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hellishjoel · 10 months

Text

cherry

7.6k / pairing: dbf/neighbor!joel x f!reader

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pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

summary: Joel invites you over for a movie night with your parents and Sarah out of town. How are you supposed to focus on the film with his hand on your thigh?

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), NO OUTBREAK, neighbor!joel, age gap (reader is in their early 20s while Joel is in his 40s), cursing, alcohol consumption, use of pet names, softdom! Joel AND dom!Joel (restraint by command), oral sex (m receiving), praise kink, reader titty appreciation, super descript about Joel’s bulging biceps (we all know the picture that came out with him holding onto his luggage and I have not REST)

A/N: I wrote all of this today.. I don't know what's wrong with me. I hope you enjoy! I had a lot of fun writing this, I hope these two are growing on ya'll as much as they're growing on me <33

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him. You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder. “You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

A few times throughout the summer, the lakehouse was yours and yours alone. While on vacation, your parents always make it a point to go out to dinner and drinks with their old friends that lived in a neighboring town, leaving you in blissful solitude.

You used to go with them when you were younger, too young to be left home alone. You’d hang out with their son, Nathan, on the tire swing or go swimming in their pool.

Once you and Nathan both turned thirteen, you found that Nathan was involved in a lot of sports leagues that summer, and therefore he wasn’t going to be around much. Your parents didn’t want to punish you and force you to hang out with four grown adults all day, so they let you stay behind at the lakehouse.

It was your first sense of freedom, taking care of yourself, having your own routine. You remember breaking into your piggy bank and riding your bike into town with Sarah that day to play at the arcade. You came back home with your lackluster arcade prizes and made mediocre hot dogs. It was a little lonely, the house often bustling with noise from your parents, but it was also serene to be alone.

Needless to say, you were at peace to wave your parents off this morning as they backed out of the driveway and left you and the lakehouse for the day.

Your eyes flitted over to the Miller’s. Both Joel’s pickup truck and Sarah’s used and abused 2000’s red Saturn were parked in the shade. Part of you couldn’t believe Sarah could even drive. That five-year-ish age difference felt even more profound as young adults.

You tried to find ways to busy yourself tonight until your date with Joel. Date? Not a date. Hang out. Movie night. Meet up. Rendezvous. Literally any other word besides date.

You needed to distract yourself because tonight was a ways away.

You busied yourself with cleaning your room and bathroom, followed by reading on the dock. When it got too warm, you took a refreshing dip in the lake, followed by some leisurely sunbathing. After a shower, you found solace in jotting down your thoughts in your journal, channeling any residual nerves about the upcoming night.

You found that documenting your summer experiences provided you with a sense of clarity. You aimed to revisit these entries later in life, reminiscing about the intensity of your emotions. These pages held memories of your first boyfriend, the elation of passing your driving test, the ache of lost friendships, and the journey to college.

After the bonfire, before you couldn’t even think about sleeping, you were ferociously writing in your journal. The way your heart raced, the way you were so proud of yourself for taking a leap of faith with Joel. Because it was so, so worth it.

In the decades to come, the memories you once experienced that felt so fresh would naturally fade. That’s the point of your journals, to document how deeply you felt about your life at the time. Pouring your emotions onto the page felt like tending to a wounded heart. In hindsight, those entries about sadness and turmoil elicited a little giggle. Your mom always told you that it was better to feel anything than not to feel at all.

You wondered how much Joel felt, like, really felt. On the surface, he was as cold and unmoveable as stone. What was he like with his passions and the people he cared about? You knew he loved Sarah to an unimaginable degree. He would do anything for her. But besides his own blood, what were the things he cared about?

After putting pen to paper, you shoved your journal under your pillow and started to get ready. You over-dicked-around, and now the clock was ticking.

You wanted to look somewhat nice. After your recent interactions with Joel, one where you quite literally looked like you just rolled out of bed, you were keen on looking at least somewhat presentable.

But it was a movie night, after all, and you wanted to be comfortable. You opted to wear something simple, not too date-ey, not too casual. But you did wear Joel’s hoodie. It wasn’t for any overt purpose but because Joel’s house consistently seemed to mimic an icebox. Joel struck you as someone who could thrive in Alaska, content in solitude amid the cold.

The hoodie still smelled like him, mixed with a little residual bonfire smoke, but his scent was still deeply lodged into the fabric. A navy hoodie with fraying material around the neckline and cuffs. Well-worn and well-loved. He must have loved it enough not to take it to work because it was free of any stains and rips from what you could tell.

You twirled your finger around the hoodie’s strings, looking yourself over slowly in the mirror. Your eagerness practically floated you over to Joel’s house, Sarah’s car now gone. She must have left for her camping trip.

After taking cautious steps up Joel’s rickety porch, you sent a rhythmic knock against the Miller’s front door. You heard a few heavy steps on the other side, hearing a lock flip before Joel appeared in front of you.

“It’s about time, I was starting to sweat.” You said as you pulled open the screen door that divided you two before walking past him, catching his subtle eye roll as you did so.

The house looked like the same as it did ten years ago. Lots of dark wood, a cozy living room with a fireplace, and a lamp in the corner by the window. Joel had the perfect view of the lake. You naturally gravitated further into the room to look at the water glisten as the last hits of sunshine glided over the horizon.

“You want somethin’ to drink?”

Your head snapped to Joel, your arms already crossed at the cooler temperature piercing through the material of your clothes.

“Yeah, what do you have?” Your small steps trekked into the kitchen, finally taking a full look at Joel. Your face faltered at the sight of him.

Joel had traded in his usual tattered green flannel for a nicer, cleaner denim button-up. He had on his staple worn-in jeans, and for whatever reason, he still had on his work boots. But his hair was sort of run-through, freshly showered and combed back. He looked handsome, clean, like he was trying.

You slyly smiled at him. He seemed to quickly catch your drift, already avoiding your eye contact with a huff. “I got... Whiskey,”

“Ew, no.”

“Root beer,”

“Nope.”

Joel let out an excruciatingly long sigh as he ducked his head further into the depths of his fridge, mumbling something about you being a piece of work.

“It’s water, or,” with a groan, he stood up from the fridge, “this bottle of wine. Probably old.”

Old? The bottle looked nothing but. No dust, fresh label, barely chilled. You didn’t want to call out the poor man for trying to make tonight classy, but you knew Joel had purchased this bottle of wine for tonight. For you.

If it were any other date or any other guy, you would have pushed his nose into it a bit. Teased them for caring and being so sweet. But this wasn’t any other guy, this was Joel. And if you ever tried to admit that you saw right through him, he would clam up for the rest of the evening out of his adorable bashfulness. So you let it be. For now.

“Wine’s good.” You say casually with a little nod, trying to relax your cocky smile. Even when he turned around to fetch some old wine glasses inside the very top of a kitchen cabinet, you could tell he was satisfied with himself. Hiding a smile with his back turned.

You pulled the bottle closer to read the label. You rolled it around in your hand, your thumb tracing the stamped lettering. Cherry wine.

“Haven’t had a chance to eat all day, got us some pizzas,” Joel said as his head nodded to the side, following the direction to two pizzas still warm and in their cardboard box homes on the counter.

“Can’t have a movie night without pizza.” Your voice cooed as you set down the wine to take a peak inside, seeing all of its cheesy glory.

Joel topped off a singular wine glass, your head twisting curiously at just the one. He clinked your glass with his beer bottle, and you rolled your eyes.

“Thanks.” You murmured, turning on your heel to grab your glass and one of the pizza boxes before walking it to his living room.

You sat right in the middle of the couch, not giving Joel any excuse to sit too far away.

“Scootch,” Joel said as he motioned with his beer bottle to make room on the couch. You made a little noise of disapproval toward him.

“Mm-mm.” You shook your head.

“What?”

Your sneaker tapped the heel of his boot.

“Take those off. You can’t relax during a movie still wearing work boots.”

He looked a little perplexed before looking down at his boots. Probably forgot they were even on. They were practically his spare feet at this point.

“Fine. You too.” He said as his steel toe gently nudged your sneakers in return. You softly nodded, both of you undoing your laces. Sitting on the couch arm, Joel worked to loosen one boot and then the other, hearing the methodical snap of the laces. You slip yours off with ease, picking them up by the upper heel collar and tossing them by the door. Joel just kicked his aside and sat down next to you with a thump into the cushion.

“We’re watching Pride & Prejudice.” You commandeered the remote out of his hand, his eyebrow cocking to you in disbelief.

“The hell is that?”

Disbelief tangled your facial expression. “You’ve never seen Pride & Prejudice?”

Joel’s cocked his head to the side, face sitting like stone. Really?

“Do I look like the type’a guy that watches Pride & Prejudices?”

You rolled your eyes and huffed.

“It’s based on the novel by Jane Austen. About... literally so much. The independence of women. Societal norms relating to gender and marriage. Any of this ring a bell?”

“I know Sarah likes it. That’s about it.” Your smile quips up as you click play. “Perfect.”

“Do we have to?” His annoyance held no restraint.

“This movie night is to get back into my good graces, is it not?” You asked as your body leaned away, getting a good look at him.

Through tight lips, he held back a smile before nodding a little and turning to the opening credits. “Yes, ma’am.”

It didn’t take long for Joel’s arm to settle around your shoulders, bringing your body into his side. His thumb was stroking the hoodie you wore, his hoodie.

In his close proximity once again, your senses pick up on his now all too familiar scent; Woody, minty, a little bit of citrus from his body wash. He smelled good, you wonder if he wore cologne tonight or if this was his natural musk. You wouldn’t put it past Joel to naturally smell this good. He was good at a lot of things without even trying.

A few slices of pizza and two glasses of wine later, you started to feel the weight of Joel’s unbearably heavy arm. You released yourself from him and opted to turn and rest your side against the back of the couch cushions, putting your legs in his lap.

You hadn’t been watching the movie for the last twenty minutes. Couldn’t stop trying to subtly look at how handsome Joel looked in the flicker of the television’s light from your peripheral. You couldn’t help it. He looked so big and hot, like a lumberjack, his stupid build alone making you fold.

You bite at the inside of your cheek as Joel’s large and warm palm gently make slow strokes up and down your calf. Your body was trying not to twitch. Your heart was thrumming in your throat. You glanced up at him again, his eyes lasered in on the television.

“Why’d he…” Joel’s voice trailed off, bringing your attention back to the screen.

Your eyelashes fluttered, your brain trying to get you out of Joel Fantasy World and back into the film. “Hm? What?”

“Why’d his hand cramp like that? Why’d they film that part?” Without intention, Joel’s curiosity was evident in his question. It immediately made you smile as you watched the television again, your body slumping into his side.

“It’s not a hand cramp, he’s flexing it. It’s the film’s interpretation of his like… emotional turmoil and struggle. His feelings are evolving for Elizabeth, though he’s trying to appear all aloof and distant towards her. But their physical connection, he can’t really hide it, y’know? He can’t hide how he feels. So he flexes his hand because he’s affected by her presence and her touch. He can’t help it.”

Joel’s hanging onto every word you say. You’re not so sure if he’s interested in the film as much as he is in hearing you talk about it. The hand that was messing around on your calf was now trailing higher up your thigh. And flexing the higher it climbed.

Your eyes looked from his amber ones to his lips, your heart racing faster in your chest. With one hand still clutching your wine glass, you managed to swing one leg over his lap to straddle him. You folded first. You couldn’t take Joel’s achingly slow touches.

His enjoyment was obvious in his movements, his calloused hands slowly pushing up your thighs until they landed on the security of your waist. He was gripping the hoodie in his fists, observing your silhouette.

“This mine, too.” It wasn’t a question, he was pointing it out to you. Joel giving you his own clothes to wear was by no mistake. It was a way of marking what was his, even if it was just in his mind.

“Mine now.” Your words were whispered, leaning down and kissing at the hook of his jawline.

“Like you in it. Wear it a hell’uva lot better than I do.” The shift in his voice was clear, huskier, and a little touch drunk. The film’s volume seemed softer now, playing as white noise and falling abandoned.

His words made your stomach flip, your teeth purposely grazing against his skin. The motion made his hands trail down lower to the globes of your ass, humbly squeezing the flesh with the spans of his palms. A weak moan left your lips against his ear as he planted kisses on the inner side of your neck and on your shoulder. He was so fuckin’ greedy for you.

“Joel,” you whispered between kisses along his jawline, lips coming up to his chin as one of your hands gently cupped the side of his neck while the other clutched your wine glass for dear life.

As soon as your lips came close to his, you faltered. And Joel could tell.

Suddenly both of your eyes were open, soft, and holding contact. Your lips parted, but nothing came out. The only thing that actually came from you was a little sigh of disappointment, your eyes shyly flitting away.

Joel could sense the shift, his hand coming to gently cup your cheek and bring your eyes back to his. He didn’t look mad like you maybe expected of him.

You could feel his jaw going slack under your thumb, your mouth sucking in the side of your cheek as you sat in awkward silence. You sort of wanted to leap out of his lap and return to the movie. But he wouldn’t let you, he planted you there with his hand on your hip and forced you to look at him. You teetered your wine glass on his shoulder.

“You wanna kiss me?” His voice was barely above a whisper, causing a few syllables to be cut out due to the raspiness. You slowly nod. A beat passes. “Why won’t ya let me then?”

This was Joel’s second or so attempt to kiss you. The first time was on the tailgate of his truck, you didn’t even think about letting him kiss you in his woodshed.

You weren’t trying to remain mysterious or aloof, something he managed to do so naturally. You shifted in his lap uncomfortably, your eyes drifting to the window behind his head and watching the water shift in the black of night.

“It’s not that deep, Joel. Just don’t want anyone to get attached.” You shrug and shake your head. “I don’t know, who cares?”

“I care.” Even blasted on movie pizza and beers, he was as quick as a whip. His care wasn’t soft, it was strong. He cared like a fiercely loyal shield.

You exhaled a deep sigh, your chest reflecting your breath as he slowly brought you back to him.

“I’m scared that I’ll like it.” The movie’s distant volume was comforting white noise to your nerve-wracked conversation with Joel. This was perhaps the most you’ve talked with him in one sitting. And about something so deeply personal, too.

He took in what you said, slowly beginning to shake his head as his hand cupped more seriously against your jawline.

“”t’s just a kiss.” His tone was seductive, sincere. Whispering like no one else in the world could hear. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t feel pressured, Joel was looking at you like he genuinely cared about what you had to say. About the movie, about the kissing. He bought you wine, he got pizzas, and he’s suffering through a period drama to sit beside you on his couch. Damn you, Joel Miller.

You felt your body relax into his again, no longer cold and rigid. Your bodies meshed as you fell into the front of his chest, your hand on his neck moving up to cup his jaw. You tilted up his face and received no resistance. Just kiss him.

You met his lips, soft and sweet, delicate and gentle. Your hand slipped from his jaw and landed absentmindedly on his chest, feeling his thumping heartbeat against your palm.

You didn’t pull away. It was impossible.

He tasted like mint and whiskey, with hints of residual smoke from a cigarette earlier in the day. You wouldn’t know he smoked unless you were tasting him like you were right now.

Joel was encouraging something out of you, deep and primal, as you let the kiss deepen. He took the lead with a heady mix of softness and urgency.

He set a scorching fire between your legs, purely drunk on his lips alone. It sent a shiver down your spine how intense this stone-like man could be. Your mouths moved with desire and rhythm, feeling an electric spark that sent your senses ablaze.

Goosebumps had sprinkled across the skin of your arms, your once soft hand on his jaw now clutching him there and tugging lightly at his curly tendrils. You weren’t letting him go.

Your sounds filled the room, hot and wet kisses punching the air from both of your lungs.

A breath was shared, your forehead on his as both of your chests rose and fell together.

His eyes caught yours. More?

You gently nod. Please.

He was back with you in a hot heat, both of you wanting, no, needing more of one another.

He balanced a tantalizing fusion of passion and longing, a magnetic pull that had you grinding your hips down into his lap.

The world around you faded into a blur as you felt his tongue glide across your lower lip, asking permission. Your lips easily parted, tongues dancing and melting, your hands shaking a bit in excitement.

Joel was consuming you. His tongue marking his territory as he explored your mouth before kissing you heatedly once more. You realized that the kiss wasn’t an exploration of feelings at all, Joel wanted to languish in your taste, stake out the claim of your mouth. Taste and territory.

A low grunt left the depths of his throat as your hips ground over him with desperation now. You could feel his dick swelling against your ass.

Your lips quirked up in a smirk against his, you liked that you could feel his facial expressions, and he, yours.

Without thinking, you went to cup his face in both hands, your wine glass dropping onto Joel’s chest, and what little wine you had left was splashing his denim button-up red. He didn’t even notice.

“Joel--, wait,” you were breathless as you pulled away, his lips moving to the open expanse of your neck instead, his arms tight around your lower back. He could care less about his shirt, or the wine, or the spare glass rolling around between your stomachs.

You laughed breathlessly, closing your eyes as you kept your chests apart, careful not to get wine on his favorite sweatshirt next. Your head fell back, your hair fanning out as you grinned at the ceiling.

