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joeloverture · 29 days

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snowbound | dbf!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | updates blog | ao3 mirror pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel is the only guy you know with four wheel drive in the rarely-snowy state of texas, so it seems like a no-brainer to have him pick you up from work — until his truck breaks down, leaving you two to the classic 'huddle for warmth' solution. warnings: (18+ mdni) dbf!joel, age gap (assumed 20s/40s), reader borrows joel's coat, but does not wear it and uses it as a blanket, self-indulgent humor & banter, joel has sarah and she's a 15y/o menace which means liberties are taken with the timeline, blink & miss it drug mention, close proximity, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, (mocking) dirty talk & dirty talk alluding to anal but no actual anal, daddy kink, degradation, dom!joel, brat!reader, brat tamer!joel, mild bondage (with a scarf), rearview mirror sex, clit stim, riding, doggy, a few pussy spanks, 2 spanks, truck sex, sort of edging, getting caught after the act [no use of y/n] word count: 12.3k a/n: this fic was a labor of love from a request i received earlier this month. i didn't expect it to be this long but i really enjoyed these two! massive massive massive shoutout to talia, @lovesickonmybed, for putting up with me + advising. this fic was way too much to handle on my own. they're the reason i pulled it off. joel is latino here, but i think game!joel can be interpreted as latino too, so read who you'd like.

“Looking ahead for our chances at wintry precipitation tonight – measurable snow, freezing rain, or sleet. It’s hard to get snow here in central Texas – if only, huh? We’re seeing some strong flurries tonight, turning into snow showers in the early morning. Low chances of any significant build up, but you can expect hazardous driving conditions. Black ice and low visibility will make extensive travel dangerous–”

The radio in Keith’s Hardware is old fashioned, curving around the volume and tuning knobs. It’s one of the ones that still has a dial pointer, which is almost always aimed at 92.7 if Keith’s in the back (country); 96.7 (pop) if it’s just you and the only other girl that works in the carpenter’s wet dream of a store. Right now, though, it’s neither of those stations. The pointer is at 162.4, the weather station.

You’d known you were in for it on the drive into work. Watch the weather and it’s real nasty out there airing from your parents lips on your way out of the house for your eight hour shift. The drive had been a gunmetal sort of gray, clouds streaked through the sky and spitting bullets of sleet at your windshield.

For a little bit, the weather had almost cleared up. You’d sworn you’d seen a splotch of sun when you’d tried to step out for break, just to be driven back in by your too-thin jacket and the cold as balls temperature.

Now, though? It’s fucking freezing, and the flurries that the weatherman mentioned are starting to fall. And as much as you’d told Keith that your shitty two-wheel-drive couldn’t handle it, he’d insisted on scheduling you and Liz for close.

Which is where Mr. Miller comes in.

Joel Miller, your dad’s buddy. Joel Miller, the grumpiest secret-softie you’ve ever met. Joel Miller, a knight in shining armor with his 4x4 Ford F150 instead of a horse. Although, if your fantasies are correct – and you like to think they are – what’s between his thighs certainly makes up for the lack of a horse. But he isn’t bringing you for a ride on his cock. He just so happens to be the only man your dad knows with a four wheel drive vehicle, or at least the only one willing to spare you from spinning out by giving you a ride home. Just thinking about it has a knot pinching in the back of your throat. His hands, big and wide and stretching over the gear shift. One muscled arm dangling over the wheel. Looking over his goddamn shoulder to back out —

Liz hops up on the check-out counter where you’re counting up the last of the cash, a spread of Hamiltons, Grants, and Jacksons. You wouldn’t expect a girl like her to work at a hardware store, especially one in the backstreets of the seedy part of town. Some sort of family emergency had driven her back to Austin from NYU design school, which you’re thankful for. Mainly because you get out of cutting wood panels since she has the better eye for measurements, but also because after years of sulking in Keith’s, you finally have someone to talk shit with.

“Those heart eyes aren’t for fuckin’ Alexander Hamilton,” Liz says, tapping her acrylics on your ledger to get your attention. You cough, flipping her off with your pen still in-hand. Liz hums, pretending to think about it as you put down the last numbers. “Although I wouldn’t be too surprised. You do love a geriatric man.”

“Joel isn’t that old,” you scoff, arranging the bills into slim white envelopes and then licking them shut. “He’s just an… acquired taste.”

“Sure, his jizz probably tastes like prohibition-era booze–”

“What the fuck,” you wheeze, hands going out to brace yourself on the closest display case. Your head dips as your chest shakes with laughter.

Liz stays completely straight-faced as she continues, “You’ll have to have 911 on speed dial because if you clench, his heart’s giving out.”

“It is not,” you say, voice still strained with the laughs that won’t stop punching out of you.

She puts her hands up in defense and crosses her legs at the ankles. “Hey, it’s not my fault you like playing whac-a-mole with Great Depression dick.”

“Liz!” You playfully shove her off of the counter, thrusting the envelopes into her hands. “You’re nasty. Fucking nasty.”

She splays a wounded hand over her heart, fanning herself with the envelopes. “You know you love me.” She slips into the office behind the register. You hear the click of the safe before she calls over her shoulder, “Any particular reason you’re fantasizing on the clock?”

“Not fantasizing,” you refute. Liz pops out of the back with a uncertain look scrawled on her face. “My dad talked him into picking me up today so I don’t drive into a snowbank.”

“Sounds like the beginning of a shitty porno.”

“Don’t give me hope.”

“I’m just saying,” she grins. “You can still come to mine. Only a five minute walk with zero chance of rejection.”

“You have such little faith in me.”

She purses her lips. “Mkay…. Pro-tip: Keith probably has some Viagra sitting around in his desk drawers.”

“Liiiiiiiz,” you say. You’re about to tune her out completely when familiar headlights light up the wet asphalt, beaming through the windows. The engine idles, a soft rumble through the linoleum floors. The truck lights dim, leaving Joel in the buttery shine of the streetlamp. His thick arms stretch across the wheel, and he rakes one large hand through his hair. “Shit, speak of the Devil.” You clip off your nametag, tossing it into your half-open bag. “Can you finish closing tonight? I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“No problem, no favors necessary.” She closes the register. You fumble to get your bag over your shoulder, not wanting to keep Joel waiting. “Use protection!” she calls after you, and you make sure to flip her off one more time as the door clangs shut behind you.

A wall of cold hits you like a blade of lightning. Wind unfurls, mauling telephone lines and frosted treetops, rippling your jacket. Not even the worn scarf around your neck seems to be doing its job. Suddenly, every one of your limbs feels like an icicle. Joints almost freezing up, you half-jog, half-penguin strut your way to Joel’s passenger side. You wipe the ice off of the door handle with your sleeve. A few stray flurries dust you as you tug the door open, exhaling in relief as you haul yourself onto the side steps and into the toasty warmth of the Ford F150.

You cozy up in the seat, too preoccupied by thawing your hands with long, winded breaths to notice the affronted look Joel is throwing your way. “Are you tryin’ to catch your fuckin’ death, girl?”

“No death to catch. It’s not that cold.” The way you’re shivering says otherwise. Joel pins you with the raise of his brow.

Before you know what he’s doing, he’s groaning as he reaches over the center console into the backseat. You see a flash of his trucker jacket before it lands in your lap, flannel-lined and heavy. You use it like a blanket, draping it across your torso and wrestling your hands into the inside pockets. The canvas smells like car exhaust and off-brand Dollar General deodorant, two things that are so inextricably Joel. As much as you hate to admit it, the warmth is already inking its way across your skin – or maybe it’s just being next to Joel that’s heating you up. “Thanks,” you grumble.

When you adjust in your seat, the inside of your foot catches an empty Dr. Pepper can on the floor. It rattles when you accidentally kick it forward. You lean down and pick it up, going to place it down in the cupholder, only to find it overpopulated with random Home Depot and Whataburger receipts.

“Tax deductions,” he shrugs. “Gotta eat on the job.”

“And a…” You pick up the receipt and squint at the faded typography. “$3.29 strawberry milkshake is part of that, I figure?”

Joel grunts, “Tommy’s order.”

You smirk. “Sure it is.”

“Quit shit stirrin’ and put on your fuckin’ seatbelt.”

You reach back, fingers snagging it and tugging it down. Groping for the belt between the seats and the center console, it goes on for at least five seconds too long before Joel grabs the buckle and shoves it into the slot. His fingers brush your thigh as he pulls away from you and settles his foot over the gas pedal. The singular touch shouldn’t make butterflies beat at the walls of your stomach, but it does. Everything about him does.

Now that you’re all settled in, everything about him is also settling in. The fact that he’s only wearing a tight-fitting white t-shirt now that his coat is off. His sleeves are constricting enough that his muscles bulge below the strip of fabric. Ample scruff dapples his jawline, and his hair is disheveled in the way that you’ve learned you like it. You trail your eyes down his body, his tummy, across the undone drawstrings of his dark gray sweatpants, and no, you move on quickly from there, because you refuse to get riled up in the passenger seat.

He’s slowly peeling out of Keith’s parking lot, arm thrown over the back of your seat. You’re starting to fail at your mission of not getting riled up when you see the flex of his bicep, the way his eyes meet yours as he turns to look through the back window. He turns out of the parking lot and onto the relatively barren, icy streets–

“What the hell are those?”

Joel side-eyes you, brows furrowed. He follows the line of your gaze to his feet, which you’re used to seeing in New Balances or steel-toed work boots, but are instead wearing… fur-lined crocs.

“These here? Yeah, got ‘em recently, good for my days off with all this nippy weather. Sarah told me they’re ‘all the rage’ with the youth–”

You can’t help it. You damn near double over with laughter, clutching at your stomach. Joel’s coat nearly slides off of you, but you hang onto it with your pinkie finger, quickly going dizzy from lack of air. “‘All the rage’? Oh my fucking God– Joel, she was pulling your leg. Those are fucking hideous.”

“Hey, now–” He sighs, pinching his nose bridge with the hand that isn’t dangling over the wheel. “Zip it, I don’t needa justify my shoe choices to ya.”

“Does she do anything other than give you shit these days?”

“You’re one to talk about givin’ shit, y’know,” Joel says. Unfailingly, he smiles. The smile that pulls at the edges of his lips. The smile that he only ever gets when talking about Sarah. It doesn’t matter where – loading up his plate with barbecue, your dad asking him while he’s picking up junk mail in the morning, or on the job. If someone asks him about his daughter, Joel fucking beams.

He sucks on his teeth for a second, and then, “She’s picked up soccer. Goalkeeper. Damn good at it, too, all them other kids on her team can’t match her collapse dive.”

“Of course they can’t,” you say. “She’s got better reflexes than a house fly.”

Joel hunches over the wheel, effectively ending the conversation as he concentrates on the road. The only noise is the rumbling engine and the wagging of the windshield wipers as he attempts to navigate the black ice polka-dotted roads. It shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, seeing him in such a state of focus, his thighs tensed as he manipulates the gas and brakes to stop early, start slow. His arms thickening when he makes a right turn. Thumbs drumming drumming drumming on the wheel and maybe they’d do the same between your legs—

“So how’s work?” you blurt out.

Joel mumbles something that you can’t quite make out.

“Huh?”

“Fuckin’ ‘big shot’ gringos up my ass all day. Goddamn shitshow.” He shakes his head, his lips thinned. “I tell ‘em terraforming is gonna make it look like a Flinstone-owned-and-operated putt-putt course. They say do it anyway. I tell ‘em that orderin’ custom windows is gonna put us months behind. They say do it anyway, then come up jibber-jabberin’ all ‘bout how long it’s takin’. And it’s fuckin’... window madness, not one window in that hellhole matches another. Ain’t had so much trouble buildin’ a house since Sarah had me build her one from Hobby Lobby when she was little. Their architect musta been doin’ lines.”

