#not Costco safe
Note
Title Prompt: I'll drop a few below and you can choose which one inspired the most. I'll let you decide if it's SFW or NSFW and write whatever you'd like.
- Little Lies & Brown Eyes
- Under a Bright Coruscant Sky
- What Happens on Nar Shadda...
No Rules, No Requirements, and No Rush!
Little Lies & Brown Eyes
Pairing: Tech x Fem!Reader
Summary: A game of “Two Truths, and a Lie” turns spicy!
Warnings: MINORS DNI. Recreational drinking, fingering, unprotected PiV, oral (f receiving), cxm eating, Dom!Tech, praise kink
Word Count: 1972
A/N: The semester is over! Which means I’m kicking off the break with smut. This is porn with a smattering of feelings. It’s filthy. I’m unsure what possessed me when I wrote this because I read it back and made myself blush. Thank you for the prompt @523rdrebel and thank you for being so patient while I took literal months to answer lol
Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair had made their own plans for this bout of shore leave which left you and Tech alone to enjoy each other’s company, something that you were quite delighted about if you did say so yourself. You found the tall bespectacled clone of Clone Force 99 to be unbelievably handsome and his mannerisms positively endearing. You loved when he asked you to help him tinker on the Marauder or chose you to share all of his new findings. Most of all you loved being the focus of his attention when it was just the two of you.
The evening started like the handful of others had in the past, the two of you tinkering under the console of the Marauder. You handed him tools as he talked about anything and everything on his mind.
Now, Tech wasn’t one for lying. He never saw any point in it. According to him it was a ‘superfluous detour toward the inevitable truth that was bound to emerge anyway. The truth is simply faster.’ You always appreciated that about him. His bluntness was refreshing (albeit sometimes harsh) and you valued that you could always count on it. Which was why two truths and a lie seemed like the perfect game.
You sat across from him, rosy cheeked, giggling. Breathtaking as always, he’d thought to himself. You weren’t drunk yet, but you were certainly teetering on the edge. The truths and lies started off benignly, mostly about favorite foods or hobbies.
“Alright, it’s your turn. Two truths and a lie, please. I am quite good at this game so make this one a challenge!” Tech puffed his chest out proudly before adjusting his goggles. You couldn’t fight your silly smile before you continued.
“Okay! So… I find you attractive. I am allergic to blumfruit. And… my childhood tooka was named Cuddles!” You leaned back.
Tech rested an elbow on his knee, “Well that is easy. Clearly the lie is that you find me attractive.”
You leaned in, nearly nose to nose with him, a playful smile crossed your lips as you answered, “Nope,” with an emphasized pop of the ‘p’. “I am not allergic to blumfruit.”
“Fascinating…”
You leaned back in the copilot seat, “Your turn, Tech!”
His leg bounced as he rested his chin in his hand.
His fingers tapped on his knee as he began to answer, “Very well. Wrecker’s snoring is the reason I sleep in the cockpit most of the time.” He paused, his eyes darkening behind his goggles. “I prefer wine to spotchka.” With his final statement he leaned in, narrowing his eyes, “And I should very much like to kiss you.”
You suddenly felt as sober as a judge.
“Wh-what?”
“Shall I repeat my statements? Perhaps I should enunciate more,” he rasped a tinge of lust colored his voice.
Your stomach turned. He couldn’t possibly…could he?
“N-no, ahh, wanting to kiss me. That’s the lie.”
He leaned into the backrest of the pilot seat, his back the straightest you’d ever seen it.
“Incorrect. I have no preference for alcoholic beverages. I will drink just about anything.”
You gulped, your eyes traveled to his lips. You clenched your thighs to quell the ever present arousal you felt in his presence. You watched wide eyed as he rose from his seat and filled the space between you. He caged you into the copilot seat, his brown eyes roving over you. He softly took your chin between his gloved thumb and index finger lifting your head to meet his gaze. Your breath hitched as he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and reserved, the opposite of his burning eyes.
He pulled back only slightly and tutted, “All those little lies, mesh’la. Did you really need those to tell me how you felt?”
An airy laugh huffed from your chest. “You’re one to talk.”
“I simply had not yet found an opportune moment,” he crooned against your lips. “Stand up.”
The command startled you at first. You were unaccustomed to Tech being so assertive.
“Mesh’la. I said stand. Up.”
Wordlessly, Tech guided you to your feet and turned your back to the console.
“You’ll need to use your words, darling. I need to know you want this too,” he growled into your ear sending chills down your spine and soaking your panties.
“Maker, yes please, Tech,” you whined as he trailed kisses from your neck to your collarbone.
“Mmm… good girl,” he sighed as he ran two gloved fingers along the outline of your breasts. Those two fingers ghosted down your sternum, along your stomach, and to the hem of your skirt. Meanwhile your own hands were exploring the edges of his armor.
He dragged those same two fingers up the inside of your thigh and pressed them to the soaked cloth covering your sex. You whined at his touch, desperately wanting him inside you.
“Oh dear,” he chuckled, removing his hand, “you’ve soaked my glove, mesh’la. Well, it only seems fair that you remove it for me.”
You made to reach for his gloved fingers when he held them to your lips and scolded, “Ah, with your mouth. Open.”
You opened your mouth and he slotted his fingers inside, almost choking you and then slowly dragged them back along your tongue ensuring you tasted yourself on his fingers. He paused long enough for you to bite down on the tip of the glove to pull it off. He then slid your panties off, tucking them in one of the many pouches on his utility belt.
His gloveless hand returned to your soaked folds, toying first with your clit and then sliding one exquisite digit inside of you. You bucked your hips in response, moaning loudly.
“I have wanted this for so long, cyare. To have you on the console of my ship, screaming my name. You will scream my name for me won’t you, good girl.” His tone was clear, that was an order. Not a question.
“Anything you want, sir.” You gasped through waves of pleasure as Tech swirled and thrust his finger, quickly learning which patterns elicited the greatest reactions.
The emphasis of that word unleashed an utterly primal side of Tech you’d never seen. His mouth crashed into yours, his tongue eagerly seeking entrance as he pressed his body to yours. He inserted a second finger inside you, your walls twitching in response to the stretch. He easily reached the delicate spot inside of you, pressing and stroking rhythmically, pushing you rapidly to the precipice.
“What a good girl you are. Who do you belong to?”
His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, biting and sucking leaving his marks. His brothers were going to come back and know exactly who you belonged to.
“Y-you Tech! I belong to you!”
And just as you promised him, you screamed his name as you crested your peak, your legs quaking with the intensity of your release.
He pressed his cheek to yours, “Are you ready, ner sarad? Are you ready for me to fill you up?”
You leaned into his touch, “Please, sir. I need to feel you inside of me, I feel so empty without you.”
A growl rumbled deep in his chest as he freed his throbbing cock already soaked with precum from his blacks in one swift movement. You were in awe of how long he was and hoped the next time you did this you could suck him off until he couldn’t walk the next day. Your fantasy of Tech fucking your mouth was cut short as he lifted you with ease and laid you on the console. He slid his cock within the walls of your pussy slowly and gently allowing you both to relish the bliss you were experiencing. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he caged you in. You wrapped your arms around his neck and whined into his ear as he bottomed out inside you, stretching you perfectly.
“So perfect, cyare. If I didn't know better I would think you had been made just for me,” he cooed, the sweet praise making your heart flutter.
“Please fuck me, Tech.” You gasped, the plea falling from your lips with agonizing desperation. You needed him to move, to rock his hips into yours and fill you to the brim.
“With pleasure,” he cooed with a smile and a soft kiss to your forehead.
He slowly pulled back and pushed back in, his eyes locked on yours gauging your reaction. Once. Twice. Again and again his thrusts were steadfast and precise. You threw your head back, moaning his name with each thrust.
“Mine,” he growled as his fingers grasped the back of your neck and your hips with nearly painful intensity.
Gradually he increased his pace, intentionally grinding his pelvis into your sensitive bud with each calculated movement. He grunted soft words of adoration and praise, still licking and biting at every inch of exposed skin. And with each thrust you felt him push you closer to your second release. You scraped your nails along his scalp as you cried his name with your volume matching the intensity of your pleasure. He followed suit with a shuddering sigh into your neck.
He pressed his chest to yours, dusting soft doting kisses along your neck, cheeks, and forehead. Your legs remained locked around his waist as he slowly softened inside of you.
He carried you to his rack, laying you down gently, pausing for a moment and smiling as if admiring a piece of art.
“Tech?” You felt exposed despite still being mostly clothed.
“Hm? Ah. My apologies cyare. You are just a divine creature and I am taking in your radiance.” He sat by your feet, running his hand up your thigh. “Now, why don’t you take the rest of your clothing off? I wish to worship you properly.”
You’d never shimmied out of clothing so quickly. You fought the urge to cover up.
He stared at your pussy still dripping with cum, both yours and his, hungrily.
“This,” he growled, lust soaking his words. “Should do nicely.”
He needed to taste you, the perfectly unique combination of you and him. He lifted your knees over his shoulders, a growl rumbling in his chest as his eyes never left your drenched sex. He pushed his goggles up onto his forehead before trailing open mouthed kisses up your thigh. His lithe fingers squeezed your thighs before licking a strip up your folds. You keened beneath him, arousal burning deep within you once more.
He sucked lightly on your clit, flicking his tongue across it sporadically until you were a writhing, mewling mess. You could feel his smile widening as his tongue slowly crept closer to your entrance. All at once he thrust his tongue inside you, his own groans rumbling into you, pushing you closer to climax once more. He devoured you, kissing, licking, sucking and biting at every inch of you. And once he was satisfied, he pressed his thumb to your clit rubbing soft circles as he continued thrust his tongue inside you. He worked you until your legs were shaking and you chanted his name like it was the only word you knew.
He looked up at you from between your thighs, a smirk adorned his lips as he pulled his goggles back into place. “That was…satisfactory?”
You gawked. “Exemplary, actually.”
He nodded, a hint of arrogance flashing in his eyes. He reached into his footlocker, pulling out a towel and began to clean you up.
“The others will be returning soon. You should get dressed. I’d prefer this,” he gestured toward your nude form, “be only for me.”
A soft giggle escaped your lips as you leaned in, kissing him softly. “It is. Only for you.”
Spicy Ragu For You: @secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @dystopicjumpsuit @mooncommlink @moonlightwarriorqueen @sunshinesdaydream @starrylothcat @starqueensside @mandos-mind-trick @multi-fan-dom-madness @808tsuika @msmeredithrose @trixie2023 @wolffegirlsunite @mythical-illustrator @wings-and-beskar @wizardofrozz @ladyzirkonia @eyeluvmusic21 @523rdrebel @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @littlemissmanga @sinfulsalutations @dickarchivist @eclec-tech @dreamie411 @flyiingsly @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @cw80831 @eternal-transcience-spice
#anxiouspineapple99 writes#tech x fem!reader#tech the bad batch#star wars: the clone wars#star wars the clone wars#star wars the bad batch#tech tbb#tech x reader#tech smut#smut smut smut#bad batch smut#bad batch tech#not Costco safe#probably not even safe for a room with other people in general
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how to defeat The Narcissist:
be rlly nice to them and give them 10000000 dollars and tell them u love them and that theyre special :33
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sev 🥺🥺🥺 “that really does make you hard. i can feel you pulsing inside me” with cody? playing with fire and making him mad? 👀👀i love you
kit @corvod I need you to know that this quote with Cody of all people really altered my brain chemistry. I hope you enjoy this lil spicy morsel! prompt is in orange this time!
word count: 621 (my hand slipped, but I caught it)
warnings: unprotected piv sex, biting, the world’s shortest predator/prey chase, Cody being Cody, MINORS DNI
dividers by the homie @dystopicjumpsuit
Cody was the patient one from his batch. No one knew that necessarily because no one ever tested his patience. His orders were followed immediately without question by everyone under his command. Even your natural aversion to authority didn’t make you immune to Cody’s will. He spoke, you listened. He said jump, you said how high?
Inversely, Cody respected your position as a medical officer, and didn’t give you shit when you laid out a treatment plan. This typically made both of your lives far easier than they had any right to be given that you were usually in active war zones.
So the current standoff between the two of you was fully uncharted territory. You’d given your orders as the medical authority aboard the *Negotiator* and Cody had less than respectfully declined.
Your eyebrows shot up, accompanied by several confused blinks.
“Excuse me?” you asked, as though you hadn’t heard him properly.
“I have shit to do, saraad,” He replied, picking up his helmet from the side table. “Don’t give me that look.”
“Yes, you do have shit to do…following my orders,” you said, eyes darting towards the helmet. It was a split second decision to snatch the bucket right out of his hands.
Cody’s eyes widened in utter shock before narrowing dangerously.
“I give you a lot of leeway because you’re good at what you do, and you fuck like an angel.” His voice was low, calm, and steady. “Don’t let that go to your head and get you in trouble.”
