Latest Posts by shaquilles-0atmeal - Page 6
the re-do | m.s. |
matt sturniolo x fem!reader
summary: y/n participates in the triplets' "dirty q&a" video, where she accidentally infers that her experience losing her virginity to matt back in high school had been mediocre. instead of taking offence, matt makes it his mission to show her just how much he has improved since then.
warnings: SMUT; established friendship; m/f oral; unprotected p in v; dirty talk; 18+
notes: hi guys! this is my first ever one shot so pls be gentle with me (i'm genuinely so terrified to post this). it has absolutely NOT been proof read forgive me, but i hope you all enjoy <333
“Guys why am I actually nervous to film this?” Nick proclaimed from his place in the backseat of the car beside me. “No I am genuinely so scared right now.” Replied Chris from the seat in front of me as he began passing out our respective orders from McDonalds.
“We can’t act nervous or else the fans are gonna go even crazier than they already will.” Added Nick as Matt adjusted the camera on the dash. “You’re sure you’re gonna be able to handle the inevitable shit talking that’s gonna come from all this?” Matt asked as he turned to face me in the back. I took a deep breath but nodded. “The more they see me the more desensitized they’ll be. They’ll have to eventually get over it.”
As one of the triplet’s closest girl friends, I had been on the receiving end of a fair amount of hate from their fangirls on the internet. Because I had known them since elementary school, I had been a part of many of their earlier videos when their fans had still been pretty chill about our friendship. But over the past year, a new wave of younger fans had found the videos and had made it their life mission to publicly bash me any chance that they could. It became too much when, a few months ago, one of them decided to spread a rumour that Chris and I had slept together based on nothing other than strategically edited clips of us smiling at each other. It was then that the guys and I had made the decision to keep me as out of the public eye as possible.
However, the guys had sat me down last week to explain how fed up they were with how restricted they felt they had been in their content. They wanted to make an attempt at reclaiming a fandom built primarily of viewers closer to our age, and they thought that the best way to try that was to ignore the petty complaints and make content that they wanted to make. So, since I had been staying with them in Los Angeles for the month, I had agreed to not only be in one of their regular videos, but I had agreed to be in their ‘dirty q&a’ video. I couldn’t lie, I was a bit nervous, but mostly I was excited that my friends were finally confident enough to make videos with more extreme topics.
“Alright guys, ya’ll ready?” Chris asked, intaking a sharp breath while his hand hovered over the record button on the camera. We all responded with a falsely enthusiastic “ready!”, and the camera was turned on.
“Alright, first question,” Nick began after his long-winded introduction filled with disclaimers and explanations for their change in content. “How many people have you slept with?” Already with the first question, it was obvious that the guys were tentative about answering. “Bro I don’t know, next question.” Chris responded, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. “What do you mean by ‘I don’t know’ Chris?” Asked Matt tauntingly. “I mean I haven’t fucking kept track of everyone I’ve slept with.” He responded bluntly, before realizing how bad that had sounded. We all, however, erupted into laughter immediately. “Okay okay it’s not that bad guys I swear, I just have a bad memory is all.” He attempted to remedy his previous answer, but all three of us continued to laugh.
“Matt, how about you?” Asked Nick, to which Matt simply held up five fingers to the camera. “Same with me.” Nick agreed before turning to me. “Y/n? Spill it.” I rolled my eyes before answering truthfully. “Seven.” I shrugged, and I caught Matt’s smiley eyes through the rear view mirror.
“Alright next question is…” Chris was scrolling through the responses to their Instagram threads. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”
“Sixteen” We all responded in unison, and immediately buckled over in laughter. “Not all at once though ya’ll.” Nick explained through his laughter, while mine and Matt’s eyes flew open and Chris’ laugh turned into hysterics. “Well…” Chris began before he was cut short by the three of us telling him to shut up. “I’m definitely gonna have to cut that one out. Sorry you two fools, I kind of set him up there.” Nick rolled his eyes as he looked between Matt and I.
Ironically enough, the fans had been half right in their rumour about Chris and I sleeping together. I had slept with one of the triplets before, but it wasn’t Chris.
When we were sixteen, Matt and I had decided that we wanted to lose our virginities to each other. It had been a no-strings-attached decision, and our friendship thankfully never wavered after it was done. Both Nick and Chris had already lost theirs that same year, and we had both just kind of wanted to get it over with. Obviously, this piece of information was known only by Matt and I, and of course Chris and Nick since they had barged into the room while we were in bed together. Even though the vindictive side of me would love to have the fans know this piece of information and shatter their dreams, I knew that the fallout would be an absolute nightmare.
“Okay let’s see…” I had been handed Nick’s phone to choose a question to answer and was scrolling through my options. “Here’s a simple one. Favourite position? Mine’s speed bump for sure.” I placed the phone down, satisfied with my confident answer, only to be met with multiple pairs of confused eyes. “I beg your pardon? The fuck is speed bump?” Asked Nick as he took his phone back. “The one where you’re kinda just lying flat on your stomach with the guy behind you. Trust me it’s chef’s kiss.” I responded simply. Chris’ facial expression turned from confusion to one of understanding. “Ohhh yeah that’s a good one.” He replied as he dapped me up. “Great, gonna have to edit that out too unless you want the rumours to get really bad again.” Nick said as he rolled his eyes. “Shit, sorry Nick.” Chris said, giggling slightly.
“Let’s just move on.” Matt said as he began scrolling on his own phone. “Best and worst sexual experiences.” He read off of his screen. There was a moment of silence while we all thought of our answers. “I had a girl throw up on my dick once. The problem is I don’t know if that makes it the worst or the best though.” Said Chris, earning a loud groan from each of us. “You’re sick.” Replied Matt, giving his brother a disgusted look.
“I mean I guess the worst sex would probably be my first time right? Like that makes sense right?” Asked Nick in an attempt to steer the conversation away from Chris’ confession, to which I nodded in agreed response without thinking. I caught Matt’s eyes in the rearview mirror again, this time seeing them filled with a pleading expression. Realizing what I had done, I silently prayed to the universe that my action would go unnoticed by the others. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, my head nod didn’t make it past Chris, which was made incredibly clear when he mumbled to Nick behind his hand that was hiding his smiling mouth from the camera.
“Did you see that?” He asked, and Nick looked confused so he continued, “Y/n agreed with you about her first time.” He managed to get out before erupting into laughter at the expense of his brother. Matt threw his hands up in the air once Nick joined Chris in his giggling, and I winced from my place in the backseat; also mouthing an apology to Matt’s reflection in the mirror.
“Bro come on it was my first time! I guarantee you were trash your first time too.” Matt said in an attempt to repair his ego as he threw his empty cup at Chris. “Maybe so, but I don’t have the girl who I lost it to here in the car to confirm it.” Chris snarked back, playfully nudging Matt’s shoulder. “We all gotta start somewhere dude.” He added when Matt didn’t respond. As Nick continued choking on his own laughter, Matt crossed his arms and stared out the window, very clearly wishing he was anywhere but there in that moment.
“Okay okay,” Nick began catching his breath. “We need to cool it because 90% of that what we just filmed is completely unusable. Let’s please just try to make it through this video without exposing Matt and Y/n’s bumpy sexual history again.” He pleaded as he began scrolling through his phone to find new questions.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
“God, that was rough.” Said Chris as we all climbed out of the parked car. We had finally finished the video. It took us an hour to film, and would still be edited down to just twenty minutes of content where we weren’t exposing big secrets or directly fuelling past rumours.
“At least it’s done. It might be a while before I ever want to do that again.” Nick responded as he opened the garage door leading into their house. “Agreed.” Added Matt from behind me as we climbed the stairs to the main level. We all walked over to the fridge to grab drinks, as if the beverages would clean our dirty mouths.
“Alright,” Chris began after a hefty chug from his Pepsi, “I’m going to my room. Matt, Nick, get on Fortnite with me.” He began descending the stairs. “I’ll get on once I shower Chris. I have a desperate need to scrub this FILTH off of my body.” Replied Nick, and he began walking towards the stairs leading to his bedroom. “Y/n, come upstairs whenever you want to go to sleep and I’ll get off the game.” He called over his shoulder as he disappeared at the top of the stairs.
Matt and I were left alone in the kitchen, him sitting at the table and me sitting on top of the counter in between the stove and the fridge. Swinging my legs carelessly, I decided to break the silence first. “I’m really sorry about all of that in the car Matt. I didn’t mean it.” He looked up at me and chuckled. “Yes you did, and it’s not a big deal. I know I wasn’t great back then.” He responded before taking a drink from his can. I smiled softly at his response but decided to leave it be. There was no use in trying to deny it. The sex was just boring, short, and awkward; the way that most first times are. At least he didn’t take any offence to it.
“You know,” He began after a few moments of silence, his eyes shooting to mine as he stood up from his place at the kitchen table. “I’ve gotten much better.” A playful smirk travelled to his lips as he began walking towards my frozen figure on the counter. He stopped just a few short centimetres away from me, so close that I could reach out and touch any part of him that I wanted. I couldn’t tell if he was fucking with me, until I felt his early signs of arousal press lightly against my knee.
My throat was dry, and I felt like a deer in headlights. Even though Matt and I had slept together when we were younger, the dynamic was much different than now. The proposition came about awkwardly, and we were a fumbling mess with very little understanding of how it felt to be aroused. But in this moment, I was very very aroused just from this conversation.
In my silence, he placed a firm hand on my hip, rubbing his thumb across it gently. “I can do just about anything. Just let me know how you want it and I can give it to you.” My stomach did a somersault at his words, and I felt my panties dampen. He used his free hand to push my legs apart so that he could stand in between them, and my limp hands subconsciously moved up to grab onto his shoulders. At the first sign of my willingness, Matt quickly leaned forward and peppered soft, teasingly slow kisses along my neck. His lips travelled up to my ear, where he bit the lobe playfully before whispering, “Well, tell me. How do you want me Y/n?”
His words caused me to clench on nothing and I nearly moaned from the anticipation. With him still waiting on my response I whispered back, “You can do anything you want to me, Matty.”
Without missing a beat, he attacked my lips with his own and I melted from the immediate relief. I moved my hands from his shoulders up to the base of his head, and as his tongue danced along with mine I pulled gently at his messy hair; my own mouth filling with a moan falling from his lips. His right hand traveled up my grey hoodie to find that I had nothing on underneath, and he lightly brushed the bottom of my left tit with his thumb. Suddenly his hands moved from under my shirt and gripped my ass as he effortlessly lifted me off the counter and into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he stumbled towards his bedroom.
Once inside the undisturbed room, he placed me down on his desk, my ass hitting the mouse and causing the computer to turn on; casting a light on the otherwise dark room. He wasted no time in removing my hoodie, leaning me back slightly so he could easily twirl his tongue along each nipple. I hummed in pleasure from the warm, wet sensation of his mouth connecting to my skin, and brought my hand down in between our bodies to softly run my hand up and down his clothed hardness. After a few moments, he pushed my hand away and dropped to his knees in between my legs.
Pulling my grey sweats off my body and pushing my thong to the side in one quick motion, Matt took a moment to relish in my swollen, dripping hole. “I don’t remember you being this wet for me last time.” He smirked as he looked up at me with blown out pupils. “Let’s see if you taste the same.” My eyes rolled to the back of my head at his filthy words, and a moan slipped from between my lips as his mouth made sloppy contact with my sensitive bud. I subconsciously grabbed onto the back of his head, suffocating him with my heat as he continued to suck and kiss my clit. As his tongue worked on my nerves, he released a guttural moan that vibrated against my heat, causing my back to arch at the intense feeling.
When we had done this all of those years before, Matt’s movements were lacking in confidence. He had fumbled around my clit blindly, and had ate me out cautiously as if he was afraid of hurting me. Now, this Matt had clearly gained experience, as my stomach was already beginning to fill with the familiar pressure from the build up of an orgasm once I watched him find all of my most sensitive spots; his eyes blissfully closed.
Suddenly, he pulled his mouth away from my heat and I groaned at the loss of contact. He straightened his body back up to my level and brought his face so close to mine that our noses were touching. “Kiss me. I want you to know how good you taste.” He whispered through his glistening bright red lips. More on fire than I had ever been in my life, I immediately attached my open mouth to his, moaning at the distinct taste of my sweet arousal on his tongue. As we deepened the kiss, his fingers found my heat and he ran two of them up and down my folds to collect my wetness before slamming them into my cunt; finding my spongey g-spot on the first pump with his curled fingers.
My head rolled back, lost in the euphoric feeling of his fingers filling me up, and he watched my facial expressions intently as the wet sounds of my upcoming orgasm filled the space between us. “Holy fuck, Matt.” I slurred, my voice coming out choppy as his fingers continued to relentlessly pound into me; never losing contact with that one spot that drove me crazy. “I-I’m gonna-” I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the very beginning of my orgasm roll over my body.
Suddenly, all of his movements stopped and my eyes shot open out of frustration. In the time since my eyes had screwed shut, his own had darkened in arousal. My body trembled from the sudden halt in its pleasure, and he smirked at me. “You want to cum, sweetheart?” He asked, his kind words a harsh paradox to his sinister expression. Still, I nodded eagerly to which he pulled his fingers out of me completely before leaning up and placing his wet mouth right against my ear.
“You’re gonna fucking wait for me.”
I attempted to squeeze my legs together to take some pressure off of my throbbing, unsatisfied core as his vulgar words scrambled my brain, before he pulled me off the desk and pushed my head down so that I was now the one on my knees. Confused, I looked up to find him gazing down at me. He gestured towards his clothed member. “Go ahead.” I grinned slyly.
My turn.
I had made an attempt at giving him head the first time we had sex. Just like him, I had struggled with confidence due to the sole fact that I had no clue what I was doing. Since then, I had had plenty of practice, and I was excited to now be the one to show him my improvements.
I grabbed onto the waist band of his pyjama pants and pulled them down to his knees. With only his tight red boxer shorts covering it now, the outline of his thick cock and the small wet spot at its tip from his pre-cum made my mouth water. I brought my mouth up to the skin on his lower stomach, right above the Calvin Klein logo on his boxers, and began peppering excruciatingly slow kisses along the light sprinkling of hair there. I glanced up at him through my eyelashes to find him peering down at me with curious lust, his mouth open slightly and his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
After a short while, I grabbed his boxers and pulled them down to meet his pants at his knees. His hardened cock smacked his stomach on its release from the tight material, where it left a wet patch from his pre-cum. Grabbing it with my left hand, I collected a pool of saliva in my mouth and stared up at him as I let it all drip down his swollen member. After pumping my hand for a few strokes, I placed only the tip in my mouth as I watched his eyes dilate. I swirled my tongue teasingly along the swollen tip, tasting the the saltiness of his fluid. Eventually, I began pumping my hand up and down his shaft in rhythm with my head bobbing along the top half of his cock. He shifted on his feet at the new sensation and let his head fall back. I kept my pace agonizingly lazy, knowing that it would drive him crazy.
With my tongue, I licked a strip from the base of his ball sack, up his shaft, and to his tip, earning a hushed whimper from his lethargic mouth before he grabbed my hair and shifted his hips. Looking down at me and holding my head firmly in place, he began thrusting his hips as he kept me still. He started slow, but when he realized that I could take more his pace began to pick up and his cock began to hit deep in my throat. I looked up at him through my tear-filled eyes, and saliva began to drip down my chin. “Fuck you look so good with my cock in your mouth.” He grunted out through each thrust. I lifted my hand to cup his balls, giving them gentle squeezes that seemed to send him towards his climax.
As a moan fell from his lips, he pulled my head back so that his dripping cock sprung free before he got the chance to fill my mouth with his cum. He stood there for a moment with his eyes closed taking deep breaths as if he was fighting the urge to finish right then, before he opened his eyes and gazed down at me. “Get on the bed.”
I pulled myself up off the ground and, on shaky legs, walked over to his bed with him following close behind. Once I reached the edge of the bed he stopped me, turning me around to face him and pushing me down so I would sit. “Put your feet on the bed and pull your knees up to your chest.” He commanded, and I did as I was told, albeit I was a bit confused. “Good girl.” He praised me as he pulled me right up to the edge of the bed before pushing my legs further apart.
Placing one of his knees on the bed beside me, he lined his cock up with my entrance; rubbing it tantalizingly along my wetness. Placing one arm around my waist to brace my body, he slowly pushed his cock inside of me right there on the edge of the bed. His trusts were slow but harsh, and the position he had placed us in made it so that my cervix was barrelled into each time his hips met mine. He placed his sweat-coated forehead against my collar bone and released small breathless grunts with each deep thrust. “So fucking good Matt. Oh god.” I whined as his pace began to increase in speed. He planted his teeth into my shoulder as we fell back onto the bed; his body now completely on top of mine as he continued to drive into me.
He lifted his head and looked fixedly at my fucked out face, his eyes glossed over in erotic pleasure. With this visual, I was brought back to the first time we had fucked, in a position so similar to this one. His rhythm was slower and much more tentative, and we were both certainly much less pleasing to the other, but still I suddenly got hit with a wave of recognition in how much we had both grown since then.
I was pulled out of my trance by Matt’s commanding voice. “Move back real quick and get on your stomach.” I did as I was told, feeling the emptiness that came from his dick sliding out of my soaking wet pussy. Assuming he wanted me in doggy, I got on my knees and arched my back; my head and shoulders pressed firmly against the soft mattress. I felt the bed move as he climbed on all the way, and in a moment of animalistic desperation I pushed my needy cunt subconsciously back to meet heat of his cock.
“No.” He stated simply, his veiny hands massaging my ass. Confused, I looked over my shoulder as I waited for him to explain. He had an ominous smile as he moved his gaze from my fully exposed cunt to my face. “I wanna see if your favourite position is really worth the hype.” He used his hands on my ass to push it down flat to the bed before adjusting himself so that he could line up correctly. Still looking over my shoulder with glazed eyes, I watched his expression as his cock sunk into my core once again. His jaw was clenched tightly and his eyelashes fluttered slightly from the new sensation that the position gave him as he bottomed out. “Oh fuck.” His eyes were fully shut now as he stayed still for a moment. Small beads of sweat traveled down his stomach as I took in the beauty of the man who was making me feel so so good.
