reese-tasteslikepepsicola - Tumblr blog

reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 3 months

Text

sundown - one shot

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

rating: explicit 18+ minors dni

word count: 6.6k

warnings: age gap, explicit p in v sex, size kink, somno, praise kink, oral sex, overstimulation, painful sex, late summer americana

summary: you're used to being alone. that changes when joel moves into the trailer across from yours.

People leave all the time.

Sometimes there’s a barbecue, a big show of it, the whole community getting together. They grill burgers and hang streamers on the laundry lines. The kids all run around barefoot, playing tag, tripping over each other. There are hugs and goodbyes and promises to visit real soon.

Other times it’s quiet. Bags packed in the middle of the night, cars rolling out before dawn cracks over the horizon. Windows dark, doors left unlocked, hanging open in the breeze. Little bits of trash and broken things left in the yard.

None of them stay empty for long.

There's always a new family coming in, kids shrieking and doors slamming, a bike with training wheels turned over in the grass. A couple of retirees, putting up flower boxes and sticking pinwheels into the dirt, waving at anyone who passes. A kid fresh off parole, cardboard box under his arm, sleeping on an air mattress for the first few months.

After they settle, it sort of feels like they were always there.

And you forget whoever came before.

You’re used to it by now. The coming and going, the faces you never see again. This is a place of passing, and you know better than to expect anyone to stay.

The place across from you is only empty a week before Joel moves in.

You watch through the blinds as he carries boxes in from the back of his pick-up. Sweat soaking through his t-shirt. His arms are thick, corded with muscle, his hands big and rough. He’s built solid, built big, and it stirs something low in your belly as you watch him carry an old TV up the front steps, knocking the door open with his boot.

You wait for another car to pull up, the wife and kids and maybe a couple of dogs. But no one else comes. It’s just him, alone, a few yards of bare, sun-bleached grass between your front doors.

And folks talk, like they always do, but they can’t find much to say about Joel. Moved out here from Austin, got set up with some contracting work in town, that development they’re building out past the mill. No family, or none that he’s mentioned. But he doesn’t talk much. Just a few words in passing, a stiff sort of smile when one of the neighbors stops by his porch, pressing a conversation you can tell he wants no part in.

He keeps to himself, mostly.

You’re not watching him, not really, but you notice things.

He replaces the old skirting, pulling out the rotting wood and tossing it into the back of his pickup. It’s heavy work to do in the dead of summer, but he’s steady at it, muscles bunching under his shirt, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

He sits out on his porch most nights, once the heat has settled and the moths come out, fluttering around the porch light. He listens to the radio — baseball if there’s a game on, otherwise the old country station. He never has any guests over, but he talks on the phone sometimes. Not for long, but it’s the only time you ever hear him laugh, the low gravel of it carrying across the lawn.

And you think he notices you too, though you don’t say more than a handful of words to each other in the first few weeks of him staying there.

Some mornings he heads off to work when you’re hanging laundry on the line. Or his truck pulls up in the evening when you’re sitting on the front step painting your nails, sunlight catching on blue glitter. His dark eyes will find yours and he’ll nod, polite as anything, and return your wave.

And you’re not watching him.

Not really.

But he’s nice to look at.

Your HVAC breaks down again, and you can’t get the panel open to replace the filter. The stupid thing always sticks when it gets too hot out, and you’ve been wrestling it for ten minutes. Knees in the dirt, sweat dripping down your spine, trying to dig your nails under the edge of it.

“Need a hand?”

You look up, squinting against the sun, and find Joel watching you from a few feet away.

“You got a flathead?”

He doubles back to his truck, pulling his toolbox from the bed. You hold your hand out to take the screwdriver from him, but he jerks his head for you to get out of the way. And you do, brushing the dirt off your knees and watching as he pries open the panel.

He doesn’t say anything, just pulls out the old filter and motions for the new one. And there’s something so easy in the way he does it, his hands steady and practiced as they snap the panel back into place. He stands and raps his knuckles against the metal.

“Should be all set.”

And you’ve never been this close to him, never realized just how much bigger he is than you. Tall and broad in a way that makes your stomach swoop. There’s gray in his hair, gathered at his temple and threaded through his beard.

You swallow, mouth gone a little dry at the width of his shoulders, the shift of his biceps as he picks up the toolbox.

“Thanks for that,” you say, “It’s a fucking sauna in there.”

Joel glances up at your trailer, brow creasing before his gaze drops back to yours.

“You on your own?”

There’s something about the way he says it, the edge of concern, of disapproval.

But you just shrug, “I can take care of myself.”

He nods, but he hesitates before heading back to his place.

“You need anything, you let me know,” he says, “Door’s always open.”

That night, Joel sits out on his porch, eased back in an old armchair, fingers loose on the neck of a beer. The radio crackling on the sill, playing a country song you don’t recognize, the notes carried on the breeze through your open window.

And you want to give him something as a thank you, but you can’t bake for shit, so instead you roll three little joints for him, tucking them neatly in an empty Altoid tin.

He looks up when you come out. Bare feet on the dry grass, denim cutoffs and mosquito bites on your ankles. You jump up on the edge of his porch and lean over the railing.

“To say thank you,” you tell him, holding out the tin.

He frowns when he opens it and tries to hand it back.

“Don’t really smoke.”

“You can trade ‘em,” you shrug, “The office doesn’t give out quarters, but Gerri’s got a whole stash.”

He huffs a laugh and takes a sip of his beer.

“This place runnin’ on a barter system?”

You smile up at him, “Depends what you’re looking for.”

And you’re flirting, you’re trying to, but something about him makes you bad at it. You’re used to the boys around here, their skinny sunburnt arms and patchy stubble. There’s none of that in Joel, none of the open eagerness that makes the others so easy. He’s solid and steady, knees spread wide, looking at you in a way that makes you feel silly and soft, makes you want so bad it surprises you.

He just shakes his head, the corners of his mouth edging up in amusement.

“You’re trouble, aren’t you?”

But he doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing. And it makes you a little bold, a little reckless, so you point to the beer in his hand and tilt your head.

“Got another one of those?”

That’s how it starts, the strange friendship that stretches between your front doors. It’s easy, even if it shouldn’t be. Joel isn’t much of a talker. Not all that friendly, even.

But he doesn’t seem to mind you so much.

He drives you into town when you need something, lets you put your feet up on the dash and mess around with the radio until you find a song you like. He listens as you point out the landmarks of the shitty little town: the water tower, the auto body, the vape shop that got busted for selling meth.

He fixes your shit when it breaks. The whine and rattle of the radiator. The crack in the roof that leaks whenever a storm comes through. The lock on your front door that sticks sometimes. That last one makes him frown, makes him give you that stern look and say something about how it isn’t safe, not with you out here on your own.

He sits with you on his front porch, lets you steal his beer and talk about your day. If he’s in a good mood, you can even get him to answer some of your questions. You know he doesn’t like talking about himself. But you’ve gotten some of it, the quiet history hidden behind the hard set of his jaw. His brother back in Austin. The lake they used to go to as kids. The chocolate cake his mom used to make on their birthdays.

And you know that he likes you, even if it’s just a little.

He spots you for milk when you’re short, and won’t take your money when you try to pay him back. He keeps the tin of Altoids on his dresser, the unsmoked joints still inside. And he still wears the little leather bracelet you got for him, right under his watch, the broken one you know better than to ask about.