He held his hand out for his helmet, but you clutched it to your chest, your chin raised defiantly. The marshal commander released a humorless laugh, and took a step towards you.
Fear and arousal jockeyed for position, and ultimately settled side by side low in your belly, as you took a step back.
You made to exit the medbay with the stolen equipment, but Cody was like lightning. One powerful arm looped tightly around your waist, holding you against his armored chest, while his free hand easily tugged his helmet right out of your grip, tossing it onto the table once more.
“Oh, fuck,” you whispered nervously.
“Oh fuck is right,” he replied, spinning you around to face him.
In 2 minutes and 30 seconds, Cody had you naked and riding him on top of a crate in the supply closet. Your soft body would bear marks from the unyielding plastoid, and his iron grip for days.
“Can’t believe you had the balls to challenge me,” he groaned against your neck, as you rolled your hips against him.
“You fucking deserved it,” you replied, turning your head to bite him just below his jaw.
His grip tightened, and he pulled your hips flush against his.
“Who do you think you are?” He asked, narrowing his eyes at you.
“Your saraad,” you said, stealing a kiss, and wrapping your arms around his shoulders. His cock twitched inside you, eliciting a surprised hum from you.
“Say that again,” he ordered. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You, Commander.”
“Fuck, I like hearing that. Almost too much.”
“It’s true. I’m yours.” Again you could feel his cock jump at your words. “That really does make you hard. I can feel you pulsing inside me.”
“Careful, or I’ll fill that pretty little mouth of yours next.”
“I thought you had things to do,” you moaned, as he adjusted his hold on you to drive the head of his cock into the sensitive place inside you, that had your head spinning.
“Making you come for me was already on the list,” he said, as his nimble fingers found your clit, driving all thoughts beyond your impending orgasm right out of your head.
tagu list: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @dukeoftheblackstar @wolffegirlsunite @808tsuika @sleepingsun501 @starrylothcat @ladyzirkonia @wings-and-beskar @pb-jellybeans @clio3kantarella @stardusthuntress @idontgetanysleep @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @anxiouspineapple99 @littlemissmanga @mandos-mind-trick @amorfista @kimiheartblade @freesia-writes @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @multi-fan-dom-madness @mooncommlink @1vlouds @moonlightwarriorqueen @starqueensthings @dangraccoon @idoubleswearimawriter @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @dreamie411 @nunanuggets @foodmoneyandcats @cdbkake1565
#seven answers#commander cody x reader#cody x reader#tcw cody x reader#x reader#reader insert#commander cody#tcw cody#tcw commander cody#seven writes#cody smut#not safe for costco#not safe for the BART#not osha compliant#not osha approved
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Everybody Hates Neyo
I was possessed by the devil himself and woke up at 4 o'clock in the morning to write this. I hope you're happy, @blueink-bluesoul. You did this to me.
Rating: Mature/18+/NSFT/Minors DNI
Pairing: Commander Neyo x Fem!Reader
Wordcount: 928 words of filth
Summary: You really, really hate that asshole.
Warnings: nothing but SMUT; strong language; hatefucking; PIV; rough, unprotected sex; getting caught
Masterlist | Join my tag list here
“Asshole!” you hiss as you storm into your office, tugging off your gloves and hurling them across the room. Rage simmers just below the surface as you pace back and forth, and when you hear the door slide open, you whirl to see it admit none other than the asshole in question.
“What the kark was that?” he snarls as he stalks toward you, his handsome, arrogant face contorted into a mask of fury.
“Get the hell out of my office,” you snap.
“Not until you explain where the kriff you get off thinking you can challenge my authority like that.” He crowds into your space, towering over you with a thunderous expression, but you refuse to back down.
“It may have escaped your notice, Commander,” you spit, “that you have no authority over me.”
His jaw works. “Watch your farking mouth, Admiral, or I’ll give it something better to do.”
“Do us all a favor and get fucked, Neyo.” Your voice is laced with venom.
His gaze drops to your lips, and you read his intention before he makes a move. Oh, shit. His eyes snap back up to yours, blazing with amber wrath. Fierfek, you decide, flinging caution to the wind. You grab him by the belt and yank him toward you, just as his hand flies up to grip your hair. Your lips crash together painfully, and he tastes better than he has any Force-forsaken right to.
Asshole.
His tongue sweeps into your mouth, and you kriffing hate that he’s a good kisser. Is there no justice in the galaxy? Assholes should not be able to kiss like that! The thought irritates you all over again, and you bite down his lip, hard. He shoves you away, wrenching your head back with the hand that tangles in your hair. You grin up at him with savage triumph.
“That hurt,” he growls.
“Good,” you say.
“Last chance to walk away, little girl.”
Gods, what an asshole.
“You’re the worst,” you pant.
“And you want me,” he smirks.
“Fuck you.”
“If you insist.” Still holding your head firmly in place, just in case you decide to use your teeth again, he slides his free hand down the front of your uniform trousers, his thick fingers unerringly finding their way to your cunt and circling your clit roughly before sinking into you. “You’re soaking wet. I kriffing knew it.”
“You’re no-one to talk,” you grunt, reflecting on the unfairness that this unfuckable asshole can find your clit when it eludes so many perfectly nice partners. Of course, he is the marshal commander of the 91st Mobile Reconnaissance Corps; locating things is his specialty. A significant bulge tents the front of his uniform, and you grasp it roughly, grinding the palm of your hand against him. He pinches your clit in retaliation, and you growl at him, baring your teeth in an animalistic snarl.
You unbuckle each other’s belts with frantic urgency—he does it with only one hand, and it’s so kriffing hot, who gave this asshole the right to be so kriffing hot?—and shove down both sets of trousers. He grabs your thigh hard enough to bruise and jerks it up to his waist, and then he plunges into you. The sound you let out is inhuman, and he stills for an instant.
“Don’t fucking stop now,” you snap.
“Sir, yes, sir,” he says, thrusting hard into you, again and again.
He’s strong as kark, and he fucks you with such aggression that he lifts your other foot off the floor, and you dangle helplessly in the air for a moment, impaled on his cock. It’s an undignified position; you’re an admiral of the Force-damned fleet, by the gods, and you aren’t about to let him take control so easily. You hook your foot on the back of his knee, and the two of you crash to the floor.
He lands with a grunt of pain. “I fucking hate you.”
“I hate you more,” you say, licking up the tattooed numbers on his face.
He rolls you over and pins you to the floor, his hips never slowing their punishing tempo, and he wrests open your uniform collar. You hear the unmistakable sound of fabric ripping, and you swear to the gods, if he ruined your jacket, you’re going to steal his favorite BARC trooper.
And then that motherfucker bites your neck. You squeal with pain.
“That hurt?” he grits out.
“Ye—”
“I don’t care,” he snaps, and shit, fuck, oh gods—yes—
FUCK!
You come so hard your vision whites out. Your legs clamp around his waist, and you scream loudly enough that anyone passing through the corridor outside your office would have no doubt what you’re doing inside.
“Shit—” Neyo gasps brokenly. He tries to pull out, but he doesn’t make it in time, and he comes inside you, flooding your cunt with liquid heat.
Asshole. Good thing you have the implant, not that he fucking asked. Force, you hate him.
He collapses on top of you, driving all the air out of your lungs, and you tense up to shove him away, but then he slides his tongue languidly over your bruised neck, the soft heat soothing the pain and making your eyes drift closed.
“You have issues,” he whispers in your ear.
“Psychopath,” you whisper back.
A small flutter of movement in the corner of the room has you both snapping to alertness, and you whip your head around to see Commander Bacara rising from your desk chair.
“Well,” Bacara smirks. “That was entertaining.”
---
Tagging:
@secondaryrealm @blueink-bluesoul @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @523rdrebel @merkitty49 @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella @cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69
#not safe for costco#commander neyo#tcw fanfic#sw tcw fanfic#commander neyo x reader#reader insert#dystopicjumpsuit writes#clone thirsting
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Nine Lives for Sergeant O'Niner
A/N: This is a collaboration between @anxiouspineapple99 and @dystopicjumpsuit , written as a gift for @deewithani
Pairing: Sergeant O’Niner x Reader (GN)
Rating: M (minors DNI)
Wordcount: 1.5K
Warnings and tags: angst; fluff; little bit of smut (nipple play; implied oral sex); not canon compliant; everyone lives AU
Summary: Sergeant O’Niner must have nine lives. How else could he have survived the battle of Rishi Moon?
The Coruscanti rain pelted the window of your office, relentless as the ache in your chest as you sat sipping tea and flipping through the latest issue of the Bar’leth Journal of Galactic Archaeology. You normally loved the soothing pitter patter of water on transparisteel, and even now, you would have been relaxed by it if it weren't for the nagging anxiety that plagued your thoughts.
It had been one week since the news broke that the Separatists had attacked Rishi, and the outpost had been destroyed. One week of pure torture as you waited for word about O’Niner’s fate—all the while, keenly aware that the GAR would never notify you directly, given that your relationship with the sergeant was not only unsanctioned, but perilously close to forbidden. It felt unfair—even cruel—but there was no way you could discover what had happened to him through official channels.
As the days passed, your despair grew, until late one afternoon, your comlink chirped, and when you answered, you saw the beloved face you’d come to believe you might never see again. You tried to say his name, but all that came out of your mouth was a broken, hoarse croak as tears of relief stung your eyes.
“Ner cyare,” he murmured, holding the holo close enough that all you could see was his face.
You instinctively reached out to touch him, pulling back as your fingers encountered nothing but air and light as you whispered, “I thought you were…”
“I know,” he replied quietly. “I’m sorry; I commed as soon as I could.”
“Are you all right?” you asked, your voice finally coming back to you.
“I am,” he replied. “And so are all the men. I still can’t believe we all made it out alive.”
You let out a relieved laugh that sounded more like a sob. “I swear, you must be a loth-cat with nine lives.”
“You didn’t think my name came from my CT number, did you?” he grinned.
“What happened?” you asked. “How did you survive?”
He chuckled. “That’s a good story, and I can’t wait to tell you in person.”
Your heart began to pound. “In person? Are you coming back to Coruscant?”
“As soon as—” He cut off abruptly as he heard the approaching footsteps of a group of troopers. “Gotta go.”
The transmission cut off abruptly as O’Niner ended the comm. You waited for him to call back, staring at the chrono on your desk as minutes ticked by at an agonizing pace. The call never came, and you accepted that O’Niner might not be able to find an opportunity to call again.
The afternoon passed in excruciating slowness until at last, you decided you had suffered long enough and began to pack up to go home. The downpour had relented to a miserable drizzle by the time you made your way to the platform to hail a speeder-cab.
Your eyes fluttered shut as your head rested on the headrest. The anxiety that had swirled in your gut all week had now transformed into a dull, unyielding ache of longing and missing and wanting and needing. Your mind wandered, and you were so distracted that you missed the quiet ping of your datapad as your home security system alerted you that it had been turned off.
As the speeder-cab pulled up to your building, the rain began to fall in a torrent, and you darted through the downpour toward your door, hastily keying in your code and ducking inside your flat. You shook the water off and pulled off your raincoat, reaching to hang it up when you heard a soft sound from the other end of the flat. You froze, then turned around slowly.
A light was on in your refresher; you could see it shining from under the closed door. You crept down the hallway, and suddenly the refresher door opened. You shrieked with alarm and flailed your raincoat at the intruder, then whirled and fled down the hall, running for your life.
“Cyar’ika, wait!” a familiar voice called.
You skidded to a halt and turned around slowly. O’Niner stood just outside the refresher, wrapped in nothing but a towel as steam poured from the open door.
“O’Niner.” His name left your lips as a desperate whisper. “You’re home!”
A soft smile crossed his lips and slid up to his sparkling amber eyes. You bounded toward him without wasting another second, colliding with his body as you wrapped him in a tight embrace. A hiss of pain rushed through his clenched teeth.
Startled, you pulled back. “I’m so sorry!”
“Worth the pain, darling.” He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms as he pressed his forehead against yours. His velvety voice sent chills dancing down your spine. “Were you planning on beating me to death with your raincoat?”
“Maybe.” Your eyes flicked to the fresh bacta patch obscuring his abdomen. “You’re hurt. You said you were okay.”
Suddenly every new bruise and scrape was illuminated in the low light of your apartment. Your brow knit tightly in concern as you leaned back to inspect his injuries.
“I’m alive, little one,” he said softly. “That means I’m fine.”
“That’s why the holo was zoomed in on your face!” Your voice rose slightly, worry lending it an accusatory edge.
“I’m. Fine,” he enunciated firmly as he grasped your shoulders.“Don’t look at me like that. If I’d told you I’d been shot you would have panicked.”
“I do not panic!” you objected.
