#Italian father's day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slytherinslut0 · 5 months

Text

Why Not Both.

PAIRING: Mattheo Riddle x Reader x Theodore Nott

INFO: Lucius Malfoy, fueled by disdain for your family's wealth and competitive Pureblood status, makes an unwanted advance at a public event. Fortunately, two old friends from your Hogwarts days come to your rescue, and grateful for their intervention, you seek a meaningful way to express your thanks.

TAGS: 18+, THREESOME. complete filth. slight sexual aggression/unwanted touching, violence, an ungodly amount of flirting, SMUT, fingering, hickeys, drug use, mentions of blood, throat fucking, oral(mrec), piv, degradation kink, praise kink, italian!theo.

"Please, for the love of all things magical, conduct yourself appropriately tonight, figlia."

Hidden behind the obscurity of your tinted black sunglasses, you executed an eye roll so pronounced you half-expected your eyes to vanish into the depths of your skull. The subtle percussion of your tongue against the back of your teeth preceded the moment as you composed yourself enough to deliver a response.

"I already told you," you retorted, curtly. "I'll play nice if he does."

Your father reciprocated the eye roll, reclining back against the supple leather of the limousine seat with an irritated huff. His gaze lingered on you, a silent calculation etched across his face, contemplating what tempting offer might sway you into comportment. He knew that you were not going to make it out of this gathering alive if you let your attitude get the best of you.

"What's the price tag this time, hm?" He tutted, fingers deftly adjusting his tie while sharing an anxious glance with your mother, perched nervously beside him. "A new purse? Some shoes, perhaps? Or are we gunning for another car?"

Suppressing a smirk, you lowered your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose, casting a pointed gaze over their rim at him.

"Are you seriously resorting to bribery, padre?" The feigned disbelief laced your voice, but your mother's glare sliced through it like a knife--a silent command to hush, one you chose to disregard. Adjusting your glasses, you exhaled a theatrically exasperated sigh. "Your lack of faith in me is genuinely disheartening. I assure you nothing but the epitome of professionalism from me tonight."

"Stronzate," (bullshit) your father snapped back, his eyes smouldering with a frustration intense enough to sear through your facade, clearly fed up with your antics. "Last time you peddled that line, you ended up with Lucius Malfoy's hand around your throat during what was supposed to be an informal business dinner."

You scoffed, a smirk playing on your lips before you could restrain it. "Not my fault that lunatic can't handle the damn truth. Would you prefer I let him take advantage of you? Step on you like a fucking cockroach?"

"Listen to me," he shifted to the edge of the limousine seat, his elbows finding a perch on his knees, hands firmly clasped together. Leaning forward, his gaze locked onto yours, his serious demeanor demanding your full focus. "Just because we have money doesn't mean I will bail you out if you happen to land yourself behind bars tonight. Do not fuck with the Malfoy's, figlia, I mean it."

"You sound afraid of him," you fired back, your expression a stoic mask, unruffled. "I wonder how your esteemed associates would feel about that...one of the wealthiest Pureblood wizards...intimidated by a bleached blonde-"

"Enough," he exhaled, weariness tainting his tone as he implored, "For Merlin's sake, behave your age for once--just tell me what you want."

Pouring a measured amount of champagne, he lifted the glass to his lips, the subtle clink echoing a blend of frustration and reluctant acceptance in his gaze. You huffed, reaching into your purse and retrieving your lip gloss and flip-open mirror. As you leisurely applied it, your thoughts raced, contemplating what might rein you in.

"I want him to stop mentally undressing me in front of his wife," you declared bluntly. "It's just plain rude."

Tossing your lipgloss and mirror back into your purse, a ripple of annoyance traversed your father's features, his countenance ready to unleash a torrent of reprimands in Italian, ones you'd heard a countless number of times before. It didn't take much to get under your father's skin.

However, before the first word could escape, your mother intervened with a firm, "Cut that out, figlia--just answer the bloody question."

Her intervention carried the weight of both authority and exasperation, effectively halting the imminent linguistic storm your father was about to unleash. With another dramatic eye roll and a matching huff of irritation, you straightened out against the leather, flattening the fabric of your tight black dress out against your thighs.

"Fine," you ground out through clenched teeth. With your chin defiantly raised, your gaze flicked back and forth between your parents. "Bags. A new Fendi, a replacement for the Christian I lost, and another Prada."

Your father grumbled something discontented in Italian, the disappointment clearly etched across his features as he parted his lips to respond; his brows pinched so tight it looked painful--until your mother swiftly raised a calming hand, quelling the potential storm.

Turning her eyes to you, she wore a wry smile and declared, "Deal."

A devilish smirk played across your lips as you nodded in agreement, satisfaction colouring your calculated arrangements. Handbags were hardly a necessity, considering you already owned more than you knew what to do with--but, if your father was determined to buy your silence, to keep you from retaliating against the biggest assholes in the entire wizarding world, one of whom was intent on tearing down your family's name out of sheer jealousy--then the price wasn't going to come cheap.

As the limo glided to a stop outside the opulent venue, you composed yourself, aware that tonight meant facing a sea of influential figures. Pureblood wizards--from the Nott family to the Riddles, the Malfoys, and the Berkshires--were all gathered at this prestigious ball, amongst many others. You knew tonight carried immense importance for your family, and you harboured every intention of keeping your opinions in check, and keeping your mouth shut.

But you couldn't say the same about your legs.

Stepping gracefully from the limousine, the resonance of your red stilettos hitting the cobblestones beneath them echoed in sophistication. A subtle adjustment of your dress against your thighs preceded your purposeful stride toward the entrance. Cameras relentlessly flashed from all angles, rendering the protective shield of your sunglasses almost futile against their blinding onslaught.

Squinting, you ascended the velvet stairs, only to feel a sizable hand rest on the small of your back, accompanied by a honey-like drawl in your ear.

"Easy there, Bella...we wouldn't want that perfect ass meeting the cobbles, now would we?"

You scoffed, your smirk undeniable. Turning your head, you caught a glimpse of the charming Italian boy you hadn't seen since graduation. The desire to fling yourself into his arms simmered within, yet you reserved such greetings for the more private confines indoors.

"Gods, how I've missed that sexy voice of yours," you teased, a pleasant warmth enveloping you at the sight of him. Clad in a crisp black suit, his hair styled to perfection with light stubble grooming him nicely--he looked even better than your memory served. "Remind me to grant you a proper kiss once we're inside."

"Missed more than just the voice, I hope," he quipped, a smug grin playing on his lips. Adjusting his suit jacket with a casual flair, he leaned in, his voice a low murmur. "Inside or outside, Bella, I'm not one to decline such tempting offers."

