

"Fuck—fuckin' hell, love, yer savin' my life," he groaned, hips slamming into you like he was trying to crawl inside. "Warm 'n tight, fuck, could stay here forever."

You barely bit back a moan, hands braced hard enough to hurt. You weren't supposed to enjoy this, just do your duty to the squad’s sanity.

But then Johnny started whining again — not his usual loudmouth bitching, but these needy, half-choked sounds against the back of your neck.

"Need ya," he rasped, like he couldn't help himself. "Need yer cunt, fuck, not gonna be enough, need it again—'m not done—"

Even after he came — hot, messy, filling you to the brim — he didn't stop. Still rocking against you, still murmuring desperate filth into your skin, already hardening inside you again.

You realized then: You hadn't fixed the problem. You'd made it worse.

He barely pulled out before he was pushing right back in, thick and slick with his own cum, grinding into your overstretched walls like he could merge the two of you if he tried hard enough.

"Fuckin' perfect," Johnny slurred against your neck, teeth scraping along your skin. "Mine now, y'know that? Filled you up good—fuckin' claimed you—"

You tried to push him off, half-hearted at best — muscles trembling, brain fogged from how full you felt — but Johnny just wrapped an arm around your middle and held you there, hips rolling slow and filthy, fucking his own mess deeper inside.

"Nuh-uh, love," he muttered, pressing kisses to your shoulder, messy and possessive. "Said I'd lose my mind if I didn’t get to fuck you. Y’think one load's enough to fix this? After all that sufferin’?"

You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch again, fully hard despite just cumming. He chuckled low against your skin, voice dark and wrecked.

"Told ya I'd go mad. Now yer stuck with me, sweetheart."

He fucked you slow the second time — not like the frantic, desperate slamming from before, but a grinding, possessive rhythm, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you properly. Every time you clenched around him, he gasped, praising you in that ruined, filthy brogue.

"That's it, good girl," he breathed. "Take it all, take it like y'made for it. Fuckin' born to milk my cock, huh? Gonna pump you so full you won't remember what it feels like to be empty."

You felt him bulge even thicker inside you, grinding down into your cervix, every thrust stretching you wider, making you feel owned in a way that had nothing to do with orders or duty.

Johnny growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. You barely registered it before he was moving — hands gripping your hips, manhandling you onto your back like you weighed nothing.

"Wanna see," he panted, almost delirious. "Wanna see how fuckin' ruined you are for me."

Your legs were shoved open before you could think to protest, ankles tossed over his shoulders. Johnny leaned back just enough to look — and groaned, obscene and ragged.

"Fuckin' hell, look at that," he hissed, watching his cum leaking out of you, your cunt red and puffy, still clenching greedily around nothing. His cock throbbed in his hand, still wet, still ready.

"So messy, love. Drippin' for me already. Y'know what that means, don’t ya?"

You shook your head weakly, breath stuttering in your chest. Johnny just grinned, all teeth and danger.

"Means I’ve gotta fill you up again. 'Til you can't take any more."

Without warning, he lined himself up and pushed — forcing his cock back inside your sore, sloppy cunt in one thick, slow thrust. You cried out, back arching, and Johnny moaned like you were his whole damn salvation.

He didn’t give you a chance to breathe. Started fucking you immediately — deep, grinding strokes that had your whole body jolting with each brutal snap of his hips.

"That's it, that's it," he gasped, head tipping back, sweat dripping down his temple. "Take it all, pretty thing. Gonna make sure yer stuck full of me. Walkin' round leakin' my cum for days."

Your brain barely worked anymore. Just open-mouthed whimpers, toes curling, walls spasming around him like you wanted it — wanted everything he was giving you and more.

Johnny's pace turned frantic again, slamming into you harder, the sound of skin against skin filthy and wet between you.

"Belong to me now," he growled, words punching out of him with each thrust. "No one else. Fuckin' mine."

You couldn’t even pretend to fight it. Couldn’t think past the way he filled you so perfectly, the overwhelming heat, the way his cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you until you felt tears spring to your eyes.

He buried himself to the hilt one final time, grinding down against you, hips jerking as he spilled deep again, thick and endless. You could feel it — the heat, the stretch, the way he pulsed inside you like he was branding you from the inside out.

Johnny didn’t pull out. Just collapsed over you, mouth hot and messy against your jaw, still twitching inside your wrecked cunt.

"Fuck," he whispered hoarsely. "Still not enough. Need you again, love. Gonna fill you 'til you’re round with me, swear it."

Johnny stayed buried in you for a long moment, hips grinding lazy, slow circles, as if trying to force every last drop even deeper. You could feel it leaking out around his cock — hot, sticky, obscene — and you whimpered, overstimulated and wrecked.

Johnny noticed immediately. Growled against your throat, feral.

"Leakin'," he muttered, almost offended. "Can't have that. Gotta keep it all in, love. Need you drippin’ full for me."

He finally, finally pulled out — and the flood of cum that gushed out made you sob, weak and broken. But Johnny didn’t give you a second to recover. He dropped between your legs, shoving two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them deep and obscene, scooping the mess back up.

"No wastin' it," he rasped, fucking his cum right back into your cunt with slow, filthy thrusts. "Take it all, greedy girl. You fuckin' need it."

Your legs kicked weakly at the overstimulation, but Johnny just grinned — wild and unhinged — before spreading you wider, his thumb pressing down hard on your clit while he stuffed you full with his fingers.

"Gonna breed you proper," he whispered hoarsely. "Fill you so deep you’ll be round with me. Belly all heavy, stuffed full of my fuckin' load—"

You sobbed, hips rolling despite yourself, body desperate for more even as your mind shattered into static. You should have known it’d be like this — Johnny didn’t do anything by halves.

He leaned down, mouth dragging messy, possessive kisses along your trembling stomach like he could will it to swell.

"Mine," he murmured. "All fuckin' mine."

And that’s exactly when you heard the door creak open. You barely had the strength to lift your head, vision blurry — but you saw a tall shadow in the doorway.

Ghost.

He stood there, silent, unreadable behind his mask — just watching. Johnny didn't stop. Didn’t even slow down. He curled his fingers inside you again, making you cry out, making more of the mess spill down your thighs.

Ghost's head tilted slightly, almost curious.

"Problem?" Johnny barked over his shoulder, voice wrecked but cocky as hell. Like he wanted Ghost to see — to know.

Ghost said nothing. Just crossed his arms slowly over his broad chest.

Johnny smirked and turned his attention back to you, dragging his fingers out with a wet squelch just to stuff them right back in — slow and possessive.

"That's right," he said lowly, clearly for Ghost’s benefit now. "Had to take care of it myself. Filled her up so good she's fuckin' leaking. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?"

You whimpered in response — too broken, too full, too wrecked to argue.

Ghost watched you for a long, heavy moment — chest rising and falling — before he spoke, voice flat and unreadable: "You better clean up after yourself, Soap."

Then, calmly — without another word — Ghost shut the door behind him with a click.

Johnny barked out a wild, breathless laugh against your stomach. "Come to help, mate?" he panted, fingers still lazily dragging through the wrecked mess of your cunt. "Think she needs it. Poor thing's so fuckin' stuffed already, can't hold it all."

Ghost didn’t answer. Didn't need to.

He stalked closer, heavy boots thudding against the floor, until he was standing right at the edge of the bed — looming over your trembling body. You watched through blurred eyes as he popped the button on his cargo pants, dragging the zipper down slowly, deliberately.

Johnny shifted you slightly, spreading your legs even wider, thumbs digging bruises into your hips to keep you open — presenting you like a ruined offering.

"C'mon, Ghost," Johnny muttered, voice rough and wild. "Don't leave the girl waitin'. Look how pretty she is—drippin' fuckin' ready."

Still silent, Ghost wrapped a hand around the base of his cock — thick, flushed, already leaking — and lined himself up.

He didn’t ease in. Just pressed the fat head against your already-used, dripping hole and pushed.

You screamed, body arching off the bed, overwhelmed instantly by the stretch, the pressure, the unbearable fullness of taking another man inside you without even a second to adjust.

Ghost let out a low, broken sound, not quite a grunt, not quite a moan, and buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.

"There we fuckin' go," Johnny whispered against your ear, laughing breathlessly. "Take him, love. Take us both."

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Ghost fucked you without mercy — slow, devastating thrusts that forced Johnny’s mess and his own spit to spill down your thighs in filthy, wet streams. He said nothing — just breathing harshly through the fabric of his mask, hands brutal on your hips, using you like a living, breathing fucktoy.

Johnny kept whispering filth into your ear — encouragements, praises, commands — while Ghost destroyed you from the inside out.

"That's it, good girl," Johnny crooned, petting your hair while Ghost slammed into you. "Take it like you were fuckin' made for it."

You felt your mind fracturing — pure overstimulation, pure broken pleasure — as Ghost fucked you harder, grinding deep, his cock stretching you to the point of tears.

And then Johnny shifted again — ducking low between your legs to lick around where you were stuffed full, his tongue dragging over your overstretched rim every time Ghost pulled out just a fraction.

"Fuckin' hell," Johnny gasped, almost reverent. "Look at that, Ghost. Cunt's swallowin' you like she needs it."

Ghost let out another low, broken sound — and picked up the pace. The bed creaked violently under you, your body jolting with every brutal, punishing thrust.

You could feel it building — some dark, overwhelming climax you couldn’t fight — tightening low in your stomach, burning up your spine.

Ghost suddenly reached down and gripped your throat — not tight, just heavy, possessive — and that was it.

You shattered. Clamping down around him so hard Ghost actually groaned, thrusts going sloppy, brutal. And then you felt it — hot, thick, spilling deep inside you, Ghost’s cock pulsing violently, joining Johnny’s mess inside your ruined cunt.

You lay there twitching, barely conscious, as Ghost finally pulled out — slow, heavy — and watched as his cum immediately leaked out after him.

Johnny's hand was already there — catching it, stuffing it back inside you with lazy, satisfied fingers.

Ghost pulled his gloves back on silently, redressing with mechanical efficiency. Said nothing. Before he left, he pressed one gloved hand to your trembling thigh — firm, approving — and then disappeared out the door without a word.

Johnny leaned down over you, brushing your hair back from your sweaty forehead.

"Told ya, sweetheart," he whispered with a wicked grin. "Was gonna fill you proper."

And from the ache in your gut and the obscene mess between your thighs —you knew he wasn’t lying.

Morning hit like a slow, heavy sledgehammer.

You barely even remembered falling asleep — just flashes: Johnny fucking his cum deeper into you with lazy, loving thrusts while you sobbed into the sheets; Ghost’s heavy hand gripping your thigh one last time before disappearing without a word.

Now your entire body ached. Your thighs were sore, trembling even at the slightest twitch. Your pussy was a wreck — raw, swollen, still leaking a slow, lazy drip of milky white that soaked into the crumpled sheets beneath you.

You tried to shift — to roll onto your side — and whimpered immediately. Everything hurt. You could feel the mess drying on your skin, inside your cunt, coating your thighs.

And Johnny, of course, was already awake.

He lay stretched out beside you, arms tucked behind his head, a smug, satisfied smirk spread wide across his face.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he drawled, voice rough from use, eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Sleep well?"

You glared at him weakly, too exhausted to even muster words. Johnny just grinned wider.

"Y’look wrecked," he said cheerfully, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from your sweaty forehead. "Proper job, that."

You tried to move again — a pathetic, sluggish attempt — and Johnny laughed, full-bodied and warm.

"Aw, poor thing. Can’t even fuckin' walk, huh?"

His hand drifted down — over your collarbone, the bruises he’d left, the fingerprints, the possessive marks — until he palmed your lower belly, pressing down just slightly.

You gasped, muscles clenching reflexively around the lingering mess inside you.

Johnny's grin turned wolfish.

"Still full, are ya?" he murmured. "Good girl. Holdin’ it all for us."

He sat up slowly, bare chest gleaming with a faint sheen of sweat, and pulled back the sheets.

You whimpered as cool air brushed your ruined, sore cunt — thighs automatically trying to close, to hide yourself.

Johnny tsked softly, spreading you open with two rough hands like you were something precious to be displayed.

He hummed low in his throat — a sound of satisfaction.

"Ghost’ll be pleased," he muttered, almost to himself.

You blinked sluggishly at him, confused.

Johnny chuckled and gestured toward the nightstand. There — sitting neatly next to a bottle of water — was a simple piece of paper. No name. No explanation. Just three short words, written in Ghost’s heavy, blocky scrawl: “Hold it in.”

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest.

Johnny laughed again — delighted, wrecked — and leaned down to press a filthy, claiming kiss to the inside of your trembling thigh.

"Guess we’re not done after all, love," he whispered against your skin. "Orders are orders."

And from the wicked glint in his eye, you knew you weren’t getting a break anytime soon.

[umnitsa]

Many of us find you hot, man.

Did...did you say bucky..as in..winter soldier..bucky..👉👈

[Girlie likes em traumatized]

Yeah. Why everyone find him hot? Anyone find me hot???

