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august126 · 2 months

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Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel Miller is a lot of things: your dad’s best friend, your boss, your next-door neighbor. And, y'know, the guy you’ve been harboring a massive crush on since your freshman year of college.

You're pretty sure your feelings aren't reciprocated... until one night that changes everything.

Warnings:Age Difference,Joel is 49 and Reader is 24,Oral Sex,Car Sex,semi-public sex (sort of),Flirting,Masturbation, and Dirty Talk

Words:12,334

a/n: so sorry it took me almost a month to post something new ffs - life got busy and my inspiration simultaneously disappeared.

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“Y’know, while ‘m happy that you’re livin’ with me again, I’d appreciate it f’ya started tryin’ to find a job that put that fancy degree t’use.” You peer over the top of the book you’d been reading at your dad, who’s taking up a spot at the end of your pool chair. His arms are crossed over his navy work shirt, drenched in sweat from working all day in the roiling heat customary of a Texas summer, and he’s watching you expectantly for an answer.

You set your book on your chest and sigh. It’s not that you aren’t thankful or don’t appreciate your dad allowing you to move back in with him after graduating from college a year ago. You fully understand how fortunate you are not to have to worry about paying rent; you’re also eternally grateful to your dad for hooking you up with a decent-paying job as a secretary at the contracting business his best friend owns. However, you were getting very, very tired of having this conversation.

“And you know that I am lookin’, but it’s silly for me t’apply for an entry-level position at a firm that’s gonna pay me less than what ‘m makin’ now.” Your dad rolls his eyes and grumbles something snippy under his breath, his go-to combo when he doesn’t like that you’re right. You pin him with a pointed stare. “Care to repeat that?”

“Said maybe I oughta tell Joel to dock your pay then,” your dad states, but any lingering irritation in his tone dissipates by the time he’s finished speaking. He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, and his slight frown turns into a small, teasing smile.

“Somebody say my name?” Your gaze shifts from your dad to the sliding glass door behind him… or, rather, the man who opened it.

Joel Miller is a lot of things: your dad’s best friend, your boss, your next-door neighbor. And, y'know, the guy you’ve been harboring a massive crush on since your freshman year of college. Currently, Joel Miller is the tanned, broad, tall man striding leisurely through your backyard, navigating around your pool, and stopping beside your father.

He slaps a hand on your dad’s shoulder in greeting and shoots you a bright grin as he coos, “Hey, lady.” Although Joel’s addressed you with the pet name for years, it never fails to cause an eruption of butterflies in your belly and a crimson blush to paint your cheeks.

“Hey, Joel,” you respond, trying to appear nonchalant even as you’re reining in your thundering heart and halting the pulse throbbing just south of your belly button. “Dad was jus’ sayin’ how he’s gonna ask ya to give me a pay cut.” Joel turns to your father, shaking his head.

“And risk losin’ my best employee? No can do, bud.” Even if he’s only joking, you preen at Joel’s praise. You cock an eyebrow at your dad, waiting for some sort of a comeback, but he only glares at you both before huffing.

“I don’t like when the two of ya gang up on me.” You giggle, and Joel shoots you a lazy wink and a warm, victorious smile. “Anyway,” your dad turns his attention back to Joel, “you said reservation’s at 6:45?”

“Uh-huh, so we oughta get our asses movin’,” Joel asserts, and your dad starts heading swiftly back toward your house. Joel’s eyes shift to you, still lounging on your purple pool chair, and he nudges your foot with the toe of his boot. “That means you too, lady.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Sarah’s birthday,” Joel answers incredulously, and a lightbulb goes off in your head; that’s why you felt like you were forgettin’ something all day. “Please tell me ya didn’t forget my daughter’s birthday. Your friend’s birthday,” Joel teases, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.

“ Of course I didn’t forget,” you lie, narrowing your eyes. Joel sees right through it.

“I bet. Now go get changed ‘fore ya make us late … unless you plan on wearin’ that to dinner.” The blush you just managed to school comes back in full force as he unabashedly rakes his eyes over your body, and only now do you realize how little the tiny black bikini you’re wearing covers.

Joel’s pretty brown eyes, usually so teeming with emotion, are utterly unreadable as you stand from your chair and begin heading inside. As you pass him, you mumble, “Don’t see why you’re complainin’.”

“Didn’t think I was.” You stumble a bit, glancing over your shoulder to find Joel’s gaze slowly sweeping down your body. When his stare lands on your ass, practically bare save for the minuscule cover your bikini bottom provides, his attention snaps back to your face, an impish grin on his lips that makes your skin flush.

“Fuck off, old man,” you reply cooly, flipping him off as you saunter inside; you can still feel Joel’s gaze on you as you ascend the stairs, and if that makes you sway your hips more than usual… well, who the fuck cares?

Once you’ve entered your bedroom and stripped off your bathing suit to assemble an outfit for dinner, your mind drifts into a space you’ve grown all too familiar with over the last five years.

It wasn’t like you didn’t understand how wrong your crush on Joel Miller was. Ignoring the fact that he’s been your dad’s best friend for years, he’s also over two decades your senior and has a daughter only a few years younger than you. It’s disgusting, really, that you have even the slightest hint of attraction toward the man. And yet…

You really can’t find it in yourself to care. You’re no longer a college student parading around under the guise of adulthood. No, you’re a woman now, a woman with autonomy who is perfectly capable of making her own choices. If one of those choices is fucking her dad’s best friend, well, then so be it.

Even as you tell yourself this for the thousandth time, the sentiment feels weak. Sure, the opportunity to fuck Joel Miller is perfectly viable, in theory. However, so many things would have to go right for a thing like that to happen, and you are a notoriously unlucky person; quite frankly, you can count on one hand the number of times you’ve gotten lucky to the degree that you would need to for something like having sex with Joel to happen.

For one, no one would ever be able to find out. Your dad, Sarah, any of your nosey neighbors. Not to mention that the logistical feat of such a thing would be tricky. Where would you guys meet up? Not your house, not his house, and anything public like a bar would be far too risky. No, it would have to be a one-off deal, and you’re not so sure you’d be able to stop at just a single taste of Joel.

And that’s all assumin’ he’d even want me, you think as you comb through your closet looking for a summer dress right for the occasion. Joel Miller had never, never shown a flicker of interest in you. That display by the pool, him ogling your ass in your skimpy bikini? That was just him keeping up the incessant string of banter that passed between the two of you. Sure, he was older than you, but that didn’t matter when it came to the way he treated you, as if you were his friend.

Right, his friend.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. This line of thinking was an absolute rabbit hole, forcing you down, down, down until there was a headache ebbing at your temples and your veins were licking with equal parts frustration and lust.

Three quick knocks come on your door, and your head whips around at the sound, pulling you out of your Joel-induced stupor. “Hey, lady?”

Fuck. You stand in your closet, stunned into inaction like a deer in headlights as you realize the only thing separating you, butt-ass naked, and Joel is the mahogany of your closed bedroom door.

“Just checkin’ to see ‘f you’re ready yet. Sarah jus’ texted, said her and what’s-his-face are waitin’ at the restaurant.” You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. You off-handedly wonder why you haven’t just slipped a dress on over your head on the off chance Joel decides to swing open your door, and you realize with a sick sort of excitement that you wouldn’t entirely mind Joel walking into your room at this very moment.

“Almost,” you call out, forcing your words to come out smooth as the image of Joel entering your room enters your mind unbidden; you imagine how his eyes would take in your naked form, how it’d take three short strides for him to reach you, how he might drop his head and lick one of your already hardened nipples into his warm, waiting mouth. You swallow thickly before calling out, “Just need another second s’all.”

A dull throb begins at the apex of your thighs as you picture the man on the other side of the wall putting his rough, work-worn hands all over your soft, supple skin. You wonder what his calloused touch would feel like against your flesh, if his honeyed skin would grow rosy under the thorough ministrations of your wet tongue, if his eyes would grow dark and a deep groan would drip from his lips as you closed your mouth around his-

“Sweetheart? Y’alright in there?” You think you mumble an airy affirmation as you mindlessly trace your fingers along your collarbone, imagining that they’re longer, thicker, belonging to another individual entirely. Any semblance of rationality escapes you as your other hand creeps down the smooth skin of your belly, and you cup your sex with a groan you’re barely able to muffle. You’re so outside of yourself, caught up in the slow path your fingers are tracing along your body, that you don’t notice the doorknob begin to turn.

Only when your door starts to lurch open do you fall back into your body from where you were floating a few seconds earlier. Your eyes blow wide, a strangled cry of surprise and horror falling from your mouth as you realize the precarious situation you’re about to be thrust into. “WAIT.”

The slow sway of your door opening halts immediately, and you let out a breath, spinning on your heel to face your closet. “I- ‘m jus’ comin’ in t’make sure you’re alright.” You hastily decide on a sage green strapless dress, something you can slip into quickly and inconspicuously, and rip the silk garment from its hanger.

“Yeah, no, ‘m good, Joel. Great, I’m great, jus’… yeah, gimme a sec.” You throw the dress on, its hem falling to your mid-thigh as you grab a pair of strappy sandals from the bottom of your closet and slip one on, hopping into the other as you approach your door.

“Y’sure, baby? Ya sound-” You slip your shoe on and grab the door handle in one movement, opening it fully to give you an unobstructed view of the man you’d just been on the verge of touching yourself to. Wouldn’t be the first time, you think to yourself unhelpfully.

He’s looking down at you, concern and curiosity bubbling in his gaze, and you raise your eyebrows at him. “See? ‘m fine, all good. Jus’ needed a minute.” Joel’s eyes blaze a lackadaisical trail over your body, and you swear you can feel him cataloging each inch of bare skin you have on display. He reaches out, plucking one of the flimsy green spaghetti straps between his thick fingers before letting it go to snap back against your shoulder. You stifle a gasp, and he brushes the hair careening down your chest back over your shoulder.

“This is pretty,” he says, voice low and velvety, and you can feel your pussy beginning to grow wet at his praise. He bends down until his mouth hovers just next to your ear, and you’re suddenly overwhelmed by the scent of him: musky cologne and citrusy body wash and something unidentifiable yet so undoubtedly Joel. “Did ya mean t’be wearin’ it backward?”

You look down at yourself, heat rising to your face when you realize that he’s right: you’ve managed to put your dress on the wrong way. You shove Joel’s shoulder, and he takes a step back, a smug grin painted on his lips that makes you roll your eyes.

“You’re a dick, y’know that?” He chuckles at your dig, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“And you’re makin’ us late to this dinner. Now, can I trust ya to fix your dress yourself, or do ya need me to help?” He delivers it like a joke, and the logical part of your brain reminds you of that the moment your pulse begins to flutter. He’s just teasin’ you like he always does.

However, the dark, hunger-tinged stare Joel is pinning you with doesn’t feel humorous. You swallow thickly, saliva pooling in your mouth and pinning your tongue to the roof. “I-” you stutter, words failing you as he continues dragging his eyes slowly over your flustered form. “You-”

“Spit it out, baby.” Baby. You turn the endearment over in your head a few times, testing the weight of it on your tongue. Finally, the corners of your lips pull up in a cheeky smile and your eyelids grow heavy as you gaze up into Joel’s face.

“You askin’ to undress me, Miller?” And this doesn’t feel like your typical banter. No, this feels weighted, laced with something headier. Something full of innuendo and promises and an unquenchable appetite for… something. And then your dad’s voice is cutting harshly through the fog.

“Hey hon, I’ll be- oh, Joel, didn’t realize ya came up here.”

Joel doesn’t even spare your dad a glance, eyes still on you as he says, “Jus’ wanted to check and see if your slow-ass kid was ready t’go.” Your dad snorts, and you narrow your eyes at Joel before turning the withering look to your father.

“Don’t laugh at that.”

“Sorry, sweetie, but ya are kinda slow.” Joel’s smirk only grows, and you huff incredulously. Your dad, apparently oblivious to the bubble of tension he popped, continues. “Anywho, was jus’ sayin’ that I’m gonna head out to the car ‘cause we need t’get goin’, so quit your dilly dallyin’ and let’s get a move on.” He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly, and you sigh in defeat.

You look at the ground as you mutter, “Yes, Dad, ‘m just about ready,” and your reply is met with a loud clap of your father's hands.

“Wonderful!” he exclaims, rubbing his palms together before bringing a heavy hand down on Joel’s shoulder. “C’mon, Joel, you can wait with me in the car. I need t’talk to ya ‘bout some work shit anyway.” Your dad begins to drag Joel down the stairs, but not before Joel can get the last word in between you.

He cranes his head back, catching your glare as he descends the stairs. “Y’heard your daddy, no more dilly dallyin’,” he sing-songs, and you scoff.

“Oh, fuck you, Miller.” “Language, ma’am,” you hear your dad chastise sternly, and you grumble a half-assed apology as you close your bedroom door behind you. It only takes you a minute to flip your dress so that you’re wearing it the correct way and throw on a pair of light pink, lace panties, bounding down the stairs and out the front door when you’re ready. Before you know it, you’re seated in the backseat of Joel’s old pickup truck as it cruises down the highway toward Austin’s metro area.

You watch the residential neighborhoods littered with little kids running through sprinklers and elderly couples sitting in chairs on their front porches morph into the city, full of streets tightly lined with buildings and bar-hoppers entering their first destination of the night. The sun still hangs rather high in the sky, dappling the world in a warm amber glow as Joel pulls up outside a quaint Italian bistro nestled between an ice cream parlor full of bright-eyed children and a sushi restaurant rattling with the heavy bass of the music from within.

“Cute lil’ place,” you say, surveying the old brick exterior of the building and the burgundy awning hanging over the open front door that bears the name of the restaurant, Palermio’s, in loopy, white script. “Sarah’s choice?”

Joel reaches his hand behind your dad’s headrest, using one hand to turn the wheel while he starts to squeeze his truck into the last snug parking spot outside of the bistro. “No, darlin’, I did.” You stare at his side profile as he maneuvers the truck, surprise lacing your features. It’s not until he’s parked the car and meets your eyes in the rearview mirror as he’s straightening out in his seat that you realize he’s bullshitting you.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath as you throw open your door and slide from the backseat, and he’s following you a second later.

“Y’know, you oughta be nicer t’me. I am your boss,” he says as you round his truck, his arm brushing yours, and you look up at him. “Could fire ya for bein’ disrespectful, ‘f I really wanted to.” You smirk at him and shrug.

“Ya could, but then you’d be losin’ your best employee, right?” His chest bounces as he laughs, and you smile at the pleasant noise before getting distracted by how his relatively new-looking cream-colored t-shirt bearing the album cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors stretches tautly over the slopes of his wide shoulders.

“Damn right, lady,” he agrees, his gaze crawling over your body as he drags his thumb over his mostly pepper, slightly salt mustache that decorates his upper lip. Your skin crawls pleasantly as you feel him examining you, and you’re just about to reach your father, who’s waiting for the two of you by the entrance to the restaurant, when you hear Joel quietly say, “Prettiest employee, too.”

Your head whips around, feet planting on the concrete as you wait for Joel to say something, anything else. Much to your chagrin, he struts right past you shamelessly, heading inside as your dad gives you a confused look.

“You comin’, honey?” You shake your head, trying to dispel the medley of thoughts whirring around your brain. Did I hear him right? No, no, he didn’t mean that. Definitely not.

“Yeah, sorry,” you say, stepping inside with a sheepish smile in your dad’s direction. “Thought I heard someone callin’ my name, ‘s my bad.” Your dad just nods his head in understanding before draping an arm over your shoulder and steering you toward the back of the restaurant, where you can see Joel already greeting the members of your party who have already arrived.

As you draw closer, you watch him envelope his daughter in a firm hug, rocking back and forth for a few seconds as he whispers something in her ear. She giggles, punching him lightly in the shoulder, and when Sarah pulls back from his embrace, her deep brown eyes, which are almost identical to her father’s, catch a glimpse of you over his shoulder. Before you have a chance to react, she’s colliding with you so hard you grunt.

“You came!” she squeals, jumping up and down as you wrap your arms around her and giggle.

“Course I came, Sarah. Wouldn’t ‘ve missed your twenty-first birthday for the world, ‘re ya kiddin’?” She takes a step back, holding you by the shoulders before drawing you back in for another tight hug.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Jus’ didn’t know ‘f you’d be able to make it, didn’t know ‘f you’d have other plans or somethin’.” She bites her lip when you pull away this time, trying to hide the way she’s beaming at you, and a big smile paints your face.