He chucked you under the chin, a soft smile crossed his lips. “You’re panicking right now.”
“No, I’m not—Fine. Yes. I might be panicking a little,” you pouted. He may have been right, but you didn’t have to be happy about it.
His other hand caressed and massaged your hip as he leaned closer to you. “You know, you still haven’t kissed me yet.”
You drew in a shuddering breath, pushing down your anxiety and irritation as you tried to focus on the present: he was home; he was alive; he was with you. You raised your fingers to his face and traced the lines at the corners of his eyes, then slid your fingertips into his dark hair that was flecked with gray as you drew his face closer to yours and pressed your lips against his forehead. You kissed a trail down the side of his face until you reached the corner of his lips, and then he wrapped you in his arms and pulled your body against him as his mouth captured yours in a heated, passionate kiss.
He was still soaking wet from his shower. The glistening water droplets sliding down his firm, brown chest and abdomen soaked your shirt, and you didn’t care a bit. It didn’t matter anyway, because his deft fingers were already undoing your buttons and pushing the shirt off your shoulders.
You kissed down his neck, and then down his chest, but you hesitated and pulled away, staring at him with troubled, anxious eyes.
“I promise, I’m all right,” he reassured you. “But if you’re so concerned, you could always kiss it better. One kiss for every injury, ner kar'ta?”
His heated smile reassured you more than anything else he could possibly have said, but you weren’t letting him off the hook so easily for trying to hide his injuries from you.
“I don’t think that’s how it works,” you pointed out.
“You would deny a dying man his final wish?” he teased, desire plain his eyes.
“You said you were fine.”
“Mmm,” he grunted softly as his gaze swept over your features wistfully while his hands lingered at your waist. “I may have spoken too soon. I’m suddenly feeling so… very… weak…”
“Incorrigible,” you muttered, peppering his chest with kisses, licking up the shimmering water droplets that still clung to his skin, scraping your teeth softly over his nipples in the way that you knew drove him wild.
He rumbled quietly as his fingers tangled in your hair, gently urging you to go lower. You glanced up at him with a mischievous light in your eyes as your tongue swirled over his nipple, refusing to continue your progress until his breath became ragged and he was starting to moan and whimper, just the way you liked. At last, you drew away.
“I think you’ve earned a real bed, don’t you?” you asked.
He nodded, his eyes dark with lust as you took him by the hand and led him into the bedroom. Your fingers trailed down his body until you reached his towel, and with a quick tug, it fell to the floor.
“As much as I’d love to tackle you onto that bed, I think it might be better if you just lie down,” you murmured. “I’d hate for the night to end with you in a hospital.”
“Might be worth it,” he smirked.
You traced over his shoulders, then gently pressed on them until he complied and lay down on his back.
“We can play rough some other time,” you whispered as you knelt between his thighs. “Tonight, I’m going to be very, very gentle.”
“Not too gentle, I hope,” he said before sucking in a loud breath as your tongue glided over the tip of his cock. “Holy Maker, cyare.”
“There’s nothing holy about what I’m going to do to you,” you promised. “But I have a feeling that won’t be the only time you pray to the Maker tonight.”
#sergeant o'niner
#rare clone fic exchange#rare clone fic submission#clone trooper o’niner#o’niner x reader#x reader#reader insert#clone wars fanfiction#clone wars#not safe for costco#not osha compliant#not osha approved
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don’t worry guys I’ll take out the trash!
#honkai star rail#sampo koski#shampoo costco#reno ff7#reno ffvii#cleaning up#keeping the realm safe#I gotchu#trash#I’ve been playing ffviir#ffviir
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fuzzy caterpillar
#mechandra draws#actual factual me#bugs#banded woolybear#no we did not handle it bare (bear lol)#we carried it safely on a piece of receipt paper#they really were not thinking about caterpillar migration patterns when they built this costco smdh
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This rice is so wonderful. It was $8 at Costco and how could I say no to “riceberry rice?” Now I can’t stop eating it and I have 4 bags.
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[hunched over my desk getting gradually woozier as my sleep aid kicks in] i've had enough of you, so time to be my puppet, on a string...
#c: 🎭#silly little villain song that gave me so much serotonin i listened to it enough times in one month for it to make my top song on my wrappe#and also made me get so into the series that i fell in love with the character who sings it#drugs ment#to be clear it is an otc sleep aid from costco#but better safe than sorry
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Could Costco (COST) Collapse?
Could Costco (COST) Collapse?
Many people will wonder if Costco (COST) could collapse because of its high stock price.
For example, Costco’s share price fell from $566.71 on 3 January 2022 to $462.65 on 23 December 2022. I consider Costco overpriced and ready for a fall. Yet many value investors still consider Costco (NASDAQ: COST) a value investment because of its expanding membership.
For instance, the number of Costco…
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#Costco (COST)#Costco (NASDAQ: COST)#Could Costco (COST) Collapse?#How Much Cash is Costco (COST) generating?#How Much Money is Costco (COST) making from memberships?#How Safe is the Costco (COST) dividend?#The Chinese Threat to Costco (COST)#What Value does Costco (COST) offer?#Will the Supply Chain Crisis destroy Costco (COST)?
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friend!! for those smut sentence starters, I'm foaming at the mouth for Fox with either "you can call me whatever you want, baby." or "be good, and i'll fuck you / let you fuck me."
the way you write him always makes me feral as hell so I'm excited to see where this takes you! ❤️❤️
Hello there~ First and foremost that is the sweetest compliment, and it has made me so soft 🥺 Please enjoy this spicy lil snack 🥰 Prompt is highlighted in red ❤️🤍
Warnings: teasing, light bondage, afab!reader, fingering, oral (f receiving), semi-public sex, MINORS DNI
Word count: 337 (I’m shocked too)
dividers by the bestest to ever do it @dystopicjumpsuit
It was always a battle of wills with Fox. The need to challenge him, to make him show you how badly he wanted you was irresistible. That’s how you ended up in your current predicament.
Your wrists in binders, pants dangling precariously from one ankle, one foot propped up on the arm of the commander’s chair.
His face is pressed against your inner thigh. Three days’ worth of stubble scratching the sensitive skin, and driving you crazy with the sensation. His breath fans over your exposed cunt, causing your back to arch, and a desperate whine to leave your lips.
“Not too loud, vixen. The door’s not locked,” He warns with a devious little smirk.
“Stop teasing me then!” You blurt out, exasperated and needy.
“Oh, but you were teasing me, weren’t you?” He lightly ran his tongue through your silken folds, stopping just before reaching your clit.
“Fuuuuuck you,” you whined softly
“Be good, and I’ll fuck you,” he replied before tapping your lips gently with gloved fingertips. “Take it off.”
You caught the tip of his glove on his middle finger with your teeth and tugged until his hand was free. Your eyes, hooded and hungry, watched his lightly scarred hand, as it traveled down your body. You held your breath while he circled your entrance, causing the muscles to twitch in your thighs.
He tilted his head at you, the silver in his dark hair catching the light, and making your fingers clench with the urge to bury your fingers in it.
“Please, Commander,” you whispered, “I’ll be good.”
He grinned like the tooka that got the cream.
“Was that so hard?” He asked, as he pressed two of his fingers inside you, and lowered his head to let his tongue work over your clit.
Your smart retort died on your tongue, as you lifted your bound hands to play with his hair and a satisfied moan left your lips. As he built you up to your first orgasm, you decided winning wasn’t everything..
taglist: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @dukeoftheblackstar @wolffegirlsunite @808tsuika @sleepingsun501 @starrylothcat @ladyzirkonia @wings-and-beskar @pb-jellybeans @clio3kantarella @stardusthuntress @idontgetanysleep @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @anxiouspineapple99 @littlemissmanga @mandos-mind-trick @amorfista @kimiheartblade @freesia-writes @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @multi-fan-dom-madness @mooncommlink @1vlouds @moonlightwarriorqueen @starqueensthings @dangraccoon @idoubleswearimawriter @wizardofrozz @trixie2023 @dreamie411 @nunanuggets @foodmoneyandcats @cdbkake1565
#seven answers#seven writes#tcw fox x reader#commander fox x reader#tcw fox#tcw commander fox#commander fox#x reader#reader insert#fox smut#not safe for costco#not safe for the bart#not osha compliant#not osha approved
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ID: discord messages between clem and simon.
clem says: Something goes Wrong. i am amazed by the human body. how do you miss the toilet That Bad
simon says: Costco.
clem says: shopping does that to a bitch
simon says: so many bulk items. they got overwhelmed
clem says: that chick's ass was on goddamn SPRAYPAINT mode
simon says: set that shit to Shower
clem says: damn glad it isn't my job to clean restrooms
simon says: like a hose
clem says: but like. how do you. miss that horribly. did they stand up??? start walking with their ass still out??
simon says: feelin a litle creative, wanted to paint
clem says: and i call this number.... Ode to Kroge
End ID.
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Drunk on You [Warthog/GN!reader]
Hi, it's @goblininawig with a Warthog fic for @starqueensthings . I went the smutty route. Hope you enjoy it.
Tags, rating, summary, etc below the cut.
MINORS DNI
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Summary: A heroic rescue by the Wolfpack, brings you to a celebration in their honor, where you get up close and personal with the trooper, Warthog.
Pairing: Warthog/GN!reader
Rating: M/18+/NSFW
Words: 1,733
Tags: canon-typical action/adventure, fluff, smut, we-might-get-caught situation, oral sex/blow job
The Magistrate’s children had been rescued after several days of fraught tension. Fearing a Separatist plot, the Magistrate asked the Senate for help. They sent Jedi Master Plo Koon and his Wolfpack. In a matter of hours, they discovered the children, hiding in a cave, where they had taken shelter after the speeder they’d taken on a joyride crashed, causing serious injury to both children and vehicle in the process.
The cave’s mineral composition had blocked any scans for life signs. It was Jedi instincts and clone efficiency that saved the day, quickly locating the speeder crash and tracking them from there. The children had been frightened and hungry, but were on the mend at the healing center.
Now the city was free to celebrate. And none were more merry than the Magistrate and her husband. Though the clones were a close second. The banquet hall was filled with laughter and celebration. The troopers' boisterous, beaming faces, free of their helmets, were quite a sight to behold. Despite their common origin, each was uniquely handsome, and you found your eyes returning more and more to a certain one. Warthog, the clone catching your eye, had the GAR regulation haircut, but he still seemed to stand out from the others – at least, he did to you.
You’d met him while helping to set up for the current banquet. (Normally you were assigned administrative tasks, but when the Magistrate suddenly decided to throw a party, everyone had to pitch in and make it happen.) Warthog had saved a cask of wine from breaking when it fell off the gravloader you were pushing up to the kitchens. Most impressively, he’d caught it one handed, with his pilot’s helmet held under his other arm. Then he had introduced himself and had kept you company, helping you with various tasks, until Commander Wolffe had called him back to join the other troopers.
You raised a glass of wine to your lips and watched over the rim as Warthog reached over to clap one of his brothers on the back, laughing uproariously at his own comments. He gesticulated wildly and drew everyone around him into his conversation with his warm smile. Then he looked up and met your eyes across the banquet hall.
You startled, choking and spilling wine down your front. Muttering a curse, you put the glass down and dabbed at yourself with a napkin, cheeks feeling hot. You excused yourself and hurried out to deal with the mess you’ve made.
Warthog watched you leave, thought a moment, and then made a choice. He knocked back the last of his wine and announced: “Wish me luck, Wolfpack. I’m going hunting!” He grinned and left the table to the sounds of good-natured ribbing and howling from his brothers.
In the ‘fresher, you tried fruitlessly to clean up the wine stain on your top. You looked and felt ridiculous. You thought about going back to your room, but decided to wait until the fabric dries. Maybe then, with the low lighting and everyone drinking, it might go unnoticed.
Leaving the ‘fresher, you turned away from the hall where the others are carousing, heading towards the nearby balcony instead. It was a pleasant night with a gentle breeze. You looked out over the city, a glow of light against the evening sky, but then turned at the sound of someone stepping along the corridor nearby.
A moment later, the clone you’d been admiring stepped through the archway to join you on the balcony. Your mouth went dry at the sight. You found yourself unable to speak as he stalked closer to you, filling your vision with his broad shoulders.
“Everything alright?” he asked with a self-assured grin.
You bit your lip and awkwardly try to cover the stain with your hand. “Um, yeah, I just had an accident.” You cringed at how that sounded, but forced yourself to continue explaining. “Thought I’d let it dry out in the wind here.”
“Oh?” he queried, tilting his head so that the low light gleamed in his dark, velvety eyes. “And here I thought you wanted me to follow you. I saw how you’ve been looking at me all night.”
You blinked and swallowed hard. “Oh, um, sorry?” you said awkwardly, face burning with embarrassment.
“Don’t apologize,” he returned, eyes still glowing with humor and heat. “I like it.”