You think you’ve seen Sarah’s dollhouse before when visiting, just in passing when the guest bedroom door was left open a smidge. You remember stalling in the hallway to look at it, with a fleece of dust growing on the tediously placed shingles and the oakwood front door left open like it’d been waiting for someone to come home. But Sarah outgrew it, and although Joel would never admit it, you know he’s too sentimental to leave it on the curb.

“How bad can building a dollhouse from a kit be?”

“With a five year old yellin’ like a drill sergeant in your ear? Worse than you think. She even made me rig the damn thing with electric so she could have her pink chandelier.”

You pout at him, “Wah wah, I’ll bet you loved it.”

“Was a nuisance at the time. But, uh, she was fiddlin’ with some ‘a the dolls I’d gotten her. Don’t think she knew I was watchin’, had gone to put ‘er to bed ‘cause it was a school night. She was readin’ this book I always read to her. Something about… a stuffed bear with a missin’ button and a girl that was tryna to buy him. I don’t fuckin’ know–” “Corduroy?”

“Yeah, that. Anyway, she was reading, usin’ the same tone I always used with her, tucked her dolls in for the night, and switched off the lights. I don’t think I loved it until then.” There’s a glistening in his eyes at the memory.

You smirk, “Sentimental bastard–”

The truck slides. Or maybe it coasts, skimming across the thin film of black ice. Joel eases down on the brakes, hauling to a stop next to a Minivan with its warning lights on. It’s a long stretch, and you can’t even see all the way down the highway with how thick the snow is. No two snowflakes are the same, but you find it difficult to believe when you’re looking at what must be millions of them. They pirouette, landing on window panes, rooftops, and wind-agonized tree branches. Everything is blotted with white. Red warning lights glare on the ice back at you.

“Shiiit,” Joel says as he squints at the road ahead of him. He scratches at his scruff.

“Tell me you’re not going to drive through that shit.”

“I’m not,” he says.

“Then how the fuck are we getting home?”

“Chill it–” “That’s the last thing I need to do,” you huff.

“I’m takin’ the detour.”

With that, he jerks the wheel — a bit too recklessly considering the weather, in your opinion – and pulls off onto a slippery backroad. The snow seems to have clung to the trees more back here, a sort of incandescent saran wrap over the oaks. At a bend in the road, icicles hang from a yellow sign that says CURVE 30 MPH. Joel takes it at ten.

You’re not checking out his hands while he drives, no, of course not. You’re looking at the gazillion lights on his dashboard display. “You usually have that many lights on?”

“Ain’t your truck, ain’t your business.”

“I’m ridin’ in it, ain’t I?” you mock his accent.

Joel sighs heavily. “Drivin’ me up the fuckin’ wall.” His hands clench briefly around the wheel. “Auto repair shop’s been price gouging, I’m tryin’ to get Tommy to hook me up with his buddy in San Anton–”

“Won’t be able to drive to San Antonio if your bumper falls off halfway there.”

Joel’s voice is dry as bone. “Ha ha. You get off on bein’ a smartass?”

It’s three words – that’s all it is. Just a throwaway phrase that he probably doesn’t even realize he said. If it were anything more, you’d know. But Joel, saying those words in that order? Damn him, because it turns your blood effervescent. You stop yourself from rubbing your thighs together underneath his coat. You’re about to make another quip that’ll not only distract you, but also surely drive Joel up the wall, one of your favorite activities.

His truck putters from ten miles per hour to eight.

Eight to six.

Six to four.

“Motherfuckin’.... shit,” Joel says again, this time much more urgent as he wrests the wheel to the side. The truck skims over the frosted roads and onto the shoulder, rolls for two seconds, and then falls to a complete, utter stop. The windshield wipers pause while they’re still up. Heat no longer spits out of the dusty air vents.

It’s the loudest silence you’ve ever been in.

“...So do you get off on letting your truck break down or–”

Joel sighs in the way that dogs do. “Thin ice, missy.” He unbuckles his seatbelt and pulls out his phone. “I’ll give Tommy a call.” He stares at the screen for ten seconds. Taps it. Shakes it.

“No service?” you ask.

“No service.”

“Let me try mine,” you mumble, shifting in the car seat. Sure enough, zero bars. Even though you know it won’t work, you press your dad’s contact. It goes straight to voicemail. “Well, shit.”

“Shit,” Joel echoes.

It’s unspoken, but you both know the harsh reality of this harsh wintry night: no phone service, no operational truck, and… no heater.

“Hang tight,” Joel says, reaching over the center console and hijacking his coat from your lap. He wrestles his arms through the sleeves and zips it up. He shoves the door open against the hoarse wind that keeps the trees at a slant, hops out, then slams it shut hard enough for the vehicle to rock. From how hard the wind was blowing, stray flurries dust the truck’s interior.

You can’t really see what he’s doing – the snow’s too heavy, the hood popped wide open for him to investigate the truck’s viscera. You run your hands up and down your thighs, already feeling cold. Without the heater, it won’t be much longer before you turn to an icicle in the passenger seat. The hood bangs back down.

Joel climbs in from the backseat, slams the door as hard as humanly possible, and then scoots to the middle seat.

You crane your neck to see him as he shakes out his cold-reddened hands before puffing air into his cupped palms. “What’s wrong with it?” You ask.

He lets out a frigid breath. “Don’t fuckin’ know, snowin’ too damn hard to tell.”

“Ten bucks it was one of the lights on your dash,” you say.

Joel glares at you, still huffing into his hands. His fingertips are bright red to match his ruddy cheeks. Snow is sprinkled through his hair like soot, quickly melting to beads of water on his windblown curls.

“Got some… hand warmers up in that glovebox. Grab the whole pack.”

You lean forward, kneeing it open and rifling through all of his shit. Insurance papers, more receipts, Miller Contracting business cards, a folded pocket knife, lens wipes, and –

“When’s the last time these saw daylight?” you huff out a laugh as you hold up a battered box of condoms.

Turns out, snow isn’t the thing that makes Joel Miller redder than a tomato. It’s the fifteen year old, very expired condoms hiding in his glovebox.

He clears his throat and averts his eyes. “Jesus. Forgot those were in there.”

You shake the box around and pluck a condom out of it. Looking for the expiration date, you turn it over and over in your hand. “August 31st, 2004. Really that long since you got some, Miller?”

“Put ‘em back,” he grumbles. “Pain in my ass.”

You snicker, replacing the condom box with the box of hand warmers. They’re unopened, still sealed. You snatch Joel’s keys out of the ignition and swipe them across the tape. “Happy?” you toss them over your shoulder.

“No.” He tears open the pack and rubs his hands together around the warmer, sighing when it begins to heat.

“Dick,” you grumble.

More tearing. “Brat.” Another warmer lands in your lap.

“Oughta get comfortable. We’re gonna be here a while,” Joel says.

“And whose fault is that?” You ask as you weigh the warmer in your palms. The front seat already feels cramped, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt. Your legs and arms fold like pretzels as you climb into the backseat. The curse that leaves you when you hit your head on the roof has Joel rolling his eyes.

“Pipe down. First thing in the mornin’ I’ll make the walk out to that country club a mile out and use their phone. Just gotta ride out the night. You ain’t ever roughed it before?”

You fall on all fours on the backseat, finally pulling yourself upright next to him. “Never had a reason to. Like, what if I have to piss? What if I get hungry?”

Joel shrugs. “Tough.”

The cold is starting to settle into your bones. Even your tongue feels popsicle numb, and your fingers are stiff where they wrap around the warmer. It’s like you’ve been trapped in a snowglobe and shaken up by a handsy toddler with how the wind rattles the truck and the snow swishes outside. You suppress a shiver, leaning against the door. Condensation is already building on the windows. Absent-mindedly, you begin to trace a portrait of Joel in the moisture. Your fingertip squeaks against the glass. Your masterpiece wouldn’t be complete without his signature scowl, so you’re sure to paint a frown on his face and his forehead wrinkles on thick.

“Didn’t know you were an artist,” Joel comments from the opposite side of the back. “Looks nothin’ like me, by the way.”

You smirk, “But you knew it was you.”

Because there’s nothing better to do than burn time, you spend the next ten minutes filling up the window with whatever nonsense doodles come to mind — hearts, stars, trees, and of course, the only one that Joel seems to be fond of: Sarah, smiling and curly-haired.

Reality only settles in when you’re done with the ephemeral illustrations, their outlines starting to dissolve back to regular droplets that streak down the windows. You’re stuck, for God knows how long, on this shady backroad that the Zodiac Killer would’ve loved during his heyday. With your dad’s best friend that you’ve been harboring a dangerous crush on.

And it’d be impossible to forget that it’s freezing fucking balls.

“Joel?” you say into the dark truck.

“Hm?”

Always one to speak your mind, you say, “It’s freezing fucking balls.”

A sound that might be a laugh leaves him. “Here,” Joel says, unzipping his jacket. He tosses it over to you, and you snuggle back up with it, nose burrowing into one of the creases in the fabric. His coat smells like him – like cheap body wash, chewing gum, and gasoline.

You try putting your hands in the pockets, even going as far as to open up a new hand warmer for each one, but they’re full of loose change and, expectedly, more receipts. When you curl up against the corner between the door and the seat, the hard plastic bites into your oversensitive back. Sitting upright or cross-legged doesn’t work, and when you test drive sitting diagonally with your feet propped up on the console, Joel makes a disproving noise and swats gently at your shin. You prop your forehead up against the window, but it’s cold enough to give you a brain freeze.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel snorts. “Get over ‘ere, you wuss.” He hauls you over, big hand splayed over your waist, and drags you across the bench to his side. You yelp in surprise, but only for a second before you’re crushed against Joel’s side. “Can’t have ya gettin’ hypothermia,” he jests.

You don’t know where to put your hands, but eventually, you settle on cupping his neck. Touching Joel, hell, even just being near him, is like being by an open furnace. Or maybe the heat is just your stomach doing somersaults at being this close to Joel after years of frivolous pining. His nape emanates warmth, the kind that flows down your arms and wraps comfortingly around your chest.

Joel exhales, the tendrils of his breath curling from the frigidity. He grabs his coat from the side and flattens it over the both of you, a piss poor replacement for a blanket, but all you’ve got.

Still, cold seeps in through the cracks in the doors, spoiling whatever lukewarm air remains. It doesn’t help that Joel had hopped in and out of the truck to play eye spy under the hood. The truck struggles to hold onto heat properly, especially when it isn’t producing more of it.

Joel sort of… flickers against your back. You think nothing of it until it happens again, this time in short bursts, and then turns into full on shivering.

“Who’s the wuss now, old man?”

Joel tenses up behind you. “Funny,” he says. With your hands cushioned against his neck, you feel the grate of his voice in his throat. “This is the best you’re gonna get unless you wanna be butt ass naked to share heat.”

It should be a joke. But the way he says it… doesn’t sound like a joke.

You go still, lifeless, not even sure if you’re shaking anymore. Because now, the only thought in your head is being pressed against Joel, his soft cock hardening against you, his palms splayed and rubbing over your stomach to keep you warm. And if his cock needed to get somewhere warmer, too…. Your clit twitches at the thought.

You smother the initial shock in your voice with your usual solution: sass. “So what, we’re gonna fuckin’ huddle for warmth?”

As much as you enjoy the idea, you're already dripping — and that’s just from your body being pressed against his, breathing the same air as him, closer now than you’ve ever been before. With no panties in the way, it’s not a stretch to say you’d be dripping down his thighs. You’d hate to have that conversation.