“Nah, no plans more important than my best friend’s birthday.” She smiles and leads you back to the table, where your dad and Joel have already found their seats. You lean against her and whisper conspiratorially, “Did have to fight with my boss t’get some time off for the occasion, though. He can be a pain in the ass sometimes, like ya wouldn’t believe.” Sarah giggles, leveling you with a knowing grin.

“I’m sure I’ve got some idea,” she says as she takes her seat at the head of the table, and you slip around to take the only empty seat, which happens to be between Joel and Tommy, his younger brother that you’ve only seen a handful of times. You offer the younger Miller brother a polite smile, which he returns with a cheeky smirk before you turn back to the birthday girl.

“You’ve ain’t ever been that excited t’see me,” Joel says accusingly at Sarah, jerking his head toward where Sarah had practically tackled you, and you stifle a laugh at the hint of playful jealousy in his tone.

“‘s ‘cause I’m not a grumpy old man,” you snark, and Tommy guffaws beside you, reaching around your back to slap Joel’s shoulder lightheartedly.

“She gotcha there, big brother,” he says, accent saturated with his heavy Texas twang. Joel grumbles something incoherent and Tommy shoots you an amused wink. You watch your dad snort with laughter in his seat across from you, and Sarah’s boyfriend, Luke, who’s seated on her other side opposite Joel tries not to look too entertained by your ribbing of his girlfriend’s father, wisely busying himself with the menu.

A few minutes after ordering your drinks your waitress reappears carrying a large tray brimming with an assortment of alcoholic beverages. You take a sip of your Pinot Noir, hiding a small smile behind the fruity flavor as the waitress sets a large cocktail layered with green, white, and red liquid and adorned with a small Italian flag attached to a thin, black straw in front of a wide-eyed Sarah. You’re unable to mask your laughter, however, when Joel’s eyes find the massive drink and he nearly chokes on his sip of Peroni.

“Babygirl,” he sputters, still recovering from his small conniption, “that’s a lotta-”

“I’m twenty-one now, Dad, I can handle my alcohol,” Sarah assures him with an annoyed roll of her eyes and a look at you that says can you believe this guy? And it’s true, Sarah is more than capable of handling her drinks if the videos she’s shown you of her time at college are any indication.

“I know, jus’... jus’ pace yourself, yeah?” She concedes with a small huff, and you wiggle your eyebrows at her tauntingly.

“Yeah, Sarah, make sure ya pace yourself. Got a while ‘fore ya can hang with us big dogs. Right, Joel?” You elbow him in the side, and he looks at you disdainfully.

“You’re a little shit, y’know that?” he murmurs under his breath. You shrug, snagging a piece of fresh, warm bread from the basket the waitress sat in the middle of the table and dipping it in the plate of olive oil and seasoning before stuffing it in your mouth.

“Learned it fwom the besht,” you say merrily, grinning at him through your mouth full of food, and he sneers at you in disgust before turning his attention to your father and Tommy, who are in a heated debate over the Dallas Cowboys chances of success in the upcoming season.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Tommy, this s’our year! We jus’ picked up that kid from- from… aw shit, where’s he from again?” Your dad rubs his temples, hoping to dislodge the information from some small, dusty compartment of his brain.

“Notre Dame,” Joel chimes in as he reaches for his own piece of bread, and your dad snaps his fingers as his face lights up in remembrance.

“Notre Dame!” he bellows, and you shoot him a look that he promptly returns with an apologetic wince. “Notre Dame, yeah, s’right,” he says, quieter this time with a little smile, and you leave him and Tommy to continue their chat as you tune in to the conversation at the other end of the table.

“Anyway, Dad, so Becca-”

“Which one s’that?” Sarah looks at Joel in disbelief.

“Becca. Rebecca Landry. My best friend in high school, goes t’LSU with me, we lived together ‘fore I moved in with Luke…” Joel just stares at his daughter with vacant eyes, and you snort. “Dude, come on, ya literally grilled for her graduation party.” Joel shakes his head, taking a swig of his beer. You watch how his throat bobs as he swallows and quickly avert your eyes, hoping no one caught you gawking.

“Sorry, hon, doesn’t ring a bell.” She huffs, and Joel smirks, clearly just giving her a hard time.

“Whatever. Anyway, her boyfriend proposed to ‘er last week, and it was jus’ the cutest thing. Real private ‘cause y’know how she is. She told me they don’t have a date set yet, but they’re thinkin’ ‘bout next Spring. Said t’ask if she should add ya to the guest list.” Joel hums non-committally, clearly lacking an opinion on the matter, and you pinch his elbow. He jerks out of your grip, looking at you with annoyance, and you cock your head in Sarah’s direction. When he turns to see her expectant glance, he huffs, head leaning back as he stares at the ceiling.

“Tell ‘er I’ll be there,” Joel capitulates, and Sarah beams in excitement before giving you a grateful grin.

“Awesome! She’ll be so excited, she loves ya.” Joel crosses his arms over his broad chest, shaking his head slightly as he leans back in his chair and spreads his thighs farther. You have to try desperately to keep your breath from hitching at the action.

“Speakin’ o’ weddings and proposals n’ all that,” your dad says, giving Luke a friendly clap on the back. “When’s it your turn, buckaroo? ‘s been, what, three years of datin’? Gotta be soon, hm?”

Luke looks like he wants nothing more than to melt into a puddle and sink into the floor at the line of questioning, something your dad remains completely oblivious to. Feeling bad, you throw the guy a lifeline.

“Leave ‘im alone, Dad. Jesus, you ain’t even that interested in my love life,” you huff, sipping your wine. Luke seems to remember how to breathe, a look of thanks on his face as your dad scrunches his nose up.

“‘s cause I’m not. Don’t wanna know about some boy who’s wastin’ your time ‘cause he ain’t good ‘nough for ya.”

“Your daddy’s right, hon, ya deserve more than what some boy can give ya ,” you hear from your right side, and then a thick arm drapes loosely over your shoulders. You turn to look at Tommy, who’s closer to you than the last time you paid him any attention.

“Knock it off, Tommy,” you hear Joel grumble, and you watch Tommy’s eyes dart over your shoulder and narrow minutely. An expression of innocence plasters over his face to quickly replace the mischievous smirk previously there.

“Knock what off, big brother?” Your gaze shifts to Joel, and you nearly wilt at the stormy look he’s shooting his brother. His eyes are simultaneously full of emotion and totally unreadable, jaw ticking in… wait, is he jealous?

“Quit.” You bristle at Joel’s harsh tone, not realizing until it’s too late that when you shrink back at his timbre, you lean further into Tommy. You can feel the egotism rolling off of the younger Miller brother, and the tension building in Joel’s figure seems to grow until he’s at serious risk of snapping. You’re sure that the only way this ends is with Tommy making another haughty comment that results in Joel leaping over your lap and strangling the man…

“Alright, who ordered the lasagna?” Your waitress’ voice dissipates the thunderous air instantaneously, and everyone’s attention snaps to her. The wide, practiced smile she’s wearing falters for just a second, and she shifts uncomfortably. “I’m sorry, ‘m I interrupting somethin’?” The tight pinch of Joel’s face evaporates before your eye, and you watch, stunned, as he turns toward your waitress.

“Nah, darlin’, you’re alright. Reckon that’ll be mine,” he says, cool as clam. By the time all the food is dished out and you’re digging into your respective dinners, the near fight is long forgotten. Unfortunately, you’re not able to shake the bitter feeling of envy that twisted in your stomach at hearing Joel call the waitress “darlin’”.

Before long, all six of your plates have been cleaned, and each of you sits back in your chairs, thoroughly stuffed full of rich Italian food. Your dad belches, drawing a laugh from the other men at the table while your and Sarah’s faces pinch in distaste, and the casual conversation continues as the street outside grows raucous with the Austin nightlife.

Your dad, ever the chatterbox, is going on about some upcoming project at his contracting firm when you feel it: the firm weight of an arm draped over the backrest of your seat. You pay it no mind at first, chalking it up to Tommy’s touchy but harmless hands.

That is until you feel soft, gentle shapes being drawn into the bare skin of your bicep on Tommy’s side. Your brain doesn’t comprehend the logistics of this immediately, and your head snaps in Tommy’s direction to find the younger man’s attention focused raptly on your father with his hands in his lap.

Your back straightens, and goosebumps prickle across your skin when it finally clicks whose hands are on you; you slowly, inconspicuously face your father again, pretending like you’re listening so as not to spark anyone at the table’s awareness, all while peeking at Joel out of the corner of your eye.

At first glance, it appears that he, like everyone else at the table, is completely engaged with the words tumbling from your dad’s mouth. But you know Joel too well. You pick up on the slight quirk of his lips, the way his thick thighs spread almost obnoxiously wide so his knee grazes yours, and how he’s drumming the thick fingers of his other hand rhythmically against the table. Joel felt how your body reacted to his touch.

And he liked it.

That piece of information is what has the low burn in your belly from earlier in your bedroom reigniting, blazing up your skin and making your neck and chest flush a deep red. Joel must be able to sense your blundering state because he removes his hand from you altogether, causing your heart to drop. Your whole body begins to slump in disappointment just as you feel Joel replace his touch on the bare skin of your thigh, exposed when you sat down and the already short dress you’d thrown on in a panic earlier rode higher up your legs.

He squeezes you there, thumb passing back and forth lightly, and your thighs spread of their own volition to allow him more room. You can see his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but he’s able to play it off easily as a reaction to your dad’s story. You do the same with the small smile that stretches your lips as his hand begins to creep higher up your leg.

And it’s risky, what you’re doing. Allowing your dad’s best friend, the father of the girl you’ve lived next to almost your entire life, your boss, to inch his big, calloused hand closer and closer to where you want him most right here at this very public dinner.

And yet, you simply do not care.

Well, you don’t care until you feel the pad of his thumb brush your sex over your panties, and you jerk at the sensation, thighs closing to stop the movement of his hands. The action draws your dad’s attention to you, and his brow furrows as he scans your face.

“You okay, hon? You’re not lookin’ too hot.” Your pulse thunders in your ears as you fumble for an excuse.

“No, yeah, ‘m fine. Jus’... yeah, not – uh, not feelin’ too hot.” Everyone at the table looks at you with concern. Even Joel, though his eyes possess an air of arrogance at your state. The bastard.

“Babe, you can go home ‘f ya need to,” Sarah says, and your eyes go wide as you shake your head.

“No! No, ’m fine, really. I wanna stay for you, ‘s your birthday ‘n all.”

She waves her hand as though she’s physically batting away your excuse. “Party’s basically over anyway. Luke and I were gonna meet some friends at a bar a few blocks over anyway, so y’all are good t’go whenever.”

“Well, I’m ready t'head home now,” your dad says, beginning to rise from his chair. “Rangers game ’s on at 9, and 'f we hurry, I won’t miss more than the first inning.” Joel, reading your dad’s eagerness to get home as his cue to be ready to leave as well, stands, and you catch the way he subtly adjusts himself on the way up. You resign yourself to the fact that the fleeting, secret moment between you is slipping through your fingers, and, albeit reluctantly, you follow his lead.

Tommy’s still seated, sipping casually from his beer, when he informs your dad, “Nah, man, it’s Friday night in downtown Austin. Reckon y’all won’t get home ‘til the third inning, at least.” Your father curses, running a hand over his semi-bald head in genuine worry, and you almost have to laugh at the concern twisting his features into a grimace. The urge to laugh quickly fades as you watch Tommy shrug his shoulders and carelessly say, “There’s a place 'bout five minutes away, lil’ sports bar my buddies and I go to t’watch the game sometimes. Can get kinda rowdy, but you’re welcome to tag along, ‘f ya want.”

Your jaw almost falls off at Tommy, who’s completely oblivious to the bone he’s just thrown you. When you turn just enough to allow you a view of Joel out of the corner of your eye, you immediately notice his almost imperceptibly stiffer posture. You watch your dad’s face light up with excitement, a hell yeah on the tip of his tongue.

And then, suddenly, his expression drops and he’s looking at you guiltily. “Aww shit, Tommy, that sounds great, but ‘f this one,” he says, jabbing a thumb in your direction, “ain’t feelin’ well, I oughta get ‘er home.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You go to object, to insist, practically beg your dad to take Tommy up on his offer so that it’s just you and Joel on the ride home, but Joel beats you to it. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, man, I’ll take ‘er.” For the second time in mere minutes, you’re filled with the overwhelming urge to gawk at one of the Miller brothers.

“You sure, Joel? Don’t wanna inconvenience ya or nothin’.” You watch Joel shrug, and then he turns to you, pinning you with an unreadable stare.

“Y’alright with that, lady?” You stare at him, speechless. Are you alright with spending the entire ride home, perhaps even longer if your dad stays to watch the whole game and Sarah is bar-hopping, alone with Joel Miller right after his hand was brushing against your wet, wanting pussy?

Yeah, you were pretty fucking alright with that.

Your silence must draw on for an uncomfortably long time because Joel raises his eyebrows at you, prompting an answer. “Yes!” you say, just a touch too loud, and you take a deep breath before turning back to your dad. “Yeah, sounds good – cool, ‘s cool with me.”

Your dad gives you one more half-hearted once-over, verifying that you don’t need his escort home, but he’s in a losing battle with himself; the moment that Joel offered his services, your dad was sold. The coy little, “Well, ‘f you’re sure it’s not too much trouble,” he extends to Joel is like a tepid stamp of finality as his mind is already half-full with Rangers jargon.

Joel gives your dad a nod before jerking his head toward the door. “C’mon, darlin’, let’s get ya home.” And you try, you really do try not to walk with your chest puffed out the entire way to Joel’s truck. You try to keep up the facade of illness that was brought on by your lustful tizzy.

But Joel called you darlin’, and fuck if it didn’t sound better falling from his lips when it was directed at you and not some waitress.

***

Tommy, for perhaps the first time in his entire life, was right; traffic absolutely crawled in the downtown Austin area at this time on a Friday night. You’d peeled away from the restaurant almost thirty minutes ago, when the sun was beginning its descent.

Now, the analog numbers on Joel’s dash blink 8:57 p.m. , the summer sky having just shifted from muddy brown to steel grey and will soon start to give way to the dark of night and the whisperings of stars, and you’ve just managed to make it out of the city.

Thirty minutes, nearly two thousand seconds, and each one totally void of speech. Joel stared straight out the front windshield, hands carefully gripping the steering wheel as you leaned your cheek against the cool glass of the passenger window and watched the metro landscape give way to soil and farmland, groups of clubgoers replaced by black and brown spotted cows.

It’s not until the current CD in Joel’s radio reaches its end and the gears click, switching to the familiar crooning voice of Bob Dylan, that your soft singing breaks the silence.

“What was that?” Joel asks, and you turn your gaze to watch him, focus still intent on the road in front of him.

“Nothin’, just singin’.” He looks at you then, just a quick glance in your direction, but it makes your blood sing.

“Y’like Bob Dylan? “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”, hm?” You shrug noncommittally, and his responding smirk makes you sit up in your seat.

“What’re ya laughin’ at?” Joel just shakes his head, and you lean over and swat his bicep playfully. “What?”

“Nothin’, baby.” The word sounds perfect in his low, gruff timbre, and you grin stupidly. When he sees your expression, he reaches over and wraps his big palm around your knee, giving it a shake. “Got good taste s’all. Didn’t expect it from ya.” You scoff, crossing your arms over your chest and trying to pretend like the large spread of his hand over your bare skin doesn’t make your core throb.

“Don’t act so surprised, Miller. You should know better than anyone how much I like old shit.” He clucks his tongue, sliding his hand farther up your leg and squeezing your thigh in warning.

“Careful,” he advises teasingly, but you’re not feeling particularly cautious tonight.

“Says you.”

“Says me?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind the action as all the warmth in your body is currently shooting to a spot in your tummy. “Yeah, Joel, says you. I wasn’t the one with my hands between your legs in the middle of dinner tonight.” You watch Joel’s posture straighten and you try to hide your grin at his reaction.

Bingo.

You bite your lip and watch his eyes dart in your direction. Even in the ever-darkening dusk, you can see the hint of hunger in his pupils. “Didn’t see you complainin’.” You adjust in your seat, and Joel’s hand slips higher, his pinky just barely dipping beneath the hem of your dress.