"Believe me, I'm keenly aware," you retorted, a sly grin playing on your lips. "You never were good at resisting temptation."

"Can't resist the irresistible, principessa," he replied, his tone laden with a provocative confidence. "I'd take your ass right here if you asked."

"Aren't you as bold as ever," you quipped, a grin playing on your lips as you finally reached the grand double doors. Theo's hand reluctantly left your back as he positioned himself behind you, gently ushering you forward. "Perhaps you could at least buy me a drink first?"

He huffed. "Anything you want--it's yours, angioletta."

Theodore graced your ass with a subtle smack as the two of you glided into the grand ballroom, its excessive expanse pulsating with the energy of wizards and witches converging from every corner of the globe. The occasion? A celebration for the new Minister of Magic--a matter that scarcely held your interest. The real allure? A night to revel in intoxication and reconnect with the charming Slytherin boys you'd wanted to see since graduation.

And here you were, the night only just unfolding, already engaged in a provocative exchange with one of the men you'd been yearning for. His hand rested tantalizingly low on your back, skillfully guiding you through the bustling crowd.

You drew nearer to Theodore as the two of you continued weaving through the crowd, lowering your voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "My parents gave me strict orders to steer clear of the Malfoys tonight, specifically Lucius."

"Huh, can't say I'm shocked," Theo chuckled, his grin stretching across his cheeks. "After that little incident at the meeting, I'm surprised they're letting you share the same room with him."

"So you heard about that." A flush warmed your face as you peeked at him over the edge of your sunglasses. "Was I really that terrible?"

He cast you a sidelong glance, his eyes twinkling. "Let's just say, your mouth has a reputation for getting you into quite a bit of trouble."

"Maybe," you quipped, your gaze confidently drifting towards the bar across the room. "Then again, it's also been known for getting me out of a fair bit of trouble."

Theo slipped behind you as you navigated through a cluster of witches, their dazzling diamond necklaces almost blinding, even through your shades.

"Mm, I wouldn't doubt it," he husked, the audible smirk in his voice. "That mouth of yours has its own set of skills, Bella...some men just can't handle it."

"Well, lucky for me, I prefer those who can handle a little challenge," you purred, turning to shoot him a sultry glance over your shoulder. "I intend on staying far, far away from him tonight."

"As much as I want to take your word for that..." he replied with a sly grin, cocking an eyebrow. "We both know how you are."

As the two of you finally reached the bar, a dazzling array of diamond bottles adorned the shelves against the wall. The counter, a masterpiece of ornate gold foiling on a white marbled surface, beckoned with an air of opulence. Theodore leaned over it, flashing a cheeky grin at the bartender.

"Two glasses of Dom Pérignon champagne," he requested smoothly, the words gliding off his tongue like silk, "per favore e grazie."

"Dom Pérignon?" Your jaw fell open, and you drew your sunglasses down the bridge of your nose to look at him. That champagne was over three hundred dollars a fucking glass. "Are you trying to get me to fuck you, or fall in love with you?"

He choked, snorting at your bluntness. "Why not both?”

Your grin was untameable as Theo's laughter resonated through the bustling room. Collecting himself, he accepted the glasses from the bartender, presenting one to you with a deviously charming grin. His eyes sparkled with desire as they traced the curve of your lips, before falling to observe the way your red-manicured nails delicately wrapped around the crystal glass.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he met your gaze again, his smirk growing wider. "Not to burst my own bubble or anything...but if it weren't for my parents picking up the tab, we'd be toasting with sparkling cider."

A soft laugh escaped you at his cheeky admission, and you raised your glass to meet his with a playful clink. "To your parents' tab."

As you toasted, you couldn't help but savour the familiar charm that had always intrigued you about him. Despite the magnetic connection and your undeniable attraction, the boundary between friendship and something more had remained uncharted territory throughout your school years.

You had every single intention of changing that, tonight.

As the liquid elegance glided down your throat, leaving behind a lingering warmth steeped in opulence, you held Theo's gaze as you lowered your glass, acutely aware that his eyes had yet to stray from yours. Taking a measured step closer, you tilted your head back slightly, maintaining the captivating connection as you closed the distance between your bodies.

"I believe there's still something I owe you, hm?" you purred, your voice a sultry whisper. "And perhaps...given the circumstances," you gestured to the expensive champagne in your hand, moistening your lips, "I might now owe you more."

Theo's response was a low, husky chuckle as his free hand found its place on your hip. His fingers pressed into your side with a possessive grip, while the hand clutching the glass tightened, threatening to shatter within his fingers.

Spurred on, you continued. "Unless, of course, we consider it a mere indulgence on your parents' generous tab...either way-"

"Oh no, no," he interrupted with a knowing tut, his gaze piercing through half-lidded eyes. "My parents appreciate repayment just as much as I do...consider me their collector."

"Mm," you breathed, red fingernails on your free hand trailing up his chest. "I suppose I better get to work, then, hm?"

His response was a low huff, a smouldering spark in his eyes. "Dio mi aiuti..."

A smirk played on your lips, a rush of heat colouring your face as his teasing plea to God sent a surge of desire through your thighs. Gliding your fingers higher up his chest, you seized his tie, drawing his mouth down to yours in a deliberate, unhurried kiss. With no sense of urgency, you explored his mouth, savouring the moment for all it was worth.

Until, abruptly, a curt voice sliced through the charged air, instantly extinguishing the flames that had been blazing between you and Theo. The sound made you want to vomit near instantly, the feigned niceness in its tone grating on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard. You knew there was only one fucking man a voice that sickening could ever belong to.

"Well, isn't that just adorable...young love in all its glory," he sneered, and as you and Theo reluctantly pulled away from each other, you released your grip on his tie, taking a measured step back. "...never thought you'd be able to find someone who would put up with that attitude of yours...colour me shocked. "

As your gaze met the tall, arrogant blonde man peering down at you, you bit your tongue hard enough to taste the metallic tang of blood. His eye twitched as he shamelessly scanned your body, tracing over every curve and inch of body that his evil gaze could find. You were grateful for your sunglasses now more than ever, as they perfectly concealed the intense eye roll you were directing at him.

And then, just as you were poised to respond, you caught sight of his son, Draco Malfoy, and his nephew, Mattheo Riddle, two more of your old housemates. Draco, accompanied by his wife, Astoria Greengrass, sauntered up beside his father. Each of their eyes widening in disbelief at the unexpected sight of you.