[umnitsa]

David Harbour, the man that you are…

🤭😻🥰🔥💜

[umnitsa]

The word loss was banned. I don't remember the consequences for saying/typing/using it, but it was really bad and you weren't allowed to say it. IRL and online. International.

"I am at a :.|:; for words" was a massive meme after the ban got lifted. (It existed for about two days dream time.)

[umnitsa]

YES! YES! YES!

It feels delightfully dirty and ao damn soft too. I wanna have a road trip with both, long talks, coffee and sex, rinse and repeat. 🫂🥰

speed limit

lot lizard!Joel Miller x truck driver!f!reader

summary: different truck stop, same outcome. you meet Tommy’s brother down the road and learn that charm runs in Miller family warnings: again just a PWP nothing more; PinV; dirty talk; sex for money; mentions of past encounter with Tommy; no y/n or reader description wc: 3,9k a/n: I've tried writing in present tense and i am obsessed? hope u don't mind that change. thank you for the love and excitement over this silly idea <3 this is not heavily edited and once again, English is not my first language so mistakes are... there. most likely. previous part | series masterlist | next part

lot lizard (slang, US) — A prostitute at a truck stop.

Fate itself forces you to stop in Texas when a small red icon on the dashboard of your truck lights up, informing you of a plummeting tire pressure. You swear softly to yourself, turning the steering wheel and driving towards the first parking lot you see. Fortunately, even if you have a punctured tire, it will not prevent you from reaching your destination point, still, it will be useful to check all the others before you set off.

Before you jump out of the cab, you look behind the seat and fish out a red case where you kept necessary tools. You find the gauge quickly and jump out of the truck.

It's quiet in the half-empty parking lot, and from where you are standing you can see a heavyset man in his sixties dozing with his head thrown back in one of the trucks. A few more parked trucks look empty at first, but you know the drivers can well be napping in their cabins or having breakfast in the small shabby-looking diner. At the thought of breakfast, your stomach rumbles and you automatically squeeze the fabric of your T-shirt there, as if trying to stifle the shameful sound. That morning you drove off so briskly at first light that you completely forgot that the last time you ate was about twelve hours ago.

You quickly decide to stop by the dining room as soon as you've dealt with the tires. The road was empty in the early morning and you were already a couple of hours ahead of schedule.

The anticipation of breakfast—your mouth watered at the thought of fresh waffles and hot coffee—made you move faster. One by one, you approached each of the 18 tires until you found the one that failed you. As you thought, only one of the tires was showing pressure below normal, so you decide that you will be able to get to Iowa in the next couple of days no problem, unload and see a mechanic before going back to New Mexico.

  Still, you shake your head in frustration. It was damn irresponsible not to check the truck before leaving. You had your head in the clouds all early morning, the effects of a more than pleasant night in the company of Tommy were spreading under your skin like warm bliss. Your lips stretch into a silly smile when you remember how soft his curls felt under your fingers, and his lips on your-- You pinch the thin skin on your wrist, forcing yourself back to reality. Damn, just thinking about him made your panties wet and your eyes blur. He knew exactly what he was doing. Best 50$ spent in your life, you giggle to yourself.

You quickly realize that when you turned into the parking lot, you didn't even notice where you were. You remember that you saw a sign for Brookshire, and looking around the parking lot, you finally notice a huge, worn sign that says “Flying J”. Amazing how you haven’t noticed the huge red roof and the airplane logo earlier.

“Flying J, Brookshire. Texas.” When you say the words out loud, it suddenly dawns on you why they seem so familiar. The man, Joel. Tommy wanted you to say hi to him, but he didn't even tell you how to find him, just gave you the name of the place. You couldn't help but laugh with irony, you were taken to a place where only your curious pussy was planning to go.

With a grin on your face, you pull open the heavy door of the diner, the ringing of the bell informs everyone of your presence. After a quick inspection, you realize that “everyone” is an elderly waitress who is arguing with a guy in a dirty chef's hat, and a man who is sipping a cup of black coffee, if the half-empty coffee pot on the table is a sign.

 Without giving it much thought, you fall into the next table and wait for the waitress to bring you a slightly sticky laminated menu. While she dusts off her apron and quickly checks with a chrome spoon whether she has stained her teeth with her bright coral lipstick, you begin to study the man.

It strucks you almost immediately, that feeling. His skin is an almost familiar shade of golden, the curve of his strong nose and the curls that remind you so much of the ones you squeezed and pulled hours ago. 

Was he really? 

For a moment you stop yourself, taking the situation for just wishful thinking, even though you haven’t really been wishing for anything. And then, as if sensing your stare, he glances back at you. When he gives you a smile, you're ready to bet your entire salary that it is the man Tommy’s sent sleepy greetings to. He was right, they really do look alike, but somehow not so much in appearance—although the brown of their eyes is so memorable you think you could draw it from memory if you knew how—but more something inexplicable united them. The same vibration came from both men, a wave that penetrated you faster and deeper than you could understand and control.

“Y’know he can charge you for starin’, that one.”

The rattling voice of the waitress—Denise, as her crookedly pinned name tag said—pulled you out of daydreaming. The heat of shame rushed to your neck and you hurried to pretend a fool.

“Sorry?”

“‘m askin’ if you made your choice. Food?”

“Right!” Your eyes scan the menu quickly, but the words blur in one unintelligible line. “Sorry, yeah. Can I have some waffles and coffee?”

“No waffles, sorry, sweety. Not sure that punk can make anything besides biscuit an’ gravy.”

“Oh,” a slight disappointment settles at the bottom of your stomach, but it isn’t enough to satiate your hunger, so you just nod.“It’s okay, biscuit and gravy sounds great.”

Denise gives you a sympathetic smile and scribbles something in her crumpled notebook for show. “You need cream with your coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay, I’ll be back in a moment.” She only takes a couple of steps away from your table before she starts shouting your order out. Apparently, the cook's name was Jack.

Curiosity, or maybe not enough sleep, pulls you out from your own table and forces you to fall at the next one, settling down next to a familiar stranger. He doesn’t bat an eye, but smiles into the cup, giving you the opportunity to speak first.

“You’re Joel, aren’t you?” 

You’ve been expecting a surprised look, or at least some reaction to the fact that you know his name, but apparently he is quite popular in these parts and therefore he just smiles, puts the cup on the table and throws his arm over the back of the chair, half-turning to you.

“Sure am, ma’am. What can I do you for?”

His voice is thick as fog on the road after a cold and humid night. It seeps under your skin with goosebumps, raising your hair on the back of your neck. A slight southern accent and morning hoarseness makes you squirm in place, and the seam of your jeans, pressing right into your pussy, reminds you of the arousal that has not left you since you woke up.

“You can do me.” You don't know who said it, but it was definitely your voice. Your bluntness even made Joel choke a little. Perhaps he is a little more modest than his friend after all. “Tommy said hi.”

You can see the cogs in his head turning until everything falls into place. His face changes before your eyes: a slightly sleepy, morning smile turns into a predatory grin, and eyebrows that have been raised in surprise droop, casting a shadow over almost intimately familiar brown eyes.

“Mighty nice of him,” He nods, and pushes the empty cup away from the edge of the table—the sound cuts into your ears—and you're already too caught up in the man to twitch. “And how's my baby brother doin’?” 

Brother, of course. As if reading your mind, his broad palm finds your thigh under the table and boldly squeezes your soft flesh. Feeling under some spell you've cast on yourself, your legs spread slightly, telling Joel everything he needs to know. “He still treats little ladies nice?”

“He sure does.” Your voice is trembling, but it's not from fear or embarrassment. For the first time, you hear it tremble with excited impatience.

“Good,” he nods more to himself than to you. His hand doesn't leave your leg, his thumb draws small circles through the thin material of your jeans. “Otherwise I'd have to go over there and kick his lazy ass.”

You’re not sure how, and more importantly why, but you already know where you want this meeting to go. And Joel's narrowed eyes and lips, spread in a cheeky grin, tell you that he doesn’t mind. “Do you treat little ladies nice?”

He moves closer to you, fanning your ear and neck with his hot breath, which smells a little like the bitterness of black coffee. “Only if they ask for it.”

When Deborah puts your plate in front of you, she has a knowing grin on her lips.

It takes you about fifteen minutes to get from your table to now an even more empty parking lot. Your truck stands out like a sore thumb, giving Joel an understanding where to go. 

His hands don't let go of your waist, and you constantly trip on your way, distracted by the wet kisses he insistently leaves on your neck throughout the walk. 

When you finally climb into the cabin, you shrink a little, as if looking around through new eyes at a miniature room that accommodates only a mini mini-refrigerator; a single bed, which sometimes felt cramped for you alone; and a portable TV that you inherited from your uncle.

“Sorry, it’s pretty tight in here,” you purse your lips, but Joel stops you almost instantly, running his thumb over your lower lip and forcing you to release it from the captivity of your teeth. He wraps his hands around your neck, their imprint is hot, like an engine after a day of driving non-stop. 

When he leans towards you, for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you.

 “I like when it’s tight.”

Instead of pressing his mouth against your lips, his teeth bite your jaw, your earlobe, and descend with biting kisses to your neck. He cures each bite with a wet swipe of his tongue, and you feel like your nipples can cut through the soft cotton of your old T-shirt.

“Wait, the...fuck, the money.” You're almost suffocating, your brain is shutting down under the attack of skillful lips.

“50$ oral, 100$ sex,” he whispers as if it's something mundane, but as sexy as complimenting your soft breasts or wet pussy. “I’ve got condoms.” He finds your hand, which is clinging to his denim vest, and puts your palm on his jeans, where his cock is practically bursting through the hard denim. You can almost feel the way he thrums under your touch, all swollen and ready for you. “You want him?”

“Fuck, yes. Yes, god, yes, I want him.” You squeeze his cock slightly through the material, pulling a soft moan out of Joel.

“Good,” he nods and presses his forehead to yours, your eye-contact is so charged that the air between you is about to sparkle. “He wants you, too.”

As if following an unspoken order, you begin to pull off your clothes. You're doing it faster, considering you are only wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Your busted sneakers are thrown under the bed along with your socks, and you fall on the bed in your panties, enjoying an impromptu performance from Joel.

He pulls off his vest and T-shirt that had its sleeves cut off, exposing his strong, but at the same time soft body to your eyes. The golden skin of his chest, a couple of shades lighter than his arms, was dotted with sparse hairs that grew thicker, descending to his navel and hiding behind the waistband of his jeans. His stomach bulges slightly above the belt and you want to sink your teeth into the yielding flesh, but instead you just reach out and run your hand over the skin, which immediately explodes with goosebumps under your touch.

Joel keeps his hungry eyes on you as his big fingers reach for his fly, finally getting rid of the rag shackles. Underneath, he's wearing white briefs that feel uncharacteristic and do nothing to hide the hungry monster that is leaking in excitement to feel you.

Having lost all three drops of shyness that you had, you reach for the waistband and gasp when he gently slaps your palm and clicks with fake disapproval. “Impatient.”

You almost burst out laughing, they really are brothers, no matter how fucked up it is in your situation. “I’ve been told.”

Instead of letting you finish undressing him, he starts to get down on his knees, and you notice how his eyebrows tighten when he hits the hard floor of your temporary home. You immediately understand what he wants to do when he puts his palms on your knees and spreads them apart, so you grab one of his hands and try to pull him towards you, causing him confusion.

 “Wait, no,” you tremble like a leaf, your nipples are hard buds that beg to be touched and played with, “I need something else, somethin-”

He shushes you softly, leaving a small kiss on your knee. “It’s okay, I know exactly what you need, little lady.” The nickname is gentle and sweet on his tongue that promises you nothing but wicked things. “But can I at least feel her first?”

His hand creeps up to your pussy, hidden behind the cotton of your plain panties. Along the way, he tickles the inside of your thigh with the tip of his index finger. There is a quiet thought in the back of your brain how Tommy’s fingers felt much softer, yet both of them elicit the same whimper from you. “I wanna know what it’s like to have your pretty pussy wrapped around my fingers before I split you with my cock. Trust me, it won’t be the same after.” 

“You’re cocky.” And after squeezing what he had in those jeans you know he had every reason to be, however you just can’t let that slide without saying something, without tickling him in a way. Everything about him is unexpected, and so is his reaction to your words. Joel lets out a soft laugh, and traces your slit with the same fingertip he teased your thigh with.

“Soon you’ll be, too. Can’t stay humble when you’re full’a cock like mine.” His eyes go pitch black at the promise, lips wet where he licked them in anticipation. “Know you’ll take it like a good girl.”

Your legs spread wider, and instead of baring your cunt, he tugs on the waistband of your panties, swiping his thumb over the place where a wet stain already blooms. 

He pulls on your panties so that they stick to your pussy like a second skin. The friction makes you moan and you almost bump your head into the wall when he caresses your clit with his finger, moving the pad up and down over the panties, teasing you relentlessly.

“So pretty, bet she’s tasty too.”

“I- -”

“Don’t worry, little lady, I remember how needy and impatient you are. Wanted me to fuck you before you even had your breakfast. That’s so hot.”