But he doesn’t look at you.

Not the way you want him to.

You’re used to men looking. A whistle out the window of a passing car, something nasty shouted from down the street. The boys in the park with their buzzcuts and bug-eyed stares. The gold-capped leer of the cashier of the 7-11 where you buy smokes.

You know you’re worth looking at.

And he lets you flirt a little, but there’s always a line. When your hand goes too high on his thigh, when you lean in too close. There’s that breathless moment where his gaze lingers on your lips for a second too long, but he always pulls away.

“Trouble,” he’ll say, shaking his head.

And it only makes you want him more.

——————

You don’t remember falling asleep.

You were watching a movie, something old, with cowboys. And you remember putting your legs over Joel’s lap, and that look he gave you. The one you get whenever you push up against that line, the boundary of the things that you want and the things he’ll allow. He never lets you cross it, but he lets you have this. The little press of your toes, the chipped blue polish, against his denim-clad thigh. His heavy hand settling on your bare leg, thumb stroking your skin like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

And you must’ve fallen asleep like that, eyes fluttering against the soft glow of the screen, the feel of Joel’s hand on you.

When you wake up, the room is dark, and there’s a blanket tugged up over your shoulders.

You should go home.

You know you should.

But instead you pad down the hall to his room, your heart in your throat, still caught somewhere in a dream. Your stomach swoops when you see that he left the door half open.

There’s a strip of yellow light across the room, slanting in from the window. Joel is laying on his side, fast asleep, the pillow bunched up under his cheek. And you’ve never seen him like this. The lines of his face smoothed out in sleep. The usually stern set of his jaw now slack, his lips parted, slow breaths ghosting across the empty sheets. He looks softer, somehow, the way you know he can be, the way he is with you sometimes.

You stand there for a long minute, toes digging into the carpet, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Your hand goes to the button of your shorts, undoing them and stripping them down your legs, so you’re left only in your thin tank top and cotton panties. The air is cool with the distant hum of AC, and goosebumps rise on your bare skin. You slip under the blankets on the empty side of the bed, curling onto your side to face him.

And he must have felt the shift of your knees on the mattress, because his eyes open.

He looks at you across the stretch of sheets, and your pulse stutters. But he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t tell you to get out. He just watches you with this sort of sense of inevitability.

Like he’s been waiting.

So you lean forward and kiss him. Testing, tentative. The dry press of your lips against his.

You pull away after a second, a skittering rush of nerves and arousal, searching his face for some shadow of doubt, of disapproval. You can feel your pulse racing.

Maybe he can feel it too when his hand wraps around your wrist and he tugs you back into him.

His mouth is hungry as it moves against yours, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you tight into his chest. His tongue brushes yours, and he tastes like sleep and toothpaste and Joel.

He rolls you onto your back, and he’s so big over you, warm and solid and sinking you deeper into the mattress. His hand at your jaw, hinging your mouth open, tasting you with his tongue and teeth. You whimper, tangling your hands in his hair, pulling him impossibly close.

He kisses down your neck, the soft scrape of his beard making your breath stutter. His hand slides up under your top and over your breast, the callused drag of his thumb teasing at your nipple before he tugs down the neckline, exposing your breasts.

The heat of his mouth wraps around your nipple and you moan, arching against him. The feeling sparks low in your belly, adding to the heat that's pooling between your hips, burning in your core. You’re so wet and you want him so much it makes you dizzy. His mouth is hungry as it moves over your skin, devouring. It’s a little rough, a little mean. Teeth scraping over your nipple, biting at the swell of your breast, sucking at the skin there until you whine and tug at his hair.

But you like it. The way he presses his hips into yours, trapping you against the mattress, the bulk of his cock heavy against you. He kisses at the swollen peak of your nipple, tongue smoothing over the little red marks left behind by his teeth.

His hand slides over your ribs and down your belly, seeking out the sticky heat of your core. He cups your cunt with his heavy hand and then breaks the kiss with a low groan, ducking his head against your chest.

“Fuck, baby.”

He strokes the soaked seat of your panties, pressing the ruined fabric against your leaking entrance. His gaze flickers up to your face, the sweaty flush of your cheeks, eyes wide and hazy with arousal. He noses against your jaw, fingers pressing a little firmer against you.

“Messy little girl.”

Your breath catches on a moan, spine rising up from the mattress as his fingers find your clit. It’s not much, a gentle stroke through the damp fabric, but it feels like lightning, a white hot heat that rips through you. You grip his shoulders, breath coming in desperate little gasps as you grind against his hand.

“You gonna come for me?”

And your answer slips out on a whimper, a spit-slurred mess of yes, please, Joel, please make me come. His fingers keep moving against you, firm and focused, stoking the fire that builds inside your core until you’re coming, clenching around nothing, writhing against his hand between your legs. Your breath hot and damp against his neck, face screwed up as everything inside you goes painfully tight, and then liquifies in a rush of sticky wet release.

“There you go,” Joel murmurs, lips grazing your temple, “That’s my girl.”

And it makes your insides go all melty and warm, the idea of being his girl.

He holds you like that for a while, curled against his chest, his hand still tucked between your legs. You press your lips against the hollow of his throat, tasting the sweat on his skin.

His cock is hard against you, a heavy press along your thigh, and you grind against it, a moan low at the back of your throat.

Joel tilts your face up, dark eyes meeting yours.

“Is that what you need?” he asks, “Does my baby need to get fucked?”

You whine, ducking your face against his neck, overwhelmed by the words, the surge of arousal and something else, something more that you don’t have a name for.

He tugs at your panties, pulling them down your legs, the sticky fabric smearing against your skin. His hand slides down to the bend of your knee and he hikes your leg up over his hip. You feel the bulk of his cock through his boxers, the heat of it against your aching center. Your hips twitch, a choked little moan slipping out of you.

“Fuck — please, Joel.”

He doesn’t tease you, doesn’t draw it out. He shifts his boxers down, pulling his cock out so it presses against you, the head sliding through your dripping folds, nudging against your fluttering little hole.

“Look at me, baby.”

You do, tilting your face up and holding his gaze as he pushes inside you.

Your mouth drops open, a gasp catching in your throat at the stretch of him. He’s big, too big, splitting you open in a slow, steady stroke. Tears spring to your eyes but you don’t look away. You hold his gaze as he works his cock into you, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Taking me so well,” he murmurs, “Just a little more.”

It hurts, the stretch overwhelming, but you want all of him. He sinks deeper, inch by inch, and it sends little sparks of pain-pleasure flickering through you. But he’s slow about it, gentle as he rocks his hips against yours, his lips pressed to your hair, talking you through it. Pretty little cunt, so fucking tight for me.

He grunts when he reaches the end of you, his hips flush against yours.

You blink up at him, eyes wide and shining, a tear slipping down your cheek. Joel thumbs it away, cupping your cheek in his hand.

“All filled up, huh?”

And you nod, feeling hazy, shivering on the edge of something electric, white hot and burning beneath your skin.

He begins to move, slowly, his hips drawing back and pressing in again. A steady rhythm, a too-full feeling that burns low in your belly. Your cunt clenches in fluttering, desperate little pulses as the pressure builds.