“Would you rather freeze to death?” Joel asks. You look up at him from where you’re curled into his side and find no gleam in his eyes. This isn’t just some knee-slapper for him. Joel Miller is being completely, irreversibly serious.

“I’d rather something less like Naked and Afraid, Joel!”

“It works,” he says, nose flaring. “They do it in those fuckin’... action movies all ‘a the time.”

“I didn’t know Hollywood was writing survival manuals for pervs–”

“God, you’re a piece ‘a work, ya know that?” His eyes flick down to you, and maybe it’s just the fact that this road is damn near pitch black, but his pupils seem larger than before. “Listen, I ain’t tryna perv on ya. I also ain’t tryna send you back to your old man with four fingers missin’ from frostbite.”

There’s no way you’re actually seriously considering this. You’ve heard of cold temperatures impairing thinking, but not like this. Your dad’ll go chasing after Joel with a pitchfork and a shovel if he finds out the man who was supposed to get you home safe and sound was cuddling naked with you. Cuddling naked with you in the backseat, no less. You’re certain Joel won’t try anything – he’s not like that. No matter how flustered you get in his lap, he’d never take advantage of you. What you aren’t certain of is your ability to stop yourself from asking him t0 take advantage of you.

This is practical. It’s only supposed to be practical. He wouldn’t be suggesting something this drastic if you both weren’t shaking like a rattlesnake’s rattler.

“Fine,” you say, already unwinding your scarf from around your neck. Determined to keep some semblance of boundaries up, you add, “No peeping, Miller.”

Joel makes an exasperated sound as you once again scoot out from his coat and across the bench, working yourself out of your shoes, your cotton zip-up, and then the stiff Keith’s uniform – a blue polo and jeans. Joel’s eyes are respectfully trained on the truck’s floor mats, which you’re only just now noticing has a sun-bleached Lisa Frank sticker tacked onto it.

Down to your bra and panties, your heart rate picks up. Your fingers are so fucking cold that it’s hard to get your bra straps out of the way so you can unclasp the damned thing, and then it falls to the floor. Your nipples harden in the face of the cold. The only thing you keep is your scarf, which do you do your best to cover your tits with. Scooping up your discarded clothes and tossing them to the front seat, you let out a shaky breath.

Fuck it.

You shimmy out of your panties and get rid of them just as quickly. When you try telling Joel you’re decent, or rather indecent, nothing comes out. Instead, you have to clear your throat with a strained, “All good.”

“Alright,” Joel says, rustling around. You hear his crocs scrape against the mat, and then his shirt swishing over his head.

He doesn’t tell you to look away, but since it’s implied, you look out of the window. The snowy trees tremble in the wind, and you almost wince when you see a small sliver of his tanned skin reflected in the glass. His crocs clunk on the ground when he kicks them off, and you watch his criminally tight t-shirt go flying over the passenger seat. You casually grip the Jesus handle, hoping that Joel doesn’t notice your fist tightening around it when you hear him untying the drawstrings of his sweatpants. When his sweats and boxers follow the path of his shirt, breathing gets a lot harder than you remember it being.

Just an hour ago, you’d been certain that this would be nothing more than a ten minute drive. Maybe, if you were lucky, he’d call you a casual pet name that would fuel the wriggling of your hand between your thighs that night.

The tension in the air is thicker than molasses. Each breath you take is fragile.

“I’m ready when you are,” Joel says.

Since you’re already half-naked, and since chickening out is out of the question, you inch over to Joel’s side. The air tumbles out of your lungs in one fell swoop when your bicep meets his. With some fidgeting, you bring your legs up at an angle beneath you, wrapping around his side in a way that has you feeling a little bit like a koala. You talk yourself into keeping your eyes forward and then scrub your palms across your freezing arms.

Joel, more indifferent than you think anyone else in this situation could be, abruptly casts his coat back over the both of you.

And, fuck him, he’d been right. The engulfing canvas of his coat keeps warmth trapped where it can be passed easily between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just being confined and skin-to-skin with Joel that has you heating up.

The silence is cruel – it’s much harder to make conversation about work or dollhouses or whatever the hell else when you’re naked. Only the wind’s sibilance keeps you company.

You can get used to this, you think. Drift off into a somewhat sound sleep with your head on Joel’s shoulder and hope that you don’t drool all over him or moan his name in your sleep. More embarrassing things have happened to you.

But then, as if you’re the unluckiest person alive, the temperature drops even more, and suddenly, you’re shaking like a leaf all over again. Your teeth almost clack together as you try to stammer out to Joel, “C–cold, Jesus fucking… Christ that’s cold.”

Joel pouts down at you, but you don’t miss the way his lip quivers. “Should I call the wambulance?”

“Should I call the r–r–r–retirement home to pi…pick up a ru–runaway resident?” It sounded a lot better in your head than bouncing off of your frozen tongue, you have to admit.

“Drama queen,” Joel mutters into your ear. “Can’t do anythin’ more about it. Sorry–”

“Can I sit on your lap?” you blurt out so quickly that you don’t even have time to think about it. You grimace, partially covering your face with your hands. Shit.

Joel’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

You’re already half doomed. Why not go all the way? “Listen, it’s just fucking… fucking freezing, Joel. Holy shit.”

“That bad?” he chokes out.

“You’d be warmer than the seats,” you defend. “I’ll be careful, I promise. Best behavior.”

Joel seems to ponder it for a moment, brows stitched together while he looks down at you from where you’re furled up against his side. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek before giving you a slight nod. “Alright.” You nod in return, heart in your throat. “–But you better mean it when you say best behavior. Can’t have any ‘a this shit gettin’ back to your dad.”

Another nod. You hold your breath as you shinny your way onto Joel’s lap, mounting him from the front so his chest hits your back. In your attempt to get comfortable, you bracket your legs around his. His soft cock fits at the small of your back, and even though he’s as flaccid as can be, he’s big. Apparently your imagination isn’t too far off. Joel’s sharp intake of breath forms a pit in your stomach, and you know when you’re warming up for an entirely different reason than close proximity, you also know that you need to calm yourself down. Fast.

Think of something awful. Like that time that you had to dissect cow eyes in sophomore year biology. Think about mold. How many murderers you’ll walk by in your lifetime. Expired leftovers. Anything–

You adjust yourself in an attempt to get away from Joel’s cock. Instead, your hips move just so his cock slips between your thighs and bobs against your slit.

You whine.

Your body immediately locks up once you realize what you’ve done. Crawling out of the truck to die a hypothermia-induced death seems like a much kinder fate than facing Joel, but no matter how much you scream at yourself to reach out and unlock the door, your hands refuse to move. You hadn’t noticed how wet you’d gotten, and you have no idea how. It’s smeared across your thighs, and now pressed up against your back after Joel’s dick had dragged through it all.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit–

Chancing a look over your shoulder, you’re surprised to find the tips of Joel’s ears flushed, cheeks cherry ripe. His Adam’s apple bobs when you meet his eyes. Holy fuck.

You’ve flustered him.

For some reason, the thought makes your chest a lot lighter. You look away nonetheless, but this time, with a newfound gleam in your eye. There’s no such thing as a bad accident, right?

Maybe Liz was right about having to call 911, because when you ‘accidentally’ repeat the movement, Joel stops breathing all together. His cock, almost hard now, you’ve noticed, bumps against your clit. You almost swallow your tongue trying to keep your moan down.

“The fuck you think you’re doin’?” he asks, his gruff voice scratching at your ears.

“I didn’t mean to,” you lie straight through your teeth, a smug little grin spreading on your face. Something about his semi-hard cock between your bodies tells you he’s going to say no to your next suggestion. “Maybe you should put the coat between us, instea–”

“Are you outta your fuckin’ mind, girl?” Joel’s voice comes out raspy. He shakes his head, clears his throat. The vibrations rumble up your spine. “And take away the whole point of stayin’ warm? Now quit it. Ain’t that hard to sit still.”

You try your hand at listening – for all of two seconds.

You hike your hips up, fumbling with his coat as you slot his cock against your slit once more, pushing yourself forward. The coat slides right off of you, falling in a dark lump on the floor. Neither of you care — you’re both too heated for the lack of cover to make a damn difference. Joel hisses, a sound like water hitting an open flame. His hands fly down to your waist, anchoring you to his lap. A surprised noise squeaks out of you.

“What, you got rocks rattlin’ around in your brain?” Joel scowls. “You’re real impolite for a cocktease, sweetheart.”

Butterflies flap around in your stomach from his words. It’s enough to make your head tip against his chest so you can look up at him, lips shaped in a perfect pout. “I’m not,” you say.

“Not a cocktease, huh? Not even when you’re rubbin’ all over my lap?”

You gasp as your hands fly down to cover Joel’s, nails etching into where his fingers meet your bare skin. You tug at his wrist, trying desperately to guide him where you so desperately need him.

“Not happenin’,” Joel grunts, yanking your hands behind you and pinning them to your waist like you’re nothing more than a poseable doll. His large, work-worn hands make yours look damn near miniature as he holds you down. The sudden roughness douses your inner thighs with a new wave of wetness. “Jesus, girl. Poor thing, gettin’ all hot and bothered. Don’t blame ya for tryna get me to help out. Can feel ya dripping down my legs, gushin’ like a sprinkler.”

“S–sorry, fuck, ‘m sorry,” you whisper, words sticky with your arousal. Your clit twitches from his words, embarrassment and need doing all the work to keep you warm.

“Nahhh,” he says. “I don’t think you are, baby.” Maybe it’s the condescension he’s purring in your ear, maybe it’s the pet name; most likely, it’s a combination of both that has you convulsing in his lap. It’s like he’s found all of the right buttons to press to get you riled up, getting you back for all of your snide comments earlier.

His fingers find the fabric of your scarf, luring it off of your neck so he can cord it around your wrists. You squirm when you realize what he’s doing, and a breathless huff of his laughter brushes your cheek. “I’ll be damned if you ain’t gonna be, though.” He draws it tight, tight enough for you to feel your pulses bumping into each other. Joel leaves a fair amount of your unreasonably long scarf loose.

“Joel, what the fuck are you up to?”

“Teachin’ you some sweet southern belle etiquette, darlin’. Such a goddamn troublemaker, grindin’ on me like I’m some kinda… frat boy.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “Pullin’ that shit with your pops’ friend. Real fuckin’ classy.”

“Like you’re so different. Who’s the one that’s tying me up? Huh, Mil–”

You hear the hit well before you feel it, a firm whack to your cunt that makes your vision blacken and electricity scurrying up your spine. It takes you a second to come back to yourself before a ragged cry pulls its way out of your lips. You jolt in his lap, bound arms bobbing in front of you as your body instinctively lurches for control. You damn near kick your feet, accidentally ricocheting yourself into Joel’s chest. His forearms hold you there.

“Guess I’ll make it crystal clear for ya, baby, since that dumb lil’ head ‘a yours is havin’ some trouble. My truck, my rules. You’re ridin’ in it, ain’t you?” You nod reluctantly as he turns your words from earlier in his favor. “That was a warnin’, you showoff. Think you can bat your slutty ‘fuck me’ eyes an’ get away with murder.” He fucking tsks at you.

He pulls his hand away from your pussy, and you’re both surprised and not surprised at all to see it covered in your arousal, webbed between his calloused fingers.

“Got a whole goddamn slip ‘n slide down here…” murmurs Joel. You whine, bucking your hips against him. “Oughta just…” he starts, nudging his cock towards your hole. The noise you make is pathetic. “Stop ya from ruinin’ my seats. Cork you right up.” You tense up, fully expecting the intrusion, but his dick passes your cunt right up, instead sliding up to meet your clit. It taps against your swollen nub, and if his goal was to stop you from ruining his seats, you’re certain he’s already failed with how quickly you gush all over the upholstery.