As Mattheo Riddle approached, clad in a crisp black suit and tie, his curly brown hair framing gleaming dark eyes and a strong jawline, your body ignited once more. The charm he exuded brought forth a desire you had worked extremely fucking hard to suppress during your school days, now resurfacing with an intensity that left you breathless.

"Holy shit," Mattheo breathed, moistening his lips as his dark eyes roamed over you from head to toe. He pulled you in for a hug, the smell of his cologne filling your nostrils and making your head spin without effort. Against your neck, he muttered. "Now that's a fucking sight for sore eyes."

Heat flooded your veins, spurred on by the sight of him and his compliment. You let your hand rub tender circles into his back, feeling the taut muscle tense beneath your touch.

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Riddle," you purred against his ear, your grin impossible to conceal, the warmth of his embrace intensifying the heat that flooded your veins. "I see your charm hasn't lost its touch...surprised you're not locked down yet."

"Never been more glad that I'm not," his hand slid lower, finding the small of your back, calloused palms catching on the fabric. "You're leaving very little to the imagination, wearing this..."

"Little something to fuel those late-night thoughts," you murmured, your voice a sensual drawl, heat rolling off your tongue, overflowing your veins. "Better enjoy the view while you can."

"Mm," his hand found your ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. "Don't doubt that I will."

As Mattheo finally pulled away, stepping over toward Theo and embracing him in a bro-hug, Lucius peered down at him in disgust. The atmosphere was filled with the low hum of conversation as Theo, Draco, and Astoria were deep in discussion.

Lucius was busy rambling on to Theodore's father, who had now also joined the group, seemingly oblivious to the tension simmering beneath the surface--but then abruptly shifted his attention to his nephew.

A wry huff of arrogance escaped him. "Do you possess any self-control?"

"Some, on a typical day," Mattheo replied, undisturbed, and with his gaze drifting back to you, he smirked. "Currently, almost none.”

"Right." Lucius' voice was flat, devoid of any emotion as he turned back to you. "Where are your parents? I've been needing to discuss some things with your father."

"They're around," you replied flatly, taking another sip of champagne, determined to deflect his probing. "I'm sure you'll run into them eventually; no one would ever dare ignore you, Lucius."

"A compliment from you? How peculiar." Lucius tilted his head slightly, a malicious glint in his eyes. "Similar to your father's recent behaviour...I must say he has been raising a few eyebrows lately."

"And how is that any concern of mine?" you retorted, your tone laced with partially-restrained irritation. "I don't keep tabs on my father's every move. Perhaps you should address him directly with your concerns."

"Perhaps." He smirked, his gaze lingering on you as he stepped closer--Theo, Mattheo, Astoria and Draco lost in their own conversation now. "But I believe you're easier to talk to, more...amenable."

Your eyes narrowed at his implication, but you maintained a stoic exterior. "I have no interest in entertaining conversation with you."

As he closed the distance, his gaze briefly shifted to the boys beside you, ensuring they were sufficiently distracted before refocusing on you.

"You should," he murmured, an insidious charm lacing his words. "You should want to hear what I have to say."

"Your arrogance is outstanding." Through gritted teeth, you practically snarled at him, "Get to the point."

"Your father has been dabbling in rather dubious dealings of late. It reflects poorly on me and those associated with him." Lucius leaned in closer, his voice a low murmur filled with calculated venom. "If something doesn't change, I'm going to have to take matters into my own hands."

"I try my best to stay out of my father's business," your pulse quickened, a surge of anger coursing through your veins, the air around you growing tenser with each passing second. "But, if I'm being honest, Lucius, I don't appreciate the way you're running your mouth. My parents-"

"Ah, ah," he raised a hand, silencing you. "You'd do well to remember your place, little witch." Lucius's eyes glinted with a sadistic satisfaction, and a smirk played on his lips. "Though I do suggest you start caring about your father's affairs; it might save you from the consequences of his foolish actions."

"I never asked for your advice," you hissed, the thread of restraint in your voice now frayed. "But if we're trading favours, I suggest you leave me the fuck alone before this gets ugly."

Lucius eradicated the remaining space between you, his imposing presence sending a shiver down your spine, the strong scent of whiskey enveloping you. Your gaze remained locked with his, refusing to yield, but as he leaned in, your body tensed. His lips brushed your ear, and you swallowed, fighting the discomfort.

"Women shouldn't curse, little witch, it isn't very ladylike..." he sneered, his voice dripping with vindictive amusement, the words crawling over your skin. "Perhaps your parents failed to teach you that? Amongst other things, it seems..."

You fought the urge to retch. "Get fucked, Lucius."

He huffed, his touch ghosting your hip as he muttered, "I just might."

The moment you felt his fingers graze your body, your hand rose instinctively, before you even had a chance to process it--delivering a swift slap to his cheek, making his head whip to the side, blonde locks flinging upon impact. A moment of tense silence hung in the air as you watched the anger seep into his features, witnessing his eyes darken with fury. Mimicking a move he'd pulled on you before, he seized your jaw, forcing your back against the edge of the bar.

But then, before he could utter a word, the scene unfolded like a rapid, chaotic dance. Strong hands forcefully grappled his shoulders, ripping him away from you within an instant.

"Keep your fucking hands off of her." It was Theodore's voice. Followed instantly by Mattheo's. "The fuck is wrong with you."

In the blink of an eye, Theodore was in action, hooking his arms around Lucius to restrain him, while Mattheo, fueled by raw anger, threw a powerful punch that landed square on Lucius' jaw. The room buzzed with gasps and whispers, the unexpected altercation taking center stage in the glamorous event.

Your stomach fell dramatically. There goes the handbags you'd bargained for.

As Lucius seethed with fury, he forcibly pulled himself out of Theodore's grasp, retaliating by landing a punch on his nephew. The impact split the skin over the bridge of Mattheo's nose, but undeterred, Mattheo swiftly retaliated with another punch, forcing Draco to step in and restrain him.

Sensing the escalating tension, you rushed forward, attempting to break up the skirmish. However, Draco hissed at you, his arm darting out to halt you, eyes narrowing in warning, "Just get out of here. You've done enough damage."

"Are you kidding me?" you snapped back, the clink of your glass punctuating your frustration as you discarded it on the bar. "You've always been a sickening little daddy's boy--wake the fuck up, Draco. Your father is an absolute asshole."

Before Draco could respond, the voices of your parents, entwined with Mattheo and Theodore's parents, resonated through the room, silencing and halting every single one of your collective movements. Your father unleashed a barrage of reprimands in Italian, while your mother shook her head in utter disappointment. She gripped your arm with enough force to make you groan.