He stepped closer, letting you feel the warmth of his body. His head tilted and his eyes dragged down the length of you and back up again, slowly.
“And I like the way you look too.”
“Oh,” you breathed softly, hands raising as if of their own accord to rest on his cuirass.
He covers one of your hands in his. “Tell me to stop and I will,” he murmured, voice low and husky.
You managed to whisper, “Don’t stop,” before he leaned in and covered your mouth with his.
Any lingering sense of embarrassment evaporated in the heat of Warthog’s passion. His kisses made your knees feel weak and you clung to his armored shoulders as his hands gripped your waist and lower back, pulling you closer. Your chest, stomach and groin pressed against plastoid armor, making you feel soft and pliant in comparison. He was a rock while you were a wave crashing against him. He gathered you against him, claiming your mouth with a fervor that lit up all your nerves.
With a groan of discomfort, he reluctantly pulled back. One hand stayed firmly on your lower back as the other slipped down between your bodies. There was a click and a sigh as his codpiece was removed and dropped carelessly to the floor.
“That was starting to hurt,” he murmured, leaning close to your ear and kissing just beneath the lobe.
You closed your eyes and bared your neck to him. “Hmm, can’t have that,” you dreamily replied.
He left a trail of kisses along your throat and then inhaled your scent. “You smell so good,” he murmured, his lips against your skin.
You almost purred in response and he pulled back to smile at you. His dark eyes gleamed in the low light, focused on you like nothing else existed. Warthog dipped his head again, and you parted your lips to let him in, kissing with wild, eager abandon.
He was so tall, dark, and handsome, but also much more than that. His generous nature, how he went out of his way to help you, his kindness, his sense of humor, and his obvious bravery were all so deeply attractive. It was almost shocking that someone like him could be interested in someone like you.
But the feeling of his mouth on yours was undeniable. And so was the heated length rubbing against your thigh. It sparked a deep hunger in you that had nothing to do with the banquet you just left. It made you feel bold and a little reckless.
“Let me make you feel good,” you urged the next time he pulled back from your lips to breathe.
A furrow appeared between his brows in a silent question that was answered when you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. Warthog let out a quiet groan. His pupils widened at the sight, making his dark eyes appear even deeper and more mysterious than before. He watched you watching him, as he slid his hand down, and pulled his erection free of his black body glove.
Your mouth watered at the sight of his thick length, eyes going wide. It was one thing to hear that the clones were the best built men in the galaxy, and quite another to see the evidence of it up so close. Glancing up again, you caught his expectant, lust-darkened gaze and licked your lips. He moaned as you pressed them in a kiss to the length of his hard cock, followed quickly by another.
The weight and heat of his hard-on felt amazing in your hand, and against your eager lips. You covered it in kisses before drawing the head into your mouth, sucking experimentally. Warthog groaned above you and reached down to cradle the back of your neck.
“That feels amazing,” he murmured, mindful of being too loud so near to the banquet hall.
You hummed your agreement around him, drawing another moan from the back of his throat. Eyes closed, you breathed in his musk, humming happily again, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your neck in response. Then he combed his fingers through the hair at your nape as you started to swallow him down, little by little, and then as deeply as possible. Your tongue was flat against his heated shaft as you surrounded it with your mouth and your hands, pumping and sucking greedily.
Warthog leaned his weight on one arm against the balcony, his thick thigh muscles trembling with the effort of holding himself back from spilling into your throat.
“Kriff, you’re so good at that,” he praised.
It thrilled you, sending a tingle down through your body that you followed with a hand, slinking down you to press between your thighs. That sight sent another moan through the handsome man. You massaged his balls softly as you felt his cock at the back of your throat. You swallowed, letting the sensation tease him, before sliding your lips back up and down again, repeating the motion until you felt his balls tense, along with his fingers at your neck.
“I’m close,” he warned. “Can I cum in your mouth?” he panted.
You nodded quickly, looking up at him as he closed his eyes and let himself go with a shuddering moan of satisfaction. You swallowed every bit of it down, hand still busy between your legs; your body wanted more.
As he tucked himself away and re-clipped the codpiece, you stood and wrapped your arms around yourself. When Warthog finished dressing, he pulled you close. He kissed you softly, tasting himself on your lips.
“That was incredible,” he murmured, eyes warm and soft on yours. “I’d love to return the favor, maybe someplace more private?”
You smiled and bit your lower lip. “We can go to my room,” you offer.
He smiled back, stoking heat in your belly with the way his gaze raked over your body. “Well then, lead the way.”
You took his hand and he eagerly followed you.
#rare clone fic exchange#rare clone fic submission#clone trooper warthog#clone wars wolf pack#warthog x reader#reader insert#x reader#warthog smut#clone thirsting#not safe for brunch#not safe for costco
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Who makes Kirkland healthy weight dog food?
Who makes Kirkland healthy weight dog food?
Do vets recommend Kirkland dog food?
What dog food is equivalent to Kirkland?
Is Kirkland dog food made in China?
Which company makes Kirkland dog food?
Is Kirkland dog food made by Blue Diamond?
Is Kirkland dog food safe for dogs?
What dog food do vets most recommend?
Who makes Costco’s Kirkland dog food?
What brand makes Kirkland dog food?
Is Costco brand dog food the same as diamond?
Is Costco dog food the same as taste of the wild?
What dog food has no ingredients from China?
What dog foods are made in the USA?
Who makes Kirkland Nature’s domain dog food?
Is Kirkland Dog Food Safe?
Is Kirkland dog food Aafco approved?
Is Costco dog food the same as Diamond?
What brands of dog food are made by Diamond?
Is Costco Kirkland Dog Food Safe?
What brand of dog food is killing dogs?
What food do most vets recommend?
What is the number 1 healthiest dog food?
What dry dog food do vets recommend most?
What is the most healthiest food for dogs?
#Who makes Kirkland healthy weight dog food?#Do vets recommend Kirkland dog food?#What dog food is equivalent to Kirkland?#Is Kirkland dog food made in China?#Which company makes Kirkland dog food?#Is Kirkland dog food made by Blue Diamond?#Is Kirkland dog food safe for dogs?#What dog food do vets most recommend?#Who makes Costco’s Kirkland dog food?#What brand makes Kirkland dog food?#Is Costco brand dog food the same as diamond?#Is Costco dog food the same as taste of the wild?#What dog food has no ingredients from China?#What dog foods are made in the USA?#Who makes Kirkland Nature’s domain dog food?#Is Kirkland Dog Food Safe?#Is Kirkland dog food Aafco approved?#Is Costco dog food the same as Diamond?#What brands of dog food are made by Diamond?#Is Costco Kirkland Dog Food Safe?#What brand of dog food is killing dogs?#What food do most vets recommend?#What is the number 1 healthiest dog food?#What dry dog food do vets recommend most?#What is the most healthiest food for dogs?
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Plushies : Bonus
Joel Miller x F!Reader
Plushies Series Masterlist
Lactation, Bump
Can be read as standalone
Notes: Starting to think Plushie!Joel and Belly bump/lactation!Joel are in fact, the same Joel x reader couple but at different points in their lives. Plushies takes place when they're young and dating and breeding kink happens after they've been married or at least moved in and long term committed. So here's a fic that joins the two!
Warnings: assisted masturbation, stuffed animal masturbation, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, pet names, language
18+ ONLY
- - - -
You hadn't exactly planned on getting pregnant. You wanted to switch birth control plans to another dosage to help alleviate some of the hormonal side effects of your current brand. Joel did not take the news of having to practice safe sex for at LEAST 6 MONTHS too kindly.
Anyway, that was 4 days ago when you had officially switched over your pills. You now find yourself pinned in full mating press with Joel over top you, your ankles locked around his ass as he's already dumping an extra big load of his seed deep inside you after YOU had ripped the condom off his dick in a desperate haste to have him inside you 10 minutes ago.
And when you had to bare the news to Joel, oh my FUCK was he elated. He fucked you every way till the cows came home. He kept insisting the plushies stay ON the bed each time you made love so the baby (which you had to remind him was no bigger than a seed at this point) had a soft and loveable daddy that liked soft and loveable things.
Once the initial wave of morning sickness and irritability passed, you were just as much of a horndog. He'd come home and find you sitting on your giant Costco teddy bear, humping its legs while hugging it. He could see the small but new little bump in your lower tummy clearly pressed against Teddy's large cotton stuffed one. Joel made you ride so many plushies, asking you how each one felt as you gushed on them, all the while gently planting his palm at your tiny swell.
Sometimes you wondered if he was actually asking you or if he was asking the baby which one felt right.
He'd fuck you with you you on top, pushing two plushies against your tits to "practice feedings", loving the way your sensitive nipples rubbed against the beaded noses. Or planting you on your back with a soft flat plush under your back so you were comfortable as you spread your legs wide and welcomed his fat cock into you again.
Joel would find excuses to massage you as often as possible, making you sit in his lap, back pressed to his chest as he rubbed your shoulders, your aching and swollen tits, and of course your little pulsing pussy, who was just dripping of her own accord whenever. It'd be the perfect opportunity for him to peer over your shoulder and rub a stuffed animal between your legs, loving how each week, he could see less and less of the plush and his hand, slowly becoming obscured by the growing baby on the way.
Joel's naughty appraisal was off the roof. Only difference was now babygirl, kitten, whore, slut, were replaced with baby momma, little momma, momma hen, or just straight up Mommy (THAT one surprised you the most).
And oh HELL did he eat up his Daddy appraisal, constantly reminding you "fuck yeah, Daddy fucked ya up so good, put a baby in ya" or "Papi's gonna keep you round all fuckin year, pump ya full of baby batter" with "Love breedin ya, gonna make me the happiest fucker in the world" and "Daddy's gonna give you a whole fuckin kintergarden".
At night, when he thought you were asleep, he'd brush your hair lovingly, hand caressing your naked round belly, surrounding you in plushies and whispering to the baby, asking which one they like best, gauging based on how much the little feet kicked up inside you to feel the stuffed animal through your skin. He'd kiss your tummy, and barely above a whisper, tell his baby how excited he is to meet them soon.
Least to say, as unexpected as it was, Joel was thrilled to be a dad.
-
"No peeking."
"Joel I can't even see, please move your hands, I can just close my own eyes."
"No no, I got you OH NOT RIGHT THERE ok right—ok perfect. Aaaaaand—" he removes his palm from your eyes.
Your eyelids flutter open, adjusting to the bright light. Joel had just finished building the baby room, complete with custom shaved and engraved wooden crib he spent all week making.
You instinctually caress your growing belly, smiling in awe. "Oh Joel, it's so—" your eyes scan the room, lost for words at his beautiful work.
He rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms wrapping around your middle securely over yours. "Ya like it?"
You loved it. Soft and sweet, touches of little details in the woodwork, spoiled with bunnies and floppy ears, a smoothly sanded rocking chair in the corner, cloud brushed skys painted on the walls. You glaze over the crib before something catches your eye, doubling back. You seeing the contents inside more clearly, a cotton pink blanket, some onesies, and--
Your infamous Kitty plushie.
You smile drops as you rush and bend over haphazardly with your swollen belly in the way, snatching the plush out of the crib like it was diseased. You hold your arm out and stick it right in front of his face. "Joel what the FUCK is THIS doing in here??"
"What? It's your kitty! For the baby!"
"Not THIS kitty! This one's— its— filthy!"
"I washed it. Like in the actual machine. Not the tub. It's clean."
"She will never be clean of her sins, Joel Miller."
"Oh now its a she?"
"Burn. This." You growled, the animal helplessly jiggling with each word.
"Being so harsh to Kitty, she don't deserve that," he said, taking it from your hands and cradling it gently, kissing its squishy head.
"Burn it or I'm buying that pregnancy pillow and kicking you on the couch where you can share with Kitty for the rest of the year."
"I'll go get the wood for that fire."
#pedro pascal smut#joel miller smut#joel miller fan fiction#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#last of us fanfiction#last of us smut#joel miller fanfiction#plushies!joel
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lend me some sugar
cowboy like me chapter eight
look. i had an idea, i couldn't rest until i wrote it. enJOY
part 8 of cowboy like me - check out my masterlist here!!! ALSO the lovely @wildcat116 created a playlist w some of my fave dbf-inspired songs which you can give a listen right heeerreee
love u all sm hope u like this gargantuan chapter
pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader
summary: joel throws a homecoming garden party for sarah – and decides to make it one to remember
warnings: 18+ (minors dni!!!) i honestly don't even know where to start with this one UHH age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), cursing, slightly jealous! slightly possessive!joel n also jealous!reader, sexting, mutual masturbation, phone sex, teasing, very semi-public ✨ activities ✨ involving a beer bottle
word count: 10.1k (lmfao)
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist
“Well…” he takes a drink from his bottle, and then studies it in his hand. “I thought you could sweeten my beer for me.”