You come again, a soaking, dripping rush around him that makes him groan against your cheek. His arm tightens around you, a bruising grip as he fucks up into you. His breath comes in heavy pants, hot against your sweat damp skin. And all you can do is hold onto him, nails digging into his shoulder, little whimpers falling from your lips with every thrust.

“Give me one more, pretty girl,” he mutters, teeth grazing the shell of your ear.

And you’re already so close, everything inside you tight and hot. He grinds against you, his cock nudging somewhere deep and achy inside of you. Your eyes flutter shut and you come, the climax rolling through you, a wave of heat and sticky wet arousal.

Joel groans, the sound rumbling through his chest, and his cock throbs inside you, spilling into your aching cunt. His grip on you relaxes, but he doesn’t let go, doesn’t pull away. Your heart is frantic, beating so hard you think he must be able to feel it when your chest presses against his.

And some small part of you is afraid that you’ve just ruined things, that this line you’ve crossed is something you can’t come back from. You think that maybe the softness will have gone from his gaze, that maybe he won’t like you as much now.

But when you look up at him, flushed and sweaty, his eyes are warm. All honey-soaked amber and affection, soft in a way that makes your heart clench.

Joel strokes the hair back from your face, lips brushing against your temple.

“Like I said,” he whispers, “Trouble.”

——————

He tells you it can’t happen again, but it does.

He lets you tag along when he goes into town for beer, and doesn’t stop you when you reach for his belt at a red light. He lets you keep him in your mouth for a while, hand fisted in your hair, grunting low, filthy praise about your tight little throat, before he pulls off the main road. Then he tugs you over into his lap, kisses you all wet and filthy, lets you grind against him ‘til you’re whining and desperate. He keeps his hands on your hips as you try to take his cock like that, face screwed up at the stretch. He calls you a good girl as you ride him, face pressed against his neck, tears leaking onto his shirt.

He comes over to fix your shower head, the unsteady drip of it that drives you crazy. You sit in the hall and watch him through the open door, the bunch of his muscles beneath his t-shirt, that strip of skin above his jeans. And he’s not even finished before you’re wet and needy and demanding his attention. He fucks you up against the wall, hands bruising on your hips, mouth hot on your neck. He comes inside you and makes you wait as he finishes, a drippy little mess, bare from the waist down. He showers with you after, and it’s too small, a bad fit, but you don’t even mind when he gets soap in your eye. He’s real sweet when he kisses it better.

There’s a tornado warning and he brings you to a motel. He books a room with two beds, but you only end up using one, twisted up in the scratchy, bleach-stiff sheets. He pins your wrists above your head and fucks you slow, the steady grind of his hips against yours, until you’re whining and writhing beneath him. You stay past check-out the next morning and the cleaner has to kick you out. There’s not so much as a power line down in the park, but you grab his jaw and kiss him hard anyways, tell him that he probably saved your life. He grumbles and pushes you off, but keeps his thumb tucked in the loop of your jeans so you can’t go far.

And you know that folks are talking.

You’re keeping it pretty quiet, but people pick up on things. Your shoes left out on his porch, his laundry hanging on your line.

You can guess what they’re saying. He’s taking advantage. He’s twice her age, old enough to be her father. He’s gonna pick up and leave her ass in the dust.

But you don’t really care.

You’ll take whatever he’s willing to give you, as long as he’s willing to give it.

——————

He’s been gone almost a week.

And you won’t say you miss him, won’t let yourself be the kind of girl that waits at the window. You’ve never put a name to it, this thing between you, the tangle of your nights together. But you get a funny little tripping feeling in your stomach every time you look and see his truck is still gone.

You know you don’t really have any right to miss him.

But you sort of forgot how lonely it was before he moved in. How quiet it gets at nights when it’s just you and the echo of your own thoughts.

You fall asleep early.

And you don’t hear the truck when it pulls in.

It’s hazy enough that it feels like a dream. The cool breeze slipping through the half-open window, the hum of cicadas outside. The shift of the mattress beneath you, the rustle of sheets.

And then the slide of your underwear down your thighs. Tangling around your ankles before they’re tugged off, tossed into the corner of the room.

You stir slightly, the slow drip into consciousness. You feel soft and syrupy, all heavy limbs and molasses.

There’s another shift, the groan of the mattress, and then — oh.

Your eyes blink open. Staring at the stretch of sheets beneath your cheek, the shadowy bedroom beyond. The red glow of your alarm clock. The ball of your panties on the floor. And the low, steady breathing of someone else in the room.

You tense, fingers twisting in the sheets. But a heavy, calloused hand smooths over your spine, pressing you back into the mattress.

“It’s alright, baby,” Joel murmurs, “You’re alright.”

His hand drags down your skin, over the swell of your ass, to the wet heat of your center.

You feel it then. The sticky tack of your inner thighs, the sheets damp beneath you. And you wonder how long he’s been here. How long he’s been playing with you, coaxing orgasm after orgasm out of your sleeping body.

He pulls you apart, thumbs tucked into your swollen folds, exposing your burning core to the cool night air. You feel the drag of his mouth over your skin. Hot breath, the scratch of his beard. And then an impossible heat. Buried between your thighs. Licking at you, eating at you. It’s all teeth and tongue, hungry in a way that makes you gasp, makes your breath hitch and your hips roll.

You feel him groan against you, into you.

“Missed your cunt.”

His hands grip your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you apart, keeping you open. And it’s so much, it’s too much. Half-asleep, sweat sticking to the sheets, a fever burning beneath your skin.

The wet heat of his tongue slides through your folds, lapping at the sticky-slow drip of slick from your fluttering hole. He teases your clit with the scrape of his teeth, and the sting of it is mean, but he soothes it in broad, flat strokes. You’re so sensitive already, overwrought and rubbed raw, nerve endings burning. You whine and arch, stomach pressing into the mattress, hips canting higher, chasing the heat that’s building between your hips.

He takes your clit into his mouth, sucking hard at the swollen bud, and then you’re coming. A tidal surge of pleasure rolls through you, and you clutch the sheets, mouth falling open in a low moan. A fresh wave of slick spilling out into his waiting mouth as he licks you through it, slow steady strokes, a low rumble of approval in his chest.

You bleed back into consciousness, into the heat of your body, the sweaty, shivering mess of yourself.

You can feel the thick press of his cock against you, the weight that you know so well. He grinds against you, the head of his cock smearing precome against your skin, and you whimper.

“Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.”

You shiver at the low growl in his words. His cock glides through your folds, sliding the head right over your clenching hole. He pushes in, parting you, carving out space in the tight heat of your body. You cry out, tensing against the stretch that always feels like too much. Too thick, too hard, the weight of him too heavy where it presses low in your belly.

“There you go,” Joel mutters, his voice gravelly, “You can take it.”

And you melt a little at it, the warmth of his honey-thick drawl, the softness of his touch even as he splits you open.

He sinks his cock into you with slow, steady strokes, pressing deeper with every thrust. You gasp when he reaches the end of you, so full of him you can barely breathe. He grinds his hips against yours, and a jagged edge of pleasure-pain rips through you.

Joel leans forward and brushes your hair back from the sweaty nape of your neck. His hand strokes along your side, soothing, settling you.

“I’ve got you.”

He begins to move, steady thrusts that punch the air out of your lungs, filling and emptying you with every stroke. The full is too full, the empty is too empty, and you’re swept up in the tide of confused feelings. The burning, the wanting. The ache and stretch of him, all the things you never say out loud.