“‘s ‘cause I liked it,” you say matter-of-factly, and you watch him exhale heavily. His head swings lazily to look at you, eyes dropping to where his palm rests on your slightly spread thighs before traveling up to meet your stare.

“Yeah? Liked me touchin’ your pussy with all those people ‘round? Any of ‘em coulda caught us, pretty girl. Coulda caught me feelin’ how fuckin’ wet you were, soakin’ through your panties.” And you’re almost sure Joel’s trying to make a point in there somewhere. That what you two did was risky in and of itself, not to mention the fact that he was touching you like that in public.

And yet all you can focus on is that name. Pretty girl. You think it’s your favorite thing he’s ever called you.

When you don’t answer right away, Joel looks back to the road. You watch him check the rearview mirror, and then he’s making a left down a long road and parking the car on a small dirt pull-off a few hundred feet in.

You look around, surveying your surroundings; tall prairie grass decorates your side of the road while a large cornfield stretches over the side closest to Joel, and the only thing lighting the earth for a few miles in any direction is the soft glow of the moon overhead. When you focus your attention on Joel again, half of his face is shadowed while the gleam of lunar opalescence illuminates the other half.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight, and you can’t help but stare. You reach toward Joel, cautiously at first, but emboldened when he squeezes your leg. You cup his jaw and rub your thumb over his stubbled jaw; his eyes flutter closed at the sensation, and you shuffle closer, Joel’s hand falling away from you as you sit up on your knees and reach across the center console to cup the dark side of his face with your other hand.

His palm finds a new position on your hip, and when his eyes open again, revealing his dark, chocolatey irises to you, your body leans closer toward his of its own volition. As if something inside of him, perhaps the very marrow of his bones, is magnetized to yours.

“Joel,” you say, soft voice cutting through the silence in the cab of the truck.

“Hmm?”

“Is this… is this bad? What we’re doing?’ His eyes dart around your face, taking in your heated gaze with a warmth of his own. He sighs as his other hand traces up the side of your body before slipping around your shoulders and resting on the nape of your neck.

“I wouldn’t say it’s good.” You nod, scratching your nails lightly through the salt-and-pepper beard he’s let grow.

“Should we stop?” It comes out as a whisper, laced with apprehension, tediousness, and want. So, so much want.

“Probably.” And he’s right. Whatever this thing between you and Joel is, it’s not feasible. Sure, it would be great. Amazing, even… until it’s not. Until the appetite for each other dies out and what’s left is a hollow skeleton of awkward encounters and forced conversation to keep up appearances.

Either that or the hunger becomes all-consuming, to the point where you can’t eat, can’t breathe, can’t sleep without thoughts of Joel dominating your mind.

And maybe that’s worse, you think. Finding out what Joel tastes like, what it feels like when he sinks into your wet heat, just for it to one day be stolen from you.

Because there isn’t an angle to approach this from that doesn’t end in the same unfortunate reality; Joel can’t be yours. He will never be yours.

And, so, yeah. You probably should stop. But as you go to pull away, to take your hands off of Joel and sit back in your seat while Joel returns the truck to the main road before depositing you safely at home like the good friend he is, Joel’s grip on the nape of your neck tightens. And then he’s tugging your mouth to meet his and your hands, still cupping his cheek, are pulling his face in to meet you halfway.

When Joel’s lips slot against yours, you’re surprised by how soft he is. Joel Miller, perpetually gruff and probably born with callouses etched into his hands, is so inconceivably gentle at the first contact of his mouth against yours. You sigh, breathing him in as he threads his fingers into your hair, and a moment of tranquility washes over you. This truck is the only place that has ever or will ever exist, and you and Joel are the only two people in the world.

You slide one of your hands from his jaw to his neck, stroking the solid strength of his throat, and a rough noise vibrates from him. You repeat the motion experimentally, and he groans into you, tongue darting out to politely ask for entrance into your mouth.

You accept with an enthusiastic moan, and that’s when the seemingly endless reservoir of Joel’s reserve drains dry. He licks into you, tongue caressing yours when you part your lips for him, and the hand in your hair tightens, keeping you held steadily against him. He feasts on you, stealing the air you breathe as he kisses you ferociously.

Joel sucks on your tongue when you go to mewl, and the sound is replaced by a wanton whine. You roll your hips over nothing, and Joel clocks the movement immediately. You feel his reluctance as he drags his mouth from yours, and you sit and wait, carefully assessing every minute change in his expression as you try to regain your composure.

You’re sure you’re supposed to be embarrassed right now, ashamed that you couldn’t keep your neediness in check. However, you can only think about two things: how fucking horny you are at the moment, and how that was probably the only time you’ll ever kiss Joel because this entire thing is about to come crashing down in short-lived, fiery oblivion.

But Joel does something. Something that really shocks you, leaves you vulnerable to attack and exposed right down to the root of you. He looks you up and down, from the slightly frumpled state of your green dress to the no-doubt wild gleam in your eyes, and smirks before saying, “You need t’be filled up, don’t ya, baby?”

You smile and nod, licking your lips as you appraise the man sitting in front of you. He’s so intoxicatingly broad, the sleeves of his shirt stretching tightly over his biceps while the legs of his jeans pull taut along his thighs. You shift in your seat again, causing Joel to pull you closer, and though you’re uncomfortably sprawled across the center console, you’ve never felt more right than you do right now.

Your lips are brushing Joel’s, so close you can feel the warm puffs of breath leaving his nostrils, and any slight surge forward by either of you would connect your mouths again. Instead, you stay like that, so close but still too far for your liking.

“Tell me what it is you want, sweetheart.” You angle your head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his mouth before drifting your lips back to hover over his.

“Want your cock, Joel.” Your bluntness must take him by surprise because his head falls back against his seat and he groans. You take the opportunity to drop your lips to his neck, kissing it lightly before licking up the column of his throat and biting delicately at the junction where his neck meets his jaw.

“Yeah?” He takes one of your hands and drags it down his front, letting you feel the muted strength of his abdomen tailored from years of manual labor and the soft swell of his belly before landing on the thick bulge in his pants. You pull away from where you were beginning to leave a small bruise on his neck to look at where your hand cups his clothed erection, and you practically drool at the sight. “You want this, hmm?”

“Yes,” you confirm airily before your eyes snap up to meet his, heavy-lidded and clouded with lust. “Please, Joel, I- I need it.” He nods, the hand that guided yours leaving you to your own devices and drifting back up to rub his thumb over your lips. You take the opportunity to massage him through his pants, and he sighs, smirking at you.

“Tell me where ya need it, honey,” he lilts, and you grip his bicep as you squeeze his cock lightly. “Need it here?” He nudges his thumb gently between your parted lips, and even as you shake your head, your mouth opens to him, allowing him to push his finger inside. You swirl your tongue over the salty pad of his thumb, switching to mellow kitten licks before taking it deeper.

“No?” he asks, quirking a brow at you. He presses his thumb down against your tongue, and you open your mouth wide so he can see down your throat. “Gotta tell me where then, baby.” You close your mouth again, sucking on his thumb briefly before pulling off of him with a lewd pop.

Your eyes never leave his, and you watch them turn impossibly darker when you tell him earnestly, “My pussy. Want you to stretch my cunt with your fat cock.” He huffs lightly at the vulgarity of your words, and you squeeze him through his pants again.

“You’re a dirty fuckin’ girl, y’know that?” He looks almost in awe, and you smirk at him, beginning to crawl across the center console to straddle him. When he stops you with a hand to your sternum, you look at him in confusion. “We can’t tonight, darlin’. Wanna take my time with you when I fuck ya, gotta make sure I get ya ready.”

You’re so utterly disappointed you ache with it, pouting at him as you draw in close. “But I’m ready now, Joel. So fuckin’ wet for you, have been since the restaurant.”

He gives you a chaste kiss before pulling back and jerking his head toward your seat. “Show me.” You smirk as you slink back into your seat. You rest with your back against the car door, your right leg dangling off the seat while you tuck your left leg up and spread your knees farther apart, causing the hem of your dress to ride up your thighs until it’s brushing your tummy. You can tell by the wrecked look in Joel’s eyes that from this angle, he has a perfect view of the damp spot decorating the slip of pink lace that is your underwear.

“Fuck, baby, ya weren’t lyin’,” he mutters, fingers smoothing his mustache. “Pretty lil’ panties are soaked. That all for me?” You bite your lip and nod, pupils blown wide and eyelids heavy as you ghost your fingertips over the soft skin of your thighs. He makes a noise of appreciation as he watches your movements hungrily, fist clenching as your digits move closer to your aching core.

“Mhm, f’course it is,” you assure, letting out a breathless, needy gasp when your fingers brush your clit over your underwear. You’re sure you must look fucked out, and you’d be embarrassed by that fact if it weren’t for the heady look Joel’s pinning you with right now. You whine as Joel brings his hand down to palm the thick, rigid outline of his cock bulging against his jeans, and your mouth goes dry at the sight. You roll your hips and whine at the stimulation, doing it again without breaking eye contact with Joel.

He squeezes himself and groans as you rut slowly against yourself, dipping a finger down to tease at your soaking entrance over your damp panties, and he smirks. “You gonna show me how ya fuck yourself, baby? Show me how ya like it, hm?”

And you would. You really, really would. Except Joel Miller is sitting in front of you with nothing but a few measly scraps of fabric preventing you from his hard length, and you think that it would be such a waste to not take advantage of that fact.

Besides, you’ve already made yourself come more times than you can count with Joel Miller’s name on your tongue.

“No, baby,” you shake your head, and his brows pinch in confusion. You lick your lips, hand halting its ministrations as you sit up on your haunches and stare at Joel. “Want ya to fill me up.”

He huffs exasperatedly at that, and his tone is laced with annoyance when he says, “Jus’ told ya, ‘m not fuckin’ ya t’night-”

“Joel.” Your interruption shuts him up and he watches you lean in. You brush your lips over his, along his jaw and up his cheek before halting by his ear. “I want you,” you say, dragging a hand down his chest to rest over his in his lap, “to put your cock in my mouth and fill me up.”

You apply pressure down over his hand, making him squeeze himself and the sound he makes is something close to a growl. He angles his head so that your lips meet for a heated kiss and he licks into your mouth immediately, tongue dancing with yours.

“Yeah?” Joel breathes into your mouth, and the hand not palming his dick threads into the hair at the nape of your neck. He tugs, pulling your head back so that you look down your nose at him with wide eyes and heavy lids. “Ya wanna suck me off?” You smile almost shyly and nod, and he tuts at you, bending to kiss the hollow of your throat before licking a stripe up your neck.

“Don’t go quiet on me now, darlin’. You had so much t’say earlier, know this pretty mouth s’good for more than just takin’ my dick.” You whine, pressing your thighs together as best you can and rubbing, trying to give yourself some, any friction.

“Wanna taste you, Joel,” you murmur, already delirious and you haven’t even gotten your mouth on him. “Want it so bad, please.”

He rakes his eyes over you, takes in the needy glide of your thighs against each other and the ragged pants making your chest heave. He must take pity on your haggard form because he grins affectionately and releases his hand from your hair.

“Since ya asked so nicely,” he says, palm gliding around to sit on your shoulder. He strokes the column of your throat a few times, watching you with a hooded gaze before nodding toward his crotch. “Go on, baby. Show me how much ya want it.”

You don’t need to be told any more than that before you’re hastily undoing his belt, ripping it from his pants and tossing it into the backseat while simultaneously popping the button on his jeans. Where your movements are hurried and ravenous, Joel’s are soft and sweet; he strokes your back lightly, broad, calloused palm feeling heavenly as it tracks over your bare skin.

You lower the zipper on his jeans and he lifts his hips, allowing you to drag the coarse fabric down his thighs. It takes you a second after you’ve maneuvered his pants out of your way to realize you’re face to face with the stiff outline of Joel’s cock, straining against the black fabric of his boxers. Your mouth goes chalky when you see the small dot of moisture near his fat tip, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning over and pressing a kiss to the spot.

Your groan is in unison with his, and Joel must be growing impatient because his hand snakes up to gently cradle your neck. “Don’t be a tease, pretty girl,” he scolds tenderly, and the endearment causes you to look up at him through your lashes. What you find in his eyes is something lusty, full of desire and want and… pure, unadulterated awe. It makes your pussy flutter around nothing.

“Wasn’t bein’ a tease,” you say, bending back down to mouth at his cock over his boxers, and he moans when you lave at his swollen tip through his underwear.

“Nah, jus’ so needy ya can’t even wait ‘til I get my cock out t’put your mouth on it, hm?” You lick up his dick and feel it twitch, his thigh tensing underneath the hand you have braced there. You smirk, looking up at him as you dip your pointer fingers under the band of his underwear, hooking your digits and arching your eyebrow.

He acquiesces with a lazy smile, lifting his hips, and you slowly drag the tight fabric of his boxers down to where his pants pool around his knees. However, you don’t immediately look at Joel’s length after fully freeing it from the confines of his clothes. You’re not sure why a cool feeling of nervous anticipation washes over you, but you find yourself stalling, rubbing your thumb over the inside of his knee and kissing his thigh gently.

Joel, the attentive man he is, picks up on your nerves immediately. He massages the area where your spine meets your skull, and you practically melt at the feeling. “Y’okay?” he says softly, and you nod, turning your head to rest on his thigh. Your eyes avoid his dick, jumping up to land on his face. His expression is so kind, so compassionate and observant, that it makes you ache.

“‘m fine. More than fine, ‘m good. Great.” He nods, stroking your cheek before he frowns.

“Y’know, ‘f ya aren’t feelin’ it anymore, we can stop. We don’t have’ta-”

“S’not that,” you mutter, and he stops talking, waiting for you to go on. You inhale deeply, looking for the courage to speak your thoughts into the charged atmosphere of the truck. “I jus’... don’t want ya to regret this.” He flashes you a perplexed look before tipping his head back and laughing. Your cheeks blaze with heat, embarrassment creeping in to tamper the fire of want, and you bury your face into Joel’s thigh to hide.

“Baby,” he says, and when you don’t respond, he grabs your jaw and makes you turn to him. “Baby. Look at me.” You stare, lip twisted in your teeth, and you can’t help but feel small under the weight of his gaze. He angles your chin down then, and you finally let your eyes fall, taking in the cock you’ve tried to conjure in your imagination while your fingers were stuffed in your pussy more times than you can count.

In a word, Joel Miller’s dick is pretty. Thick and long and tan. Veiny and girthy, easily the biggest you’ve ever seen. His tip, which is a few shades darker than every other part of his length, is an angry red, weeping precome from the little slit at the top. The thick weight of him bobs up and sits at attention against his belly, resting against him obediently. Your mouth pools with saliva at the sight of it.

Through the cotton in your ears, you can just barely make out when Joel says, “You tell me, honey. ‘s that look like regret t’you?” You swallow thickly and shake your head.

“N-no,” you stutter, sitting up slightly. You admire the way pearly beads of precome trail down his length and subconsciously lick your lips.

“No.” You can feel his stare on the side of your face, but you can’t focus on anything except the cock in front of you that has you drooling while your cunt begs to be filled. “Want this, sweet girl, jus’ as bad as you, and that ain’t gonna change tomorrow or the day after or next week. I want this,” he says, and he says it with such confidence and surety that you have no choice but to believe him. You nod, almost in a trance, before bending over and pressing a chaste kiss to his fat head.

He must not have been expecting that response from you because at the contact of your lips against his hard member, his head falls back against the seat and he groans, the sound drawing out when you start to press soft kitten licks to his slit.

“That’s it, honey – fuck, feels good.” You preen under his praise, smirking as you spread your lips to wrap around his tip. He hisses through his teeth, and the noise is all you need to start slowly working him down your throat. He’s so big, and even just the head of his cock has your jaw straining slightly.

You know that there’s no way you’ll be able to take him fully in your mouth, that you’ll have to use one, if not both hands to stroke the rest of his long, thick dick as you focus your attention on the head. But that doesn’t stop you from trying.

You pull off of him quickly, and he responds with a disappointed little grunt, mouth turned down in a depressing little frown. That is, until he watches you spit into your hand and place your palm around his base, stroking him slowly. A lopsided smile replaces his previous expression and when you twist your fist at the same time your mouth latches back onto his cock, he can’t help but jerk his hips. Joel’s thrust makes his tip kiss the back of your throat and it takes you by surprise, making you gag.