Then he hooks his fingers over the underwear, tugging it down. Your wet skin becomes cold when the air hits and for a split second you wish he would put his mouth on you, if only just to warm you up.

Instead, he glides his finger along your slit again and again, lathering it in the slick that covers your skin. Gently, he probes at your hole that welcomes him easily, the soft moan of your partial relief prompts Joel to move his digit in and out a few times before pushing a second one next to it.

“Mmm, she feels even more perfect than I imagined.”

“You imagined how my pussy feels?” You whisper, breathless, your body pushing itself on his fingers on its own accord.

“The moment you walked your pretty braless tits into that diner.” He hums, enjoying the squeeze of your walls and starting to feel impatient himself. Before he slides his fingers out, he places a kiss on your mound, just above your begging clit, tickling your skin there with his mustache.

You try to catch your breath, your hand involuntarily reaches out to where Joel has just been now to soften the feeling of his absence. He pulls off his boxers without a drop of grace, and bends down to a pool of his jeans on the floor, revealing to your gaze a juicy pair of his buttocks. Watching the muscles tense under his skin, your fingers enter your sticky wet hole, and you roll your eyes, fucking yourself.

“Uh-uh,” Joel shakes his head in mock displeasure. His massive cock is squeezed into a condom, and it's a little disappointing, but necessary. However, the white rubber can't hide the large, cum-filled balls covered with fluffy dark hair, and you almost drop your jaw when he starts to come closer to you, his cock swaying heavily.

“Nothing is stuffing that pretty pussy except for me while we’re together, little lady.” 

“Don’t leave me empty for so long, then,” you bit back flirtatiously, and drag your soaked fingers up your navel, leaving a wet path on your skin.

He’s on you in mere seconds, your bed barely holding the weight of you both and it’s just limbs, touches and wet kisses before he pushes inside you in one smooth movement, stilling for a second. 

You both forget how to breathe, as you grip his cock tightly and bite into the crook of his neck. It’s too much, it’s not enough.

He finds your eyes, swiping a strand of hair off your forehead, and you can almost hear him grit his teeth as he tries to stay still.

“Okay?”

“Please, move.” You beg, close to crying from your need.

His hips move gently at first, unexpectedly so. He cages you with his body, taking all of the space you’ve had and you don’t mind it. On the contrary, you want to carve more hollows inside you so he can get more of him in.

The wet squelches of your pussy taking him in are vulgar in the tiny cabin. You both let them fill the space, your eyes never leaving each other making the moment more intimate than it should be. Momentarily coming to his senses, Joel begins to build up the rhythm, the thrusts of his hips become sharper and more confident. When your pussy pulses around him, he bares his teeth and almost growls.

“Fuck, what a great fucking pussy, so wet and hot around me, drives me mad even through the rubber.” Joel drops his head, covering your outstretched neck with kisses and moving lower. His teeth bite your collarbone and you cry out softly, the sharp pain recedes as soon as he starts caressing the bite with his tongue. Soon, his lips are enveloping your nipples, first one, then the other. He nips at the delicate buds with his teeth, lightly biting the hard flesh. You writhe under him like a snake, but he doesn’t let you escape from his captivity.

His nicely trimmed pubic hair teases your clit and his cock feels even bigger when your pussy starts to shudder in orgasm. It lasts so long that it feels like you're cumming several times in a row and Joel continues coaxing pleasure out of you by sucking and nibbling on your skin, while his cock doesn't stop the rhythmic movements in and out of your puffy, sleek cunt.

“I, fuck, that’s too much.”

He doesn't stop moving, but grabs your chin, forcing you to look into the black depths of his eyes. “Do you want me to stop?”

Stop? Slip out of the tight embrace of your pussy leaving it empty and gaping without him? Nothing sounded worse.

“No, please,” at that moment you think you can give all the money you have just to keep him inside you forever. Stretching you, pushing you over the limit again and again until you cry, powerless.

“Good girl,” he whispers in your lips, like it is the only right answer. 

He changes his position without slipping out of you, and rests on his knees, lifting your hips higher to make it easier for him to move. When he returns to pounding your pussy, you're half out of it, your brain is completely useless and only your body responds to Joel with moans and twitches.

He freezes as suddenly as he started moving. With your tender inner walls, you can feel his cock twitching inside you, pouring into the condom. You watch the veins in Joel's neck and forehead bulge with tension, his teeth clenched tightly and his eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He whispers, his hips continuing to jerk erratically before he collapses on top of you, leaving a barely there kiss on your sweaty neck.

 “I should work mornings more often.”

You’ve covered your nakedness with a thin sheet and now watch as Joel pulls up his jeans and stuffs his underwear into his back pocket. Your throat is dry and, as if he's read your mind, he hands you a half-empty bottle of water from the top of your refrigerator. You feel a strange pang of sadness as the thought of never seeing Joel or his sunny brother, Tommy, again hits you.

“Remember when you said about going to Tommy?”

Joel jerks his head up, looking up from turning out his T-shirt. “Y’want me to kick his ass? He grins and continues to pull on his clothes as if nothing had happened. There's a crisp hundred sticking out of the back pocket of his jeans.

“No.” You smile back and hesitate before continuing. “But maybe we can go down there sometime for a different kind of activity.” Devils glint in his eyes when he looks at you again, and for some reason it makes you feel shy, perverted all of a sudden for your rush of desire to have more when you’ve just had an overflowing cup of orgasms. “If that’s... If you’re okay with that.”

Joel doesn’t look phased by any part of your suggestion, so he leans to you and pinches your cheek gently. “Ain’t had a better preposition my whole life.” He places a kiss where the sting of his pinch still burns and grabs his vest from the floor. “You come over on your way back, I'll be waitin’ right here and we'll see what we can do.” He winks at you and leaves the cabin without further ado.

When you get behind the wheel, you have no doubt that you will see them again.

PLEASE, LEAVE A COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKED THIS WORK. IT TRULY MEANS A LOT!

[some tags in the comments]

[umnitsa]

Damnit, I want more and I want a threesome some time, then a road trip.

I'm greedy 🥹🥹🥹🥹

kiss my ass, cowboy

lot lizard!Tommy Miller x truck driver!f!reader

summary: a simple rest for the night at a truck stop in the middle of nowhere turned out to be a pleasant experience warnings: PWP and nothing else; pussy eating; a whiff of ass eating; dirty talk; sex for money; no y/n or reader description wc: 2,3k (what the fuuuuck it was supposed to be a blurb) read on ao3 series masterlist | next part

lot lizard (slang, US) — A prostitute at a truck stop.

"You know, I can do much more to your ass than just kissing it."

A smarmy male voice from behind you made you turn around sharply, almost losing your balance. You forgot that you were choosing a drink from the vending machine in an attempt to wet your whistle after seven hours of driving without stopping.

Being a female trucker wasn't easy, but you weren't trying to stick to the beaten path. All your life you'd been told what girls should and shouldn't do, and all your life you'd done the opposite. 

Becoming a trucker was at first something of a challenge to yourself and society, and then it became an all-consuming passion that you wouldn't trade for anything. Nothing in your life attracted you more than the road, coffee from small roadside cafes, and the stunned faces of men. And every time you proved to the whole world that you were not just on par, but better than most, the little girl inside you, the one that was forbidden to cut her hair short and wear torn jeans, rejoiced.

“Excuse me?”

The man in front of you was indecently handsome for someone you’d met in the parking lot of a half-forgotten gas station in the middle of nowhere. The curls of his black hair glistened slightly, betraying its softness, and his white T-shirt hugged his thick upper body seductively. He was broad-shouldered, and stood approximately 6 feet tall. It's been a long time since you've met someone so attractive. 

The stranger grinned, pointing somewhere at your ass-level with a lit cigarette pinched between two fingers. You remembered the cheeky phrase—KISS MY ASS, COWBOY—embroidered on your back pocket, the one that originally caught your attention in the second-rate secondhand.

“Oh, that! Gosh, yeah, that’s a…” You weren't sure what to say. The man was damn handsome, and with your schedule and a bit of a workaholic lifestyle, you couldn't remember when anything but your fingers were next to your pussy.

“Name’s Tommy,” he held out his hand and you returned the handshake, but before releasing you, he brought your fingers to his lips and left a cigarette-smelling kiss on your knuckles. “And I mean it. It's unlikely that a beautiful woman like you suffers from a lack of boyfriends, but this whole truck life is quite fickle and stressful. You can't take chances, need to make every minute count.” He came closer to you and you let him, catching the scent of citrus Old Spice, which you yourself used. “I can promise you that I won’t waste your time. For a fair price. If you know what I mean.” Tommy didn't take his eyes off you, and you felt a fire burning inside you and spreading flames across your chest and cheeks.

“Oh,” You knew what he was. Immediately, his presence in the back alley of a truck stop without any visual evidence of having a truck made a lot of sense. You'd heard fellow truckers call them lot lizards, but you'd never met a man who was one. Well, if women could succeed somewhere that was historically considered a male field, you thought… To your own surprise, his suggestion only made you more excited. He looked clean, and his confident stance was clearly an indicator that he was a professional at what he did. 

You checked your watch, 3 a.m. You had about 6 hours before you had to get back on the road. After quickly weighing the pros and cons, you decided that you could sacrifice an hour in favor of an orgasm handed to you by the man opposite you. Besides, you always slept better after you came.

“How much?”

As if stunned by how quickly you agreed, he choked on the cigarette smoke, but quickly recovered.

“Oral’s 40$, a fuck is 80$, anything extra discussed separately, gorgeous. But there’s a lot of things I’d let you do for free,” he winked at you and now it was your turn to smirk.

“You say that to everyone?”

“No, only to the ones with pretty asses like yours.”

You nodded and plucked the unfinished cigarette from his hand, bringing it to your mouth and wrapping your lips around it. You looked him up and down, slower, this time. You knew how it looked, like you were assessing the goods, like you were deciding if he was worth the money and it made your skin crawl for a second. From the way Tommy just stood there he didn’t seem to care as much as you did.

“Is this your first time or something?”

“What? No, I’m not a virgin.”

“I mean, is it your first time with a sex worker?”

“Yeah, kinda.” You did another inhale of the smoke, it burned your lungs, distracting you. “‘s that so obvious?”

“Do you want me to say yes or no?” You both laughed at that. Tommy took a step forward, forcing you to press your back against the humming vending machine. His muscular arm rested on the metall wall to the left of your face, and the faint smell of his sweat hit your nose. Your tongue quickly moistened your lips with saliva, as if you were a lizard. Tommy tilted his head, moving closer to your face like he was going to kiss you. The heat of his body in contrast to the icy wall of the metal machine with drinks gave you goosebumps. “We can pretend that you and I were sitting next to each other at tables in this shithole,” he nodded at the flickering neon sign that belonged to a diner. “And that we were brought together by our common perplexity as to where they got such damn good coffee.” 

His free hand travelled from your elbow up to your shoulder and then down again as he continued to tell the story of the way you haven’t met. “I sat down next to you, we talked about music for a long time, I complimented your eyes, as if I wasn't staring at your ass while you were choosing a piece of pie at the bar. And then I told you that I had rented the last room in the motel and suggested that you see the view from the window. How about that?”

You nodded stupidly, his story played out in your head like a movie, and you liked where it was going. Carefully, you put your palm on his chest, his heart was beating soothingly calmly, while yours was fluttering like a fish that jumped out of an aquarium onto the carpet of your childhood bedroom.

“Do we… Do we go back to my truck, or?” You got a glimpse of men a couple of times right after or before the action, they dragged girls of completely different ages and appearances into their cabins, most often laughing contentedly. But you couldn't imagine you would be comfortable, especially with what you were going to “buy."

“Well, I actually do have a room in that shitty motel, if you’d like.”

You nodded and Tommy took your hand in his, gently pulling you in the right direction.

You didn't get much of a look at his modest room, it was almost completely immersed in darkness. As easily as if he had night vision, Tommy led you to the bed without tripping or hitting any furniture. 

Playfully, he pushed you onto the bed, and the mattress creaked miserably under your weight.

“So, pretty woman,” you snorted at his words, the irony of the reference not lost on you. “What should I do to make you happy tonight?”

“Anything 50$ bucks can buy me.” You could always go and grab more cash from the truck, but that would feel weird so you just rolled with what you had on you.

You heard Tommy smack his lips, as if he couldn't wait to get started and you couldn't help but laugh. “You're laughing now, pretty girl,” he whispered, and you felt his fingers on the fly of your jeans. He easily stripped you of your pants and panties, leaving you wearing only a thin T-shirt that somehow resembled his own.

Your loud yelp shook the room as he yanked you by the ankles and pulled you to him, your legs dangling from the edge of the bed, and your pussy was level with the face of the kneeling man.

His loud intake of breath and delighted moan moistened your pussy with arousal, already anticipating the pleasure to come.

“Fuck,” he groaned and spread your thighs to accommodate the broadness of his shoulders, “can’t wait to taste that pretty pussy.”

However, instead of diving into you face first and devouring your most intimate place, he began to lay a path of wet kisses from your knees to the outer lips of your pussy, without going further, turning you on more and more. 