Getting turned on even more just from Matt’s visual pleasure, my walls clenched subconsciously and I whined, “Please keep going Matty.” His eyes snapped open and landed on mine, before he leaned forward — one hand beside my head and the other planted firmly to the small of my back — and began pounding into me relentlessly.
The depth of this position allowed me to feel every inch of his cock, and it became impossible to keep the moans and strings of profanity from escaping my lips. This seemed to be the case for Matt too, as over the sounds of my own moans and the wet sounds of our bodies connecting, I could hear the gruff throaty moans of his own pleasure. “Fuck. You’re so fucking tight Y/n.” Even though I was aware that we were both making far too much noise that Chris and Nick would definitely hear, I couldn’t get myself to bring it to Matt’s attention, as the animalistic vocalization of his indulgence was bringing me closer and closer to my climax.
“I-I need to cum Matty.” I managed to vocalize as my nerves began to unravel. “Hold it. Want you to cum with me.” He responded, leaning even further forward so that his body was practically lying on top of mine. He took a free hand and wrapped it around my throat, lightly squeezing the sides as my pleasure became dangerously close to bubbling over.
“P-Please cum for me. I can’t hold it anymore.” I begged, digging my nails into his silk bedsheets and feeling my walls quiver each time he drove his cock into my cervix. His breathing became hitched in my ear and his movements became sloppier. Biting my ear, he asked, “Where do you want me to cum, Y/n?”
Without wasting time, I moaned my response. “Cum in me please. Want you to fill me with it.” At that, Matt slammed his twitching cock into me a few more times before finally telling me what I so desperately needed him to.
“Okay sweetheart. Go ahead and make a mess for me.” Even before his words fully left his dirty mouth, I gave into the overbearing pressure in my stomach and felt my intense orgasm over-take me. Practically screaming his name, my pussy convulsed uncontrollably. I felt the immediate relief and heard the gush as I squirted along his cock and down his legs. “Jesus.” He moaned out as his body suddenly stilled. As my legs shook, I could feel his cock twitching inside of me; painting my walls with his cum.
After we both came down from our highs, catching our breath and reconnecting with our minds, Matt slowly pulled his dick — freshly bathed in my own juices — out of my swollen core. With a satisfied sigh, he threw his body onto the bed beside mine. Both of us laid there for a moment, facing one another with glazed over expressions, before a shameless smile crept onto Matt’s face.
“Well you definitely didn’t squirt the last time we slept together.” He chuckled proudly, and I knew his ego had been inflated. I rolled my eyes. “Well, you didn’t whimper the last time we fucked either.” It was my turn to smile as he covered his face bashfully. We laid there in silence for a moment, both of us lethargic and fucked out.
“If that was anything like when ya’ll lost your virginities then I am extremely impressed.”
Matt and I both shot our heads up and looked around the room for the origin of that familiar voice. We were alone, but my eyes focused on the lit-up computer. On the screen, Matt’s Discord was open to the group with Nick and Chris. I turned to look at Matt, who had also clearly made the same discovery that I had, and whispered, “Did you for real leave the channel unmuted?” He tucked his lips together and shrugged apprehensively, before climbing off the bed and over to the computer.
“Chris, how much of that did you hear?” He asked into his headset. I heard a laugh through the mic. “Oh Matt, I heard it all. Good work. I’m a proud brother.” I covered my face in embarrassment as Matt rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. You’re a perv.” He mumbled to his brother, but I caught the small smile that tried to creep to his lips.
“I’m gonna need a fucking lobotomy to get over the trauma that I was just put through.” I heard Nick’s voice now through the mic and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Bro you could have just left the server, you act like I forced you to listen to the entire thing.” Matt argued with his older brother. “You think I stayed and listened to the ENTIRE thing? What are you crazy?” I was full out laughing now, despite the embarrassment. “I left as soon as I figured out what was happening, but I still heard waaaay too much.” Matt laughed now and muted his mic — perhaps a bit too late — then walked back to where I was on the bed, propped up on my forearms.
“Whoops.” He simply said as he pulled his boxers back up. I shook my head and smiled shyly. “We are literally never going to be able to live that down.” I replied as he draped his body along the bed beside me again. Rubbing his eyes awkwardly, he shrugged softly. “Well, at least they’re gonna have to stop teasing me about my skills.” I smacked his arm playfully and he responded by grabbing me swiftly and pulling me to his side.
“You were impressed, weren’t you?” He asked teasingly, as he held me close. I closed my eyes and sighed, “I was, Matt. Really, really, impressed.” He giggled into my neck at my truthful response and I swatted him once again.
“I’m glad we got our re-do. I’d been wanting that for a while.” He said after a moment. I looked at him with a smile and ruffled his hair. “Me too, honestly. I always knew you had some potential in you.” I teased.
“Well, if you don’t want to have to face Nick right now, you’re welcome to sleep in here tonight.” He offered and I sighed in relief. “That would be great, actually.” I said as I began to sit up. “Let’s get cleaned up first though.” He began as he got up and grabbed us both towels from his closet, “You’re not allowed to get under my sheets until you wash my children off your thighs.” My eyes shot open at his disgusting choice of words and I quickly covered myself with my towel. “Matthew Bernard you are sick!” I exclaimed as we both headed towards his bathroom. “Sure am. But so are you.”
He pulled me into a hug while we stood in the bathroom waiting for the shower to warm up. As he rubbed circles on my back with his hand, I sighed. “I think this is the secret to good friendship.” He chuckled before asking, “What is?” Playfully, I smacked his ass over his boxers. “Fucking the shit out of each other once in a while.” He laughed and pulled away from the hug before getting into the shower; leaving the glass door open so that I could follow him. “Shut your weird ass up and get in the shower with me, friend.”
⚠️ content warning: ⚠️ smut, pure filth, rough unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, degradation, humiliation, ripping clothing, mean!matt, roughdom!matt, cuckhold!matt, bratty!reader
📝 author's note: 📝 this is the second part of this fic. you can read part one here. 💖 storyline will be hard to follow if you don't read them in order.
✍️ Summary: ✍️ After Matt loses a bet to his brother, Chris, he has to watch Chris have his way with you, his girlfriend. Once he sees how much you are enjoying Chris' company, he has to remind you who really owns you.
part two
"You've been dreaming about fucking Chris, huh? Is that so?" Matt gruffly asked me as he pulled out his meat.
Was this really happening? I'd always wanted to know what it would be like to be hate fucked by Matt. I nodded slowly while I looked back at him as I was on the bed on my hands and knees like he'd ordered. "You like making a fucking fool out of me, you dirty little slut? The deal was that you were gonna fuck Chris, not that you were gonna like it, cum all over his cock, and then tell him this pussy belongs to him," he growled through gritted teeth while he roughly shoved his rod into me. I gasped.
"I bet you'd fuck him again given the chance," Matt said, jackhammering into me harder than he ever had before. "Answer me!" He yelled. I nodded at him, which caused him to shove my face into the pillow and thrust harder and faster. "Mmm, you're such a little slut. I can't believe all that shit you were saying to my brother. I bet if you could have us both at the same time, you would, wouldn't you?" He breathlessly grunted while he continued to pound into me with the force of a thousand suns.
I loved the way he was talking to me, and I'd do and say anything to keep it going. "Yes, please," I moaned, and I meant it, but Matt could barely hear me since my voice was muffled by the pillow. "What was that, slut? Speak up," Matt grunted as he grabbed me by my hair and lifted my head, so that his lips were practically touching my earlobe. "Yes, please!" I repeated.
The only thing better than Matt sexually punishing me would be if Chris joined him and fucked me in the same aggressive manner.
"Cheap little whore," he rasped into my ear, and he threw my head back down as he chuckled at how pathetic I was. I felt myself tighten around him as my first orgasm tore through me. An involuntary yelp passed through my lips as I relaxed into my climax and fell limp beneath Matt's vengeful touch. He didn't slow down his strokes one bit.
"Chris could never fuck you like I could fuck you," Matt said through clenched teeth, and he was right. Regardless of how animalistic, hedonistic, and passionate Chris was when he fucked me and no matter how much I loved it, Matt was topping it. But without having watched Chris fuck me, Matt never would have been able to tap into this level of anger and passion, and neither of us could deny it.
"Please punish me for cumming all over your brother's cock, Matt. I'm such a naughty little whore," I cried out as my second orgasm brewed within me. "Tell me who owns this pussy, and you better not give me any fucking wrong answers," Matt threatened me, baring his teeth. "It's yours, Matt! My pussy is all yours!" I cried out as I clenched around him once more.
I couldn't hold myself up anymore. I gave into futility while Matt continued taking what was his. "That's right. I'll just have to fuck the idea of him out of your head, and then we better not have this misunderstanding again," Matt responded in a deep growl. The way his voice echoed throughout my being sent me over the edge one last time, and this had an effect on Matt this time, causing him to bust inside of me. He filled me with his liquid and grunted loudly as he delivered a few last powerful thrusts.
I was completely spent. After climaxing four times back to back, I was an absolute mess. I must have laid there, not moving, for about five minutes after Matt was done, just taking in the experience. He got dressed, left the room, and didn't say anything.
That was undeniably the best sex we'd ever had in the two years we'd been together, and I'm sure Matt had to leave to go process the experience as well, because I could tell he was actually mad. He was definitely the jealous type and possessive, but he also definitely got off on watching Chris fuck me, and we could all tell, and I'm sure it was fucking with his head.
Did he love watching me with Chris? Did he hate it? Does he love to hate it? It was all very complicated and intricate.
All I knew was, I needed to fuck Chris again or at least make it known to Matt that I wanted to fuck Chris again, because now that I'd had angry, hateful, and violently good sex with Matt, I could never go back.
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Matt and I didn't talk about the incident for several days. He was even rather cold and short with me for the first twenty-four hours after it happened, but things seemed to slowly return to normal. "Meet me at my house in an hour. I wanna have a special date night with you," Matt texted me. My face lit up. I loved when Matt would plan dates for us, and I wanted to surprise him, too. I put on a red laced teddy underneath my oversized sweater. Seeing me in red lingerie would always drive Matt crazy. I did my makeup, grabbed my overnight bag (just in case), and headed out the door.
The autumn leaves were dwindling from the branches on the trees outside as fall slowly turned to winter, and the air was growing cooler. The sun was starting to set earlier and earlier, so I was surprised when I went out to my car and had to turn on my headlights even though it was only 6 p.m. I made my way to Matt's house, taking all the backroads to avoid red lights, but also because the scenery was prettier. I had an indie folk playlist playing softly in the background as I took in the view and passed through Halloween-decorated neighborhoods.
Finally arriving at the Sturniolo household, I realized Matt's car wasn't there yet, but I'd just use the key Matt has given me for our six month anniversary. He even had it decorated for me with rhinestones. I checked my phone after I shut off my car and saw that Matt had texted again. "Sorry, traffic. Running about 15 min late," it read.
I slowly turned the key in the lock and let myself in. The house was quiet and mostly dark, so I assumed I was the only person there. I started to stroll to the kitchen to grab myself a glass of water when I heard a faint whimper, and as I approached Chris' room and noticed a soft light pouring into the hall from his bedroom, I realized he was home, and the sounds were coming from him. I slowly approached the slightly open door and peeked in.
I took in the glorious sight of Chris sprawled out on his bed, laying halfway under his blanket with his hard member in one hand and in the other, my black panties from the other day, just like I'd imagined when he'd shoved them into his pocket. The lighting was dim, but I could see everything I needed to see.
He had a delighted expression on his face. He was smiling but biting his lip, and every few strokes, he'd release his bottom lip from his teeth, throw his head back, and open his mouth further to let out a moan. He intently stared down at his cock. His tumescent head slowly leaked with a bit of pre-cum, and his hand was gliding slowly but skillfully up and down his length.
I felt a warm, wet sensation forming between my legs while I peered in at him. It was so hot to watch Chris in such a vulnerable state, completely unaware that he had an audience.
"Take that cock, princess," he grumbled under his breath. "Yeah, you like having Matt watch us?" I was so flattered to have made my way into Christopher Sturniolo's sexual fantasies. I couldn't get enough of the sight I was taking in. He was so thorough and methodical, paying special attention to the tip, running the pads of his fingers over the glistening slit, stroking the backside of his cock almost as if tracing his veins. "That's it, pretty girl. Cum all over my cock," he whispered to himself in between his delicious moaning sounds.
I mindlessly started rubbing myself over my clothes, applying pressure against my mound with my palm. I bit my lip to keep my whines stifled. I watched as Chris started bucking his hips up towards his clenched fist, and I could tell by his movements, the expression of pleasure he wore on his face, the sounds spilling from his mouth, and the irregular pattern of his breath that he was starting to lose control.
I was so entranced by what I was witnessing that I didn't hear Matt come in through the front door or feel him come up behind me. Suddenly, Chris reached his breaking point. His sticky, white matter ejected from the tip of his cock like a geyser or a water fountain, and I admired the way it shot onto his bare stomach, a bit of it pooling into his belly button and leaving his hip bones covered in a sheen of his own fluid while he tightly gripped my panties in his other fist.
"Hey, Chris, shut your fucking door while you're jerking it, freak!" Matt's voice boomed behind me, and before Matt pulled the door close, Chris made eye contact with me for a fraction of a second and the way I was reaching between my own legs for some relief while I watched him with a shocked but aroused look on my face. His beautiful blue eyes were glazed over, and he shot me a smirk that silently asked me, so, did you like watching me cum to the thought of you? I could tell by his demeanor that he liked that I had been peeping in on him. The view was taken away from me by Matt closing the crack in the door angrily.
"So, you like watching my brother play with his cock, huh? Why didn't you go help him, you little slut?" Matt inquired in a condescending tone while his warm breath lingered on the back of my ear. I turned around wide-eyed with my jaw hanging open, not sure what to say. He pulled my sweater off of me, pulled down my pants, and left me standing in the hallway outside of Chris' bedroom in nothing but my red lingerie I'd put on for Matt. His frustrated expression morphed into a primal one. "You look so fuckable in this," Matt growled, "but I cant devour you in it."
He tore my lingerie off of me, literally ripping it with his bare hands, and I gasped. He unzipped his pants, pulled his cock out, and spun me around. After pushing me up against Chris' shut bedroom door, he plunged his hard package into me. I gasped and let out a yelp as he started fucking me with incredible vigor.
"Mmmm, so wet. Is that from watching Chris beat his meat?" Matt cooed. "Yes," I whimpered. "Yeah, I bet you wanna fuck him again," Matt chuckled, wrapping his tattooed arm around my neck to hold me still. "More than anything," I cried out while he slammed into my pussy over and over. I found myself simultaneously humiliated and extremely turned on by the fact that Chris could hear everything from the other side of the door and that he couldn't even really leave until we were finished. I wondered if Chris could be stroking himself towards another climax while he listened to Matt punishing me right outside his room.
"You little fucking brat. You can't stay away from him, can you?" Matt whimpered into my ear while he began to fuck me even more fervently. With every thrust, Matt brought me closer to the brink of orgasm. "Don't stop. I'm so close," I cried out, practically clawing at the door. "I'll only let you cum if you tell Chris who owns this pussy," Matt menacingly whispered. "You, Matt. My pussy is all yours!" I wailed as my body trembled, and I started to rhythmically spasm around Matt's dick. "That's it. Good girl," Matt cooed while I finished on him.
Seconds later, Matt was grunting, filling me with his essence and slowing down his thrusts. He let out a mean chuckle as he pulled himself out of me, and when he did this, a few drops of his cum leaked out of me and onto the floor. "You can come out now, Chris. Thanks for letting us use your door," Matt laughed, zipping up his pants and walking towards the kitchen.
Chris emerged from his room with a flushed look on his face while I balanced myself against the doorframe, trying to catch my breath. He looked me up and down while I stood completely naked in front of him, and I looked him up and down, noticing how red and swollen his lips were from him biting them and the outline of his hard on in his sweatpants.
"Listen, I'm not trying to get between you and Matt," Chris told me in a hushed voice. "Well, please try, because the more jealous he gets of the way we interact, the better our sex is," I whispered while I looked into his dreamy blue eyes. He bit his lip.
"Did you like watching me? Because I fucking loved listening to you," his voice grew deeper and quieter. I licked my lips at him and slowly nodded, "I loved every second of it." I bent down to pick my clothes and my torn lingerie up off the floor, feeling Chris' eyes watching me, and I strode off towards the kitchen to talk to Matt. Chris trailed behind me.
to be continued... :)
taglist: @ariithereyet @bsturnzmtt @sofieeeeex @ribread03 @fratbrochrisgf @sturniolo-girl @strnlxlqve @sturnzluv @gwennybenny @theeternaloptimistt @sleepysturniolo @hearts4thetr1pl3ts @witchofthehour @slutforsturnioloss
Help My Two Daughters Escape From Gaza War
Hello everyone..
I am Hadeel Mikki from Gaza, Palestine and this is my husband Waseem Mikki, my daughters Mira and Nadia, My mother Tahani Mikki, and my two brothers.
Here is our story - Ever since the morning of the 7th of October, none of our lives have been the same. Everything in our lives has been disrupted. The first night since the beginning of the war, our home got partially destroyed because of a very close Israeli strike.
Despite the damage, we stayed home for another two weeks until suddenly and without preparation, we were told to evacuate our homes and we’d be in danger. From this moment our endless journey of suffering and pain began.
Throughout this journey, we later Knew that our home of three floors where my family and my uncle-in-law family live. My uncle family of 5 members did not leave our home and it has got bombed directly and completely destroyed and all of them were martyred.
My father-in-law his heart could not bear all this pain and all this grief; so he got sick. He found himself living the darkest of realities and through the scarcity of medicine and lack of medical resources in the hospitals, he passed away.
My husband, Waseem, was very sad, and my daughters missed their grandfather, who used to play with them and bring them toys.