You watch his eyes go wide in worry as he immediately murmurs, “‘m sorry, baby,” his voice utterly wrecked. You lick from the space your fist occupies and swirl your tongue over him a few times, looking into his eyes as you catch your breath.

“S’okay, Joel,” you purr, lips against him as his cock twitches at the low cadence of your voice. “I can handle it, I won’t break.” And then you’re right back to easing him down your throat. Drool dribbles from your mouth as you work him in your fist, stroking and twisting and pulling while your tongue focuses on the sensitive area you’ve discovered just under his head.

The cab of the truck fills with the melody of your slick mouth sucking Joel off, punctuated by the sweet sounds falling from his lips. Joel isn’t a particularly talkative person, but you’re incredibly happy to find that all that changed when your head was bobbing up and down his length.

“Good girl, perfect fuckin’ girl,” he grits out, tightening his hand into a fist and slamming it against his window a few times as he struggles to keep his hips stationary. You hum around him, taking his hand in yours and guiding it to thread into your hair to encourage him to move. A throaty groan rips through him as he realizes what you’re asking, and he thrusts lightly into your mouth.

You relax your throat, allowing him to push deeper than he had been just a minute ago, and the feeling of being so utterly full of him makes you whine, shuffling slightly to relieve the pressure building at the apex of your thighs.

“Y’like that, sweetheart? Like when I fuck your pretty face?” The utter filth he’s spewing at you makes you gasp and whimper, and he laughs almost smugly at your reaction to his words. “Yeahhh, you like that. Go on, baby, touch yourself while you suck my cock.” You don’t have to be told twice, snaking your hand down to rub frantically at your aching clit while he slowly, gently jerks his hips into the tight, warm, wet vice of your mouth.

You feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm in no time, seeing as how you were already thoroughly worked up from your little display at the restaurant and everything that’s transpired in Joel’s truck since. Actually, if you’re being honest, you’ve been soaking into your panties since that stunt you pulled in your room before you even made it to dinner.

You feel stuffed to the brim, Joel’s cock hitting a spot in your throat over and over that has tears of pleasure dripping down your cheeks to combine with your spit lathering his cock. He brushes his big thumb over the path a tear careens down, brushing away the wetness as he drags his hand down to cradle your throat.

“Doin’ real good for me, doin’ perfect.” He squeezes lightly around your neck and curses. “Shit, darlin’, I can feel my cock right here.” He taps your throat and you whine, eyes rolling back as you rut desperately against your fingers. You’re so, so close, and you can tell that Joel is too by the way his tempered pace is growing more erratic, his shallow thrusts less controlled. The noises dripping from his lips to meet your ears are gruffer now too, words he’s failing to string into sentences as they're cut off by expletives and needy moans.

Joel looses a low, gravelly groan that signals he’s mere moments from reaching his peak, and you hear him choke out, “Where do ya want it, baby?’ just as the pull of pleasure burning in your tummy goes taut. You don’t answer, opting instead to simply pull off of him and seat your open mouth at the head of his cock, sticking your tongue out and looking up into his face. Joel smirks as you continue jerking him off with the hand not paying attention to your clit, but his smile falls into a slack-jawed look of lust as his balls pull tight and he comes.

The thick ropes of warm cum spurting over your tongue and decorating the inside of your mouth are just what you need to push you into your own climax; your legs shake and you let a high-pitched sound ring through the truck cab as your cunt clenches hard around nothing, wetness seeping from your underwear and coating the insides of your thighs.

Despite your own orgasm, you make sure to catch every last drop of Joel’s spend, holding it on your tongue for him to see. The space goes silent for a few seconds, both of you basking in your respective post-coital bliss as your eyes scan over each other. Your gaze hangs heavy as he takes in your sweaty, disheveled form languidly before landing back on your face. Joel shoots you an endearing, sweet look, before brushing the hair plastered to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“Go on, honey. Swallow it f’me.” You do as Joel says, swallowing the sticky fluid he’s shot down your throat, and you find the salty, tangy taste surprisingly pleasant. You clean the corners of your mouth where some of his seed landed with your thumb and, with his eyes on you, push the digit into your mouth, sucking it dry. The dirty act makes Joel shake his head and chuckle, and once you’ve finished, you open your mouth and tip your head back to show him that you’ve taken care of his mess.

You both sit there for a while, just staring at each other with your head resting on his thigh as he strokes your cheek. You’d almost call the gesture loving, but you don’t want to be presumptuous. After a decent amount of time has passed and the stars have come to bear witness to your dirty deed, you turn your head and catch the pad of Joel’s thumb in a soft kiss.

“Oughta get back,” you say, reluctantly breaking the silence. He nods, and you stay like that for a second longer before sitting back in your seat. Joel starts the truck and traverses down the lonely path toward the main road. As he pulls back out onto the black asphalt, likely still warm from the summer sun that’s long disappeared, you can’t help but wonder if this moment will forever belong to the space between that long stretch of prairie grass and corn stalks.

You can’t help but hope that it won’t.

***

As Joel nears your development, you pull down the sun visor on your side and flip open the mirror. Your mouth falls open and a little gasp slips at the sight that meets your eyes. Joel must hear it because his gaze flickers in your direction.

“Somethin’ the matter?” he asks, worry lacing your tone, and you almost giggle at his concern.

“I’m a fuckin’ mess,” you groan, raking your fingers through the hair that Joel’s fingers knotted. Your lips are swollen and chapped, your eyelids heavy with the look of lust, and there’s a track of mascara streaking down your cheek from your tears. To put it bluntly, you look like you’ve been freshly fucked.

Joel looks at you again and barks out a laugh as he turns down your street; he pulls into your driveway and puts the car in park so that he can turn to you more fully. You’re frantically trying to will the bright blush on your cheeks indicative of sex from your cheeks as you wipe furiously at the now-dried trail of black mascara.

“Waterproof” my ass.

Your head snaps in Joel’s direction when you hear him chuckle again, your eyes wide with a plea for help. He shrugs, smirking slightly. “Better get inside ‘fore someone sees ya, or else they’ll know what we’ve been up to.”

You know he’s teasing, but his words make you deflate slightly nonetheless as they feel a little bit like he’s kicking you out; however, you steel yourself quickly. There was nothing for him to kick you out of, and it was silly of you to think otherwise. Sure, you’d just sucked his dick and made him come down your throat. And, yeah, maybe he’d almost gotten caught with his hand between your legs at dinner. But that didn’t mean anything.

Just two adults engaging in a casual hookup. That’s all.

Even as you try and convince yourself of this, your reasoning, and consequently your attitude, falls flat. You grunt with thinly veiled annoyance as you grab the door handle and make to leave. “Could’ve jus’ parked at your house, I woulda walked,” you mutter, irritation simmering in your gut as you go to open the door, but then a strong hand reaches across your lap to wrap around your hand on the handle and pull it back shut.

When you try again and are met with the same result, you huff and turn, coming face to face with Joel. His brows are furrowed and the corner of his plush lips are turned down. You hate yourself for wanting to kiss him right now, even though he’s actively telling you to go while not allowing you to do so.

“What?” you bite out, and it comes out harsher than you mean it to. He squeezes your hand, and you feel tension you didn’t realize was making your body go rigid ease.

“What’s a’matter, baby?” The pet name makes you blush, and now you feel even more stupid.

“Nothin’,” you lie. Rather convincingly too, you think proudly, until Joel cocks an eyebrow and informs you just how shoddy your facade is.

“Know ya too well t’believe that bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong.” You huff, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. You drop your hands into your lap, eyes falling to watch your thumbs twiddle. You don’t think you can look into those all-consuming brown eyes right now.

“Jus’... I dunno, bein’ dumb. Thought you were kickin’ me out or somethin’.” You shrug indifferently, and he sits there for a second, watching you fidget nervously. You see him scan your surroundings out of the corner of your eye, making sure no prying eyes are around, and before you can even react, Joel’s gripping the back of your neck and turning your head to meet his lips in a bruising kiss. You melt into him, sighing in relief at the feeling of his tongue licking the seam of your mouth.

You stay like that, greedily tasting each other. Or, in Joel’s case, greedily tasting the lingering flavor of himself in your mouth. He pulls back suddenly, chest heaving and eyes dark, and you lick your lips and grin at him.

“I’ll see ya soon, baby,” he says with conviction, and you nod slowly. But apparently your response isn’t convincing enough for him, because he pulls you in closer and says against your lips slowly, “I will see you soon.”

“Okay,” you breathe into his mouth, and he kisses you chastely once, twice before opening your door and tapping your thigh.

“Now get.” You smile, hopping out of his car, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire way to your front door. Even when you’ve disappeared into your house, you can feel the brand of his gaze on your flesh.

You watch through the window as he sits in his truck for another minute, and then he reverses down your driveway and pulls into the one next door, hopping out of his truck and leisurely heading up to his front door. You watch him walk into his house, and only then do you stop watching.

You’re not entirely sure how you get up to your bedroom, but you’re almost able to believe that you floated there like an apparition, head airy and thoughts bordering on dream-like. When you collapse on your bed, your mind is on the feel of Joel’s tongue in your mouth, of his cock thrusting into your throat, of what that same tongue and those same thrusts might feel like in your pussy.

What you’re not thinking about is how utterly fucked you are. You’d told yourself once that you wouldn’t be able to do a thing like this with Joel because you’d never have your fill, always wanting more after that first initial taste of him. But you’d gone against your better judgment tonight, and now that little crack of yearning had split into a yawning chasm of want; greedy and unsatiated and hungry.

Hungry for one thing, one person, one man: Joel Miller.

Yeah, you were fucked

___________________________________________________________

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #dad!joel miller #dbf!joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #dbf!joel #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagine #joel fic #joel the last of us

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selfmadesaviour · 1 year

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Welcome to selfmadesaviour!

A private, selective and independent multimuse.

Penned by Micha, they/them, 21+, CEST. All credit for icons, headers and other graphics go to ZANZA ( @zanzabug ).

CARRD.

DOCS.

MEMES.

#an outsider ; ooc #micha has important info ; psa #pinned post #look im one of the fancy writers now #all thanks to zanza

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codexargentum · 1 year

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#CODEXARGENTUM

independent & selective chris argent rp blog, brought to life by melli (she/her, 30). crossovers & aus are welcome. IMs open to all. mature content tagged #nsfw at all times. a/b/o will be tagged #omegaverse. i am slow, but i love u all so come to me & let me love u.

very useful links:

rules / bio / headcanons / wishlist / memes / starter call / interest tracker

feb. 16th 2023 - semi hiatus due to me joining the athos rpg and having a blast. :3

#pinned post #everybody is doing fancy pinned posts now

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osachiyo · 5 months

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˖ 𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐅𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 ! — dazai, chuuya, fyodor, nikolai & jouno

𔘓 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — n/sfw content (mdni), hurt + comfort, degradation, tit slapping, use of safe word, ooc in fyodor’s but idc let a girl dream, spanking, rough sex, face fucking, sadism, dacryphilia, toys, role-playing in jouno’s, overstimulation, reader doesn't actually use a safe word in chuuya's (its not possible with a mouthful of cock i promise), cunilingus, one of my only fics where fyodor isn't a toxic little shit so 🤷🏽‍♀️ ps. don't steal my headers !!

𔘓 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — here it is, the bsd version ! sorry for taking so long to finish this, there were some.. distractions 😓 i honestly did not expect this many people to request it *sob* anyways, happy reading and i hope ya'll enjoy ! NOT PROOFREAD !!

like this post? then view my masterlist for more !

“ ‘samu—!” You squealed, tugging on your boyfriend's hair as he moaned into your cunt, doing nothing but giving you more of that toe-curling pleasure.

"Mmh - don't interrupt my meal, darl'," he leaned back for some air only before spitting on your puffy cunt and driving back in. Large, bandaged hands were pushing your hips down on the bed to keep you in place— to let him have his favourite meal in peace, as he told you.

You couldn't recall how many times you came on his tongue— absolutely drenching his beautiful face with your juices, and he loved it. But you, on the other hand, were starting to get exhausted - no, you were exhausted, chest heaving as you tried to keep up with the hot coil in your lower tummy, threatening to snap any moment.

Dazai would know your limits if it were any other day - he'd know just when to stop, but today was exhausting for him too— and the entire day he was thinking of burying his face between his pretty little girlfriend's thighs - it never failed to melt all of his stress away and fuck did it work like a charm - all thoughts but the taste of your pretty cunt left his mind once he finally tasted you. Including the fact that you had your own limits and needed a break - no matter how pleasurable the feeling of his tongue felt against your swollen cunt— you needed a break.

You hesitantly moaned out the safe word, sinking into the mattress in exhaustion as you watch Dazai blink in confusion, before immediately pulling away from you. The bandaged hand that was previously pinning you down with fervor was now caressing your thigh gently.

"Are you alright, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?" He was calm, eyeing you for any sign of hurt or discomfort. You only shied away from his gaze, fingers fingers fiddling with the satin sheets as you shook your head - "no.. just tired, 'samu." He nodded, a pout gracing his lips - the pink muscle glossy from your combined slick and saliva, "aww, was that too much for my pretty baby?" You only rolled your eyes, playfully hitting his chest as he laughed, planting a kiss on your temple with a soft "I love you so much."

"I love you too," You giggled as Dazai buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the bruises he gave you earlier that night as an apology.

Chuuya had a rough day, his underlings being "fucking dumb and not getting shit right as usual," in his words. So like the good little girlfriend you were, you were generous enough to offer your hard working boyfriend some "stress relief".

That's how you ended up on your knees in front of the ginger haired man— who was still fully dressed, seated on the fancy black leather couch as you choked on his cock.

Loud growls and words of praise left his chapped lips in hurried curses, a gloved hand pushing your head down to take his cock in fully, basically making you deepthroat him. "God, pretty f-fuckin' girl, my good girl - such a good fuucking- argh—! fuckfuckfuck! Just like that baby, take this fuckin' cock.." He threw his head back against the headrest of the couch, hips now thrusting erratically up to your mouth, fat balls slapping against your chin as you gagged around him. Tears streaked freely down your stuffed cheeks, making him hiss out curses— fuck, you were such a pretty crier.

If he were only more focused and not drunk off of the pleasure of your warm and inviting mouth swallowing him whole, he'd notice your panicked whines, the way you dug your nails into the muscle of his thighs - scratching and trying to pull away from his cock, even slapping them in panic.

You couldn't breathe— you felt lightheaded and if Chuuya kept going, you'd surely faint from the lack of air.

As if right on cue, Chuuya finally remembered that you needed to breathe— hurriedly letting go of your hair and pulling you off his cock, his heart broke once he saw you coughing and sputtering on the floor, your face scrunched up in pain as air finally entered your lungs.

"Shit— doll, are you okay? Fuck, I'm so sorry, baby," he sounded genuinely guilty, and he was! He'd never want to actually hurt you unless you asked for it, and he felt so fucking bad. You nodded in response, leaning your head against his thigh as you finally breathed normally— tears, snot, drool and his precum dripping down your chin.

" 'm sorry for ruining this, Chuu. I know today was stressfu—" Chuuya cut you off with a click of his tongue, his eyebrows furrowed and a frown gracing his pretty lips, "What're you talking 'bout, baby? You didn't ruin anything," he sighed, "c'mere."

He put his hands under your arms before tugging you up in his lap, gently wiping your face with his gloved hands before pressing sweet kisses on your whole face while whispering sweet nothings about how much he loves you— how good you are for him. The ticklish feeling of his kisses made you giggle— sounding like sweet music to his ears.

After all, no matter how much he likes to see you crying and sniffling for him, he'd always prefer your adorable little giggles.

"Slap!"

You choked out a moan at the harsh impact of your husband's hand cracking down on your ass— his hand gently rubbed the heated skin as an apology, but you knew it was only a facade. "How many was that, dear?" He mused, tone nothing but unkind and condescending. It make you feel small, and ashamed— but you also couldn't deny the way your pussy gushed out more and more slick with each hit— and he made sure to belittle you for it.

"T-twenty six?" You stuttered, thighs twitching in anticipation as Fyodor ran a slim finger up and down your soaked folds, collecting the slick on his finger before shoving it inside.