Your eyebrows raise on their own, your body on autopilot.
“S-sweeten…your…b…”
Joel nods. His eyes track over to the rest of the party, and then back to you.
“Nobody’s watchin’, darlin’. It’s just you ‘n me. Go on. Do it for me.”
“No, no, no, hey, baby – don’t change the subject. You didn’t answer my question,” Joel says, one hand on the steering wheel, the other waving around like a maniac’s in midair. “What – is – a garden party?”
Your dad is chortling in the passenger seat.
“If you’d stop interruptin’ me!” you yell from the back. You’re leant forward, head and shoulders between the two of them. “It’s, like, well…drinks, and food, sat out on the patio in the nice weather–”
“Sounds like a barbecue to me!” Joel roars, much to your dad’s delight.
He claps his hands together once and snorts with laughter until he’s out of breath. “That Sarah of yours has you wrapped around her little finger, Joel.”
“She says, ‘I’m too old for a barbecue’. I said, ‘Too old for meat on a grill?’ How do you get to be too old to eat steak cooked on a grill?”
You roll your eyes with a sigh, slumping back in your seat and looking out the window at the buildings sailing by. You’re on your way to Costco to pick up supplies for this barb– garden party Sarah’s requested from Joel. He’s not too impressed by the thought of it.
Your dad’s talking about some client of his who threw his daughter a quinceañera on a yacht off the coast of Florida, for some reason you don’t care to listen to. Joel doesn’t, either. You see his eyes watching you from the rear-view mirror, clocking your expression.
When you turn to fully look back, his eyebrows raise, a question: You okay?
You raise yours back. Whatever.
He breathes a laugh, then plays it off to look like he’s laughing at your dad’s story. The truck pulls in to the parking lot.
By all accounts, your dad shouldn’t trust you and Joel alone together half as much as he does. But when the three of you get out of the car – Joel opens your door for you – he takes off to grab a shopping cart.
You and Joel take the opportunity to meander slowly toward the store. You haven’t had much time as of late to hang out, get some much-needed attention from him, jump each other’s bones. Sarah’s return means one more person to run lies around, one more obstacle stopping you from having precious free time with each other.
More than all of that, you just miss him. Miss the way he talks to you when no one else can hear, the way he reads your mind and gets it right – annoyingly – every damn time.
He loosens his elbow, offering you it, and you snake your arm through it.
“Garden party,” he scoffs. “I sure am glad I have you to keep me right.”
“We’ll make it nice for her,” you reply. “She liked the banner and balloons, right?”
He laughs. “She sure did. Facetimed her roommates to show ‘em off.”
You take a few more paces in silence, the gentle breeze sifting through your hair. It’s nice, just wandering with Joel. His warm arm hooked around yours, safe, steady. You feel you could lean into him and let him guide you along like the wind, all trust in his capable hands.
Then your dad rattles over toward you guys with a squeaky-wheeled cart and fucks it all up.
Joel, ever the casual one, slowly unlinks your arms. He ain’t got nothing to hide. Just being chivalrous to his buddy’s daughter.
“Where to first?” your dad asks.
“Wish I knew.” Joel strolls inside, and you follow, heading into the chilly store.
Joel decides the easiest – and quickest – way to get this shopping trip over with is to split up. He takes decorations, your dad offers to grab some of the food, and you’re left with drinks.
You mosey down the aisles with your janky cart squealing every time you turn. Under fluorescent lights, you spot shelves of soda and make for them, dodging a half-empty cage of stock someone’s emptying.
There are so many brands and flavors it’s actually kinda intimidating, and you wish you had Joel here to tell you which ones he wants. That, and also to reach them for you. The Dr Pepper is on the top shelf, and even though he’d probably tease you for not being able to reach first, his tall form would pull down a crate in one swoop without you even having to ask.
“Oh, let me get those for you!” a voice calls from behind, and you swivel around to see a kid– sorry, a guy in a Costco uniform rushing over from the other side of the aisle. The sides of his strawberry blonde hair are shaven, longer on top, gelled back. Round cheeks, flushed bright pink.
His equally pink arms reach up and grip a crate, pulling it from the shelf.
“Could you please…grab me one of the lemonade, too?”
“Sure thing,” he says.
“Thanks.” You smile as he lays the second carefully in your cart.
“No problem. You new around here? I recognize a lot of folks, never seen you before.”
His name badge reads Zack. It suits him, you think.
Your hands are locked tight around the cart handle. He’s not doing anything wrong, but you still feel awkward. You rock softly from side to side, answering, “Nope, lived here my whole life. Well, that’s not entirely true. I lived in New York City for a few years for college.”
“New York, huh? What’s that like?”
“It’s…good. Kinda place you gotta experience to really…experience, I guess.” You nervously scratch your arm.
“I’ve love to hear more about it. I went to college for, I think, two semesters? And dropped right back out. Wasn’t for me. Are you…Sorry, I’m not tryna be forward. Are you…with anybody?”
“Oh, I, uh…”
Right then you feel the air stop short at your side and notice Joel out of your peripheral vision.
“Hey, you found ‘em,” you say, barely above a whisper, looking at the packs of paper plates locked inside his tight knuckles.
He tosses them into the cart on top of your soda, looking down at you over your shoulder.
“You found drinks.”
“Yep.” If the ground could swallow me up right about now, that’d be great.
Zack shuffles on his feet, looking from you to Joel. He looks panicked. You bite back a laugh.
“Thanks, son.” Joel’s voice is muted, toneless, and he takes the cart straight out of your grasp in one sweep, a quick nod in Zack’s direction.
You don’t move, instead hang back to give the assistant a grateful smile and tell him, “We’re in a bit of a rush. Party’s tomorrow.”
“Wow, well, have fun!” he replies. As you swing off to follow Joel, Zack hops along after you, tapping your shoulder.
“I didn’t catch your name?”
“Naw, but she caught yours, Zack!” Joel yells. Emphasis on the K.
“See ya,” you whisper.
“Makin’ friends, are we?” Joel mutters as you catch up to him.
You lightly hit his bicep. “I couldn’t reach the soda.”
“Poor baby.” He pets his lip. You smack him again, but your stomach floods with heat. Joel doesn’t make note of it. “Need your help pickin’ out a tablecloth,” he says.
“A tablecloth? What’s so hard about a tablecl–”
You round the corner and Joel nods ahead, to where an entire wall of party supplies sits. On the shelves, piles of paper plates, cups, and napkins, and on the pegs above, bags, tablecloths, confetti, cutlery, banners, and bunting.
“Oh…”
“I was thinkin’ that pink one with the stars on it.” Joel nods to the left, finger scratching his nose, where a baby pink sheet lies, white stars all over. You try to mask your frown.
“No?” he asks, looking over at you tensely.
You tilt your head back in his direction. “It’s just…she made such a big deal about bein’ too old for a barbecue. If she’s too old for a barbecue, ain’t she too old for…”
“Pink?”
You flash him a gentle smile. “I reckon she’d like that one.”
You point to a white tablecloth, decorated with metallic gold dots.
“So, no pink, no stars. Gold polka dots are fine?”
“Sure,” you reply.
“Keep me right,” Joel whispers, leaning over to take the packet from its hook.
“Got some nibbles,” your dad’s voice yaps as he joins you two, dumping a dozen bags of candy, chips, and what looks like half the snack section into the cart. He sighs, placing his hands on his hips. “We all done?”
“Just gotta get some platters,” Joel replies, pulling a handwritten list and pen from his back pocket and glancing down it.
You lean over to check it out, smiling at his haphazard handwriting.
Cups
Soda
Plates
Tablecloth?
Balloons
Food
Cake
He draws a line through soda, plates, and the tablecloth.
“You gettin’ a cake?” you ask him.
He replies without lifting his eyes from the list. “Next door neighbor’s doin’ it. She has a bakery in town.”
Your dad’s over by the bunting, studying it all with his hands clasped behind his back.
You lower your tone, leaning in closer. “Neighbor, huh? She cute? She single?”
Joel tuts and gives you a dead-eyed stare. “Might be. Not sure.” He tilts his head. “Why don’t we give her Zack’s number?”
You raise an eyebrow and take the cart from his hands.
“We’re done, Dad. Deli’s on the way out,” you tell Joel, and he follows at your heels.
You didn’t take Joel for a man who spends ten minutes deciding which food platters to buy, but when it hits two-thirty and he’s still standing with his chin between his fingers, you sigh.
“Is it this big a deal?”
“I imagine it is; it’s Sarah we’re talkin’ about here.”
You can’t help the smile that grows on your lips, seeing how determined he is to make it perfect for her. It’s cute, alright? Who would’ve thought Joel Miller would concern himself so much with deli platters?
“Quit that,” he tells you, not even looking in your direction.
“Quit what?”
“Your starin’. Give us away.”
Your hand comes up to shove him and he grabs it, looking over your shoulder to check your dad’s not looking when he pulls you close to him.
“Don’t make me tell you twice, baby.”
You raise your eyebrows, smug grin on your lips, and his eyes dance down your body.
He suddenly lets go of you and you realize why seconds later when your dad’s heavy arm smacks down over your shoulders.
“We done, Joel? There’s this show on National Geographic about sharks I’m tryna catch.”
You roll your eyes at Joel who hands you an amused grin, then places a couple of platters into the cart and leads y’all to the checkouts.
“I’ll take the cart back, get you both at the truck.” Your dad makes off, janky wheel squeaking off to the front doors.
Joel shakes his head in his wake, as bemused by him as you are. You smile Hello to the cashier.
“How are y’all today?” he asks.
“Good, thanks,” you reply, watching Joel’s thick arms hold the crates of soda up to be scanned. He’s tensing, veins lining his tan skin. You could bite into him, you’re so needy. It’s only been a fucking week.
The red light flashes across the barcode with a beep and he settles the drinks down to grab his wallet.
You glance around as he pays. From over Joel’s right shoulder, a familiar set of buck teeth approaches. You avert your gaze, swerving to hide between Joel and the counter.
“I’m goin’ on my break, Tom!” Zack’s voice rings out, and you feel Joel’s chest shift around your shoulder.
“You got the bags?” he asks, casually. Unbothered.
“Mhm,” you reply, not achieving the same level of coolness as he did. Your voice quivers as your eyes scan for Zack, hoping he won’t catch you.
Poor guy. He was friendly enough. Just, you happen to think Joel’s friendlier.
Even if he notices you, you’re already being swept out of the store by Joel, both crates of soda and the platters on top in his arms; a feat that might’ve killed Zack in the soft drinks section. You wander off together back out into the burning heat, eyes squinting in the sun.
Your dad is stood in deep conversation with someone by the cart return, a man with a balding head and blue jeans that you don’t recognize. “I’ll be over in a minute,” he tells you both as you pass, “work stuff.”
Joel loads the truck and you jump in the back.
“You not gonna sit up front with me?” he asks, turning back to you.
“And make my dad sit in the back?”
“Punishment for holdin’ us up.”
You raise your eyebrows and climb over the front seat, sitting in place next to Joel. His hand reaches over and cups your thigh. You like it, feeling like this is your spot. Right next to him. Co-pilot. Captain of the radio.
You probably don’t like the same music Joel does, though.
You bring a hand down to lace through his, fingers intertwining between your legs.
“So, Zack?”
You lean your skull against the headrest and glare up at the roof of the car. “I have no idea. He was just talkin’ to me.”
“He seemed to like you.”
“I’m very likeable.”
“Did you like him?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately? He look my type?”
Joel gives half a shrug.
“Don’t get all jealous,” you mutter, turning to check on your dad.
“Jealous,” Joel repeats, with a scoff.
“Uh, ‘She caught your name, Zack!’” You echo Joel’s rough inflection, emphasizing his Texas twang, stressing the K the way he did.
“That wasn’t jealousy, baby,” he says softly.
You huff, looking away and crossing your arms.
“You want me to be jealous?”
“No.”
Yeah, you do. It was kinda hot.
Joel’s smirking, you can see it from the corner of your eye.
“I…want you to be…It was hot when you…Well, I…It’s more that…In a word, I’d say–”
Joel’s hand squeezes yours, letting go and sliding slowly up your thigh. Your ears are throbbing with blood rushing when he finally stops just shy of your underwear.
“Got it,” he whispers.
Your eyes drift from his hand up to his expression. If it weren’t for the sweet smile he was giving you, you’d call him arrogant. But his warm expression, the way his head is tilted against his seat to look at you, really take you in, the upturned corners of his mouth…
It’s just as well your dad hauls the truck door open when he does, before you can throw yourself at his best friend.
“I’m in the damn back then, am I? Assholes,” he murmurs as he – struggles to – climb up into his seat.
“Blame your daughter,” Joel chuckles, hand reaching around the back of your headrest to reverse, “huh, Trouble?”