Her words were no less than a snarl in your ear. "You had one fucking job tonight. One."

"I didn't do anything--he started it," your heart pounded, vision tinged with red as you spat back, uninterested in the ridicule. "He fucking touched me."

Lucius, now somewhat composed, turned to the security guards standing amidst the commotion and pointed decisively at you, Theodore, and Mattheo, his stern tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I want them removed. Immediately."

Your mother's grip on your arm loosened, her voice now softer as she said, "We'll talk about this later."

The security guards seized you, Mattheo, and Theodore by the arms, forcefully guiding you away from the group. Under the intense scrutiny of Lucius' gaze, you were pushed through the concealed back exit, leading to a row of valet cars waiting in the shadows. The door slammed shut behind you, leaving the chilly night air to greet you as the security guards swiftly retreated back into the vibrant chaos of the celebration, leaving you, Mattheo, and Theodore standing alone in the dimly lit alley.

Without missing a beat, Mattheo smoothly extracted a small container from his pocket, revealing a blunt that he quickly found a comfortable spot for between his teeth.

An irritated huff escaped you as you yanked off your sunglasses, shoving them into your purse. "What an insufferable prick."

The night air became tinged with the scent of both smoke and potent weed as Mattheo exhaled, Theodore hastily loosening his tie around his neck as Mattheo passed him the herbal offering.

"He's got his eyes set on you," Mattheo stated matter-of-factly, the words casually hanging in the air as if discussing the weather. "Not exactly discreet about it either, especially when his wife's not around."

As Theodore passed the blunt to you, you took a long, slow drag--the bitter taste of the weed lingering on your tongue as you mulled over Mattheo's words.

"He’s just looking for another thing to hang over my father's head." A sardonic smirk curled your lips, and you passed the weed back to Theo. "I'm not interested in anything he has to offer...there’s nothing he can give me that I can’t get myself.”

Theo smirked, the dim light casting shadows across his features as he took another drag of the blunt.

“I'll have to admit, it was quite the sight watching you slap Lucius bloody Malfoy..." he purred, smoke twirling around him as he paused, passing it back to Mattheo now. "Not many would dare."

“Well, he had it coming,” you chuckled, the tension of the evening dissipating slightly. “...I'm not one to back down."

"Oh, we know." Mattheo laughed, smoke escaping between his lips, wiping the blood off his chin with the back of his hand. "Your bad ass is always stirring up trouble, don't think that'll ever change."

You smirked, the corner of your lips curling with a hint of mischief. "What's life without a little trouble, hm?"

Theo chuckled, practically a scoff. “A little?"

"Please," you teasingly nipped at your bottom lip, head tilting in a seductive manner. "You know you love it."

Stepping closer to them, you sensually reached out, your fingers making deliberate contact with the fabric of their suit jackets, covering the strength of their strong arms. Moving slowly and deliberately, your touch trailed upward, both of their eyes locked onto every nuanced movement, captivated by your enticing grace.

"I believe I owe you both a special thanks for coming to my defense back there...my heroes." Your voice dipped lower, a sultry edge creeping in as you trailed your fingers upward, grazing their shoulders. "How could I ever repay you for such...courageous acts..."

"Sexy little damsel in distress…" Mattheo smirked, the blunt dangling from his lips as he leaned in, eyes dipping over your lips before falling lower, tracing your curves. "I can think of a few ways you could show your appreciation.”

Theo's grin mirrored Mattheo's as he added, "I think we'll have to discuss those options somewhere more private...back at my place, perhaps?"

"Mm," your stomach leapt with excitement, your stomach tightening in anticipation, you slowly withdrew your hands, stepping back. "Lead the way, boys."

Without needing to hear another word, Mattheo and Theo exchanged a knowing glance before they began to move toward the valeted cars, Mattheo's eyes scanning the line until they landed on a sparkling blacked-out Range Rover. Discarding the blunt with a casual flick, he turned back to you, a smirk playing on his lips.

The night air shimmered around Mattheo's dark pools as he confidently asserted, "We can take my car."

A casual wave set the valet into motion, retrieving his vehicle for him within an instant. The driver expertly guided the sleek black Range Rover to the forefront, its glossy paint reflecting the ambient lights. Mattheo opened the back door with a flourish, gracefully sliding in and making himself comfortable on the far side. A sly grin danced on his lips as he gestured for you to join him.

"After you," Theo's purr accompanied a playful smack to your ass, forcing a slight squeak from your throat, and you tsked at him before obliging.

As you settled into the lavish embrace of the Range Rover's spacious backseat, Theodore smoothly slipped in next to you, closing the door behind him. The interior exuded opulence, the cold leather meeting the warmth of your thighs. Mattheo leaned forward, parting the partition to share Theodore's address with the driver, his cologne enveloping you in an intoxicating embrace.

The air crackled with anticipation as he ended the conversation and slid the partition shut, reclining back against the seat with a provocative spread of his legs. Loosening his tie, he extracted a small bag from his pocket, revealing a white powdery substance within its confines.

"Fuck sakes," he grumbled, catching Theodore's attention. You both met his eyes. "Any chance you've got a mirror in that purse?"

"Who needs one when you've got her?" Theo huffed, snaking an arm around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest. His lips hovered over your ear, and he added, "She's got more than enough to work with, hm?"

As Theo's lips brushed your earlobe, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine, you couldn't ignore the electrifying sensation that danced across your skin. Mattheo's intense gaze fixed on you, adding to the palpable tension in the air as he waited, seemingly holding his breath for your response.

"Mm." Your voice came in a breathless, shuddering whisper, "go on then, Riddle."

Mattheo's eyes darkened with a mischievous glint as he inched closer. Unhesitatingly, he tapped a sprinkle of white powder delicately above the neckline of your dress, right on the edge of your chest. Theodore pulled you even closer against him as Mattheo leaned in, his head lowering to quickly sniff up the line of powder. A cascade of goosebumps erupted across your skin, and your back instinctively arched.

After he'd finished, lingering tingles traced along your skin, intensifying by the millions as Mattheo sensually licked up the remaining powder. His tongue danced against your skin, brushing the delicate tops of your breasts, provoking a series of deeper breaths from your lungs. Your thighs clenched involuntarily, all while Theodore chuckled softly into your ear.

Mattheo pulled up, his lips dangerously close to yours as he whispered. "You want some?"