The situation was very difficult for my children, and my eldest daughter, Mira, kept crying and wanted to go and see her grandfather, and she did not realize that he had gone and would never return.
So we moved in with my husband, children, and I, full of great sadness, with my mother and two brothers, who are the only survivors of my family; They are all that I have left, and I hope that we will all escape with our lives outside of war and destruction, and that my children will survive. We do not want to lose them.
Our future has become unknown, our present is unbearable, unlivable by human standards. We’re stuck in a harsh reality each moment. We live in a constant state of sounds of explosions, bullets raining down on us, artillery shells, and warplanes dropping destructive missiles on us every day.
In addition to our ongoing suffering to this day: lack of resources, humanitarian aid, medicine, and food. We can barely find food for my girls, as they eat one meal during the day and spend the rest of the day crying.
This is my daughters enjoying a life before 7th October.
But now my princess Mira stay alone all the time remember her previous life, her school, her friends, our beautiful life, and all places we were visited with Mira and Nadia as a beautiful family and still cry I need my school, I need my friends, I need my toys.
This is the cry of a mother and father. We hope that our children will be given the opportunity to live in peace and security and have access to food and a safe life like the rest of the children of the world everywhere.
Now I am pregnant in the 4th month , and I don't know how I will get the baby, there is no hospitals , no pregnancy care , no food , no clean water, so I am worried about this pregnant with these circumstances.
Maybe this fundraising effort is like a beacon in the darkness, our sole source of hope that we hold onto tightly. I urge the world to listen to my plea and the sorrowful cries of my Gaza kin. We desperately require the helping hand that can dry our tears and lead us to safety.
Your contribution is more than just money; it's a chance to reconstruct life and illuminate a brighter future. Join us in shaping a tale of hope, as we rely on your support to begin afresh.
The purpose of the fundraising campaign
The objective of this fundraising drive is to secure the passage of my family, comprising my husband, two daughters, mother, two brothers, and myself, through the Rafah Crossing to Egypt. Presently, this journey necessitates £5000 per person. This campaign stands as our sole opportunity for survival, and I earnestly implore your aid during this pivotal juncture. Rest assured, I will furnish you with a detailed breakdown of the expenses, vowing transparency, and lucidity throughout.
Breakdown of Expenses
• Rafah/Egypt crossing: €5000 per person (a total of €25,000 for five adult family members)
€2,500 per child (a total of €5,000 for two children family members)
• Minimum living costs: €5000
Vetted by:
@90-ghost
@northgazaupdates
Thank you all for your kindness and support...
Hadeel Makki
BITCH IM DEAD
THE ARM??? THE HAIR!!?? THE EYES!?? THE SHIRT!!??
SLUUUUT
Our Little Secret
Summary - Joel Miller deals with disgusting, intrusive thoughts about the girl next door who smells like vanilla and uses cherry chapstick.
Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader
Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, kinda perv!Joel, age gap, no cordyceps outbreak AU, reader's in high school but is eighteen, dom/sub undertones, seduction, underage drinking, body worship, unprotected sex, reader is called 'jailbait’ by Tommy, oral sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise & degradation
WC: 11k
[crossposted to AO3]
Joel Miller told himself he wasn’t a pervert. He just wasn’t. Double glancing at a pretty, young girl didn’t make him one of those guys — it just made him a man, right?
Never mind the fact that your father was one of his closest friends or the fact that you lived just next door, embodying half of the very typical scandalous, small-town affair. Never mind your eighteen year age difference. Never mind those obscene images that sometimes invaded his brain. Joel had heard the term once. He thinks Sarah might have told him about it from that science documentary she watched—those sordid images were called intrusive thoughts, right? Involuntary, unavoidable, unwanted.
It wasn’t only him who stared in your direction a little longer than necessary, anyway. The very first time he’d seen you, Joel and Tommy had been in the driveway doing an oil change on the truck. You and your dad had just moved in, Joel had introduced himself the day prior and helped haul a bed frame through the front room. Your dad had mentioned he had a daughter, but Joel had expected to see a girl closer to Sarah’s age.
He hadn’t expected to see you, wearing those tight blue jeans and that tiny tank top that left very little to the imagination. The straps were thin and the fabric billowy, and when you shifted the box beneath your arm from one hand to the other, the pretty pink fabric of your bra was out in the open for all eyes to see. Your hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the crown of your head, swishing back and forth with each step. It made Joel wonder about how soft the long strands were, how they would feel between his fingers, how they would look splayed out atop a pillowcase — intrusive thoughts.
Tommy was quick to abandon his tools and cross the front yard to greet your father, offering you what seemed like an innocent helping hand. Joel thinks his younger brother has no self control, but he leaves the truck too. Only to introduce himself, though. Definitely not to get a closer look.
Your voice is sweet, he thinks. It slides through him like a hot knife through butter. And when you laugh at Tommy’s awkward attempt at conversation, that sound stabs him in the chest because it’s so girlish. So young and youthful and airy. That pink lace is still poking out of the side of your shirt, even though Tommy now carries the box, and Joel strains himself trying to keep his eyes above your chin.
“And you must be Mr. Miller,” you say, sticking your tiny hand out to him.
He knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he takes your hand in his and shakes it gently. Your skin is soft, nails painted red and manicured and he wonders what other parts of you are this soft, wonders if red has always been his favorite color, wonders what it would look like wrapped around — “Just Joel,” he tells you, clearing those damn intrusive thoughts as quickly as they appear.
“Joel,” you repeat, tasting his name on your pink tongue and giving him a sweet smile. “There's two more boxes. Wanna help me grab them?”
He’s careful not to answer too fast, afraid of sounding too eager. But he agrees, and you lead him to the open truck bed, and as you bend over to grab the smaller box his hands flex at his sides. He thinks you must be doing this on purpose. Right? Torturing him, sticking your ass out, silently begging him to look. But he doesn't. Instead, Joel picks up the larger box and notices the scent of vanilla radiating off your skin. This is almost worse because his mouth begins to water.
“My dad said you have a daughter,” you say.
“Yeah. Sarah. She’s younger than you, though.”
“That’s okay. Does she like cake? I have to bake one for my home ec final and could use a taste tester if she’s not busy.”
It really puts things into perspective, and he’s glad for it. Finals. School. High school. “I’ll ask her,” Joel says.
You lead everyone inside and direct all three men to take the boxes to the living room where you begin unpacking. You sit on the floor as you sift through the boxes, legs tucked underneath you, and Joel has to force a smile when you look up at him through your lashes. You say thank you, Joel from your knees and he feels something very, very wrong stir inside him.
Tommy follows him back outside, and on the way back to their truck his voice is high pitched in mockery as he says, “Thank you, Joel! You’re so handsome , Joel! Let me repay you with my body, Joel!”
He just laughs it off, but as he continues with the oil change beneath the hood an uncomfortable silence settles between him.
Eventually, Tommy shakes his head and snorts. “That girl is nothing but fucking jailbait, man.”
He sees you quite a few times after that, because your dad works in construction, too. Joel drinks the same kind of beer, and your dad has a pool table in your garage…so, naturally, they become the best of friends and very quickly at that. Tommy joins the party too, and within months they become an inseparable trio.
It’s during one of these nights when the three of them were standing in the garage with the door wide open, music playing from the speakers in your dad’s truck when those intrusive thoughts plague him again. Tommy’s losing at pool, drunk before the sun’s fully set, and your dad is laughing at something he’s saying.
You’re walking home from practice and stop suddenly at the end of the driveway. Joel can see you, but he doesn’t think Tommy or your dad can. The truck is in the way, but he’s in the perfect position. He stares a little too long, but he can’t help it. You’re wearing your cheer uniform, and your midriff is exposed, and your long legs are so fucking appetizing that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Your skirt is rolled up at the waist, making the fabric shorter than it’s supposed to be, making it sluttier than it’s supposed to be.
When you notice him staring, you shoot him a sinful little smile and raise your finger to your lips. A secret, Joel realizes. You want him to keep something a secret, and somehow it feels intimate, having something between the two of you. He watches you unroll the hem of your skirt and pull at the ends so it covers more of your legs. You turn in a semicircle, and he licks his lips, and when you look at him again you raise your hands in question.
He gives you a discreet thumbs up, and when you make your way up the driveway you give him the prettiest smile and say, “Hey, Joel! Nice to see you!”
Tommy gives him shit for it later, but he’s too distracted at the sight of you in that uniform to even remember Joel exists.
“You’re late,” your dad chastises. “Practice was over at five today. It’s almost six.”
“Took the scenic route,” you reply easily, and Joel can hear the playful tone in your voice that lets everyone in the room know of your insincerity.
You walk past them, backpack slung over one arm, but before you disappear inside you wink at him over your shoulder.
“Get ready, Joel,” your dad tells him with an exasperated sigh. “Teenage girls are hell.”
And Joel is inclined to agree. Even more so when he’s laying in bed that night, wondering about all the things you could’ve been getting up to in that hour it took you to get home. The school was a short, ten minute walk from your house. And even if you truly did take the scenic route home, it wouldn’t have taken you an entire hour to arrive.
So, what were you getting up to? Joel didn’t think you had a boyfriend. At least, not one you ever brought home. But not having a boyfriend didn’t mean anything. Not in this day and age. And Joel knew the mind of a teenage boy. He had been one, once upon a time, and knew without a doubt the lengths a boy your age would go to spend an hour alone with you. He thought about all of the things he was doing at eighteen, and his brain ran wild with those ideas.
After hours of laying there, unable to find sleep, Joel Miller took out his phone and opened a private search tab. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and he’d tried not to — truly, he had spent every minute since he’d closed his bedroom door trying to get the images out of his head. But it was like an itch he needed to scratch, becoming more and more irritating the longer he put it off. So, he typed cheerleader into the black and orange search bar and promised himself it was the one and only time he’d ever do this.
He just needed to get it out of his system. That was all.
(If he was honest, Joel knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wasn’t true. Even when he scrolled through the videos to find a girl who looked strikingly similar to you. Even when he turned his volume all the way down, and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of that rolled up skirt and that pretty pink lace, pornographic images long forgotten in favor of the ones you’d supplied. Even when a few quick tugs was all it took to shoot thick ropes of cum across his belly. Even when he cleared his search history, cleaned himself up, and rolled over to sleep…even then, he knew it would not be enough to get you out of his head.)
The next day, Joel saw you leaving for school and couldn’t bear to look in your eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done and feeling shameful, feeling like the very sordid man he knew himself not to be. He wasn’t a pervert, but he’d certainly felt like one that day.
You waved your hand and beamed like you did every morning. But Joel didn’t wave back. Oblivious to his atrocities, you played your hand at concern. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
“You don’t… seem fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”
God—your voice, full of kindness and sweet summery grace, was better than the audio in any porno he’d ever seen. “I said I’m fine.”
Thankfully, you took the hint and scurried off, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. Guilt immediately choked him. But, pushing you away is what he’s supposed to do. So he doesn’t change his mind.
At least, not at first.
He spends the entire summer going out of his way to avoid you. He offered to host guys nights at his house on the weekends instead of your dad's garage. He left for work five minutes earlier than normal to avoid having to hear you say good morning, Joel! and wave at him with those pretty red nails and smile at him with your pretty white teeth.
But once summer starts, you and Sarah begin spending way too much time together. And at first, it makes him nervous. You make him nervous. He doesn’t want to make small talk. He doesn't want to see you in your uniform. He doesn’t want to look at you at all, actually.
It works out in his favor though, Joel thinks, because you and Sarah have the same taste in movies, and she thinks you're the coolest thing that’s ever existed, and so whenever Joel and Tommy are in your garage, you’re at Joel’s house with Sarah. So he doesn’t have to be on edge, wondering if he’d turn the corner and you’d be standing there smelling like vanilla and wearing pink lace.
But then you’re hosting a high school graduation party a few short months after you move in. And your dad invites Joel and Tommy to the party in your backyard. In fact, he practically begs them to come and keep him company. And Joel can’t say no, because what excuse would he have? Sarah would never let him skip it, anyway. And so his avoidance comes to an end, and he finds himself standing in your backyard with a glass bottle in his hands, watching people congratulate you and your accomplishments all day long. Straight A’s in all those AP classes you took, your dad tells him proudly, clicking his tongs together over the grill. Joel knows you’re a smart girl, he doesn’t need to know your grades to see that you have your head on straight, but he also knows you’re a far cry from the timid little girl your father believes you to be. Joel can see it in you.
Still, you’re far smarter than he is, because while Tommy drones on and on about a project he’s got going on at home, all Joel can notice is the pretty sundress you’re wearing. It’s pink, like the lace that sometimes still haunts him. It clings to you at the top, molding sinfully against your chest, and flows out at the bottom, cutting off at your midthigh.
It’s too short, Joel thinks. Way too short to be wearing around so many male classmates. Around your dad’s friends. Tommy likes younger girls, you know. And Joel…Joel’s turning away from you and swallowing what’s left of his beer. He clinks the empty glass against Tommy’s and asks, “You need another?”
Your dad is the one who answers. “How about a shot of whiskey? The cabinet above the sink.”
Joel thinks it's a fantastic idea. He gets stopped by Mr. Adler on the way inside, who asks what the celebration is. He talks for far longer than he’d like, and by the time he gets to the kitchen, Joel really needs something stronger than beer.
Except, when he steps into the room, he freezes the moment he sees you standing there. Your head whips in his direction, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught. It’s only as he tears his attention away from you and notices the two red solo cups on the counter and the bottle of tequila in your hands, perched over them, that he realizes what he’d just walked in on.
Your cheeks are pink, the same hue as your dress, and you quickly try to explain it away. “Joel! Hey! This isn’t…I’m not like—you know, it’s just a celebration and…I’ll be nineteen soon and—I mean, it’s just a little .”
He raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to navigate this terrain. On the one hand, he feels the need to discipline you somehow. To turn this into a lesson of sorts, to let you know how the age of legal alcohol consumption is twenty one for a reason, that being drunk in a social setting like this is dangerous, especially for a girl like you.
But on the other hand, Joel knows he’s not responsible for you. He’s not your father, and he’s not going to be the one to give you the speech about underage drinking. He’d been far younger than eighteen-almost-nineteen the first time he’d gotten drunk. And you were right…this was a celebration.
The war in his brain seemed to dim what little common sense he had because Joel found himself standing behind you with almost no room to spare. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the space. You’d curled your hair, and the ends tickled the inside of his arm. Soft. So, so soft he could die. He puts his big hand on your bare shoulder, and reaches above you into the cabinet, finding the half empty bottle of whiskey. His fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze your supple flesh. Christ. It’s just a fucking shoulder, Joel, he tells himself. “It’s your party,” he says. “I won’t tell.”
It feels wrong just to say it to you. I won’t tell. Perverted thing to say, Joel thinks. You spin around to face him, and suddenly your breasts are brushing his chest, and Joel can’t breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and sending him into his fucking grave.
It’s then, as he stares down at you and you stare up at him all sweet and innocent-like, that Joel finally admits to himself that avoidance has done absolutely fucking nothing to put out the fire you started. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah—it’s, uhm…it’s no problem. Have fun.”
He turns to leave, but then your arms are around his neck and he can’t smell anything but vanilla and he can feel your tits pressing into him, can feel you everywhere. But Joel isn’t a mean man, so what can he do but hug you back? If someone walked in, they’d think it was a fatherly embrace. Proud. Protective, even.
But they wouldn’t know that all Joel could think about is the way your skin felt under his calloused hands. Or the way your soft hair tickled his cheek as he laid it against the top of your head. Or the way your hips were nestled right between his thighs—and you were so warm and—
Intrusive thoughts.
“You’re the best, Joel,” you say, eyes bright and cheery. He’s relieved when you pull away, but also a little bit empty. He watches you pour a shot into each red solo cup. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey. It seems so, like… manly .” You giggle, and it’s music to his ears but Joel begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t your first time stealing from the tequila bottle tonight.
“It’s definitely not the best tasting thing in the world,” he says. “Gets the job done, though.”
To put the tequila away, you have to stand on the tips of your toes. It elongates your entire body as you stretch upwards, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the curve of your hips. “You have to be drunk to hang out with me or something?”
The question surprises him. Yes, he thinks. Yes, he does need to be inebriated to hang out with you because otherwise his sober mind never lets him forget the way you look all dolled up. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, Joel laughs quietly and says, “I’m here for your old man. You think he wants to be the lone adult in this sea of kids?”
He says it as a joke and is thankful you find humor in it. “I’m not a kid, Joel,” you remind him. “I’m a woman now. Is my company really so bad?” You tilt your head, pushing your bottom lip into the tiniest little pout.
Joel needs to stop staring at your mouth. He knows it, because the urge rises in him to bite that lip, to surge forward and taste your tongue for remnants of tequila. The idea alone sends a bolt of white-hot desire straight to his dick. “No, no…s’not like that,” he says. He’s too focused on your face and the gleam in your pretty eyes to notice you’ve unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle.
You pour a shot into an empty solo cup and hold it up between the two of you. “I’m scared,” you admit sheepishly. “Is it gross?”
The wrinkle in your nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight forces his lips into a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But you might.”
“Because I’m a kid ?” You scoff, but shake your head and smile at him all the same. “Women mature faster than men, you know. Which means when I make my decisions, I know what I’m signing myself up for.”
“Oh, is that so?” He remembers being this cocky as a teenager. He thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time around Tommy and his defiant attitude is rubbing off on you. Joel offers a challenge—if you’re just so mature. “Drink up, then.”
He watches every microscopic movement as you lick your lips and lift the cup to your mouth. It’s a beautiful sight, watching you tilt your head back and swallow the tiniest bit. And when you pass the remaining liquid to him, your expression is fashioned from steel. Nonchalant, blank.
But he sees it, sees the way your hands twitch at your sides, sees the way your jaw feathers as you clench your teeth. He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Joel turns the cup in his hands and puts his mouth right where you did.