Sweat accumulated in thick drops on your temples and neck and you began to squirm, trying to put your needy pussy under his hot lips.

“Impatient, are we?” He purred into your skin, and bit the place he had just kissed, pulling a moan from the depths of your body. “It’s okay, I'm impatient, too.”

Having said that, he spread your labia, slippery with arousal, with the soft pads of his perfectly manicured thumbs and pressed his lips to your clit. Your back arched, but as if anticipating this, Tommy put one of his big palms on your lower abdomen and pressed, pinning you to the bed.

His hot tongue explored the folds of your pussy, surrendering his all to your pleasure with puppy devotion. Tommy moaned into your pussy as if he had tasted something so delicious for the first time, and the vibrations of his moans became a siren song for your orgasm.

You didn't think that anyone in the entire history of your sex life had eaten your pussy so well. His movements were not chaotic or abrupt, his tense tongue drew perfect tight circles around your buzzing bud, diving lower from time to time and breaching your dripping hole. You were close to pouring your orgasm on his tongue, you felt it. But suddenly Tommy stopped, and grabbed your thighs to the accompaniment of your displeased moans.

“Shhh, I know, I know, you’re so close,” he didn’t sound sorry at all, just smug, “could feel your little pussy thrumming under my tongue, so responsive. But I want to throw something in, on the house,” he chuckled and placed a kiss on the inside of your thigh before throwing your legs over his shoulders and moving impossibly closer to your spit and arousal-covered pussy.

When his hands spread your asscheeks and his tongue ran a long, wet strip from your puckered asshole to your clit, you thought you'd passed out for a second.

“Fuck, that pretty asshole is as tasty as your pussy, how’s that possible?” If you saw him licking his own lips with pleasure, you would definitely die from an overabundance of need. “Gotta be the one paying to lick someone as sweet as you.” He was talking into your pussy and you couldn't resist grabbing his soft hair, pulling a little harder than planned and forcing him to return all his attention to your begging pussy.

“I like ‘em a little bossy,” Tommy hummed, giving kitten licks to your asshole and almost pushing his tongue inside, making you tense. “Makes it so much better when they whimper.”

He hungrily returned to your clit, french kissing it, caressing it with practiced movements of his tongue until you could only whine and grip the sheets as hard as you did his hair. Your long-awaited orgasm still took you by surprise with its force, your head snapped to the side and you wanted to bite into something when Tommy pushed his thick middle finger inside you, abusing your pleasure spot with a gentle hither motion until you stopped shaking. 

When you came to your senses, he was lying on his side next to you, watching your breathing even out.

 “I don’t think I remember how to walk.” You said, staring at the ceiling, where the headlights of passing cars danced. Tommy smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the dark. Slowly, he ran his fingertips over your forearm, and hummed, as if thinking something over.

“I don’t usually do this, but you can stay the night, if you don’t mind cramming in my bed together.”

“Never heard anything more tempting,” you mumbled back gratefully, a long day and a hard orgasm already pushing you into a dreamless sleep.

You woke up at first light, feeling more rested than ever. Tommy was lightly snoring next to you, still wearing the same tight white T-shirt, but he'd kicked off his jeans and was clad in black boxers. His hair had been disheveled overnight, curly strands scattered across the pillow and his face. 

In a burst of unexpected tenderness, you leaned over to him and brushed a stray curl from his face. It was dotted with freckles, and you thought again how handsome he was.

You sat in bed with him for a while longer, letting your body slowly wake up, and then you got up and began to pull on your jeans, trying not to make too much noise. You took a slightly crumpled fifty out of your back pocket and put it on the bedside table, hoping that Tommy would find it when he woke up.

You were already at the door, ready to sneak out of the small room that served as Tommy's home, but his sleepy voice stopped you. You turned around, seeing that he didn't open his eyes but hugged the pillow you were sleeping on to his face, muffling his barely legible words with it.

“If you pass Texas, stop at Flying J in Brookshire. And say hi to Joel from Tommy.”

You frowned, confused—was he just talking in his sleep?— but decided to ask him anyway. “How am I supposed to know who Joel is?”

“Oh, you’ll know. We look kinda alike.”

Guess now you had to make a stop in Texas.

PLEASE, LEAVE A COMMENT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKED THIS WORK. IT TRULY MEANS A LOT!

tagging some people who might like it: @toxicanonymity @milla-frenchy @aurorawritestoescape @inept-the-magnificent @tateypots @pedrit0-pascalit0 @missredherring @gutter-noise @tommysversion @galway-girlatwork @evolnoomym @insomniamamma @hellfire-state-of-mind @slimybeth69 @axshadows @angiewatson

[umnitsa]

...might've discovered a new genre to lose my mind about, hold please

[umnitsa]

ppl who celebrate fictional character birthdays are annoying pass it on

[umnitsa]

You've always wanted a dog. It doesn't matter what kind, you'd be happy with any, but no matter how much discussion, Soap never budges, holding the exact opposite opinion about dogs. Which you understand given his experiences with them, but it's still a little disappointing.

Until he compromises one day under the condition he gets to choose the dog. Specifically a guard dog, in his words. One he's known and worked with multiple times. One he trusts to take care of his sweet lass. One that will protect.

You get so excited, you buy the collar and everything, eagerly waiting the day Soap is coming home with the dog... only to be confused when Ghost walks in behind him, no dog in sight.

"Uh, hi, Simon?" You peek around the man. Perhaps the dog is hidden behind the man's massive frame. It's not. "Don't take this the wrong way, but what are you doing here?" You shoot Soap a confused look. "And where's the dog you promised me?"

Soap chuckles at your confusion. "He's right here, sweetheart." He pats Ghost's shoulder, and the man takes one big step closer to you, closing the gap within that single stride. The shadow he casts somehow makes him look larger. "You said you'd be happy with anything, and I got you the best one! Ghost'll do anything you say—sit, stay, attack—you'll love him!"

You're not quite convinced. Can't lie and say you're not a little disappointed, but all thoughts of dissatisfaction are briefly forgotten when Ghost reaches down to grab your wrist, the one loosely holding the leather dog collar in hand, and undoes the buckle for you. He then guides your limp hands to slip it around his neck, adjusting it perfectly before letting your hands drop. When he pulls away, a shiver runs through you at the hungry gleam in his eyes, smirk evident in his voice.

"Woof."

You gulp. Maybe Soap is right. Maybe you will love him.

[umnitsa]

ALL OVER ME: ONE SHOT

pairing: roommate!VA!johnny x roommate!fem!reader

summary: finding out that your flatmate johnny is a porn voice actor wasn’t exactly surprising. what astonished you was the amount of nasty ass content he had on his reddit.

"[...] "'m too fuckin' horny today and my flatmate didnae want tae help my situation..." there's a small pause and a long, whispered curse with some fabric rustling in the background. then, the distant sound of sticky squelching, slow and steady – teasing, tempting. "she– uh... she's a fuckin' wee tease," he starts, some small gasps making their appearance in between his words."

genre: smut (MDNI), non-military au, fluff | wc: 10.060

warnings: johnny is a reddit va, crosses and catholicism mentions, 'friends-to-lovers', not slow burn but they yearn a bit, drinking, explicit sexual content: p in v, dirty talk, praise kink, voyeurism and exhibitionism mentions

a/n: main masterlist.

You’ve known Johnny for long enough so that you can make out the spectrum that is his persona – or, better, make out his personas.

When he moved in with you it was supposed to be temporary, only a few months before he found a place for himself, but that extended to a year and now you’re reaching almost two years living with him. He was a total stranger, you met him one Wednesday night while you hung out with a few friends that ended up grouping with his friends at one of their houses and that’s how he got into your life.

He was kind and polite from day one, a bit overwhelming at times but you soon grew used to his overcaring demeanor. You soon learned that he actually wasn’t nice to everyone, which made you feel a bit special and definitely more open to receive his loving gestures. He was so easy to have around, despite you sharing a home – which can be challenging – he was always understanding and tried his best to find a way in between your wishes and his like a true well educated, respectful man – you thought his future wife was a lucky woman.

You always assumed that Johnny’s politeness and well-behaviour must be products of a rigid, catholic education, both at home and at school. It wasn’t hard to guess, he whispered small prayers before eating, he had a cross chain he didn’t take off for nothing and he’d, from time to time, bless you and your day – a small greeting just to make sure his fondness is known. His personality was a big mix of random things, his playlist itself was all over the place – from uk rock to american pop girlies – and, when you realized he had a lot of different facets, you thought maybe it’d be hard to take him in.

But it wasn’t, you got used to it – the flirtiness and the “don’t fuck with me” vibes, all of it. He has always been so polite with you and so kind, sharing an apartment with him never proved to be a bothersome experience – quite the opposite, actually – and you managed to settle in a quiet, nice coexistence right at the first month or so since he moved in.

You usually talked about all sorts of things, though not that personal, you still talked about your childhoods, college times and your current works – and that’s when you learned that he actually has two jobs. You did the grocery shopping together when there were things lacking around the house, you cleaned the house together every Sunday morning, sometimes you even went to the gym together. Despite you never acknowledging it – at least not out loud –, you like to think you’re friends and that you can count on each other, that you were close enough to have a stable, housemate friendship.

Oh, how wrong you’ve been.

After some nights with his friends over and some overanalyzing their internal jokes, you came to terms with the fact that Johnny has porn voice acting as a side hustle. He never vocalized it but he didn’t have to and, honestly, it wasn’t exactly surprising – considering Only Fans is very common nowadays and, well, he has a very attractive voice. What astonished you, however, was the amount of nasty ass content – "roommate" related too, it's important to emphasize – he had on his reddit. You only searched for his content after days and days of wondering what his works were like, until then you could imagine him doing BFE and scripts filled with L-Bombs – or even some vanilla type of content that conservative christians labeled as freaky – but you did not expect the amount of spitting, bondage and power play you’ve found in the tags of his pinned posts.

Well, you should've known better.

Because, the fact that he's sharing audio porn on the internet is already a big flag of his character. There's no way he didn't have at least an exhibitionism kink. Which was the worst thought to ever cross your mind, since you yourself was a very, very devoted voyeur. Watching him around the flat now made you feel like a researcher watching the object of study in the wild. His whole demeanor was different for you, every little thing he did and said got your head racing with what’s he like in bed? He seems smoother when he talks – seems to be doing it with a lot more self-assurance too. Suddenly he's all flirty with others, his Scottish accent rolling thicker on his tongue and his body language way too inviting and you wonder if he knows that you know.

He most certainly gets off on the praise and the pleas. The thirst of anonymous people all over the world. You've never really heard any of his works but you've allowed yourself to read through the comments over and over again – and his answers too. You thought it was manageable, that the plaguing memories of unknown people lusting over him as well as his own filthy behaviour were the worst it could get.

But then you heard it.

For the first time since you started living together, you hear it low and soft, sneaking like a creep in the night through the thin walls of your shared flat. The unmistakable evidence of pleasure, relief and bliss entirely enveloped around it. He was jerking off right there, behind the closed door of his room beside yours, role playing in some sex filled script like some pervert for hundreds of people to hear – and, fuck, if you didn’t want to hear more of it. Yet, as you tried to seek sense in the mumbles and moans with an ear pressed to the wall, you were simply met with muffled little sounds.

To add up even more to your situation – like his newfound carelessness in doing his activities weren't enough –, the sounds of his pleasure started to haunt you. Not only in your home, but in your dreams too. And, then, in your friend's house as well.

It got you confused at first, how she insisted on your acknowledgement of the audio. You wondered why she wanted to share it so bad. It was uncommon for you to engage in sexually related conversations – other than the one moment where you whined to her about how your roommate was the closest you’d ever get to meeting a pornstar –, but she told you time and time again that "you have to listen to this one" and, after a lot of convincing from her, you did. And there it was:

r/gonewildaudio SoapTheBrawVA [M4F] cannae take it anymore [RambleFap] [MDom] [Slight edging] [Begging] [Exhibitionism] in the forms of [Wanting to be caught in the act] mentions of [Doggystyle] [Overstim] [Praising] [Begging] [7:32]

Your friend side-eyed you as you plugged the earphones on, knowing every single word of it by now. She heard it out of curiosity after you’ve talked to her about him posting not safe for work content and immediately decided she had to share it with you. You were flustered even before pressing play, the idea of him even so much as imagining that you're about to hear one of his audios had you hot with embarrassment. A pang of jealousy cut through your chest at the notion that she heard him in such an intimate moment, but it was his job anyways – she was not the only one.

“Wee pervs, hi.” Comes his voice a few seconds in, he gasps as soon as he finishes the greeting phrase and that's how you know he's already at it. You cross your legs, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “‘M too fuckin' horny today and my flatmate didnae want tae help my situation…” There's a small pause and a long, whispered curse with some fabric rustling in the background. Then, the distant sound of sticky squelching, slow and steady – teasing, tempting. "She– uh... She's a fuckin' wee tease,” he starts, a few small gasps making their appearance in between his words.