You whimper, cheek pressed against the mattress, tears dripping onto the sheets.

“You crying for me, baby?”

His hand slides down your arm and he tangles his fingers with yours. Gives you something to hold onto.

He fucks you harder, rutting against you, pressing you deep into the mattress. The heat inside of you burns and burns, crackling along your spine. And you know that Joel can feel it, the fluttering grip of your cunt around him, the way you go tense and tight.

“That’s it,” he grunts, “Come on my cock.”

And you do, coming apart on a sob, everything inside you liquid and white hot as you gush around him. His hips stutter against yours and a low groan pulls from his chest as he empties himself inside you.

You barely register him pulling out, his hands sliding over your hips, turning you onto your back. You blink up at him in the darkness, the shape of him looming over you. His face is soft in the dim light, expression tender as he looks at you.

“So sweet for me like this,” he murmurs, ducking down to nose at your jaw, your cheeks. He kisses the corner of your eye, skin still damp with your tears.

You’re soft and easy under his hands as he turns you to your side and tucks you against his chest.

“Go back to sleep, baby.”

——————

There’s a fair in the next town over, and Joel takes you.

The ground is muddy, grass mucked up under too many boots, and Joel keeps his hand on your waist as you make your way to the entrance. The air is thick with the smell of barbecue and sweet corn, funnel cakes and candy apples. The rides rising up over the treetops, a neon blur of lights as they twist and spin.

And it’s not a date, the way that nothing you ever do together is a date.

But when he wraps your hand in his and keeps it there, you think, maybe. When he buys you a bag of sticky sweet caramel corn and lets you feed him a piece, his tongue chasing the sugar on your fingertips, you think, oh. And when he wins you a stuffed bear in the bottle toss, a big fuzzy thing with a ribbon around its neck, you think, yes.

Maybe it’s a little bit like a date.

He doesn’t like rides, he tells you as much, but he lets you pull him over to the ferris wheel. Just this one, he says, and you grin. Because it’s enough.

You sit pressed together on the too-small bench, the plastic still sun-warm under your bare thighs. Joel’s arm is heavy around your shoulders, keeping you tucked into his side as the cart rises up through the air, the fairground getting smaller and smaller beneath you. It slows as you reach the top, swaying a little, caught on a breeze.

And you’ve never thought much of this place, the little corner of nowhere you ended up in. But looking out at it now, the sprawl of fields and quiet winding roads, you think it’s really not so bad.

You look up at Joel, your heart a giddy, tripping thing in your chest.

“You have to kiss me now.”

Joel’s smile twitches in his cheek, looking down at you with something so warm it makes your stomach swoop.

“Is that right?”

But then he does, leaning over and pressing his lips against yours, kissing you the whole way down.

There’s a chill in the air as the sun dips low on the horizon. Joel pulls his flannel off his shoulders and wraps it around you before you can even ask. And it’s nice, the heat of his body still lingering on the fabric, the smell of his cologne on the collar. He keeps his hand on your waist as the crowd gets a little rowdier.

He takes you back to the truck before the fireworks start. It’s quieter here, at the edge of the fairground, away from the crowds and the noise. He spreads a blanket out in the truck bed and you settle on it, leaning against his chest, his arms wrapped around your waist. You can hear the distant sound of the band playing, the music drifting through the trees.

And then colors explode across the sky, the resounding boom reverberating in your chest. Sparks scatter, a shower of reds and blues that burn out before they reach the treeline. You lean your head against his shoulder, gazing up, eyes wide and bright, reflecting the glow.

Joel presses his lips against your neck, murmuring sweet girl in a voice so low you’re not sure he even meant for you to hear.

But you do, and it fizzes inside you, as bright and burning as the sky above.

——————

He’s been at it for hours.

Bringing you to the edge, making you come again and again until the world blurs. You’re warm and sticky and spread open, the sheets clinging to your skin, dripping slick onto the pillow tucked under your hips. It’s all hazy heat and soft, smeared edges, sunk deep in the feeling of him.

You feel the heat of his cock against your sore cunt and you shiver, clutching at the sheets.

He leans down and catches your lips, licking into your open mouth. His hand rubs over your hip, your tense belly and trembling thighs. Soothing and slow, settling you.

“Just a little more, sweet girl.”

He presses back into you, his own come leaking out around him. And you’re already so sensitive, so drippy and sore. Your fingers twist in the sheets, face screwing up against the sting. A little whine slips from your lips — hurts, Joel.

“I know it does,” he murmurs, nuzzling against your jaw, “But my baby likes when it hurts a little bit, huh?”

You squirm against him, but he holds you in place, working his cock in deeper, pressing and pressing against that too-full pain until his hips are flush against yours. It’s achey and warm, the stretch of him, the fullness. It all drips together, the pain and pleasure, the thrum of your pulse in your ears. It’s good and bad at the same time, a burning heat, an overwhelming ache.

“Joel,” you whine, but he hushes you gently, his fingers already finding your clit.

“I got you, baby.”

He rubs you slowly, the careful press of his fingers against your swollen clit, and you come again for him. It isn’t much, a trembling little spill of a thing, your muscles spasming weakly around him.

Joel presses a kiss to your tear-streaked cheek, his gaze warm and affectionate even as he grinds his cock deeper inside of you.

“Such a good girl, taking what I give you.”

You’re so wet, dripping with slick and spit and him. And you feel so full of him you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but cry and take it.

He tucks your knees up against your ribs, folding you in half and fucking into the sticky, sore stretch of your cunt. And you can’t get away from the endless heat in your core, the dripping build of another orgasm somewhere deep between your hips. Pooling thickly, burning hotter and hotter on every slow stroke of his cock stretching you.

“One more, baby,” he grunts, “Can you give me one more?”

You can’t, and you tell him so, whimpering as he drives his hips harder into yours — no, Joel, can’t, too much. But even as you say it, you can feel it flickering inside you, your insides tensing and tightening until your vision blurs and you come around him.

Joel groans and drops his forehead against yours, catching your mouth in a searing kiss. His cock pulses inside of you, spilling more semen into your overstuffed cunt.

He kisses over your cheeks as you come down, soft and affectionate, pressing praise into your damp, feverish skin. That’s my girl. Came so pretty for me, baby. And eventually you come back to yourself, shivering and spent, wrapped up in the warmth of his arm.

“Good?” you ask, eyelashes sticky with tears as you blink up at him.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, brushing back your hair, “You did real good.”

——————

There’s a storm hovering on the horizon.

The air is too still, caught on a hum, a distant crackle of electricity. You get restless on nights like this. Skin too tight, sheets too soft. It’s worse now that you know what it’s like not to sleep alone.

There’s a key hidden in the light above his door, tucked in a cobwebbed crevice just above the bulb. Joel says it’s for emergencies only, but you think he only pretends to be mad when you use it.

He’s asleep when you come in, but he stirs when you crawl under the blankets.

“Hey, baby,” he mumbles, still half-asleep, voice muffled against the pillow.

You curl up against him, pressing your cold nose against his back. He grumbles and rolls over, pulling you against the warmth of his chest. His hand settles over your hip, thumb slipping beneath your shirt, stroking at your skin.

You nuzzle into him, face tucked against his collarbone, settling into the heat of his body. It radiates off of him, warming the sheets, lulling you into sleep.

Joel presses his face into the damp of your hair.