You open your mouth to clap a reply back, but your dad interrupts.
“Trouble?” he asks, brow cocked.
You spin around to watch his face contort in confusion.
“Who the heck is Trouble?”
“Your kid. Always causin’ it,” Joel says.
“Is she, now?”
You cast a look at Joel, out of sight of your dad. Are you fuckin’ serious?
He grins in return, driving off out of the parking lot.
----------
Joel had dropped you guys off on the way home from Costco. You’d wanted to stick around for a few minutes after your dad had hopped out of the truck, but he was relentless.
“Let Joel head off, he’s got a busy evenin’ ahead,” he’d insisted.
Joel had given you an apologetic glance as you unbuckled your seatbelt and followed suit.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He’d quickly kissed the back of your hand as you bid him farewell.
When Sunday rolls around, you spend the morning checking in with him, asking how the party’s looking and receiving photos to judge his decorating skills.
You: Not quite as good without my input, but it’ll do
Joel: Nothing’s quite as good without your input.
When it’s almost time to go, you’re still in the mirror making sure your outfit is perfect for Joel.
Perfect for the party, you mean.
You adjust the strap of your green dress, pulling the floral fabric over your bra. Totally innocent. Just a nice summer dress.
With slutty lingerie hidden underneath.
You’re only wearing it to fuck with him. You know that. Nothing is gonna happen at a fucking garden party. But your eyes flit across your body, trying to get into the mind of a forty-eight-year-old, watching the tops of your thighs as the wind lifts your skirt…
You unlock your phone and your thumb dances over the text thread with Joel. You’d taken some pictures before you’d slipped the dress over yourself, honestly just ‘cause you thought you looked hot, but now that the idea’s in your head…you might as well.
You: Does this lingerie say ‘garden party’?
You hit send and shut your eyes tight until you see stars, blindly throwing your phone to the floor and pacing back and forth. What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck was that that was so stupid he’s totally gonna laugh at you you loser he’s–
It doesn’t take long for your phone to vibrate with Joel’s reply. You dive for it, grabbing it with a swoop of your arm.
Joel: Slutty garden party, sure.
You snort. Dick.
You: Like it?
The typing indicator pops up, then disappears, then returns. Three dots blinking at the speed your pulse is racing. Type quicker, old man.
Joel: I prefer what’s underneath it.
Your chest shudders with a sudden inhale. Your face begins to heat. A terrible idea has crossed your mind.
You’ve never been one for sexting. Not much, anyway. Certainly not on an actual message thread. Snapchat, sure, where the messages disappear from both your screen and your mind as soon as you’re done. But never somewhere there’s recorded proof.
It’s kinda hot. Having evidence of you and Joel. Pictures and messages to look back on.
So, you lay back on your bed and spread your legs. Hook a finger around the elastic of your panties, pulling them to the side to expose your – already glistening wet – folds.
You lower your phone, snap a couple pics. Play around, spread your lips, take more.
Then you send one.
Fuck it, right?
You: Sounded like you were missing it…
Your phone’s ringing within ten seconds of hitting send. You pick up and Joel’s calling out to someone.
“–right back, ‘m just goin’ to change.”
Sarah replies something you can’t make out, and Joel sighs.
“Naw, it’s just not very…I wanna look right for it. You look great. Just– I’ll be right back.”
You giggle quietly into the phone. “Excuses, excuses, Miller…”
“The hell are you doin’,” he hisses, bedroom door closing in the background, “sendin’ me that without a warnin’?”
“I did send warnin’,” you protest. “You must’a guessed when I sent the first one what the second was gonna be?”
Joel sighs and you giggle, laying back on your bed. Your hand returns between your legs and you whisper a moan, fingers sifting through soaking folds.
He goes quiet for a second.
“You playin’ with yourself, baby?”
“Mhm.”
“Feel good?”
“Yup,” you reply.
“You want me to make you cum over the phone?”
Your breath shudders and your chest heaves. Every damn time, he blows your cool every damn time.
“Uhuh,” you whimper. “’m so fucking wet.”
“Yeah? So needy, baby. Got yourself all riled up, haven’t you? Need me to fix it for you, take it away.”
You moan.
“You still wearin’ those little panties?”
You hum in response. He knows it’s a yes.
“Take ‘em off.”
“Joel, I’m leavin’ in–”
“Off.”
You obey him, dropping the phone onto your bed beside your ear and raising your hips, elastic of your underwear sliding over your pelvis and down your legs. You drop them to the floor and your hands resume position.
“Good girl,” he says, hearing you moan when your fingertips meet your clit again. “That better?”
“Mhm,” you croon.
He hisses, says, “Yeah. Gonna fuck yourself for me, pretty girl?”
You whine a Yes, and hear the clink of his belt buckle, the zip of his jeans. His voice echoes, bouncing off what you assume are his bathroom walls, when he tells you to slide a finger inside yourself. He lets a breathy sigh pass his lips, and you know he has a fist around his cock.
Your fingers dip inside your opening, collecting your slick and rubbing it up and down, soaking your clit before they return to your cunt and slip inside. You gasp, the stretch too good to keep quiet.
Joel murmurs another Good fuckin’ girl, and you can hear his soft panting. It drives you insane.
“Joel,” you whisper, “want you here.”
“I know, darlin’, I know.”
“Want you to f-fuck me.” Your swollen clit ruts against the base of your palm, the bone rubbing it so fucking good, and you squeeze your eyes tight shut.
“Soon, baby, promise,” he tells you, his hand pumping his cock, the sound of his precum coating his shaft floating through your cell into your ear. “Keep goin’, pretty girl. Bein’ so dirty for me, so fuckin’ good.”
Your back begins to arch, his praises and the sound of him jacking himself off pushing you closer and closer, warmth and pleasure flooding through your body from your core.
Joel speaks again through a strained voice.
“Wanted to fuck you yesterday,” he says, “so fuckin’ bad, baby.”
Your breath halts, cutting short in your throat.
“Wanted to,” groan, “sh-show that fuckin’ kid who you belonged to.”
You breathe a laugh laced thick with arousal. “Who I b…belonged to?”
You’re enjoying the thought as much as he is. Joel fucking you senseless in front of anyone who looks twice at you. Showing them that only he can make you feel good, only he can make you cum the way you do. The thought causes a whimper to escape your throat.
“That’s it, baby. You like that?”
“Yeah,” you whine.
“Tell me, pretty girl. Tell me.”
“’m yours, Joel. Fuck. Fuckin’ – yours.”
You’re whispering his name over and over, adding a third finger, imagining it’s his cock fucking in and out of you.
“So – close – baby,” he’s grunting, and you sigh in agreement. You’re writhing around on your mattress, legs wide open, hands pumping in and out and rubbing circles all over your sensitive cunt, wishing it was Joel all over you.
He’s moaning now, quietly humming down the phone to you, and it starts to undo the knot in your stomach. Your walls clamp around your fingers, hand begins to slow on your clit, and you utter his name before you fall silent, throat closing up as you climax.
The sound of your orgasm sends him over the edge right behind you. He groans, your name on his lips as he climaxes, repeating it over and over. You’re still coming to when he quietens, moans staggered, breathing heavy.
“Good?” you ask, fingers massaging yourself after your high.
“So good, darlin’,” he whispers, “did so good for me.”
You smile at his praise. Did so good for him, like you always do. It sends your head spiraling.
You dip your soaked fingers in and out of your soft cunt, lying in the bliss a little while longer, listening to Joel do his jeans back up and fix his belt.
He must figure what you’re up to, because he lifts the phone back to his mouth and says, “Tell me how you taste, baby.”
You don’t even think twice. You slip your fingers from your dripping cunt and suckle on them, moaning into the phone for Joel’s benefit. He lets out a low growl.
“Sweet as sugar,” you tell him, and he hums.
“Hey, hon?” your dad’s voice snaps you back to reality.
You’re not on some different plain with Joel’s voice purring in your ear. You’re not in private. You’re laying on your bed with your legs spread, Joel on speakerphone.
Your legs slam closed and you sit up straight, shushing Joel, who’s chuckling quietly into your phone.
“Yep?” you reply, voice shaky. “Shut the fuck up,” you hiss down the line.
Your dad pushes your door open as you stand, straightening your dress.
“Ready to go? I don’t wanna be late for Joel.”
“I don’t think he’ll mind.”
“He will. C’mon.”
He closes the door over when he leaves. You tug your panties back on and bring the phone up to your ear, speakerphone now safely off.
“Do you? Mind?”
“’s long as I get to see your pretty little face, I don’t care, baby.”
You smile. Then you think it over.
“…but you’d prefer I was there on time, right? Y’know, so you can spend more time with me?”
“Uhuh. Sure. More time with your ass, too.”
“Alright. That’s nice. See, you just ruined what could’ve been a really sweet moment. How romantic, Miller. Once again, your dick gets the better of you.”
Joel laughs. “Ain’t that what this whole thing is? My dick getting the better of me?”
You gasp, offended. “And here I was thinking you liked me for my personality.”
He scoffs. “Will you just get in the damn car and get your ass over here?”
You’re fixing yourself once more in the mirror; there can be no signs of what just happened.
“I’m cominggg…” you drawl.
“Good girl. Bring that personality of yours, too.”
You snort and hang up without saying goodbye.
Your dad is stood at the bottom of the stairs as you march down them, legs still a little weak.
“Sorry, kiddo, I just don’t wanna be late. Joel’s wantin’ us there first, and Rita will be waitin’.”
Your brows furrow in response. He elaborates.
“She’s comin’, too, I’ve to give her a ride.”
“Sooo…we’ll arrive at Joel’s around midnight? Just checkin’, so I can let him know. Y’know, she likes to take it slow in the car.”
“Ha-ha. Funny. Get your things.”
“Can I take my own car? We can race, see who gets there first.”
Your dad sighs. “How am I s’posed to explain that to her?”
“Just say Sarah wanted me over early.” You cock your head like a begging puppy. “Please?”
He nods, exasperated, and waves a hand toward you. “Go on, get. Take that salad, will you?”
You sit the ceramic bowl on your hip and skip to the front door, belting it into the passenger seat before heading for Joel’s.
He’s out back when you arrive, platter of food in his hand. He looks casual, like he wasn’t cooing you through an orgasm, like, twenty minutes ago.
“Hey, cowboy,” you call from the patio door.
He sets the platter down on the tablecloth you picked out and strolls back toward the house, hands taking your waist as soon as he’s close enough.
“Your dad here?”
“Nope,” you whisper, “he’s bringing Rita.”
Joel dips his head and presses his lips to yours, rocking you back and forth. You giggle against his mouth.
“Dress is nice,” he murmurs when he pulls away, your foreheads together.
“Oh, you should see what I have on under it.”
“Already did,” he whispers in a cocky song, and you laugh again into his kiss.
His tongue sneaks past yours, and you squeal when his hand drops to squeeze your ass under your short skirt.
“You’re gonna make me drop this salad!” You bat his smirking ass off of you to set your dad’s handiwork safely on the table.
The moment is broken by the sound of Sarah’s voice from the hallway. You both split apart, Joel heads back outside while you walk over to the fridge to grab a soda.
“Welcome home banner’s slipped, Dad,” she yells out the window, and Joel gives her a thumbs up. Sarah rolls her eyes and turns to you. “Hi, you!”
“Hey,” you reply, giving her a toothy grin. “Soda?”
She reaches a hand out and you pass her a Coke.
“I have never seen my dad so stressed,” she snickers, can to her lips.
“Me either. You don’t wanna know how long he took to decide what to get from the deli.”
Sarah silently wanders through to the living room, beckoning you to follow. You glance up at the streamers still hanging from the ceiling, the slanted banner above the TV.
You throw yourselves down on the couch and she rounds on you.
“So…?”
“So?” you say, taking a sip of your soda.
“What’s been goin’ on? We haven’t properly caught up yet.”
You shrug. “Not much. Workin’ at Sal’s, loving life. What’s been going on with you?”
“Oh, come on. You really got no news for me?”
“What news do you want?” You snort, lifting the can to cover your flushed cheeks.
Sarah shrugs. “I dunno, boys? Gossip? Drama?”
“What are you, thirteen? Thought you were a big Cali girl now.”
She tuts.
You sigh, conceding. “No boys, no drama happenin’, and the most gossip I know is Anna called in sick last week and then Sal’s niece saw a picture of her on Instagram at some house party. ‘s all I got.”
Sarah looks unconvinced. She smirks. Her eyes thin, only for a second, but you catch it.
“How’s your dad?” she asks after a tense stare-off.
“Fine,” you reply. “He’s bringing Rita.”
“Aw. I’ll miss ‘im, then. Won’t be here ‘til sundown.”
You giggle into your can, “That’s what I said, dude.”