It’s almost like kissing, he thinks. Having his mouth where yours was seconds ago feels good. Better than he thought it would. And he can taste cherry-flavored chapstick before he can taste the whiskey, and he wonders when the last time was when he’d had a shot because it goes straight to his head and makes him feel drunk. Or maybe it’s just the wide smile that stretches across your face.
“That’s awful,” you confess. “I’ll stick to tequila, I think.”
“Tequila’s worse,” he says with a shake of his head. Tequila makes Joel feel your age, makes him forget the word consequences, makes him buzz with energy.
“No way,” you say. “The taste isn’t nearly as strong.”
While that may be true, it wasn’t about the taste at all and he doesn’t really know how to explain it. “Tequila encourages people to make bad decisions.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “Bad decisions,” you echo contemplatively. “Sounds like a great time.” You take both of your tequila filled cups in hand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for always keeping my secrets,” you whisper.
Joel has to stand in the kitchen an extra few minutes after you leave because he still feels the ghost of your lips on his skin and doesn’t know how to act. Eventually, though, he finds the courage to face his brother and your father. He stays for the remainder of the party and helps your dad clean up the yard after everyone filters out.
It’s a relief when he’s finally in his own bed that night. He tries to resist thinking of you. Truly, he does — but it’s no use, and he’s alone in his bed, and this time he doesn’t even reach for his phone when he touches himself.
And it’s good. So good that he tries to draw it out. He tries his damndest to make it last. But his efforts become futile in just minutes, because he can feel your soft lips, can taste cherry chapstick, and he’s right there—right fucking there—when his bedroom door creaks open.
“Joel?”
For a second, he’s convinced himself he’s gone crazy. He’s well and truly lost it now, and his fantasies have grown into hallucinations at this point. You’ve driven him batshit insane. But his eyes focus in the dark, and he realizes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him at all. “What are you doing here?”
You take it as an invitation, and he desperately wishes you wouldn’t. He can still feel the buzz from the beer and whiskey, and his cock is hard beneath the sheets, and his brain is filled with images of you, and you’re in nothing but spandex shorts and a loose tank top, and when you sit on the side of his bed you lay your hand on his knee for balance and Joel’s hands shake.
“How did you even get in?”
“I used the key under the mat,” you confess. “I need your help.” Your voice is so mousy and soft, and it pulls him back to his senses.
“What’s wrong?”
“You were right,” you tell him. “I made a bad tequila decision and now I’m sad.”
Joel doesn’t know what to say. You couldn’t possibly still be tipsy, he thinks. It’s been hours since he saw you in the kitchen, but he supposes you very well could’ve gone back after everyone left. Either way, you’d come to him to fix it, and even knowing the right thing would be to call your dad, he was still high on the second secret you two shared. So, Joel sighs and puts his hand on yours. “What did you do?”
“I snuck a boy into my room,” you say.
Joel’s jaw clenches. Anger rises in his chest, crawls up his throat, and chokes him. A million things cross his mind—first, what the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Joel would find the boy and break his fucking jaw. Did he touch you? Maybe he’d break the boy's hands instead. Or, worse, did he touch you when you didn’t want him to? The thought alone has his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die. Slowly, quietly, he asks, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” you sigh. And it isn’t one of those teenage girl nothings, it’s sincere. You climb over him to the other side of the mattress, and Joel thinks he should stop you but the sight of you in his bed is so fucking pretty that he can’t bring himself to. “That’s the problem. I wanted him to fuck me.”
The words give him pause. Everything freezes.
“But he didn’t want to,” you say. “Even though we were flirting all day.” You turn on your side, hands beneath your head. “I don’t get it. Is it because I’m not pretty?”
He can’t stop the snort that leaves him at that. Joel can’t believe you’d wonder about it for even a second.
“Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”
If there’s anything in the world he hates, it’s this. He wonders a little if maybe you’re antagonizing him. It’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? So why does saying yes feel so… heavy? Weighted? He decides it best to keep the conversation directed away from his personal opinion on the matter. “Of course you’re pretty, baby.”
Baby? God. Maybe he has lost his fucking mind.
But it seems to bring you so much joy he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. You wrap your small hands around his bicep, and he can feel the heat in your touch, and it’s like he’s burning from the inside out. And when you turn a little more and bring your leg across his hips, Joel can’t breathe.
He wonders if you can tell how hard he is, wonders how he’s supposed to push you away when you just keep withering away his resolve. If he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”
The words hit him like a freight train. But after a second, he realizes that you actually mean sleep —and he knows it’s a bad idea still because he’s having those intrusive thoughts once more. But he can’t say no. So instead he says, “I don’t think your dad would be comfortable with that.”
“I’ll tell him I had a sleepover with Sarah,” you quickly supplied. “I don’t want to be alone.”
He doesn’t either. But Joel knows he should be. And if not alone, certainly not with you. And yet, he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
“Sure.”
“I think about you all the time,” you say. “I thought you were mad at me for a while. That made me sad, too.”
It made his chest ache to think he had caused you any harm. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You probably just saw him as someone to seek comfort in, and he saw you as something entirely different. He was no good. Definitely not for you.
A few minutes pass, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you kiss his cheek again in the same spot as this afternoon and say, “Thank you, Joel.” And he feels so wrong. He feels awful, and selfish, and greedy, and desperate, and perverted.
He thinks that’s the end of it. But then you kiss his jaw, and this time it’s an open mouthed kiss that leaves wetness on his skin. Joel shivers.
You kiss his neck, and his cock throbs inches from your thigh. He should stop this. He knows that. Joel isn’t a stupid man—he’s just a bad man. He doesn’t stop you when you climb into his lap. He doesn’t stop you when your tongue darts out between your lips as you kiss his collarbone. He doesn’t stop you when your kisses grow heated and heavy.
And when you kiss his lips, he doesn’t stop himself from kissing you back. He doesn’t stop himself from threading his fingers through your silky hair to pull you in deeper. He doesn’t stop himself from biting that bottom lip and sucking off the cherry flavor. He doesn’t stop himself from slipping his tongue into your mouth, or from lifting his hips just a little bit, pushing himself against you. The friction pulls a low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Joel knows he won't be able to ever stop himself now.
You take the small movement as your cue to unleash yourself and roll your hips against his even harder. He can feel the wet heat radiating from you even through the spandex shorts, can feel his benevolence fading into the ether. You let out a breathless moan when you roll your hips again, and again, and again. And he curses, muscles tight, and feels a confession on the tip of his tongue. Joel wants you to say it, just once — wants to hear his name in your mouth shrouded in lust. He’s imagined it so many times, but he wants to hear it.
But then you pull away abruptly. “Joel?”
You sound mousy again, and he feels suddenly ice cold. “Yeah?”
“I think I’m gonna be sick.”
He holds your hair away from your face for the remainder of the night as you vomit up the rest of the tequila in your stomach. You apologize over and over again and greedily drink up the water he brings you.
Normally, Joel would hate this. But it’s you, and something feels good about taking care of you. About making sure you’re safe, making sure you feel pretty even with sweat coating your pallid skin.
You fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, and Joel carries you to his bed. He doesn’t climb in next to you. He can’t because he already feels bad enough for allowing a drunk eighteen year old girl into his bed. It’s his turn to feel nauseous. Shame smothers him, and guilt, and mortification…Joel knows he should feel regret, too. But he doesn’t.
Sometime before sunrise, he nods off with his head resting against the bedside table. He doesn’t hear you leave, but when he wakes an hour later you’ve vacated the room.
He wonders if you remember how you ended up in his bed, if you remember how eager he was to taste your mouth, if you remember anything at all. He hopes not, because that would mean a conversation he was not equipped to handle.
When he trudges down to the kitchen, Joel stops upon the sight before him. Sarah sits at the kitchen table beside Tommy, who’s sitting across from your dad. And then there’s you—standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand and two still-wet braids in your hair.
It isn’t the fact that you’re in his kitchen, making pancakes for everyone, padding barefoot on the tile that makes him anxious. No one in the room can read his thoughts. They wouldn’t know how much it pleases him to see it. They wouldn’t know how he thinks he could get used to this, but knows he can’t.
No…no, it’s the fact that you’re wearing his flannel that makes him anxious. Your father wears flannels on occasion…but this one is so plainly Joel’s that he wonders why your dad is sitting there laughing at something Sarah said instead of killing Joel with his bare hands. He swallows thickly and pours himself a cup of coffee.
“Good morning,” you say cheerily, as if last night hadn’t happened. He thinks you’ve forgotten, or maybe just decided not to ever mention it again.
It was only a lapse in judgment, after all, wasn’t it? Just a split second where you and Joel both lost all sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. “Morning,” he responds.
You ask him to help carry one of the heaping plates of fluffy pancakes to the table. When he reaches for the taller one, your hand brushes against his and Joel nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. But then you’re holding your pinky out to him expectantly, and whisper, “Our little secret.”
The vanilla scent is gone, Joel notices. You smell like irish spring instead. Realization dawns on him that you must have showered while he was asleep— and used his body wash. There’s something about that little tidbit of information that sits with him. He likes it, he thinks. He likes smelling himself all over you, likes that something possessed you to use his things without asking. Something inside of him shifts, something… intense.
He knows he shouldn’t, but Joel winds his pinky finger around yours anyway. It feels so good to have yet another thing between the two of you. Something of yours that belongs only to him. It makes him feel giddy as if he wasn’t running on a single sip of coffee and an hour of sleep.
The remainder of the summer goes on without incident. You don’t end up in Joel’s bed again, though you never once leave his intrusive thoughts. He sees you sometimes, tanning in the backyard. He has a perfect view from his bedroom window, and he wonders if maybe you wear those tiny bikini tops for his benefit. But he never asks, even during the few moments you have alone, and is content to pine after you but not touch for the rest of his painfully sorry life.
He works. You taunt him. He plays pool in your garage. You come home late in too little clothes and smelling of vanilla scented tequila. Joel says nothing, though. He listens and agrees with your dad that since graduating you’ve become a little wild . A little… defiant. They dance around the word bad, but Joel knows the truth. Knows that more than anything, you need a little bit of discipline.
You’re not his to correct, though. So he doesn’t. He certainly enjoys watching you, however. He watches you sneak out through your window one night when he’s sitting on the porch. You press your finger to your lips, creating another secret between the two of you. He walks into the kitchen one night to find you filling a vodka bottle with water. Joel says nothing—but after grabbing another beer he’s got a smile on his lips he can’t seem to shake.
He’s mowing the grass in the backyard one sunny afternoon, and he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Joel holds a lot of your secrets close these days, but this one is…different.
Through your bedroom window, he can see you changing. The curtain is wide open, and you’re wearing nothing but that same pink bra he first saw you in, matching panties, and those knee high socks you used to wear with your cheer uniform. He’s not sure if you’re getting out of your clothes or into ones more comfortable, but he knows he can’t look away. His mouth is dry, and all the blood in his head rushes south. He thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to touch you so badly it’s overwhelming. The supple curves of your hips, the soft tendrils of your hair down your back, the swell of your breasts— God, you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen.
And then you pick something up from the floor, and Joel realizes a second later that you’re putting on his flannel. The one you stole at the beginning of the summer. Do you wear it often? Do you always wear it alone, half naked in your bedroom? His lips part and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not there. He’s just standing in his backyard, ruining this patch of grass…but a part of him is. Something of his is there, with you, touching you, and somehow it sets him on fire.
Especially when he watches you climb into bed. He won’t watch you sleep, he decides. He might have intrusive thoughts and secrets and uncontrollable fantasies, but he’s not a creep.
Except you don’t go to sleep, so Joel continues to watch. He watches you run red painted fingers over your bare skin, between your breasts, over your belly, and back up. You do it again, slower this time, and Joel’s cock strains in his jeans. He watches you slip your hand beneath the band of your panties. He can’t see any details from this far away, but his breathing synchronizes with the speed of your fingers.
Suddenly, he remembers you’re still in his flannel. Realizes that you put it on to touch yourself. Pressure builds in his cock, and he finally admits that yeah— maybe he’s a little bit of a perv. But only for you—there’s something about you that drives him fucking insane.
He stands there and watches you touch yourself until you finish. He revels in the small arch of your back, in the tremble of your legs, in the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath on the come down. He wants to clean you up with his fucking tongue.
Joel doesn’t finish mowing the lawn that night.
When you go off to college, he can’t deny what a massive relief it is. You move across Texas to some campus far away, and the distance makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He stops having so many disgusting, intrusive thoughts. He stops feeling guilty every time he plays pool with your dad because those secrets he kept for you were ones that don’t truly matter. Not when you’re nowhere to be found, anyway.
As the year stretches on, Joel realizes that he’d been wrong all along. He wasn’t a pervert. You are a seductress. Even Tommy jokes about the obvious schoolgirl crush you had and admits one night when it’s just the two brothers that if you had thrown yourself at him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you so easily as Joel had.
It’s not him that’s in the wrong. It’s you. You and your soft hair. You and your pretty smile. You and your red nails. You and your pink lace. You and your soft voice. You, you, you.
For several years, those intrusive thoughts haven't plagued him. Not until your junior year of college, when some problem with campus housing surfaces and you’re forced to stay at home for a few days. Your dad is excited about it and forces the four of you to go out to dinner together to catch up.
He sees you for the first time in so long, and you look so different but somehow even prettier. You’re wearing a short white dress, and Sarah tells you you look like an angel, and Joel silently agrees. You have a tattoo on the inside of your wrist. It’s the tiniest little image of two hands with their pinkies wrapped around one another, and he thinks it’s so fitting for a girl with so many secrets.
Every time you look at him during dinner, Joel shifts in his seat. He isn’t very hungry. Not for food, anyway. He’s a little floored when you proudly present your shiny, brand new ID to the waitress and order a fruity pink drink called a Paloma. You explain that it has tequila in it, and share a subtle glance across the table, and Joel feels his insides warm as if he was the one drinking a cocktail instead.
He drowns himself in work the entire week. He cannot— cannot afford to find himself back in his old ways. You’re a woman now. A fully grown woman, who no longer needs validation from older men. He knows you're not interested. He knows this time, this time, it really is Joel who’s the problem. Avoidance, surprisingly, works.
Until you knock on the door one night with a DVD in your hand. “Is Sarah home? I found my old copy of Evil Dead. She said she missed having movie nights.”
Joel shakes his head. “No, uhm—she spent the night with a friend. Sorry.”
“Oh,” you deflate. “That’s okay, I get it. She’s older now. It’s…”
“Weird,” he finishes.
You laugh softly, and the sound brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, really weird,” you agree. “I just hope she’s nothing like me.”
“Why’s that?” Your eyes darken, and Joel asks himself why he’s attempting to make conversation at all. It’s dangerous. He knows this.
“You know,” you say purposefully. “All those secrets? There were definitely more.”
For a reason he can’t pinpoint, it makes him a little annoyed. He knew it the whole time—of course, he knew there were more secrets than just the ones he was privy to. But a part of him wanted to know you better than anyone else. And maybe he did, for a second, but that second was long gone now. It was probably over moments after it began. “Yeah, well…that’s different.”
“How so? She’s only a little younger than I was when I met you.”
It’s an accusation. Joel can feel it. He can feel the anger seeping through your fake sweetness, too. But he doesn’t understand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not my daughter. That’s what’s different.”
You roll your eyes, and his hands twitch with the urge to grab you by the jaw. “God, Joel—you’re such a pussy. Do you know that?”
Your words startle him. A crease forms between his brows, and he takes another step out of the doorway. “ Excuse me ?”
“Just say it! Say what you so desperately want to say. I can take it. Say it.”
The words come out slow and deadly, sounding far meaner than intended. “Say what?”
“Tell me it’s different because I’m a slut. It’s okay, Joel. It’s just the two of us now. Go ahead. Admit it.”
His jaw ticks.
“What, you think I’m dumb? You think I don’t hear you laugh at Tommy’s jokes when I walk out of a room? You think I didn’t know you guys called me jailbait for years?” You laugh cynically, arms crossed over your chest, and Joel thinks he’s never seen you so angry. So heated.
So hot.
He grabs your elbow and yanks you close. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”
Your face is inches from his, and he can smell vanilla and cherry and something happens. Something familiar and unique to you. Something disgusting. “And you know what the worst part of it all is?”
The worst part is that he’s twice your age. The worst part is that he’s known you since you were in high school. The worst part is that he’s friends with your father. The worst part is that you’re friends with his daughter. The worst part is that those perverted thoughts were never involuntary. They were never unavoidable. They were never unwanted. They were never intrusive.
“You like it,” you say with a smirk. “You like that I dress up in short skirts for you, and you like it when I climb in your bed when someone else leaves me unsatisfied. I almost finished that day, did you know?”
“ Jesus—fuck —don’t—”
“You barely touched me but I was so close just sitting in your lap. You like that I put on your clothes and touch myself in front of my window, hoping you’ll see. You like that I’m a slut for you, Joel Miller. Admit it. It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret .”
He pulls you into the house and slams the front door closed. His blood boils beneath his skin. He should have slammed it in your face, he thinks. But you’re here now—trapped inside with him. Or maybe he’s trapped inside with you.
The pleased smile on your face is his undoing. His breath comes fast, and he knows if he moves an inch there will never be any going back from this. So he doesn’t move. His limbs are frozen and his eyes are fixed on yours.
After a couple of tense filled seconds, your smile falters. Joel sees it. He hears the slight change in your voice too, as you confess, “I want you to touch me so badly.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck —Joel holds your face in his hands and slams his mouth to yours. You taste just the same; cherry sweet and delicious. It’s his favorite flavor, he thinks. Better than any forbidden fruit. Your tongue is so soft against his and impossibly more greedy. You invade his mouth, his soul, his heart.
It happens so fast, and so easily. Your arms loop around his neck and Joel pulls you flush against him and grips the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, hips already rolling against him like some feral thing inside of you is desperately clawing to get out. His cock has never been this hard, Joel knows. And he knows—he knows that he could cum just like this. Touching you, tasting you, feeling your softness. It’s enough.