“S’it raining?”

“Just started,” you whisper.

He grunts and pulls you closer.

“Guess you’re staying then.”

The next morning you eat cereal at the small kitchen table before Joel leaves for work. He always buys the kind you like, even if he says it has too much sugar in it. He puts on a fresh pot of coffee before he leaves and says you can stay as long as you like.

You’re at his place more often than not these days. You know he doesn’t like you living on your own. But he can’t say it, cause the thing that comes after is a question he can’t ask.

You sort of hope he will one day.

But you don’t mind the way things are now. The way he pretends not to like you so much when you know he really does.

How he says you oughta find someone your own age, but scares off any boy that looks twice at you. How he grumbles about you staying the night, but makes you breakfast in the morning. How he says you’re too young for him, but fucks you ‘til you cry.

You spend most evenings with him out on the porch, curled up in the old armchair, watching as he tunes his guitar. He plays for you sometimes, the low rasp of his voice just loud enough for you to hear. You sit there until the fireflies rise up out of the bushes and the park lights buzz to life. When he smiles at you his eyes crease up at the corners.

And you know that no one stays here long, that this is a place of passing.

But for the first time, you think it feels like home.

5K notes · View notes

reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 3 months

Text

a study of the pose

1K notes · View notes

reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 3 months

Text

half asleep, half awake

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: Every time Joel Miller realizes he loves you. Every time he wants to tell you, and the time he does.

Warnings: Brief smut (unprotected p in v, possessiveness, creampie), brief reference to canon-typical violence, longing, Joel can’t communicate his feelings until he can, lots and lots of love. Multiple specific references to the main series. Joel's POV.

A/N: I’ve gotten asked a few times when Joel realizes he loves Reader in this series, and the inspiration hit me the other day to write out my answer to it. Because it could be one scene, but so many before, and so many after when he wants to say it. I miss these two and I love these two and I hope that this little companion piece to the fic makes somebody as happy as I was to write them again!

Wordcount: 1.8k

gorgeous dividers by @saradika

Important: Please read this post and how to help Palestine.

The first time Joel feels it—really feels it, settled into his bones with an undeniable weight, tugging at his heart with an unimaginable lightness—is the night of his 57th birthday.

Months of staying out of his bedroom, of keeping you off his bed, dissolve into a forgotten time the moment you tug the glass of whiskey from his hand.

Move over, you’d said, making room for yourself amongst the place where he laid his head every night. You finish off the drink, take the rest of the poison he’d been diluting his veins with to drown out the pain of all he’d lost, and settle next to him.

He thinks he wants to see you there every night.

You ask him things like his favorite fucking color, things that don’t matter. Not to him, not to you—but you ask anyway. You meet his eyes readily, open and honest and searching his soul for the same old breaks in your own, and he feels it.

You hold his hand, and it fits there. You would fit into his side too, he muses, if he pulled you in.

He wants to pull you in. He wants you in ways nobody’s ever had you—he knows they haven’t, can feel the trepidation in your soul when he looks at you for too long, or lets his touches linger.

You’ll fuck him like there’s no tomorrow, because maybe there isn’t, but you won’t let him hold you tender. Not that he’s tried, but he knows you. Not everything about you, but enough.

And that night, there’s more. More to you, wounds open and pain spilling out, and it looks like his own. It is his own.

I should probably go, you say when it’s become too much, and he feels the urge to ask you to stay.

Joel asks if you want a drink instead, because he’s an idiot, and you say he’s had too much, because you’re right.

He watches from his window as you walk home under the streetlights for once instead of sticking to the darkness, and though he won’t call it what it is, he knows it’s love.

Joel’s loved you longer than that, though. Somehow he knows it, but he can’t place when.

In front of his fireplace, maybe. You’re shivering from god knows how long you had spent in the rain, in the graveyard, in your own mourning. Broken, and he wants to find each piece of you that you’ve lost and put you back together.

Or at least hold you tight enough that you feel okay again. He just knows that he misses your damn smirk, your fucking laugh, and maybe that was love too.

Or maybe it’s when he wants you to be his, his, his only. When he wants to erase the image of that man’s hand on your back with his own on your skin, fingertips digging into your hips and pulling them back to slap against his.

Maybe it’s the skirt of a temptress bunched up around your waist, each desperate thrust of his cock into your needy cunt, dripping and squeezing as you say, moan, scream his name, his, his.

Maybe it’s when you’re half-naked after, admitting you don’t know what the fuck this is, don’t understand what it’s become, and he doesn’t know either. But it’s something delicate. Maybe it’s love then.

Maybe it’s love on the bathroom floor when he realizes you’re the first friend he’s made in years.

Maybe it’s love when he wants to kill every single bastard raider who took you from him, wants to tear them apart with his bare hands and make them bleed and bleed for how much blood they’d taken from you. Precious blood, blood that kept you alive, kept you snarky and angry and wrapped around him each time he took as much pleasure from you as he gave back.

Or it’s Halloween, the bright lights, loud music, and clothes of a bygone era. None of it real until Maria shoves the truth of the matter into his face. She tells him he’s an idiot and just what it all means, what you mean to everyone, and to him, and he finally accepts it.

That’s the first night he has you in his bed. The first night he sees all of you, feels all of you, skin against skin, and you come again, and again, and again. It’s not enough, he needs to keep feeling it, needs you to fall apart in his hands so he can put you back together. A single thread he weaves through you and tugs with each ripple of pleasure, pulling you apart again with each clench of your cunt around his cock, until you pull it from him too.

You fall asleep in a matter of minutes after. Lips parted, and he wished he could watch them swell after a kiss, but you were still holding back.

So he settles for his palm on your cheek, stroking the scar that he still doesn’t know how you got, and feels so much longing, so much love when you sink into his sheets, wrapped up in his favorite color that you knew because you cared to ask. Settled by just the touch of him.

Joel thinks you tried to say something that night, but he’ll never know what. He does know what he wants to say, but he holds back. He’d wait for you, even if you never wanted this too. He’d be whatever you did want him to be.

Time passes in a blur after that, as you tangle yourselves together in ways he never would’ve once thought possible. He doesn’t move, and you lean into him. He doesn’t move, just lets you come to him, too scared you’ll run away again if he holds you too tight, or at all.

Then that night. A meal shared with the family you’d found. He tries to go home alone after, and you chase after him, hold him tight, and he knows. He knows what he feels, and he knows you feel it too.

He doesn’t have to say it, but he wants to. Night after night he wants to, the more that you settle and the more that you’re his. The more that he is yours.

You kiss him, finally—or he kisses you, he can’t remember which. And it says it all.

Still, the words are trapped in his throat as his home truly becomes yours.

His body had already been your home for a year.

His heart, for longer than he would ever know.

But his house. Four walls that didn’t mean anything, not really, not until you lived within them and your sister’s art was on the mantle, your photograph of your parents was in your room that was his room, all your mugs in the kitchen and his coffee was your coffee—he needs to tell you.

He tries to every morning, in his kitchen with your cups of coffee—or tea, with complaints falling from both his mouth and yours if you were out of your preferred beverage. He doesn’t, but he knows you can taste it in the drink he brews for you, perfected to your liking.

He tries to before every patrol, in case somebody takes you from him again. He doesn’t, but he knows you can see it when his eyes seek yours, when he gives you a nod and a lingering gaze before you’re out of the gates and on your way. He knows you can feel it when you both get home, his arms wrapped around you tight and the tension seeping from his body when you’re pressed to him.