Even though his reddit post was tagged as "MDom", he’s so whiny about everything. It goes without saying that it became very clear to you what he was talking about – or rather, who he was talking about – with the way he'd describe your clothes and routine. He talks about how much you seem to try and piss him off on purpose, how he hates what you wear around the place. “Makes me wan’ t-tae have a wank on the sofa.” He grows needier as he speaks, letting out a small breath as he slightly picks up the rate on his hand.

“Would— Fuckin’ Jesus–” He moans, the sound so loud and so slutty it has you soaking your underwear. He’s trying hard not to stutter when he speaks again, his tone almost pained: “Would love tae have ye walk in on m-me… ” He groans, voice hoarse and restless, you wonder if he’s close – you don’t dare to look at the screen to know how long of it you’ve already heard.

He keeps talking about how he’d ravage you if he had the chance, describing it in detail. He asks for the listeners to imagine themselves in your place, to finally put an end to his misery and let him fuck you already. “Wan’ t’bend ye over the sofa back, take– Fuck, fuck—” He’s cut off by his moan. There’s a small moment of silence before he laughs at the pause, his hand movement no longer being heard and for a second you think he came. Although, the squelches start again.

“Mhm…” He hums long and low, saying “almost busted then,” with a giggle. “Tha’ what happens when… Ah– when I think of taking ye f-from behind.” Another moan echoes on your earphones and you have to fight the urge to stick a hand inside your pants – what you wouldn’t give to be able to watch him cum. “It wouldnae matter, jus’ wan’ ye all over me, bon.”

He sounds determined even though his breaths are shallow, like they barely reach his lungs. The squelching got louder and wetter, making you think that he must be leaking so much precum because not once you heard a lube bottle being open. “Jus’ wan’ ye tae tell me I did good, bloody hell–” His hand is stroking his cock faster, you can tell. His breath – long uneven – is too shallow now, his sounds desperate, needier. “After I’ve made ye cum again and a-again– Shit– Until ye can o-only thank me.” His voice is rushed and trembling, so it’s no surprise when he announces: “I’m gonnae cum, fuck—” He curses and moans, loud and clear.

There’s some whispering, he repeats that he’s close saying “cumming, I’m cumming, ah– Please, please, p-please,” and you’re not sure what he’s begging for, he probably doesn’t know either but it’s so hot, he sounds so wrecked only by a quick wank it makes you think about how much he’d lose himself if you two fucked. You wonder what he's thinking about when he whispers a curse one last time before his hand starts to slow its movements all the way until there’s no squelching anymore.

“Came so fuckin’ much, made such a mess.” He chuckles, tone light and airy, clearly basking in his post-orgasm bliss. “Christ– Aye… Thank ye for listening and see ye next audio.”

Even after the audio ends you stay still, not taking the earphones off nor touching the phone in your lap. Your friend takes the latter in her hands and closes the app, unplugging the earphones and looking at you as you stare at a random point of her living room. “Well… How’d you like it?”

You blink up at her, biting your lips to try and hide the evident smile that was forming on your lips but failing miserably. You two start laughing, you lean on her and gasp in between your short breaths. “I hate you, y’know?” It’s a boneless insult and she knows it, which only makes her laugh harder.

Needless to say, you couldn’t forget about it. Lucky for you she never mentioned it again and you could live in peace in that regard, but it did nothing to calm your heart – and your cunt. Every time you got close to him as you did your chores together or when he laid on the couch with you, it made you want to jump right into his arms, bask in the lust he nurtured over you and ask: “Do you really want me all over you?”

Naturally, considering the stage of your so-called friendship and the very fact that you live together, you didn’t do as you wished. Instead, you try and keep as normal as you can, brushing him off when he gets too flirty and changing subjects whenever one of his friends mention his side job. Still, Johnny was a smart man and very experienced when it came to people. Living with you for almost two years has taught him a lot of skills, the main one being that he could read you like a book – and, opposite from you, he didn’t avoid doing so.

The Scottish man was convinced he fell for you right when his eyes first laid on your being, the only confirmation needed for him to act accordingly was when he talked to you and you replied so politely and so sweetly he felt like asking you to marry him right there. With that thought in mind, he opted for a more friendly approach and decided to ask you, out of all people, to shelter him for a little while when things got complicated in his old apartment. Different from what he expected, your kindness allowed you to accept him in no time, even helping him move his things as you could.

Around the first few months, he got really comfortable living with you. So much so he didn’t want to leave and his feelings started to get out of hand. He'd catch himself lingering around too long, overly indulged in your conversations and quality time. He’d make himself present as much as he could, leaving little voice notes for you everyday just so you’d remember him at some point of your day. He got so into you that it started to feel like it was too much, especially since you seemed so reserved about it – even with your gentleness and your amiable relationship.

Unfortunately, Johnny was a very sexual man – maybe that’s why he felt so comfortable with being a porn VA – and his only way to release the pent-up tension that weighed his shoulders was sexually. Yet, loyal and committed man that he was, he couldn’t possible fuck someone else without thinking of you, so he did what was viable: he made jerking off more exciting, more arousing. He started doing it with an ajar door, doing it more loudly too, all to have you catch a hint, but you never did. He wondered if, maybe, you didn’t feel what he did. That sharing a home and a routine – a life, as he liked to think – did nothing to you, that you thought about him like you did when you first met.

Until one particular Friday after dinner.

He came home later than expected – he didn’t, you just had the day off, so you had nothing to do except wait for him to come back, which meant no time was soon enough – and asked if you wanted to do something different for supper. From then on, the two of you had spent almost the entire evening together, you said it’d be fun to try the new recipe you’ve written down in your little cooking book – mind you, one recipe that his mum had dictated to you over a voice call – and he agreed instantly, wanting to be in your good graces. You baked together, making the dough and your chosen toppings. Johnny tried to make you smile every five seconds, even going so far as making a heart-shaped pizza just to get in your nerves and, although he thought you’d get flustered or brush him off, you made your own heart-shaped dough to bake. 

It seemed like you were in a good mood because, as you ate together, the both of you talked like you never did. He quickly realized  he was never allowed to be so emotionally close to you, or anyone for that matter, and it made him so fucking happy to know that you were allowing it to happen – and enjoying it too. His poor in love heart, not knowing better, banged in his chest just from this small moment, from sharing a meaningful evening with his bonnie lass. You shared a bottle of wine, did the dishes together and, as it got too late for anything other than sleep, you settled in your beloved, L-shaped sofa.

He’s tipsy and happy, his whole body buzzing with joy as he watches you put one of your favorite vinyls on his record-player – a ‘Cigarettes After Sex’ one –, the soft melody of a romantic and melancholic song being heard all around the room. The usual soft, grainy sound is welcomed by his ears and he hums in delight, not having anticipated such a nice set of events this day – he loved the song, but he enjoyed it better knowing you were having fun.

He still remembers how you freaked out when you saw his record player, dusty and underused. He had it for a while but never went so far as buying multiple vinyls – he only had one or two, only his absolute favorite albums. You, on the other hand, started buying one after another from all types of genres, whenever his friends or yours were over you’d play the most calm and ambient melodies. He could see how much you loved it, he even went so far as offering you to keep it when he left, which you refused, saying that it was more practical if he just stayed altogether – you two got along so well, so why not, right?

Johnny’s eyes don’t leave your frame as you start to sway gently to the music’s instrumental, his head tilting to the side, broad frame lazily resting on the cushions as he watches you in the middle of the room. He waits for the first line to be sung before getting up, starting to dance along with you. He startles you a bit in your slight hazy state, but not enough for you to pull away. He is gentle as he moves his right hand to circle around your waist in a firm grip, pulling your body to press on his chest as his left finds your own. Your shared movements are unhurried, the melody enveloping the two of you and you can’t help but rest your head on him as you two slowly dance your thoughts away.

You barely notice the change in songs, the atmosphere too calm and too entrancing for you to think about something other than him. Johnny is beaming in your arms. You love to have him whisper the lyrics with his lips pressed to your ear. The gentle brush of his thumb on your waist makes your heart skip a beat, the heat of it radiating through your shirt and into your skin. You’ve spent the whole day missing him, even though he had simply left for work, and when he came home you wanted nothing other than to have him around you for a bit – or a lot, as it turned out.

He asks you about it – your willingness in letting him linger around like that – after three songs played and you only shrug. He gives you an inquiring look, wanting you to elaborate, so you can’t help but answer. “Jus’ missed you, aye?” Regretting as soon as you see the look on his face – you don’t.

“Aw, ye missed me, bon?” He coos, voice teasing but with an amused edge to it, like he couldn’t believe it at the same time he wanted it to be true.

“Mhm,” You hum and nod in agreement, not wanting to feed his ego but wishing he could know just how much. “That’s what happens when I don’t have better things to do.” You joke instead, letting out a shriek when his hand that was on your waist still squeezes around your skin, wanting to tickle you. “Alright, it wasn’t that. I just missed you, that’s all.”

He laughs at your frantic attempts of making him stop his assault, doing it only to settle both hands on your hips and hold you like that – face to face, his chest brushing against the swell of your breasts. “Why ye didnae text, hen?” He questions with a tilt of his head and it’s clear that he does it for more than just curiosity, it’s an accusation of sorts.

For starters, you didn’t have to do anything. You don’t like that you’re so caught up in his words but you’re not stupid, you know you wanted to and you neglected it. You’ve been having conflicted feelings about him for quite some time now and you didn’t want to give it more meaning than it should have. Regardless of your intentions, that’s exactly what you ended up doing, refraining from sending a simple text just because he could interpret it like you were showing interest – which you would be.

Besides, the motive that crosses your mind has a lot more to do with him than yourself. It makes you flustered, knowing you’re thinking about him in such a way with him so serious in front of you whilst holding your hips so tenderly. You pretend that you’re a couple having a disagreement and, for the shortest time, it just feels right.

“Sorry.” You mumble, like you were guilty of something even if you know you aren’t. Before he could further question you, you add: “I didn’t want to bother you…”

He furrows his brows then, utterly bewildered by your words. In what world would you ever bother him? He can’t think of an answer. Sensing that there was more to it than you’re letting on, he says: “Why would ye bother me, luv?”

“Uhm, y’know…” You make a vague gesture with your head like it’s obvious, your hands finding his forearms and Johnny could swear he has never been so close to losing control at the intimacy of your holds around each other – his mind drifting between wanting to talk to you and wanting to slam his lips in yours. When he makes no move on acknowledging what you mean, you give up. “You… I thought you were busy today. You didn’t send a voice note.”

Johnny stalls entirely and that’s when you realize he had been brushing his hands up and down your sides. He blinks slowly with a frown on his brow before he speaks again. “Are ye sure I didnae send it?”

You giggle at it, not expecting him to be so normal about it. “I’m sure you didn’t,” I would’ve remembered, goes unsaid. Before he can apologize or anything like that, you quickly whisper: “But it’s okay, we had a nice Friday date night to make up for it.”

God, you feel so silly, but it is true. You've been dying to give in to your desires, tired of being so closed off whilst being afraid of jumping with everything you had. So it was a good thing you are acting in the middle of both today.

Johnny, who could never lose the opportunity to tease you a bit and who’s always so attentive of things when it comes to you, quickly catches up on it – the little hint of how you feel. He lets out a sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he realizes what you mean by it. He could feel the butterflies flying all over his insides and coiling in his lower belly. The soft stir of his cock throbbing to life in his pants unbearably embarrassing from just the thought of having you like that.

“Friday date night, huh? Tha’ it, hen?” He says with a smirk, delivering the sentence with enough confidence so you don’t notice the red beginning to blush his cheeks. You simply hum with a sheepish smile in agreement, brushing him off with a whispered “friends’ date, okay?” and Johnny smiles wider at the response, his heartbeat wild in his chest as he restarts the sway of your bodies again, urging you to slow dance with him even though the record was, most likely, in its last couple of songs.

On the days that follow, the two of you never quite escape the unspoken tension – feelings – that came to light that night. Eventually, every Friday night was date night and Johnny would take you out on the days that you didn’t come up with different date ideas – because you always had Friday off work, so you had the time –, even though you two never confessed your feelings.

He started jokingly calling you his girlfriend to his friends and they all ate it up, not even questioning because duh, of course you were. You, on the other hand, would turn into an absolute mess when your friend called Johnny your boyfriend. Still, you never corrected her. Things fell into harmony quite fast and, before you noticed, you were celebrating two years living together – yes, Johnny threw a party. The event was just for you and your closest friends and it was more of an excuse to have them all over than anything else.

It was a Thursday night, the rain outside adding up to the cozy atmosphere, the soft sound of it hitting the glass of your bedroom window doing nothing to distract you from the sight in front of you. You got dressed whilst Johnny was showering, being almost entirely ready when he knocked on your door. You open it without thinking and there it is: Johnny in nothing but white boxer briefs, body still carrying hints of water from his shower as he lifts one shirt in each hand, asking you: “Which one should I wear, bon?”

You stutter out a gasp, turning around to pretend being busy making your bed, desperately trying to avoid jumping his bones. After cleaning your throat and recomposing, you point out: “Depends, what you chose for bottoms?”