When you shook your head, Mattheo shrugged, moving to pour more onto your chest--your heart racing as you watched him, eyes dark, jaw tensed. On instinct, you tugged your dress down a bit further, offering him better access. Arching your back into him, your breasts spilled out as you tugged the fabric a little too far, now nearly entirely revealed, nipples just barely covered by the black fabric. At the sight, Mattheo sucked in a sharp breath, jaw falling open.

"Fuck me," he murmured, his hand instinctively coming up to grope the one not covered in cocaine.

Theodore groaned against your ear, watching the entire show with just as much exasperation as Mattheo. His hold on your waist tightened, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress as through he was trying to tear it apart within his grasp.

"That's what you've been keeping from us...." Theo's voice rumbled with dark lust, the words almost tangible in the air as his lips grazed your skin. "…for all these fucking years."

The tender caress of Theo's lips on your neck elicited a soft whimper, matched by Mattheo burying his face in your chest, sniffing up the rest of the drugs, his fingers tightening their grip on your breast, kneading it with a primal urgency. Theo's initial gentle kisses on your neck evolved into hungry bites and passionate flicks of his tongue, sucking vibrant welts into your skin.

Your body wrestled with conflicting waves of sensation, not knowing which to focus on first--blood pooled beneath Theo's teeth as he broke the vessels and marked you violet, inspiring an electrifying surge between your legs, growing more desperate with each passing second. Each touch and graze intensified the sensitivity of your skin, leaving your mouth slightly agape, head tilted back, giving both men easier access.

Mattheo groaned into your chest, a primal sound echoing desire. His rough hands moved lower, finding the hem of your dress and sliding beneath it with urgency, hiking the fabric higher up along your thighs. Your legs willingly surrendered, drawn onto his lap as he pulled them there. His nails dug into your skin as he shifted his mouth higher up your neck, capturing the side opposite Theo, working his teeth along your pulse as he too began marking your skin, sucking purple possession marks to life.

A low, sensual moan escaped your parted lips, a delicious shudder rippling through your spine. As Theo pulled his lips from your skin, you turned your head toward him, drawn by an irresistible force. The moment your eyes locked, an electric charge sparked between you, and in an instant, his lips claimed yours--a blend of sweet champagne, the faint taste of cigarettes, and the lingering hint of weed creating an intoxicating mixture, dizzying your head even more than it already was.

Mattheo's grip tightened around your thigh, a deep, primal groan escaping him, reverberating against your neck. You gasped against Theo's mouth, your fingers moving to find Mattheo's big hand, squeezing him tightly, conveying a silent, unspoken urgency--inviting him to go higher.

Taking the invitation, Mattheo's fingers crawled upwards, pushing your dress further up your thighs until your thong was nearly visible. Theo's hands left your waist, curling around your stomach before moving higher, cupping your breasts and tightening his hold on them; palming and groping and squeezing as much of the supple flesh as he could.

As you whimpered into his mouth, he groaned in response, bucking his hips against you as his long fingers worked to tug them free, exposing your entire chest to the thick, heated air within the Rover.

"Fucking hell." Mattheo muttered, instantly stalling his movements, his plush lips glistening with saliva as his eyes hungrily took in everything you'd just exposed to him. "Now this is fuel for my late night thoughts..."

Lowering his face to your chest again, taking one of your nipples in his mouth without hesitation while Theo gently rolled the other one between his fingers, their collective movements causing you to whimper and squirm against them, eyes rolling back as they each panted against you; lips and hands and teeth claiming as much of your body as they could.

Mattheo's palm slipped higher, grazing your heat over the fabric of your panties, the pads of his first two fingers catching your clit through the thin layer--immediately causing your hips to buck toward his touch as he swirled his warm tongue around your nipple, sealing his lips around it, teeth giving it a gentle tug before he released it with a wet pop.

You moaned, entire body shuddering with need as Theo's teeth tugged on your bottom lip. Breaking the kiss, his mouth moved to press hot, moist kisses against your cheek before falling to your jawline and softly nipping at the ridge. You met Mattheo's gaze, his face flushed with lust, his eyes drilling into yours as he teased you, rough fingers ghosting over your slit, catching on the hem of your panties, watching every single subtle ministration of your face as he did.

"Please," you whispered, the desperation in your voice palpable. "Stop teasing me, Riddle."

"Eager little slut..." Mattheo huffed, amused, and you could feel Theo smirk against your skin, each of their grips hardening to iron. "Look at you...spoiled little rich girl--fuck...you need to be finger fucked in the back of my fucking Range, don't you?"

A guttural groan escaped you, your head falling back against Theo's shoulder. He huffed in your ear, and there was a shared satisfaction between the two of them as they reveled in the newfound ways they had you wrapped around their fingers, surrendering to them in ways you had never dreamed of before.

Mattheo exhaled, a visible effort to rein in his self-control, brushing his thumb against your clit, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw, redirecting your eyes back to his.

"You wanna make a mess all over my expensive fucking leather, huh?" His voice was torn, shredded, a snarl past his teeth. "Tell me."

Theo's hand inched lower, his teeth nipping at your earlobe, and you nodded, swallowing the knot of lust clogging your throat. "Yes-fuck-I do-please."

"Say it," he muttered, voice low, leaning closer to you as he brushed your clit again, sending a burst of electricity through your veins. "I want to hear you fucking beg for me."

Theo's hand found your thighs, slipping between them and pulling them further apart, his heavy breathing washing over your ear.

"Mattheo, fuck-please," you grumbled through a heavy breath, lungs hitching as he teased the band of your thong, slipping under and trailing down to your mound, pausing there. "Please stop being insufferable."

"Oh, Bella...wrong fucking answer..." Theo chuckled, nails biting into your thigh. "Try again."

You groaned, attempting to inch your pelvis forward, attempting to coax his hand further, but Mattheo was unyielding, instead choosing to shift his hold on your face, forcing your jaw apart with your thumb.

"Did you forget that we saved your pretty little ass back there, hm?" His thumb pressed on your tongue, eliciting a gag, his dark eyes taunting you, revelling in your vulnerability. "Drop the fucking attitude or I'll do it for you."

You nodded against his hand, tongue fighting him to no result. His fingers jabbed into your skin, craning your head back, forcing the back of your skull to rest against Theo's shoulder. He relieved your mouth of his thumb, quickly shifting his hand to your neck.

"Tell me you need it." He commanded, tightening his grip, partially obscuring your airway. "Tell me how bad you fucking want it."

"Please," you gasped, spit leaking from the side of your mouth. "I need it so bad, I need you to make me fucking cum-fuck-please..."

"Look at that...much better bambina..." Theo murmured against your ear, his warm breath inspiring a rush of heat to your cunt. "Who knew the spoiled little rich girl could beg."