He tries to every night, but it’s lost on his tongue every time it slides into your mouth. He knows you know with every kiss, every thrust of his hips from where he’d found a home nestled between your thighs, spilling himself into you as you welcomed him in and made the most beautiful music every time.

You’re comfortable in bed months after the holidays, after that first kiss. Winter is warming into spring, the air feels like starting again, and he tries to tell you.

You’d been reading when he crawled into bed behind you after a shower. His face buried into your neck, each drop of water onto your skin so cold it makes you shiver. But your nails dig into his forearm when it wraps around your waist, the book tumbling from your fingers as you grasp at the nightstand with each drag of his pulsing cock inside your tight heat.

The lamp on the nightstand rattles with each thrust, sending waves of warm light flashing across the room. He’s mesmerized each time it washes across your face, pinched in the familiar climb for pleasure you trusted him to guide you through. He mouths at the scar on your cheek, caressing with lips and tongue as you gasp his name.

You’re so beautiful. His moon, his heart, his home, his everything.

Joel wants to tell you when you come, your eyes fluttering open and seeking his. Seeking that connection between you, as hungry as you are reverent, and he doesn’t deserve it, that undying loyalty. But you think the same for yourself, so what did either of you know, besides what this was.

Love, and he wants to say it. Wants to say he loves you when each flutter of your pussy around him sends him spiraling into an orgasm, a blissful moment of release he now only ever associated with you.

Half asleep after, you’re content, the warm light of the steadied lamp caressing your skin as he cleans it. You know what he wants to say, he thinks. Your eyes are heavy and lazily watching as he kisses the inside of your thigh, peppers his love up your body to your lips.

Half awake, Joel watches you reach for him, pulling him down into a soft caress of your lips against his, with more tenderness either of you ever thought you were capable of.

He won’t say it. You know he won’t.

But you know he will. Someday.

And that one morning amongst many that belong to just you and him, when you ask about other lives, when he realizes you’d want him in more than just this one—in every one—he says it.

You say it back, and everything is right.

When you ask him when he first felt it, he tells you the truth; that he hadn’t felt it just yet on that snowy street a year ago, but a part of him always knew he would love you.

And now, Joel knew he always would.

1K notes · View notes

reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 4 months

Text

Mike, don't listen to the haters. i love you, and you love me. we dont owe anyone anything. our family is who matters. i love u 🩷 besides they jealous because you are rocking my world every night..yeah i said it, the D is fire 🔥 happy wife happy life ❤️

900 notes · View notes

reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 4 months

Text

When I said that Nikolaj is literally Joel Miller, I meant it with every fiber of my body.

276 notes · View notes

reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 4 months

Text

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponential, logarithmic, while I gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl, doggy, backwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch, on a chair, being carried against the wall, outside, in a train, on a plane, in the car, on a motorcycle, the the bed of a truck, on a trampoline, in a bounce house, in the pool, bent over, in the basement, against the window, have the most toe curling, back arching, leg shaking, dick throbbing, fist clenching, ear ringing, mouth drooling, ass clenching, nose sniffling, eye watering, eye rolling, hip thrusting, earthquaking, sheet gripping, knuckles cracking, jaw dropping, hair pulling, teeth jitterbug, mind boggling, soul snatching, overstimulating, vile, sloppy, moan inducing, heart wrenching, spine tingling, back breaking, atrocious, gushy, creamy, beastly, lip biting, gravity defying, nail biting, sweaty, feet kicking, mind blowing, bone breaking, world ending, black hole creating, universe destroying, head nodding, soul evaporating, volcano erupting, trembling, sheets soaked, hair drenched, flabbergasting, lip locking, skin peeling, eyelash removing, eye widening, pussy popping, nail scratching, back cuts, spectacular, brain cell desolving, hair ripping, mouth foaming, heavenly, awakening, devils tango ever bro could cause a nuclear bomb inside me and I'd still ride

3K notes · View notes

reese-tasteslikepepsicola · 4 months

Text

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Naked part 2

! READ PART 1. Link down at the very end of this post <3 !

Summary: After Peter sees you naked, he cant stop thinking about it, it’s the only thing he can think about.

Warnings: Peter is a charming loser Mentions of reader being curvy (Srry I’m giving my curvy girls love), kinda smutty but not? Kissing, groping, alcohol consumption. Based on New Girl <3

•

Peter lays on his bed, his head wondering to the night before.

Your naked body remains imprinted in his head like a picture, he can remember every detail about.

Your curves, your breasts that he would’ve respectfully grabbed if you let him—if Lauren wasn’t there watching in horror, and your cute ass.

If you told him to get on his knees, kiss your ankles and go down on you, he would do it in an instant—if Lauren wasn’t there.

Peter came to the conclusion at that very moment that he wanted—needed you in his arms at all times.

He didn’t want to just have sex, he wanted to be your boyfriend and treat you like how you should be treated.

Anytime you crossed his mind, his face would heat up and he’d start smiling and kicking his feet like a schoolgirl—it was pissing him off.

You guys always made it clear that you enjoyed being friends and taunting each other for fun.

You both argue too much and are constantly at each other’s throats, something romantic could never happen…right?

You hadn’t spoken to him since you…flashed him with Lauren being there. You were too embarrassed to leave your room after that, refusing to leave your room until Lauren had left and broke contact with Peter.

Deciding to swallow down your worry and embarrassment, you hesitantly knocked on Peter’s door,

“Come in!” Opening the door, you slapped your hand on your closed eyes,

“You don’t have to cover your eyes, y/n. I told you to come in” Peter stated, pretending to be annoyed at your presence even though he was actually waiting for you to come talk to him since the incident,

“Sorry! Just thought we’ve both seen enough nudity these past couple of days” Peter let out a chuckle and nodded, sitting at the edge of his bed with his arms crossed and his legs man spreading, looking up at you,

“I came in here to um—talk?” He raised an eyebrow and smirked,

“Talk?” You nodded and whistled, looking around his room awkwardly,

“Yep!” He sat there, waiting for you to say something, his head cockily tilting to the side,

“Your probably wondering why I was laying naked on the floor in your bedroom last night” You said.

He nodded and pursed his lips, hiding a smile,

“You cock blocked me and scared away a poor, innocent girl” He said, laughing. Rolling your eyes, you slapped his chest,

“I know! I feel so bad. She’ll forever know me as the scary naked girl who was hiding in her sneaky link’s bedroom” He shook his head and laughed again,

“I was trying to make it even between us, y’know? I saw your naked body, and I’ll show you my naked body!” You explained. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed,

“Yeah, I get why you did that. Why’d you have to do it when Lauren was coming over, though?” He teased, smirking up at you. You scoffed and shoved him by the forehead,

“I didn’t know she was coming over! You could’ve given the group chat a heads up!” He nodded and stared at the ground,

“So, did you like…see my, y’know…kitty cooter?” You asked awkwardly, poking at his shoulder with a grin.

He cringed and groaned at the word you used,

“I did! I saw everything. Also—kitty cooter? Just call it a vagina at that point” It was your turn to cringe and groan,

“Ew! The word ‘vagina’ sounds absolutely terrible coming out of your mouth, Parker. Never use that word around me again” He scoffed and threw his hands up in defence,

“Geez! Sorry for calling it the scientifically correct name. Never use ‘kitty cooter’ around me again, alright?”