"Mmh—! Fedya p-please.." You begged, which inly made him grin devilishly— god, he was so handsome. "Please what? You have to be more specific than that," he muttered as he shoved a second finger in your drooling cunt— his free hand kneading the battered skin of your ass but you could care less about the sting.

"P-please! Make me cum—!" You gasped when another brutal smack was landed on your poor ass, the soft fat rippling as his hand met your skin. "And who do you think you are to tell me what to do?" His voice grew stern. You flinched when he flipped you on your back, basically throwing you on the pristine white mattress of your shared bed.

You landed on the bed with a soft "oof!", it wasn't long before Fyodor joined you in bed, basically ripping your cute little babydoll dress off of you as greedy hands cupped your tits, his gaze ferocious— you've never seen him like this. "You're such a naughty girl, aren't you?" He growled— kicking your legs apart to nudge a knee between them - against your bare, sopping cunt. "Fedya—" You got cut off by your own pained yelp as Fyodor tangled his fingers into your hair, yanking your head back to reveal your throat— the soft and sensitive skin just begging him to bite it - mark you up as his.

"Hush now, slut." He scoffed, harshly biting down on the column of your throat— as you let out a pained gasp. It hurt like hell.

You don't know what happened but you didn't like this anymore, you didn’t want to be treated roughly anymore, didn’t wanna be called mean names— you weren’t even processing the harsh words coming out of his mouth, you just wanted it to stop.

“Red, S-stop— red!” You whimpered, sniffling as Fyodor’s movements came to a halt. He let go of his tight grip on your hair— instead gently scooping you up in his arms and cradling you, hushing your little whines.

He silently scanned you before saying anything, dry lips pulled into a frown. You certainly didn’t look hurt… was it something he said? “What happened, darling?” He questioned, voice calm and soothing— a contrast to your own broken one. “Too rough,” you pouted up at him, burying your face further in his chest.

Oh.

“I’m sorry, love. I should’ve been gentler, huh?” He brushed a stray hair from your face, before gently massaging your scalp— easing the burn from him pulling it earlier. “ ‘s okay, fedya,” you sighed, he was so good with his fingers (in more ways than one).

“I love you, dear,” kissing the crown of your head, a soft smile tugged at his lips. “I love you too!” You smiled back. A moment of silence passed as you stayed in his embrace, before speaking up again,

“You’re doing the dishes tonight, by the way.”

“…Fair enough.”

"You're so cute when you get like this," Nikolai cooed, voice drowned out by the sound of his hips smacking against your ass. He had you in a full nelson, your back flush against his chest, strong arms hooked under your knees to hold you up in the air as he thrusted into the warmth of your spasming cunt. "Ngh— 's too much - kolya—" you slurred, head falling back against his shoulder. God, his stamina was no fucking joke— you thought, jaw unhinged as you let out wanton moans. His thighs were absolutely drenched with a nasty mixture of your slick and his cum from the previous rounds— making a "pap! pap! pap!" noise everytime they met your ass. The whole thing was dirty, messy and so fucking lewd— his favorite combination.

"Oh hush now— you say it's too much but—" he gave a mean slap to your bouncing tits, making you squeal and kick your legs at the pained pleasure. "You're just gushing all over me— how am I supposed to believe it's too much for you, hm, dove?" His breath was hot against your ear, making you shudder— "ca— can't! please!" You sobbed, but your tears did nothing more but get him more fired up - shit, you looked the prettiest when you cried.

But the thing is— you actually weren't lying, it was really getting too much for you. But apparently Nikolai was too pussy drunk to recognize the exhaustion on your face. He was going too fast - too hard, you could barely process anything he was saying or even think straight. It was practically a miracle that you even remembered your safe word— "c-clown— clown!!"

It took Kolya some time to process the words falling out of your mouth— brutal thrusts coming to a halt as soon as he realized you just said your safe word out loud. As much as he wanted to ask you what was wrong, he knew he had to place you somewhere comfortable first - make sure you're doing okay. He gently pulled out of you with a wet 'pop!', hissing as your tight walls kept clinging onto him.

Being as soft and gentle as possible, he unhooked his arm from under your knees, flipping you to carry you bridal style - before placing you down on the bed and kneeling in front of you.

"Are you okay, pretty?" His voice was soft— a surprising contrast to how he was manhandling you just seconds before. You nodded, fat tears rolling down your puffy cheeks, which he gently wiped for you. "Talk to me, sweetheart," he pouted - brushing some stray hair out of your face and planting a sweet kiss on your swollen lips. " 'm okay," you rasped, cringing at the way your voice cracked. Nikolai nodded, getting up and quickly getting a glass of water for you.

You gratefully took the glass from him, the cool water immediately calming your burning throat. "Are you hurt anywhere, baby?" He questioned, taking the empty glass from you, before placing it on the nightstand. You shook your head, "no, jus' tired, is all."

"So does that mean we can continue late—"

"Kolya!"

“Well, aren’t you just pathetic?” Jouno grinned, holding the wand vibrator against your clit while pumping the bright pink dildo in and out of you, making you squeal and kick your legs— hips bucking up to meet the toys.

“Please, officer— wanna cum s’ bad!” You sobbed, wrists straining against the leather restraints he had put on you. Jouno hummed, his hand speeding up, thrusting the toy even harder and faster in and out— as he rubbed the wand in circles on your throbbing clit.

“Oh, I bet you do— but, I don’t know if you deserve it yet..” he had a faux pout of his face, pressing the vibrator even firmer against your nub - making you see stars.

He had been at this for hours— getting you so close to reaching your peak before cruelly ripping it away from your grasp, only giving you fragment of the mind-numbing pleasure that you so desperately wanted to feel— and let’s not forget about the mean, degrading words falling from his lips - calling you a worthless slut, who’s only purpose is for his pleasure and his pleasure only. You felt like slapping the cocky grin off his face.

It didn’t feel good for you anymore— instead made you feel terrible, really. The continuous edging with the cruel words took a greater toll on you than both of you had imagined, which led you to eventually sob out the safe word.

Jouno stopped immediately after you blurted out the safe word, quickly but calmly pulling the dildo out of you before removing the wand, placing both of the toys on a nearby table.

He went over to unclasp your restraints, heart tugging at the way you sniffled and hiccuped— fuck, he took it too far.

A frown graced his lips once he felt the marks on your wrists from pulling at the restraints for so long— but before anything else, he had to make sure you’re okay. After all, your safety is the most important to him.

“Are you alright, darling?” He leaned closer, pulling off his slick-coated glasses and chucking them somewhere— wiping your tear soaked cheeks with his now clean hands. You let out a pitiful whimper before nodding, “ you’re too mean and— i still.. w-wanna cum..”

Jouno’s lips quirked up to reveal a cocky smirk— but he couldn’t be more relieved that you were okay - not that he’d ever show it. “Of course, pretty girl— my little crybaby wants to be treated nicely, hm?” He grinned, hand reaching down to flick at your nipple.

“Don’t tease!” You whined, but you still couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “Okay, okay— I’ll treat you like the princess you are,” He snickered, kissing the top of your head before picking you up— taking you to the bed to take you like he had been aching to all this time.

©sachiyoh — do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

tags ・ @hopefulpain @inkmooon @constant-existential-terror @nda-approval @mellieellie @seiiushi @lynxxyyy @kentopedia

@sorasushik1 @himebwrries @nopethenope @neviex @fyodorisbbg @stygianoir @saharei @x-lunawrites-x @munnaitorei @emyyy007 @dearhoney-31 @the-foreigner @angoisfine @osaemu @honeycombflowers-blog @yuiiasathesilly @kaithegremlin @poisonedslop @sukiischaotic @squigglewigglewoo @boba-is-good @cupidszvlvr @ashthemadwriter @4xxxv @bloobewy @mrs-bakugou @hauntedsol @ask-me-or-not @hanakotateyama @qqingque @lunaeheroine18 @kissesmellow21 @dazaichuuya69 @xxsilverjackalxx @gettinshiggywithit @leftrunawaybanana @deaths-presence @sugaredpersimmon @rjssierjrie @iheartpieck @angelof-darkness @otakudul @dazaisimpletmereadfanficspls @hellokitty-4-lele @scinclaitnoir @aly-insanity @kemis-world @bisexuawolfsalt @thateldribitch

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lazyjellyfish300 · 1 month

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Gentleman 🌼💌

Geneticist!Miguel O'Hara x Fem Intern!Reader

Synopsis: You're a struggling college student who's managed to land a coveted internship at Alchemax in the Genetics department under Dr. Miguel O'Hara. It's no secret that everyone wants him but you managed to catch his eye. Word count 3.4k

A/N: from a suggestion by @miguelzslvtz 🖤 here ya go! My take on a sugar daddy fic with Miguel. If y'all like this enough I'll continue it 🥰 I'm also trying to cook the other ideas that were left on my feedback post I made a little bit ago including a Nerd!Miguel fic and a CEO enemies to lovers eventually ✊🏽 This art by @/blahhberry on Instagram is Dr. O'Hara btw 😏

TW: MINORS DNI, a little angst, food insecurity, financial struggles, a little bit of bullying, jealousy, relationship between manager and subordinate, I don't recommend this IRL , half ass science stuff, I'm no expert 💀

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

-----

The sharp wind chill in the morning that only lead to a sweltering afternoon began to signal that summer was edging towards the pre autumn season. Miguel took a deep breath in through his nose as he walked down the steps of his grand estate, black Americano in a fancy tumbler in one hand and his phone in the other, listening to his favorite science podcast with wireless earbuds as he smiled and blew one more kiss to Gabi who was waving goodbye on the doorstep next to Conchata.

----

You're running down the florescent halls of the large maze like interior of Alchemax, sweat forming on your forehead and upper lip, flaps of your lab coat floating away from your body like a mad scientist. You're a whooping 40 minutes late for your first day of your genetics internship. Not how you wanted this morning to go at all, simply because you decided to "rest your eyes" five minutes after your alarm went off.

Your outfit you had planned all week didn't look how you envisioned, you had no time to do your hair and makeup, now you were trying not to cry as you prepare yourself mentally to kiss your career goodbye before it even got started.

Miguel is looking over the shoulder of some of the other interns in the lab, quiet tinkling noises of the lab samples placed under glass microscope lenses and hushed voices with quick scribbles of lead pens on lined notebooks. Soft giggles coming from a neighboring group of a few girls from your sorority that were shamelessly gawking at the older, handsome, tall, brawny geneticist with brown eyes, sneaking photos of him when he wasn't looking to fawn over in their respective group chats.

All eyes are on you as you enter the quiet lab, and shamefully shuffle to the only unoccupied table which happens to be in the dead front. A pin drops and your heart sinks to your stomach as you're met with an annoyed stare from your intern supervisor.

Miguel addresses the group he was in the middle of assisting, nodding with a low, "Continue,"

He walks up to your table. Your face burns furiously as you fight back tears, hastily pulling out your notebook, pencils and supplies to get set up. Miguel stops in front of you and you swallow slowly and sniffle as you look your superior in the eye for the first time.

His broad shoulders and tall height give him an aura of seriousness and slight intimidation. His eyes are deep brown and seemingly bottomless, mesmerizing, a hint of softness in them despite everything else about him that portrayed sternness underneath his narrow frame glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose. A shadow of stubble peppers his strong jaw and runs down his thick neck, a very faint streak of grey runs along the corners of his brunette locks. He rolls up the sleeves of his lab coat on his thick forearms, eyes flickering to his clipboard and then back to you.

"Name?" He asks.

Your mouth dries momentarily at the pleasant low timbre of his voice, but you quickly answer, hoping your first impression isn't completely unsalvageable at this point.

He nods and shifts a microscope towards you, along with your lab sample testing kits. "Since everyone else is already partnered up, I will be your partner for this first project." He clicks his pen, stowing it gracefully in his lab coat breast pocket, swiftly unloading the samples from the kit onto the table, prepping them.

"Firstly, I am Dr. O'Hara. I'm the head intern supervisor for the Genetics department at Alchemax. Today, we are identifying and labeling these samples in various stages of cell division for my research groups that I oversee." He explains. "You should be fairly familiar with these, correct?"

You feel the heat but you nod enthusiastically, determined to turn this day around and prove him wrong and show him that you're just as deserving to be here as anyone else; you just had a stroke of bad luck. You eagerly take over and adjust the microscope lense for the first sample and bring your eye to it, squinting and then quickly writing down the label in your notebook for the first sample: "That's...anaphase." You state confidently.

Miguel looks at you while you write, leaning towards you a little bit and shifting the microscope closer to him, a faint whiff of his scent rolling off his arms for a brief moment, catching you off guard. He looks into the microscope without a word then nods, the corners of his eyes softening, removing the annoyed glare they held earlier when he first looked at you. "That's right." He affirms.

Another hour passes, and you both manage to complete all of the samples you were assigned in the nick of time, wrapping up the final sample two minutes after the internship was due to end, just a tad late due to the delayed start you got compared to your fellow lab mates.

As you worked, Miguel took note of how you seemed to work slower than the others, yet you were more cautious. You were meticulous and a bit of a perfectionist, taking lots of time to ponder and even verify anything you weren't sure of by asking Miguel and following up with any additional questions you had that were spawned as a result. He liked that you were thoughtful and inquisitive. You were humble and demonstrated you could work hard to get things done.

As you hastily packed your bag, closing it with a loud zip, Miguel cleared his throat. "Well done today... I'm impressed you could manage to complete the same work load as your colleagues, despite having less time to do it."

"Oh-thank you, sir." You nod, giving him a modest smile. "I try to work hard at what I do."

"It shows." He nods, removing his thin glasses and hanging them on the front of his shirt, the weight of the glasses barely tugging his shirt down, revealing a little more of his neck, accentuating his broad chest. "Just, do not be late again.....ever, okay?" He looks at you sternly, his expression as he waits for your confirmation almost as though he was begging you to keep this promise.

"I won't, Dr..."

"O'Hara."

"Dr. O'Hara." You say confidently, standing up a little taller. "You can count on me." You state firmly.

He nods, the corner of his mouth ever so subtly revealing the ghost of a smile. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

-----

You set nearly 10 consecutive alarms for the next day, waking bright and early to get dressed and do your hair and makeup just how you wanted it.

You let out a deep breath, a comforting smile on your face as you paced yourself down the street, enjoying the morning and much more confident and at peace with yourself knowing you looked good and you weren't going to let Dr. O'Hara down by being late.

Your stroll is interrupted by a loud growl of your stomach. You groan and check your phone. You had plenty of time to grab a small item for breakfast from the bodega on the way. You beeline in the other direction, backtracking momentarily to go satisfy your hunger.

You feel a pit in your stomach when you realize what day it is and rip out your phone, your heart sinking to your chest when you see that $800 withdrawal of your student tuition posted to your checking account. You scroll with a shaky hand, pulling up your calculator and doing the math after two of your other pending transactions went through. You were left with a whooping $7 to your name, and you weren't going to get paid for another week.

Shit...shit...

Normally, you had a handle on your finances, but a couple of emergencies came up where you had to visit the doctor, buy your medicine, and also buy another textbook that one of your professors neglected to mention was required for the class. That, along with your tuition, and maybe a couple more iced coffee runs than you should have left you with barely nothing to survive on until your next payday.

But with the way your stomach is utterly growling right now, you'll just have to find a way to deal with it later. You order your usual breakfast sandwich from the bodega and sprint down the sidewalk, making haste for Alchemax.

-----

Miguel is about to enter the lab, shrugging into his lab coat when he hears chattery whispers coming from behind the door. He stops for a moment when he thought he heard his name, inching closer so as not to reveal his presence, leaning against the door.

You're being interrogated by some of your fellow interns, the group of girls that were oogling Dr. O'Hara the day before and also your fellow sorority members: Heather, Vivian, and Isla. They're pelting you with a million questions a minute, expecting a full report on what it was like working with him yesterday and trying to dig up any information about his personal life.

"Ugh, I wish he would've spent time with our group yesterday instead. No offense, of course," Heather says.

You shrug, going back to writing little notes in your notebook, reviewing your work from yesterday.

"How come you're so quiet?" Vivian prods. "Seriously, you haven't like hung out with us at all and barely talk to us."

"She thinks she's better than us," Heather answers. The group snickers at that.

"No..." You protest, looking down in embarrassment, doing your best to try and shrug off their pestering comments.