“Joel, your shirt is stained.” You tried to point out, both of your hands clamped onto his shoulders weakly to keep him at a distance. But his lust-filled lips had a taste of you that he couldn’t replace. His teeth grazed the soft skin of your neck, wincing lightly as you let out a broken little whimper.

“Don’t care.”

Oh my god. Fuck. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, desperate for more, but you weren’t going to let him stain one of maybe three decent shirts he owned. And with wine, you had to be fast acting.

“Come on,” you said weakly, not even convinced yourself to break away. “Joel, your shirt-”

“Don’t. Care.” He growled through gritted teeth, eyes hungry as you felt him lick a hot, slow stripe up your neck to your jaw. Fuck, he felt so good.

Despite his clear lack of empathy for his shirt, you felt bad because it was your spill, your accident to try and make up to him.

You rolled your eyes playfully and shook your head. He didn’t stop until you planted both palms against his pecs and pushed him back with little force, watching as he fell into the cushions with a lazy smirk on his face as he looked over you. Joel was drunk off your kiss.

You found your footing on the hardwood floors, grabbing his hands and attempting to pull him up and off the couch. He playfully resisted, just kept sitting there as you weakly tried again.

“Stop bein’ such a dick.” You huffed. His laugh filled the room, nearly startling you. It was always quite the opportunity to hear him laugh so big like that.

“Couldn’t pull me up no matter how hard ya try.”

“Shut up. Stand up.” You ordered with little follow-through from Joel.

He yanked his hands from yours and planted his palms onto the tops of his thighs, pushing himself off the couch and following you aimlessly to his master bathroom.

“Do you have some hydrogen peroxide? Dishwasher detergent?”

He stayed silent but looked at you quizzically. You rolled your eyes and started looking through different cabinets.

“Baking soda?” Cocking your head to him, he nods and disappears before returning to you with the little orange Arm & Hammer cardboard box.

You cleared your throat and looked at him expectantly.

“Joel, I can’t clean the shirt with you wearing it. Take it off.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you shouldn’t have been surprised to see his lips upturned in a cocky smirk. Sometimes you just wanted to smack it clean off his face.

Fine. With a sense of ferocity, you began to take him down button by button. He lets you. He even steps closer to your body, and you try not to get distracted by him.

“I don’t wanna be the one that messes up your nice shirts.” You murmur.

“t’s fine.” He cups your cheek again and tries to divert your attention once more. He’s not even actively trying to kiss you, he just wants to get a rise out of you now. You’re trying not to smile at him in the reflection of his bathroom mirror. Your elbow jabs into his bare abdomen after you’ve peeled the wet material from his torso.

“Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

Forcing yourself to turn away from him wasn’t enough. Now he’s behind you planting kisses down the side of your neck with his hands on your waist and toying with the hem of your sweatshirt.

You had to admit being on his lap like that got you hot and bothered to the tenth degree. Now you were nursing a stained shirt and the ache in your core.

“‘lright, fine.” Oh, thank god. You could breathe again. You were this close to caving, and caving to Joel was a losing game.

He found a towel and wiped at his chest and torso while you blotted away with a paper towel the excess wine in his shirt. After getting out what you could, you sprinkled the baking soda over the little splashes of red and added a few drops of water to make somewhat of a paste. Now you just had to wait for it to dry and toss it in the laundry.

You hoped you didn’t ruin the denim shirt, you quite liked how he looked in it. The blue denim complimented the soft silver in his curls, and the cuffs rolled up accentuated his biceps.

Speaking of biceps. Your eyes innocently watched him move around the bathroom shirtless. He was somewhat toned, a handsome mix of dad bod and muscle. Like a sexy lumberjack. He was big and broad, wide in the shoulders and smaller in the waist. With all the summer log chopping, his biceps were toned.

A shaky breath left your mouth, his eyes catching yours in the mirror before you quickly looked away, washing your hands of the baking soda paste you had made.

“It’s uh… It’s good now. Just let it dry and put it in the washer. Alone. Without anything else in there.” You quickly nodded, over-clarifying again. You braved looking at him again in the mirror. Mistake. A smug little smile that beat up your guts was laced on his lips.

Your hand was quick to reach for the door handle, but his hand was already on your other wrist and pulling you into his front.

“Get back here,” Your name drips off his lips, and it’s drenched in lust.

Fuck it.

Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck, feeling his raised trap muscles under your forearms as your lips reunite with Joel’s.

Getting that first kiss between you two out of the way was a blessing in disguise because now you knew him. You were acquainted with his lips. You liked his taste, you liked how soft he was, you liked the stubble of his beard, and you liked the way his warm palms were on you as soon as you entered his space. He embraced every inch of you, his kisses were feverish, and they left your mind in a tailspin. No one had ever kissed you like this before.

You ducked your head down before he could stop you, kissing over his wine-spoiled chest. You kissed lower and lower before licking a slow stripe up his sternum, tasting residual cherry and sweetness from the wine.

Your lips parted as you looked in the mirror, realizing now that he had pinned both your wrists behind your back and planted them at your tailbone.

Your doe eyes innocently looked up at him, his face masked in desire and an appetite for you.

“Get on your knees.”

A breath hitched in your throat, your eyes trying to focus as you looked over Joel’s face. Your eyes fluttered down to his biceps, strong and defined with veins lining like rivers coursing along the curves as they held your wrists back. You didn’t hesitate to drop down to your knees.

He had let go of your wrists, so you brought your hands up to undo the button of his jeans, but he tsk-ed you.

“But I-”

“But nothing. Put your hands behind your back again.” You pouted but obeyed. You wanted to touch him.

Your lips parted as you watched Joel pop open the button of his jeans, his thumbs lining the hem of his jeans and boxers at his hips before pushing them down to his thick thighs. His cock was already half-hard from when you were grinding on him back on the couch.

Your breaths grew heavier, you couldn’t manage to stay in his hoodie. You peeled the heavy navy sweatshirt off, leaving you in nothing underneath, which earned sweet praise from Joel as soon as you laced your hands once more behind your back.

“So fuckin’ pretty.. Look at you.” He lightly leaned over and cupped one of your tits, massaging it in the heart of his palm and rolling your taut nipple around with his thumb. A quiet whine was elicited from your throat, face crumbling as your hands fought hard not to release themselves behind your back.

You wanted to touch him, cup his face, hold his thighs, wrap your hand around his dick that was flush against his stomach.

A harsher tug to your nipple left you moaning, watching as he leaned down and let a long, long dribble of spit connect from his lips down onto your chest. Your head fell back at the cool sensation, feeling it aid the heat of your breasts.

He stood up tall again, broad and towering, as you glanced over to the mirror. The dynamic was almost charming. You on your knees for Joel, his blushing cock swelling against his happy trail. He was so handsome, so greedy.

Without thinking, you released your hands from around your back and moved to steady yourself on his thighs.

“Not gonna tell you again, pretty girl.” You paused and looked to Joel. “No usin’ your hands tonight. Just that dirty mouth a’yours.” His accent was drenched with lust, dripping like syrup.

You whined as you assumed your position with your hands away, not knowing what to expect if you tried to use them again.

You attempted to crawl closer to him, your knees practically between his slightly parted legs.

You kissed up his inner thigh, grinning lightly at the slight taste of his sweat. Your tongue kitten licked at his balls, hearing him seethe in a breath through gritted teeth. Sensitive, a little wrinkled, lightly groomed just for you. It made you smirk that he cared enough to trim.

You tested the waters, letting your warm mouth coat him in saliva, going from one ball to the other until they were both practically dripping. His cock was twitching for your attention, but Joel was above begging and groveling. For now.

With devilish eyes, you looked up to him as you suckled one of his balls. He didn’t stop you, just cursed a little under his breath as his chest moved faster. You picked up the suckling from him when he nursed your sensitive, throbbing clit between his teeth and tongue. Now, it was your turn to repay the favor.

Your lips released him with a pop, and you watched as Joel let out a breath he was holding in. His hand loosely fisted your hair in a loose ponytail atop your head, a little moan leaving your mouth as your scalp tingled with his tug.

Your eyes closed as you worked over the other ball, suckling and licking and doing it all just to watch his cock grow angrier and more jealous of the attention. Your own spit was falling down your lips and chin, coating your breasts in a glistening sheen.

Working without your hands, you used your core to balance yourself against Joel. Your knees dug uncomfortably into the floor. He liked watching you work to suck him off.

You had to look to Joel for assistance, his shaft so hardened now against his stomach that you couldn’t reach. You sat up as straight as you could, Joel smirking down at you and watching you struggle for a few brief moments. “Come ‘ere, pretty girl.” He used the free hand not tangled in your locks to guide his tip down to your open mouth, your lips wrapping loosely around the head.

You made the mistake of releasing him out of habit, whimpering as your knees scrambled on cold tile to get him back to the warmth of your mouth. He opted to help you again, guiding his tip onto your red, wine-stained tongue.

This time, you learned not to release him. Your tongue salivated his tip, swollen and sensitive. You could tell by how tight Joel clutched your hair and nearly pulled you off.

You smirked lazily around him as you took him deeper, your watery eyes on his as you interlocked your fingers by your tailbone.

You were slow at first, little nods back and forth, up and down his shaft. You blinked through any residual tears, slicking him up with your spit and proceeding farther down his shaft. You clenched your eyes closed and choked lightly as you took him to his base, a low groan of praise leaving Joel as his thumb stroked up your cheekbone.

“Fuck me, so fuckin’ good for me, darlin’.” His words were broken by his rasp, but the praise sent you into overdrive.

You bobbed your head at a good pace, Joel guiding you by your hair up and down his shaft, slicked by excess saliva that was dripping onto your tits and your stomach. You had to take a breath, but you learned from earlier. Your head came to rest against his thigh, head foggy as his tip sat plump against your cheek. You looked at the two of you in the mirror, and it was quite a sight.

Joel’s body was planted by his heels, his toned torso and biceps protruding with hints of sweat. You had black-smudged tears on your waterline, and your face was filled with warmth. Your hair was a mess, Joel gently stroking it back from your sweat-glistened forehead as you breathed through your nose. You liked watching you work in the mirror. Watching him get ruined in the mirror. Watching yourself get ruined in the mirror.

You started your rhythm again, this time your eyes locked loosely on the mirror in your peripheral. Joel’s cock made you choke each time you took him deep, but you didn’t let it stop you. He was so close, you had the heady taste of his precum on your tongue. He liked it messy.

“Fuck- can’t,” Joel let out a rugged moan, it felt like it vibrated the tiles under your aching knees. Your wrists were throbbing from keeping your arms back, hands clenched together tight as you followed his rules. “Can’t hold on when you take me so-- so goddamn good.”

You whimper-whined against his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you moved with intent up and down his shaft. You opted just to take what you easily could now, focused on keeping the pace and working towards his orgasm. You thought about Joel fucking your mouth, but he wanted you to feel some sense of control since you had your hands back. Maybe you wanted to lose all control. If it was Joel you were losing it with.

Joel was close, he couldn’t hold back how messy he had gotten. He had a steel-tight grip on your hair, and his breaths were laced with broken moans and grunts of your name. He kept wiping away any tears that slipped past your eyes and onto your cheeks, despite being devastatingly close to an orgasm you knew he was drunk on.

“Yeah, fuck me,” He murmured under his breath, his cock twitching deep in your throat now. “Take me so well... The fuckin’ best, babygirl.” The best.

You watched through blurry, head-dizzy vision as Joel’s ab muscles contorted. “Gonna cum, baby, stay with me.” He panted, eyes locking on yours as you nodded on his shaft and continued your sweet rhythm.

You whimpered as his tip pulsed against your tongue, going down on him as deep as you could and clenching your eyes closed, waiting for Joel’s impending climax. And he kept you there as he painted your throat white.

His cum came out in hot ropes, moaning lowly against his shaft as you focused on tasting him and breathing through your nose. He was salty, little beads landing in the back of your throat as you swallowed around him.

Joel’s moans were glorious, breathy, and aching to say your name. His eyes had fallen closed, his stance still tall and broad. You wanted to touch him, kiss him. You decided to lay your head against his thigh, still breathing around his dick as you watched yourself in satisfaction through his mirror.

“Fuck,” he murmured low, pulling you off of him with a pop. Your jaw lightly throbbed, but god, you felt like you were in the clouds.

“Hands?” Your raw voice whimpered. He gave a silent nod of approval, and with his permission, you released your interlocked hands and lightly toppled back on your ass, leaning against the door to his linen closet.

Joel observed you for a few moments, making sure you were okay before he grabbed a spare washcloth and ran some lukewarm water over it. Your eyes peeked open when you heard his zipper go up on his jeans, seeing he had straightened out his bottom half.

You tried to focus your vision, seeing him squat down beside you and lightly press the cold washcloth to your temple, cheeks, and up your neck. It helped, you were settled, safe, and with Joel.

“Holy fuck.” You finally said once you had come down from your high. Your eyes met Joel’s, seeing both of your mouths were quirked up in lopsided smiles.

“Too much?” He asked, the washcloth now delicately cleaning up the saliva on your breasts.

You slowly shook your head. No, never too much. Just new.

You looked around, feeling an ache in your knees and in your wrists. You rolled your wrists in circles to relieve some pressure on the joints before you pushed your palms up and down your kneecaps gently.

“Hey,” Joel’s words caught your attention, turning to him as he lightly cupped your cheek. “You were fuckin’ perfect, darlin’.” A weak mewl left you, a tired smile on your lips.

“You said the best.”

“Was perfect. Was the best. Did a perfect job.” His praise punched excitement through your veins, regaining your strength to stand back up with Joel’s honorable assistance. You murmur a thanks before you make a grab for Joel’s hoodie. As if he was going to steal it back from you.

Joel excused himself to go clean up the kitchen, leaving an attentive kiss on your cheek before he left you alone.

You took a few minutes to rinse some water around in your mouth and try to brush your fingers through your knotted, matted hair.

“Need to get yourself a brush, Mr. Miller.” You murmur as you pass him in the kitchen, seeing he pulled on a new t-shirt and that he had put some of the leftover pizza in spare Tupperware containers.

“Can’t eat it all by myself, and Sarah won’t be home for a few more days.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. He could so totally finish that pizza if he wanted to. He could do it tonight as soon as you leave.

Reading your mind, he shoved the container into your hands. “Just-- fuckin’ take it, why you gotta make things so damn difficult.”

You smirked and patted the container softly. “My specialty. Irritating old grouchy men.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head at you, picking up the wine bottle next and figuring out what to do with it. Your eyes softened, watching the gears turn in his head for how he was going to handle this situation.

“Do you care if I take the rest of it home, actually? I know it’s yours, and it’s been yours for a while, but it was really good.” Lame excuse. Joel leaned into it though, nonetheless. You were at Joel’s side now, looking to him with gentle eyes and a tender smile. He teetered on his feet for a moment before he nodded and handed it over.

“Yeah, you’re doin’ me a favor so it doesn’t just keep sittin’ in the fridge.”

You nodded softly and tried to jam the cork back in as well as you could, Joel swiftly taking the bottle from you and popping it back into its home with ease due to his sheer strength.

You turned to the television and huffed, seeing the credits of Pride & Prejudice roll. Dammit.

Joel joined you at your side, crossing his arms and giving the television a once over. “So did they, y’know, end up together?” There was Joel’s pure curiosity again. This time, he didn’t hide it so well.

“Guess you’ll have to watch to find out. Don’t forget to throw that shirt in the washer.” You said with a cocky grin, holding up the wine bottle and pizza leftovers in gratitude before walking to the door. Joel followed you out, and you looked at him curiously.

“Gotta make sure you get home safe.”

Your head rolled to the side, watching as he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “What?”

“Joel, I’m staying right next door. You could see me go inside from your living room window.”

He just shook his head and looked beyond you to the water.

“t’s dark.”

Your chest fluttered with warmth, a smile on your lips growing past one you could deny. Let him have this one.

“Thanks, Joel. Thanks for the pizza and the wine and… stuff.” Now it was his turn to let you have this one. The stuff. The kiss. The multiple kisses. He didn’t make it a big deal, just rolled with the punches. You appreciated it.

You wanted to know what was next for the two of you. The feeling of your cores grazing one another set a fire in you that only Joel could put out.

You pondered whether or not to kiss him goodnight and find a lame excuse to try and thank him again for the wine bottle when you saw two pairs of headlights coming down the road.

“Shit,” you murmured under your breath, looking to Joel with a pained expression. He looked disappointed.

You didn’t say goodnight, you didn’t kiss him before you left, you just… left. You moved down Joel’s rickety wooden porch steps with haste, sneaking into the lakehouse through the garage door as your heart thrummed at a face pace. You felt like a child getting caught by your parents.

You didn’t know what to do with Joel’s pizza container and the wine. You could figure out an excuse for the pizza later, so you shoved it into the fridge, but definitely not the half-drank bottle of red wine. You double-checked that the cork was in there tight, and of course it was because Joel pushed it back in, but you couldn’t help but check because it was going to be stowed under your bed for safekeeping.