Joel shuffles into the room then, making for the banner. Your eyes track him as he leans over the TV, strong arms reaching up to fix it into place. He grunts as he pushes the pin back in.
“Need a hand, Dad?”
“Nope,” he replies, “’m good.”
Your chest tightens as the memory of the last time that banner was pinned into place floods your memory. Sat atop Joel’s shoulders, pulling him into you when he set you back down. Then, him fucking you on the couch, right where your legs currently lie, Sarah’s draped over them.
And here he is, able to reach it all by himself all along.
You clear your throat, suddenly feeling flushed.
“You good?” Sarah asks when you sit up straight, fanning yourself with your hand.
“Is it hot in here?”
Joel turns, eyebrows raising.
“Crack a window, Dad.” Sarah’s fanning you now, too, wafting a magazine in your face.
He moves for the window and slides it open, pulling the shades back in attempt to get some airflow.
“I’m fine,” you whisper, hand on Sarah’s wrist. “I’m fine.”
She lowers the magazine and stares you down. “Are you pregnant, or something?”
Joel chokes, clearing his throat over by the window, and you bat Sarah’s leg.
“No, idiot! It’s just hot. You’re not hot?”
Sarah flicks her hair over her shoulder, chin lifting. “I’m very hot, actually.” She stifles a laugh at your expression. When she leans over to set her soda on the table, you shoot Joel a look.
He raises his hands in surrender silently and heads out of the room, reminding you guys that the party starts in twenty minutes.
“You like your decorations?” you ask once Joel’s gone.
Sarah’s eyes widen and she nods. “I heard you had a thing or two to do with ‘em.”
“I was creative director.”
“He’s so cheesy, ain’t he?”
“He just loves you. I think it’s cute.”
“I’ll bet you two got into, like, six arguments while you were puttin’ them all up. Right?”
You blink rapidly, trying to clear the memory from your eyes in case she reads it. “Nope. None. No arguments.”
You’re thankful when Joel’s front door pushes open and you hear Rita calling down the hall for Sarah, who jumps up and skips to meet her. When you follow, Joel’s in the kitchen doorway, watching you carefully. You know he heard every damn word, from no arguments to you thinking he was being cute.
You ignore him as you brush past, smug smirk on his face.
The backyard slowly starts to fill with more and more people as the afternoon goes on, sun rising higher and higher into the sky. Sarah is swept off by a small wave of school friends, all nineteen, none of whom you really know. One of them asked if you were her sister, and you choked on your drink before Sarah snorted and said, “No, dumbass, she’s my dad’s best friend’s daughter.”
They’re standing like a flock of seagulls over by the pool, shrill giggles piercing the air every ten seconds. Taking selfies, updating Instagram stories. Oh, to be nineteen again.
Being a senior citizen of twenty-three means, unfortunately for you, that you spend most of the afternoon tailing your dad and his buddies. At the food table, slowly depleting of the snacks your dad had practically raided from Costco, you’re witness to a conversation between him and Bill about the housing market.
“…I mean, if she wanted to get a place of her own,” your dad waves a hand in your direction, “how’s she meant to do it? What are they doin’ to help the younger generations get their foot in the door, hm?”
Bill’s shaking his head. Looks like vexation, like he’s agreeing with your dad, but you’ve a sneaking suspicion he’s just pacifying him.
“Maybe you’re better headin’ back to New York, after all, hon,” your dad says, and you raise your eyebrows, biting down on your bottom lip.
“Missin’ it yet?” Bill asks.
You shrug. “Sometimes. Was nice being around people who were into the same stuff as me. But I like being home.”
He nods, looking back down at the pool, sunlight gleaming off the water in ripples.
“She’s got plenty to keep her occupied,” your dad snorts. “Me ‘n Joel keep her right.”
You bite back a laugh. If you only fucking knew.
Bill chortles. “Joel Miller, keepin’ someone right? Now that’s a sight I’d like to see.”
You look over to him, pretending to laugh along, but your brows drop in confusion.
“Ah, they’re close, y’know?” your dad says. “He looks out for her. Think he keeps her on the straight and narrow better ‘n I do, these days, doesn’t he?”
“He, uh…Yeah, sure.” You can barely look him in the eye.
“Tell you what,” Bill twists around to grab another fistful of nuts from the table, “there ain’t nothin’ the good Southern air won’t fix. I notice a difference in you, this time around, kid.”
“Yeah?”
He nods enthusiastically, cheeks full. Still chewing, he says, “Oh, yeah. Hell, you used to come home for Christmas or whatever, ‘n it was like you were bored. Miserable. No offense, don’t take that the wrong way.”
You scoff. “Which way should I take it?”
“Now that you’re back here for good,” he continues, not hearing you, “‘s like someone switched a light on. Doesn’t she seem brighter?”
Your dad turns to survey you and eventually nods. “You happier here, kiddo?”
You shrug, mumble an, “I dunno.”
The men laugh. Bill gives you a clap to the back and strolls off back inside, leaving you and your dad alone.
“Why didn’t you ask that– that boy along?”
“Who? Sam?”
He nods. “Remember you had that date scheduled– I mean, not-date?”
You narrow your eyes. “I don’t think this is his scene.”
“Garden party not macho enough?”
You shake your head in bewilderment. “Macho?”
“Who’s macho?” Joel’s gruff voice sounds from behind.
You swing around to tell him, “Nobody,” and he shrugs, cheeks full with the sandwich he’s just thrown in his mouth.
“Nice,” you muse. “Very garden party of you.”
“Right?”
You smirk, peeling back the wrapper of the cupcake on your plate.
“Those,” Joel leans in, smirk on his lips, voice low, “were made by Nat.” He nods over toward the patio doors, where a blonde woman in a long purple dress stands, chatting to another of Joel’s neighbors. “Remember I told you she was makin’ a cake?”
You turn back to face him, narrow eyes set on his. He smiles innocently, and you can’t help but return it, butterflies tickling your stomach.
“Damn good cake it is, too,” your dad mumbles from your side. “Try some, hon.”
You lift the cupcake to your mouth, never letting go of Joel’s gaze, and run your tongue along the pink icing, collecting it all on the tip. Joel doesn’t move. He’s watching your lips.
Your teeth sink into the soft cake – it is fucking good, though you’d never admit it to Joel. He’s having far too much fun watching you; any more inflation to his ego and he might explode.
“Hm,” you run your tongue over your top lip, “tastes alright. But it’s pink. Sarah’s too old for pink.”
You throw the cupcake back onto your plate and roll your eyes.
Joel scoffs. Entertained. Nice job, kid. “Here,” he says, “you got some icin’ on your–”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, instead, licks his thumb and wipes it along the edge of your lip, collects the icing, then slots it back between his own, and sucks it clean.
Right in front of your fucking dad.
You’re honestly about to mutter a sincere thanks when you remember he’s standing right at your elbow, watching the whole thing. Watching his best friend run his wet thumb across his daughter’s mouth and then taste her on his tongue. Like it’s nothing.
Joel realizes halfway through what he’s doing and yanks his thumb out of his mouth a little too abruptly, nodding at you as if he’s just been courteous. He clears his throat when his arms are back by his side. “Uh…”
Your feet are heavy against the patio. You feel like your limbs are stuck in place, save for your hands, which cause the paper plate locked between your fingers to tremble.
“Th…Thanks.”
It’s all you can muster up the courage to say. You can feel your dad’s eyes on your shoulder like the sun burning your skin.
“Yeah. No problem.”
You stare between the two of them, unsure who’ll break first. Unsure if either of them will, or if you’ll have to cave and say something.
A swish of fabric against the back of your calves jolts life back into you and you hear a soft voice in your left ear.
“See you’re enjoyin’ the cupcakes, then?” she hums to Joel. Your stomach tightens.
“Uh, yeah, they’re, uh…real good, Nat. Thanks again. We were just sayin’ how good they are, weren’t we?” He holds a hand out, past you, to your dad, who nods along. You start to back away.
Joel can tease you all he wants about his next-door neighbor and her pink cupcakes, but you’ve truly never felt more grateful to have another woman approach him and take some of the heat off of you. In a blur of embarrassment and the tiniest sliver of thrill, you take off into the house.
Bill’s in the living room with a couple other men, watching something on TV. You flash by the door and straight upstairs, where it’s quiet, empty. You lock yourself in the bathroom, head immediately falling into your hands.
“Fuck,” you whisper into your palms.
Your pulse is racing, face flushed with color and heat, embarrassment seeping all over you. What the fuck was he thinking? Was he even thinking?
It’s not unlike Joel to do stupid stuff like this just to mess with you when you’re alone. But you know, from the look on his face, from how speechless he suddenly got, you know he didn’t mean it. You know that, right now, he’s probably outside, still being pestered by that lady Nat, feeling the exact same as you are on the inside.
You steady your breathing and crack the window, peering through the sliver of light. Your dad’s still by the snacks. You can hear Nat resuming conversation just below you, out of sight by the patio doors. Where is Joel?
You pull the window open a little more, and crane your neck to scope the entire yard. There, by the pool, Sarah’s friend is stuffing as many marshmallows into his mouth as he can, while the rest video him, hysterically laughing.
You notice a flash of flannel by the work shed and spot him; making his way down a stone path between some bushes. Rita’s on his arm. Good. Means he escaped your dad without much damage done.
You rinse your face over with splashes of cold water, check yourself in the mirror, and head back out. A roar sounds from the living room as you round the bottom of the stairs.
“I didn’t know bowling was so fuckin’ excitin’!” Bill yells.
You slip through the kitchen, drowned in golden sunlight, and back outside. Nat shifts to let you by her and you smile gratefully, her purple dress sweeping across your legs again.
You follow the path behind Joel’s shed, up some steps and dip your head beneath the greenery. It’s obvious what he’s been up to since you and Sarah left; he’s good with his hands. He’s landscaped most of his yard; starting behind the work shed is a small, private pathway which leads to a secluded patio, decorated with potted plants, shrubs, and two wooden chairs. It’s out of view from where the rest of the party are, but you can look down on pretty much everyone from here.
Rita and Joel are in conversation when you round the corner and his eyes lock onto yours.
“Hey, darlin’,” he greets you, so casual you almost forget what just happened. The man is so fucking cool, it almost riles you.
“Thought I saw you guys wander off.”
“Oh, honey, here, take my seat.”
“No, Rita, really. I’ll sit on the arm of Joel’s.”
You lean back onto the wooden arm, thighs dangerously close to Joel’s hands. He flinches as you settle, like he wanted to put a protective hand over your leg, and then remembered your company.
“Nice garden party, huh, Rita?” you chirp, eyes flashing across Joel’s face.
He shakes his head, knocking your leg with the back of his hand to tell you off.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous. Fine day for it, too.” Rita looks up to the clear sky. “Only the best for our Sarah. I’m just keepin’ Mr. Grump company over here.”
“Mr. Grump?” you snort, looking from her to Joel.
He sighs. “I am not bein’ a grump.”
“Are too,” she replies flatly, and Joel turns to stare at her.
“It’s hard work hostin’ so many people, alright?”
Rita chuckles, giving his arm a light slap. “He’s all the way over here to escape the party,” she tells you, sweet smile on her face.
You return it, saying, “That doesn’t sound like Joel at all. He loves people, don’t you?”
Joel grumbles, taking a sip of his beer.
The three of you sit quietly for a few minutes, Rita relaxing in the warm summer air, shade from the trees keeping her cool. You, too close for comfort to Joel, breaking out in a sweat with the need to talk to him about the cupcake incident. And Joel, almost looking bored, right arm on his armrest drawing shapes at the small of your back.
You could fucking scream.
“Well, honey,” Rita eventually says, “since you’re here, I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. You help me up?”
You carefully pull Rita to her feet, and she shakily wanders off back toward the rest of the party, waving a hand and telling you not to let Joel out of your sight. You take her seat in her absence.
“Arm not comfortable?” Joel asks, eyes on the party.
“Huh?”
“I said, arm not comfortable?”
“Not as comfortable as a whole chair.”
“Hm.”
You mock hum in response. “You want me back on the arm? You that needy, baby?”
He looks at you. His tongue in his cheek. “Nah, want you on my lap. But arm is less obvious.”
His words knock the wind out of you, but only for a few seconds. You’re getting good at not swooning at every sexual reference this man makes. You’re also getting shamelessly good at responding to him, matching his energy.
So, you stand, and, while checking nobody’s watching, shuffle over. Back to Joel, you lower yourself down onto his thigh. Swing your head around to look him in the eye.
“Better?”
In reply, he takes your waist in one hand and shifts you so you’re at a ninety-degree angle to him. His knees facing north, yours west.
“Better,” he confirms.
Your brows furrow. “What are you–”
“I thought it over. You ‘n that Zack boy.”
“Wouldn’t say he was a boy, was probably my age–”
“That Zack boy,” Joel repeats. “Him chattin’ to you, asking you about New York. Wantin’ to know if you’re single.”