You rolled your eyes, and Mattheo caught it, returning his thumb to your mouth while simultaneously rewarding your obedience. The pad of his finger drew slow circles around your clit, warmth flooding your body, your lids fluttering in relief. Your hands shifted, one clutching Theo's thigh and the other wrapping around Mattheo's shoulder, thrusting into his hair as Theo pulled your thighs further apart.

"Mm, you're already fucking dripping..." Mattheo growled, rubbing faster in response, sending shocks of pleasure through you, your hips bucking. "Filthy little bitch."

His words, accompanied by his movements, made you groan--and Mattheo huffed, craning your head back further. You were looking into the ceiling--not that it mattered. A haze of pleasure was clouding your vision, drool spilling from your mouth as he massaged your tongue with his thumb.

You felt Theo's fingers creep lower, tugging at the fabric of your panties before slipping under, slicking two of his slender digits in your wetness, teasing over your throbbing entrance. You mewled against Mattheo's thumb, causing him to retract it; and he shushed you with his mouth, capturing you in a slow, breathless kiss, long lashes fluttering shut as he increased the pace on your clit.

Theo's chest was rising and falling against your back as he slowly thrust two fingers into your wet cunt, provoking a restrained squeal as your entire body jerked in response, your cunt clamping hard around him. He growled against your ear, curling his fingers inside of you, scissoring you open as he began to pump them in and out.

"My fucking God, principessa..." Theo husked in your ear, his voice torn. "Such a tight little cunt...so fucking wet..."

As Mattheo pulled back, lips falling to attack your jawline, you were working hard to stifle your moans, spreading your legs wider, hips bucking toward their touch. Their movements were frantic and unyielding, as though they were trying to drive you toward orgasm as quickly as possible, your eyes rolling back and your chest reaching for oxygen it failed to find.

"You want to cum, don't you?" Mattheo muttered, his own voice cracking. You bobbed your head frantically, chewing on your lip hard enough to make it bleed. "Let's hear you say it, pretty little whore..."

"Please," you whispered, your voice shredded, trying your best to keep your voice down as Theo increased his pace, the slick sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you filling the heated silence within the Range. "Please-please-please-"

"Please, what?" Theo husked, his voice breathless, driving his fingers deeper into your cunt.

"Let me cum," you pleaded, eyes squeezing shut, unable to stop the tightness coiling in your core, unable to slow your impending release. "Please, please let me cum."

"Mm," their response was a collective groan, Mattheo's lips trailing back up to find yours as he murmured against your lips. "Cum for us."

Theo grunted, working a third finger into your cunt, rolling his wrist, and Mattheo increased his pace, the two of them collectively dragging you over the edge--and without being able to control it, you wailed, hips bucking and walls pulsing as you came around their fingers, your ears ringing and your heart pounding as the results of their overwhelming, cumulative movements wracked through you, drowning you in a sea of pleasure.

"There we go..." Theo cooed against your pulse, the deep husk of his voice rolling through your body like thunder, your orgasm wracking every nerve, every cell. "I feel that little cunt squeezing me...fuck-I need to get inside you..."

"Oh Gods...oh fuck-" you whimpered, gasping and trying to catch your breath against Mattheo's mouth as the two of them continued to run their fingers along your slit, switching places as Theo brushed his first two fingers over your clit, and Mattheo thrust two of his own into your still sensitive cunt.

Your nails dug into Theo's thigh, the other gripping Mattheo's curls with force. "Fuck-oh...I can't--Theo-Matt...Gods-"

You broke open, moans flowing from your lips like water, unable to keep yourself quiet, unable to take the onslaught of pleasure that was encompassing you. Still sensitive, you were squirming, whining, whimpering into Mattheo's mouth, and they both shushed you, cooing softly as they increased the pace on your cunt.

Mattheo's free hand kneaded your tit, muttering against your lips. "Come on, little slut...you can take it..."

"We know how much you like to be spoiled, principessa..." Theo husked, lips pressed to your ear. "Don't pretend to be shy now...

You whimpered, squirming as you fought through your overstimulation, and this only seem to spur them on as Mattheo grunted before moving back to the side of your neck, hungry to consume any inch of your skin his eyes could catch.

With another groan, he latched on to you and sucked broken capillaries to existence, littering you with his possession. His hips rocked into the side of your thigh, the bulge between his legs becoming more insatiable with every passing second, electrifying the already unfathomable sensations sweltering inside you.

The atmosphere in the car was quickly changing, the two of them becoming far more aggressive, far less patient. You were flying, heart hammering in your chest, every single inch of your skin buzzing and shaking with pleasure. You knew it wouldn't be long before you broke again, your body screaming and begging for more.

"Such a pretty cunt..." Mattheo purred, curling his fingers inside you, jabbing you deep, rocking his wrist in ruthless rhythm. "You like that, little slut? You like letting us make you cum like this?"

"Yes-fuck-" the response was immediate, involuntary. "I love it-I fucking love it..."

"We wanted to do this years ago, bambina..." Theo purred, his voice like a soothing melody in your ear. "All those years in Slytherin...seeing that fat ass in the common room every fucking day..."

"Complete fucking torture." Mattheo added with a groan, the strain in his voice palpable. "I'm going to fuck the life out of this tight little cunt...fucking cum for me, slut."

You whined, your thighs quaking with the onset bursts of ecstasy, Theo moving his fingers over your clit in short, rough strokes--wetness seeping from between your legs and moistening the leather beneath them.

And as much as you tried to keep it together; to not crumble so fucking quickly, the two of them were too skilled, knowing your signs too well, and began to increase their paces, thrusting you deep under the surface of bliss once more--eyes lolling back as your body shivered in wake of your second orgasm.

"That's right." Theo purred, praise lining his lips. "Good girl... così buono.”

Gasping, you swallowed, noting the drool that had began trailing down your chin, and once you were squirming in sensitivity, they both pulled off--conveniently synchronized with the moment the vehicle's movements slowed, before finally coming to an abrupt stop. A discreet knock on the partition signaled your arrival at the destination.

As you readjusted your dress in an attempt to regain some form of decency, Theo popped open the door, gripping your hand and practically dragging you out of the car. Mattheo's palm lingered on your lower back, holding you steady and guiding you until you stood upright, each of them waiting until you'd regained some form of composure before moving. The two of them led you towards the villa, with Theo's firm grip wrapped around your wrist and Mattheo's hand planted securely on your lower back, your heels clacking off the stones with each step.