He makes a sound of realization, a small “ah”. Then, he leaves your door for a few seconds before he’s back, wearing dark, baggy jeans with an undone brown belt hanging on the loops of it. “I’ll wear these.” He answers, taking in the contemplative pout on your lips and the tilt of your head as you ogle at his lower half. He takes the moment to make his own inspection of your outfit, which helps nothing his state of mind  – you look good enough to eat.

“I like those.” You eventually state, eyeing the options on his hands before making a decision. “Wear the white shirt… I think it’d look better than the black one.”

He just nods like a kid being instructed, tossing the black fabric in your bed in order to pull the white one over his head and onto his body. He checks himself out in the mirror, a hand brushing over his mohawk before he follows you out of the room. You walk until you reach your shared bathroom, looking over your shoulder to see Johnny hot on your tail. You don’t even question, already knowing he’s there to do the same as you, so when you open the small, wooden cabinet to take your toothbrush you take his as well, handing it over to him in a practiced motion.

It’s quiet between you as you brush your teeth in unison, his usual insistent presence comfortable to have around whilst you share silly activities. You take notice of his still undone belt, not thinking twice before reaching both your hands to do it for him. His breath hitches at the slight tug you give to the leather, caught off guard as your hands skillfully work to do it. He doesn’t stop his repetitive movements with his toothbrush, a mental reminder that he can’t kiss you with a mouth full of toothpaste, body leaning back only slightly to watch your movements. His heart flutters in his chest as he watches you, but it’s not long before you’re done with your task, hand resuming the motions with your toothbrush and Johnny has to recompose himself as he rinses his mouth clean and dries it on the small towel that rests on the space beside the cabinet.

“Thanks, bon.” He voices out once he’s done, hand resting on your shoulder in an affectionate gesture. His body leaning in to whisper in your ear, the action making goosebumps raise all over your skin. “Would love ye to undo it for me, too.”

He leaves the bathroom with a wink, a smirk playing on his lips. You halt for a second, hesitating on what to do before you start rushing to finish brushing your teeth. Once you’re done you pace towards his room, looking for him. You’re determined, you’ll make him kiss you right now no matter what it costs – who were you fooling, you might have to beg him to stop before your guests arrive. You find him sitting by the edge of his bed, putting on his brown, leather boots. You stop in front of him, realizing he’s still smiling as he looks up at you. God, he looks so good, blues eyes glinting with mischief as his hands tie the laces before he straightens up to hear what you have to say.

At your lack of words, he speaks first. “Got something in yer mind, hen?” He voices it so smugly it’s almost unfitting for him. But then again, he does have many facets to his personality.

“Would you kiss me?” You ask, being direct for the very first time and you can see it takes him by surprise. His hands reach for the back of your knees pulling you closer to his body, all the way until you’re sitting on his thighs – that’s a first too, and it makes heat settle in your core.

“Aye, I bloody would.” He states unceremoniously and you brace your hands on his chest as you get comfortable in his lap. “Why? Ye want some kisses, bonnie lass? Huh?”

The way he talks – honeyed, low voice – gets you flustered as you immediately remember his side job, you can only nod with the amount of thoughts running through your head – and the blood rushing down to your cunt. Johnny groans at your small answer, hands groping your waist as he quickly gets lost in the opportunity.

“No– No, luv. Use yer words for me, please…” It’s almost desperate the way he says it and it makes you buckle your hips automatically. His hands move to where your thighs meet your hips to urge you down on his swelling cock inside his pants once more. “Need t-to hear ye, hen…”

“Uh–” You close your eyes briefly and tilt your head to your shoulder, trying to seek the words wherever they’ve been thrown in your mind, wanting to be good for him. The moment builds up faster than you expected. “Please, Johnny… Wan’ you t’kiss me.”

That’s all it takes for him to urge you to grind on him again, harder this time. “Fuck, tha’s it, bon.”

Unfortunately, as he brushes your lips together to initiate what would’ve definitely been a searing, passionate kiss, the bells ring. You’re both startled by the sound, and you jump slightly in his arms. You’re getting up way too soon for the Scot’s liking, and he tries to pull you back but you shush his pleas. “We can’t leave them waiting, my love.” Using the pet name to try and soothe his frustration for not being able to kiss you.

You ask him to open the door in your place because you’re yet to put your shoes on and he complies, mumbling a curse under his breath whilst adjusting his cock inside his jeans – he tells himself you’ve only convinced him because you used a pet name, but he knew he was down bad for you. As he opens the door for his friends and invites them in, he realizes he fears his immediate future. He wonders if you’ll keep him at some reasonable distance in front of all the guests or if you’ll keep the intimate dynamic that has transpired between you two.

Suddenly he’s cursing every cell in his body, regretting the fact that he chose to throw a small party. That notion that he he could’ve been fucking you right now only the smallest detail in the book, what was banging in his head was the fact that you opened yourself even more then. He’s distracted as he seats himself with his friends at the sofa, nodding along their words even though he’s not paying them full attention.

Johnny’s mind wanders far, far away from your shared house. Instead, he’s thinking about all the times he has taken you out or the times you’ve arranged small, homey dates for the two of you. He knows it isn’t going to help his situation, but he can’t stop the rushing thoughts that take over his mind, he feels overwhelmed by you and all the times he had you even if not physically. Knowing you were ready to take this step and further deepen your relationship had his hard cock leaking in his pants – love does weird things to a man, he figures.

When the bells ring again he doesn’t have time to get up from the couch, you come from the hallway pacing towards the door with your shoes on. You wave shortly at his friends before opening the door at the hall and he recognizes a feminine voice greeting you and making small conversation. Once you’re back, you finally greet his friend properly, telling them to make themselves at home as usual and offering a seat to your friend. Johnny expects you to take the seat beside her like you normally did, so imagine his surprise when he feels the added weight on the cushion by his side, the heat of your body embracing him as you snuggle to him.

He smiles at you, arm moving to rest on the cushions behind you as you all fall into a conversation as a group. Both your friend and his seem very happy at your proximity, not making any comments when Johnny would whisper something to your ear or how you’d take his hand on yours from time to time. That is, until someone brings up the famous, overly spoken subject: Johnny’s voice acting career.

You could hide yourself in a hole on the ground, the small mention of it making you flustered to your core – oh, and not because of him, but because of you. Because your friend is quickly adding up to the conversation. “Even though she refused to for so long, I made her hear one of his audios.”

Johnny snaps his head in your direction, expecting you to deny it. But you don't, how could you? You’re not one to lie like that, so you just kept silent with a hand covering the lower half of your face to try and hide your bashful smile. He doesn’t miss the opportunity. “Ye been hearing my audios, lass? Hm?” He whispers to you, leaning over your body just to spite you. Would you have said it to him on your own? He doesn’t think so.

“Oi! It was one audio, aye?” You say, all bark and no bite at all as you try to avoid the subject.

His friends laugh at your statement. “Aw, ya’ve been ‘round Johnny so much ya started talking like ‘im.” It’s a keen observation, one that has you laughing along with the others. You try to use the moment to change the subject.

“You’re right…” You trail off, head turning to look at Johnny. “Should I start calling you ‘hen’, then?”

It’s a poor attempt at making them pay attention to something else but it works, sparking a whole new conversation between them, the notion that you’ve listened to his audio quickly forgotten.

Time flies and, when you realize, they’re all going home soon. Goodbyes are said and hugs are shared. You walk every last one of them to the exit while Johnny stays busy tidying up the kitchen and living room. Once you’re back you can sense the shift in the atmosphere, something in the back of your head screaming for you to avoid pushing Johnny’s buttons, not knowing what to expect from now on. This was new territory because, even though you've gone on a lot of dates, neither of you have made any movement to turn things sexual.

Contrary to what you thought, Johnny doesn’t mention it as you approach him to see if he needed any help. Neither does he say something about it for the rest of the night. In fact, he’s awfully quiet as you turn the lights off and walk to your respective rooms, saying even less as you brush your teeth together. He still gives you a forehead kiss and wishes a goodnight but that’s it. You try to not overthink it as you close your bedroom door, eyes easily finding the black shirt he tossed on your bed when he was getting dressed earlier in the evening. You sigh, picking it up and pulling it over your head after having stripped off your clothes. You lay under the blankets with his scent all over you, mind drifting to when you were on top of him, grinding on his cock over your clothes. It makes a shiver run through you, but you refuse to touch yourself – if you did he’d know and that’s the last thing you want. So you just take a deep breath, air filled with his perfume and mind overtaken by thoughts of Johnny until you fall asleep.

It’s no surprise when you wake up drenched and horny. Your dreams had taken you to a perverted fantasy where your roommate had taken you to heaven and hell with his fingers, with his tongue and with his cock. It’s frustrating to even remember how good you felt and you try not to think about it as you pick your phone from your bedside table, unlocking it to see if there’s any notifications. A random e-mail from a site you shouldn’t have signed up in the first place – way too many unnecessary notices –, the weather for the day and, just a little bit lower in your notification bar, there it is, Johnny’s daily voice message.

You’re quick to open it, sinking back comfortably in your sheets as you prepare yourself to listen to it – it’s always an event, the best part of your day.

Johnnyboy<3 Voice message (0:17)

“Hi… G’mornin’, bon.” Comes his honeyed voice, the usual rasp from just waking up still clinging to his low timbre, probably recording the audio early in the morning. You check the time, finding the small, glowing numbers indicating what time he sent it: five twenty-three in the morning. “I already left for work, wan’ tae try and come back earlier today…” He usually leaves for work when the clock is marking past six thirty, so it’s nice to know he’s telling you why. “See if we can do somethin’ nice today, y’know?” You frown, checking the date.

Oh, it’s Friday.

“Hope you slept okay, hen. Text me when ye wake up.”

You groan, humming from the sleepiness in your body but not fighting the smile that takes over your features. He makes you so happy with such simple things, it’s kind of embarrassing and, matched with the state you woke up in, it makes you clench your thighs together. You move in the sheets just so they won’t be covering the microphone nor muffling your voice as you start to record your own voice message.

Johnny accesses his chat app as soon as he sees your message’s notification on his phone, already smiling even though he has no idea what you’re going to say. He checks the time, the clock marking six forty-two. You’re up early for a day off, he notices. He rushes to press play, excited to hear your voice – it’s the first time you respond to his voice message with one of your own.

Bonnie wifey Voice message (0:11)

“Hi, Johnny…” He presses pause right after he hears his name on your sleep-drunk voice. “Fuck… Okay.” He sighs and restarts the audio, listening to it all the way to the end, trying to ignore your adorable little hums that make his stomach twist with butterflies and his pants to grow tighter. “Hi, Johnny… G’morning. I just woke up…  Have no idea what we should do today, but ‘m glad you’re getting back earlier. Have a good day, ‘kay?”

He’s sure he’s not in his right mind as he moves to record yet another voice note, but he doesn’t really care, he needs to get it off his chest. “Aw, hi, cute lass. Dinnae ye sound so sweet when you wake up… Mhm, wish I could hear it more often. Maybe even give ye some kisses for it, aye?” Love on ye proper goes unsaid, but his tongue is itching to say it. He pockets his phone after sending it, trying to focus on his work instead of your sweet voice.

It takes you some time to see his reply, having had breakfast, cleaned the kitchen and brushed your teeth. You smile at the mention of your shared moment from last night – the kiss thing –, replying with a simple text message to avoid any more commotion from his end.

You: Why does it sound like you’re getting off? Pervert

Despite his effort in staying focused, Johnny can’t help but answer you as soon as he feels the buzz of his phone in his pocket.

Bonnie wifey: Why does it sound like you’re getting off? Pervert You: Cause I am;))) I’m a pervert for you<33

He doesn’t have time to put his phone away, because you reply right away.

Bonnie wifey: That’s not cute Johnny Bonnie wifey: Seek help

He snorts, clicking his tongue before typing again and sending the messages without rereading them.

Johhnyboy<3: Aye I would Johnnyboy<3: But ye nae here tae help are ye?

Your movements stop entirely as you stare at your phone screen. Did he mean what you think he meant? Only way to find out.

You: What type of help would you get from me?

Johnny laughs at your answer, were you really that naive? He types his answers but thinks better of it, erasing most of what he wrote to reformulate. When your phone buzzes in your hand you're fast to see if it was him. You’ve opened and closed the app more than once, waiting for his message.

Johnnyboy<3: I think ye can get a hint, cannae ye? Johnnyboy<3: Or do ye want me tae say it?

You roll your eyes at his answer – he’s so predictable.

You: Nevermind You: Shouldn’t you be working?

It’s like he’s been waiting for you to ask, the sentence ready on the tip of his fingers.

Johnnyboy<3: Aye I am Johnnyboy<3: But I can make some time for my bonnie lass

You giggle at his cheeky reply, trying to keep the mood as you type your next message.

You: Okay pretty boy, I’ll let you do your thing You: I’ll be waiting for you to get back early

Johnny couldn’t be happier at your words. The way you said it so cutely made him want to drown on you – in between your thighs, most definitely. He loved to share a domestic routine with you, sometimes he’d even pretend you were a recently married couple – which always made him way too happy for just an imagination. He rushed to get his work done so he could be home with you as soon as he could, making good on his promise.