"Girl there's no need to deny it, O'Hara had his eyes on you yesterday. He was obsessed." Vivian teases.

Your cheeks get hot as you look back at your notepad. Yes, Dr. O'Hara was easy on the eyes, no denying that. But he would have never thought of you that way in a million years. You were there for an internship, end of story. You had only barely managed to save this opportunity from burning and crashing to the ground a day before.

You knew you'd have to put in double the amount of work as everyone else did to prove yourself. There was simply no time nor room to dwell on how handsome the man was. A dangerous road you knew you needed to stay clear of, no matter how the other girl's comments were starting to get to you, a tiny whisper nudging your ego at the fact that it did seem like he had something of an interest in you.

"Sharing is caring, girl." The group's leader, Isla, pops her gum with a little smirk on her glossy lips. "Next time you get a chance, ask him if he's married and report back to us on what you find out."

Your face heats up. "Are you kidding, you ask him, Isla! The man barely tolerates me. I'm not gonna wind up on his bad side just because you guys want me to be nosy..."

At that very moment, Miguel abruptly enters the lab, taking his place upfront like he normally does, leaving behind a swift cloud of his scent hanging in the air as he brushed past your table, with everyone unaware that he heard every word that was said about him prior to his entrance.

"Good morning." He says in a pleasant tone, addressing the entire group. "We will be doing more sample identifying work today. Why don't we break into the same groups as last time. Since we have an odd number of folks, I'll have you work with me again." He looks directly at you.

You can feel envious pairs of eyes burying themselves into the back of your head as you sit side by side next to Dr. O'Hara again, clicking your pen every once in a while, coloring a black dot into the corner of your paper out of passive boredom while Miguel worked alongside you.

Miguel was slightly turned off by the comments he heard about him from your colleagues, finding the whole exchange unprofessional. He needed focused, dedicated interns who prioritized the work in front of them they needed to get done, not fantasize about him.

Frankly, it put him in an awkward position and he really didn't want to deal with it altogether. He looked at you as you silently labeled and notated one sample after another, barely speaking to him and your eyes locked on your own paper.

"So, what caused you to apply to this internship in the first place?" He asks.

You look at him, caught off guard by the sudden question. "Oh, well I'm going to school for Biology. I'm wanting to apply to med school."

"Really?" Miguel responds. "That's commendable." He goes back to his task, longer moments of silence passing between you two.

You turn around and you notice Isla and the others mouthing something to you. You try to mouth "What?" back to them then Miguel interrupts you, causing you to jump in alarm.

"Hmm, what?"

"I asked, are you here on a scholarship?" Miguel responds nonchalantly, his eyes locked on a sample under the microscope.

"Oh, no I'm not, unfortunately." You fiddle with a button on your lab coat. "I have student loans that I'm trying to pay back."

Miguel hums quietly in response, taking in your answer. "That must be a heavy burden with such an expensive field you're going into."

"Yeah..." You sigh. "It is. Sometimes I have to pick between paying my bills or eating lunch," you joke half-heartedly.

Your stomach growls loudly and you grab your stomach in alarm, hoping he didn't hear it.

Miguel looks at you in his peripheral vision, a slight hint of amusement on his face at the sound, finding it kind of funny that you seemed so embarrassed of a natural bodily process. "Speaking of lunch, sounds like it's getting close to that time... " Miguel remarks casually.

You nervously try to laugh it off, your face still a higher temperature. "Yeah, haha...for sure."

Miguel nods towards the brown paper sack sitting on the table. "Why don't you step out for a moment, have a bite to eat?"

"Oh..um." You try to play it off like you don't want it but Miguel remains unconvinced.

"Go on, I'll take these next few since you did the last three."

Your stomach growls loudly again and you stand up swiftly, not needing anymore convincing to take care of your raging hunger, taking the paper bag with you.

When you step into the hallway, your face utterly falls in disappointment when you realize the bodega gave you the wrong sandwich. It's a Reuben with sauerkraut. Your stomach groans in misery and you go to unwrap the sandwich regardless, hoping your desperation will make it easier to get over your dislike. A wave of nausea hits you at the smell.

You simply can't bring yourself to eat it, and it's time to head back anyway. You try to walk with watery eyes back towards your table with the brown paper bag still in hand, heart in the gutter because your last $7 is gone and you have nothing to eat but disappointment and desperate wishes for better circumstances.

Miguel's eyebrows raise as he watches you swiftly grab your things and leave the room without saying goodbye. Miguel walks back to his desk and notices your brown paper sack sitting there with a little sticky note on it.

"Dr. O'Hara- thank you for your help today."

Miguel frowns and opens the bag, his eyes widening at the sight. Reubens are his favorite. He takes a deep whiff, relishing the smell of the corned beef and melted Swiss with the Russian dressing and sauerkraut. This must have been a sandwich from a bodega because the bread smells and feels like it was baked only a few hours ago. Miguel looks at your handwriting on the note and then back at the door you just walked out of.

He feels a pang of guilt. While he greatly appreciated and relished the unexpected treat, you just gave up your lunch, and based on that comment you made earlier about your loans being so much that you had to choose between your debt and eating, he was starting to get worried about your well-being.

"Lyla? I need y/n's student loan records from the financial department. Have them on my desk in an hour."

"You got it, Migs."

-----

You entered your dorm, trying to hide your tears and dodge interrogation from Heather, Vivian, and Isla.

"Hey, you."

You pause, with a sigh, turning to meet Isla's burning stare. "Yeah?"

"Girl, so...is he married?"

"I didn't ask." You rub your temples.

"Oh my god...you had one job!"

"Look, y'all, I don't mean to be rude. But I just had thee shittiest day of my life and I have no food until next week. Wondering about whether our SUPERVISOR is married or not is not at the top of my list of concerns right now."

The groups looks at one another, taken aback. "Dude...calm down, we were just curious, it's not that deep. So dramatic..." Heather grumbles.

"It's okay y'all, I'm gonna make him fall in love with me, just watch." Vivian jokes.

"No me!" Isla shouts.

The three of them banter back and forth and you turn, huffing towards your room.

"But really wtf does he even see in her? Like why pay attention to the most boring person in the room when we're right there..." Isla mutters once you're out of earshot.

You lay down in bed, too distraught to study and cry yourself to sleep.

-----

Two hours later, your eyes ease open, your pillow slightly wet with drool after a good post-cry nap.

A missed call from your college shows up on your phone.

Confused, you return the call.

"Student Services how can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm a student...I have a missed call from you guys."

"Student ID?"

"27872099"

"Yes...we were calling you back about a credit to your account. It looks like that was fully settled this afternoon, and a refund has been issued back to your checking account that you have linked to your student account."

You blink. "Um, okay...but there was a balance of $10,130.70 this morning, and you guys took out the 850, so...what, there's probably a little over 9k remaining?"

"That was paid in full, along with an additional $1000.00 so actually that extra credit should be refunded to you and posted in 1-2 business days depending on your institution."

Your brow furrows. You look back at your bed then at the ceiling, trying to figure out if you were still sleepy. "Is this some kind of practical joke?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, that's ten thousand dollars we're talking about. And you're telling me that all of it was just magically erased this afternoon?"

"I can send you the statement if you would like, ma'am."

"Yes, please. Because something doesn't sound right about all of this."

"Very well...and your email is still valid?"

"Yes. Thank you."

You hang up and pace in your room until the email notification comes through. You blink in disbelief, sitting down on your bed with shaky knees when you see that sure enough, a whooping payment of $11,130.70 was applied.

----

Balance: $10,130.70

Debit card payment ending in xxxxx2099 $11,130.70

Ending balance = $-1,000.00

Credit issued for: $1,000.00 to checking account ending in xxxxxx4890

----

You scoff in sheer disbelief, a feeling of elation rising in your body. At that moment, your doorbell rings.

An annoyed Heather calls you downstairs.

You run to the door, your footsteps shaky under the shock of your debt being erased and becoming one thousand dollars richer in one day, mind still buzzing with the news.

A confused man is waiting at the door with a large bouquet of a gorgeous assortment of roses and daisies and a large bag of takeout from your favorite upscale restaurant, asking for you.

You nod slowly with a raised eyebrow and he hands your goodies over to you. Your mouth falls open at the small card attached to the bouquet, your name etched in silver cursive letters and a small message typed in black lettering.

Thank you for the sandwich and for your diligent work for my department. Enjoy.

- Dr. O'Hara

-----

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hitlikehammers · 3 months

Text

take the call

rating: t ♥️ cw: off-screen car accident (but EVERYTHING IS FINE), hurt/comfort, softness ♥️ tags: established relationship, married steddie, hurt/comfort, rockstar Eddie/teacher Steve, Steve's heart of gold is very possibly going to be Eddie's undoing one of these days, well-worn-soul-deep love

for @steddielovemonth day eighteen: Love is terrifying (@starryeyedjanai)

set in the 00s, with Steve and Eddie having two decades of loving under their belts, now ♥️

Eddie isn’t expecting a call, any call, really; he’s in the studio, like, if he gets a call someone takes a message or whatever.

And in fairness, Eddie doesn’t get the call.

He gets a message.

“Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes kinda automatically, kinda thoughtlessly at the cut of the audio track to let the mic system override from outside the booth.

“Okay, so, like, don’t freak out.”

He’s not thoughtless at all about the way he clocks the tension in Jeff’s voice even across the speaker system; it’s entirely automatic how he freezes, how he looks up and locks eyes with his friend through the glass and sucks in a sharp breath for the look on his face: pained.

Maybe, maybe scared.

Eddie’s heart drops somewhere near his knees, but beats there so fucking hard.

“This lady called, and she said she found Lainie’s card inside the case of a phone she picked up,” and okay, okay, that’s…that’s random but maybe it’s about their assistance manger, who just got her contract confirmed and got fancy new business cards for it and has been handing them out to everybody she sees, even gave Eddie extras to pass on to Steve, maybe he can share them at the school as if anyone at even a hoity-toity private 6-through-12 school would have a reason for a card from a record label but she’s excited, and Eddie’s excited for her, and Steve loves the people Eddie works with, and not just because they’re attached to Eddie and he loves the things that come with Eddie as a given—but that’s also true, and always has been, but—

“She, um,” Jeff’s voice is filtering through again, and Eddie clocks that there’s…there’s something more to it, more than his brain’s willing to grasp just yet but his body’s apparently picked up on because he thinks the slightest breeze would knock him over and shatter him into pieces, for the tightness in his body; he’s not focused enough to count the separate beats of his pulse but he can tell it’s quick enough already, still weighed down near his feet, that counting would be kinda hard, would take effort:

“She found the phone at a car crash?”

So: the more-to-it. The thing his body already knew.

Eddie…Eddie doesn’t even need to know what comes next to know he cannot fucking breathe.

“Sounded kinda like, uh, like it could have been Steve’s phone,” Jeff is trying to tell him, and part of Eddie hears it, part of him does but most of him is white noise, is pins-and-needles, is underwater and drowning and not even fucking thinking of fighting the pull because he can’t, he’s heavy at the legs and his lungs are seizing and there’s, he’s—

“Because it, umm, she found the card because the case was broken?” and just last night Eddie’d watched Steve pop off the case and slide the cards behind with a laugh and a promise to take them with him not today—because it’s one of those federal holidays that only schools notice happening, like the post office is still open—but definitely tomorrow, never knew which of the kiddos at the Rich People School might be a budding metalhead underneath their uniforms—

“And she said the case was, um, like bright—“

Green.

Electric lime neon fuckin’ green because after three times of Eddie taking Steve’s phone by accident he’d come home with that endearing eyesore, and a kiss to the bridge of Eddie’s nose and a soft hard to confuse that, babe nuzzled against him and—

“It could maybe have just been a coincide—“ Jeff’s talking but Eddie can’t fucking hear it, not really, not when he’s letting the door slam behind him and ripping off his headphones to drop to the groundnut when he’s gasping hard enough to crack a rib, not when the floor’s gone out from underneath him and his vision’s tunneled and nothing seems real, and everything feels too real, every world ending possibility shuddering through his foggy mind alongside every heartbreakingly perfect memory blossoming up unbidden just to serve as a reminder, an underscoring of what he stands to lose, what maybe he’s already fucking lost—

He meets Jeff’s eyes without the glass between them as he grabs his keys from his jacket on the couch and makes himself take the breath that’ll fuel the voice, that’ll give him words, just one word, he needs, he fucking needs—

“Where?”

_______________________

Eddie shouldn’t have driven himself, he knows that.

Like, on some other plane of existing, he’s sure he knows that.

But on this plane, he rips past his bandmates, all the extra people with them for recording, jams the close-door button before anyone can follow him into the elevator because he happens to know this one’s quicker than the stairs even on a good day, and this—

Eddie’s shaking so goddamn hard he can barely get one foot in front of the other, he really doesn’t think he can manage ten fucking flights of steps.

He burns rubber on the way out of the parking lot, and the nearest hospital to where Steve would have been—on his day off, because holiday, he’d have bene close to home, he mentioned food shopping, he thought he might make stir-fry but he wasn’t sure, they hadn’t made a vegetable haul from the Asian market downtown in a couple weeks and they need to, they need to but Steve wasn’t feeling like going on his own, because he might not say it out loud but they both know he enjoys Eddie’s excitability when new items hit the shelves and he can’t read the language they’re labelled in so he guesses frantically until the man who owns the place takes pity, only laughs a little and explains what this spice is for, or that that crazy looking thing’s a fruit, and they ultimately buy whatever it is because Eddie wants to try it now, because he got invested and—

Eddie should pull off the fucking road; his head’s a mess, he can’t see for the way his eyes are welling, streaming, the way he’s shaking with sobs that don’t exactly burst forth, just leak from his lashes as he trembles horrifically because…

Because they were maybe gonna have stir-fry, tonight. Even without the good vegetables.

They were—

Eddie thinks it’s fucking cruel, kind of unbearably so, that his brain’s dead-set on still processing the mundane little perfections of his life as if every single one of them might be dashed to pieces, might be hanging by a thread, might be entirely fucking gone, and he, he…

He can’t. He just, he fucking can’t.

Because that the thing, isn’t it: the scenarios he’s imagining aren’t hypothetical—they’re all memories, too. Steve bloodied, Steve bruised, Steve’s bones broken and flesh torn. Steve still, too still; Steve’s skin under Eddie’s hands when he can’t find a pulse because Eddie’s shaking, same as now how Eddie is fucking shaking—

Eddie knows all those things. They’re so long ago, now, so distant but his fucking cells will never forget every single moment he saw the man he loves bigger than his own goddamn life hurt like that; be risked like that. Be lost like—

And that’s the difference. That’s what is unravelling him as he speeds through the streets quicker than he should, probably breaking more laws than he could count and definitely more than he gives a shit to notice: it’s the losing.

Because the first times, even the times that came after Steve was his: they didn’t come with the loss of so much time, so much of themselves, so much glorious life that they’d built between them, the struggles and the triumphs, the hard choices and the easy things that weren’t choices at all: everything hand-in-hand, every night spent curled around each other, all of them, all of him, inside that chest since he was twenty fucking year old, and Eddie doesn’t just not know how to be outside of what he shares with Steve.

Eddie doesn’t think his own heart can survive, if if Steve’s isn’t next to him.

Eddie’s damn fucking sure no part of him would want to.

It takes him a minute to steady himself enough to get out of the car, once he finally reaches the ER. Steady his body, but more his fucking soul because the whole of him is shaking, is crying out, is wailing unfettered and breaking because he’s terrified, he is goddamn terrified of what he’s going to find when he walks in but he has to, he has to because whatever awaits him, that’s his husband, that is the love of his whole goddamn life and if the worst is going to come for him he’ll face it like he’s faced everything else: at Steve Harrington’s side.

If the worst comes for one of them, then it came for them both.

So he’s stumbling, shuddering, but resolute in his chest when he flies through the sliding doors, eyes still swimming, unfocused but he makes himself take a deep breath—it takes a few tries, and he doesn’t quite succeed, it’s still a tremorous thing and his lungs are still in revolt, but it’s something, and he’ll take something; he has to to take something—

“Eddie?”

He almost doesn’t register it, the voice from the sick-spiral of his memories, all the love on the table to be forfeit—

He almost doesn’t register that his name’s not coming from inside his head.