Still, he wants more. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to reach inside your chest and make you feel what he feels, make you feel tortured the way he’s been for years.
Joel walks to the sofa and sits with his legs spread wide. You’re still kissing him with everything you have, and it’s a clash of tongues and lips and teeth that he loves so much it’s an effort to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull you away, but he does it. You’re both panting, and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His cock is throbbing, straining behind his jeans. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You wanna act like a slut for me, be a slut for me.”
He fists your dress in his hands and pulls it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. And then it’s just you, sitting in Joel’s lap, wearing nothing but pink, lace panties and a pair of strappy white heels. You’re so pretty, and he’s always known it—but seeing you up close has him weak. He can’t keep himself from touching you, from running his hands over your hips and living the fantasy he’s existed in for what feels like forever.
Once he starts, Joel can’t stop. He runs his calloused palms over your belly, your ribs, allowing his thumbs to ghost across the underside of your breasts. He moves slowly, meticulously, enjoying every moment. And when you hook your thumbs in the band of your panties with the intention to remove them, he places his hands over yours. “Hell no,” he says. “You think you can tell me you almost finished in my lap that night and get away with it?”
“But, I—”
“Nuh-uh. Prove it.”
Hesitantly, you tilt your hips against his. He wishes he was in only sweatpants the way he was that night because his jeans are keeping the feeling of your wetness away from him this time. But he can see it—the baby pink fabric is darker at the apex, and as you grind your hips against his Joel realizes you’re creating a mess on his clothes, too.
He understands. He really, really does. He feels it, too. Joel understands how desperate and needy you are. And because he’s just so understanding, he grants you a little reprieve. He leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth. He’s real sweet about it too, giving you the same tender treatment your mouth gave him that night in his room. He licks the hardened peak softly, swirling his tongue, and you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard. The pace of your hips picks up, rolling against the bulge in his jeans faster.
“Oh, god,” you whimper. Your breath catches, and he can hear your heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. He peppers kisses across your sternum and inhales deeply, sucking in a breath that’s nothing but you and holding it in his lungs. He kisses your other nipple and pinches the one wet with his spit between his thumb and forefinger.
He sucks your nipple into his mouth and groans when you fist your hands in his hair. You sound so pretty, he thinks—and he leans back on the couch to admire just how pretty you look. He can’t catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind.
Your pace falters the slightest bit, and your chest is heaving a little slower now. He sinks lower into the couch and thrusts his hips up into you—once, twice, and your legs are shaking. “Aww,” he coos. “You’re so sensitive, baby. Look at you.”
Too lost in your own bliss, Joel decides to help you, to teach you. He grabs your chin and forces it down, forces your attention to where your bodies are joined.
“I told you to look,” he repeats. Joel turns his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them taught, creating even more pressure against your clit. The pink fabric immediately becomes darker, sopping up some of the mess you’ve created on top of him, and Joel intends to make good on his wish to clean you up with his tongue. But not yet—not when you still have something to prove. “You gonna cum just like that? Hm?”
You nod frantically, your attention flickering between his dark eyes and your panties clutched between his thick fingers. “ Yes,” you tell him, legs trembling. Your pace is quick, and each roll of your hips becomes shorter and shorter. And with Joel moving underneath you it only takes seconds more before you combust. “Oh, fuck—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—!”
“That’s it,” he says, and you feel the deep timbre of his voice skitter across your skin like embers. “There you go. You’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”
When your orgasm finally fizzles out, you fall limply forward and Joel is there to catch you, like he always has been, like he silently vows he always will be. He rubs soothing circles against your spine and presses sweet kisses into your hair, waiting patiently as you try and regain what little composure you have left.
You lift your head from the crook of his neck, and your eyes are glossy and your bottom lip is swollen and your cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and Joel thinks you’ve never been more beautiful. But then you slide from his lap to the floor in one fluid movement, and he realizes that this is the prettiest you’ve ever been; on your knees before him, eyes bright with anticipation and excitement. You place your hands on top of his strong thighs, look up at him through your lashes and ask softly, “Can I suck your dick, Joel?”
He has to squeeze his eyes shut. He has to because his cock is so fucking hard and your voice is so sweet and filthy he can’t handle it. He breathes in slowly through his nose and says, “Of course you can, baby.”
Without a moment's hesitation, you unbuckle his belt. The metal clinks in your fingers, and Joel’s heart is racing when you unbutton his jeans and hook your thumbs through the loops to tug them down. His cock snaps against his belly, and you lick your pink lips.
You take it in your hands, and Joel aches when you swipe your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re really here, running your sweet, sweet tongue over every inch of his cock. You’re tasting him, savoring him, and Joel wonders if it pleases you to see him all bent out of shape like this.
He prides himself on his masculinity. He’s always been a strong man, one who handles his shit on his own. Maybe it’s the Texas in him, but Joel’s always had traditional values. He’s always been the provider, the protector—he’s always been the one in charge. But when you wrap your lips around him and ease his cock into your hot, wet mouth, he’s at your complete mercy.
“ Fuck,” he hisses, hands going to your hair. He tangles the silky strands between his fingers, and you hollow out our cheeks, creating a suction that has him groaning. He feels each pass of your lips down his spine, pressure forming low in his belly. “Just like that, pretty girl.”
You wrap your hand around the base and stroke the length you can’t fit into your mouth, and his grip in your hair tightens. Your nails are painted red—and the look of them wrapped around his cock is far better than he’d ever been able to imagine in his head. It’s so good that he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to cum just like this. He wants to expend himself at the back of your throat and watch his cum leak out of your mouth.
But Joel doesn’t get too far ahead of himself. There are other things, filthier things he wants to do to you than fill your mouth up. You let out a whiny groan as if sucking him off is somehow more pleasurable for you than it is for him. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and the vibrations nearly send him over the edge, but Joel rips your head back to prolong this precious time with you.
Your eyes are glassy, makeup smeared, lips swollen. You give him a beaming smile and Joel huffs a breath. “Did I do a good job?”
“ Yes, baby,” he says. “You did so well. C’mere, stand up.” You do as told, even though your legs are wobbly, and Joel lifts your foot into his lap. He unbuckles the straps of your heel, takes it off and sets it aside. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and repeats the action with the other one, and then proceeds to pull your panties down your legs. He helps you out of the pink lace, and he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself and shoves them between the couch cushions, where he hopes you’ll forget about them.
He presses his mouth to your hip bone, an open mouthed kiss that leaves goosebumps in its wake as he does the same to your other side. “That feels so good,” you tell him.
Joel keeps peppering wet kisses across your belly, below your navel, over your pubic bone. Your thighs are pressed together, and you’re shifting on your feet in anticipation, and Joel can see the shiny wetness coating your pussy. He reaches between your legs and so gently slides his middle finger teasingly over your slit. It comes away sticky and wet, and he can’t resist the urge to lick the digit clean. It’s heady and sweet, and he feels drunker than whiskey or tequila has ever made him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, forehead falling against your abdomen. “What are you doing to me?”
“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I want you so bad, Joel. Please touch me.” Your hands are in his hair, stroking the unruly curls and lightly pulling.
The word please in your mouth sounds so fucking cute, so needy and desperate. What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to be a good man when you exist? He can’t, Joel knows. So long as you’re near—he’ll never be a good man. Only a bad one. Only a perverse one. He hooks his arm around your leg and lifts it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand wrapped around your waist for balance, and lets himself taste you fully, to drink from the source.
And Jesus Christ, Joel loses it. He laps at your pussy, swallowing you up. He cleans up the mess you made in his lap, relishing in the decadence. He could do this for hours, he thinks. Could swirl his tongue around your swollen clit, could suck it between his lips, and kiss it softly for the rest of his life. He breathes in slowly, taking your scent deep into his lungs, and wonders why he’d ever want to come up for air. Your moans are music to his ears.
He dares a glance up at you to watch your expression when he reaches beneath you and slips a finger easily into your dripping pussy.
Your head falls back, your mouth falls open, and Joel falls in love.
The noises you make are obscene as you grind against his face, but not nearly as much as the sounds he’s making from between your legs. He’s groaning with your clit in his mouth and you’re creating a puddle in his palm, and it’s so sloppy and disgusting and he fucking loves it.
Joel silently admits that you were right; that he loves your obscenities. He loves your secrets. He loves your defiance. He loves your depravity.
He loves that you’re such a fucking slut.
“Oh, god— Joel—!”
He pulls away because if you’re going to moan out his name again it’s going to be because of his cock. He stands abruptly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, and holds your jaw. With your face tilted up towards him, he smirks as he watches tears form in your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”
“Why did you stop?” Your voice is so whiny, so hopeless and frantic that it makes his cock twitch. “You were about to make me cum,” you say.
He kisses you hard, and you moan into his mouth, and Joel runs out of patience. He lifts you up and lays your back flat against the couch. He’s hovering over you, and his cock is just inches from the place it’s wept to be inside for so many years. Joel rolls it against you, gasping at the feel of your pussy on the underside of his cock. You’re so wet, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last long enough for this to be good for you.
But he’s determined. “ Joel,” you beg breathlessly, bucking your hips to try and find just the right angle where he slips inside.
“Yeah, baby?” He tilts his head slightly, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his hips and his predatory grin.
“You’re being mean,” you say. “Stop teasing me. Just put it in, Joel, I need it so bad.”
He kisses your forehead. “S’that right?”
“Yes!”
It’s impossible, he thinks, to hold back his laugh. “You’re so fucking cute, baby,” he says. “Say please.”
“ Please! Please, please ple—!”
Joel lets out a ragged breath as he pushes into you. Finally, he thinks. Finally, finally, finally. “Fuck.”
It’s so much better than he ever imagined. He sinks in deep until your hips are flush, and even then he pushes your knee back to open you up and get impossibly deeper.
“Oh my god,” you whimper, and Joel kisses you to swallow up the beautiful sound.
You take him like you were made for his cock. And maybe you were, because Joel had never known it could be this fucking good. He knows it’ll never be this good again. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, baby,” he whispers into your ear, tongue sliding up your neck. He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, the sudden change in force ripping a cry from your throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.”
With your arms and legs wrapped around him, Joel fucks you slow. Real slow, real deep—he’s touching parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You feel so full and pressure coils around your spine.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, yes yes— mmm—!”
He sets a steady pace, hitting that soft spot inside of you every time. He reaches between your bodies and swipes this thumb over your clit. “Say thank you, baby.”
You look right into his eyes, warm and dark and full of devotion. You say, “ Thank you, Joel,” and you suddenly remember the same memory he does of that first day.
He remembers how pretty you looked on your knees, and you remember how you spent that whole night in your bed touching yourself to him.
And now it’s happened, it’s finally happened, and his cock is buried deep inside of you and his thumb is pressing hard against your clit and before he realizes it, your pussy is squeezing him as you cum.
Tremors rock through your body, legs shaking and red painted fingernails clawing at his back. He keeps his same steady pace and says, “Give it to me, baby. Good fucking girl, being such a good little slut for me. That’s it. Give it to me. There you go.”
Even when your muscles loosen, you keep your limbs wound around him tight. Like even though you’ve finished and he’s seconds away from following you there, you still want him as close as possible. It makes him feel tender. “I want you to cum inside me,” you say, and Joel’s cock spasms in your tight pussy. “Cum in me, Joel, please —fill me up.”
He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he already is, and stars blur his vision. Joel fights through the blindness though, and squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Look at me,” he orders, and looking at your face makes him cum even harder. You take his thumb into your mouth, soft tongue circling it. And Joel bottoms out inside of you, has the best orgasm of his entire fucking life inside of a girl half his age, but cannot bring himself to regret a single second.
The weight of him over you is heavy but comforting. It’s perfect, and helps you catch your breath. Joel is panting, and you smell like vanilla and irish spring and cherry chapstick and when his eyes close, he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven.
Your fingers are stroking his spine lazily when the fear creeps in. Do you regret it? Now that it’s out of your system, do you wish you’d never have done it? Never have taunted him, never had let him keep all those secrets, never have come over tonight? The Evil Dead DVD sits on the floor by the front door, abandoned.
There couldn’t have been much tequila in your mixed drink. You didn’t taste like alcohol at all. But still, you’d had some—do you feel like maybe he took advantage of you?
Joel is afraid to look at you. He’s afraid to open his mouth, to ask if you’re alright, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness.
But then you ask him softly, “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”
He hears the echo of those words, and wonders if you do, too. You wince as he finally sits up and pulls himself out of you. He knows he should say no, but he can’t. Instead, he asks, “Will you make pancakes in the morning?”
The sound of your girlish laughter greets him and calms his fears for now. “Anything you want.”
Joel stops at the bathroom on the way to his bed and cleans the sticky mess from between your legs. It’s then as he realizes how many unhinged decisions he’d made tonight. He doesn’t know if you’ve slept with other people without protection, doesn’t know if you’re on birth control, doesn’t know if you’d be willing to take a contraceptive pill in the morning if you’re not, doesn’t know anything. The distance, while easier, has taken so much of you from him. And the realization leaves Joel cold.
You’re so young, and he’s so much older than you…if the worst happened, would it even be the worst? Do you even want kids?
A new fantasy emerges in his brain. The first one since admitting to himself that it’s a little more than just an intrusive thought. You’re standing on the back porch with a beaming smile, hand over your eyes to block out the bright summer sun while he mows the lawn. You’re in a pretty pink sundress, and your belly is swollen with Joel’s baby, and his knees buckle as he leads you to his bedroom.
You climb in beside him, and he holds you under the blankets a little tighter than you hold him. Emotion chokes him. Joel swallows it down. But then you ask, “What’s wrong?”
“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “I want to keep you forever.”
For a moment, it’s quiet. He wonders if maybe you think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have anything else to say.
“So do it,” you whisper.
“But I can’t.”
“You can,” you tell him with a sigh. “You can, Joel. That’s the real secret.”
The words reverberate through him. They clang around in his brain and leave him with something akin to elation. You kiss his jaw, and Joel thinks maybe you might be right. Maybe he will keep you.
But for tonight, having you here pressed against him with the promise of pancakes in the morning is enough.
[PART TWO] coming soon
[masterlist]
divider by @thecutestgrotto <3
"B-but Palestinians can get their freedom with peace not violence 🥺🥺" no. Screw your feelings. The armed resistance against colonizers and murderers is what will give Palestinians their freedom and what will eventually achieve real peace.
An enemy that bombs and uses white phosphorus against civilians doesn't know nor practice what your broken moral compass describes as "peace". Freedom was proven throughout history not to be achieved through kneeling and asking the oppressor to kindly stop. Freedom needs to be taken by force. Your little Utopian way of thinking doesn't work in the real world. Your feelings don't matter because you're not the one living under occupation. Your feelings don't matter because you're not one of the thousands of children who lost their limbs. You're not one of the children who became orphans due to this genocide. You're not the mother who lost her child to the carpet bombing. You're not the father carrying the remains of your child in plastic bags. You're not the newlywed woman who lost her husband. You're not the one at risk of either getting killed any second or losing your loved ones in the blink of an eye!
"Peace" is not really a thing you see during a live ethnic cleansing!
Seth Clearwater | Moodboard
do NOT develop a parasocial relationship with that internet person they WILL disappoint u. not me though. u can all be parasocial with me, i will never hurt u like that
ROSE POST TSS ISTG
She’s done too now 😳
nothin but matt lookin fucked out
abt me: aggressively sentimental and sensitive and deeply horny also
This man isn't real. What the actual fuck
How does someone look so hot in a sweater bro
HARD DICK...or three
Summary: Draco, Theo and Mattheo have always been Y/n's best friends, but when she realizes that the reason her relationships don't last long are them, the conversation takes a funny turn involving three boys with hard cocks.
Warnings: English is not my first language, a lot of intimacy between the boys and the reader.
---
There were people who were lucky in their careers, financial life, academics, and even love life. You were a lucky person but hated to admit that the hardest part for you was always your unluckiest part. Boyfriends were never easy for you, and staying stable with them was even harder. You never considered if the reason none of them lasted or were worthwhile was your fault—your poor choices, or the lack of character in all three serious relationships you had over the past few years. You never questioned it until last night. Dave Franco was your boyfriend for a year and a half, and last night he had a jealous outburst in the middle of a Hufflepuff party. You swore you heard him repeat the same words more than three times, “shitty friends,” “are you sure you didn’t have a threesome?” “They want to fuck you!” You were drunk and getting upset with his words until you realized that maybe your friends were much more intimidating to your boyfriends or flings than you had noticed. So you concluded that no, you were not the problem; they were…
— Alright, Our sleeping beauty has already missed the first classes.
Theodore's voice spread through the silent room along with the rustling of the comforter beside you as he occupied the space next to you.
— If you miss lunch, Snape will punish you until next year.
Mattheo said, pulling the blanket off your body, exposing your figure dressed only in navy blue lingerie that hugged your curves.
— And that means if you want to graduate this year, you better get out of this room.
Draco said, casting his eyes over you as you groaned into your pillow and shook your head in denial.
— Fuck off.
You whimpered, feeling your body shiver from the cold due to the lack of a blanket. Normally, you wouldn't be so exposed in front of your male friends, but Dave had broken up with you, so you didn't care at all if the three saw your butt, breasts, or whatever—it wasn't anything more than they had grown up seeing.
— What the hell happened to you? You didn’t even drink that much last night.
Theo said, and immediately you turned to look at him with a pout on your lips.
— Dave, he broke up with me.
You muttered, sitting up quickly.
— And it's your fault, so one of you owes me some affection.
As soon as you said that, your legs wrapped around Nott's waist, who smiled mischievously at Malfoy and Riddle, who were standing at the foot of the bed, watching you almost naked, snuggling into Theodore’s lap. It wasn’t a secret that you were obviously the dream of the three boys, and the fact that you grew up together gave them enough freedom to act like that among themselves.
— What do you mean?
Theodore asked, wrapping his arms around you.
— Yeah, he broke up with you because we’re your friends? Was he afraid of getting punched if he broke your heart or what?