You try to spend your day quite unceremoniously, doing silly things throughout most of it but not quite shaking the remnant of your morning arousal. You get some amount of distraction while picking what you’ll do with Johnny for the night – pasta for dinner and then you’ll watch a movie –, however, your mind keeps drifting to him, to his voice notes and his audios on reddit. You curse that they are so easy to access, especially as you sit in your bed, your laptop sitting comfortably in your thighs and a tab with his audio links open. That’s when you see a very, very recent post. A ramblefap, posted yesterday.

r/gonewildaudio SoapTheBrawVA [M4F] i came in my pants [RambleFap] [Needy] [Dry humping] [Hand job over the clothes] [Sleepy] mentions of [Somnophilia] and [Cunnilingus] [4:32]

You wonder how he even had time to record and post yesterday, but maybe he didn’t. Maybe it was a random ramblefap he recorded a while ago and decided to post yesterday, right? Wrong. Because as you plug your earphones to your laptop and contemplate if you should press play or not, you realize you fell asleep too quickly the night before, you wouldn’t have heard if he did anything. You decide that the only way you’ll find out is listening to it, there’s no reason not to.

Nothing could have prepared you for it.

“Wee p-pervs, hi–” The moan that leaves his mouth catches you off guard, he sounds so wrecked and you don’t even know what’s happening yet, his whispery voice doesn’t fail to make you want to grind down on your sheets. “Guess who m-made me so horny… Aye, shit— My flatmate. A-again.”

There’s no major fabric rustling in the background except for what seems like a light brushing – he’s probably running a hand up and down his clothed thighs, or his clothed cock. He’s half whispering but he’s definitely talking really close to the microphone. “She’s probably asleep right now. I‘ve tae be quiet…” He slurs, sounding lost. His mind is probably struggling to form coherent sentences. “Wish I could s-slide under her covers– Ah— A-and… Wake h-her up t’my mouth on her fuckin’ cunt, fuck—”

The wetness you managed to accumulate throughout the day starts to seep from your panties and wets the cotton of your sleeping shorts, you think that even after a shower you couldn’t find the peace of mind you crave. It’s unsettling, how sure you are that he’s about to cum, sitting now crossed legged on the mattress, your body leaning expectantly to the computer even though there’s nothing to actually see.

“Hi, lass!” The voice echoes in your head and you hit the space bar of your laptop to pause the audio. Your head turns mechanically to the door, your eyes locking with Johnny’s. It’s involuntary the way you check the clock before looking at him again.

“Johnny! You really did get home soon…” Your heart rate has spiked up to the roof, you don’t know what else to say because everything feels like he’ll catch you red-handed.

He squinted his eyes at you, and you swear he’s opening his mouth to accuse you of hearing one of his audios. “Is tha’… one of my shirts, lass?”

You look down at the black fabric still adorning your body. “Yeah…? You left it in my bed yesterday…” You nod, glad that there’s at least some nonchalance in your tone.

“So, ye jus’ decided tae wear it tae bed?” He’s approaching your bed, knees brushing over the edge of your mattress. He’s still wearing his work clothes – black slacks and white plain t-shirt – his cock twitching in his underwear at the sight of you on something that belongs to him – you couldn’t look more his.

“How’d you know I wore it for bed?” You talk back, no hesitation in your sentence. It never fails to amuse Johnny how much of a brat you can be.

“Didnae ye?” 

You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue. “I did. Does it bother you?”

He shrugs, shaking his head like it’s obvious. There’s still something glinting in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you makes you want to get on your knees and reveal all your secrets. You should’ve known better, you should have kicked him out of your already. “What’re ye doing, bon?”

“Uh… Jus’ some work stuff.” You nod along your words, pressing your lips together out of habit.

“On yer day off?” He questions with a chuckle. He can smell the nervousness in you, but he presses further. He drops by your side in the bed, body hovering over yours ever-so-slightly to look at your laptop screen, trying to keep himself from palming his growing erection. “Aww, would ye look at tha’.” You try to protest but he’s already taking the computer from you and bringing it to his stretched legs. “Were ye enjoying yerself, hen?”

His tone is infuriating and you’d definitely be angry at the teasing if you weren’t absolutely embarrassed to your core. “Shut up, Johnny.”

“Oh, dinnae be like tha’, luv.” He closes your laptop and puts it on the floor, body turning to face you. “Ye haven’t finished hearing it. Wan’ me tae tell ye what happened?”

“No…?” Your voice is growing weaker in your throat, all snarky comments dying in your tongue. He laughs at your answer, moving the blankets so he can find your hips and pull you to him. You don’t show any resistance, moving to lay down on your side so you can face Johnny as well.

“Was tha’ a question?” He’s smiling, the tip of his fingers traveling from your cheeks to your arm and then your waist. “Could dae something else, if ye’d like.”

“Yeah?” You’re both whispering now, and maybe that’s what’s making the moment so intimate. Or maybe it was the overflowing tension and your obviously unspoken feelings, who knows? “Like what?”

“Aye. Like finally kissing tha’ bonnie lips ye have.” He’s moving to put a leg between yours, his lips already brushing yours as he moves to hover over you. His nose bumps into your own and he giggles in sync with you.

“Johnny?” You’re sure your heart is about to jump out of your mouth. Your hands find his biceps where you leave a light squeeze before moving them to his shoulders.

“Hm?” He hums, his eyes trailing over your face.

“I love you.” And you say it so calmly he thinks he heard you wrong.

“What…?”

“I love you, Johnny.” You repeat, voice trembling a bit at the force of your emotions. You couldn’t be more sure of your feelings for him, it just felt right to say it.

“Fuck– Dae ye mean it, bon?” He closes his eyes, voice not increasing a single pitch as he whispers it to your lips.

You close your own eyes. “‘Course I mean it, love.”

There’s no answer, at least not a verbal one. He sighs in what you think is relief before he’s pressing your lips together. He kisses you slowly, lips moving in yours almost in reverence, hands sneaking inside your shirt and you pant at the contact of them on your skin. Your hand runs through the short strands of his mohawk and he pulls away for the shortest second, changing his head’s angle before he’s kissing you again, until you’re both out of breath.

Despite the wholesome exchange, his cock is still hard in his pants, throbbing at the thought of what comes next. When he leaves your lips, his eyes are hooded and he has a dopey smile on his face. He noses your cheek, then your jaw and your neck. You can feel his smile as he brushes his lips to the spot underneath your earlobe sending tingles down your spine. You gasp, goosebumps erupting in your skin and he lets out a breath as you squeeze his shoulders.

“Love ye too, hen.” He mumbles to your skin, and that fact that he’s not looking you in the eyes shows just how vulnerable he feels at the confession. “I love ye.” He kisses your neck, then. Trails soft, wet kisses all over it and down to the collar of his shirt that’s wrapping loosely around your body. “Fuckin’ love seeing ye in my shirt…” He tugs at the hem. “But I guess it has tae go now, mhm?”

He helps you out of the shirt, your naked torso coming to his view which earns a groan from him, his legs adjusting themselves so he has both his legs between yours, his hands urging your thighs to close around his waist before he’s settling them in your waist again. “Screamin’ Jesus–” He gives you a short look and you nod, mouthing “it’s okay” and he wastes no time, cupping your chest in his palms. He thumbs at your nipples and you squirm a bit, legs pulling at his hips so he’ll grind down on you. “Fuck, bon, yer makin’ me crazy.”

Your hands find the hem of his shirt, untucking it from inside his slacks slowly. He squeezes your tits again, too lost in the sight of you. You help him take his shirt off as well, but before you can touch his chest and stomach he moves away from you and stands by the side of your bed.

“Aw, dinnae need tae pout like tha’, hen,” he coos. “‘M jus’ takin’ this off fer ye.” He moves to unbuckle his belt, but he pauses. “Actually… Ye should dae it, hen.” And he stands there, almost offering his hips to you like he’s some toy, so you sit up on the bed, hands reaching up to unbuckle his belt for him. He watches you with burning lust in his eyes, the bulge of his cock way too close to your face and you’re aware that your sleeping shorts are most likely soaked now.

Once you’re done with undoing his belt you pop the button of his pants and pull the zipper open, the action making the fabric graze his cock. He buckles his hips almost imperceptibly, his hands moving to pull yours away as he strips off of his slacks, and he wishes he could take a picture of your glinting eyes as you openly ogle at his boxers. He climbs on the bed again, laying down flat on his back and he pulls you by your hand so you’ll be sitting on top of him, the pressure of your soaked cunt making his eyes flutter shut with a sigh. “Fuck, bon…”

You moan, too worked up to even bother that you’ve barely done anything. He gropes your hips, his own bucking up into you to try and get some relief, and pleasure spikes through you. You grind down on him harder, the fabric of your shorts bothering you because they block the actual touch too much. You’re growing frustratingly needier, so you take your shorts off along with your panties, Johnny doing the same with his underwear. The two of you moan in unison when you grind your naked, wet pussy to his leaking cock, Johnny feels like an animal humping in you like that but it’s too good – you feel too good – it’s almost impossible to stop. The pressure of his hard length dragging along your folds makes your head spin, but you need more. 

Johnny must be thinking the same thing because he’s urging you to get up a bit, one hand closing around the base of his cock to guide it to your hole. “S-shit– Johnny–” You gasp at the intrusion, his cock girthier than you thought it would be. The stretch burns a bit too good as you sink down on him, your eyes rolling back in your eyelids when you press your hips flush to his, your hands bracing on his chest for balance.

“Fuckin’ hell– Bon—” He moans, right hand giving your thigh a harsh squeeze before he helps you move up. He bites his lips at the first thrust, your breasts bouncing as you move on top of him and he can’t help but put one of them in his mouth. It unbalances you a bit but you keep moving, right hand closing around his pretty cross chain as you arch your back, his tongue brushing on your nipple before giving it a small bite.

“Ah– Johnny, f-feels so good.” You whine and he smiles, leaving you tit to move to the other, repeating his movements. Your hips stutter and he chuckles at your movements. He pulls back to look at you, moaning at the sight because you’re just so gorgeous.

“My bonnie lass, mine–” He grunts and doesn’t think before he rolls you two on the bed, changing your position. You yelp as your back hits the mattress but Johnny doesn’t give you time to recompose, snapping his hips to yours. “Fuckin’ m-mine, hen. Love ye s-so much…”

His thrusts find a faster, steadier pace than yours. His face finds your neck where he starts to suck and leave bites, trying to mark your skin. You brace your hands on his back, scratching down on it to match his rhythm. He’s too lost in the pleasure and so are you, he can feel you clenching tighter around him. “Are y-ye close, hen? Gonnae– Shit— C-cum fer me?” He whispers to your ear.

You hum in agreement, nodding as your mouth opens in a moan. He pulls back, kneeling on the mattress as he pushes your thighs so they press in your chest and your head falls back. “Johnny– Oh, God—” The change in the angle makes him reach deeper in your cunt and you're cumming before you know it.

“Oh, Christ, hen. Cunt f-feels like– Fuck– Fuckin’ heaven.” He moans, his movements turning sloppy, the squelching of your pussy being heard over your moans. Your wet walls clamp down on his shaft enticing a grunt from him and he leans down to smash your lips together. He whines as you kiss, feeling like he might cry as he cums inside you, his warm load filling you up so nicely you whimper at the feeling of it.

Your body starts to twitch from the oversensitivity because Johnny is still fucking into you, riding both your highs. His movements eventually slow to a stop and he hugs you with his cock still inside you. “Best Friday date night ever, bon.”

You laugh, arms hugging his shoulders as you pull him closer to you, the motion making him move inside you and you both let out a sound because of it – you wincing and Johnny moaning. “We should shower… We still have to eat something.”

He smiles at you, turning to press a passionate kiss to your lips. “Aye, we should…” He trails off, and you exchange a charged look before he brushes his nose to yours. “I love ye, hen.”

“I love you too, pretty boy.”

You shower together, more exchanging kisses and affectionate touches than actually concentrating in getting cleaned. When you finally move to the kitchen so you can cook dinner you’re both starving, but it does nothing to disturb the loving atmosphere between you. The two of you eat while watching a random movie you both have seen more than once and you barely pay attention to it after you’ve eaten – making out messily on the couch with the dishes sitting at the coffee table. 

As you brush your teeth together that night, you realize you’ve never felt like you belonged to something so much. Already in his room, the both of you cuddling under the covers, you’re sure Johnny feels the same at the hum of delight that leaves his lips. He hugs you from behind, broad body caging yours as he slurs sleepy: “Yer my girlfriend now, aye, bonnie?”

You laugh, heart filled with love knowing you’ll wake up by his side. The notion makes you snuggle closer to him, chasing his warmth. “Yeah, ‘m your girlfriend now, love.”

a/n: hope you guys liked it, i wrote it in like 10 days whilst studying for my last exam lol. i hope the texting part wasn't too confusing, let me know what you think.

[umnitsa]

HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it. 

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom. 

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust. 

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over. 

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?” 

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that. 

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager. 

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work. 

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails. 

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night. 

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway. 

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it. 

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.” 

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing. 