They ushered you into the opulent house, a stunning display of luxury that stole your breath. Mattheo swiftly took your purse, carelessly placing it on a polished bench by the entrance, shedding his jacket as he disappeared down a hall. Guided by Theo, you marveled at the plush furnishings and elegant decor as he led you toward the kitchen, his grip on your wrist tight enough to bruise.

The second you entered, the atmosphere shifted, the air becoming charged with anticipation as Theo's lips crashed onto yours once again, hungry and urgent and unyielding. He shoved your back against the marble counter, his hands gripping bunches of your dress and tugging it up your thighs, stomach, chest, before urging you to raise your hands--tugging it off and tossing it to the floor beside you.

His eyes widened, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he took in your exposed figure, inch by inch. "Oh mio Dio..."

A mischievous smirk played on your lips as you took hold of his tie, pulling him closer. Your lips collided passionately, and with a sense of urgency, your fingers worked swiftly to strip off his suit jacket and move toward his belt. The desire for release consumed you; you needed him now.

"Fuck, you're so hard..." you murmured against his lips as you'd undid the clasp and grazed your fingers over his throbbing length, wasting no time before tugging his pants down, revealing his black briefs. "Does this make us even?"

"Not quite, but it's a good start," he groaned, his words a breath past his teeth. "You one time inside that little pussy can settle a fucking three-hundred dollar debt?"

You huffed, biting back your smirk. "Only one way to find out."

In a swift, intense motion, Theo seized your hips, spinning you around and forcefully pushing you against the cool kitchen counter. Your breath hitched as he pressed his body against yours, hard cock grinding against your ass as his hands deftly hooked around the band of your panties, smoothly sliding them down your trembling thighs.

As soon as the fabric hit the floor, he groaned, knocking your legs further apart with his knee. His rough palm caressed the curve of your ass, before following it with a sharp spank, making you yelp, jolting forward as pleasured pain rang out over your skin.

Instinctively, you clenched, and from the border of your vision you noticed movement--Mattheo joining back in from where ever the fuck he'd ran off to, his tie removed and the first of his buttons undone.

Bringing himself to the side of the counter opposite you, his eyes traced your form, bent over, breasts pressed against the cool marble, Theodore looming behind you as he began to tug down his boxers, his thick length springing free in relief; tip glistening. The part of the counter you were bent over was not very wide, giving Mattheo the perfect position to loom in front of you, entangling his hands in your hair as he leant down, softly pressing his lips to yours.

"You want this, puttana?" Theodore cooed, teasing your cunt with false thrusts as he slicked himself along your slit, palm caressing the burning flesh of your ass. Before you could even think to respond, he spanked you once more, your flesh quaking from his power as you whimpered into Mattheo's mouth. "You want to take this cock like a good little slut?"

Mattheo pulled back, allowing you the ability to speak--his dark eyes boring into yours as he murmured. "Answer him."

You swallowed, yelping as Theo whacked you again. "Yes! I want to..."

"What to, what?" Mattheo purred, the sadistic nature of his voice drawing heat from your veins. One free hand shifting to palm his crotch.

“I want to take your cock..." you groaned, and Mattheo cocked an eyebrow, a silent gesture telling you to finish the sentence. "...like a good little slut."

"There we go..." Mattheo murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. "Such a good girl."

"Mm-so fucking wet," Theo groaned, teasing you with the head of his cock. "Shit..."

With his hand on your hip, he plunged into your warm, wet cunt, choking on his breath as you whined and pulsed around him, enveloping him to the base. Fuck--he was big--his thick girth stretching you open, the sweet sting causing you to moan helplessly into Mattheo's mouth.

"Fuck..." Theo cursed under his breath, hissing your name as you clenched around his length, head slamming into your cervix with the very first thrust. “Porca puttana…you're so tight..."

Mattheo pulled back, straightening out and smirking down at you as he fumbled with his belt, undoing the latch before pulling out his throbbing length, your stomach instantly doing a cartwheel at the sight of it. He was just as big as Theo, and equally as fucking needy--cock pulsing as he wrapped his fist around it, pumping himself a few times as he eyed your body--took in the sight of his best friend fucking you against his kitchen counter.

And then, Mattheo's hand resumed its place in your hair, yanking your head back as he directed your eyes to meet his. He leaned in slightly, dark gaze burning wounds into your skin. "Open that filthy mouth...stick out your tongue."

Moans were flying from your lips as Theo quickened his pace, pulling out and slamming back in, pinching your hips between his fingers, cursing under his breath in Italian. Through the haze of pleasure, you obeyed Mattheo's command, jaw dropping open before sticking out your tongue.

Mattheo leaned in, closer, and spat into your mouth. "You want to suck this cock?”

Your eyes rolled back, quickly losing yourself in the hurricane of pleasure Theo was providing you with, a deep growl leaving Mattheo's throat as he tightened his grip on your hair.

“Yes, please-“ you whimpered, scalp stinging. “Please let me suck your cock.”

With an approving groan, Mattheo moved closer, guiding his twitching length past your lips, using the hold on your hair to crank your head back, the angle allowing him a long, deep stroke into your mouth, and you groaned, gagging around him.

"Shh," Mattheo purred, head falling back, lids fluttering. "Relax your throat for me."

You choked, drooling and panting as he overwhelmed your throat--but he was so far gone, so encased in fogging fizzles of lust that he didn't even put anymore thought toward your struggles, his groans growing louder with every thrust.

"Fuck..." he breathed, tightening his fist in your hair, tugging the strands with force. "That's it," pushing further, he released a moan when your neck bulged, swelling with the invasion of his cock. "Choke on it, whore."

He snapped his hips, pushing deeper, and you gurgled against his dick, but it only caused him to increase his pace, adjusting your head back as he started fucking into your throat. Every thrust brought a noise from your mouth, and every noise he ignored, fingers scraping your skin as bliss overwhelmed his senses.

Your body was throbbing, desperately fighting off its third orgasm, tears stinging your eyes as Theo fucked you deep, stretching you wide, your wails being suffocated by Mattheo's thick cock, your body physically convulsing in overwhelming, toe-curling pleasure.

"She likes this," Theo breathed, his hand snaking under your hip, fingers connecting with your clit, and you wailed against Mattheo's cock, eyes rolling back in your skull as you drowned in pleasure. "…she likes being used like a piccola troia del cazzo.” (little fucking slut)

"Mhm," Mattheo breathed, voice hoarse with pleasure. "Yeah she fucking does."

Delight resonated at their words--you were so drunk on the euphoria of being fucked that you could only moan helplessly in agreement. You were close, your orgasm a quickly rising tide, ready to crash over you at any given moment. Your body was trembling, near convulsing, cunt clamping down around Theo, pushing him dangerously close to his own peak.