Mattheo mocked Dave, and Draco laughed beside him and continued:
— Man, I think he's gay; there's no way he broke up with you because of us.
— No, he thinks we fucked or something. I don't know how many times I heard the word threesome or that you guys wanted to fuck me last night. Man, it was like torture.
You groaned, getting off Nott's lap and out of the bed, walking towards the mirror. You looked at yourself and sighed, rolling your eyes.
— The guy broke up with you because he thinks we want to fuck you?
Theodore laughed, and you gave him the middle finger while fixing your hair.
— Honestly, he's more insecure than my grandfather. Merlin, how did you stand him?
Draco laughed as Mattheo approached you and hugged you from behind, wrapping his arms around you and resting his head on your shoulder.
— Oh yeah, Draco’s grandfather probably fucks his grandmother more than that loser Dave fucked you. Am I wrong?
Mattheo said with a mischievous smile directed at you through the mirror's reflection, causing you to laugh and shake your head.
— Ew, I don't want to think about Malfoy's grandparents having sex.
Theodore grunted, getting out of bed.
— Yeah, whatever, but the point here is that you all can hug her, and I can't? Get your claws off her, Riddle.
Draco grumbled, unhappy with your position, receiving an irritating smile from Mattheo, who let you go and allowed you to go to Draco with a gentle smile.
— Ah, he's a baby, guys.
You said, and Draco glared at you with a scowl.
— Shut up…
Draco grumbled, pulling you by the waist and throwing you on the bed with him on top.
— I’ll put a baby in you if you keep that up.
— See, that’s why my relationships don’t last.
You said, throwing your head back and pushing Draco off you to fall beside you on the bed.
— Nah, this is bullshit because we don’t do this with you when you’re dating.
Theodore said, sitting next to where your head was lying, as did Mattheo on the opposite side.
— I don’t know; maybe I’m just a terrible girlfriend and act the wrong way.
You murmured, frustrated, turning onto your stomach to hide your face in a pillow.
— Y/n, princess, stop blaming yourself for the idiot’s idiotic choice.
Draco shrugged while leaning his back against the bed's headboard and throwing another pillow at your now exposed butt.
— You hardly even come near us when you’re dating. I can’t remember the last time I hugged you besides today.
Mattheo made a mocking expression, thinking David was making false accusations about you.
— You are the most loyal person in Hogwarts, and everyone knows it. If your boyfriends are all insecure enough not to handle being with you because of us, it’s simple—they don’t deserve you, dolcezza.
— Really?
You asked, and as confirmation, you received three murmurs of agreement. Propping your elbows on the mattress, your gaze changed to a curious look that was noticed by Nott and Riddle.
— Hmm, do you guys want to?
You asked another question, and this time the boys’ faces on your bed were genuinely confused.
— What?
Mattheo questioned your question, and you laughed, laying your head on Theo’s lap, who had lit a cigarette. With a look, Nott understood; he brought the cigarette to you, and with a wild smile, he answered Mattheo and asked you.
— Fuck you?
— Uh-huh.
You agreed, hearing Draco laugh while accepting the cigarette from Theo.
— Everyone wants to fuck you, princess.
— Right, but I’m not talking about everyone; I’m talking about you guys.
You said impatiently, sitting on your heels to look at the three on your bed, staring at you without saying a word.
— Come on, I’m curious.
— You don’t understand, do you?
Mattheo, with his dark eyes and a sly smile, leaned closer to your neck.
— Don’t understand what?
— You can’t ask if we’d fuck you when you’re dressed like that, darling.
Mattheo murmured, and you heard Theo and Draco’s nasal laughter as they moved on the bed.
— Okay, so that would be a yes?
You asked.
— Hell yeah.
Theo agreed, bringing the cigarette back to his plump lips and then to yours.
Your smile grew with each passing minute of silence in the room. The three of them were eyeing you as if you were gold, and you couldn’t measure how much that amused you.
— What?
You asked, feigning innocence as if you hadn’t seen the bulges growing in the pants of the three there.
— Alright, I’ll get changed so we can meet Pansy and Daphne. Wait for me a second.
With that, you got up from the bed and heard a groan from Draco.
— Seriously? I’m hard as fuck, damn it.
Malfoy groaned again, and the four of you laughed.
— You’re evil.
Theo sighed, and you turned to look at them with a pained face.
— I think my dick is going to break, it’s so hard right now.
Mattheo said, throwing himself on the bed before looking at you at the bathroom door with a huge smile.
— Why are you looking at me like that? I didn’t do anything.
You said innocently, and Mattheo snorted.
— How am I supposed to continue the day like this?
— I don’t know, jerk off together, think of Malfoy's grandparents fucking.
You laughed again, and their scowls grew bigger.
— I swear you’ll pay for this, dolcezza.
Was the last thing you heard besides groans before you left to change for afternoon classes.
---
I hope you enjoy this
family: “why are you just sitting in ur room smiling at ur phone?”
me who’s been reading smut about fictional characters for the past 6 hours:
𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐭 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨
𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 . . . you’re typically a straight a student, thanks to your relationship with your professor. but one day he randomly fails you and you find a way to bump up your grade.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mature language, dom!matt, smut — oral (male receiving) — (read at your own risk)
a grin grows on your face as you watch your professor slowly make his way towards where you’re sitting, passing out the graded papers to your fellow students.
see, the reason you’re so excited to receive your assignment back is because you just know you’re getting an a+. the reason for it may be unethical, but regardless it keeps your grades up.
so what if you’re secretly hooking up with professor sturniolo, he’s hot, experienced and you never get lower than an a so it’s a win-win situation.
however, as he finally stops at your desk, harshly placing the paper on your desk, your face immediately drops at the red, large circled F. you look up at him, and he doesn’t even give you a sneaky glance with his eyes that are normally mixed with desire and hunger for you.
he passes by quickly, and you just fold your arms at the lack of touch he’d normally give you whenever he walks by your desk. your glossy upper lip lifts into a sneer at the sight of the failed paper even though you didn’t really put any effort into it, just expecting him to pass you.
you just sigh, knowing internally that you’re going to immediately question him and his odd behavior after class.
-‘๑’-
the rest of english passes by pretty quick, only filled with the annoying chatter of the other students filling your ears. you watch as everyone rushes out the classroom to their next period, but you stay seated until the class is empty.
but professor sturniolo doesn’t realize you’re still lingering until he looks up and notices you with your arms folded at your desk. his face crinkles with confusion as he takes a seat on his chair, picking up other papers that desperately need to be graded.
“can i help you?” he questions, breaking the silence as his gaze flickers between you sat at the desk in front of him then back to his task.
you grow irritated towards how oblivious he’s acting, harshly pushing your chair out from underneath the wooden desk with the paper tightly gripped in your hand. you practically storm over to your desk as if there’s a gloomy cloud above your head, your eyebrows furrowed.
once you reach his desk, you violently slam your graded paper in front of you, not shifting your gaze away from him. your eyes are glued to your professor, anger and frustration coursing through your veins. “you failed me,” you hiss, watching his every move.
he adjusts his glasses, pulling them to the tip of his nose, picking up the paper. “your writing is sloppy,” he blankly states, pushing it to the side.
you tilt your head at his shift in behavior, not used to him being honest about your efforts in class. “you never fail me,” you refer to every single a+ he’s given you. “we fuck and you pass me, that’s been our deal for months so my parents don’t get onto me.”
“like i said, your writing is sloppy,” he repeats, leaning back in his seat. he folds his arms, looking up at your through his glasses. “normally you at least put effort into it, yet this time it’s probably the worst fuckingthing i’ve ever read.”
your face flickers with frustration towards how effortlessly those words leave his mouth. yes, he’s not wrong with saying that because for the first time, you didn’t even try with the assignment but it doesn’t mean he should back out of the arrangement.
“fuck you matt,” you seethe and the use of his first name makes him immediately stand up. he shuffles around his desk, now standing right in front of you. you look up at him through your lashes, knowing that it’s his weakness.
“fuck me?” he tilts his head, a certain look in his eyes. that same look he gives you to show when he’s fueling with the desire of being close to you. “you know it’s mister sturniolo to you.”
you’d be lying if you said this certain dominance wasn’t turning you on, feeling the wetness pool between your legs. you tug on your pleated skirt, pulling your lip between your teeth.
“you don’t wanna fail me mister sturniolo,” you tilt your head and your hand reaches for his hair, fixing his middle part. “do you, sir?” your voice is sweet like honey, the words rolling off your tongue so easily.
he places his hand on the desk next to him, leaning on it for support. “i really don’t, so you should give me a reason why i shouldn’t,” a devilish grin appears on his face and you instantly know how you’re about to get your grade up.
now fully leaning against his desk, he cups your jaw with his hand, the pad of his thumb dragging across your bottom lip. your lips part slightly, giving him the opportunity for you to wrap your lips around his thumb. you do exactly that, not breaking eye contact with your professor as he pushes it deeper inside every second.
your tongue swirls around it, feeling the coldness of his ring inside of your mouth. it clashes with your teeth as he speeds up his movements, moving it inside and out. “fuck…” he drags out, his eyes sparkling with hunger and admiration towards how good you look.
matt pulls his finger out, causing a pop sound to enter the class and he places his hands on your shoulders. “you gonna be a good girl and get your grade up?” he questions through a smirk and you nod, watching his expression soften as he gently pushes you down to your knees.
your skin comes in contact with the wooden floor, hissing slightly at the hard and cold material. your lashes flutter as he looks down at you, taking his glasses off placing them on the desk. “go on then,” he says and you rapidly nod your head.
now your attention is glued to the erection vo ible through his pants, only growing by the second. you unzip them, tugging at his pants and his boxers; you pull them down at the same time.
you chew on your bottom lip, taking the base of his cock into your hands, slowly pumping at it. he twitches at your gentle movements, his lips parting at the familiar sight of you on your knees for him.
you straighten your posture fully, giving yourself the opportunity to drag your tongue against his veiny, throbbing cock, then his tip. a trail of saliva is left because of your movements and you listen to the hums of approval leaving matt’s lips.
without even thinking twice, you wrap your lips around his member, your hand remaining on the base of it. you bob your head slowly and matt quietly whimpers, “oh my fuck,” he groans and you resist the rush to smile at how easy it is to make him feel so good.
you continue to bob your head, twisting your hand at the same time. you feel the large amount of saliva building up inside of your mouth as you continue to move, pulling away to take a breath and letting the dribble fall down your chin before you quickly wrap your lips back around his cock, bobbing your head again.
“fuck, i—just like that, fuck,” he jumbles up his words, letting a moan escape from his lips. “you’re doing s-so good, keep going baby,” he praises as you speed up your movements.
your cheeks hollow and you suck faster, ignoring the spit dripping down your fingers and falling onto your exposed legs. “you’re amazing,” he praises you again and you feel your cheeks heat up.
matt feels his stomach clench, only moments away from reaching his release. his hand finds its way behind your head, pushing you down while taking strands of your hair between his fingers and you gag as your nose comes in contact with his pelvic bone.
“i’m—fuck…” he groans, implying that he’s about to reach his climax.
you continue at the pace you’re at, only slowing down once you feel a familiar liquid shooting into the back of your throat. you pull away, a string of saliva connecting from his tip to your plump lips. you wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb, looking up at him and the surprised expression plastered across his face.
matt’s chest heaves, looking down at you with a grin of satisfaction. “you’re fucking perfect,” he says, reaching for a pen as well as your paper.
he rotates his body slightly, giving him space to write something on it. you watch as he scribbles something out, then writing something new. after he finishes, he passes it to you and a dimpled-smile grows on your face.
A+ for my best student :)
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 — @anniessocean @mattspleasure @bugeyedgrl @chrissturniolosbiggestslut
me reading a fic trying to figure out what position we’re in:
i’ll always try and describe as much as i can but if this ever happens whilst reading something of mine PLS CALL ME OUT!!!!!!!!
i think in my day i think about “i know everything about bags sweetheart” AT LEAST 10 times. like holy fucking shittttt matt KNEW what he was doing
Stuart Twombly aesthetic.
Quick interjection. When you say “on the line” , you mean, “online”?
☆ . . . matt stares up at you with a grin as you bounce on his cock, his fingers gripping your hips tightly as he tries to control the pace, but with the way you're moving on top of him—the way your pussy swallows him whole, he's losing himself way too quickly for his liking.
his bottom lip tucks between his teeth and small grunts rumble at the back of his throat when his cock hits that spot inside you that has your gummy walls squeezing around him.
matt's trying his hardest not to cum too quickly, but with how the grin slowly fades from his lips and his eyebrows knit together, you know he can't hold back any longer.... and you feel so confident when he fills you.
matt thinks you're going to get off of him after he's done, but when he sees that you're not going anywhere—and somehow you hips move faster—those small grunts he makes turns into whines.
he's trying his hardest to speak to you; to tell you to slow down or to move off of him because he can't cum anymore, but his words fail him. he physically can't form a coherent sentence.
all he can do is let you do what you please, and his body goes slack and his head throws back against the plush pillows, teeth almost breathing through the skin of his lip as you continue bouncing on his cock.
and you're laughing.
you're fucking laughing at him.
matt manages to finally use his words, but he's a blubbering mess. his blunt fingernails dig into your hips as he rambles about how its impossible for him to cum again.. so he thinks, because with the way he's sucking in deep breathes and his stomach tightens, he realises that he is, in-fact, going to cum again if you keep squeezing around him the way you already are.
the cry he lets out is heavenly, and his mouth falls open, his eyes screwed shut and his head falls back against his pillow as he spills inside of you, and you follow close behind.
there's tears clumping his lashes together, and his cheeks are flushed. his body jerks and twitches uncontrollably as his cum leaks from between your thighs.
© sturnioz
MY BRAIN JUST DIED AND ROTTED Y'ALL HOLY SHIT. (im sorry I just wanted to be a part of the conversation)
why is writing so fucking hard today.
✮ TALKING TO THE MOON
pairing: matt sturniolo x fem!reader [ past tense ]
synopsis: in which it’s been a year since you last stepped foot in boston after the devastating events of the last year, but as the moon grows full, you find yourself having a peaceful conversation with it.
warnings: swearing, lots of crying, angst with absolutely no comfort, major character death, minor mention of someone shooting up a gas station, mentions of puke+bile, death of a pet.
THIRD PERSON POV
it’s been exactly a year since you’ve been back in boston.
twelve months. fifty two weeks. three hundred sixty five days. eight thousand seven hundred sixty hours. five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes, since you’ve been back home.
the last year has been by far the worst year of your life. losing the love of your life, your very best friend was something you’d never wish on anyone. when you got the call from nick that night, his hysterical sobs hardly understandable, your heart dropped. matt had been at the wrong place, at the wrong time as someone shot up the 7/11 that matt was at on the way home from your place. when nick finally took a moment to breathe and explain the situation, your entire world stopped spinning for a moment, and the screaming sob that ripped through your body was something that nick needed professional help to forget. it was a sound that still haunts him to this day.
after his funeral, you up and left town, unable to live in a city that matt loved without him by your side, knowing that he was never returning. you, and chris fought a lot the few weeks that you kept in contact with his brothers for, chris tried so hard to blame you. saying that if you had just told matt to stay at yours a little bit longer, he’d still be alive. but you tried to explain that matt wanted to go home because it was jimmy’s birthday the next day and all the triplets wanted to make their dad breakfast.
no matter how the story was spun, one of you kept pointing the finger at the other. but logically, it no one’s fault except for the man that took matt’s life, and the three of you came to terms on thing, you were thankful the man was rotting behind bars.
but you’ve been in therapy for a year, and your therapist suggested taking a trip back home in attempt to heal some of the residual anger and pain lingering in your heart and clinging to your soul. you had begged her to help you find peace with the situation and this was her only solution. and after fighting it for three sessions, you finally agreed to return to boston on his anniversary, knowing his entire family would be home, and you wanted to make amends for leaving for abruptly.
as you stepped onto the road in front of the sturniolo residence, you felt your heart hammering in your chest, making you feel like you were two seconds away from vomiting up everything in your system. you took a seat on the curb, taking a moment to breathe as you looked at the cars lining their driveway and the street across from you, knowing they were having a memorial for matt. you had been invited but you hasn’t responded, the invitation is what caused your most recent mental spiral. sighing, you pulled out your pack of cigarettes, a habit that you had kicked when you and matt got together, but had picked back up about a month after leaving. as you lit it, you watched the clouds slowly shift, your head snapping as you heard footsteps behind you.
as chris steps outside the front door to grab something from the car, he sees a figure sitting on the curb, and despite your hair being much shorter and much lighter than he remembers, he knows it’s you. especially as he hears you flick your lighter. and he’s fighting a battle within himself, one side telling him to ignore you due all the pent up anger and blame he holds against you, but the more understanding side of him wins. he knows you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t trying to make up for leaving, and he knows you’re hurting too. so without so much as a second thought, he begins to step toward you.
“hey kid, why the fuck are you sitting out here?” chris asks, taking a seat beside you, watching you as you fight back tears, your posture stiff and rigid, as if you were trying to make yourself appear put together, as if you were sinking in on yourself.
“i’m terrified to go in there and not see him.” you whisper, your shoulders falling as you take a drag of your cigarette, chris’ arm wrapping around your shoulders as he nods, understanding what you’re feeling.
“that’s how i felt this morning. it hurt to go in there and not see him hugging mom and dad. i was also terrified to see you, i know matt is yelling at me right now for not being there for you and being such a jackass to you.” chris chuckling, but it sounds more like he was clearing his throat, the sound was broken and throaty as he holds back his tears.
“he’s probably yelling at me too for leaving and not letting you guys back in.” you laugh back, your head on chris’ shoulder, an unspoken apology being shared between you two as you lift your head upon feeling his shoulder shake. as you look at him, your heart breaks all over again at the sight of him sobbing. you toss your cigarette to the ground before pulling chris into a hug,
“i fucking miss him, y/n.” he sobs, his hands fisting the back of your shirt between his knuckles as you rub his back, your cheek pressed against the side of his head as you nod, trying to some form of comfort, despite how weak it’d sound.