“But that’d be real nice, wouldn’t it? Givin’ ya what ya want so early on…” Instead of pulling away like you expect, Joel griiiinds the head of his cock against your clit. You moan helplessly, head falling back across his shoulder.

And then he does it again.

And again.

And agai–

“Joooooel,” you whine, knees jerking each time his tip meets your most sensitive spot. Heat spins in your stomach.

He backs his hips up “What? Thought you loved this with how much you were gettin’ at it earlier.”

You shake your head rapidly in the negative, chest rising and falling at a breakneck pace while he teases you.

“So you can deal, but you can’t play?”

“I think you’re just taking your sweet old time getting it up, old man,” you grit out, knowing damn well he’s stiffer than titanium behind you.

Joel hums. “Ah, she’s got jokes.” His cock slips back, quickly replaced by his hand engulfing your mound. Your clit twitches ever so slightly against his palm lines, and you’re almost convinced you could get off from that alone. His palm cracks against your cunt again, somehow even harder than the first time. You cry out, eyes burning from arousal and the slightest edge of pain.

With his thumbpad, he taps your clit like he’s just scrolling through the cable guide with a remote. Fleeting movements that have you wanting more more more. It heals the sting of his slap even if the echo of the hit still simmers in your stomach. Your cunt throbs so hard that it hurts, jumping up to meet Joel’s scarce ministrations.

When he retracts his hand, your hips chase the movement. “See this?” he taunts, fluttering his wet fingers in front of your face. You make a choked noise when his drenched middle finger breaches your lips. He doesn’t even need to tell you; you latch on and suck yourself off of his calloused skin. You’re mostly salty, but a little sweet, and tasting yourself on your own tongue by his insistence manages to make you even wetter.

Joel takes his spare fingers, just as soaked, and smears them all around your chin and lower cheeks. He presses down on your tongue as he does. You gag from the pressure, and you can’t hear his laugh over the roaring of your blood in your ears, but you feel it rattle his chest where it meets your spine. Your slick cools quickly against your burning skin, syrupy as it clings to your face. “Need a bib, baby?”

He pulls his finger from your mouth with a pop and your scarf-wrapped hands spring to wipe yourself from your lips, hoping to save yourself from the humiliation of having your own pussy juice anointing your face. You only scoop up a little before Joel lowers his forearm over yours, but for once, you’re faster than him. You swipe your wet hand over his mouth, smudging as much as you can along the scruff surrounding his mouth.

He wraps a burly hand in the scarf and yanks your hands back into place. All you can do in response is giggle, but the breath is swiftly knocked out of you when he drives his cock right into your clit. “Think you’re funny, don’t ya?” He asks, and finally grunts as he rolls his hip into you. A break in his resolve, a sign that he wants this, or at least the discipline of this, as badly as you do.

You almost weep from the pressure, that rope of pleasure in your stomach that he keeps knotting tighter and tighter and tighter with each stroke of his cock, his fingers. “Joel!” you cry out as he follows it up with another firm swat to your clit. His cock spreads your folds as he softens the bashing, nuzzling his tip against your spasming cunt.

“Really, oughta give standup a go one ‘a these days. Be a real hotshot.”

“Oh yeah?” you pant, light headed and woozy.

“Mhm. If the whole crowd’s drunk.” His cock nudges your nub with a new vigor.

“Assh–”

Right as you’re about to press down and follow the sensation, Joel senses it. His cock gives way through your cheeks, just in time for him to land a ruthless slap across your pussy. It’s harder than the others – makes your ears ring for a second, gives you a sort of visual snow that has you doubling over and gripping at the closest object for purchase, which just so happens to be the metal rods coming out of the headrest.

“Ain’t what you should be sayin’ if you’re plannin’ on gettin’ what you want, sugar,” Joel tuts. He shakes his head at you. “Don’t wanna hear no lip from ya, girl.”

You open your mouth, argument on the tip of your drool-loaded tongue, but your halfhearted attempt at defiance doesn’t last long. Joel’s hand clamps around your chin, denting your skin into your teeth. He jerks your head to face him, knocking you down a peg with scathing eye contact. “You’re pushin’ it.” He loosens his grip.

“As if, Miller. If those pre-Cold War condoms are anything to go by, you’ve been dying for a chance to get your dick wet. Doesn’t matter how much lip I give you, you aren’t gonna blue ball yourself for much longer.” Satisfied, you raise your brows at him.

Turns out, he is going to blue ball himself for much longer, because he lands six slaps in rapid succession across your sopping cunt. The skin smarts, and you cry out. Your grip tightens around the headrest rod to the point of strangling it. Your eyes water, and you can’t tell if you’re crying. Too consumed by Joel, everything has melted into him – the smell of sawdust perpetually sewn into his skin, his cock sealed against your body.

“How many times are ya gonna poke the bear before you learn your lesson, you cheeky little shit?” Joel’s palm cups the inside of your right thigh, just above the knee. He traces circles with his thumb, and heat trails after him with everywhere he touches. “See, the thing about havin’ ‘pre-Cold War condoms’ is that I’ve had a helluva lot more time to learn self control than you. Can wait as loooooong as it takes for you to get your head on right. Don’t matter if you’re waterfallin’ down my seats or not, pretty girl. I’m giving you exactly what ya deserve.”

You whimper, trying (and failing) to get your magma hot core closer to Joel’s unfairly large hand, still splayed out on your inner thigh. You can’t stop how you squirm in his lap, smearing your arousal everywhere with each movement you make.

At a snail’s pace, his hand begins to inch up your leg. Joel pauses to grope at you as his hand travels upward. Handfuls of your skin, rubbing at your scalding hot thighs. Your patience is wearing thin by the time he gets midway there. You need him to touch you. And that’s just the tip of this impossibly destructive iceberg.

You shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have let him go down this shitty backroad, shouldn’t have agreed to your dad’s ridiculous idea of Joel picking you up, shouldn’t have asked to be naked on his lap, shouldn’t have gotten naked on his lap, shouldn’t be leaking like a twenty-year-old pipe in a building he’d been hired to renovate. If your dad ever finds out–

“Joel, please, please – plea…” you trail off, dissolving into incoherent whimpers as his hand hovers over your cunt. You’re running hotter than a radiator now, and if you both wanted to be warm, then you’ve got your wish. Although mostly gibberish, Joel has to understand what you want from him. It’s just that the bastard is unwilling to provide.

Joel reaches down to pinch your clit, and your body can’t even discern from pleasure and pain anymore. You react the same to it all, back arching as you try desperately to plant yourself on his cock. “Shhh, shhh, quit runnin’ your filthy mouth. Only gonna get yourself into more trouble.”

You swear you hear angels singing, swear you see the pearly gates when he gives your clit a merciful rub. Melting into him, you exhale shakily.

“See? All nice ‘n quiet when she’s gettin’ what she wants.” You wouldn’t even dream of mouthing off to him now.

“I want – I need…” you gasp out, putty in his hands. Moldable to his liking. Everything you’d pretended not to want.

“Go on,” he coos. “Tell daddy what you need.”

You don’t even hear him say that word. You’re too hooked on begging, begging, begging. “Please – Joel, oh god, please – I need… I need… please please please, fuck, it hurts–”

Joel clicks his tongue. “Nuh uh. Start over. Always such a chatterbox ‘cept for when I need ya to be.”

“Wha…?” you ask, admittedly dazed from the harsh treatment that you’ve come to crave more of.

“Tell daddy what you need,” he repeats, words molasses slow.

You clench, gushing even more all over him. Shit, your next paycheck might have to go to replacing the goddamn seats if you keep up like this.

“D–D… D-” you start stammering out, but you’ve lost autonomy over your body long ago, and apparently that goes for your tongue, too. “Da– Da… pl–”

“Any day now,” he scoffs.

“Daddy!” you spit out all at once. “Please, please, daddy, fuck – fuck me, daddy, please, I want your cock, daddy. Feels so fucking big. Need it daddy, it hurts… please, ngh– daddy!” Tears are burning the corners of your eyes, fueled almost entirely by arousal and partially by frustration. You squirm, cunt crying all over the place.

“M’kay, baby,” he says. Running a hand down your chest and squeezing your nipple on the way down. He slides his hand down your stomach to cup your mound, giving your clit slow, gentle circles. Your hips jump forward, and this time, he doesn’t stop you. “Daddy’s got ya.”

At the first intrusion of his middle finger in your cunt, you jump. It’s a lot compared to what he’s been giving you, but nowhere near enough. A second finger slips inside. He doesn’t have to do much work to stretch you out — you’ve been seeping out of you since you first got on his lap. He’s all too quick thrusting them in and out of you – the messy squelch of your pussy filling the backseat has you burying your chin against your chest, averting your eyes. The heel of his palm bumps persistently at your clit with each shift of his fingers inside of you.

“I know you ain’t a virgin, but you’re soakin’ like one. Too damn cocksure to ain’t have had a cock in ya before. Prancin’ around like a glorified dick trap.” You inhale sharply when his fingers scrape that spongy spot inside of you that you can never reach yourself. A moan rips out of you. The combination of him talking down to you and rubbing your g-spot has you dangerously close to cumming. Your moan is quickly swallowed up by more of Joel’s condescension.

He starts mumbling to himself then, obscenities that make you clench even tighter around his fingers. “Gonna get you all sore baby, make you regret beggin’ for this dick like a horny ‘lil bitch that ain’t ever been laid in her life. Fuck you so hard you’ll be cryin’ for daddy’s cock up your ass instead, turn you into an anal slut, too.” He’s too busy listening to himself talk, too absorbed in his own world to feel you balancing on that razor-thin edge.

The noise you make is inhuman. You pulse around him, doing your best to stave off your impending release. “Daddy–” you warn, but he cuts you off then, too. Joel grinds his cock between your ass cheeks, his precum dripping down your slit to meet your trembling cunt.

“Ever been fucked here before baby?” He swipes his tip along your asshole, and the way you shudder is answer enough for him. “Don’t get all jumpy, sweetheart. Ain’t gonna fuck ya there right now. Be cruisin’ for a bruisin’.” Still, he replaces his tip with his free hand’s thumb, simply rubbing at the ring of muscle. You fidget in his lap without an end-goal. You just want to be close to him, want to take everything he’s willing to give you. His fingers hook just right inside of you. “Would love to be the first to unlock this pretty backdoor. If this tight ‘lil pussy’s anything to go by… Christ. You’d look so pretty squirmin with my cock in your ass, baby–”

“Daddy!” You scream as your orgasm guts you. His fingers and his voice rip your climax right out of you and your cum streams down your inner thighs and Joel’s hand, still smacking against your clit with each thrust. Your cunt spasms around his flexing fingers. He has to fold an arm over your chest to keep you from sliding off his slippery lap entirely.

All the way through the aftershocks that make your limbs quake, Joel holds you upright against his body, still bumping his palm and fingertips against your clit and g-spot. You swear you can feel him smiling against your shoulder.

“Didn’t tell ya you could cum, darlin’,” Joel murmurs, flicking his cum covered finger across your clit. You wince in overstimulation, a whine catching in your throat.

“‘M sorry, daddy,” you pant. His hands go up to

“‘S okay, babygirl. Pretty pussy couldn’t help it when I was talkin’ ‘bout fuckin’ your ass, huh?” His hands rove up your stomach to play with your tits, palming and stroking, getting his hands all over every carnal part of you.

You hum into his bicep, “Mmmm.”

“That’s alright. Don’t mean you’re gettin’ away with a slap on the wrist though. C’mon, up,” he guides with a small slap to your thigh. You adjust, bringing yourself onto your knees so he can enter you from behind. You look down at his sturdy thighs, flexing as he adjusts himself between your legs. He gives you one more teasing thrust through your thighs, poking your oversensitive clit one more time before reaching down to spread your folds.