“Oh my god, what happened?” There’s a flurry over motion in front of him, and he blinks rapidly to try and pin it down because it looks familiar, it smells familiar, it aches familiar in his chest but:

“What is it, what’s wrong?” and fuck, it feels familiar when a hand reaches for his cheek where it’s still damp, tacky for the tears; when another hand slides itself into Eddie’s and draws him in, a hand that fits like no other hand in this world or any other, ever—

“Are you okay?”

And the hand on his cheek turns him and follows his eyes and it takes that long for him to clear his vision properly, but now he’s just blinking so much because that, that can’t be, even if it feels in every goddamn way like it really is, but it can’t…

It can’t be Steve here, whole and on his feet and looking at Eddie with so much worry, so much heart as he tilts Eddie’s chin a little this way, that way, squints to try and see…something.

Eddie’s breath tears out of him in a wet fucking gasp;

“Am I okay?”

Because Eddie’s really not the one to fucking worry about here, Steve had—

“You’re in a hospital, Eds, that’s not usually where you go when you’re okay,” Steve’s eyes widen as he he slides both hands now to Steve’s head, holding him still and assessing…something, maybe, Jesus: Eddie doesn’t know, but he does know that the touch on him now makes his…makes his heart feel safe and he’d been fucking terrified he’d never feel that again.

“Fuck, what happened, baby, did you hit your,” and fingers are dancing gentle across points on Eddie’s skull, so delicate and careful and he can’t fucking help it—

“Are you real?”

Because he needs to know, he needs to know with words because this feels…this feels right and warm and impossible but also true, so.

He needs to know. “Am I…?” Steve’s lips part and his brow furrows before his jaw clenches in that dependable way he has of squaring up to the monster at hand, no matter the kind.

“Shit,” he breathes out slow but then he nods: resolved; “shit, okay. Okay, let’s find—“

“You are real,” and it turns out Eddie didn’t actually need him to say it. He just needed to see the flash in Steve’s eyes when he was ready to take on the world for the sake of love, the way he positions himself a little different in front of Eddie as he keeps one hand at Eddie’s cheek but then slides to brace more at his neck, purposeful, like he’s splinting a wound or something, and then a hand grabs for Eddie’s own again and: oh.

Oh yes. That is Steve Harrington, living and breathing and solid and real, because no one else protects like this.

No one.

Eddie’s heart stumbles, jackrabbits around a little, almost like a reset: like it knows as the implications sink in to Eddie’s mind that it’s not destined to break anymore.

“Yeah,” Steve agrees too easily, distracted as he tugs the gentlest bit at Eddie’s hand, toward the nurse’s station; “yeah, and we should—“

“And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Steve shrugs it off, but Eddie…Eddie’s vision is clearing. His pulse is settling. He can hear above the static and his limbs are getting lighter.

“You’re one-hundred-percent okay, not a scratch on you, not a single thing wrong,” he needs to make sure, like, so fucking sure.

“I am fine, Eddie,” Steve turns to look him straight on, exasperated and anxious and vibrant with it, so alive in it; “but you’re—“

Eddie’s hand moves almost without his conscious consent, definitely without a plan to grab at Steve’s arm and pinch his skin because Eddie was vaguely toying with the idea of pinches himself, and maybe with poking Steve a few extra times to make sure he didn’t disappear, but apparently his brain landed on: pinch Steve, avoid confirmation bias if your head wants to lie enough to make him real just you you, because you need him that bad.

Steve startles, and turns those beautiful brilliant bronze eyes on Eddie, stretches wide as he gapes a little at his husband.

Eddie…Eddie is here, in front of his living-breathing-gorgeously-aghast husband.

“Okay, oww,” Steve drops Eddie’s hand and pulls back, leaving Eddie’s head to its own devices as he looks a little shocked, shooting just shy of a glare Eddie’s way: full of questions.

Eddie—now that the biggest one’s solved, and solved so perfect, so gentle and sure and he doesn’t have to bury the soul of him; he doesn’t have to bury his soul—but now?

Eddie also has some fucking questions.

“Where’s your phone?” seems the most relevant to start with.

Steve blinks, frowns a little:

“It got lost in the crash—“

“Crash?” Eddie’s tone pitches up to squeak a little because: Steve’s here and whole in from of him, yes. But fuck, there was still a crash? He was—

“Not mine, my car’s still parked at fucking Jiffy Lube,” Steve adds with a huff; “I saw it happen so I stopped and—“

And Eddie knows his husband. He knows his husband better than he knows himself, and Eddie’s kinda made it a point of pride for how self-aware he’s grown to be these days, in living this life and loving Steve beyond the bounds of living at all. But he knows his Steve, and so he knows damn well what happened.

Car runs into car. Steve sees it and jumps out to help. Because Steve Harrington is a protector. Steve Harrington is a helper. Steve Harrington is the best man Eddie’s ever known.

Soon as he jumped into the fray, he wouldn’t have thought once about a fucking phone.

And Eddie, Eddie just, he needs to—

He grabs Steve’s hands and wraps them around his own waist, lets them go and then pulls Steve tight to his chest and buries his face in Steve’s shoulder as Eddie winds his way around his husband, feels him breathing, feels the tickle of his hair.

“You’re gonna kill me, Stevie,” Eddie whimpers, that going tight now all over again:

“You’ve got the biggest heart of fucking gold the world’s ever seen,” he moans into Steve’s collar; “and you’re going to fucking kill me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, but his hands move up to rub Eddie’s back, rote and learned and he might not wholly get, yet, what Eddie’s putting together, and where Eddie’s head’s been, what his heart’s been through, but the first thing he knows, and does like clockwork, is to love of his partner, to soothe him even if he doesn’t know what for.

“Someone found your phone, and they, umm,” Eddie licks his lips, takes a suffering breath and tries to straighten but he’s not ready, not yet: he slumps right back onto Steve’s shoulder:

“They called the studio.”

“Shit,” Steve hisses, bunches his hands in Eddie’s shirt and draws him tighter to his chest: “shit, they interrupted,” and oh, fuck no, fuck regretting the interruption—

“They told me they found it at a crash site,” Eddie grits out, the hurt of it still raw, like just saying the words no matter where they landed in trust, just recalling those minutes that felt like full nightmarish lifetimes, reopens the tender wounds it’d left in hims; “they found it with the case broken,” and Steve leans back, then, eyes saucers as he meets Eddie’s gaze, breath catches harsh.

“Oh,” Steve whispers, eyes darting back and forth between Eddie’s, taking the whole of him in and then he exhales so heavy:

“Oh, babe,” he murmurs, fucking mournful before he takes his hands and links them behind the base of Eddies’ skull and draws him in to the center of his chest, envelopes him there whole: “come here.”

And Eddie falls into that chest—rising-falling-living—he falls into Steve so fucking fast

“I am totally fine, I promise you,” Steve breathes again Eddie’s ear, close and dear and real: “car’s fine—“

“I don’t fucking care about the car—“ Eddie tenses up, appalled at the implication that he gave one single goddamn thought to the car— “No, like, as proof,” Steve’s quick to correct him, to ease the hackles on him; “I wasn’t in the crash, but it was pretty bad and,” Steve shrugs a little then adds soft: “I keep my first aid certs up to date for a reason, I figure, right?”

Jesus; yes, okay. Steve’s savior complex had largely mellowed to a non-interdimensional-threat level with time but he’s meticulous about keeping every skillset he’d gone out of his way to learn from professionals before they’d gone up against the Upside Down for the last time sharp and at the ready for anything: even now.

Fuck, but this beautiful, brilliant, impossible man.

“I was helping, best I could, until the EMTs got there,” Steve tells him softly, fills in the gaps because he knows Eddie’s mind, all the pictures it paints for itself, and in times like these it’s always the worst possible pictures—he knows Eddie needs the slate wiped clean with the truths, blessedly softer, in this:

“Police wanted me to stick around for a statement but the girl who was driving the first car, she was so panicked and she didn’t want to go alone so, umm,” Steve huffs a little, shifts against Eddie gentle and solid and here: “she said she knew me, she was pretty desperate I think, so I rode here with her,” and of course he did, of course he did because he’s Steve; “now I’m just waiting to make sure she gets out of surgery okay,” he squeezes Eddie then, like a punctuation, and it feels so, so fucking good; “also still have to give the goddamn statement, but fuck knows that’s just hurry-up-and-wait,” he turns, and he kisses Eddie’s hair then and Eddie feels something snap in him, give way and the lingering tension spill from his frame as he gasp a little on a breathy exhale:

“I love you so much,” and he does, god: god, but how much he loves this man.

“I love you too, baby,” Steve mouths against his head and Eddie closes his eyes and nuzzles his a little closer as he puts it into words, because it feels like he needs to, it feels like in Steve’s arms like this, pressed up close to him to feel this undeniable life in him: it feels like the coast is clear enough to risk it, to confess:

“I was so fucking scared,” and the words only break a little, and that’s more than Eddie honestly expected.

“I am so sorry,” Steve bows his chin down to graze lips against Eddie’s hairline, delicate and intimate and shivery, trembly down Eddie’s spin for the best of reasons, now.

“Not your fault,” Eddie’s quite to counter, to make clear, because: “shit, you didn’t do anything, I just…”

Eddie makes himself pull back and meet Steve’s eyes, reaches out to frame his face, dear and desperate:

“I can’t lose you,” he moans a little, begs a little, says it with a bare line of something primal echoing in it, scraped straight from his bones: “I cannot ever lose you.”

“I know,” Steve turns and kisses one of his palms, and those two words hold the promise of five more they’ve said so many times, and held so true between them for so many year, through so fucking much:

It’s the same for me.

And to be loved the same as he loves is a fucking privilege; it’s heady and it’s wonderful and Eddie needs it, needs Steve, more than goddamn air.

“Sit with me?” Steve covers Eddie’s hands with his at his cheeks, and nods a little toward the blessedly-quiet collection of chairs by the windows; “while I wait?”

“Nowhere else I’d go,” Eddie says it like the given that it is, and pulls Steve close to kiss him full, to press his lips to Steve’s and drink his warmth, his breath, to feel it sink int past his heart and pump through his veins:

“Not ever, Stevie,” he speaks against Steve’s lips, all of him in it, every vow inside it:

“Not ever.”

tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson

♥️

divider credit here

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hurt/comfort #established relationship #established steddie #married steddie #rockstar eddie munson #teacher steve harrington #rockstar husbands #steve harrington's heart of gold #(will quite possibly be the death of his husband holy FUCK)#criminal levels of softness #steddielovemonth #love is terrifying #these two boys have been together for DECADES at this point and it FUCKING SHOWS #old married couple!steddie #stranger things

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captainfern · 3 months

Text

part two of you and price at the hotel ;)

the post that started it all | part one

18+ (smut, unprotected piv obviously, f!oral, etc etc), fem!reader

un-edited, super lazy writing + formatting sorry

John’s hands on your waist were blistering hot, the skin beneath prickling with a fire that you could feel smouldering in your belly. You wondered for a moment whether it was the alcohol but you knew, the moment you locked eyes in the lift, you knew it was all him.

The two of you stared at each other as the lift doors drifted shut, after John jammed his thumb into the appropriate floor button. The fire was spreading throughout your entire body, and you felt as though you could’ve melted right then and there.

But you didn’t. He kept you solid as he brought you closer to him, pinning your fronts together and caging you against the sleek rear wall. He kept one hand on your hip, the other clasping your jaw in a firm but gentle hold— a way similar to how he held his tumbler of whiskey: firm but gentle, a sort of tenderness beneath his callouses.

Angling your face to his, John slotted his mouth to yours with a hum vibrating from the back of his throat. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought it was a purr. You tapped into that air of feline delight, closing your eyes and carding your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. He grunted, groaning into the kiss as the solid weight of his tongue split your lips apart.

The lift continued to whirr around you, taking the both of you higher and higher. The entire time, he held you to him as he seemingly absorbed every last glimmer of anxiety from your glowing skin. The burn in your stomach had melted the butterflies. No more nerves now. You were running on pure desire.

Your tongues met in a hard, but pliant kiss, licking over one another like the tide against the shore. The tip of your tongue brushed momentarily over his teeth, and there you tasted the faint, bitter remains of his whiskey. It made you mewl against his lips, your drink of choice for the night no doubt a dominant taste against John’s tongue too.

The lift chimed, and the doors opened. You pulled away quickly, pushing yourself away from John but remaining nestled in his side. He pouted, a kink in his brow, as he allowed you to put a fraction of space between you both. His hair was mussed, lips swollen and cheeks painted pink beneath his facial hair.

His hand resuming placement on the small of your back, John guided you out of the lift and down the luxurious hallway. Soon, you approached a door to which John swiped a card, and pushed open.

With him right on your tail, you took a fleeting moment to take in the expensive interior. It had to be some kind of penthouse suite, with its entire lavish living area and dining area, with large floor-to-ceiling windows that boasted an incredible view (although, the world outside was pitch black, save for the glittering lights of the city below).

The door shut and locked behind you, and you soon felt John’s presence. Like a spectre, he glided up behind you and attached himself to your very spirit. His broad chest pressed flat against your back, his hands coming down to the curve of your hips, his head ducking to press a sweet kiss behind your ear.

“S’a pretty place you’ve got here, John,” you commented, eyes still peering through the low light of the hotel room. You wondered how fancy the bedroom would be.

John trailed his warm kisses down the curve of your neck, his hands rubbing gentle circles on the soft dips of your hips.

“Mhm,” he hummed, tongue pushing along the hem of your neckline. “Real fuckin’ pretty.”

The burning hot fire that had nestled deep in your belly travelled south, your core alighting with a soaking-wet warmth that made a shudder roll up your body. You knew he wasn’t referring to the room, after all.

You let your head tip to the side, exposing more of your neck and shoulder as John’s lips ghosted across the skin. Goosebumps raised in its wake, procured beneath the trail of saliva he was leaving. You released a deep exhale when his teeth scraped against your jugular, his facial hair tickling you, scraping against your soft skin so nicely. The parallel was making you dizzy.

“Sweetheart,” John started, pulling your hips backwards until your arse was held directly against his pelvis. He bucked his hips shallowly, once, twice, to grind his cock against you. You could feel it against the curve of your backside, hot and hard and throbbing within the confines of his trousers. He placed one last kiss to your cheek. “Let me take you to my room, hm? Make you feel good.”

You twisted in his hold until you could place two hands on his shoulders and pull him to you. You kissed him, deep and slow. He groaned against you, lips just as warm as the rest of him.

In this position, you rubbed your clothed front against his also clothed hard-on, the noise drawing from him downright animalistic. The sound alone had you leaking into the gusset of your underwear— your nice underwear, too. So, to satisfy the burning need within you, you slowly sunk down onto your knees— but John stopped you.

“Uh-uh, pretty girl,” he tutted, then cooed, cupping a hand to your cheek when your fingers looped through his belt. You looked up at him with an inquisitive look. He shook his head slowly. “S’not nice to have a nice lady like you on her knees, huh? S’a man’s job— s’a man’s job to get on his knees and please a woman.”

With that, he helped you back onto your feet and, after you successfully kicked off your shoes, you followed him through the lavish hotel room and into the actual sleeping quarters.

Here, with honeyed pleasure coursing through your veins, you settled into the edge of the large, white-linen bed. The mattress was firm, but still wonderfully soft, and the duvet you could feel beneath your clammy fingers was plush and feather-like. It’s a shame you weren’t going to need them much for sleeping tonight.

John, after pressing one last heated kiss to your lips, sunk himself to the floor before you. Like a man praying, he kneeled with his knees near the base of the bed, his head turned up to look at you as if you were heaven on earth. His pupils were blown wide, eyes glossy, a blush on his cheeks, his hair the perfect kind of messy.

You smiled down at him.

Both of his large hands came to hold your knees, fingers pressing gently as he spread you open before him. You giggled as he perfectly slotted himself in the space he created, and then proceeded to slide his hands up your thighs.

Your giggled turned to airy moans when he groped at the fat of your thighs, rucking up material as he went to expose your underwear to him.

He hummed, pleased, at the obvious wet patch across your clothed core. You felt your body begin to heat again, his gaze stoking that fire within you.

“Oh, my poor girl,” he lilted, leaning forward to drag his nose and lips against your inner thigh. “Look at how wet you are for me.”