“i know chris, i miss him every day.” you hum, unable to find something to say to soothe the man crumbling in your arms, you want to comfort him, to console him, but it’s so hard when you can’t console yourself.
“let’s go in, i know mom will be grateful to see you.” chris whispers as he stands up, his hand outstretched as you link yours in it, your worries rising to the surface like bile as you nod.
your first step into the house is tentative and timid, the house feels empty without matt’s laugh and voice ringing and echoing throughout it. and you want to crumble to your feet, being back here feels impossibly difficult to go through with. but you’re finally here, and that’s a big first step. and as you take careful steps towards the heart of the home, you feel something warm stirring in your chest, and it feels a bit harrowing too, but you want to see his parents, to comfort them and tell them you’re sorry for leaving.
but the guilt is eating away at you and so you’re ready to turn back as chris steps ahead of you, but you feel a warm sensation on your lower back and you know it’s matt guiding you deeper into the home, just like he did the first time he brought you home. as you round the corner, the first pair of eye you meet belong to nick, and a soft gasp is heard as mary-lou turns around, and she’s quick to tear up as you rush toward her, barreling into her arms.
“oh, dear.” she whispers as you sob in her arms, your body completely wracked with guilt and regret as she holds you.
“i’m s-so sorry for l-leaving, it was too hard and i know that s-sounds selfish because you’re going through the same pain as me, i-if not more.” you hiccup and blubber, trying your damnedest to get the apology out as she rubs your arm, her soft but heartbroken smile showing that she understand what you’re trying to convey.
“it’s okay hon, everyone deals with grief in their own way. some bottle it up and some try to run away from it. but you’re here now and that’s all i can ask for.” she murmurs as you nod, wiping your eyes as you walk to nick, pulling him into a physically silent hug, but the two of you share an understanding that transcends the need for verbal communication. and as you look around the room, you see everyone but jimmy. and deep down, you know where he is.
so with a wordless exit, you turn around and take the steps slowly, trying so hard to prepare yourself to open matt’s door. and you almost choose not to, but you know you need to talk to jimmy. so with a shaky hand, you turn the knob and open the door to matt’s room, and the smells immediately rips a new wave of tears through as you spit his dad holding mister wrinkleton to his heart with one hand, the other holding his head as his body shakes and you’re quick to sit beside matt’s father, raising your hand to his shoulder as he lifts his head, shock glinting in his eyes as you smile sadly.
just like matt, you were closer to jimmy than mary-lou. jimmy reminded you a lot of your late grandfather so you took a quick love to the man that matt admired with everything in him.
“i didn’t think you were coming.” jimmy hums, standing up and pulling you into a hug.
“i had to. it’s what matt would want.” you sigh.
“i just cant believe my boy is gone. every day i wake up and think he’s gonna call me and then the realization sets in and my heart breaks all over again, and the pain renews itself. it’s a battle to get out of bed after i remember everything. and for a moment, i think that at least if my boy is gone, i have you to call me, but that never happens either. and it feels like i’m living on autopilot these days.” jimmy sobs, and the crack splitting your heart in two feels impossibly bigger.
“i’m so sorry jimmy. i know i should’ve called, but i was so angry at the world. at the fucking piece of shit that ripped matt from me, from us, from this world. and i let my anger consume me. and that’s why i left. and i wiped every memory and reminder of boston out of my mind because it hurt so fucking much.” you whisper, and when jimmy pats your back silently, you know the appreciation and acceptance of your apology is there. and suddenly you’re left alone in matt’s room. and for the first time today, you stop crying out of pain and anger, but rather fondness. because being in his room feels peaceful. it’s the only thing that hasn’t changed since his passing. and it’s like for a moment, he’s okay, he’s alive, and he’ll be stumbling in the door, too focused on his phone or the conversation he’s in the middle of, with a big smile on his face.
but then you’re thrown back to the present, and you’re reminded that it hasn’t changed because matt hasn’t stepped foot in this room in a year. and he never will again. and it’s too hard for his parents to spend longer than five minutes in here without their hearts breaking over and over again. and you’re dropping to your knees, sobbing as quietly as possible. because matt will never be yours again. he’ll never hug, kiss, or touch you lovingly again. he will never laugh at your stupid jokes, or yell at his brothers again. and that rips your heart from your chest in one ruthless, swift tug.
you don’t know how much time passes, but when you lift yourself off the floor and head down the stairs to look out the window, the moon is high. and you walk out the door, standing on the front steps, silently admiring the moon. and for a split second, you feel warm arms winding around your shoulders, and you know matt is there visiting as quickly as he can, and as you look to the moon again, you take a deep breath,
“hey baby, i don’t know if you can hear me from wherever you are, but i hope you’re at peace, and i hope you’re safe, and i hope trevor is with you. i’m sorry i wasn’t around to say goodbye to trevor, it was just another piece of you that i would’ve had to say goodbye to and that would’ve been too hard at the time. but i miss you, a lot. we all do. but i made up with chris, i know you were pissed that him and i were fighting, given the fact that he was my best friend. but we’re okay now, and i think that we’ll be okay as long as we stop fighting. i love you matt. visit me soon, okay?”
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petition for pt 2!!!
texts with dilf!matt
NSFW 18+
photo is from pinterest
a/n - should i make a part 2 where matt actually punishes reader?
main masterlist
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dear dylan o'brien,
Hi! I was wondering if I could request headcanons abt Stiles Stilinski hugs? As in how and how often they are? How would he react if reader came for his comforting hugs when feeling down? (Platonic gn best friend reader). Lmao I think he gives good hugs and it could help with the stress. Sorry if it sounds weird! Thank you in advance!
I'm so sorry for the wait, I just finished my finals :)) and nonnie that doesn't sound weird omg I love hugs :(
hugging stiles, headcanons edition
hear me out; stiles' love language is physical affection and acts of service alright?
and growing up he didn't really get much of the former, so he always made sure to show up and show out with the latter
being his best friend for most of your lives, you get used to his random acts of service
one day you'd mention you like this one drink, so every time he visits the store he makes sure to get it for you.
"aww Stiles, you really shouldn't have!"
"I remember once you said you like it and it was in front of me, hehe" he'd awkwardly rub the back of his neck
he goes shopping and sees your favorite perfume— he'd get it for you
he finds a new addition to your favorite comic, one he knows you don't have, he'd get it for you
randomly taking a walk with Scott or something and sees something that reminds him of you, he'd get it for you
one day, he's spending the night over, and he wakes up sweating a storm from a nightmare
you so happen to be a light sleeper and his sudden jolt wakes you up too
he's shivering and shaking and can't steady his breathing so you do what anyone would do— help him calm down
once he's steady again and got his thoughts in order, you wrap your arms around his and hug him tightly
you two go back to sleep hugging, and he doesn't mind it one bit
that was just the beginning of it.
at first it was cuddling to go to sleep, to help stop his nightmares from invading his dreamland
then it's hugs when he's clearly upset or is not in a good mood
then it's hugs when you're in a mood
then it's hugs when you're happy, or when he's happy
it slowly develops until its hugs when he's working, you just casually wrap your arms around his shoulders and he'd lean into you, completely relaxed
and one day he just casually hugs you when he sees you around the pack and he keeps you in his arms for a bit
they start asking questions of course, if you two are a thing
"What? pffftt no, y/n and I are just friends. Can't friends hug?"
they don't believe him, but they let him be— for now
it happens all the time after that, whenever you two are around each other you just immediately gravitate towards one another and wrap your arms around each other
they get used to it after a while, even stiles' dad found it a bit suspicious at first
"so what's going on with y/n?"
"hmm? Oh nothing, I don't know why everyone keeps saying that. I just really enjoy their hugs."
he'd be so sweet about them damn hugs too pls
he hugs you tight and doesn't let go until your hold on him softens
sometimes even then he doesn't let go
his hugs are always so warm and gentle, you never want to leave them
and when he's rubbing your back? oohhmygod
sometimes he'd whisper sweet nothings into your hair or neck when you're upset
he's try his best to make you feel better with affection
and ykw? It works every single damn time
my hungry ass could not be a gynecologist
a lover's pinch | one
joel miller x f!reader
pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: a one-night stand with a charming texan turns into something much more thrilling when you discover he is your new college professor. warnings/tags: au, age gap [20 something years diff], alcohol consumption, irrational sexual tension, smut, sex in a public place w/ a stranger [and i'm talking depraved/zero time wasted/known you for thirty minutes type strangers], oral [f receiving], protected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, a spot of degradation + misogynistic language, a split second of soft!joel, you get the picture word count: 5.9k series masterlist | main masterlist a/n: my friends.... oh boy, oh boy. this series is a complete au, self-indulgent, fantasy land idea that has plagued me for weeks. horny academic brain rot to the highest degree. hope some of you enjoy it with me x
Friday.
You sit with three almost strangers.
Listen to them talk about their summers and their families and their degrees as you twirl a straw around your half-empty glass, disrupting the melting ice as you try to wrap your head around what a master’s in environmental engineering might entail. One of them, the only man at the table, takes great pleasure in explaining it to you all for the second time. You take mental notes and hope he’s not expecting you to remember words like sparging and leachate.
They do ask you about your undergrad, and your internship, nodding and smiling curiously. They don’t ask what type of job you plan on getting after your postgrad, which is a welcome relief. The bombardment of questions from immediate and extended family is enough.
Cousins wondering aloud, saying you study Greek mythology, right?
Or your grandfather, before he died, berating you ad nauseam at family events about what’re you gonna do, kid? Be a historian? There’s no money in being a historian. Now, being a lawyer, that’s where the money is.
And you’d respond no, not quite Greek mythology, and no, I don’t plan on being a historian, as you gorge yourself on red wine and triscuits and wait for Christmas to end.
Thankfully you aren’t expected to rehash these scenarios with your almost strangers, who routinely ask a few well-mannered questions and then go back to talking about themselves.
After a week of living with them, in a new house, and a new city, you’re becoming used to their company. The way the four of you commune lazily in the kitchen most mornings, swathed in the light streaming through a window above the sink, making idle small talk as you wait for coffee to brew. How Pete and Trin study opposite each other at the dining table, while Nora prefers to spread her limbs across the couch, laptop balanced precariously on her stomach. She’s doing her master’s in education, which she describes as an expensive way to get a pay rise. She’s kind, with wild curly hair and dark humour, and is easily your favourite of your new roommates.
It was her idea to go out that night. One last hurrah, she’d called it. Before we enter the final circle of academic hell next week. And between four overworked, already burnt-out, twenty-something students, it hadn’t taken much convincing before you were sharing three bottles of wine and hightailing it to the bar with the highest Yelp rating.
The late August air is dry; a faint warmth that follows you into a quaint bar in downtown Biddeford. The space is small and crowded with patrons, with dim overhead lighting that casts a soft glow across the booth you’re crammed into. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin, and your shirt sticks to your back uncomfortably. The others seem unbothered by the heat, nursing sweaty glasses and discussing how different Maine is from where they all grew up. You involve yourself here and there, offering up stories about your family and friends from back home, and suddenly an hour has passed, and then another, and you’re pleasantly tipsy, body humming as alcohol spreads its way through your veins, and your latest drink is practically empty, spare a few melting ice cubes.
“I need another drink,” you tell Nora, who nods absently before turning her attention back to the others.
You wander toward the bar, fumbling for your phone as you go. Fall in between two leather cushioned stools and rest your elbows atop the sleek wooden counter. Check your bank account and mentally traverse the list of reasons for returning to student-life when you see the number staring back at you. I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, I don’t want to be a lawyer, your internal monologue runs, although you could admit how sweet a solicitor’s pay check would feel right now.
It’s a low, Southern drawl that pulls you from your reverie.
“Mind if I sit here?”
Deep. With a rough, lilting quality that piques your interest and has your eyes drifting upward from your phone screen.
You notice his body first; a tall frame with thick arms, thick shoulders, thick neck. A navy-blue t-shirt that stretches thin around his biceps, hugging the tan skin there. And then you look higher, and—oh.
Your heart stutters a beat out of time as you take in his face. Loose brown curls that are just long enough to hang across his forehead. Dark, almond-shaped brown eyes. So dark they almost appear black on the first glance. The strong nose and dark hair across his jaw, dappled with streaks of grey. A moustache resting atop a set of dark pink lips. Gone are thoughts of academia, of bank accounts, of your almost strangers. All replaced in an instant by wanton, pulsating desire.
Something like surprise cuts across his face, but it disappears just as quickly. In a far recess of your brain, you register that he must be at least twenty years older than you. You wilfully ignore the thought, perfectly content to continue admiring him.
A dark eyebrow ticks upward then, and you realise you haven’t responded.
“No,” you rush, flashing him a quick smile. “All yours.”
He gives you a pleased nod, a hint of a smirk passing over his lips as he sits down. He looks vaguely uncomfortable perched on the tall chair, all six-foot-something of him cramped onto such a small cushion. You cast a single glance back towards the booth, and then slip onto the stool beside him.
Silence descends between you for a moment. A song by The Eagles plays faintly, but you can’t figure which one - too distracted to make out the lyrics. You take a careful sip of the melted ice at the bottom of your glass, taste the last remnants of tequila in it, and watch him out of the corner of your eye.
“’m Joel,” that accent rings again, sending a volt of warmth through your chest.
You tell him your name, fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt. If he notices the tension in your posture, he doesn’t let on. “You a Southern man, Joel?” The name feels warm on your tongue. Soft and silken like honey.
“S’it that obvious?” he grins crookedly, pink lips tearing back to reveal a straight white smile.
“An accent like that is hard to ignore,” you smirk. “It’s not a bad thing.”
‘Thought it would fade a little since I moved here,” he explains. “Y'can take the man outta Texas, but… you know.”
You hum, eyes alight as you watch him speak. His mouth is beautiful, lips parting around prolonged vowels.
“You here alone?” he asks.
“No,” you say. “With friends.”
“Let me guess,” Joel tilts his body, glancing around the bar. His shirt shifts with the movement, hem raising to reveal the slightest hint of a soft, tanned stomach. He points somewhere over your shoulder. You shut your mouth, careful not to gawp. “Them.”
You turn, a soft laugh of surprise bubbling up through your chest when you spy the bachelorette party set up across the bar. Women dressed in gaudy shades of pink. One of them with a sash—reading Jenny’s Big Day—across her chest, a short veil pinned to her head, and an empty champagne glass clutched in her fist. One of them teary-eyed, gripping the bride’s arm and yelling something in her ear, sloshing champagne onto herself all the while.
“You got me,” you turn back to him with a grin. Hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I wouldn’t be caught dead missing Jennifer’s last night as a free woman.”
The corners of his eyes crease, entire face blossoming into a smile now. He has a dimple on his right cheek.
“Knew you were a good girl,” he nods. Says the words in a matter-of-fact tone. Something twists in your stomach, and your palms dampen. You wet your lips quickly and don’t back down from his gaze, allowing the corner of your mouth to kick up a little.
“And you?”
His eyebrows raise in a silent question.
“Who’re you here with?” you clarify.
“Just you, darlin’,” he says, left eye dropping in a quick wink.
It's easy with him, you find, and the two of you sit there for a while; exchanging small talk about Maine, the hot weather, the music at the bar, slipping in flirtatious comments that are about as subtle as a neon sign, until he finally spies the empty glass in your hand.
“What are you drinkin’?” he asks.
“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” you say, hoping it doesn’t come across too eager. He seems pleased though. There’s something provocative to his gaze, a teasing warmth that raises the temperature of your skin wherever he looks. But whatever it is, it’s gone by the time he reaches across the bar for the bound beverage list.
He peers at the menu, squinting ever-so-slightly to see through the dim lighting of the bar. The skin beside his eyes is soft and creased with age, crow’s feet that hint at years of laughter and smiles. You wonder again how old he is. How much older than you.
“Forget your glasses?” you tease, testing the waters.
Joel’s eyes flash up to yours. The muscle in his jaw ticks.
“Watch it,” he says. There’s a playful note in his voice, but it rings deeper somehow—a hint of a warning.
Your thighs squeeze together on the stool, warm sweaty skin peeling off the tacky leather as you move. His eyes dart to the bare skin of your legs, and then back to the menu.
He orders you both a whiskey, and a moment later the bartender is sliding a crystal tumbler in front of you. A finger of amber liquid with a single grandiose sphere of ice resting in it. Fancy.
“Cheers,” he holds his glass out. You knock yours against it gently before taking a short sip, fighting a grimace as it burns down your throat.
He watches your face closely, tries to gage your reaction. You take another sip, holding strong in your efforts to show him that you can handle it. Whatever he wants to give to you, you can handle.
“So what brings you here?” he asks. You notice how large the glass feels in your palm, and how small it appears in his. Long, thick fingers wrap around the object, dwarfing it. He takes a sip, and you watch him swallow. His Adam’s apple bobs, and you want to graze your teeth across it.
“To the bar or to Maine?”
“Either.”
“Well, I just moved into town last week, from the West Coast. It’s actually my first week back in the US; I was travelling before the big move.”
“Busy girl,” his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. You blink. “Travellin’?”
“I was in Greece,” you explain, sip your whiskey and definitely don’t grimace at the harsh taste. “For a month or so.”
“A month in Greece?” His eyebrows raise and he does a low, impressed whistle that has your stare zeroing in on his mouth.
“Ever been?” you ask faintly.
“No,” his reply is swift. “Never had much interest.”
And you’re nodding absentmindedly, but you can’t seem to drag your stare away from his mouth as he speaks. The trance is only broken when he raises his glass for another sip, and you shake yourself out of it, eyes shifting to stare into his brown orbs once more. They’re darker than you remembered, gaze loaded as he looks back at you. The tension was palpable when you first sat together, but now it feels impossible to ignore; an electric tangle of wire between the two of you that just keeps getting shorter and shorter. And you think, fuck it, if you’re about to descend into the final circle of academic hell, why not have a little fun?
“Can I tell you something, Joel?”