You moan as he presses against your entrance, and it’s not the best time to have a come to Jesus moment, but – Joel’s size was in no way over exaggerated between your legs. You stiffen in realization, and Joel, attentive as always, notices. He guides your chin to face him and nuzzles his nose up against yours, mouth tracing down to your lips. Your breath mingles, stagnant in the long-forgotten chill. A cushion of softness against all of his spiky edges that showed up tonight. “You’re on top, baby. Take it as slow or as fast as ya want.”

Nodding at the reminder, you find yourself that you don’t want to take it slow. You want to be as sore as he’d promised, want to feel him for days and be reminded of this every time you look at the winter morning’s frost on the shingles outside.

Sinking down over his throbbing length yanks the air out of your lungs as you seat yourself with him bottoming out and going balls deep in your cunt simultaneously. He grunts against you in surprise, softening the blow of your heady moan. “Attagirl,” he huffs into the crease between your neck and shoulder. It’s a stretch, searing up your thighs and to your lower back. You’re brought back to yourself when Joel rolls his hips into you, making the pain liquefy into mind-numbing pleasure. You spend thirty seconds waiting for him to fuck up into you in a way that changes your philosophy around the world, but instead, he’s still and solid inside of you.

“Go on,” Joel coaxes, placing a steady hand just shy of your mound. “Gotta prove you deserve to cum again.” He taps your thigh as if he’s telling you to giddy up, and the shame warms the back of your neck better than any heater ever could.

You whimper. His hands coast up your thighs, squeezing your hips tight before falling to grip the seats below. You’re still weak from your last orgasm, shaky legs struggling to hold yourself up as it is. “Daddy… I can’t…”

“Ain’t no different than fuckin’ y’self on that vibrator or dildo or whatever the fuck’s in your nightstand. Girl like you, gotta have a wimpy ‘lil fucktoy somewhere.” His words make you clench around him, and he groans into your neck. Joel looks up at the front window, now covered in snowflakes. He smirks when he spots the rearview mirror. “Oughta make you watch yourself. Show a pathetic, cockstarved slut what happens when she bites off more than she can chew.” At that, you mewl, grinding yourself down. The chuckle he lets out is lined with cruelty.

Joel pins you to his chest with one burly arm and leans forward with a hash of grunts from effort. He reaches out towards the rearview mirror, lowering it to face the middle seat that you’re both braced on. He sinks back quickly, and it almost gives you whiplash before you make eye contact with yourself. You can see everything. Tremors travel up your legs and into your arms. Your body is getting freezer burn from how cold and hot you are at the same time. Pleasured tears threaten to spill over your waterline. Joel’s smug fucking face as he murmurs endlessly at you.

Your mouth is parted as you take yourself in, truly a pathetic, pretty little picture as you pant. “C’mon,” Joel coaxes, squeezing your ass. “You can do it. Make daddy proud. I’ll even give you a boost.” Joel reaches to your tied hands and quickly undoes the scarf, letting it drop to the floor. You flex your fingers and then reach out for the chairs ahead to get a good grip.

You prop yourself up on your knees, anchoring yourself to the two chairs in front of you. Using a combination of your upper and lower body strength, you rise halfway off of Joel’s cock before your body gives out. His balls slap wetly against your clit. He laughs, still not touching you at all. Your head flops forward as you look down to where the two of you meet, and then at the mirror where his cock is buried deep inside of you. You whine in dismay.

He wasn’t lying when he said he was going to get you sore. You can only moan. It’s pleasure like you’ve never had it before – too much, not enough, painful, so good. “Please, Joel – I can’t… can’t handle it.”

“I’ll decide what you can handle,” he says.

“You’re– you’re so fucking mean,” you rasp.

“Gets you this soaked, baby. Don’t see your pussy complainin’. You love bein’ treated like a piece ‘a meat. Like a little fleshlight for men to fuck.”

You clench, tight. “Ah!” Joel fucking sniggers behind you, but a rush of confidence spills through you at the underlying moan in his throat.

Determined to get what you want, you tighten your grip on the front seats. Haul yourself up, almost so that the tip slips right out, and then collapse back onto Joel’s cock. And, shit, it’s a lot. You doubt you could handle his cock in missionary, but being made to ride him in such a compromising position, sprawled out across his shitty backseat? That’s an entirely different animal, one that you hadn’t expected to have to handle.

You focus on doing just enough to please him and just enough to keep yourself intact. You repeat your movements two or three times, rising and falling. Little moans and whimpers, some pained, some good when he nudges your g-spot just right, slip in and out of you.

“Mmmm, yeah, that’s it. Daddy’s ‘lil wannabe pocket pussy. Doin’ a ‘lil better baby. Keep doin’ that. Jus’ keep doin’ that.”

You’re shaking like a leaf on his cock as you somehow manage to lift yourself another time before fucking back on him. “Daaaddy.” Your lips quiver as you form the word. A single tear runs down your face from overexertion, and he’s quick to wipe it up with his thumb as if it was never there. You look truly whorish and pathetic, just like he’d wanted, bouncing on his cock with the last of the energy you have left in you.

His tip jabs against that goddamn spot again, and you double over on the center console. You take heaving breaths, making eye contact with yourself in the mirror, desperate to please as you attempt to keep humping him with the change in angle. You’re letting out strings of disoriented words, but barely can tell that you’re talking.

“I fuck you dumb already? Slutty little girl. Told ya you were in for it. Ain’t ever had much of a knack for listenin’. Gonna dick you down now, sweet girl.” He drags your legs into the crook of his elbows, holding you upright for him as he shifts to his knees between your legs. Braced on the center console with your pussy settled on his cock, the new angle makes you cry out. You hold yourself up on your elbows, giving shallow rolls of your hips in return as Joel gets settled inside of you.

The first thrust makes your eyes roll back so far that you see black. “Feel good?”

“So… so fu–fucking goo… good daddy,” you whimper into the console, gripping the sides of it just so you have something to hold onto.

“Swallowin’ daddy’s dick whole in this greedy cunt. Goddamn, drippin’ down my fuckin’ balls. Such a masochistic slut, all after a poundin’ from an old man. All up in a tizzy for this cock.”

You moan your agreement, completely submissive to Joel’s wills. You move like a ragdoll for him, letting him yank you back on his cock while he meets you there, thrust for thrust. He pulls out, a small mercy, but when he sheathes himself back inside of you in full, it’s the beginning of a punishing pace.

You don’t even notice yourself drooling all over the console until Joel says something about it. “Droolin’ from two places. Yeah, baby, you needed this. Daddy’s pretty cockslut.” You whine especially loudly when Joel drags you back across the console, damn near fast enough to give your stomach rugburn.

Hands framing your spread legs, Joel hooks them both around his torso, using the leverage to plow into you. You’re boneless beneath him, mouth frozen in silent moans. His hips meet your ass with each shove of his cock in your sloppy cunt, the obscene sound of slap after slap pealing out within the truck. “Damn lucky we’re in the middle of nowhere,” Joel growls on another thrust. “Someone woulda been knockin’ on the window long time ago with how loud you’re bein’.”

“Mmph,” you gasp when Joel tosses one of your legs up and over the passenger seat. You hold yourself there as he digs his fingers into your other thigh, shifting his spare hand to your mound.

“Daddy please please please plea–” you start panting like a broken record, desperate to feel his hand on your clit, which throbs with inattention on the console. You grind frantically on the edge just in case he denies you again.

Joel laughs above you, fully smudging two fingers across your clit in a blur of indescribable pleasure. “Ain’t gonna make ya beg this time. Can’t wait to feel ya creamin’ ‘round me… maybe I’ll make ya lick that up too. Nasty bitch.”

“Joooel, oh fuck, please…” you whine as he continues railing you, this time fiercely tweaking your clit in-time with his movements.

The new position has his thrusts meeting your cervix, and you scream, pleasure corkscrewing through your body. There’s nowhere for all of it to go with how viciously it burns in your stomach – all you can do is take it and whine for him. “Takin’ it real good. See what happens when ya behave? You get this fat cock splittin’ your whore cunt in two, jus’ like you were askin’ for.”

He grips your hip tight, clearly expecting an answer. You slur, “Mhm, daddy!”

Joel rubs faster circles around your clit, spouting filth while he drills your pussy. You can tell he’s chasing his own release, too, hips frantically fucking in and out of you, his cock twitching every single time you clench. You’re burning up as he jackhammers your pussy. Your second orgasm of the night brims low in your stomach, “Come on, baby, know you’re close. Feel this slutty pussy squeezin’ me. You gonna ask permission like a good girl this time, or are ya gonna go back to your defiant little slut self?”

“No, daddy,” you whimper, suspended in thin air over orgasmic bliss. He’s rubbing your clit erratically, doing everything he can to hold you in place. “P-please daddy, can I come?” You practically scream it out.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Come for daddy’s, come allll over daddy’s cock.”

The band snaps. Your back arches, and you feel time stop in the second before you fall slack on the console, spasming from the best orgasm of your fucking life. Your clit feels like there’s fucking pop rocks on it, something that not even your vibrator has ever achieved. “Thank you daddy!” you cry out, repeating it as you lose all feeling in your bones. You hardly have any control over your body anymore – it’s just Joel Joel Joel Joel. Sated and weary, you just lay there, letting Joel fuck into you.

And fuck into you he does – roughly, helping you ride out your orgasm as he pursues his. “That’s my girl,” he says, and you swear that alone could make you cum all over again. “Lettin’ your daddy use this juicy, well-fucked cunt to get his own.” He can’t hold back his moans, that’s how you know he’s close, grunting and gasping as he rocks his hips into yours. His hand lands on your ass in a sharp smack, and your pussy clenches in exactly the way that he expected. He lets out a particularly ragged noise, folding himself over you to nip at your neck and rest his forehead against your shoulder blade. “Daddy’s close, where do ya want me, baby?”

“Tits,” you whine. It’s a miracle you can even get that one word out, but somehow, you manage a few more. “Come on my tits, daddy.”

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, yanking himself over you. You help him roll yourself over and sit up on your elbows, and he jerks himself once, twice, before spraying his load all over your tits with the loudest groan yet. His brows fold together as he cums, eyes drooping and his mouth parted as he takes deep breaths.

You sit there for a handful of heavy minutes, listening to each other’s jagged breathing and the sawtoothed wind outside. You’re both so fucked. Literally, and figuratively. Stuck in the buttfuck middle of nowhere, you with your dad’s proclaimed bestie’s cum drying on your tits, and said bestie staring at you with post-coital puppy dog eyes and your cum all over his balls.

You’re the first to speak up, still winded. “That was… that was good.”

Joel nods mindlessly, tongue swiping out to lick his lips. He beckons you closer, and on trembling legs, you bring yourself to the backseat. You return to your previous position, huddled up and curled next to the door. Joel fumbles around under the back bench for a little until he comes up with a small, sunbleached pack of princess-themed pocket tissues that have to be as old as Sarah is. He dabs at your chest before stuffing them into the closest empty cupholder, and then brings you closer to his chest.

You don’t notice yourself falling asleep when all you can feel is Joel.

There’s better ways to wake up than a furious rapping on the window, but that isn’t the first thing you notice. You blink your eyes open groggily, only to face an egg yolk sun cracking wide open over the treeline and snowmelt bleeding out from every given surface. Joel’s behind you, nose in your neck, snoring softly with his arms wrapped around your middle. You take a moment to admire him – his sun kissed skin and his peaceful expression. It takes you a moment to remember you slept with him. You slept with Joel, and it was the best fuck of your life.