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup. 

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants. 

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges. 

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you. 

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light. 

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that. 

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside. 

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all. 

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.  

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning. 

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone. 

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall. 

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding. 

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine. 

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door. 

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him. 

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes. 

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight. 

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv. 

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines. 

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn. 

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together. 

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo. 

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is. 

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four. 

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders. 

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again. 

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.” 

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly. 

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once. 

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk. 

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to. 

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?” 

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension. 

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches. 

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim. 

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of  “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes. 

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

[umnitsa]

you nudge soap one night, and he turns to you with sleepy eyes.

“s’wrong, bonnie?”

you tell him it’s nothing. you just wanted to see if he wanted a midnight snack. the man is perking up before you can explain what you meant, smiling brightly and ripping the blanket off the both of you. ignoring your sputters, soap is in between your legs in record time, only having enough patience to pull the cotton to the side before dipping his tongue straight against your clit.

“fu-johnny, i meant food. actual food…” you trail off with a gasp, hurrying to grab at his hair, the suckle of his lips force a shiver through your legs.

“fuck yer food,” he smacks, spitting on your hole, and diving back in. “got the perfect meal right here…”

(gaz's version here!)

[umnitsa]

I miss having a boyfriend like that. He made me laugh a lot, and after that he cuddled me.

<3 <3 <3

ᯤ

gn!reader x johnny soap mactavish

you explaining your insecurities to johnny and he just grabs your hand and puts it against the growing bulge beneath his pants. he blinks his baby blues at you like he hasn't done a thing wrong, but says some shit like, "naw you're beautiful bon, look how hes growin'" with a shit eating grin.

[umnitsa]

PERFECT! I`ll need 1837142847109 more, sir *swoon swoon*

Blowing a kiss to Johnny “Soap” MacTavish is like pulling the pin on a glitter grenade—you never know where the spark’s gonna land.

It’s always a gamble.

You think you’re being cute.

You think he’ll catch it with a wink, maybe tap his heart like a gentleman.

One moment he’s beaming, catching it mid-air with dramatic flair like it’s a bloody dove, eyes glinting like he’s just intercepted enemy comms. Smacking it dramatically onto his chest with a proud “Ach! Right in the ticker! you spoil me, bonnie.” he’ll murmur, staggering backward like you just shot him with a Cupid .50 cal.

The crowd swoons. Children cheer. Birds sing.

The next time?

Public place. Full squad around. Briefing room. You blow that kiss and he catches it with two hands… locks eyes with you… then—with full confidence and zero shame—plants it straight on his crotch. Smack. Hands on his hips. Grinning like a menace. “That’s where I felt it, lass. Don’t lie.”

Everyone turns.

Gaz groans. Ghost doesn’t even look up. Alejandro claps. And Price? He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and mutters, “For the love of bloody God, Soap…”

Soap just winks at you across the room like he did you a favor.

It’s 50/50 chaos. You blow that kiss, you’re playing Russian Roulette with your dignity.

[umnitsa]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Steve Harrington x Reader • steamy summer sex with boyfriend!steve • oral, vaginal, anal, all the stuff

The Summer heat is driving you and Steve crazy. At this rate, you’re either going to fuck him or kill him. So you decide to fuck him…

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The air conditioner broke yesterday, and the soonest Steve can get someone out to fix it will be ten tomorrow morning. The atmosphere in the house is sweltering. It’s affecting you and Steve in the worst way, making you both irritable with each other. Little annoyances that would have been ignored any other time now have you getting under each other’s skin.

It’s too damn hot. You sit at the kitchen table watching Steve toss yet another dirty plate into the sink, as if you haven’t asked him a hundred times to rinse his plate first. Having to scrub old food from dishes, you’ve explained, only slows you down when washing them. It’s like Steve doesn’t give a damn whether or not he inconveniences you.

You sit there watching him leaning against the sink, a grumpy scowl on his face. He reaches for the window and fans his hands inward, trying to create some kind of breeze for himself. “Jesus,” Steve curses, aggressively switching on the tap. He wets his hands and runs them through his hair. Droplets of water glitter in the sunlight as they trickle down Steve’s forearms, absorbing into the fabric of his t-shirt. Realizing he’s only keeping himself hotter by wearing it, Steve tugs the t-shirt off over his head. He can’t help but instinctively glance your way, to see if you’re checking him out.

Steve isn’t disappointed because of course you’re watching him. Your eyes rake over his body, following the dark trail of hair covering his chest and belly to where it disappears under his waistband. He’s wearing nothing now but a pair of boxer briefs which are damp with sweat. You can see the outline of Steve’s bulge through the fabric, his sweaty dick and balls hanging just a little to the right as always. You sit there ogling Steve’s junk and zone out for a second. The excessive heat is making your brain a little mushy, but your eyes know exactly what you want. Steve’s cock jumps ever so slightly inside his boxers as he watches you watching him…

You lick your lips, tasting the salt of sweat on your skin, unconsciously squeezing your slick thighs together. It’s too damn hot. If Steve doesn’t fuck this bad mood out of you, you might go insane. Your chair creaks as you leave it and approach Steve, whose eyes follow your movements. “Fuck me,” you glare at him, a new heat warming your skin. Steve reaches for your wrists and cages them inside his hands. He whips you around and bends you over the sink, locking your arms behind you. “You think I’ll just give you what you want?” Steve grunts against the back of your neck. “After you’ve been such a bitch to me all day?” He squeezes your wrists together behind you, holding you against the sink with his weight. Steve’s erection prods your ass; he clearly wants to fuck you as much as you need to be fucked.

When he quickly flips you around to face him, you respond with a giggle. It feels good to have some relief from the thick tension that’s been roiling between you all day. Steve crouches down and parts your legs. He inhales your scent, cursing under his breath. “Fuck you smell so good,” he murmurs, nestling his nose against your bush. “Been smellin’ you all day honey, moving around this house with a goddamn meal between your legs.” Steve’s tongue licks out and snags your puffy clit, making you tremble. “You like that?” he asks, flashing his perfect teeth up at you in a grin. “S’this what she needs? Kisses?”

Steve’s lips close over your clit, sucking lightly, just enough to have you yearning for more pressure. You curl into Steve, your stomach curved against the top of his head. Steve’s words have disappeared and the only sounds he now makes are breathy grunts against your cunt. He bathes your lips with his tongue, lapping long strokes up and down your labia, rounding your clit with the tip of his tongue at the end of every stroke. Your hands clutch onto Steve’s shoulders to brace yourself as he licks you to climax, his tongue creating a persistent pressure against your clit for you to grind against as you ride out your high.

Steve rises to his feet and closes a big hand around your neck from behind. “Come with me,” he says, the scent of your cunt on his breath. Steve guides you to the table, bending you forward over it. You listen as he tugs down the waist of his boxers and shuffle out of them. His cock slaps against your ass, the tip slippery with precum. Instinctively, your hands find the edges of the table, fingers latching on for support. Steve’s palm meets your pussy in a firm slap; your knees buckle in response. “Goddamn you’re wet for me,” he murmurs over your back. “Gonna make it hard not to come inside you. S’that on purpose honey? You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

The answer you give is wrapped in a moan as Steve abruptly enters you. His hand stays around your neck, locking you against him as he takes you. The wet sound of sweaty skin slapping skin fills the kitchen, the table creaking under your weight in time with Steve’s thrusts. He bullies your cunt like he’s more annoyed with your hole than he is with you. The needy grunts Steve’s cock punches out of you are delicious to him, almost as delicious as your cunt on his breath. He pumps in and out of you at a rough, consistent pace, testing your hole’s capacity to hold him. “Christ, I think the heat’s made you tighter,” he pants against your hair, knotted inside his fist. “Gonna suck me dry, shit-.” Steve’s voice breaks and he buries his face in your shoulder, grunting expletives as his cock spits a thick burst of cum inside you. The room goes still and quiet as the only sounds surrounding you and Steve are the rapid breaths panted from both your lips.

He eases his weight off of you and takes a step back, spreading your cheeks with his big hands. Your sticky lips part with a wet sound and Steve watches his cum leak out of you, one drop followed by another, spattering between your feet on the kitchen floor. “Let’s get a shower,” Steve says, offering you his hand. You accept with a smile and let Steve lead you down the hall. He steps into the shower and switches on the water, adjusting the temperature to a cool setting. “Get in here,” he grins, cocking his head toward the shower. You step inside and curl into Steve’s embrace, letting the water wash over your joined bodies.

Moisture trickles across your skin like little kisses, refreshing and cool. Steve tilts your chin toward his and presses his lips to yours. You invite him deeper, parting your lips and allowing his tongue to find yours. Water cascades over you both as you explore each other’s mouths, licking into the wet warmth of Steve’s kiss. You feel him getting hard against your thigh as his kisses grow more intense, more urgent. Steve releases your tongue and tells you to get on your knees. He holds a handful of your wet hair and watches you sink to the shower floor, guiding your mouth onto his cock. You can taste some of Steve’s cum lingering inside his tip and swallow it down, flattening your tongue along his base. Steve groans as you take him deeper, his grip tightening inside your hair. “That’s a good girl,” he says, closing his eyes to enjoy you. “Treat my cock so good, don’t you baby?” His words fuel your desire to please him more and you do, relaxing the muscles in your throat to take him deeper.

The coarse wet hair of Steve’s bush bumps against your nose with every descent of your mouth around him. He rocks his hips forward into you, punching wet gurgling sounds out of your throat. His other fist goes to your hair; Steve uses your mouth like a sleeve as he thrusts into your throat, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. He barely has time to let you know he’s about to come, a second load painting the back of your throat white in his creamy release. You bob up and down Steve’s cock, milking him of the last remaining drops of cum he has, swirling your tongue across his tip.

He tugs you up by the shoulders and turns you to face the shower wall. Steve’s palm meets your ass with a heavy, wet slap. You flatten against the shower wall, your breath spraying the drops of water collected there. Steve slips a hand between your thighs from behind, his index and middle fingers massaging your labia roughly. You’re so slick with arousal, even the water spilling down your thighs can’t wash it away. Steve penetrates you with two fingers, his thumb notching against the bud of your asshole. “Like a little glove,” he grins against your neck, pressing a wet kiss there. He plays around inside you, curling his fingers in a beckoning motion. Your thighs tremble around Steve’s wrist as he toys with you, your asshole puckering against his thumb. He presses slowly, firmly, gradually working you open. Steve steps back and watches as his thumb disappears inside your asshole, swallowing him up.

“You gonna let me have every one of your holes, baby?” Steve asks, working you open with his thumb. He feels himself getting hard again as you suck his fingers back and forth. Your bodies are cool from the water spilling over them, but the heat between you and Steve can’t be so easily quenched. He coils his fingers around your g-spot, massaging the spongy mound in a rhythmic pattern that has your legs shaking. Pitiful whimpers tumble from your lips as Steve makes you come on his hand. He curses in awe as your holes clench and suck his fingers, ugly-beautiful moans forced out of your lips against the shower wall. Steve releases your cunt and takes his cock in his hand, gliding his tip between your folds, slicking his cock. He drags himself between your cheeks and positions his head at your entrance, wrapping an arm across your chest from behind.

Steve lingers there a moment, the stiff pressure of his cock prodding you. He waits for you to adjust, letting you push back on him at your own pace. You wiggle your hips as you descend backward over Steve’s tip, wincing as the head of him breaches your entrance. He squeezes you into his chest, pinning you under his forearm. “So fucking good f’me,” Steve praises, his breath dusting your earlobe. “Letting me use you like this…” He curls his hips inward, pressing slowly into you another inch. You grunt into the pressure, your cheek resting against Steve’s forearm. He carefully guides himself deeper inside your ass, working you open till you’ve taken him as deep as you can. Your ass is stuffed full of Steve’s cock, the wet hair of his bush matted against your skin. He slowly pulls back and you feel every inch of him dragging along your insides, the sting of his cock filling you quickly replaced by need.

“Please come in my ass,” you whimper into Steve’s arm, tasting his wet skin between your lips. “I want you to fill all of my holes today, Steve…”

That breaks him. Steve snaps his hips forward, lurching into you with a powerful thrust. You grunt into his arm on impact, your teeth baring into his skin to brace yourself. One thrust after another, Steve pumps your asshole like it’s his job to fuck you, stroking your insides with the goal of painting them white. Sweat and water drip off the ends of his hair and trickle down your back, his hips smacking against your ass loud and wet in the small space of the shower. He removes his arm from around you and clutches your hips, bouncing you up and down on his cock. Minutes later Steve growls into your shoulder and ruts into you in two hard, slow thrusts. Semen gushes inside your ass, coating your hole in Steve’s orgasm. He reaches around and finds your clit, rubbing a messy rhythm over your sensitive mound and you’re coming with him, your asshole puckering and sucking the last drops of cum from his tip.

Steve pulls your breathless body into his and holds you upright against him as he leans against the shower wall for support. The water trickles over your spent, satisfied bodies, every bit of tension and frustration pulled down the drain. You and Steve decide to stay naked the rest of the day, falling into bed together for some much-needed rest…