You changed out of Joel’s hoodie and into an oversized band tee, walking out of your bedroom with a book when your parents returned through the door.

“Hey, kiddo. You’re still up? ‘t’s past eleven.”

You try not to roll your eyes, biting down on the inside of your lip as you tightly nodded. “Yeah, I know. I stay up late a lot at school and stuff, working on papers or out with friends. Staying up past eleven isn’t that weird for me.”

You didn’t mean for there to be so much venom in your comment, but you weren’t a baby. Nearly every day at the lakehouse so far this summer has elicited a few don’t call me kid, I’m an adult, I make adult decisions, comments from you.

Your parents looked too tired to care, which somehow stung worse.

“Okay, sweetie, we’ll see you tomorrow morning. Your dad and I are headin’ to bed.”

Now you felt bad. You pursed your lips and nodded, putting your hands behind your back and resting them on your tailbone absentmindedly. This was the same pose Joel had you in tonight. You already wanted to go back there.

“Sorry, goodnight.” You whisper, seeing your dad give you a tired smile before patting your shoulder.

“Hey kiddo-” He paused at the nickname and took a breath. “Sorry.” You playfully smiled and shook your head. Go on.

“Do me a favor, grab the steaks out from the freezer and put them on a plate in the fridge. Wanna have Joel and Sarah over for dinner tomorrow night. Feel like I haven’t seen them all summer.”

Your face went ghastly blank, feeling yourself fall hollow like a collapsing building. If it weren’t for how tired your dad was, he would have seen right through you like a ghost. “You- Oh, you want to have them come by for dinner? I don’t think tomorrow’s gonna work. Sarah’s camping and-”

“Oh, well, Joel can still swing by for dinner. Need to eat up those steaks. Every time I open the freezer, they stare at me. They’re beggin’ me to eat them, it ain’t fair.”

You forced out a laugh, but of course, your father couldn’t tell. Just thought he made one hell of a zinger.

“So-So Joel over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, kiddo. And don’t forget to take out the steaks. Love you.” He turned the corner down the hall, and then he was gone.

You sighed and lightly chewed at the skin around your thumbnail. Great. One big happy family dinner. And Joel.

---

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(idk why so many of my tags aren't working. Might make a notifications blog instead where you'd follow it and turn the notifications on and I'll only reblog my work on that account. ugh a problem for another day, okay ily ttyl I'm gonna go watch twilight)

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genericpuff · 3 months

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All the cool kids use ComicFury 😘

Hey y'all! If you love independent comic sites and have a few extra dollars in your pocket, please consider supporting ComicFury, the owner Kyo has been running it for nearly twenty years and it's one of the only comic hosting platforms left that's entirely independent and reminiscent of the 'old school' days that I know y'all feel nostalgic over.

(kyo's sense of humor is truly unmatched lmao)

Here are some of the other great features it offers:

Message board forums! It's a gift from the mid-2000's era gods!

Entirely free-to-use HTML and CSS editing! You can use the provided templates, or go wild and customize the site entirely to your liking! There's also a built-in site editor for people like me who want more control over their site design but don't have the patience to learn HTML/CSS ;0

In-depth site analytics that allow you to track and moderate comments, monitor your comic's performance per week, and let you see how many visitors you get. You can also set up Google Analytics on your site if you want that extra touch of data, without any bullshit from the platform. Shit, the site doesn't come with ads, but you can run ads on your site. The site owners don't ask questions, they don't take a cut. Pair your site with ComicAd and you'll be as cool as a crocodile alligator !

RSS feeds! They're like Youtube subscriptions for millennials and Gen X'ers!

NSFW comics are allowed, let the "female presenting nipples" run free! (just tag and content rate them properly!)

Tagging. Tagging. Remember that? The basic feature that every comic site has except for the alleged "#1 webcomic site"? The independent comic site that still looks the same as it did 10 years ago has that. Which you'd assume isn't that big a deal, but isn't it weird that Webtoons doesn't?

Blog posts. 'Nuff said.

AI-made comics are strictly prohibited. This also means you don't have to worry about the site owners sneaking in AI comics or installing AI scrapers (cough cough)

Did I mention that the hosting includes actual hosting? Meaning for only the cost of the domain you can change your URL to whatever site name you want. No extra cost for hosting because it's just a URL redirect. No stupid "pro plan" or "gold tier" subscription necessary, every feature of the site is free to use for all. If this were a sponsored Pornhub ad, this is the part where I'd say "no credit card, no bullshit".

Don't believe me? Alright, look at my creator backend (feat stats on my old ass 2014 comic, I ain't got anything to hide LOL)

TRANSCRIPTS! CHAPTER ORGANIZATION! MASS PAGE UPLOADING! MULTIPLE CREATOR SUPPORT! FULL HTML AND CSS SUPPORT! SIMPLIFIED EDITORS! ACTUAL STATISTICS THAT GIVE YOU WEEKLY BREAKDOWNS! THE POWER OF CHOICE!!

So yeah! You have zero reasons to not use and support ComicFury! It being "smaller" than Webtoons shouldn't stop you! Regain your independence, support smaller platforms, and maybe you'll even find that 'tight-knit community' that we all miss from the days of old! They're out there, you just gotta be willing to use them! ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡

#comicfury #support small platforms #webcomic platforms #webcomic advice #please reblog #also i'm posting my original work over there so if you want pure unhinged weeb puff that's where you can find it LOL #and no this isn't a 'sponsored post'#but i have been paid in the currency known as good faith to promote the shit out of it #because i don't wanna see sites like this die out #we already lost smackjeeves #comicfury is one of the only survivors left

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talkdutchtome · 9 months

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Glitch- chapter one

pairing . . . max verstappen x reader / mason mount x reader )

summary . . . when mason mount finds out that his assistant has been harbouring feelings for him for years, he makes it clear he doesn't feel the same way. but once he sees her become closer with formula 1 world champion max verstappen, he realises he may have underestimated his feelings towards the girl he has now pushed into the arms of another )

genre . . . angst )

song . . . glitch- taylor swift )

warning . . . tbd )

series masterlist . . . available here )

a/n . . .i wanted to thank everyone for the amazing feedback i got on my teaser. i hope the first chapter isn't too much of a let down after how long i made you all wait, i promise the wait for the next chapter won't be as long. also max will be in the next chapter )

Y/N was completely and unequivocally in love, the kind of love that made you feel like you were 14 years old in your room crying to Taylor Swift’s ‘You Belong With Me’, the kind of love that hurt more than it felt good. When she moved to London, desperate to get out of her sleepy town in the English countryside, and applied for a job to be the personal assistant to somebody who was then a relatively unknown professional footballer; she could have never imagined that this is where she’d be 5 years later. Y/N had joined Mason Mount’s team just as he had joined Derby County on lone and due to the fact that the man had just moved to a brand-new city away from all of his friends and family, the pair quickly bonded and developed a relationship that became more than one of an employer and his employee; they actually became friends. So, when Mason moved back to Chelsea at the end of his loan and they gave him the chance to upgrade to an assistant with much more experience working with premier league football players, he turned it down; likewise, when Y/N was scouted by another footballer who was offering more money and better hours, she also turned it down. They were happy. They were friends, maybe even best friends. Why then did Y/N consistently feel like something was missing? For months she couldn’t put her finger on it, couldn’t understand why she wasn’t completely happy, it wasn’t until one day when they were sat having one of their infamous movie nights that she understood what it was she was feeling. Despite Mason living in a penthouse apartment in the middle of London worth millions of pounds, their movie nights always took place at her flat, a much smaller one-bedroom place in, to put it bluntly, a much rougher area of the city. They would sit together on her sofa and put on a movie, (usually a cheesy late 90’s to early 2000’s romcom). And one day, she found herself watching Mason rather than the movie; she watched him watching the movie intently, giggling at the funny bits, tearing up at the sad bits, and she realized that she loved him.

Every so often she thought that she should maybe put some space between herself and the footballer, to try and move on from her feelings for him, but then he would do something that would reel her back in, something that would make her think that maybe she had a chance. He would fall asleep cuddling her on the couch, he would dance a little bit too close to her at a party, he would seek her out after winning a big game and hug her so tightly she couldn’t breathe. But then she would overhear him telling Ben and Reece about his latest conquest or she would get a text message from him 15 minutes before he was due to come to hers for a movie night cancelling because he had a date. To put it plainly, she simply just did not know where she stood with her best friend. Despite sometimes feeling like there could be a chance of more between them, she never said a thing to Mason, valuing their friendship too much to risk it; so instead she just went about her life, following her best friend and the man she loved around the country, always hiding how she truly felt, or attempting too at least. There had been a few times when she was spending time with Mason and his friends, that one of them would catch her looking at Mason. There was one time when Ben actually asked her about it, asked if there was anything going on between the two friends, she had told him that there wasn’t, of course, but she could tell from his facial expression that he didn’t believe her. Truth be told, a lot of their mutual friends were worried about the two of them.

So, when Mason and Y/N walked into the club together despite living in completely different areas of the city, Ben and Reece exchanged a look, wondering how their teammate could be so clueless. The rest of the night they watched the way the pair interacted; they watched the way that Y/N would look up at Mason with such love in her eyes whilst Mason looked at her like he would look at any other friend. They were caught between a rock and a hard place, they wanted to tell Mason what they knew so that he could stop leading her on, but they didn’t want to betray Y/N by telling her secret. Even though she was Mason’s friend more than anyone else's, they both really liked her and wanted to protect her from the hurt that her situation with Mason would inevitably bring. But when they caught sight of Mason sat with his arm thrown around the shoulders of the girl, periodically leaning in and whispering in her ear, they knew that they needed to saw something; and when Y/N walked up to the bar and got chatting to somebody on the way back, Ben knew that this was his opportunity.

“Mason why did you and Y/N come in together, aren’t your places on opposite sides of the city?” Ben asked his best friend already knowing the answer to his question. Despite the fact that Y/N worked for Mason as his assistant, the pair were close, very close; so when they arrived to the party in the same car, Ben didn’t have to wonder too hard about the reason why. “Oh, she was at mine for a movie night last night and she was too tired to go home so she stayed.” Mason told his friend matter-of-factly, not seeing what the issue was or why his friend in front of him looked so annoyed. Even if you took away the widely inappropriateness of an employer having his employee stay at his house, there was the small issue of the fact that Y/N was madly in love with Mason and had been for years now. As much as she tried her best to keep it hidden, the only person in their circle that didn’t seem to know about it was Mason himself. Ben and Reece had a conversation a few days before, discussing whether they should tell Mason as from an outside perspective, even if it was unintentional, he did seem to be leading Y/N on; they both knew their friend extremely well, so they knew that he didn’t have the same feelings that she had for him and they knew that if Mason knew the full story there are aspects of his relationship with her that he might change.

“Look mate,” Ben started, unsure of exactly what to say but knowing he needed to say something. “I think you should know that Y/N has feelings for you” Mason’s brows furrowed, completely taken aback by his friends' blunt honesty. “What? No are you sure?” he asked him, truly hoping that he was mistaken or playing some kind of prank. “I’m 100% sure, it’s obvious to be honest with you mate. You can see it in her eyes when she looks at you, she really truly loves you. Having her stay at your place and being that close to her, it’s going to make her think that someday you two could be more than friends, so if that’s not the case then you really need to reconsider doing things like that as it isn’t fair on her. Y/N’s a good girl, you know that she deserves to be happy.” Ben’s words make Mason’s head spin. Y/N was more to him than just his employee, she was one of his closest friends, but he really didn’t see her as anything but a friend. “Oh, fuck Ben what should I do?” Mason asked with his brain completely frazzled at this point, 15 minutes ago he was feeling great, he had just had a great day with one of his best friends and then then he came to a party to blow off some steam after a very stressful week, but now it seemed like everything had come crashing down. “I think you need to speak to her, make it clear that you value her friendship but you don’t see her as anything else, let her down gently.” he told Mason who simply nodded before starting to walk towards the girl in question who was at the bar talking to one of the other players girlfriends., the second Ben realized what he was trying to do he put a hand out to stop him from going over there, causing Mason to look back at him with a puzzled expression. “Maybe telling her right this minute isn’t the best idea though mate, considering you’re in public. Not to mention the fact we’ve all got that trip planned for the Spanish Grand Prix in a few days, maybe you should wait until after that. If things don’t go well that could make the whole trip so awkward.” Ben pleaded at his friend, but he could see on Mason’s face that his words were going in one ear and out the other. “Fine go, but be nice to her and you better not ruin the race for everyone” he relented, taking his arm off of his friend and letting him walk towards the unsuspecting girl.

“Hey Y/N, can we talk?” Mason asked with no regard for the fact that she was already deep in conversation with somebody else. His bluntness combined with the pained look on his face made her recognize instantly that whatever he wanted to talk about wasn’t likely to be lighthearted. She hesitantly followed the man as he gestured for her to come along to a quieter part of the bar. Before she could ask what was going on, Mason had already asked her a question that made her stomach sink - “Do you have feelings for me?” She had absolutely no idea how to answer his question, of course she knew the answer; she had been pining after him for years at this point, but she just wasn’t ready for him to know that yet. “Will you please just answer my question?” he almost demanded, his harsh tone making her freeze. Looking up at her best friend with tear filled eyes she muttered the last thing he wanted to hear - “Yes”. Her voice was so faint that it didn’t come out as anything more than a whisper but to Mason it was the loudest thing he had ever heard. Y/N had imagined having this conversation with Mason so many times, imagined herself finally telling him that she loved him but in all her fantasies, in all her daydreams, he had never flinched like he had done just now. “Mason I -” she started but stopped in her tracks when she saw tears forming in her best friend’s eyes. “How could you do this Y/N, why would you ruin our friendship like this?” he asked her in genuine disbelief. Mason watched the girl stood in front of him stumble over her words, clearly not expecting to be asked that question, before putting her almost full glass down on the table and running out of the bar.

In all of the daydreams she had had where Mason found out she loved him, he didn’t react like that in any of them, even the ones where he told her he didn’t reciprocate her feelings he was never that harsh, never that heartless. Y/N was nothing if not a realist, she truly didn’t expect him to come to her and tell her that he had always loved him too but she at least thought he would try to be nice about it, try to protect her feelings as much as possible, tell her that no matter what they would always be friends. Instead, he basically told her that their friendship was over, and she was the one responsible. She didn’t even have to wonder how Mason found out about it either, she knew Ben knew and she had also seen Mason and Ben talking moments before he came storming over to her. More than anything she just felt stupid; stupid for believing that somebody like Mason would ever love somebody like her, stupid for putting one of her most beloved friendships on the line over a schoolgirl crush, stupid for running away instead of explaining herself to him.

“Y/N, are you okay” she heard a voice come from above her, breaking her train of thought. She was sat on the floor outside the club, staring into space clearly lost in thought, looking certifiably insane. Looking up she saw Reece James stood before her. There was no question that Reece knew what had happened but even still Y/N wasn’t sure if she should talk to him about it. Whilst she was closest to Reece out of all of Mason’s friends and teammates and she would consider him to be a friend, he was still Mason’s friend before anything else. There was also a good chance that anything she does tell him would be repeated to Mason. As if he could read her mind, he spoke again “You know you can speak to me right, I’m not going to tell anyone. I’m sorry that Ben told him by the way” he sat down on the street next to her. “It’s okay I don’t blame him; I understand that he wanted to protect his friend” her words were met with Reece shaking his head, “No actually I think he wanted to protect you” he said causing her brows in confusion. “He tho- We thought that the way he acted with you was a bit unfair, doing things that were giving you hope that you could be more than friends. Mason’s not a bad guy and he wouldn’t do that stuff on purpose, so we wanted to make sure he knew what he was doing.” Y/N looked up at the man's face, his serious expression laced with sincerity; she could tell that he was telling the truth and that he and Ben truly cared about her and wanted to protect her from hurt. “Thank you, Reece, make sure to tell Ben that I’m not annoyed at him for saying anything.”