You’re stretching, on the verge of a yawn, when you see the familiar head of black hair over the window. “Shit!” you shout. Joel jerks to life behind you, mumbling something that sounds a lot like ‘what?’.

You scramble to pull the coat over the both of you from where it fell off of you in the middle of the night, covering your naked bodies. “Get dressed!” you hiss to Joel, searching for wherever the fuck your panties ended up last night.

“What the hell’s gotten into ya–” he starts, and you feel the exact moment that he realizes Tommy Miller is outside of the truck. “Motherfucker,” he curses, swaying towards the front seat to snag his clothes. You see him almost put his head through his T-shirt armhole three times before he gets it right. His sweatpants are next, which he tugs up his bare legs without even searching for his boxers.

“Joel?” Tommy shouts outside. “Wake up, sleepin’ beauty!” He knocks on the door again, the windows blurry from melting snow. You have that to thank, at least. It buys you enough time to tug your polo over your head, but not enough time to button it all the way up.

“Fuckin’... dumbass,” Joel huffs as he clips the lock on the door and kicks it open, looking at least somewhat composed. You take deep breaths, looking between the two of them. “How’d you find us?”

Tommy looks Joel up and down, scrutinizing him. “What happened to southern gentleman manners? I came out here to save ya from Mt. Everest, brother! Least you could say is ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you,” you fill in for Joel, even if the last thing you’re feeling is grateful.

“Her daddy threw a hissy fit, y’know? Told him you were fine and we’d go lookin’ for ya in the mornin’. We saw all that backup on the highway, I went this way, he went that way, turns out my gut was right. ‘Course my dumbass brother would take this route… hey, you’re truck’s a fuckin’ mess.” Tommy sinks his hand into the closest cupholder, pulling out a wad of tissues that have been soaked in his cum. You hiss as if you’ve been scalded with boiling hot water.

Joel starts, “Tommy–”

“What the fuck is this shit?” The realization seems to dawn on poor Tommy when he’s peeling apart the tissues, and he drops them like they’re a thousand pounds. You can’t even bring yourself to scold him for littering as the wind carries them away. “Joel. You dirty dog!” He says, eyes flitting between the two of you like it’s the most impossible thing in the world.

Your heart picks up to a speed that can rival most NASCAR drivers and your face burns like hot asphalt. You look pointedly down at the ground.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel seethes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get outta here, you little shit.”

Tommy’s hands go up. “Hey now, I ain’t doin’ anything. That is not a conversation I wanna have with her daddy.” He clears his throat, effectively clearing the air along with it. “So, uh, truck break down?” Joel grunts in affirmation.

“Been tellin’ ya you need to make a stop at the auto shop… C’mon, I’ll get y'all home,” Tommy says, jingling the keys to his own truck. “Call a tow on the way.”

Joel drags his feet all the way to Tommy’s passenger side. You get your wallet and jacket together, winding the latter around your waist. The sun almost blinds you on your way out, and Tommy stops you.

“I hope you didn’t let ‘im stick it to ya with them prehistoric condoms. You’re smarter ‘n that.”

“God, no,” you huff out.

“I dunno what’s stupider, lettin’ my asshole brother hit it raw or gettin’ a UTI–”

“Okay!” you announce, hands going up as you round the back of Tommy’s truck. “Conversation over.” You’re still smiling playfully at Tommy as you clamber into the back of the truck, sighing when the air conditioner hits.

Just like that, back to the same old same old sunny, shithole state of Texas. Joel looks at you in the rearview mirror and winks at you. You guess not everything has to stay the same these days.

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader #joel miller/f! reader

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rafesmuse · 6 months

Text

our girl — j.m & r.c.

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader x rafe cameron

warnings: smut 18+, violence, polyamorous relationship, threesome, vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex (m. receiving), possessiveness, degradation, praise, fingering, hair pulling, creampie, squirting, spitting, kelce and topper walking in lol

word count: 2.6k

summary: your boyfriends show their possessive side when they see someone flirting with you at a party.

a/n: based on a lucid dream i had. i died while writing this

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“You want another drink?” Sarah asked, downing what was left of her drink in one gulp. “No thanks, I’m gonna look for Rafe and JJ actually, haven’t seen them yet” you replied, your surroundings slightly spinning as you were already feeling pretty intoxicated. You smiled briefly at Sarah before walking away from the pool and heading inside Rafe’s house, the music of the party increasing.

It’s been a few months since you started dating your boyfriends— yes, boyfriends, because both of them were too obsessed with you so they decided to share you, treating you like their princess. It was intense sometimes, especially at the beginning when they had to get used to one another. Besides, a lot of people had various opinions on your relationship, but you still felt thankful and privileged to have boyfriends who were so sweet and caring. Especially considering that many girls would die to be in your position. Tonight is another one of Rafe’s parties, inviting all his kook friends as well as some pogues since JJ insisted on his friends being invited too.

You walked inside the crowded house full of intoxicated people and kissing couples, trying to find them. You glanced around, seeing many familiar faces but not your boyfriends. Just as you turned to go into another room, your arm was suddenly grabbed firmly. “Hey, beautiful.” you felt relieved, thinking it must’ve been Rafe or JJ when you realised you didn’t recognise the voice. You turned around in confusion and saw a blonde frat-looking guy check you out with a smirk on his face and a red cup in his hand. His blue eyes were fully fixed on you with a cocky smile on his face.

“Do I know you?” you asked, brows knitted together in confusion as you tried your best to refresh your memory, afraid that your intoxicated state made you forget who he was. “I’m Ryan. I used to hang out with Rafe, you know, back when he used to fuck a different girl every week” he said with a chuckle as you arched an eyebrow, unsure why he would bring that up. His smile vanished at the sight of your serious expression, before continuing, “Anyway… you want a drink, sweetheart?” he asked, motioning towards the drinks table. You gazed at him, wondering if he was aware of the dangerous game he was playing.

“No, thank you. I have to g-“ you started but he quickly cut you off, “Oh, come on! You think I’m scared of your boyfriends? One drink won’t hurt, loosen up a bit” he argued before he dragged you to the drinks table. You attempted to break free from his hold, but you were too intoxicated to react quickly and he was way stronger than you, clearly taking advantage of the situation.

“Here you go.” he said, handing you a new drink as you looked at it nervously. When he noticed your anxious expression he slid a hand around your waist as he came closer to you. “Hey, hey, don’t worry. Just wanna get to know my friend’s girlfriend, that’s all. I respect Rafe, you know.” he explained, easily convincing you in your drunken state as you took the cup from him with a relieved smile.

“So, tell me about-“ he started before being interrupted in an instant when his name was called, “Ryan!” You peeked around Ryan’s towering frame and saw Rafe and JJ making their way to you. Ryan instantly took his hand off your waist and went from having a relaxed stance to one that was stiff and nervous. Rafe had a menacing smile on his face as he eyed Ryan and JJ walked next to him, toying with the toothpick in his mouth.

“I see you’ve met our girlfriend.” Rafe said, standing just inches away from you two. “Such a pretty little thing, hm?” JJ added with a cheeky grin, clearly not taking the poor guy seriously. “Yeah man, we just talked about… stuff. She-she’s nice” he stammered, evidently nervous. Rafe nodded with a downward smile on his face and his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “I see, I see…”. “Look man, nothing happened, okay? We just talked, that’s it.” Ryan spoke up, trying his hardest to explain himself while JJ and Rafe exchanged glances, before giving each other a nod. “Fucking dumbass.” JJ sneered under his breath as he walked over to you, an arm sliding around your waist as he placed a kiss on top of your head.

“I understand man, no worries.” Rafe reassured before placing his arm over Ryan’s shoulder, “Let’s catch up outside, hmm? We haven’t spoken in so long, lots to talk about.” Rafe said as he led Ryan outside, making you turn to face JJ with a worried expression on your face. “What’s he going to do with him, J?” you asked, your brows knitted in concern. “Sssh, don’t worry about it, baby. He’s just gonna ask him to leave, that’s all.” he reassured, taking the toothpick out of his mouth and moving his head closer before pressing his lips on yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth as you were heavily making out against the table, causing you to forget about everything else. You were so caught up in the moment that it took you a while to eventually pull away from JJ as he gazed down at you with a loving smile on his face.

When you glanced over JJ’s shoulder, you gasped as your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. Rafe leaned over Ryan, who was on the ground, repeatedly punching him until blood was everywhere. “JJ!” you yelled in horror while pointing at the scene. “Oh, fuck” JJ muttered, not necessarily because of Rafe beating him up, but because of you witnessing it. He quickly spun you around so your back was facing the scene before cupping your face in his hands and desperately kissing you again in an attempt to distract you. You instinctively wrapped your arms around JJ’s neck, your intoxicated state causing you to forget about the situation again and only feeling hungry for JJ as you pressed him closer to you. His hands already found your ass as he squeezed it, not giving a fuck about anyone watching.

“My room. Now” Rafe ordered as he suddenly walked past you both, causing you to pull away from JJ as you watched Rafe climb the stairs. JJ grabbed your hand as he smirked at you, “You heard him, princess. Let’s go.” he said, pulling you along and leading you upstairs.

“Am I… Am I in trouble? you asked with a soft voice, following JJ in the hallway as you passed several kissing couples. JJ chuckled as he held the door handle to Rafe’s room. “I think we both know the answer to that.” he replied, making you gulp for a moment as he opened the door.

Rafe stood in the centre of the room, his arms folded with an angry expression on his face. Rafe's intimidating frame was accentuated by the lack of light in the room, as only a few red LED lights provided illumination. Even though JJ shut the door behind him, there was still a faint sound of shouting and music coming from downstairs through the walls. “Rafe, listen, I-“ Rafe interrupted you as soon as you attempted to explain, “We do the talking here, alright?” Rafe growled as JJ joined him, standing next to him as both of them eyed you while you walked to the bed, sitting down to relieve your sore feet from the heels you were wearing.

“You didn’t have to beat him up Rafe, I swear he didn’t do anything! He just offered me a drink and-“ you stopped when you heard both of them chuckle, looking at each other before gazing down at you. “I think our girl is a little confused, whatcha think J?” Rafe smirked while approaching you. “Nah, you’re right man. I think she forgot who she belongs to.” JJ agreed, nodding as he watched Rafe walk towards you.

Rafe bent down to get at eye level with you, then aggressively gripped your face, forcing you to look at him. “Two boyfriends is not enough for you? Hmm? God, you’re such a dirty little slut.” You were too afraid to speak as you gazed up at him. “Open that pretty mouth of yours” Rafe ordered and you obliged, opening your mouth widely before Rafe spit in it, “Swallow.” You swallowed while keeping your eyes on him, faces mere inches away from each other. A satisfied smile swept across Rafe’s face as he released his grip on your face, “Good girl.”

Rafe then moved aside, allowing JJ to approach you. JJ wasted no time and pushed you onto the bed, caging you in before planting sloppy kissing all over your neck and undressing you simultaneously, causing you to moan. “Tsk, what a dumb girl we have, Rafe.” he growled, sliding the straps of your dress down your arms before fully taking it off, leaving you in just your underwear. “But so fucking beautiful.” JJ took in your beauty with hungry eyes while biting his lip. He then discarded you of your underwear as well, tossing them across the room. “Make Rafe feel good, baby.”

JJ pushed himself off you while Rafe completely undressed himself, his fully erect cock leaking precum causing anticipation to rage through your body. He looked so beautiful— the red light accentuating the muscles on his body as he gazed down at you with dark eyes. He got on the bed, sitting against the bedframe before he grabbed your hair and pulled you towards him. “Be a good girl and suck.”