You moaned, arching, your arms trembling where you desperately held yourself upright as his face finally pressed into your clothed cunt. You moaned again as you resisted the urge to rock against him, pleasure crackling up your spine as his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your clit over the material.

Then— then he was making out with your cunt with no abandon. He grunted against your pussy, muffled against your lingerie, as his tongue swiped in and out of his mouth, lapping at the patch of your arousal. His nose bumped your clit, already puffy with a desperate need for release, making you sob.

“John—” You whined, grinding yourself against his face.

He held your hips in his hands, holding you still. Kissing your clit one last time, John departed from your clothed core and looked up at you, eyes glinting with something vulpine.

“Tell me what you need,” he instructed you, his voice deep and languid. It made you leak into your underwear even more, a silent whimper bubbling at the back of your throat. He squeezed your hips gently. “Tell me what you need from me, sweetheart.”

“Your mouth,” you answered, voice shaky but laced with the confidence of the woman you were about twenty minutes ago. What happened to liquid courage? You were feeling real sobre now. “Your mouth, please, John. Need you to— oh, fuck. Need y-your mouth on my pussy.”

His smile was instant.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered, before pulling down your underwear, yanking it out from beneath your thighs and snapping it from your ankles. He tossed the fabric aside, his eyes on your cunt, watching the way your hole dribbled slick now that it was exposed to him. He grunted, eyelids fluttering, cock twitching in his trousers. “That’s a real good girl.”

Then, John surged forward and sealed his hot mouth over your cunt, dipping his tongue into your hole. You mewled, writhing against the bed as his tongue curled inside you, lapping at the arousal that had built. He grunted against you, eyes battling to stay open and look at you, the smell and taste of your pussy causing his eyelids to droop with pleasure.

His nose nudged your clit, swollen already with your arousal. The movements of his face, which he patterned in moving side-to-side every so often, had your thighs trembling. Broad hands held them to the bed though, pinning you softly. You could feel the scratch of his facial hair against your upper-inner thighs. The sensation was heavenly.

“John…” You whispered in a moan, wriggling your hips back against him, pressing his face even closer to you. He moaned, tongue still stuffed deep inside you, licking in and out. You felt as though the air was being sucked from your lungs. You panted, “John, oh fuck— please.”

John’s hands massaged your thighs, groping at the soft flesh, his eyes fully alert now and taking in every flicker of an expression on your face. Your pleasure seemed to radiate from your skin, leeching from your pores for John to take for himself— the sight of you forced a moan from deep in his chest, his cock twitching violently in his trousers, his briefs no doubt stained with his pre-cum.

He knew you wanted to come. You needed to come. Your body was thrumming with the pressure building inside you, your thighs trembling beneath the weight of his hands. He could see the way your tummy began to twitch, your orgasm building in the very base— tingly, like static, pulling at the very edges of your conscience. Most importantly, he could feel the way your cunt pulsed around him, wet walls squeezing his tongue in a steady pattern as you neared your precipice.

You arched just a bit further off the bed, and John knew you were straddling the back of your release, just one push away from toppling over. So, he kept the thrusting of his tongue into your sopping cunt level and even, his nose still nudging at your pretty, puffy clit. And then he moaned into you, the vibrations hitting you like an electric shock.

You came into John’s mouth with a pornstar moan of his name, almost obnoxious, but pulling the vowel out and around your sound of pleasure. Your thighs clamped around his head, caging him against your core while your hands fisted the sheets below, eyes snapping closed as your orgasm washed over you like a curling wave of warm water.

John kissed you through it— his lips on your pussy, kissing the tingling nerves of your clit, nose buried in the neat curls across your mound. His eyes were on you, watching as you drifted down from your orgasmic high, seemingly glowing beneath the dimmed lighting of the hotel bedroom.

“That’s a good girl…” He muttered against you, finally pulling away with one last sweet kiss to your clit. He squeezed your thighs gently, rubbing the pliant flesh as he got to his feet— knees cracking, making the both of you smile— and crawled over you.

You made the effort to push yourself further up the bed (although it was difficult, considering your first orgasm had turned your muscles to jelly). But John helped you, following your movements and using his strong arms to situate your head against the pillows. Then, he settled himself between your parted legs.

“Alright, pretty girl?” He asked, before leaning down and sealing his mouth over yours. He kissed you hard, tongue probing deep into your mouth in search of your own. When he found it, he moaned against your lips. He pulled back after a moment, a string of saliva connecting your mouths before snapping as he smiled.

“I’m alright,” you were finally able to answer. “But I need you, John. Need more.”

His eyebrows quirked. “Need more? Such a greedy girl, sweetheart. Use your manners.”

By now, he was undressing you— stripping you of your outfit and tossing the garments haphazardly across the room. In what felt like the blink of an eye, you were left bare before him, naked and stretched out beneath him like the most beautiful prize he had ever won.

John was still dressed, however. Still clothed in a nice suit and tie. You suddenly felt hot.

“Please, John— please fuck me. Need you so bad.”

“What do you need?” John asked lowly, beginning to untie his tie, starting first by loosening it with a few sideways tugs, before pulling the silken fabric loose and tossing is aside.

The sight was almost erotic. You moaned loudly, hips bucking against the bed.

“I… I need your cock,” you managed to utter, stomach tight with anticipation, your cunt throbbing and your release still leaking down the curve of arse. “Please, John.”

He had shrugged off his suit coat, and was now making quick work of unbuttoning his dress shirt. He watched you intently while he worked his fingers down his chest and abdomen.

“Yeah? Is that right, sweetheart? You need my cock?” He cooed when he finally got his shirt open, letting it hang loosely against him. His soft, hairy abdomen was revealed, littered with a few scars, making you whimper.

You nodded. “Please.”

“Aw, my poor, needy girl,” he began with a lilt in his deep voice. He was now unbuttoning his trousers, shucking them down just enough to expose the waistband of his briefs. You could see his cock straining against the dark fabric. He chuckled, eyes raking down your body. “So desperate for cock, hm? So desperate that you went back to a room that wasn’t yours, isn’t that right?”

You nodded, pupils blown across your irises as you watched him dip a hand into the front of his briefs and pull out his hard cock. You moaned at the sight of it, curling forward under the weight. He gripped it tight at the base, fisting at the patch of dark hair that grew at the end of his dark happy trail.

John chuckled at your reply, grabbing a pillow as he did so to slot beneath your hips, angling your pretty pussy towards him. He licked his lips, still tasting you there.

“You gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy without a condom?” He asked, almost as though it was a challenge. “D’you want me to stuff this pussy full’a my cum? Hm? Want me to breed you nice and full?”

You whined a loud “Yes, John—!” when he notched the tip of his cock at your hole.

The tip was flushed red, leaking pre-cum that smeared across your leaking hole. A couple of veins ran up the underside, flowing over the smooth, velveteen ridges to the very base, where John continued to hold tight.

The head teased your hole, pressing up against it and making a rush of warmth flow over your body. You whimpered, the stretch already apparent as he plugged your leaking hole, splitting you open in a gentle rock of his hips.

“You sure, sweetheart?” John asked you, your cunt swallowing the head of his cock, squeezing around it and making him grumble deep in his chest. He took a deep breath. “You don’t have a husband waiting for you at home? Wouldn’t want to go home to him filled with another man’s cum, would you?”

The thought alone made you moan, but you shook your head, your ring-less hands running down his back, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. It felt so erotic to be fully naked beneath a half-dressed man.

“Noooo,” you whined, growing impatient now. “John, please just— fuck me, please.”

He listened— with a grunt from the back of his throat, his body surged forward and, as he slotted his mouth to yours, he pushed his cock deeper into the warmth of your cunt.

The both of you moaned. Symphonic, a mess of sounds, meshing together as your lips let and tongues intwined. The noises he made were deep, tasting of expensive whiskey and bittersweet ash. To him, the angelic noises that fell from your mouth were the sweetest things on earth.

John’s cockhead plugged directly at the base of your cervix, and when he stilled, hips flush to yours, you could almost feel him prodding at your lower stomach. It made you whimper, breaths coming quicker as he waited, waited inside you with his arms caging your head and his legs bumping against yours.

He broke the kiss to rest his forehead against yours. “You okay, sweetheart?” He asked, the syllables stretched out around a hoarse whisper. A smoker’s whisper.

“Yeah… yes, fuck, m’fine,” you mumbled, eyelids fluttering, feeling slightly distracted. “You can move.”

He was so solid inside you. Stretching you open, splitting you open to fit the sheer girth of his fat cock. You felt so full, stuffed full of him, the walls of your cunt squeezing him tight.

John began to move at your request. Gently, he pulled his hips back until just the flared tip was nestled in the clutch of your heat. He stayed like this for just a moment, a moment enough to have you whimper some protest, before he thrusted himself back in with one fell swoop.

The force of his thrust made you arch as the air was knocked from your lungs and the tip of his cock pushed right up against your womb. You cried out, a breathless sob, as your hips brushed and he set a pace.

The pace rocked the mattress, creaks and groans fitting with the sounds of your dual pleasure— your moans and pleads and the slick sounds of your cunt, and John’s grunts and whispers in reply.

You felt so full. Bursting at the seams. The thick of his cock pulling your pussy taut, stretching it open and moulding it as though you were meant to take him all along. You were made for him.

And the entire thing felt so intimate. John caged his arms around your head as he rutted into you, his soft grunts falling directly to your ear. You mewled with each upwards thrust, your hands travelling up and down his clothed back, the buttons of his open dress shirt scraping delicately over your nipples.

The way his trousers bunched just below the drop of his balls made you whine, the rustle of the expensive fabric somehow adding to the pleasure. Maybe it was the fact he was half-dressed, fucking you like he had no time to waste.

You wished he kept the tie on so you could tug it.

John was losing himself within you, just as you were with him. His head tucked to the side, he groaned low under his breath at the way your warm, wet cunt sucked him in with each thrust. Your gummy walls contracting around him, pulling animalistic sounds from the very depths of his body.

But the closer he got, the more pleasure seeped into his veins, the louder he got, and the filthy words that tumbled from his rouged lips.

He snapped his hips a bit harder, hitting deeper, rougher, and moan was punched from your lungs, your fingers pressing into the soft muscles of his back.

“John…” You whined, and he repeated the action. Over and over again. He was hitting the most perfect spot inside you every single time.

Bliss. Phosphenes exploded behind your eyelids when you let them flutter closed, a kaleidoscope of colours hued from your pleasure. You felt so good. He was making you feel so good.

John turned his head, teeth grazing your earlobe, his facial hair scratching against the soft skin beneath your ear. He could feel your pulse racing, the heat of your skin radiating against his lips.

“You like that, pretty girl?” He asked lowly, right hand shifting closer to your head to cup the side of your face, holding you closer to him. His thumb rubbed soothingly along your cheekbone.

“Yessss,” you whined again, tears pricking the backs of your eyes. “Feels so— fuck, oh my god— so good.”

A grumble left John’s throat, low and dusky. It was a sound of approval, of content at the fact he was the one making you feel good. He was the one stuffing your pretty little pussy full of his cock.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered, nuzzling the side of your head. The action was gentle and delicate, and not at all similar to the way he was spearing you on his cock, thrusts rocking you into the mattress. He shifted his face to kiss your cheek. “You’re being such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

You mewled as his lips danced across your cheek and found your mouth again. His tongue delved straight into your mouth, and you dragged a hand up to fist his hair, tugging gently. You felt him grumble something into the kiss, but it was swept away like a whisper at sea. Besides, you were barely alert enough to make out your own noises.

He was fucking you to the point of static. Your entire body was thrumming like a live wire, pleasure racing through your veins and your muscles trembling with the weight of his thrusts. Moans and whimpers bubbled out of your throat, and your tongue struggled to keep up with his as he kissed you, full of spit.

John pulled away first, feeling your pussy clench around him tighter. His own orgasm was brewing in the base of his belly, abdomen beginning to tense in a similar matter to his balls, just waiting to empty themselves into the clutch of your womb.

“Fuck, I can feel you, sweet girl— can feel you squeezin’ my cock,” he hissed out, two hands either side of your head, pinning you beneath him. Possessive. “You wanna come? You wanna be my good girl and come all over my cock?”

You were nodding before the words had even finished leaving his mouth. Moaning, you trembled beneath him, body tightening and tightening, sweat accumulating across your skin.

“John, please—!” You moaned loudly, hips bucking in time with his thrusts, grinding desperately in your chase for release.

But you didn’t really have to chase it, did you? Not with the way John was fucking you. Not with the way he was talking to you.

“Come on, come for me,” he whispered, then groaned. His orgasm was so close. He could feel his resolve wearing. Quickly, he held himself aloft over you with one strong arm, trailing his fingers down your body until he made contact with your swollen clit. He rubbed smooth, even circles across the bud. “That’s my girl, come on, let go for me.”

The pleasure overwhelmed you. You moaned his name, and then you came the hardest you’d come in a long time.

Your body short-circuited. Your orgasm snapped inside you, your cunt clenching like a vice around the thick of his cock, your clit pulsing in time with your erratic heartbeat beneath the rough pads of his fingers. You arched up against him, nipples snagging on the buttons of his shirt, pulling a choked sob from you.

John spoke to you the entire time, your body fizzing with pleasure, your legs curling around his waist.

“There you go, that’s it, good girl…” he whispered, praising. “Let it all out— yeah, that’s a good girl, sweetheart.”

Your body went lax beneath his when your orgasm waned. You felt so sated.

And John wasn’t too far behind.

He rutted into you, his pace growing sloppy as his own need for release tipped further and further towards the edge. He grunted, groaning too, sweat beading his forehead and dampening his hair, strands falling free and moving with each of his deep thrusts.

“Such a good girl,” he said again, sultry and deep and enough to make your clit throb with desire, cutting through the sheer veil of overstimulation. He hummed, then grunted. “Such a good fuckin’ pussy— so wet an’ tight, s’just made for me. My good girl an’ my fuckin’ pussy.”

You moaned. His words were different. A break in character.

“An’ ‘m gonna come inside you— fuck, yeah sweetheart, gonna fill this pretty pussy with my cum,” he whispered, but his voice rang loud on your ears. He chuckled to himself, then moaned. “Yeah, gonna fuckin’ breed you… M’gon’ come so deep in this fuckin’ pussy that it’ll take, sweetheart. Take.”

You moaned again. So did he. Filthy.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You want a— fuck, you want a stranger to come inside you? Fill you up an’ send you back to your husband? Naughty fuckin’ girl—”

“John!” You interrupted him with a whine, and then you were coming again. This orgasm shattered you.

The tightening of your body again, and the heat of your soft body against his tipped him over the edge.

He came with a choked moan, buried to the complete hilt inside you. He pumped you full, spurts of hot seed emptied right up against the base of your cervix. You whined as he buried his face in your neck, hips twitching against yours as your pussy milked him of every last drop of his orgasm.

Then, there was silence, save for your heavy breathing. It was like that for a little while, while the two of you caught your breaths, recalibrating yourselves. He was still on top of you, but his weight was a welcome comfort.

You ran your hands down his back.

“You okay?” You asked, placing a kiss to his damp temple.

He grumbled something into your neck, and you smiled.

After a moment, you pouted when he clambered off of you, his softening cock leaving the warmth of your cunt. He rolled to the edge of the bed to reach for the nightstand. He plucked something off of the top, and then rolled back towards you.

You watched him patiently with his cum leaking out of your pussy, making a mess of the hotel sheets.

Gently, with his body pressed up against yours again, he took your hand in his and then proceeded to slide both your engagement and your wedding ring back onto your finger. He did the same, slipping his own band onto his ring finger.

Then, he gathered you up in his arms and held you to his chest, kissing every inch of your face with the same gentleness you had come to love and admire about your husband.

“You feeling alright, sweetheart?” He asked you, lips on your forehead.

“Yeah, m’good,” you replied. “What about you, Mr. Price?”

He chuckled, nuzzling the top of your head and tightening his arms around you, one of his hands coming to rest against the curve of your bare arsecheek. He squeezed it, palming the soft flesh. “I’m good, Mrs. Price. That… was amazing.”

But, despite him enjoying their little role play, he had one dominate thought on his mind. His wedding band felt much better on his hand.

And against your arse, of course.

#hey siri play hotel room by pitbull #captain john price #captain john price smut #price smut #price cod #john price smut #john price call of duty #cod smut #captainfern

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