“Of course, I will. I know we only know you though Mason but you’re our friend as well okay, remember that.” He said before he threw his arm around her pulling her into a hug. “So what do you think is going to happen now?” he asked her. “Oh I really don’t know, he seemed pretty mad at me. I think I’ll probably leave the Grand Prix this weekend though, give things a chance to cool off”

“What no you can’t do that, you love F1 and it’s your first opportunity to go to a race, you can’t miss that because of him. Worst case scenario, go and stick with me. You can’t give up those sweet paddock passes, what if you meet a cute driver eh?” he said jabbing his fingers into her sides playfully teasing her in an attempt to get her to smile. “I’ll think about it” she said, attempting to fight the smile on her face but to no avail. “You going to come back in or are you going to head home? We probably look crazy sat out here like this” he asked her and she paused thinking about it, she thought about going back in and trying to talk to Mason, to try and fix everything. After a moment she shook her head “No I think I should give him some space” Recce nodded understanding her decision before walking over to a cab and giving them her address along with enough money in cash to cover her journey three times over. “You get home safe okay” she nodded before thanking him for being to kind to her tonight. Just before she had the chance to close the door he spoke again “Y/N wait, are you going to be okay? I could call someone if you need?” Again, she found herself smiling at the care Reece had shown her. “No, I’ll be okay, I always am”

Tag list-

@nightlockcornucopia @jaydensluv @girlytots19 @formula1mount @alwaysclassyeagle @aundercover @sofifiia @dessxoxsworld @lpab @lorarri @thelovehypothesis @torrie421 @ironmaiden1313 @celesteblack08 @glow-ish @urfavouritef1girly

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x y/n #mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #football x reader #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fics #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n

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diamondcitydarlin · 5 months

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diving back into msscribe lore made me remember this; imo one of the funniest things about the My Immortal fanfic is the context to which it was born in the HP fandom at the time. In the early 2000's, HP fandom was a veritable arms race of who could write 'the best' most 'sophisticated' HP fanfic and the BNFs (Cassandra Clare, for example) were elevated to their pedestals because they were seen as the most talented fic writers. There were pissing contests, passive-aggressive comments about so-and-so being 'a mediocre fic writer' just shared between supposed 'friends', like one's popularity currency absolutely depended on whether or not the fandom deemed one's writing 'good enough'. Everyone was trying to be the goddamn idk Jane Austen of HP fandom pretty much. Even by 2006 (and msscribe's fall from grace, if you even care lol) this was still more or less the case- so the fact that this absolute unrepentantly bad HP fanfic came out during that time, the fact that Tara just kept posting chapters and doubling-down on people's criticisms and abject horror, the fact that this fanfic gave NO FUCKS about spelling, grammar, keeping characters intact, or even the original context of HP at all makes My Immortal's existence so much funnier than it already is on its lonesome. My Immortal was a slap in the fucking face to the entire established system and it reveled in being so.

Tellingly, I think, most people online today aren't going to know those 'popular', supremely 'well-written' fics off the top of their head, but even some IRL people I've talked with know and love My Immortal. Hell, Tom Felton has read it for his IG! Amy Lee either read or reacted to it a few of years back! It has it's own wikipedia, countless illustrations, works inspired by it and a cult following even today! I can't say the same for any of those fanfics that came before!

Whether My Immortal was a skilled troll or an unapologetic teenage girl that was going to write whatever the hell she wanted to, goddamn it, doesn't really matter because the effect was the same. Maybe remember that the next time you're agonizing over whether or not your writing is 'good enough'. Sometimes, it doesn't even need to be.

#my immortal #msscribe #one of my personal interests in fandom and internet history so i just had to share my thoughts #esp if there are people not aware of this context bc it makes everything so so much funnier

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9w1ft · 8 months

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Interested to hear your interpretation on Suburban Legends

first off the song and beat sounds so similar to mastermind and gold rush. particularly mastermind. listen to the opening seconds back to back! she sings through a lot of it similarly in my opinion

and it has some of the similar mechanics of mastermind in that it leads you to believe the song is going one way but then pulls a switcheroo on you at the end and the swell in the music aids that at the end which makes it a really sweet and emotional listening experience. i’ll get to that in a second.

i think at the beginning of taylor knowing or being aware of karlie (so like, your kitchen or mine times), this was very much the situation. karlie is in her peripheral vision (on her radar) but just as taylor described in gold rush, karlie seemed like something utterly unattainable. in lover as well we get the line “i’m highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you” and i think this fits with this description of karlie.

i didn’t come here to make friends echoes their entire conceit of mastermind, and a lot of the kaylor discography that uses the word ‘friend’ — another way to say “i don’t want you like a best friend” etc

also this is a sort of throwaway point but “i didn’t come here to make friends” was a 2000’s reality tv phrase that came into popularity via the show America’s Next Top Model. it was iconic and soon every competitive reality tv show under the sun had contestants saying it.. but it’s origins are from a show about models! of which karlie is one.

more importantly, the “you kiss me in a way that’s gonna screw me up forever” is like the follow up to the gold rush “eyes like sinking ships on waters so inviting i almost jump in” language. it’s cruel summer’s “snuck in through the garden gate every night that summer just to seal my fate” because falling in love with karlie lead to taylor wanting her complications too

mismatched star signs works because fire signs traditionally match best with air signs. also visually, stars mismatched fits in with mastermind’s “the planets and the fates and all the stars aligned” — things that weren’t in alignment coming into alignment.

there’s a bunch of story page chapter stuff throughout taylor’s discography, some of which makes its way into kaylor but i’d probably write for way too long so i’m just gonna skip over that for now

this part might be a bit tricky but i sort of blame it on many kaylors not talking that much about really early kaylor possibilities out of (a sort of unearned) respect and the one way street principle of staying in our lane but the idea of taylor saying “i know that when you told me we’d get back together and kissed me that you remember[ed] we were born to be national treasures” isn’t that too wild of a statement if you imagine them as maybe briefly connecting or talking at some point before taylor made her plans to make karlie hers. indeed, we know their paths crossed several times before they were first connected at the 2013 vs fashion show.

*for posterity, i included the apple music lyrics as the genius lyrics appear to be worded partially incorrectly

this is the part of the song which i just think is so beautifully done. in particular i love the “you don’t knock anymore” of it all

at first it sounds like she’s saying karlie doesn’t knock anymore because she come around anymore, or this idea of there having been a breakup or a period of not being together or something sad, which is matched by the tone of how she sings it for the first time. the waves crashing to the shore feels like a storm.

but at the end of the repetition her voice becomes more upbeat and it dawns on you, you’re like, oh wait karlie doesn’t knock anymore because she doesn’t need to knock anymore, she has a key! (“is that your key in the door?” anyone?)

and suddenly the waves meeting the shore is a pleasant image of unification and happiness. she closes with the thought “you don’t knock anymore and i always knew it” which makes it feel a bit more like mastermind’s “you knew the entire time, and now you’re mine” — always knowing they would get together, taylor always knowing karlie was the one. “and my life had been ruined” is sung in a sort of sweet resignation, one that i find throughout a lot of kaylor music, the idea that she knows its complicated but that its what she chose.

so yeah! that’s why suburban legends is a kaylor song to me 😌

#kaylor

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judec4ptor · 2 days

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happy pride everybody!! i made a redesign of the clone high characters (consider this a redesign of these designs as well)

EDIT: I FORGOT ABOUT ABE'S BEARD!!!! SO THERE IT IS, THAT'S WHY IN THE CLOSE-UP IT'S NOT THERE, SORRY FOR THAT!!!

five hours of drawing and drawing for this... sigh...

below are headcanons and perhaps some explanations of the redesign⬇️ :>

Joan... it's hard to give her a headcanon about her sexuality but i think shes questioning!!

joan has a precious stone in her necklace, harriet gave it to her as a gift for her friendship!!!

her bracelet was given by frida (maybe harriet and frida like to give things to their friends idk)

and thats it !!

JFK!! hes bisexual lmfao!! for me, he started to question himself after the chapter where joan pretends to be a boy, and then in the present he already realized that... well, he liked both

I gave him a sweatshirt, since in most series, movies, etc, jocks wear them ;p

harriet!! she (like joan) is questioning her sexuality lmfao

i gave her a vest because... well, there's no explanation, I just thought it would look good on her

and yes, i made her a little chubbier because that's my headcanon lololo!!!!

confucius!! hes a transman and pansexual :)

not much to add beyond his slightly different clothes and hair

cleo... she is a lesbian, as I believe her relationships with men never worked out and were only for interest, while with frida it is different

my headcanon is that in the 2000's she used to straighten her hair, and nowadays she leaves it curly :3

abe... oh abe i love him!! (in season 3 he was meh sorry) he is a closet bisexual (he has a lot to think about) and uh has a weird friendship/enemies with topher

as you can see, he shares a bracelet with someone... but with who??🤔🤔

EDIT: OH GOD I JUST REMEMBERED THAT ABE HAS A RACCOON TAIL!!

FRIDA!!! shes a lesbian and (maybe) she is within the non-binary spectrum

I can't add much either, in the original image you can see that I changed her clothes a bit lfmao!! the paint stains on her pants are now patches, as I think she tore a lot of her pants because of her skateboard tricks

AND FINALLY THE LAST ONE... TOPHER!! hes gay (duh)

in the first season of the reboot he is in denial, in the new season I feel that he has more accepted his sexuality

I can't add much either hehe!! i just change his clothes and stuff

and yes, he shares a bracelet with abe :3 (they have been wearing that bracelet since before THAT, but they do not want to take it off)

and thats it😭😭

#clone high #clone high fanart #my art #fanart #clone high abe lincoln #clone high abe #clone high topher bus #clone high topher #clone high joan #clone high cleopatra #clone high cleo #clone high jfk #clone high confucius #clone high frida kahlo #clone high frida #clone high harriet #clone high harriet tubman #this took way too long

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ybklix · 9 days

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favorite crime

♡ bang chan

⮑ intro

⋆cw: none ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

⋆notes: narrated from fem character’s pov. fic based on 2004.

masterlist here

a/n: help, i’m not really sure how that store used to be like since I’m writing it to romanticize the early 2000’s ok

chapters one & two

ONE

word count: 816

Excluding the part about living in an insignificant town and still attending school… it’s not relevant. None of that matters or will matter once I manage to get out of here… and finally become someone else among the millions of people in the city, amidst the hustle and bustle, broken hopes, dreams hanging by a thread, and completely void happiness, just there, I’ll be there. Living, I guess. Breathing in the smoke from some neighbor’s cigarette and questioning if this is my path, since clearly the one I’m on now is not pleasing at all.

I managed to stop my thoughts for a few seconds; my mother was shouting from the bathroom, repeatedly asking me to check on a delivery the courier had just made. It was my last weekend before a new school year, and surprisingly, the weather had remained warm, so I was only wearing comfortable clothes. August had gone by, soon it would be September, and my favorite season would finally begin.

I opened the door to find an ostentatious box with the IKEA logo engraved on it. I had no idea if my mother had ordered some new furniture, so just as I was about to grab it and drag it, I realized the big mistake. The label didn’t bear any familiar name, and in fact, the address indicated the next-door neighbor’s number. Minho Lee, 143. I grimaced, unsure if I should be the one to report the mistake, or just not bother and move the box in front of his door, hoping he’d open it.

Considering, it was strange for this kind of confusion as deliveries like this always went to the reception where they would then call the owner just to make sure if it’s okay to bring it up or leave it right there downstairs.

Minho Lee… I knew they moved into the next-door apartment almost over a month ago, but honestly, I never cared to know who lived around me. I dragged the heavy box a few meters to his door and simply knocked on his door out of impulse, without hope of any response or desire to stay there to give any explanation. But the response was quicker than I thought because, as soon as I knocked, almost instantly, the neighbor appeared, dressed comfortably all in black, in shorts and a sleeveless shirt.

He had a look of confusion on his face. I remained for 3 seconds not knowing what to do until I managed to say:

“This appeared at our door, but I think it’s yours.”

The Asian-looking guy looked even more confused for about two more seconds until he managed to read that my gaze was directed towards the ground, and it wasn’t until he noticed that, his demeanor could relax. He read the name on the label and immediately thanked me.

“Yes, it’s here, thank you.”

I gave a smile with nothing else to say and headed for the doorknob of my door as I watched him out of the corner of my eye bending down to pick up his belongings. And finally, I quickly entered, realizing the ridiculous pajamas I was wearing. I closed my eyes tightly, embarrassed, as if that action could erase how uncomfortable it was for me to realize that I had a considerably attractive neighbor. His aura, his appearance… I wished to study him a little more, but really there was nothing more to say, nothing more than, here’s your box. I bit my lip wondering if I should have spoken and started a conversation with him by saying the typical nonsense like “this mistake had never happened before… the courier must be new, just like you, since when did you move…” But precisely my outfit, relaxed and messy, and my appearance… if only I had a little more luck next time, I wouldn’t think of wasting it like this.

Minho Lee looked young, like a recent college graduate, or maybe someone in their final year. As I climbed the stairs to my room, I thought about how ridiculous it was to start creating more ideas about him. Checking the clock, I smiled realizing it was my working hour and that I could leave this apartment without excuse.

After minutes, I left; grabbing my apartment keys and without saying a word to my mother, as if we didn’t have the great freedom to know or communicate our next whereabouts. Or just any kind of communication. Living with her was strange.

The building’s elevator stopped working two weeks ago and still seems to be under repair, so I hurry down the stairs until I reach the main hall, where surprisingly, I manage to recognize whose broad back was in front of me, also leaving the building, but heading in a different direction.

Part of me felt the need to follow him just out of sheer curiosity, and the fact of feeling excitement studying a new individual was… indescribable. Who is Minho Lee.

TWO

word count: 2k

My whole world sadly revolved around an idiot who never knew how to love me, care for me, and protect me the way I would have wanted. The way a sensible father would care for his only daughter. Or at least that’s what everyone reminds me every year in every damn school; always asking about my father, wondering what his next book would be about… but I can’t even speak out loud about him, sometimes I wish he were a stranger, but I have the greatest fear that… what little I know about him encompasses important concepts of who or how he really is.

I was the only daughter of a well-known artist, the acclaimed writer Henry Waldrop, whose books were such a great success that each of them —almost all of them— were adapted in Hollywood, on the big screens, with actors of the caliber of Nicole Kidman or Brad Pitt, working with promising directors like Mendes and Fincher, winners of important awards, with Henry himself writing his own scripts on a couple of occasions, nothing took him out of Los Angeles. Waldrop has been hailed as the greatest American speaking in the world of literature since Fitzgerald and Hemingway by the Times, countless interviews in the New Yorker, and among other accolades.

He has been called everything; but I will never be able to call him dad again, not since I was 7 years old.

My relationship with him is cold, distant, and almost nonexistent; I always register my name as Calliope Moore, my mother’s last name, hoping not to be recognized in this small town, however, I can’t change it at school, for the moment I can’t change it legally either; so for now, I remain hidden like this. Meanwhile, in a part-time job after school and on weekends.

I was a child who could be considered naive and sweet, at least until I was 6 years old. Then I realized many things, that my father loved fame and excess in meaningless material things more than his family, that his writing is immature and difficult to read, never matured, I never understood why I had to do it before him, unfairly, or worse, do it for him. Despite that, I became my worst enemy, I became an admirer, not of him, but of the artistic world in which he lived; my only memories with him were his huge literary collection, his love for art and cinema; he had me captive every year of my life, I spent hours sitting in his library reading instead of having a conversation with him; I chose something from his extensive collection of movies to watch on DVD. All this on his forced weekends when he legally had to see me. And worst of all, I found refuge in letters… vaguely considering myself a writer; like he is.

I know there’s the silly idea that he really cares about me just because he’s my father, that everything can be fixed if only I would talk to him… but I wish it were that simple, the reason I preferred to be locked in his office was because I saw too many things I should never have seen, situations that a loving and careful father would ensure none of his children know about, I cried seeing women enter his apartment, thinking it wasn’t the kind of love he should give to mother, I didn’t understand why my friends at school could introduce them and I just heard ‘oh, he’s something like a celebrity, he’s just busy. Maybe someday you’ll be like him.’

I sigh and look from afar at the store manager smiling at me, it’s funny to consider he has a little crush on me and I can easily manipulate him. In a matter of seconds, the loud sound of the phone interrupts my daily thoughts about complaining about life.

“Blockbus-”

“Callie, it’s Sarah, can you urgently cover for me for two hours? I have something very important at university.”

I rolled my eyes at being interrupted and at hearing my coworker’s needy voice on the other end of the line, I didn’t need details, but I was surprised by the quick passage of time, so I checked it, she arrived an hour later than agreed and I had no idea.

“All right.”

“Thank you, I owe you one, Cal.”

I slid over the counter, resting my chin on the palm of my hand, bored. Tim, the manager, who is about 8 years older than me, took care of putting on music; I really didn’t have a specific plan for this Saturday, but two more hours of time were just time.

To kill the time, I moved around here and there, sorted movies, checked boxes of new tapes, read each synopsis, sorted each genre, and finally went to tidy up a bit under the main counter; customers came in sporadically and this was the next customer I heard since an hour ago. Tim greeted them with a good evening. I assumed they had to go between the aisles of shelves to pick out their movie or movies to rent, so I didn’t pay attention to them as I continued cleaning up a bit.

Indeed, it took about 10 minutes, when I heard the plastic fall onto the cold wood of the checkout counter and a male voice say, referring to Tim, “Are you checking out over here?”

“No, um, Callie-”

Tim spoke and before he finished his sentence, I hurried to stand up, finding the guy from this morning next to me, Minho Lee. He was still dressed in black, now with jeans, he was wearing bracelets on his left hand now. For a second, I couldn’t say anything, other than meet his gaze, but I immediately regained my composure and gave him a warm smile, but I feared that this time, for him, this client, it was a genuine one.

His gaze was tender for a second as he seemed slightly surprised by the sudden way I unexpectedly ‘sprung’ from the floor; then he softened it and kept eye contact with me.

“I’m here to return these,” he spoke, dragging a stack of 3 movies “and I’ll take these” he pointed to the stack on the right.