You drew your head nearer, licking up the precum and swirling your tongue around the tip, earning a groan from him. He impatiently pushed your head down, forcing you down his cock. His hand grabbed your hair in a ponytail, preventing it from falling in your face as he bobbed your head up and down. “Fuck, just like that.” Rafe groaned as JJ slapped you on the ass, causing you to jolt forward.

“Our pretty girl.” JJ praised while he teased your entrance with his fingers, gathering the wetness and drawing circles on your clit. You moaned around Rafe’s cock, only egging him on as he bucked his hips upwards, causing you to gag. JJ then inserted two fingers into you with ease, as far as they could go. “So fucking wet for us.” JJ curled his fingers up inside you, pushing against your g-spot, causing your eyes to flutter shut as you let out a loud moan around Rafe’s cock once again. Rafe now grabbed your head with both hands, fully face-fucking you, using you as his personal toy, while JJ’s fingers increased their speed, causing your orgasm to approach.

“Cum around my fingers, sweet girl. Make a fucking mess.” JJ’s words pushed you over the edge, your orgasm washing over you as you felt wetness all over. “Holy fuck, she squirted everywhere” JJ exclaimed, a chuckle leaving his mouth before he licked his fingers clean. “Dirty girl” Rafe groaned, his voice low and raspy as he continued to fuck your face.

You then heard the buckle of a belt behind you, and not much later you felt JJ’s cock teasing your folds, before fully pushing himself in. “Still so tight, fuck.” He groaned before setting a steady rhythm that made you grip the sheets. The sensation was almost becoming too much— the way JJ’s cock hit your g-spot repeatedly and Rafe fucking into your mouth, saliva running down your face.

Just as you were about to come, the door suddenly swung open, the music and yelling from downstairs filling the room. JJ's thrusts came to a half when all of you looked to your side as your eyes began to widen. “Hey, Rafe, you got some- No fucking way.” “Goddamn.” Both Kelce and Topper stood in the doorway, a smirk on both their faces as they eyed every inch of your body. “Well, this is awkward.” JJ uttered as his lips tightened into a thin line. An irritated sigh left Rafe’s mouth as he rolled his eyes, “Get the fuck out before I fucking kill both of you!” He shouted, Kelce and Topper snickering when they left the room and shut the door behind them.

“Now, where were we?” JJ asked before abruptly slamming into you again, causing you to fall forward on Rafe’s chest. “Hey, hey,” Rafe took hold of your head, pulling it up with both hands as he raised his eyebrows at you, “Did I say you could stop sucking? Don’t think so.” He pushed you back on his cock with his hand behind your head, guiding you. You could feel JJ’s thrusts getting sloppy and lose rhythm, knowing he was close. “Fuck, gonna cum so deep inside this pretty pussy.” he growled before painting your walls with his warm cum, his hands firmly gripping your hips. You could feel his sperm dripping onto the bed as soon as he pulled out.

Rafe shoved you off him, causing you to look at him with a questioning expression, given that he hasn’t cum yet. “ Wanna cum inside that tight pussy of yours, filling you with both our cum.” he said as he stood up and flipped you over, causing a small squeal to leave your mouth as you were lying on your back. He grabbed your legs and spread them wider before spitting on your cunt and pushing into you in one quick thrust, making you scream out his name loudly. He immediately set a relentless pace, gripping your waist as he pounded into you while grunting, your tits bouncing to his rhythm.

“Doing so well for us, princess” JJ praised as he sat next to you, grabbing your face and kissing you passionately with his other hand massaging your boobs. You moaned into JJ’s mouth as Rafe placed your legs over his shoulders, reaching even deeper parts inside of you. “You wanna cum?” Rafe asked as you nodded, your eyes closed as your vision became blurry, “Then fucking beg for it.” “P-please, let me cum. I need to!” JJ chuckled as his hand slowly travelled to your core, drawing fast circles on your clit. “You hear that, Rafe? Our poor girl needs to cum.” Rafe groaned as he increased his speed and placed quick kisses on your legs. “Then let’s help her.”

JJ’s fingers quickened their speed as he marked your neck in hickeys, causing you to grip his arm hard, your nails leaving crescent shapes in his skin and Rafe was close to coming too, his cock hitting all the right spots inside of you. “Gonna cum for us, sweet girl?” JJ whispered into your ear and you could only nod, unable to speak. “Gonna fill you up so fucking good, like the dirty whore you are.” Rafe groaned before his orgasm struck, filling you to the brim with his warmth. You came not long after that, walls fluttering around Rafe’s cock as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, the grip on JJ’s arm tightening. “Just like that, princess. Good girl” JJ praised as you came down from your high, chest heaving up and down as you tried to catch your breath.

Rafe pulled out slowly and bent down to place soft kisses on your cunt before getting dressed immediately, causing you to look at him with a confused expression. “Be right back. J, take good care of our girl.” He instructed before exiting the room. “Yes, sir!” JJ replied jokingly before shifting his attention back to you. “W-where is he going?” you stuttered, still feeling disoriented due to your orgasm. “Probably killing Kelce and Topper for walking in and seeing you. You know how he gets.” JJ shrugged as he picked you up bridal style before you could say anything else, taking you to the bathroom, “Don’t worry about it. Come on, lemme take care of our pretty girl.”

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darkshelbyfiction · 7 months

Text

birthday gift

FOR: THOMAS SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

Warning: Somewhat Incestuous, Virginity Loss, Innocence Kink, Smut

Summary: You are Tommy Shelby's adult stepdaughter. On your birthday at Arrow House, he comes to your room and tells you that he has a special gift for you, but you cannot tell your mother about it.

Note: All Characters are over eighteen!

The ticking of the clock echoed softly in the dimly lit bedroom, marking the passage of time on your birthday night and marking it two years since you moved to Arrow House with your mother Sarah who now was married to Thomas Shelby, the infamous leader of the Peaky Blinders.

You lay curled beneath the sheets, your heart beating rapidly within your chest. You could not shake the uneasiness and excitement gnawing at your insides.

What did your stepfather mean when he wanted to give you a special but secret gift for your birthday, you wondered?

You remember how, over dinner, he leaned forward and stared at you intensely before finally saying, "I have something very special planned for tonight. Something you cannot tell your mother about." It left you feeling both curious and apprehensive at the same time.

But you couldn't resist him, not after all these years of seeing his intense gaze and admiring his muscular body. So, you agreed to meet him at midnight, in your private chambers, so that he could give to you whatever it was he wanted to give to you.

And now, here you were, lying awake in your bedroom, wondering what would happen next.

The sound of the door opening interrupted your thoughts. There he stood, dominant and enigmatic in his black pants and a shirt, a subtle smile playing on his lips. He closed the door gently behind him and crossed the room, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Hello, Sweetheart," he said softly, his voice carrying an undertone of warmth and reassurance. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment as he approached the bed.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, his large hands settling on your shoulders lightly as you too sat up, revealing your modest nightgown to him.

With tenderness, he ran his fingers through your hair, his touch sending shivers down your spine.

"You said that you had something special planned for me tonight," you started nervously, trying to formulate your question. "Will I need to get dressed for that? Will you be taking me somewhere?" you asked, but Tommy shook his head.

"That's right, sweetheart. I have something special planned for you, but it does not involve us leaving the house," he replied softly, his eyes still holding yours with their intensity.

"So, what do you have planned then, Tommy?" you asked curiously with your cheeks blushing in several shades of red and pink.

"I want to make you feel really good Y/N, would you like that?" your stepfather announced. His voice dropped to a husky whisper, and an even deeper blush crept across your face as you nodded hesitantly. You knew deep down that something about this was wrong, but the thought of pleasing him as well as the attraction you felt towards him overwhelmed any doubts.

Tommy shifted closer, his arm wrapping protectively around your waist, pulling you against his firm body as, still, you were sitting next to him, just much closer now.

"Has another man ever made you feel good down there?" he asked gently, running his fingers over the naked flesh of your thighs, all the way to the area beneath your nightgown.

You swallowed nervously, your cheeks reddening even further. You hadn't ever discussed such things with anyone before, especially not with a man like your stepfather.

"No, no one," you admitted, finding yourself answering truthfully, your voice wavering slightly. "No, nobody has ever touched me there." You watched his expression change from curiosity to relief, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

"So, no one has ever touched your pussy, eh?" Tommy clarified, his voice gentle yet commanding.

"No" you confirmed, feeling the nervousness building up inside you. You didn't quite understand why you were suddenly feeling anxious, but you realized that this was something different from the other experiences you had shared with your stepfather. You felt vulnerable, yet excited by the prospect of discovering new sensations together.

"Would you like me to touch your pussy?" Tommy then inquired gently, stroking your hair once more to calm your nerves. Your heart raced, and your palms grew clammy with anticipation.

Nodding timidly, you gave a hesitant, yet enthusiastic affirmative. Your eyes locked with his, conveying trust and eagerness.

"Good," he murmured, bringing his hand to your waist, his fingers grazing the smooth fabric of your nightgown. "It will feel nice, I promise," he told you as, with tender precision, he slid the fabric aside, exposing your delicate thighs to the cool air.

"Spread your legs a little, Sweetheart," Tommy said and, after you reluctantly complied, he slowly slipped his hand into your panties, his finger making contact with your virgin cunt.

"Relax," he cooed, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead as he still sat next to you, gently touching your sensitive folds.

"There's nothing to be afraid of, Sweetheart. I won't hurt you. I will just make you feel good, eh?" His voice was reassuring, his touch tender, and you found yourself calming down under his guidance.

"Does it feel nice?" your stepfather then asked gently, his finger continuing to stroke your inner folds, evoking sensations you had never experienced before. You took a deep breath, closing your eyes, and focusing on the sensations coursing through your body.

"Yes, it feels strange but nice," you admitted softly, opening your eyes and meeting his gaze.

"Good girl," he reassured you, a warm smile on his face as he continued to run his fingers over your cunt gently before, finally, removing them and bringing them to his lips.

He tasted your essence and smiled. "See, you are already getting wet for me too," he said while using his soaked fingers to gesture towards your moistening panties.

Your face flushed crimson, and you turned away from him, trying to hide your embarrassment.

"Why am I getting wet?" you asked quietly, feeling embarrassed.

"Because your body is responding to my touch Sweetheart. It wants more if it," he explained, his voice warm and comforting. "It's a natural reaction."

As he spoke, his hand continued to caress your inner thigh, drawing circles on your soft skin.

"Just relax and enjoy it," he advised gently, his tone reassuring as his fingers dipped back into your folds, gently circling and teasing your budding entrance. You moaned in response, your body relaxing slowly, giving into his touch.

"Can I have a look at your pussy? I would really like to see it," Tommy eventually whispered into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

"Okay, but just quickly," you nodded, taking a deep breath to steel yourself.

"Okay Sweetheart. How about you take off your nightgown and panties for me and lie down. I will only have a quick look, eh?" Tommy said, his voice filled with anticipation.

"Okay, Tommy," you replied, carefully removing your nightgown and panties as your stepfather had instructed.

Lying down on the bed, you felt exposed and vulnerable, but Tommy seemed to sense your discomfort. With his gentle touch, he lifted your leg onto his shoulder, positioning your entrance at eye level.

His eyes traced every curve and fold of your pink, wet flesh, a mix of desire and admiration flashing in his eyes. "This is beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

Tommy then kneeled by your side and touched your wet folds again, his eyes hungry with desire.

"Can I have a look inside?" Tommy asked softly, leaning closer. Your eyes widened in surprise, but you nodded hesitantly, unable to say no to him. He gently placed his finger on your labia, testing your readiness.

With two fingers, he then opened you up, exposing your inner flesh to his gaze gently by parting your lips and saying, "I am going to put one finger inside you now, Sweetheart," his eyes glazed over with lust.