How much of that conversation did Joel hear?
“He was just–”
“Makin’ conversation? Nah. He was into ya.”
“Well, if you say so. So, you thought it over?”
“Uhuh. I don’t know how I feel about it.”
“About what?”
“About walkin’ up to find you bein’ chatted up by some loser.”
“Oh, ouch, Joel. Zack’s feelings are hurt.”
The corner of his mouth trembles, holding back a laugh. Then he leans in.
“I don’t like to see anyone with their eyes on my girl.”
His girl.
Something inside you stirs. Something between your legs…tenses.
“Your…”
“You think that was nice? The way he was lookin’ at you? You think he wanted to be your friend?”
You stare at him, mouth agape. No words bubble to the surface.
“Nah, baby. He wanted you the way I want you. The way I have you.”
“You…have…And how is it you have me?”
“Sat on my lap, pretty little mouth wide open, wet enough that I can feel you through my jeans.”
He leans back in his chair, and you watch him wordlessly.
Your breath stammering, brain struggling to compute, you mumble, “What are you gonna do with me, then?”
“Hm?” he tilts his head.
“I said, what are you gonna do? With me?”
“Well…” he takes a drink from his bottle, and then studies it in his hand. “I thought you could sweeten my beer for me.”
Your eyebrows raise on their own, your body on autopilot.
“S-sweeten…your…b…”
Joel nods. His eyes track over to the rest of the party, and then back to you.
“Nobody’s watchin’, darlin’. It’s just you ‘n me. Go on. Do it for me.”
He takes the bottle and uses it to part your legs, before sliding it under your dress. You watch like you’re not even inside your body, just a passenger to Joel and his movements. All you know is you want him to do whatever the fuck he’s about to do.
The lip of the bottle pushes your panties aside, and you feel it line up at your lips. Joel looks up at you then with a question in his gaze.
You stare at him a few moments longer, and he lets you. He knows you’re taking this all in, even if it feels like it’s all in slow motion. He lets you take your time with your answer.
You nod, breathless. Do it. And he pushes up.
Your fingers immediately lock around his wrist, the beginnings of a moan escaping your lips. Joel tuts softly, wrist never stopping, just slowly inserting the bottle, neck gliding through your wet folds to your center.
You’re gasping, still holding onto him to steady yourself, coming back to earth only momentarily to check nobody’s nearby.
“Ain’t no one comin’, sweetheart,” Joel coos in your ear, “I’m watchin’. Just you enjoy.”
When the bottleneck fills you up, he pulls it back again. Your eyes begin to roll at the feeling of it dragging out of you. Your head cocks, body going limp. Lips seal shut, trapping a whine.
You rationalize it with three things. First off: nobody can see you here, not from down on the patio. Second: even if they could, Joel’s watching. And thirdly: you don’t give the slightest of fucks.
Joel and his ideas, Joel and his fucking ideas, forever pushing any other thought out of your head and replacing it with a want to please him, a need to do the things he asks of you. Forever washing away all your good instinct, leaving behind only the ache between your legs and the lust behind your eyes.
Joel starts fucking you – really fucking you – pumping the neck of his bottle in and out of your cunt. You’re doing everything not to scream out. Your hand grips tighter on his wrist and he smiles, looking down to the sight of the pair of you working together, fucking you together, chasing your high together.
“Liked it when I touched you, didn’t you,” he breathes, wrist jacking, “liked when I put my hand on you in front of everyone.”
“Did you like it?” you ask, head lulling, eyes folding shut. Legs opening wider just a fraction. Back beginning to arch.
He laughs. “Yeah, I liked it, baby.”
“Then I liked it, too.”
You like it when he talks to you. Like picturing the things he’s saying. The shock of Joel’s thumb on your lips. The desire you felt to part them and suck on it, right there and then.
Then, a twisted thought crosses your mind.
“Did you…did you like…oh…did you like N-Nat comin’ up…to you?” you whisper as Joel pushes the bottle deeper.
He growls, teeth locking together in some weird grimace of a smile. “Who’s jealous now, baby?”
You smile, head falling back. The sky is bright and blue and it burns your eyes to look, but then, your whole body is aflame.
You know he doesn’t care about anyone else. Know you’re the only one he wants to be doing this stuff with. But you’re there now, so might as well follow it through.
“You don’t– Fuck, Joel, fuck…You don’t think she’s…h-hot?”
He hums. Considers it. “Who’s sitting on my lap gettin’ fucked right now, pretty girl?”
“M-me,” you wobble, grinning.
“You,” he agrees, and pushes the bottle further.
You start to feel dizzy, the blood pumping through your ears deafening you. You place your hand on Joel’s knee to steady yourself as your legs give, cunt dripping everywhere. You can hear it, can feel it.
“Joel,” you pine, “’m close.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Joel’s purring, lips pressed against your ear. “You can cum, baby, I got you.”
Your hand comes up to grip the collar of his shirt – you’d worry about it looking suspicious, but your mind is somewhere else entirely as the pressure between your legs starts to unravel at rapid pace. It all becomes too much too quickly, and you can’t stifle the sounds from your lips any longer.
Your legs clamp shut, knuckles whiten, pussy throbs around the neck of Joel’s beer bottle. You cum for him for the second time today, quietly whimpering as his free hand rubs your hip, coaxing you back to earth.
“That’s my girl,” he breathes, “good girl. All over it, darlin’, that’s it.”
“Joel…” you’re panting, orgasm bearing down on your body.
He’s still lulling you through it, whispering words you can’t make out into your ear, lips pressed against your hair. He slowly slips the bottle from between your legs and sets it on the armrest, replacing his hand on your bare thigh.
It’s fucking covered in you. Your wet runs down into the beer, slick coating the outside of the neck. You can’t take your eyes off it, can’t fucking believe what’s just happened.
You take a deep breath of the sweet breeze, Joel’s arms around your waist, rubbing you gently. You lean down and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.
A few minutes pass, couple songs on the stereo go by. Your hands toying with one of his, your breathing steadying against his chest. Joel mumbles into your hair.
“Your dad’s lookin’ for us.”
“How d’you know?” you mutter into his shirt, eyes closing over.
“That’s the third time he’s gone in ‘n out of the kitchen.”
“Maybe he’s just hungry.”
His chest jumps once with a laugh and he sits you both up. You stand wearily and Joel holds onto your hand as you slink back into the chair by his side. As you heave one leg over the other, core still throbbing, your dad emerges from around the shed. Joel lets your hand drop.
“Rita’s wantin’ home,” your dad murmurs, rolling his eyes.
“She ain’t much of a partier,” Joel says, lifting the beer to his lips. You stare at the lip of the bottle as his mouth kisses it, drink mixed with…well, you, spilling out onto his tongue. The neck is pearlescent with your cum. You feel lightheaded.
“You alright, honey?” your dad asks, and his hand comes down on your shoulder. Gently, but it still makes you jump.
“Y-yeah,” you reply, dragging your gaze from Joel’s lips. “Just…the sun, I think.”
Your dad looks worried, rubs the top of your back. “You need to go home?”
You shake your head, panting a little. “No, I’m good.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Joel says. The bottle’s between his thighs now, he’s twirling it. It’s like it’s a trophy to him. He props his elbow on his armrest and gives your shoulder a squeeze.
Your dad gives Joel an appreciative nod, then glares back at you. “You call me if you need me, alright? I’ll be ten minutes, tops.”
You muster up the energy to make some joke about going too fast in the car with Rita. Your dad chuckles, then nods again to Joel, and disappears around the corner.
“You okay?” Joel asks when he’s gone.
You return his glance, energy coming back. “Sweeten your beer? Where the fuck did you come up with that one?”
He’s grinning. Do you want to slap him, or mount him?
“Can’t let you in on all my secrets, can I, darlin’?”
You roll your head back, resting softly against the wooden chair.
“Alright. Just keep doin’ that.”
“Doin’ what?”
“Surprising me. See where it gets you.”
Joel laughs through his nose; you hear the quiet rumble of his chest.
“We better get,” he says, tapping your knee as he stands. “Before everyone goes home.”
“Thought that’s what you wanted?” you reply, taking his outstretched hand and pulling yourself up.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Joel mutters as you walk off in front of him, “did I say before everyone goes home? I meant to make everyone go home.”
Joel gets his wish soon enough. It’s almost four o’clock when you return to the party; Sarah and her friends are up in her room, Bill’s roped about three others in to join his new bowling watch party, and most of the guests are either gone, or getting ready to head. The garden is empty when you throw yourself back on a lounge chair, enjoying the quiet.
You feel yourself dipping in and out of sleep, sun keeping you warm, breeze lightly kissing your cheek. The music from the stereo has been turned down, so you listen contently to the quiet hum of country, making a mental note to tease Joel about it later.
You’re filled with a peaceful content, a little tired from your ridiculous antics, but happy. You’re starting to understand what Bill was talking about; that bright cheeriness always makes an appearance when you’ve been around one person in particular, doesn’t it?
“Dad?” Sarah’s voice sings through the open door from the kitchen. She peers through the shades, spotting you by the pool. “You seen my dad?”
You shake your head. “Not a clue.” Lifting the bottom of your bottle to drain the last of your beer on your tongue, you haul yourself up – with a huge effort – to sit up straight.
“Will you tell him I’m goin’ out? We’re gonna catch a movie.”
“I’m not invited?”
She snorts. “You can come if you want. Thought you might still be feelin’ funny, is all.”
“I’m good. Enjoy. I’ll tell ‘im when he makes a reappearance.”
“Bye, babe!” she disappears back into the house.
You give her a wave as her silhouette heads down the hall. Joel’s back gate squeals open and your dad’s voice calls in from your left.
“That Rita can chat, huh?”
He latches the gate closed, then drags a deckchair over beside you.
“You were quicker than I thought you’d be.”
“She wanted to show me some cross-stitch thing she’s been workin’ on. Told her you weren’t feelin’ great ‘n I should probably head back.”
You furrow your brows. “Poor Rita, she means well.”
“I know, I know. Just, next time you see her, keep the story up.”
You scoff. “You seen Joel?”
Your question is answered by the grumble which sounds from the kitchen. He appears seconds later, stretches his arms high above his head, then stalks over.
You did try to avert your gaze from the trail of hair under his belly button. You swear. But it was right fucking there.
He hoists a second chair over to your right. “Too much effort,” he mutters, throwing himself into it. “I’m glad they’re all gone.”
You laugh lazily and rest back. “Sarah’s gone to the movies.”
Joel nods in response, the sun hitting off of him and lighting him like some kind of Adonis. You struggle to pull your eyes away from him, mesmerized by the way the light hits his worn skin, reflects out of his deep-set brown eyes, ignites strands of his graying hair.
You fucking hate what he does to you, the aftermath of him making you cum. As if there’s some drug running through your veins, making you want him, need him. Need his arms around you, his skin on yours. Need more of his attention, as if phone sex and whatever the fuck that was with the bottle weren’t enough for the day.
Your eyes travel down his strong, thick arms, hair covering them just the perfect amount, down to his hands; rough, worked, but gentle, kind. They grip the armrests of his chair, and you imagine the same grip around your neck as he…
“Y’know, actually, this was a lot less stress than I thought it’d be,” your dad yaps, bursting your bubble. “Why so last minute, Joel?”
“Sarah only decided she wanted somethin’ a few days ago, and she’s out of town next weekend, so had to be this week.”
“Oh? Me ‘n her both. Where’s she off to?”
Your head darts around to look at your dad. Then, when he speaks, back to Joel.
“Nashville. Just for a few days. Goin’ with some friends from school, I think. They’re flyin’ out on Friday, be back Monday night. Girls’ trip, I guess.”
You shoot back to your dad, like you’re watching a damn tennis match.
“Funny that. Don’t you have a girls’ night on Saturday, hon?”
Staring at him dumbfounded for a few seconds, you nod slowly. “Mhm.”
“I’m headin’ up to Fort Worth for work,” he tells Joel.
Joel looks at you from the corner of his eyes. You slowly draw your gaze to meet his, mouth falling open a little.
“Yeah? This that big fancy client of yours?” he asks your dad, shifting in his seat.
“Sure is. He’s askin’ too much of me, these days. All these late nights, now workin’ the weekends?” He lets out a little chuckle, shaking his head.
You tear your glance from your Adonis to the pool ahead of you. You finally find your voice, knowing that, with this final piece of information, the fate of your weekend is sealed.
“You there long?”
“Just Saturday through Sunday.”
Well, fuck.
You and Joel exchange a knowing glance, his eyes darkening already.
“I’m sure you’ll be alright without me for one night, hon,” the voice from your left chuckles, but you’re both already elsewhere.
You will be fine without him, of course you will. You’re twenty-three. You’re a grown-up.
And you’ve got Joel to keep you company.
----------
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