My gaze lowered to his hands on the tapes and on the DVDs themselves. I took the products to be returned and inspected each one of them: How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, Kill Bill, A Tale of Two Sisters. I gave him a smile, clearly judging, at least it was the fun part of the job; seeing what kind of person you were based on your taste in movies. And for Minho… there was no relation, a romantic comedy, Kill Bill, just Kill Bill and… a foreign psychological horror movie, judging by its cover, it seemed to be from Asia. If I weren’t trying to convince myself that someone considerably attractive like him is single, I would say the romantic comedy is something he would watch with some romantic date without a doubt.

“Name?” I raised my eyebrows, feigning disinterest as if I hadn’t seen him a couple of hours ago.

Judging by his look, it was clear that in some way he also recognized me.

“Under the name of Minho Lee, with an H between the N and O” he replied.

This Charming Man by The Smiths started playing and I noticed a slight movement of his fingers on the table to the rhythm of the melody; all while I typed his name into the computer. I was impressed by his profile, apparently, he’s a frequent customer judging by the long list of movies. He even has a membership, wow, I had never seen him here.

“Would you like the standard two-week rental?”

He nodded. I registered the new movies to rent, not without looking at them in detail: a foreign horror movie, Korean-looking, The Wig, Dracula 2, god, I heard the movie was terrible and Scream 2. I guess he wanted to watch only one genre for the moment, no more romantic comedies.

“That will be 33 dollars… 23 with the membership discount.”

“Thank you… Calliope” he read the tag with my name on my blue vest.

The story of my name is a bit funny, my father, a man without emotional responsibility whose heart was always incapable of falling in love, had his philosophy around the Greek mythology of the 9 muses, which is ironic considering the number of lovers he had, and, from what I heard, how much he promised each of the women he got involved with, that they were his muse and inspiration. My name comes from the muse of music, as he met my mother in college and that was her career at the time. My mother’s dream was always to direct orchestras, play the cello at important events in New York… but then I was born.

It would be a nice and moving story if any of my parents appreciated each other, but my mother made sure to make it clear how much she detested him and remind me what she could have done if I had never been born.

During that time, my father was working as an apprentice to a professor and substitute professor at the university. A literary cliché that inspired one of his books, by the way. Each page of the encounters with my mother severely altered, as she exclaimed, that never happened… if only things had been like that… Anyway, the book turned into a movie and considered a classic romance of the nineties. It was funny when someone came to rent it, since for now, I work at the town’s Blockbuster.

Anyway, my father had this immature belief that since I was the one growing in my mother’s womb, I would be the greatest force and source of inspiration for her, a muse. Sometimes I suppose my mother ended up hating me. She had to raise me and support Henry in his dream as a writer. I grew up and live in the same place as him; a wealthy area in northern New York state; where my teachers, absorbed by his work, expected innate talent from me.

But the pressure isn’t always on me. I have an older brother, a half-brother, named Apollo —a bit strange considering that literature says he was married to Calliope or something like that—; who likes to be recognized as Henry Waldrop’s legitimate son, with his gallery in Manhattan; however, he’s nothing more than another pretentious wannabe from the Upper East Side.

After Minho left, I pretended to close his membership and register the returned movies, but I was just snooping around, his birthday, October 25th, he’s 10 years older than me, he really doesn’t seem like it; it must be his Asian genetics I guess. His address, registered in the same building as mine, his email, his phone, and… the record of his rentals.

Not even 10 minutes passed when the sound of the door caught my attention again, Sarah had arrived, I didn’t notice the time so I checked it, she arrived an hour later than agreed and had no idea.

Sarah came in with a smile, dropping her bag on the counter making noise as she arrived.

“I’m here.”

I quickly closed the computer information and let out a jokingly annoyed sigh at her presence.

“Well, there are only two hours left until closing.”

“Three, we close later on Saturdays.”

I rolled my eyes playfully and took off my blue vest, walking to the other side of the counter, ready to grab my things and leave.

“Is this…?” Sarah mentioned, catching my attention.

I turned to look at her and she was holding the returned movies from a few moments ago. I forgot to organize them.

“Oh, let me-”

“Oh no” she interrupted me “Kill Bill and A Tale of Two Sisters, Korean horror? Did the handsome guy already stopped by?”

I frowned.

“He just left” said Tim.

Sarah made a disappointed face.

“I guess he comes often” I said.

“Of course, every Saturday at seven during my shift.”

I stared at her, perplexed.

“He’s definitely coming to see you, Sarah” Tim added, amused.

Sarah just smiled. I let out a reluctant laugh.

“I’m leaving” I announced.

“Wait, Callie, aren’t you going to organize them…” I heard Sarah exclaim just before leaving through the door, but I decided to ignore her.

She can do it alone. Maybe Minho can come back to help her.

#bang chan #bang chan smut #bangchan fanfic #bangchan #bang chan stray kids #skz bang chan #stray kids smut #skz smut #kpop smut #skz fanfic #bang chan fic #christopher bang #bang chan fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids fanfic

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syd-djarin · 7 months

Text

Sugar, Spice & Please Fuck Me Nice (neighbor!joel AU)

chapter three: fair game - in collaboration with @katiexpunk

*18+ Minors DNI*

Word count: ~6.5k

a/n: katie and I wrote to our slutty hearts' desires. srsly she is a smut fairy & loving friend. plz follow her. @katiexpunk

warning(s): SMUUUUUT.

tags: f & m masturbation, 2000s style (needs a TW lol), joel is a little rough/bossy, unprotected p in v, creampie, blowjob, pet names, praise kink, spitting (1), fair date, eating, flirting

NOV 2005

You can’t stop thinking about that night at Joel’s a week ago. The way he touched you, pleasured you in a way that you've never experienced before. The way he kissed you, fervently yet soft. You could kiss him for hours and never tire.

Not only are you craving his touch, but you also find yourself wanting to learn more about him. You want to know him. The things you’ve learned about him through Sarah and what you’ve picked up on are tiny crumbs, leaving you starving for more.

You hope he feels the same.

You haven’t had a chance to talk to Joel since that night, as you’ve been drowning at work. You started working for this publishing firm in college, first, as an intern, and now that you’ve finished school, you’re an editor. You agreed to take on extra responsibilities due to your coworker being out on maternity leave, which has exponentially increased your workload, on top of your boss being a micromanaging asshole.

Joel’s been burning the candle at both ends. He’s working against a tight deadline on a big project for a persnickety client and Sarah’s soccer team is in the playoffs for the district championship; he’s incredibly proud but attending her neverending roster of games has left him a bit preoccupied. He never thought he would end up being a soccer dad, but life has a funny way of keeping him on his toes.

Much like you, he’s replayed you squirting on his leather couch in his mind over and over, a never-ending lascivious reel that plays in his head as he fucks his cock at night. Joel longs to hear those saccharine sounds you make while you ride his cock, your tits bouncing in tandem with your movements. He’s kicking himself for not getting his hands, or mouth, on your pillowy breasts. The cheekiness of forgoing a bra in your bunny costume revealed a side of you that he wants to unleash.

He wants to know everything; what keeps you up at night, what makes you double over in laughter, your ticklish spots, which movies make you cry without fail, all of your little quirks. Hell, he even wants to know if you believe in aliens.

+++

You pull into your driveway after a long, grueling day at work. Your brain is so fried you didn’t even turn the music on for the drive home; a rarity for you since you always have music playing in your car, whether it be the FM radio or one of the various CDs you’ve collected over the years. A true indicator of your current state of being. You can’t wait to veg out on the couch, rid your mind of this shitty week, and huddle into an antisocial ball.

After a few moments of idly sitting in your car, you peel yourself from the driver’s seat and go to retrieve your work tote from your trunk when you hear a deep voice calling out to you, one you’d recognize anywhere. You turn in the direction of the sound and find Joel. He’s clearly working on a renovation project; a miter saw, lumber and a plethora of other tools are set up in his front yard. There’s another man with him, bearing a slight resemblance to Joel. Brothers, maybe?

“Hey, neighbor!” Joel immediately regrets his word choice, finding it oddly stiff — considering he’s had his face between your thighs.

“Hey Joel!” You manage to shout back, despite your energy battery being crucially depleted.

He waves for you to come over. Unfortunately, or fortunately, you’re unable to resist him. Not when he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, hair tousled, and coaxing you across the street.

Though you feel drained, being in close proximity to Joel makes your body thrum in nerves. You’re being energized by anxious attraction.

Joel and the mystery man greet you at the edge of the yard.

“This is my brother Tommy. Tommy, this is my neighbor.”

“So, this is the pretty neighbor you were tellin’ me about,” Tommy says, his southern drawl identical to Joel’s.

Joel glares at Tommy. If looks could kill.

Tommy holds out his hand, you tell him your name and give him your hand for a brief shake; much like Joel’s does, his palm size is large in comparison to yours and envelops your full hand. You survey the man in front of you; handsome, dark curly hair like Joel, slightly longer and free of the grays his brother sports, deep brown eyes, similar to Joel’s. The Miller genes are super fucking strong.

“Nice to meet ya, sweetheart,” he says, nodding his head in acknowledgment, his eyes dragging over your figure just a second too long.

“I’m gonna start packin’ these tools up,” Tommy announces to Joel and then shoots him a wink. It’s obvious he wasn’t aiming for subtlety, clearly wanting to give you and his brother a moment alone.

Joel shifts his broad frame to face you directly. You wish you didn’t feel so bashful in his presence, but it’s hard to breathe evenly when he is standing so close you can smell him - earthy and a hint of his deodorant wearing off. It should be gross to you, but you want to put his scent in a candle. You’re fucking deranged.

“Sorry, ‘m all sweaty…” Joel apologizes, looking down at himself, remembering that he probably reeks like a locker room.

You wave off his apology, giggling at his self-awareness.

“I wanted to ask you somethin’,'' Joel says, gently wrapping his hand around your arm right above your elbow. Goosebumps erupt on your skin at the touch of his calloused fingers.

“Okay…”

“I was wonderin’...” Joel pauses, his fingers now grazing over the soft skin of your arm.

You gulp in anticipation. “Yes, Joel?”

“I was wonderin’ if you’d like to go on a date with me,'' he asks, his eyes dropping to his boots for a second before coming back up to meet yours, “a proper one.”

You’re so giddy at his proposition you think you might burst.

“Well, you know…I’ve gotta check my calendar,” you say, a big grin plastered on your face. You see his face drop, but before he can sulk too much you wink at him and say, “yeah, I’d love to,” you exhale and try to keep your voice level, not wanting to give away how excited you actually are. A date. With Joel Miller.

“You free tomorrow?” he asks, beaming, revealing the dimpled smile you’re so fond of.

“Lucky for you, I am,” you say, feeling your skin warm.

“Pick you up at 7?” he asks, dipping his face closer to yours, his hand now on your waist pulling you into him.

“Works for me,” you confirm while planting a chaste kiss on his cheek, “see you then, neighbor!” you conclude, being sure to emphasize the neighbor in your words, and before he can convince you to stay, you’re sauntering across the street back to your house.

+++

It’s finally here. Your big date with Joel.

The day went by torturously slow, anticipation pulsing through your entire body.

You spent almost two hours getting ready, the majority of the time trying to pick an outfit. You probably changed 30 times, trying to find the outfit that conveyed the perfect balance of sexy, yet subdued.

You decide on a pair of dark wash flares and a lacy top, both accentuating your figure heavenly. You spritz on a little perfume you save for special occasions. If this ain’t a hell of an occasion.

Joel, with impeccable timing, rings the doorbell right as you tug your black cowboy boots on. It’s sill relatively warm in Austin, so you decide to forgo a jacket.

Opening the door, you and Joel take a moment to check the other out, neither of you trying to hide it whatsoever. Joel’s wearing his signature jeans and a green flannel with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, exposing his veiny, strong forearms. You’d hump his arms given the opportunity.

“Absolutely stunnin’, sweetheart,” he licks his bottom lip while his brown irises roam over your entire body, paying special attention to your waist and tits. You’re mentally patting yourself on the back for your outfit choice.

“One could say the same for you, cowboy,” you quip back, a smug grin plastered across your face.

Your smile shoots blood straight to Joel’s cock.

He swallows as he realizes the night is just beginning.

+++

Joel takes you to a quaint diner for your date. From the outside, it’s unassuming; an older building in urgent need of a pressure wash, adjacent to a virtually empty shopping center. A true hole-in-the-wall in the middle of downtown Austin.

“It doesn’t look like much on the outside, but I promise ya, they got the best damn burgers in town,” he assures, seeing the questioning look on your face when he pulls into the parking lot.

You and Joel slide into a booth in the far corner, Joel insisting that booth seating is part of the experience. You both order burgers, per his recommendation and boy, it does not disappoint.

Between bites of food, you and Joel learn more about each other. The conversation flows easily, both hanging onto each other’s every word; no awkwardness or feigning interest. You both share parts of your childhoods and you share stories from your college days. Joel recounts the mischief he and Tommy got into when they were younger, earning several belly laughs from you.

Joel loves the way you laugh; candidly, throwing your head back, your shoulders jerking uncontrollably as you try to catch a breath.

You’re pleased to learn that both you and Joel have a fondness for 80’s action movies, especially the over-the-top-borderline-cheesy ones, and 70’s artists like Fleetwood Mac and Electric Light Orchestra.

Joel asks about your job as an editor. You tell him the different types of manuscripts you have to read; some you drudge through, others you enjoy. “I love seeing how the story progresses from the first rough draft up until the final copy,” you tell him,” a lot of authors are really full of themselves, so you have to boil down a lot of the flowery language and hubris.”

In return, he tells you about how he got started as a contractor, hard work rewarded him with promotions until he opened up his own contracting business six years ago. “It’s priceless gettin’ to be your own boss,” he says, “not havin’ to answer to anyone, can be more selective in projects you wanna take on,” he continues, and you swear you’re listening but you’re secretly caught up in the sound of his voice and the way his lips move when he’s talking; hypnotizing you with every word.

Joel opens up about when Sarah came into this world; the happiest day of his life while simultaneously being scared shitless — he was wild and ungovernable, definitely not ready for fatherhood.

Through the years he’s found his rhythm. He doesn’t talk about her mother and you don’t ask; you’re not looking to dig into that lore on the first date. He tells you what Sarah was like as a baby and the subsequent years. Your heart melts at the adoration and pride that glow in his eyes when he talks about his daughter.

You both sit in the overused booth, totally absentminded to the world around you. You’re both locked into one another, afraid of missing even the faintest shift in facial expressions. You might as well be the only two people here.

Taking the final bite of your burger, you tell Joel that you’re inclined to agree that these are the best burgers in town.

He mumbles something to the effect of “told ya,” before finishing his last bite.

On the ride home from the diner, you spot an illuminated Ferris wheel, glowing in the distance of the Austin night.

“Oh, I didn’t know the fair was still in town. I haven’t been in years!” exclaiming a little loudly for a woman your age, “can we…..?”

Joel can’t say no to you, not when you’re giving him a pleading, pouty look.

+++

Once inside the fairgrounds, you both walk through the selection of vendors, and it doesn’t take long for the funnel cake sign to catch your eye; Joel purchases you one and you continue on your adventure together.

“Here,” he says, offering you a paper napkin.

You gently shake your head, shoving another bite of funnel cake into your mouth, “don’t need one.”

He laughs. You look like a stubborn child learning what sugar is for the first time, “you’re gonna get all sticky,” he says, a big grin enveloping his face, your eagerness for the sweetness of the battered dough reminds him of Sarah’s sweet tooth. God, you’re cute – it makes him wish she was with you both tonight.

Well, that is until he notices it. It’s subtle, but it’s there – a sprinkling of powdered sugar on your cheek and exposed chest.

He knows this is a family event, but he wants to do anything but PG-rated things with you right now.

He stares at the white dust on your skin until your voice catches his attention again.

“Maybe I want to be sticky,” you reply, “gives you more to lick off of me later.”

And fuck, if that doesn’t turn him on.

The thought of his tongue on you sends a flood of impure thoughts to his brain; much like the ones he had when you first showed up at his door, covered in remnants of flour, all sugar and sweetness.

He knows now.

You may be sugar, but fuck, if you haven’t got some spice in you, too.

+++

As you stroll, your eyes grow wide when you see it; a yellow wooden sign with the words “bobbing for apples” in Comic Sans engraved into it.

“Ah! Joel! Bobbing for apples! I haven’t done that since I was a kid – we have to do it!” you say, your voice is a little too eager and a little too high-pitched, but the childlike wonder on your face is all the convincing that Joel needs. He might not admit it, but he’d give you anything you want. You reach out for his hand, and he takes it, letting you lead the way.

You and Joel make your way up to the station, and a fair worker in an apron and a straw hat shouts to the crowd, “Come one, come all! Test your skills at an apple grab; the winner gets a prize,” his voice is low in octave but loud enough like he’s speaking through a megaphone.

A line of fair-goers of all ages quickly forms around the barrels filled with water and apples, and you look at Joel with eager eyes as you step up to yours.

The rules of the game were explained by the worker with a chuckle, “Alright, folks, no hands, just your teeth. Lean in, and bob for an apple, and what you catch is yours to keep plus a prize from the booth to the right.”