“Since when did you have friends that weren’t me?” Peter asked Ned, as he glanced around the loft that was filled with at least thirteen people,

“I can have friends that aren’t just you. Surprise!” Ned said, scoffing,

“You could’ve asked y/n, Mj and I that you were going to throw a fucking party, dude” He shrugged and grabbed a beer from the fridge, handing it to Peter,

“Didn’t know I had to ask for permission, Daddy” Peter scrunched up his face and took a swig of the beer,

“Whatever” He leaned against the fridge and continued sipping it, starting to wonder where you and Mj were,

“What the hell?!” There you were.

You and Mj had shopping bags in your hands, struggling to hold them all as you scanned the loft full of people in annoyance,

“Who let humans in our loft!” Mj yelled over the music, catching your shoulder with her free hand when you began to lose balance in your steps,

“Let me help” Peter jogged over to you both and grabbed some of the bags,

“Did you invite these people, here? I thought we were your only friends, Parker” You said. He rolled his eyes and slung your purse over his shoulder with sass,

“I didn’t know about this party, either. Ned invited them without telling us” Mj groaned and dropped the bags on the floor,

“I hate it here. I’m going to my room and not coming out until these people leave” She walked away down the hall to her bedroom. You began following along behind her,

“I’m doing the same” Peter trailed behind you like a lost puppy, now holding every single bag you brought home. Getting into your room, you shut the door and pointed to your bed,

“Put the bags there, Bug-boy” He tossed the bags,

“Gently!” You shoved him out the way and double checked that nothing in them broke,

“You’re welcome, Princess” Peter scoffed, sitting down in your fluffy pink chair, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head.

You turned around to face him and almost gasped as his happy trail was showing from where his shirt lifted up. Your attention then focused to how his big muscles flexed through his white shirt.

Jesus Christ.

“So…big” You mumbled as you stared at him. He raised an eyebrow,

“What was that?” Your eyes widened,

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything! Shut up the fuck up” He snorted and ran a hand through his hair,

“Where’d you and Mj go today?” He asked, now manspreading.

Can he stop sitting like a bitch, for fuck sake?

“Uh—we went to Sephora, Walmart, the food court and Victoria Secret. When we were at Victoria Secret this old lady called me a whore for looking at this lingerie set that looked like two tiny triangles and a string of floss” You rolled your eyes at the memory.

He laughed and stood up, walking over to you,

“Aw, that sucks. Old people, am I right?” He wrapped his arms around you, giving you a hug. You froze before nuzzling into his arms, sighing contently with your eyes closed, sniffing his armpit,

“Did you just sniff my armpit?” He asked. You could hear a smile in his voice,

“Pffttt—no, I’m not weird” He smirked and hugged tighter, his bicep now completely covering your face.

Is he doing this on purpose?

“You are pretty weird” You hummed to what he said, not recalling paying attention to anything but him.

“Never let go” The words left your mouth before you could really stop them,

“What?”

“Chug, chug, chug, chug!” Everyone chanted as you and Peter were seeing who could chug down a beer faster. You managed to finish first which had everybody cheering and a couple of people ruffling your hair,

“Lick me, Parker!” You yelled, shoving his shoulder. Peter groaned and tossed the can away,

“I wish” He whispered to himself, but smiling as he watched you awkwardly dance in victory to the Pitbull song playing,

“Let’s play a game!” Ned yelled, drunkenly slinging an arm around your shoulder.

“We close our eyes and hold up a number on our fingers, and then on the count of three we open our eyes. Whoever is holding up the same number has to kiss!”

You and Ned sat next to each other while Peter sat across from you, next to a girl named Emily while she sat across from Ned.

Everyone was slowly starting to form little groups, playing different games together since it was still early in the night. You and Peter somehow got roped into playing this stupid game together,

“What are we, twelve?! This game is so stupid” You complained. Peter nodded along to what you were saying,

“Exactly! Also, Ned, I’m not kissing you if we hold up the same number” Ned scoffed,

“Why are you acting like we’ve never made out, before, Peter?” You looked at the both of them confused,

“Wait—

“We never kissed! Anyways, I’m only gonna play if y/n plays” He said, shrugging and staring you down nonchalantly. You squinted your eyes at him and looked over at Emily and asked,

“You playing?” She shrugged and then nodded,

“Okay, cool. I’m playing, then” Peter smiled and leaned forward so that his face was only inches from your’s,

“Damn. I guess I’m playing as well” Your breath hitched at his low tone,

“Yep! I’m playing, too” You repeated, mentally slapping yourself at your weird behaviour,

“Right. I’m gonna play, yep” He said back, now both of you becoming awkward once you guys realized how close your faces were,

“Ahem!” Emily cleared her throat in annoyance, breaking you guys out of your odd, repetitive conversation,

“Everybody shut your eyes, please!” You all did so before Ned began to count,

“Alright, open your eyes” Emily and Ned both had two fingers held up,

“Sweet!” He whispered under his breath before leaning in to kiss Emily.

Peter couldn’t hide his discouraged self when he opened his eyes to see that you both were holding up different.

After two more rounds of just Ned and Emily holding up the same number every time, Peter was getting fed up,

“I’m getting tired of watching you guys kiss, y’know” He said, still staring at you. In fact, he hadn’t stopped staring at you this whole game, this whole night,

“Honestly, me too. At this point, I’ll kiss anyone!” You stated, staring at everybody who was in the room, except for Peter himself. He couldn’t help but frown at that, now feeling like his feelings were one-sided,

“Fine! One more round, okay?” Ned said, closing his eyes and starting to count down to three,

“Open your eyes!” Coincidentally, you and Peter were both holding up four fingers. His heart sped up as he began to blush, but his face fell when he heard your groan and throw your head back,

“No way! I’m not kissing him!” He began to become defensive now, his way of hiding his hurt feelings,

“Well, I don’t want to kiss you either, y/l/n! And by the way, you said you’d kiss anyone!” You rolled your eyes and stood up,

“Whatever! Goodnight” Peter stood up as well in a hurry,

“Goodnight, as well!” He began to trail behind you as you made your way to the hallways to your bedroom,

“Why are you following me?!” You yelled, turning around and flailing your arms,

“I don’t know!?” He yelled back as you guys made your way to your room, the door being slammed shut by Peter,

“Why are you in my room!?”

“I don’t know!?”

You both stood there, simply staring at each other with squinted eyes,

“I didn’t even want to join the party. I just wanted to watch a movie and go to bed ” you mumbled, sighing heavily and sitting on the floor at the foot of your bed, leaning your back against it.

Peter did the same, sitting next to you, his head falling back against the frame,

“Damn. I wanted to invite Lauren over” You whipped your head around to look at him with a scowl, to end up seeing that he was grinning and looking at you already.

He was teasing you.

You rolled your eyes and bumped his shoulder,

“Not funny, Peter” He doesn’t know why, but the way his name rolled off your tongue had his spidey-senses tingling, his ‘Peter-tingle’ is what May would call it.

An awkward silence fell between you both. There had been many awkward silences since the ‘incident’ a couple of days ago. You guys saw each other naked for god’s sake! That would make any roommates and friends feel awkward for a bit, but it was coming up on a week that you and Peter had that unresolved tension.