"Fuck-" Mattheo choked, lungs sputtering--Theo's fingers swirling your clit harsher, quicker. They were both close, you could tell. "Fucking pretty little mouth feels so good wrapped around me..."

As your eyes fluttered, dangerously close to reaching your own peak, both men stalled, pulling out abruptly. You almost wailed in protest, almost chewed them each out for abandoning you so fucking close to orgasm like that, until they moved, switching places as though it was a silent understanding, as though they communicated without you hearing it.

Theodore stepped around to your side of the counter, quickly fisting your hair and forcing your mouth to his cock. You whimpered, tasting your own juices on his thick length, but before you could even generate a thought in your head, Mattheo sank into your wet heat, sucking in air through his teeth as it swallowed his heavy, hard length.

"Fucking hell..." he groaned, hands sliding up your sides and finding your tits, cupping them as he began pummelling your cunt. "Fuck-this pussy was worth the wait...so fucking worth the wait..."

You howled in ecstasy, moaning and gagging simultaneously as Theodore fucked your throat with no mercy, thrusting in and out with an animalistic pace. Mattheo slid a hand down your stomach, trailing over the mound of your pussy, connecting with your clit and rubbing vigorous circles against it. The reaction was immediate--your whole body jolting and withering under each of their massive frames, your lungs gasping and panting for air.

"Fuck-you're squeezing me so hard-I'm gonna cum in this tight cunt..." Mattheo breathed, free hand giving your swollen ass cheek another harsh smack. "Fucking slut-shit..."

You whinged, your climax fast approaching, and Theo jerked your head further back, meeting your glossy eyes. "You want to cum, huh?" He muttered, fucking deep into your throat. "You want to fucking cum for us?"

You nodded, or tried to anyways, and Theo grinned, gracing your cheek with a playful smack. "Go on then."

Body obedient out of habit, you snapped, pleasure storming through your raw, shredded nerves, stripping them of any control they had left, legs twitching and lids squeezing shut while you screamed onto his dick. He cursed in satisfaction, his hands squeezing fistfuls of your hair while he held off his own peak, fucking into you until you began to struggle for breath, your lips and jaw going numb.

"Fuck me,” Mattheos voice was shredded, physically in pain, free hand whacking your ass. "She likes cumming on my fucking cock…sexy little bitch-fuck-“

Theo groaned, the sound doing unspeakable things to your body as Mattheo pulled his fingers off your clit and returned to clutch your hip. You knew they both were close, their movements turning erratic--Theo's chest sputtering with each breath until as you felt his hot cum shoot down the back of your throat, you mewled--swallowing every last drop.

You must have blacked out, you must have disconnected from your own body for a moment, because when you came to--all you knew was you could feel Mattheo's climax rupturing through him--you felt the violent fucking into your cervix, the hitching, stuttering of his hips, felt him silence himself against your back while he poured jets of cum into your cunt, felt him throbbing at the hilt as he stopped, wiping the sweat from his brow as he pulled out, tucking himself away.

The room was silent, and for a few moments you were paralyzed, focused on trying to bring breath back into your lungs, focused on trying to return your heart rate to a normal pace. At this point, you weren't sure what was intoxicating you anymore--wether it was the alcohol or the buzzing, overwhelming lust that was slowly fizzling off your skin--but you knew that you were spent, your body nothing more than a limp, exhausted, sweaty mass of flesh.

Mattheo gripped your arms, tugging you off the counter. Theo passed him his white dress shirt, and Mattheo aided you in slipping your arms inside before wrapping his arm around your waist--walking you over toward the couch, plopping down and lying back along its length. Theodore joined in, moving to your other side, the both of them nuzzling up against your exhausted body as the three of you worked to come down from your highs, worked to return your pulses back to a normal pace.

After a moment, once your head had stopped spinning, you flicked your gaze over the both of them, smirk teasing your lips. “Round two?”

5K notes · View notes

oldbookist · 2 years

Text

I was working on a history paper today and found a book from 1826 that seemed promising (though dull) for my topic, on an English Catholic family’s experience moving to France.

And it ended up not really being suitable for my purposes, as it goes. But part of the book is actually devoted to Kenelm, the author’s oldest son…and man, his dad loved him.

Kenelm seems to have had a fairly typical upbringing for a young English gentleman, although he is a bit slow to read. At twelve he’s sent to board at Stoneyhurst College—often the big step towards independence in a boy’s life, as he’ll most likely only see his parents sporadically from now on, and then leave for university.

When he’s sixteen, however, his father moves the whole family to France, so Kenelm gets pulled out of school to be with them again. Shortly after the move, his dad notices that he seems depressed. Kenelm confides in him that he’s been suffering from “scruples” for the last eighteen months—most likely what we’d now call an anxiety disorder.

And his dad is pissed—at the school, because apparently Kenelm had been seeking help there and received none, despite obviously struggling with mental health issues. So his dad takes it seriously. He sets him up to be counseled by a priest—there were no therapists back then—and doesn’t send him away to be boarded again, instead teaching him at home himself.

And his mental health does improve. His dad describes him as well-liked, gentle, pious, kind and eager to please others; at twenty he’s thinking about a career in diplomacy or going into the military—which his dad thinks he is not particularly suited for, considering his favorite pastimes are drawing and reading. He’s excited about his family’s upcoming move to Italy, and he’s been busy learning Italian and teaching it to his siblings.

Henry Kenelm Beste dies of typhus at twenty years, four months, and twenty-five days. That’s how his dad records it. That’s why his dad is telling this story. It’s not an extraordinary story—Kenelm’s story struck me because he sounds so…ordinary, like so many kids today. And he was so, so loved. His dad tried hard to help him compassionately with his mental health at a time where our current knowledge and support systems didn’t exist. You can feel how badly he wanted his son to be remembered and loved, to impress how dearly beloved he was to the people who knew him in life.

I hope he’d be glad to know someone is still thinking of Kenelm over 200 years later.

Anyway, that’s why I’m crying today.

#history

28K notes · View notes

august126 · 1 month

Text

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

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

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

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

Words:12,334

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

___________________________________________________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s the occasion?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right, his friend.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t laugh at that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anyway, Dad, so Becca-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he liked it.

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

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

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

And yet, you simply do not care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you were pretty fucking alright with that.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Says you.”

“Says me?”

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

Bingo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Waterproof” my ass.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, you were fucked

___________________________________________________________

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

1K notes · View notes

call-sign-shark · 4 months

Text

Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

2K notes · View notes