“You sure about this, sweetheart? You’re gonna get all wet,” Joel asks, probably just a smidge too concerned about your well-being considering it’s just bobbing for apples.

“You gonna act like you don’t know that I’ve been wet this entire night?” you say, not waiting to hear his response as the worker calls out a loud “GO!”

Giggles and cheers fill the air as you and your fellow participants lean over the barrel. Your face disappears into the water; your competitiveness in overdrive – edging yourself deeper and deeper into the water; so far that your shirt gets soaked. You don’t care, though, and you gleam from satisfaction as you resurface with a gleaming red apple held triumphantly between your teeth.

The crowd erupts in applause at your efforts, and Joel stands watching you with his hands on his hips, a smile plastered on his face. As his gaze drops from the apple in your mouth, he notices the wetness of your shirt and shit, you’re positively drenched.

It takes Joel all of .0002 seconds to notice the silhouette of your nipples peeking out from your shirt, the goosebumps littering your skin, and the tail ends of your hair wet and starting to curl under the weight of the water.

You drop the apple from your teeth and catch it in your palm.

“Well, well…looks like you’re on a date with a prize-winnin’ apple picker. Feeling lucky yet?” you tort, attempting to flirt through the uncomfortable press of the damp fabric on your skin.

“Sweetheart, I’ve seen that mouth in action, I already knew you were going to win,” he says, “but you know I’d never thought I’d see the day…” he trails off.

“What do you mean?” you ask, slightly confused.

“Never thought I’d see the day that I was jealous of a fuckin’ Red Delicious apple,” he says, humor behind his voice, “s’ashame I wasn’t the one you were bobbin’ for in that barrel.”

“Listen, if you want to get wet and let me put you in my mouth, I am more than happy to accommodate,” you reply back, your voice flirty and suggestive.

Joel doesn’t respond, but you see him palm himself through the denim of his jeans at your suggestion, interjecting his thoughts.

You can’t hide the shivers that take over your body from the chill of the night air and the wetness of your clothing.

“C’mere, baby, you’re freezin’,” he says, brow furrowed, and arms wide open stretched out to you, beckoning you into his large arms. You take a step forward and step into his brace, letting yourself melt into the warmth of his arms and the aroma of his natural scent.

You stand there, wet in more ways than one, and let him hold you. Your arms wrap around his thick middle, and he rubs up and down your back with both palms in an attempt to warm you up. He releases you momentarily before saying, “Here, take this.”

You step away from him for a second, giving him space to slip off the flannel he’s wearing, revealing nothing but a white t-shirt underneath; the little tufts of hair peeking out through the collar of his shirt almost send you into a tailspin.

He holds the flannel open by the collar to face you, encouraging you to put it on. You turn your back to him, allowing him the privilege of holding it as you slip your arms into the sleeves. The fabric of the shirt is warm from his skin, and the moment you put it on you’re flooded with the smell embedded deep within the fibers; all musk, whiskey, cinnamon, wood, and Joel.

“Come on, now, you little bobbin’ minx, let’s go get you your prize,” he says, tilting his head to the prize booth. You grab his hand and let him lead the way this time.

You and Joel make your way to the prize booth, the smell of kettle corn invades your senses; sure, you were already stuffed with funnel cake and your dinner, but the sweet aroma makes your mouth water. Or maybe it’s just Joel, you’re not quite sure, but you don’t really care.

In the small structure of the prize booth, the shelves were adorned with a colorful array of stuffed animals of all sizes, trinkets, and games. You carefully assess your prize options while the attendant tries to convince you that of all of the random assortment of prizes, you absolutely need the goldfish. Right.

You look over the options in front of you for what feels like a good ten minutes before the attendant not so subtly grows tired of your indecision. You sigh. You decide on a small puppy dog with beady plastic brown eyes, and you nod in thanks as he hands it to you, and you and Joel walk away from the booth.

“Had a tough time decidin’ there, didn’t ya, sweetheart?” Joel asks, not really questioning.

“Well, to be honest, none of the prizes were really appealing to me,” you respond, playing with the fluffy ears of the stuffed plush in your hands. “I only picked this one because I thought Sarah might like it,” you say. Your consideration for Sarah, and your accepting demeanor to her, warms Joel’s heart.

“But I can think of one I’d really like to claim,” you say, catching his gaze. You see his jaw clench at your words.

“Oh yeah? And that would be..?”

“You,” the word comes out breathy.

You both stop walking and the crunch of the dirt under his boots and the distant sounds of the fair in the background all but freeze as you stand there, seemingly paused in your own little private moment.

“Take me home, Joel,” you say, planting your palm on his broad chest and stepping closer to him, your chest nearly flush against his. His hands skate down to your waist, and he closes the gap between your bodies, holding you close enough that you feel the growing bulge between his thighs.

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, leaning down, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

And it’s sweet.

Just like the funnel cake.

And just like he thinks you are.

But you have other plans for him tonight.

And he has the same for you.

+++

You and Joel make your way out of the fairgrounds and to the lot where Joel parked his truck.

Still wearing his flannel, the stuffed puppy dog intertwined between your crossed arms, you wait for him to open the passenger side door. You all but eye fuck him as he reaches into the depth of the front pocket of his jeans and grabs his keys. He unlocks the door, and opens it for you; offering you a hand to help guide you in.

“Always such a gentleman,” you say, placing your hand in his, accepting his offer, using the strength of his arm to help lift yourself into the bed of the truck.

Joel rounds around the front of the vehicle, unlocks the driver’s side door, and slides in. He turns the key in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life and the radio turns on, “Come a Little Closer” by Dierks Bentley plays over the speakers.

Deciding to take a note from the lyrics, you don’t bother to buckle yourself into the passenger seat, and instead slide over into the middle seat of the truck, positioning yourself tightly against Joel’s side. You lace your arm through the underside of his and interlock them, your hand curls around his firm bicep. You lean your head into his shoulder, and close your eyes, taking a moment to bask in the solitude of the strong man beneath you.

He looks down at you for a moment – god, he could get used to this. He dwells on the thought for a moment longer and then begins to drive away.

You’re clinging to him and you both ride like that in an easy silence, apart from the faint music and the hum of his truck. It has been so long since you felt so content, so at peace with the moment and yourself; not worried about work or life, or anything. It was just you and Joel, and you like it that way.

Nearly back to your house, and your shared neighborhood, you let your left hand wander on the expanse of his thigh. The time for sweetness is over. The events of the night, your combined obvious want, and the flirtatious taunts catch up with you.

Joel keeps his eyes on the road, but you don’t miss the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens as your hand makes its way closer to his belt buckle. You begin to toy with the cool metal there, and his large palm comes down to cup yours.

“We’re almost home,” he says, holding your hand tight against his stiffening cock, not letting you move. “But I want to feel you now,” you whine.

“I know, baby, I know you wanna get your hands on this cock, and I would like nothing more,” he says, “but you’re gonna have to be patient, we only have a few more minutes until we’re there.”

“And why do I have to be patient, neighbor?” you ask, pulling your hand away, slightly keyed up. Greedy. Horny.

“Because I wanna give that needy little pussy the attention she deserves,” he says, “and because once I get started, I know ‘m not gonna be able to stop.”

“And neighbor ain’t gonna be what you’ll be calling me,” he says roughly, “I’ll fuckin’ make sure of that, sweetheart.”

He takes a turn and pulls into your neighborhood. You catch a glimpse of Mrs. Morrison taking out her trash. She glares at you in disapproval as you drive past in Joel’s truck.

You sometimes wonder what your neighbors might think; a pretty little young thing like you, the youngest daughter, hanging out with the older, single-father neighbor across the way.

But truthfully, you don’t really give a fuck.

+++

Joel pulls up into your driveway, the engine purrs softly before falling silent. You both pause in silence.

Joel turns to you, a smirk on his lips “We’re here,” he says, his voice carrying a hint of invite me in behind his voice.

You glance out the window, your house bathed in the soft glow of your porch light. You turn back to Joel and say “Thank you for tonight, I really had a fun time. But to be honest, I just realized I never got to thank you properly…”

Joel looks at you and something dark flickers in his gaze. “And what would you need to be thankin’ me for, sweetheart?” As if he didn’t know.

“For the best orgasm I’ve ever had. Come in and I’ll return the favor” conjuring your sultriest voice, knowing he doesn’t need an invitation.

You step out of the truck, and the night air is cool, a gentle breeze whispers through your hair; your features are illuminated by the street lights in your neighborhood, and the warm glow casts an inviting aura around you. Joel appears at your side of the truck and helps you exit.

The gravel under your feet crunches as you walk toward the front porch; the air is charged with electricity, a livewire, a magnetic pull drawing your bodies together.

The porch light by your door casts a warm yellow glow on your faces. You pause at the front of the step and reach for your house keys in your purse. Your porch swing sways gently in the breeze, its rhythmic creaking adding to the undertone of the moment.

You insert the key into the lock, but before you can fully turn the doorknob to open the door, Joel already has his large palm on yours, opening the door, pushing you through the door frame and into your house, his hands cradling your face before he crashes his plush lips into yours.

The second you’re both fully in your house, Joel's hands are on the hem of your shirt, silently begging for you to take it off. You let him work on getting you topless, meanwhile, your hands are hastily working to undo his belt buckle, the excitement of finally being able to touch him and him not being able to stop touching you has you worked up. Joel presses his thighs together against yours, drawing little moans from you while he nips at your neck.

As much as he is trying to distract you, he’s no match for your determination. In record-breaking time you have his buckle undone and the zipper of his jeans is down; you gracefully fall to your knees before him, tugging his pants and his boxers down with you to the floor. Joel’s cock releases from the confines of his clothing and slaps against his tummy, leaving a little trail of pre-cum in its wake. You already knew he was big, but having him in full view makes you realize just how big he really is.

You lick your lips and reach out to grab his thick cock, affectionately kissing the tip of his cock; you run your tongue through the slit, lapping up the salty pre-cum that drops out before you circle your tongue along the underside of his head. You let your jaw go slack, and you begin to dip down on his length; a gurgling sound escapes your lips as you pull back up again. You do this a few times before letting his hard cock fall from your lips, your lips puffy and coated in saliva, some of it dribbling past your chin.

You pull off momentarily and smile up at Joel. He thinks you look far too sweet and innocent for someone who is absolutely taking his cock deep in your throat like a champ. He intertwines his fingers through your hair and groans, before gently urging you back down onto his cock.

“Fuck, sweetheart – can’t tell you how long I’ve been thinking about having that pretty little mouth of yours on my cock,” he says slightly breathless.

The thought of him thinking about you goes straight to your core and makes you want to mouth fuck him harder.

You wrap your lips around him again, and he thrusts his hips to glide his cock inside of your mouth to the back of your throat.

He begins to pick up his pace, holding your head steady by your hair as he fucks into your throat, pressing deeper and deeper until spit pools at the corners of your mouth and slight tears form in the corners of your eyes. He presses you down onto him until your lips are wrapped around the base of him and the coarse hairs that reside there. You’re drowning in the taste of him, hardly able to breathe, but you don’t care; you want him to chase his high, to use your mouth for his own pleasure. He made you come harder than anyone ever has before; this was the least you could do for him.

“Jesus – look at you, pretty girl, fuck you feel so good wrapped around me,” he grits out, “takin’ it so well, baby.”

His words go straight to your cunt, the ache now insufferable.

You begin to work him harder with your tongue, struggling for air, and he inches closer to the back of your throat and you begin to gag. Joel pulls out, not wanting to hurt you, and a strand of saliva trails between your lips and his cock. You blink back tears and look up at him, your mascara now a mess on your face, and your eyes glossy.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his brow furrowed in concern.

You swallow, and reach up to wipe a tear from your cheek. You are okay. More than okay.

“Peachy. I'm relieved I finally got to return the favor,” you hum, standing to rise to meet his face.

He wraps his hands around your waist, and pulls you tight against the front of his body; you feel the warmth of his tummy, the hardness of his cock, and the strength of his back behind your grip and it makes your legs turn to Jell-O. Fuck, you need him.

Joel kisses you for a moment, before pulling away and bringing his lips to your ear “Gonna fuck you now, sweet girl.”

You feel your stomach swoop and your folds tingle; you have thought about this moment for so long and you yearn for the stretch of him; to know what it’s like to be filled to the brim with Joel fucking Miller.

He kicks off his boots, steps out of the clothing bunched around his ankles, and takes your hand to follow you down the hallway into your bedroom.

Part of him wants to take his time; to make you feel good, to taste you again, and feel you come and come on his fingers. Part of him wants to shuck down your jeans and put your pretty pussy in his face.

Joel doesn’t particularly think of himself as a selfish man, but he has waited patiently, and he needs you. Now.

As much as he wants the taste of you on his lips, the part of him that wants to shove himself into your addictive cunt until you forget your name until you forget every other name except for his, is the dominant one right now.

Once in the bedroom, he crowds you back until the back of your calves meet the edge of your mattress. He grabs both of your hips in a bruising grip and pulls you tight against his chest, his hips grinding into yours, and you lean your face up to kiss him. You think he might kiss you, but instead, he ghosts your lips and leans forward until your back meets the soft fabric of the mattress with an oof, and he’s on top of you.

He grabs both of your wrists, pinning them above your head. His grip on you is firm, yet gentle. You’ve seen his brute strength in action and the fact that he could overpower you sends a shiver to your clit.

“So beautiful, darlin’ – you know that?” he kisses your nose and trails a slew of them down your cheek, your jaw, your chin, and neck. Once at the nape of your neck, he nibbles on your earlobe and whispers “You ready for me, sweetheart?” his breath is heavy in your ear.

You can’t nod fast enough in agreement.

“You gonna be a good girl for me?” he practically purrs the question.

You want nothing more than to be a good girl for Joel. You nod almost aggressively to make up for the fact that you’re unable to construct a single sentence right now.

He lets out a satisfied moan and drops his grip on your wrists, and drags his heavy hands down your body to the center of your jeans and undoes the button of your pants, and hooks his thumbs in the waistband of both your jeans and your panties and pulls them down in one fell swoop.

He dips down to place a delicate kiss to your tummy and lets the weight of his head rest on the softness of you. He inhales deeply, the aroma of your perfume comforts him, and he fights the urge to dip his face lower and bury himself in your pussy.

You drop both of your hands and grab his head, your fingers carding through his hair, and he groans.

“Thought you were gonna be a good girl for me,” he says, not really questioning.

“I am being a good girl,” you respond back, not really sure what prompted his statement.

“Maybe I wasn’t clear enough the first time. When I put you in a position, I want you to stay there, until I say you can move. Got it?”

And holy fuck, bossy Joel turns you on.

You only hum in response.

“Need you to use your words, sweet girl. Answer me, or I’ll make you,” he says, voice low, his head closer to your center now, almost to exactly where you need him but not quite.

“Ye - ah, yes, fuck I understand,” sending all of your energy to string the words together.

He hums in acknowledgment and pushes your hands back up overhead, telling you to keep them there, and only to touch him when he says you can. When he releases your hands and sees that your arms stay put, he rasps out a “good girl”.

He then reaches down and notches his tip at your entrance, and drags the weight of his thick cock through your glistening folds.

“Mmmm so fuckin’ wet, this all for me?”

“All for you, J-oel,” you’re trembling, desperate to feel him deep inside you.

He pauses momentarily, only the tip of him inside you, and god, it’s such a tease.

You know it’ll sting, but you want him to just fucking bury every inch of himself inside of you. You don’t care about the pain; you crave the stretch of him.

“Joel – ah, need more,” you moan, “need all of you.”

“You sure, sweetheart? I ‘don wanna hurt you,” he says, once again concerned about you.

“Joel, I want you to fucking wreck me. Need you to move, please.”

After your plea, he obliges. You feel every inch of him, the way he throbs inside of you, and the tip of his head drags against the spongey spot inside of you.

Your eyes flutter shut as he begins to move in and out of you, he feels so fucking good, and you’re so perfectly full.

“Open your eyes, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and gruff, still continuing to saw in and out of you. ‘’Want you to look at me while I fuck you.”

And his words are like music to your fucking ears. He’s the perfect balance of gentleman and fucking filth.

He brings a hand down to circle your clit, and with the added sensation you’re not far off from your orgasm. You can feel it growing in your stomach with every circle of his thumb and every thrust of his cock. You open your mouth, your jaw slack, and you begin to moan.

“Fuck, baby – you shouldn’t open your mouth like that,” he moans.

“And – fuckkkk, why not?” You respond back, breathless from each of his thrusts.

“Just a reminder of another hole I need to use,” he responds, and then gruffly says “Open,” while pressing his thumb and index finger into your jaw, holding you in place.

You do as he says, and he spits into your mouth. Your eyes wide as saucers. It was hot, dirty, filthy.

“Taste how perfect we are together, baby” he says, still pounding into you and circling your clit.

His words send you into fucking oblivion, and you’re gone. Your vision goes white, and despite his order to keep your eyes open, your eyes fall closed and he fucks you through your orgasm.