Almost like you were reading his mind, you started to speak,

“There’s this weird feeling between us” He glanced over at you and pursed his lips,

“I kinda miss the old us, y’know? The us before we saw each other naked and vulnerable” You let out a small giggle at the end of your sentence. He smiled and scratched his eyebrow while nodding,

“No—yeah, I get what you’re saying” You leaned your head on his shoulder, catching him by surprise,

“I just thought that if I showed you my naked-self back it’d make things less awkward and have everything go back to being—normal?” He let go of a long breath he didn’t know he was holding in, and leaned his cheek on top of your head,

“It did kind of take away my embarrassment…but—

He cut himself and bit his lip,

“But, what?” He puffed out his cheeks and and rubbed his chin.

Just say how you feel, Peter.

“It took away my embarrassment but—it also made me feel things?” You grew confused and raised your head from his shoulder to look at him,

“Feel things?” He looked down in shyness,

“Like—I couldn’t get you off my mind after I saw you in my room…naked” Your face became hot to the touch at his words,

“Not just your naked body, by the way! You’re so much more than your body! What I mean is that—

“Everybody is leaving!” Ned swung the door open, cutting Peter off,

“Oh! Finally” you quickly stood up and sprinted out the room, leaving Peter there to sulk on your bedroom floor,

“You gonna come and say goodbye?” Ned questioned, giving the Spider-boy a weird look,

“Just leave me alone to die”

“Um—okay. What an odd thing to say”

After saying goodbye and doing your nighttime routine in the bathroom, you made your way to your bedroom to find that Peter was no longer in there,

“What a weird night” You whispered to yourself, flopping down on your bed.

You started to think about what Peter had said before, about not being able to stop thinking about your naked body.

The way he said it, in such a nervous but charming way, had you clenching your legs together while replaying it in your head. Did you really have that much of an effect on his mind? Did he like you?

I mean, he did say it wasn’t just your body that he was thinking about. What would he have said if Ned didn’t open the door?

Meanwhile, Peter was in his room at his desk with his head in his hands, his head running wild with thoughts as well,

“You’re so stupid, Peter. You should’ve never said anything to her in the first place” His foot tapped on the ground anxiously, trying to decide if he should never talk to you again (which he knew was not possible and too dramatic), or if he should walk across the hall to your room and tell you everything he has been feeling.

Needing a distraction, you felt around for your phone on your bed, to your end table, and then groaned in annoyance when you remembered you forgot it in the bathroom,

“My god!” You lazily got out of bed and went to the bathroom, grabbed your phone, and started the seemingly endless walk back to your room,

“Holy shit!” You screamed in fear, placing a hand on your chest.

There stood Peter in the hallway,

“Sorry! It’s just me! It’s Peter!” You rolled your eyes and rubbed your forehead,

“Yeah, I know it’s you. Just—why are you standing like slenderman in the middle of the hallway?” He glared at you and ran a hand through his hair,

“I wanted to talk to you but, you look tired and annoyed so, I’ll just let you go to sleep, or whatever” You straightened your back and blinked, your heartbeat beginning to beat rapidly at his words,

“Yeah?”

“Yeah”

Peter could sense your heartbeat deep in his ears and a smell that he couldn’t really put a name on, but he liked it, and he knew it meant you were excited. It’s times like these where he’s happy that he is spider-Man. The hairs on his neck stood up as he stepped a little closer to you,

“Your heart is beating really fast” He started to feel cocky as he watched you look down to avoid looking into his face, and how the smell of your arousal was becoming more intense. He placed his hand on your chest,

“Peter” He raised an eyebrow and smirked,

“Yeah?” You cleared your throat and awkwardly looked to the side,

“Your hand is on my boob. That is not my heart” His eyes widened as his cocky demeanour disappeared. He went to snatch his hand away, but to both of your guy’s embarrassment, his hand remained stuck to you,

“Um—

He tried taking it off again,

“I’m starting to think this is not your spider-ness, or whatever. I think you just wanted an excuse to keep your hand on my boob forever” His eyes bulged out of his head and continued to try and take his hand off,

“I did not do it on purpose! I’m sticky! It’s apart of me!” You slapped a hand on your forehead, and grabbed his wrist to make him stop pulling,

“Stop! Rip my shirt off” His face flushed at your words,

“I’m—what?”

“You heard me. You’ve already seen me naked, so just rip it off and we can—talk?” He nervously chuckled at your words,

“Are you sure? Cause—

“Peter”

“Okay, sorry! I’ll just—

A loud tearing sound could be heard,

“Wow”

He stared at your chest, suddenly getting déjà vu, but this time you were wearing a pretty white bra that had a small bow in the front instead of being completely naked.

You crossed your arms over your chest,

“Are we gonna talk, or?” You trailed off, whispering and looking up into his eyes. He sucked in a deep breath and looked into your eyes as well,

“I, uh—we still haven’t kissed. We held up the same number, remember?” He said, walking so close to you that your back was almost against the wall.

Your ripped shirt that was still hanging from his hand finally detached, plopping onto the floor at your feet,

“Peter?” You whispered, biting your lip,

“Fuck” Peter grabbed your bare waist and pressed his lips onto your’s, a surprised gasp coming from you. You placed your arms on his shoulders and practically melted into him.

He felt relief when you didn’t pull away, instead tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging, grinding into him desperately. Remembering that you were still a human who has to breathe, you pulled away and took a deep, shaky breath, Peter as well. You glanced into each other’s eyes, chest moving rapidly,

“I like you” He whispered, gulping. You grinned and pull him back in by his face to your lips. His hands were now experimenting, rubbing your lower back, the straps of your bra, and then your breasts. He let out a high pitch pathetic moan when he squeezed them,

“I cant believe I’m squeezing your boobs right now” you snorted against his lips at his loser-like way of saying it.

You let out a gasp when he unexpectedly picked you up bridal style like you weighed nothing, his super-human strength causing your mind to lead to very sinful thoughts,

“I think it’s so hot your spider-man—and so, strong” You blurted out, staring up at his brown eyes as he kicked your bedroom door open. He smirked at that and gently laid you down on your bed. He stood at the foot of the bed and shrugged, flexing his biceps (on purpose),

“Thanks. I can lift cars and buildings, too. S’like, no big deal or whatever” He looked down at his feet and scratched the back of his neck,

“Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you gonna like—come here and have sex with me— or?”

“Right! Shit, yeah! Um—

He took his shirt off, hurriedly pulled down his pants and let out an embarrassing girl-ish scream when he tripped over his pants and fell on the ground with a loud thud,

“Oh my god! Peter, are okay?!” His head popped up,

“Yep! Totally good! Don’t even worry about!”

He dove on the bed and made himself comfortable between your legs, making you giggle at his enthusiasm. You guys went back to making out, his kisses beginning to trail to your neck, shoulder, breasts, and stomach. He slowly slid your pyjama shorts down your legs and tossed them behind him. He placed a hand on your boob and the other in your underwear,

“Oh! Peter!” He raised an eyebrow and smirked,

“Wow, barely touched you and your already screaming my name” You screamed his name again and pointed to the window,

“No, Peter! You threw my new expensive shorts out the window!”

END

Author: I cut my bangs too short so now I’m going to class everyday with these short fuck-ass bangs

Here’s part 1 down below

590 notes · View notes