You say it softly, make your voice as sultry as possible. He watches you over the rim of his glass, eyes sparkling with intrigue. And then his mouth tilts into a sort of knowing smirk, and he’s nodding.
“I’d really like to kiss you,” you confess.
He hums, smirk broadening.
Sets his glass down on the bar top with a soft clink, and then lowers his hand to the bare skin of your knee. You gasp at the contact, nerves fraught. The callouses on his fingers scrape against your skin in slow, rhythmic circles, goosebumps raising in their wake. His fingers are long, and as he tenses them over you, squeezing your knee once, you see the way deep blue veins flex beneath the skin, hot blood pumping through him. Your stomach turns molten.
“Is that all?” he asks, a taunting lilt to his voice.
Your mouth is dry, eyes wide as you sense the proposition in his words. The hint of something darker—something greedy—in his gaze.
“No,” you say definitively. “That’s not all.”
A sharp tut escapes his mouth, fingertips dragging higher on your leg as he shakes his head. “Do you have any idea how old I am?”
“Don’t look a day over forty,” you hazard a guess, resting your shoe onto the rung of his stool, using the leverage to drag yours closer. Both your legs are between his now, thighs bracketing thighs. The denim of his jeans scrapes against your outer thighs, and you shiver. His hand pauses, fingertips just shy of the hem of your skirt.
Joel wets his lips. “Guess again, sweetheart.”
A low heat licks at the base of your spine, spreading its way through your veins until you feel like you could combust at any given moment. Fuck it.
“Don’t care,” you mutter, and drape your hand over his. You trace your nails over his skin, feel how the bones shift underneath it, how warm he is. He still doesn’t move, face pensive as he regards you. You arch an eyebrow. “You approached me, you know.”
His lips purse tightly. Another squeeze to your thigh, fingers moving again. “I know.”
Driven by boldness, by arcane desire, by animalistic instinct, you lean forward on your barstool and rest your hands atop the thick expanse of his thighs. Hear his breath kick as your nose traces the side of his square jaw, lips settling at the shell of his ear. Right at the soft, sloping crest of his neck. And you whisper those same words again, quiet enough that no one in the world can hear it but him, can I tell you something?
Your movement drove his hand higher on your thigh, the heavy weight of it now settled beneath your skirt, fingertips skimming the indent where your leg meets your hip, toying at the soft fabric of your underwear there. Painfully close to where you want him.
“Yes,” his deep voice rumbles.
Ever so slowly, your tongue slides out of your mouth to trail against his earlobe. Joel’s thighs tense beneath your palms, and you roll the balls of your thumbs against the muscles there.
“I want to kiss you,” you murmur. “So I’m going to. And then I want you to fuck me, just like I know you want to.” Your teeth graze his lobe, and you bite it once, gently, before rearing your face back to peer at him. “Hmm?”
The muscle in his jaw jumps, shifting beneath the skin, and instead of responding verbally he cups your face with a rough hand. Cool drops of condensation from the glass have stuck to his fingers, and the liquid smears across your skin as he cradles your jaw and draws your mouth to his.
Soft lips envelop yours, the coarse hairs of his moustache tickling your face as he steals the breath from your lungs. And when you lick into his mouth you can taste peppermint on his teeth, and then that oh so familiar whiskey tang across his tongue. You don’t mind the taste so much when it’s on his lips.
You nuzzle closer, dig your fingertips firmer into his thighs and grin when a deep groan falls from his mouth into yours. Wet heat pools between your thighs, liquid fire that stokes at your insides, begging for more more more of him. And, as if he can read your mind, Joel is dragging his mouth away, teeth grazing against your swollen bottom lip as he departs.
“Bathroom,” he says, voice low and commanding. “Now.”
Shock and excitement lace your blood, the proposition of something so dirty, so lewd, making your heart race. With your pulse a dull, thrashing roar in your ears, you allow Joel to help you down from your stool. Your legs feel unsteady now that you’re back on solid ground. Gripping your hand, dwarfing it in his, Joel tugs you away from the bar top and towards an obscured hallway. You amble past the bachelorette party, down the dark hall and then he’s pressing a dark hand against the ambulant bathroom door and dragging you inside, sliding the lock shut behind you.
Joel’s on you in a second, arms bracketing you against the door as his wet mouth slips over yours. His hands are so big, all wide palms and long fingers splaying across the entirety of your back, tucking you against his solid chest. He bunches your shirt in his hand, twisting the material between his fingers as he pushes into your mouth. Tongue hot and wet, gliding against your teeth, your tongue, tasting you, devouring you. there’s nothing polite about it. No more wariness, no more hesitation, no more eyes that could see the two of you at the bar. He’s insatiable, touching you everywhere he possibly can, and even then it doesn’t seem like enough for him.
“Fuck, I want you,” you say against his mouth. He makes a low sound in response, and one of his palms lower to grab a handful of your ass, dragging your hips against his. You can feel him, hot and hard, straining in the confines of his jeans. Your hand presses into the crevice between your bodies to palm him through the material, grinning into the kiss when he groans. His lips trail a slick path across your cheek, past your jaw.
“Gonna let me fuck you here?” his hot breath fans across your neck, tongue darting out to taste the salty sweat there.
“Yeah,” you say. “Fuck—yes.”
He steps back, dragging you with him, and then he’s turning you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Your hips dig into the sink, and he’s holding you there, forcing you to stare at your reflection as he bites and licks and sucks down your neck with reckless abandon, leaving marks in his wake. There’s a low, steady throbbing at the apex of your thighs, and you can feel how your underwear clings to your skin, damp and ruined. You whimper, tilt your chin up to give him access to more skin. He grinds against your ass in response, and then he’s crouching down on the ground behind you.
Fast hands push your skirt up over your hips and then flare across your ass, massaging the flesh there. You feel a nip of teeth against the sensitive skin there and flinch into the porcelain. He makes quick work of dragging your underwear down to dangle precariously at your knees. And then long fingers are spreading you apart, revealing you to him. You tilt your hips back so he can see more. Moan at the sensation of cool air rushing to meet your dripping core.
You think you can hear him speaking, but can’t be sure over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and the low music playing in the bar. And then it doesn’t matter anymore, because you can feel his hot tongue glide through your folds, parting you like the sea. He buries his face in you, nose nudging against your asshole as his tongue swipes at your clit, moaning roughly as he absorbs the taste of you. You’re gasping, hooded eyes staring back at you in the mirror, and this time you can definitely hear him saying you’re so fuckin’ wet. The flat of his tongue smears from your clit to your entrance, and then he’s sinking it inside you. You reach behind your back and card your fingers through his hair, gripping the salt and pepper curls between your fingers and holding him against you. Joel doesn’t complain, groaning as you tug on his locks in encouragement, in fucking desperation.
Your thighs tremble where they bracket his head, threatening to squeeze around him at any moment if it weren’t for his vice grip keeping your spread apart. A choked sob of a moan claws its way out of your throat and then he’s standing again, chest against your back as you hear the clink of his belt coming undone, and he’s saying, I know, I know, you need it so bad, don’t you?
Your hand skirts around the firm sink and slips between your thighs, fingertips ghosting over your throbbing clit. The sound of foil crinkling echoes around the room, and you hear him exhale a ragged sigh as he rolls the condom down his length. You peek over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of him, eyes widening as you take in the sheer size of his length. It’s long, with a prominent vein running from base to tip. It pulses, raging beneath the skin, practically daring you to drop down and run your tongue along the length of it. And you would if you thought he’d let you.
“Shit,” you breathe, skin tingling with a fresh wave of nerves and anticipation.
“It’s alright,” his voice is a low rasp, filling your ears like molasses, and his hand is rising to push stray hairs out of your face. “So fuckin’ wet f’me, I know you can take it, honey. You gonna show me how good you take co—”
He cuts himself off, eyes narrowing as he spots your fingers shifting between your thighs.
“So impatient,” he smacks your hand away with a grunt. “Silly little slut, can’t wait just a minute for me?”
A broken moan falls from your lips, shameful heat soaring through your chest. You shouldn’t love the way that word sounds falling from his lips, shouldn’t be so turned on by it, but you can feel how the ache in your core intensifies, and so you push your hips back against him.
“’m sorry,” you whine pitifully.
“You want it that bad?” Joel asks. His lips brush your earlobe as he nudges the thick head of his cock between your folds, gliding it through your slick once, twice, before notching himself at your entrance.
“I want it,” you gasp. “Wanted it from the second I saw you, Joel, please, pleas—”
Joel curses under his breath and loops a hand around your front, pushing the neckline of your shirt down to reveal your left breast. He slips his palm underneath the cup of your bra, long fingers pinching at the peaked bud of your nipple. Your skin burns under the attention, and you push your chest further into his hold.
“Shit,” he grunts, beginning to press himself inside. “I wanna fuckin’—wreck you, sweetheart.”
“Whatever you want,” you’re pleading, arching your back for him. Your fingers tighten around porcelain, bracing yourself. “Give it to me.”
You hear a muted, dark chuckle before Joel says, “Whatever I want, huh?”
And then he’s pressing inside you with a single, harsh thrust. His thighs come flush with yours and you gasp, face twisting at the sharp sting. The weight of him inside you is heavy, and you squirm at the intrusion, shifting on your feet. He allows you a moment—just a moment—to adjust to him, before he’s moving.
Joel finds a pace he likes and sets it. Heavy, unrelenting, expert rolls of his hips that have his tip brushing against the opening of your cervix with every shift forward. The air fills with harsh sounds of skin smacking against skin, and stilted moans and spilling from your lips as your hipbones collide rhythmically with the sink.
“Christ,” he spits, hand leaving your breast to grip your jaw. He forces your face forward, pace never slowing. “Fuckin’ look at you.”
You do as your told, gazing at yourself in the mirror. And you look wrecked. Hair a wild halo around your head, makeup smudged around your eyes and mouth, lips swollen and shiny with spit.
“Bein’ so—fuckin’—good,” he punctuates the words with his thrusts. His thumb digs into your cheek, and you can see him grinning in the mirror, lips peeled back to reveal that fucking perfect smile. “Dirty little thing, lettin’ a stranger fuck you like this.”
You mewl in response, stomach tensing as his cock grazes a particularly sensitive spot within you. Joel notices and seizes your waist, one hand holding you in place and the other falling to rub your clit while he pistons into you from behind.
“Shit,” you cry, eyes pinching shut as the intense medley of pleasure and pain begins to overwhelm you. Your orgasm claws its way up your chest.
“Yeah, you like that, huh?” he’s panting. “Can you feel you squeezin’ me, sweetheart. Go on, give it t’me, show me how wet that pretty pussy gets when you come.”
“Oh, fuck, oh—oh god, Joel.”
Your lungs feel empty, chest on fire as you rake in rapid breaths. Your entire body is constricting, muscles in your stomach drawn tight as you press firmer against the sink, thighs shaking with every impact of his hips against the plush of your ass. The pressure makes your head spin. And then something in the base of your spine snaps, and you’re falling apart in his grasp. Joel curses behind you, but the sound is faint, almost inaudible over the ringing in your ears. Your vision goes white, body shifting forward as he fucks you through the high.
And even as you begin to come down, muscles going lax and body slumping against the sink, Joel is relentless. He uses you; gripping your hips to keep them tilted at the perfect angle, and just fucking wrecks you, exactly like he said he wanted to. A stream of profanities fill the air as his movements become disjointed, and you know he’s close. Can feel the way his cock twitches inside you, desperate for release. You tilt your face to the side and stare at him over your shoulder. Those dark eyes meet yours and his face crumbles, hand reaching to grip your shoulder and hold you down as he nears the precipice. You rut your ass back against him and he almost shouts.
“Fuck,” he growls. “That’s it, that’s it..”
And then he’s coming, cock jerking inside you in sporadic movements, and you’re wishing he hadn’t worn a condom so you could feel the heat of him spread inside your cunt. It’s intense, the yearning you feel to have him dripping out of you once he’s gone. But you settle for watching his face through bleary eyes, admiring the way his lips part and chin tilts towards the ceiling, eyes pinching closed as his body convulses against you.
For an all too brief moment, Joel doesn’t move. He slumps against your back, forehead resting in the gap between your shoulder blades, and just breathes. Haggard, drawn out exhales that send whisps of your hair flying forward into your face but you don’t care, too blissed out and relaxed underneath his weight to say anything. And then he’s straightening, and you gasp in unison as he grips your waist and slips out of you. There’s a determined ache between your thighs, pussy clenching around his absence, missing the weight of him already.
You sag onto the cold surface. Your mind is a blur, senses dulled from the intensity of your orgasm. The music in the bar has increased, and you imagine that your roommates must be wondering where you are, but can’t bring yourself to care all that much. You can hear him throw the condom into the trash, then there’s a low rustling as he drags his boxers and jeans back up his legs. Body trembling, you close your eyes and wait. Wait to hear the door open and close as he steps out, and leaves you in the bathroom alone, as you know he inevitably will.
But instead, you feel those hands, almost familiar now, grazing your back. They drag your panties back up and smooth your rumpled skirt down over your ass.
“Hey,” a soothing voice murmurs. “You good?”
You peer at him over your shoulder, uncontained surprise no doubt evident in your face. Joel’s expression is soft; cautious. He grips your shoulder and pulls you up, straightening your body. Drags a thumb over the corner of your mouth, wiping away the lipstick smudged there. His touches are so gentle, so tender, in comparison to a few moments ago. It almost gives you whiplash, and yet you find yourself melting under his gaze, because fuck, he’s handsome.
“I’m good,” you breathe, and he bares his teeth in a smile, cupping your jaw.
“Sweet girl,” Joel says. His head shakes once, slowly, eyes darting across your features, as if trying to memorise them. “I’m gonna remember this.”
You heart is in your throat all over again.
Your fingers fumble to adjust your top, smoothing it out as you smile, humming, “Yeah… yeah, I think I will too.”
A heady silence swells between you. His thumb brushes along your lower lip again, eyes watching the way your swollen mouth yields to his touch. The tip of your tongue slides out and glides over the tip of his digit, just for a second.
“Probably got your friends all worried,” Joel says then, hand dropping to his side. “Must be wonderin’ where you got to.”
You swallow down the disappointment you feel. It burns its way down your throat and into your stomach, not unlike the whiskey had. I don’t care, you want to say. Take me home with you. But you nod and agree. Glance in the mirror and rake numb fingers through bird’s nest hair, trying to tame your wild appearance. You swear you feel his hand graze the hem of your skirt one last time, playing with the soft material while he stares at you in the mirror.
The bubble pops as he unlocks the door, outside sounds rushing in through the gap, infiltrating the space that once smelt like sex and lust and now just feels like any other room. Joel doesn’t kiss you again. Doesn’t touch you. He steps into the hall, and you follow him out. And when he trails toward one side of the bar, with a final lingering glance at you over his shoulder, you begrudgingly head in the opposite direction to the booth, where your almost strangers await you with curious eyes and pinched brows.
Tuesday.
You feel hungover on the day of your first lecture.
A dull ache blossoms behind your left eye, a persistent reminder of how little sleep you had the night before. Your fingers wrap tightly around a tall styrofoam cup, and you take slow mouthfuls of the black coffee inside, attempting to savour the liquid gold, and letting the caffeine act as a saving grace for as long as possible.
You were normally so much better than this, too. Years had passed since your undergrad, and in the past you’d prided yourself on being punctual and prepared. But apparently one of the professors for this semester had it out for you, because when the required weekly prep work for your 9 o’clock Tuesday morning lecture was released the day prior, you were stunned to find that it included an entire fucking book.
After spending a dutiful two hours going over the weekly notes and required journal articles, you’d found yourself glaring at three sentences, written casually at the bottom of the professor’s notes.
Also, read Hesiod’s ‘Theogony’. It will do you well to have these ideas and themes fresh as you undertake the first weeks of this class. See you tomorrow.
Cue you staying up until two am reading fucking Theogony, and walking to your first lecture with a near-permanent yawn sprawled across your face.
As you approach history commons, a guy wearing a bottle green shirt that reads UNIVERSITY OF NEW ENGLAND in garish gold lettering shakes a pamphlet in your direction. It has a picture of a girl in a tiny athletic uniform on the front, preparing to spike a volleyball. You avoid eye contact and sidestep him quickly, continuing into the building.
The theatre room is easy enough to find.
Thirty odd chairs line the space on an incline, all facing toward a desk at the front of the room. A projector hangs from the ceiling, displaying the beginning of a slide show on a white wall. The slide is a muted beige colour, with stark black lettering that spells out: The Language and Literature of the Odyssey and the Aeneid.
Your professor stands with his back to the room, shuffling through a myriad of notebooks and loose-leaf pages splayed across the desk. Standard.
You traipse your way up the stairs, buoyed along by the steady stream of other students shuffling into the room, and take a seat a few rows from the front. Not too far back that you seem disinterested, and not so close that your professor will notice you falling asleep on the first day.
You open your notes on your laptop and then slump back into your chair, slurping down the final morsels of coffee in your cup before discarding it to the floor by your feet. And then the room quietens as a final group of students file in, heavy door swinging closed behind them, and you allow your eyes to rest upon the man at the foot of the space.
He’s tall. It’s impossible not to notice that first. Tall and broad. A thin white dress shirt stretches across the arch of his back, fighting to pull free from where it’s tucked neatly into the waist of his brown pants. From where you’re seated, you can see a dark head of hair shaking side to side every few moments, the man muttering inaudibly as he peers down at his notes.
You glance down at your laptop again. Watch your cursor blink against the white screen. And then you hear it.
“Alright folks,” an all too familiar voice drawls. “Let’s get down to it.”
You stiffen in your chair. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, palms going damp as a memory flits through your brain. One of your own voice.
An accent like that is hard to ignore.
You can’t make out what he’s saying anymore, every word overpowered by the sudden roar of your own heartbeat in your ears.
Slowly—so fucking slowly—you peel your eyes away from your laptop and glance upward.
And there he is, in all his glory. Pearly white smile. Strong jaw. Dark eyes.
Joel… your professor.
Fuck.
thank you for reading!! x