Your tight, slick walls pulse and squeeze around him. His hands squeeze your hips, his fingertips bruising your skin as he rocks your limp and shaky body against his cock, chasing his own orgasm.

Not long after you’ve come, he’s finishing too. He fucks into you at an erratic pace and then shoots his seed deep into your cunt.

“Fuckkk, baby” – he trails off, letting the final spurts of his cum paint your walls.

You let out a sigh, and once again drop your hands to his head, intertwining your hands with the hair behind his head.

You both lay there in your fucked out bliss and then he pulls out of you, taking a dribble of his cum with him, a glob of it landing on your thigh.

You’ve never felt so satisfied, to be laying there, content and full of Joel Miller.

He rolls over onto his side and puts his hand on his chest.

“Fuck, baby. You’re perfect,” he says. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get enough of you.”

You hum in delight and roll over onto his chest, melting into him.

“You in the mood for some cookies?” you ask, and he beams in delight.

He hit the fucking lottery with you.

THE END

#joel fic #joel miller #fanfic #joel x f!reader #joel miller is babygirl #fanfic writer #clawing at my cage #first fanfic #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou hbo #tlou fic #the last of us hbo

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sprite-writes · 1 year

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all I want for christmas (is you)

Leonard “Bones” McCoy/Reader (Original Female Character)

Summary: McCoy finds himself wrapped up in the Enterprise annual gift exchange, and for some reason, this Christmas gift feels a hell of a lot more important than just a Christmas gift.

Maybe it’s got something to do with who it’s for.

Word Count: 6,463

A/N: guys I swear this was suppose to be a 2000 word drabble for the holidays but its a whole chapter now idk, I hope you enjoy! as always special thanks to @lightning-writes

“Lieutenant, is there a reason you haven’t drawn a name yet?”

“I need to feel all the papers! That’s how you pick the best one– duh.” She swirls her hand around the bowl once more, rubbing the notes between her fingers. Spock stares patiently.

“Is there a best one to be picked? My understanding of the secret Santa tradition was to be given a random partner.”

“There sure is, and it’s... this one!” she says as she finally plucks the blue sticky note. “It was calling to me.” She unfolds the paper like it's about to self-destruct, and it reveals its neat loopy handwriting.

CMO McCoy

She blinks.

Oh. Leonard.

She blinks again.

It’s Leonard!

She laughs to herself, and Spock raises an eyebrow.

“I assume you’re happy with your choice?”

Her heart beats a little quicker. “Oh, definitely. I told you I had to feel all the papers.” She smiles and rocks on her heels.

I’m Leonards's secret Santa!

Spock nods politely and returns the bowl back to himself. “Thank you for your participation, Lieutenant. I hope your exchange goes well.”

“You too, Spock! Merry Christmas.”

She pats his shoulder and returns her gaze to the piece of paper. Spock makes his way back to his station when something settles in the pit of her stomach.

Oh god, I’m Leonards's secret Santa.

“I’m not doing a gift exchange.”

“Bones, hear me out.”

“No.”

“All the other senior officers are doing it, Even Spock!”

“And? Good for them.”

Leonard doesn’t look up from his PADD, and Kirk fitfully shakes the bowl of papers.

“What will it take for you to do this?” he pleads. Leonard halts, his eyes narrowing, and his hands folding on his desk.

“What are you offering?”

When Kirk sighs, “I mean, whatever if it’s reasonable,” he knows he’s got Kirk right where he wants him.

“You show up for your next two physicals, get up to date on your vaccines, stop flirting with Nurse Walker – then I’ll buy someone a candle or something.”

Kirk glare,s but it does nothing to deter his friend.

“ I think Walker really likes me—“

“Jim.”

“Fine! Fine, you win, just pick a name.”

The doctor rolls his eyes and plucks the first paper off the top of the pile. It’s yellow, and he hopes to god it doesn’t say Spock.

It doesn’t; its pristine sharpie work stains the paper.

Operations Manager A. Sunshine

He stares and squints, all while Kirk watches him intently. A tight, nervous feeling begins to bloom in his chest.

Sunshine. Christ.

“Well?” Kirk prompts. Leonard folds the paper again and shoves it in his uniform pocket.

“Yeah, I got it,” he waves Kirk off. “You can leave my office now. Not like I got patients to attend to or anything.”

Kirk laughs, and it’s blindingly bright.

“I’ll leave you to it, Bones. Remember - two weeks until the exchange!”

Two weeks until the exchange. God help me.

“Okay, what about a jacket? Or a sweater?”

“Nyota, we wear a uniform every day. When is he gonna wear a sweater?”

Sunshine paces back and forth on the sidewalk, chewing on her nails. They’re an hour into their recreational shore leave, with four stores under her belt, and she’s no closer to a gift.

“You want my help or not?” Nyota crosses her arms and stops Sunshine in her path.

“Sorry, I’m being mean, aren’t I?” She receives a pointed look. “I don’t mean to, I just really want this to be…”

“Perfect?” Nyota finishes.

“Perfect?” Sunshine repeats the word, rolling it over in her mouth. “No, not exactly. I just want it to be… right? I guess? I feel like there's an answer, and I’m just not seeing it.”

She sighs. The entire endeavor begins to feel a bit hopeless, and she wonders if she's doomed to just be the shittiest secret Santa the enterprise's annual gift exchange has ever seen. She imagines Leonard's face opening a sweater he’ll never wear, feigning appreciation, and her stomach flips.

Nyota locks her arm with Sunshine’s and gives her all the seriousness she would a Starfleet mission. “If there's an answer on this starbase, we’re gonna find it.”

“You think so?”

She smiles, “Not a doubt in my mind.”

“Bones, you can’t just get a woman makeup, you have to know her shade,” he plucks the tube of lipstick from Leonard's hands, whose eye twitches.

“She wears this color every day, Kirk.”

“She does?” He examines the tube. “Oh, yeah, I guess she does. Still shouldn't get it for her though, what if it’s not her brand?”

“Her brand?”

Kirk looks at Leonard like he’s a child asking perpetually asking why.

“Yes, Bones, her brand. This stuff is very elaborate.”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any bright ideas,” he hisses, shoving the lipstick back into its holder like it offended him. Kirk shrugs.

Leonard wants to scream. From the moment he unwrapped that damn yellow paper he knew this would be a disaster. Why couldn't he have gotten Chapel? Or Sulu? Or Chekov? Or even Kirk? Instead, he gets Sunshine, who he can't bear to disappoint with the candle that's been sitting in his bedside drawer since two Christmases ago. She deserves more, a lot more… he just has no idea what more looks like.

“This is impossible.” he concedes, his hope having run dry after four stores and three makeup departments.

“It is not, we just need to get creative. I think you’re looking at this wrong, Bones,” Kirk begins to weave his way through the retail-maze. “You’ve got to think more… Sunshine. Not just some generic Christmas gift.”

Kirk's words make their way around his head, and unfortunately, he has a great point. Perhaps, maybe, there is a tiny chance that he was carried away by the daunting expectation of what a holiday gift should be. The answer is staring him in the face now - he isn’t getting a Christmas gift, he is getting a Sunshine gift. This, he could work with.

“You might be onto something, Jim.” He snaps his fingers. “With me–I’ve got an idea.”

Sunshine has always been partial to mint chocolate chip, and it's not like there's much of it in space. So, the cone in her hand is indeed a necessity and not a distraction.

“No more pit stops after this,” Nyota says, sweet yet stern, as she holds the door open for Sunshine.

“I completely agree, so quit trying to get us sidetracked,” she quips and takes a long lick of her mint chip.

Ever the patient one, Nyota rolls her eyes with a smile. “So sorry, Lieutenant. I'll try to stay on task.”

Sunshine laughs, links their arms, and they walk down the strip. The impending sugar rush raises her spirits, and she is more than ready for the next bout of stores.

“Okay, so I'm thinking we stop up here and try--”

“Oh, look, It's Jim and Leonard,” Nyota says casually, and nervousness shoots through Sunshine.

“It's what!?” Sunshine hisses, her head shooting left and right for a store to dive into. It’s too late, Jim is already waving, and nudging Leonard, who does his polite little half-wave—awww.

“Shit, it’s too late, we were seen,” she sucks in a breath. “Okay, okay, act natural, Nyota. Don’t give anything away!”

She lobs the rest of her ice cream in the nearest trash, straightens her clothes, and skirts backward until her back is against the nearest wall. She has just enough time to pull Nyota next to her and prop her foot against the wall before the pair approach—and just like that, she’s as natural as ever.

“Hello boys,” she hums. She doesn’t even spare them a glance at first, choosing to stare at her nails, and be incredibly casual. She’s met with silence and the prickling feeling of someone staring at her.

They all are.

“Er—hi, Sunshine,” Kirk says slowly, like it's a question. She inches her gaze away from her hand. Kirk has that crease between his brows that he gets when he’s thinking, and Leonards's arms are crossed over his chest, and suddenly this interaction is anything but natural. She plants her foot back on the ground.

“Everythin’ alright?” Leonard asks, in his concerned doctor voice that she knows all too well. She prays the interaction is salvageable.

“Of course it is, everything is normal, as it usually is – right, Nyota?” She juts her elbow into her friend's side, who does not take the gesture kindly. With a hard glare, Nyota nods.

“Just enjoying the day off,” she says tightly, and Sunshine envies her talent for socializing.

There's a suffocatingly awkward pause, where Sunshine sweats and looks at anything other than Leonard – who, in turn, stares at her like he’s trying to solve a math problem.

“Well, uh, we should get back to it, I guess,” Kirk breaks the silence, still confused as ever.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course, us too,” she blurts, and pushes herself off of the wall, “Have fun! Be safe! See you at work!” And with that, she's locking her arm with Nyota once more and hauling ass away from the two. She walks so fast, they’re out of earshot in seconds.

“You know that went terribly, right?” Nyota says flatly.

“I do, and I’m willing to take some of the blame.”

“Some?”

“Most of the blame, maybe,” Sunshine cringes. “It really was that bad, wasn’t it?”

She knows the answer already, but instead of a hearty yes, Nyota bursts into laughter, and keeps laughing until Sunshine joins her.

“It was terrible, awful,” she says, trying to catch her breath. “You’ve really got it bad, huh?”

Sunshine giggles, and leans on her friend. “Ha, got what bad?”

Nyota pauses, curiously observing her friend's seriousness. “Nothing. Here, I’ve heard good things about this store.”

Leonard stares at Sunshine's back as she retreats, thinking about what the hell he just watched unfold.

“Any idea what that was?” Kirk asks, his head tilted so far, he could hurt his neck.

“Not a damn clue.”

Another hour passes, and Sunshine is close to hysterics, and the shopkeeper is hearing all about it.

“So, I pick the name out of the bowl,” she brandishes the crumpled blue paper, “and I’m like, ‘oh, perfect’ because, like I said, we’re great friends, like super close, but now, I actually have to get the gift. And it’s impossible! Everything is too ordinary or not thoughtful enough or just useless! We’ve been at this for hours, and I’m at my wits end here.” Sunshine’s legs swing from her place perched on the countertop.

“So, this friend of yours,” the assistant manager, Tina, begins, “he doesn’t have any hobbies? Or interests?” Customers pass, and Sunshine sighs.

“Hobbies? Not really. I mean, all we do is work, and he works a lot– did I mention he’s CMO? Yeah, I mean, he’s passionate about his work! He loves being a doctor, he acts all jaded about it, but he’s actually a huge softie, loves helping people.” She pauses and sucks in a breath, while Tina nods like she’s keeping up. “He doesn’t love doing it in space, though. That’s what he’s mostly jaded about. I mean, he did his dissertation in med school on deep space diseases, so it makes sense but –”

“Well, where’s he from?” Tina interrupts.

“Oh, he’s from Earth; I am too.” Sunshine points to Nyota, who is rifling through the cologne section in her stead, “So is my friend.”

“You know, there’s a little earth-themed shop just around the corner…”

This piques Sunshine’s interest, and it fills her with hope.

“Earth-themed?” she repeats. Tina nods while she restocks the shelf behind the counter.

“It’s an antique shop; they have trinkets from everywhere but mostly earth. Maybe you’ll find something there?”

Sunshine grins, and she feels a weight being lifted off her chest. “Tina, you’re a godsend, thank you so much,” she hops off the counter with renewed vigor. “C’mon, Nyota! I think we’ve got our answer!” Nyota is halfway through the stack of samples in her hand when she’s rushed out of the store. She fleetingly wonders why she puts up with this.

—

Leonard barely looks up from his PADD the entire way back to the ship. It takes Kirk, attached to his side, to weave him through crowds and assure no accidents or injuries. The enterprise is quiet upon arriving, and Kirk is ushered into Leonard's office.

“Alright! Game time, Bones, tell me whatcha got,” Kirk claps his hand on Leonard’s shoulder—it reminds him of a high school football coach.

“Right, we’re gonna need to abuse your authority. “

“…for a Christmas gift?”

Leonard rifles through his drawers.

“Well, what else would it be for? Listen, go ask the head nurse–should be Nurse Bennet– tell her you need access to the medical imaging equipment, and grab the camera in Drawer B, got it?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess?”

Leonard shoos him out of the room. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he uses the moment of solitude to clear his head.

He really hopes this isn't a stupid idea.

—

In the antique store, Sunshine elects to not sit on any of the countertops.

The entire place seems fragile to her, with shelves lined high with old-world things she didn't recognize and floors littered with boxes. It was eclectic, to say the least. To say the most, it was downright cramped. And tiny.

Definitely no countertop sitting for her.

Her eyes trail across the room, and she gets an odd nostalgic feeling, like she isn’t quite in space anymore. It feels like her mom's old house. The feeling sweeps her up like a hug, and she almost forgets why she’s there as her eyes roam. Nyota recenters her with a nudge and points to the back of the store.

“Hello!” Sunshine calls and catches the attention of the man behind the register. He’s older, with deep smile lines, and an overly large coat. He looks kind, she thinks. He waves in return for her hello.

Nyota slips between two shelves, already scouring for ideas, while Sunshine approaches the shopkeep.

“Somethin’ I can do for you?” he asks, his accent familiar, and strikes her with a sudden longing feeling.

“If it's not too much trouble, I really need some help finding a gift for my friend,”she says, uncharacteristically beginning to feel shy. “And there's a bit of a story to it too, if you have the time.”

He stares at her curiously, and she hopes she hasn't overstepped.

“Sure.” He shrugs.

He gestures for her to come around the counter, and she can see a wooden chair peeking from behind it. She accepts his invitation and makes herself comfortable in the old-looking wooden rocking chair. Dust flies from it when she sits. He continues counting the register and waits for her to begin.

“So,” she fiddles with the blue sticky note that has lost its stickiness, “I joined Starfleet like, a little over a year ago, and there's this Doctor…”

—

The captain clears his throat and clears it again, running a hand through his hair because he’s just not sure what to say.

“So, I gathered you both here for a reason, which is very important… but I also cannot provide much information about why it’s important - very… classified stuff, but I assure you-”

Leonard is too impatient for his own good, and he’s rolling his eyes and grumbling mere seconds into the captain's fake speech.

“I’ll take it from here, Jim,” he interjects, “I can’t watch you flounder like a fish out of water anymore.”

The captain's patience wavers, but Leonard takes no mind to this.

“Henly, Donavan, stand next to each other and smile. We’re doing a Starfleet scrapbook or something,” he says, voice filled to the brim with sarcasm. He brings the camera to his face, and the two girls look at one another with confused, pinched faces.

“We don't have all day, Ensigns,” he mumbles. Henley and Donavan turn their confused frowns into tentative smiles, and he snaps the picture. He throws a thumbs up their way.

“Great. You’re dismissed.” Leonard turns around, sights set on their next stop already. Kirk, however, scrambles to leave this interaction on a politer note.

Kirk calls, “What he means is thank you so much for participating ladies, and you look great by the way, can’t wait for you to see the scrapbook!” but they were already retreating, whispering and giggling to one another. He sighs.

“So, now that I’ve abused my authority for the sake of a Christmas gift, do I get to know what the gift is?” he demands.

“We’re not done abusing your authority, just so you’re aware,” Leonard says pointedly, “and fine, but we walk and talk.”

That’s fine with Jim, he’ll walk wherever, talk to whoever, if he finally gets to know what’s going on.

“One year, for Pam and I’s anniversary, she got me this holoframe, piled high with a bunch of pictures of us. The thing’d flip through them all day, like a highlight reel while our marriage fell apart.” Leonard stays five steps ahead and doesn’t look back at Kirk. It’s an odd place to be vulnerable, the enterprise hallways, and Kirk has no idea how this fits into anything.

“Okay…”

“I hated the damn thing. Not the sentimental type, but what you said, about getting a more, Sunshine gift, somethin’ clicked,” he snaps his fingers. “Can’t think of anything she likes more than the crew, and I’ll go out on a limb and say she’s the sentimental type.”

Kirk pauses thoughtfully and suddenly feels touched by the gesture that isn't even for him.

“So, we are making a Starfleet scrapbook? But of all Sunshine's favorite people?”

“Do not go around saying we’re making a scrapbook like we’re a couple of grade schoolers.”

Kirk catches up with his friend with a newfound dedication to this endeavor.

“Sorry, holoframe,” he grins.

—

Sunshine and Nyota are both perched behind the shop counter now. Sunshine slumped down into the rocking chair, Nyota rested on the arm of it.

“...after I told Tina all of this, she sent me here and said maybe you could help—oh, well, actually, she never said that, I just sort of roped you into this on my own accord, sorry about that– but, on the way here, I wrote down this list of facts about Leonard to maybe help find him something?” She pulls out a crumpled receipt with sharpie on the back.

“You brought…a list?” the shopkeep drawls, and it makes her blush.

“Yeah it’s—I thought it might help,” she says sheepishly.

“She is very prepared,” Nyota supplies with a comforting pat on her shoulder.

“Alright, then let's see it.” He holds out his hand, and she lays the receipt flat on his palm. It feels like she's handing something over much more important than the record of her ice cream purchase, but she doesn't put her finger on why.

She waits as the man reads, and she rocks in the chair. She thinks about what a whirlwind of a day it's been but still feels at ease.

“He’s from Georgia?” the shopkeep finally says. She perks up.

“Yeah! He’s, like, a country boy,” she cringes. “Well, like, he's from the country, he grew up on a farm, I just don't know what the actual word for it is.”

Thankfully, the man just chuckles and doesn’t correct her. It's a win in her book.

“He ever miss home?” he asks, eyes still on the paper.

“Oh, only all the time,” she scoffs, “ he’s really not a fan of space.” She buzzes with excitement— she can tell he’s onto something. When he finally speaks, Sunshine has to restrain herself from leaping up and hugging him right there in the store.

“Yeah, I think I got a few things he’d be interested in… Georgians ought to help each other out anyways.”

—

Three fake emergencies and six photos later, both men are exhausted.

Leonard hopes no one enters the rec room for the next hour. He fears the image of him and the captain sprawled on the couch looking through photos of various crew members may be hard to explain.

“Are we done now? Please tell me we’re done.” Kirk shifts, really he wiggles, to prop his feet on the chair beside him. Leonard fiddles with the camera as he replies.

“Just waiting for Uhura to be back from shopping, and that should be it.” Kirk sighs and sinks lower into the couch. Since starting this whole thing, Leonard's anxiety has grown steadily, like a snowball rolling down a hill. Aside from the task of wrangling crew members, and then inventing explanations for his actions, the real challenge is convincing himself that this is even a good idea in the first place. He thinks about that tube of lipstick, and if it was her brand, and wishes this whole thing could be simpler.

“Do you think Spock’s still mad?” Kirk asks, and Leonard barely hears it over his own thoughts.

“He’s forgiven you for a lot worse, I wouldn't get too wound up about it,” he replies absently, hands still fidgeting. “Y’know, Jim, I appreciate you running all over hell's half acre for me. God knows you didn't have to.”

“Bones, I have no idea what that means, but you’re welcome.” His friend smiles, and it quells some deep nervousness. “Totally gonna be worth it, anyway,” Kirk adds.

Leonard isn’t all that sure what he means, but still, he agrees.

“Yeah, I think it will.”

Leonard doesn't see the smirk on Kirk’s face, nor does he pick up on the mischievous cadence of his voice, or even the way they're on completely different pages. Kirk thinks perhaps that's for the best.

—

The gift sits on her desk for three days before she wraps it.

She carefully maneuvers her work around it, avoiding touching the object like it was some precious gem. On occasion, her eyes would drift to it while she sits in her quarters, and her cheeks would heat without reason. She makes an effort not to think about it too much or get too excited, and to definitely not touch it. She finds lately that a bit of effort is required to get her mind off of many things related to the CMO, and it takes even more effort not to think about why that was.

She wraps the gift on the day of the exchange—because it's the easiest way to avoid thinking about it.

—

Leonard gets the damn thing out of his sight as soon as possible.

The gift had been finished – pictures uploaded, running on a ten-second loop – hidden away in a gift bag, out of sight out of mind. He is protecting his peace—leaving it out in the open will only restart the cycle of doubt in his head. So, he pulls doubles, up until the holiday party, if only just to get his goddamn mind off of this stupid exchange he shouldn’t have ever done in the first place—

He works until Chapel won't let him in the medbay anymore, and when she doesn't, he slots his time with other tasks. Hell, he even wonders if he should’ve gone back for the lipstick, the day after they leave the port. He goes as far as to bother Nyota about it, who waves him off and tells him she's sure Sunshine will love her gift—her reassurance helps more than he anticipated.

He almost gets himself to forget the whole thing, lost in the medbay chaos, until he feels the scrap paper crushed in his pocket.

The gift stays hidden away until just a few minutes before he has to meet her, and his palms sweat when he picks it up.

—

Lieutenant Jameson calls out the day of the holiday party— Dakitoan Flu.

Without much choice, Sunshine takes his rounds. She doesn’t think she’s ever completed a task faster in her life. Complete is even a strong word—it's more like half-ass. She’s all too aware of how she’ll have to repeat most of the work again tomorrow, correcting her own mistakes. But she doesn't care. She’s been stressing out about this party for two entire weeks, she’d be damned if she misses it.

When she does finally rush to the rec room, the blue-wrapped gift in hand, there are few people left, and her heart sinks a bit.

There's a Christmas tree in the corner of the room, with only one present left beneath it, and a few red and green ribbons are strewn about. She spots Spock first, already wiping down tables and cleaning up the festivities. He catches her eye, and he must see how her posture is wound tight with nervousness—or her pink cheeks, or her frazzled hair, or the way she obviously ran here. Spock doesn’t quite smile, but his gaze softens in some way she doesn’t see often, and he nods toward a table in the far corner. She follows, and—

Oh! It’s Leonard!

Spock gets a double thumbs up for his help.

Leonard sits with Jim, both of them with glasses of some dark liquid in hand. She wishes she could have had a drink before this. She smoothes down her hair before she approaches.

Kirk notices her first and smiles — it reminds her how nice it is to have someone in her corner.

“Sunny! You made it!” He cheers. She grins back and lets it sink in, yeah I did make it, and the thing she’d been fussing over for weeks is finally coming to an end.

Leonard is much more reserved, he always is. He sees her, and his posture relaxes—he does that a lot. Almost like he’s holding his breath for some reason.

“Captain, Doctor,” she greets the two, still catching her breath. “I’m sorry I missed the party, you have no idea how insane my shift has been —I mean, no idea, but it's over now, and I’m so glad I caught you guys.”

“We had to convince Spock to leave the Christmas tree up until you got here, he’s been cleaning damn near since the party started,” Leonard tuts, and she laughs.

“Aw, I’m glad he did…” She looks at the pine tree, which is bare of ornaments and lights, and raises her eyebrows.

“Well, he sort of did,” Leonard amends. “It was a compromise.”

“A compromise that leaves me with putting the decorations back in storage, so I’d call it more of a trade,” Kirk complains.

“Master negotiator, huh?” she teases and has every intention of teasing him more, maybe even calling Christmas his new Kobayashi Maru, but she waits a beat too long.

“Anyways, Jim, don’t you think you should be getting to it?” Leonard says, as if the conversation didn’t just start.

Jim doesn't say anything at first, just stares at Leonard while Leonard stares at him. It’s all very… intense, she thinks. They exchange pointed looks like they’re engaged in a silent conversation– actually, she’s pretty positive they are. Awkwardness begins to prick at her skin.

“Is there something—”

“Wow, I didn't even notice the time, better get to it, just like you said,” he springs to his feet with alarming speed.

“Oh, do you have to go?” she asks with disappointment.

“I do, duty calls, or something.” He holds her by the shoulders looking at her with enough intensity to make her squint. “Have fun,” he says meaningfully, and smiles, and then, he's gone, leaving with a friendly pat on her back.

She hesitates a moment before taking Kirk's seat.

“Is he…okay?”

“That's a loaded question,” Leonard deadpans, and despite her confusion, she laughs.

“So I have something-”

“Anyways, there's this-”

Their sentences crash into each other, and they both freeze.

“You first,” she offers. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just purses his lips and avoids eye contact.

“Just—Don’t move, I’ll be right back,” he grits out and leaves her at the table. It's abrupt and leaves her wondering why this interaction is going like this. She wraps her arms around herself and waits.

Behind her, he picks up the last present left under the tree, which has been waiting there for her all day. Yellow bag with yellow paper stuffed inside. He places it on the table, and sits back down, hands wringing together. She wants to ask what's got him so worked up.

“I’m your secret… Christmas person or whatever the hell it is,” he grumbles and doesn’t meet her gaze. Not until he hears her stifle a giggle, which then bubbles into a laugh. She doesn’t mean to, but the whole thing just comes together too perfectly for her to contain herself.

“You’re my Secret Santa?” she asks, alight with excitement, and he nods at her slowly.

“Yeah, if that’s the name—” He’s cut off with another laugh, and she eagerly puts her gift in front of him—blue paper with a blue bow.

“Leonard, I’m your Secret Santa!” She beams, “We picked each other! What are the odds?”

He stares at her, then at the gift, and says quietly, bewildered, “What are the odds?”

She doesn’t catch what he means, but she’s too excited to harp on it.

“Well?” she prompts and inches the blue box towards him. “Are you gonna open it?”

Curiously enough, she’s not nearly as nervous anymore.

He blinks and shakes his head like he’s clearing his thoughts. “Yeah, yeah of course,” he says distractedly.

He opens the box carefully, it's like he’s doing an operation. When he looks down at the gift, the gift, he pauses and gets this expression that Sunshine doesn’t think she's ever seen on him.

“Len?”

“Sunshine, is this…?”

“It’s a postcard! From Georgia!” She grins, “A real one from Earth, It’s an antique.” She reaches over the table and taps on the glass of the frame in his hand. “See? There's a little stamp of authenticity. Isn’t that neat?”

Neat. It’s about the neatest thing Leonard’s ever seen.

She settles back in her seat. “I thought it might make you a little less homesick,” she adds, much quieter, as if the statement itself needed privacy.

Leonard stares at the postcard. It's got a picture of a peach orchard, on a perfect summer day, he can tell by the blossoms that line the trees. Greetings from Georgia! it reads. It looks like something he would have seen hanging in his Ma’s house. He thinks of the red door of his childhood home, and how the branches of his family's own peach tree framed it. The smell of his Ma’s cooking and the feeling of coming home— his chest fills with familiarity and longing. He stares for a while and doesn't say anything for even longer.

He doesn’t realize he’s been silent until Sunshine clears her throat. It feels like he forgot he was on the Enterprise for a moment.

“Sunshine this is…” Damn near perfect. “Nice. Thank you.” He says it and cringes. There's so many more feelings and thoughts under the surface. He wishes he could make a sentence out of them. But Sunshine, like she knows his inner thoughts, accepts the weak compliment like it's the best thing she's ever heard.

“Aw, Leonard!” She tucks her hair behind her ear and flushes – or maybe it's the lighting. “I'm so glad you like it. You have no idea the hell I put Nyota through to find it.”

He’s not sure what Nyota had to do with it, and he doesn't ask either. “I’ll thank her too then,” he says weakly, but he definitely won’t. With a deep breath to quell his nerves, he pushes her gift toward her.

“Your turn,” he says with bated breath.

Being so wrapped up in her own Christmas shopping, she almost forgot she gets a gift too. She tears through the tissue paper with the same unrestrained excitement she had picking her secret Santa just a few weeks ago.

“I still think it's so crazy we got each other, this makes the gift-giving thing like, ten times better,” she tells him. He nods curtly, and she can tell he’s wound tighter than a spring–or at least that’s how he would say it.

“Relax, Len, I’ll like whatever’s in the bag– heck, I’d like it even if you gave me a rock.”

She dives her hand into the bag, the tips of her fingers touching cool metal. At first, she has no idea what she’s looking at. A… little screen? A flat little screen with a cool blue border? She opens her mouth, a question on her tongue, when—

“The power buttons on the side,” Leonard says. He doesn’t give her a chance to move, leaning over the table and clicking the button for her.

The screen comes to life with a picture of Sulu and Chekov, both donning awkward thumbs up… and is that in Kirk’s room? She blinks, and it changes again, this time to Scotty and Keenser sitting among a mess of wires in engineering but smiling brightly nonetheless. Another second passes, and she's looking at Spock and Nyota, sitting beside each other in the rec room loveseat looking equally poised yet annoyed. Sunshine laughs before she can stop herself.

“Len is this—?” The picture flickers again, and the sight of it stops Sunshine's words in their tracks. It's Leonard and Jim, on that same rec room loveseat. Jim’s practically beaming—face lit up and an arm looped tightly around Leonard’s shoulders. Leonard, shit. He’s got that soft and reserved smile on his face—like the one he has when he talks about home or his friends, where his eyes are just filled with this warm something.

Sunshine’s face turns hot, and her chest becomes unbearably heavy with emotions.

“Leonard, this is so fucking sweet—” She cuts herself off with a wet laugh, and she realizes she’s got tears in her eyes.

Leonard, however, looks mortified, as he watches her face become red and tears fall down her cheeks.

“Shit—Damn it, I’m sorry—You weren't supposed to cry!” he stutters in a panic. Sunshine laughs again and hiccups over it with a sob.

“They’re happy tears, Len!” she insists, wiping her cheeks. “This… I think this is the nicest gift I've ever gotten.” She can’t bring herself to look away. The pictures are just the slightest bit grainy—like the camera her mom used to take pictures of her. The thought starts the waterworks all over again.

“It is?”

She sniffles, scrubbing her tears with her sleeve. As Sunshine traces the edges of the frame, and watches the photos loop again, she knows for certain this is the sweetest, most thoughtful gift she's ever gotten. She thinks about how curious it is that it's from someone she’s known only a year—a coworker, no less.

Then, she thinks, maybe, it's not all that curious at all.

“We should do this every year,” she tells him. She’s positive, actually, that, as much of a headache as this exchange has been, she would do it again in a heartbeat.

“Secret Santa?”

“Yeah, but not so…secret next time, and… just us, maybe.”

She doesn’t look at him when she says it, for both their sakes.

“Sure,” he says, and she can hear the tightness in his voice. “I’ll try not to make you cry next time.”

She laughs, “No, do it! It’s more fun that way. Maybe I’ll make you cry.”

“Uh-huh.”

He seems less nervous now, like his smile is coming a bit easier.

“We should get going before Spock sticks us with the rest of the cleaning,” he says, gathering the discarded paper from the table, “and I know you had a long day, Jameson told me you covered for him.”

She doesn’t want to leave, but she knows he’s right. She wonders if he feels the same pull to stay.

“Yeah, but it’s fine,” she tries to say casually. She leaves her chair as he does. “You know me, I don't mind.”

“Doesn’t make it a good thing, you pull about as many doubles as—”

“As you?” she interrupts cheekily, and he rolls his eyes with a smile.

“Yeah, as me.”

The paper goes in the trash, and they’re left with nothing to do but bid each other goodnight. It’s the last thing she wants to do.

“Thank you again, Len. The pictures—It’s perfect. I love it.” She tries not to cry again, mostly for his sake.

“No problem, and you too,” he tells her simply. His cheeks are still tinged pink, and seeing him hold the present she labored over in his hands, with all that warmth in his eyes, it's almost more than she can stand.

Fuck it. She thinks to herself, and before her nerves can stop her, she wraps her arms around Leonard's neck. It's an awkward angle, and she has to pull him down to her height a bit—and she’s still got the frame in her hand and everything. As far as hugs go, it's not great, but in other ways, it's perfect. Leonard doesn’t react for a moment, but finally, his arms encircle her waist, after a fair bit of hesitation.

It’s really nice, she thinks.

“No, really, thank you,” she says into his shoulder. The fabric of his uniform is soft, and she can smell his apple shampoo.

“You too, Sunshine,” he mutters. The sincerity in his voice feels nearly tangible. Leonard pats her back, maybe because he feels awkward or maybe because it's time for the hug to end; either way, she lets him go.

“Have a good night,” he says, and he can't quite meet her eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” she answers softly.

They share a long parting glance, as they head in opposite directions to their quarters.

Unbeknownst to the pair, their senior officers are perched just around the corner.

“...and he knew her shade, Spock. The exact shade of lipstick she wears. He was so… dedicated to the whole thing. I half-thought he might give her a candle or a necklace or something but this?”

Spock nods thoughtfully. “She treated the exchange with similar enthusiasm, from what Nyota has told me.”

“You’re a genius for setting this thing up,” Kirk shakes his head, “even if I did have to copy Sunshine’s signature on 20 different sticky notes.”

“Well, it was your influence that caused me to—”

Kirk waves him off.

“You don’t have to justify it, Spock. Hell, everyone can see how bad they’ve got it for each other. Can’t blame you for wanting to move it along.”

“Indeed they do, Captain.”

#leonard mccoy x reader #Leonard McCoy #james t kirk #star trek #star trek alternate original series #reader insert #on a cloudy day #bones x reader #original female character #star trek imagine #Idc that they dont celebrate christmas in space #they do now #spirk

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