You trembled, a mixture of fear and arousal coursing through your veins. You felt the gentle pressure of his index finger as it pressed against your tight entrance, gradually working its way inside you.

"Is this alright, Love?" he asked, his voice full of concern. You nodded, trying to stay composed as the sensation of having something foreign inside you sent shockwaves throughout your body.

"Is this, okay? Can I go a bit deeper?" he repeated, making sure you were comfortable with his ministrations.

"Yes, it's fine. You can go a bit deeper I think," you replied, trying to maintain composure.

The feeling of your stepfather's finger inside you was both alien and enticing, sending waves of excitement coursing through your body.

"I can go even deeper if you wish, past your hymen," he offered gently, his fingers probing further within you. You hesitated, unsure of how far you were willing to go. "Only if you're ready," he added, assuring you of his care and respect.

"I don't know," you stammered, your breath catching in your throat while Tommy withdrew his finger from your wet folds.

"That's fine, Sweetheart," he said, before making another inquiry. "Perhaps I could kiss you down there for a while? That will help you relax," he said gently, leaning closer.

You hesitated, feeling torn between your instinctive response and your trust in him. Ultimately, you nodded hesitantly, allowing him to continue.

Soon, his lips brushed against your sensitive folds, exploring the terrain with his tongue. The sensation was foreign yet inviting, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

"Do you like that?" he asked softly, his mouth lingering against your sensitive flesh.

"Yes," you breathed out, your heart racing as his touch became more intimate.

"Do you want more?" he asked gently, his thumb gliding along your sensitive folds, eliciting sensations you had never experienced before.

You nodded, tentatively giving in to his guidance. As his fingers teased and explored your inner depths, he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes seeking approval from you.

"I want to taste more of you, Sweetheart," he whispered, his eyes reflecting a mix of tenderness and hunger. You hesitated, feeling overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

"What should I do?" you asked, looking into his eyes for guidance.

"Just relax and let me make you feel good," he replied, his voice soothing.

With gentle ease, he lowered his head and began kissing and suckling your most intimate parts, evoking sensations that sent ripples of pleasure through your entire being.

As he explored your folds with his mouth, you couldn't help but let out small cries of ecstasy, reveling in the novelty of the experience.

His tongue danced along your inner walls, evoking feelings you had never imagined possible. In that moment, you knew that you wanted more, craving the unique blend of pleasure and vulnerability that his touch provided.

"You are incredibly responsive," Tommy complimented you, the tip of his tongue darting across your sensitive flesh.

"It feels amazing," you confessed, your hands gripping the sheets tightly as you tried to hold onto the intense sensations coursing through your body.

"I didn't know it could feel like this," you whispered, your breath hitching in your throat. "And it makes me want more," you confessed, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a mixture of wonder and arousal.

Tommy pulled away slightly, his face filled with pride and satisfaction at having brought you to such heights of pleasure. "It is an incredible experience, isn't it?" he said softly, stroking your cheek with his hand.

"Yes, it is amazing Tommy. Is that what you do with my mum?" you asked, feeling a sudden burst of curiosity.

"No, we do things differently, Love" he assured you gently, his eyes reflecting a mix of love and respect for your mother. "But it's time for you to explore these sensations," he said, his voice warm and reassuring. His hand returned to your folds, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your wetness, teasing and pleasuring you. The sensations were unfamiliar yet intensely gratifying, causing your body to respond with increasing fervor.

"What do you do with her and the other women you visit?" you asked, your curiosity piqued by the intensity of the sensations he had brought forth in you.

"Well," he began, thinking of the right words to say before simply telling you straight-out, "I usually put my cock into their holes, Love."

"Into here?" you asked, touching your cunt while feeling intrigued and yet nervous at the thought.

"Yes, Love. It goes in there sometimes, and it feels really nice when it is inside," he replied gently, his hand expertly moving your hand out of the way and stroking your folds as he talked.

"Would you like me to do this to you?" His question took you by surprise, sending waves of nervousness and curiosity coursing through your body. "I think you would enjoy it," he said, smirking slightly.

"Uhm, I don't know Tommy. Can I see it first? Your penis, I mean," you said, your curiosity growing.

Tommy smiled, understanding your hesitation.

"Of course, Sweetheart," he replied, sitting up and undoing his trousers. He revealed his erect member, which was already dripping with precum. It stood tall and proud, causing your eyes to widen in surprise.

"It's big," you said, your eyes fixated on his impressive length.

"Not too big, just right for you," he replied confidently, his voice filled with pride. "I think you will find it pleasurable, if you let me put it into you."

You looked up at him, still feeling uneasy but intrigued by the idea of experiencing something new. "Will it hurt?" you asked, a slight quiver in your voice betraying your apprehension.

"Only at first." He assured you gently.

Your eyes traveled from his erection to his face, searching for reassurance in his gaze.

"Okay, yes, you can put it inside me. But just for a little bit," you finally agreed, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

"Good girl. I will be gentle. Now, how about you lie down for me, eh?" Tommy suggested, helping you get into a more comfortable position.

You obeyed, lying down on your back, your breath coming in short gasps as you awaited his next move.

Tommy undressed quickly and then positioned himself between your legs, his eyes filled with desire as he looked upon his prize. He reached down and tenderly caressed your cheek, smiling reassuringly.

"Are you ready to become a woman, Sweetheart?" he asked, his voice deep and full of anticipation, and you nodded hesitantly, steeling yourself for the unknown journey ahead.

Tommy positioned himself between your legs, his large member teasingly close to your entrance. Slowly, gently, he pushed inside you, guiding himself with careful precision. Your eyes widened in astonishment as he entered you, filling you with his presence. His gaze locked with yours, a mix of concern and adoration evident in his eyes.

You gasped, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness, yet yearning for more. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, both from the intensity of the sensation and the emotional weight of the moment.

"Am I hurting you?" Tommy asked gently, his own breath quickening in anticipation. "Yes," you replied, surprised by the intensity of the sensation, yet eager to continue. "But just a little. Please keep going," you urged, wanting to overcome the initial discomfort and fully embrace the sensations. Tommy nodded, his eyes softening with affection as he adjusted his position, ensuring maximum comfort for both of you.

"You are very tight, Sweetheart. Much tighter than your mother," he said appreciatively, his brow furrowing with concentration as he began to move inside you.

"It hurts a bit," you admitted, wincing as the sensation intensified. "Is it normal?" you asked, feeling both embarrassed and concerned.

"Of course, Sweetheart. It is normal. You have never done this before," he replied, his expression mirroring a mix of tenderness and understanding. "It's natural. Just take your time, and remember to breathe deeply, eh," he instructed, guiding you into a slow rhythm that helped steady your breathing.

"There, that's it. Let go of any tension, Love," he murmured, his voice soothing your nerves. With each thrust, you could feel the pressure gradually dissipating, replaced by a wave of unexpected pleasure. The feeling of fullness engulfed you completely, sending shivers down your spine.

Despite the pain, you found yourself becoming aroused by the intensity of the sensations.

Each movement by Tommy seemed to increase the pressure, pushing you closer to the edge of pleasure. Your body began to arch and writhe beneath him, craving the release of the building tension. Your moans filled the air, signaling your increasing need for fulfillment.

Tommy noticed your response and adjusted his pace accordingly, his movements becoming more deliberate and focused. The sensations intensified, igniting a fire within you that burned brightly. Your cries of ecstasy echoed throughout the room, causing your body to tremble in anticipation.

The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming you entirely. Your body convulsed underneath Tommy, unable to resist the urge to come. As the peak approached, you felt the world around you spinning, your vision turning black as your mind succumbed to the all-consuming bliss.

Finally, the climax came, washing over you in a tidal wave of pleasure. Your muscles contracted involuntarily, pulling Tommy deeper into you.

He groaned in satisfaction, his hands grasping your hips firmly until he could not hold it anymore.

With a final surge of power, he gave one last thrust, coming deep inside you, his entire body shuddering with ecstasy.

"What just happened?" you asked, your eyes wide with shock. Your body still trembled from the overwhelming sensations, your mind trying to process the experience.

"You just had your first orgasm," Tommy answered gently, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "I am glad I could give that to you, Sweetheart."

"I didn't expect it to feel so good," you admitted, your voice still shaky from the intensity of the moment. "But I really liked it."

"I promised, didn't I, eh?" Tommy chuckled as he pulled out of you and with him came a thick stream of sticky liquid which ultimately leaked onto the sheets beneath you.

"What, uhm...what is that?" you asked, your eyes fixed on the fluid that had just come out of you when Tommy pulled his cock out of your cunt.

"That's called cum, Love," Tommy explained gently, using a clean towel to wipe the excess fluid off your body. "It happens when a man orgasms. It's normal, so don't worry, eh."

He cleaned you thoroughly, making sure to remove any traces of his essence. He then wiped himself clean with a towel, disposing of it neatly in the bin.

"Now, Love, I think you should rest. I believe you have gone through quite an experience today," he said, his voice full of fatherly concern. "I want you to lie down and sleep for a few hours. And tomorrow, we will talk some more, eh?" Tommy said, planting a kiss on your forehead. "But remember, all of this needs to stay our little secret. Your mother cannot find out about this," Tommy reminded you, his voice stern and protective. "Promise me."

"I promise," you said solemnly, pledging your loyalty to the secret they were sharing.

"Good girl," Tommy replied, relieved. "Now, get some rest, Sweetheart."

#cilliean murphy smut #cillian murphy #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy selby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders imagine

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buckyalpine · 6 days

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Imagine the fluff of Bucky retiring from the avengers because he met you, the sweetest thing on the planet, the woman he's down on one knee for ready to marry in a heart beat. He's built a house from the ground up, a quite place for your little growing family because not long after the wedding, he has a baby boy on the way. It’s all perfect.

The absolute angst of him losing you when complications arise during the delivery and the doctors and nurses chase him out, not giving him a chance to hold you and comfort you. The last thing he sees is your labored breaths and dropping pulse.

He hears the cries of his son moments later but his happiness is short lived when the med bay is forced into an emergency evacuation because of an attack on the compound. He sees a blur of doctors rushing you to a different wing and in the midst of the chaos, his new born baby is placed into his arms. He pleads to be able to go with you but he's dragged out with no answers with the building crumbling and bursting into fire and flames behind him moments later.

He's inconsolable.

Completely distraught.

The memorial service held for you leaves Bucky in shambles, clinging onto the tiny bundle wrapped up in his arms, the only thing he has left to live for now. He doesn't want to go on without you, it's just him and his little boy in the world. He know he has to be strong for his son so he carries on as best as he can. His heart hurts when his baby boy asks for his mama.

He visits your grave often but he never truly feels peace.

There was never even a body for him to bury.

Bucky comes out of retirement when Tony calls him about a mission. He knows its serious because they wouldn't ask him to come for just anything. He doesn't want to fight again but he does it for his son; the world has to be safe for his baby.

"Daddy will be just fine" Bucky reassures his now 5 year old, pressing a kiss to his head, leaving him to stay with Sarah while he's away. When he's back at the compound, he's given a briefing on what they're up against. They leave the next morning.

"I've got them in the west wing, headed towards you Steve" Bucky may have been out of the field for a couple of years but his skills and training still run in his blood. He trails behind the target, gun in hand, catching a knife that's thrown his way before dodging another. He gets them cornered in an abandoned ware house, ready to end it all, justice be damned, he just wanted to get back home to his baby boy. He's about to pull the trigger but that's when he sees it.

The red skull with tentacles surrounding it.

He freezes.

He blocks a punch that comes his way, grabbing their wrist and holding them in place, shoving them against the wall. All he can see are their eyes.

Bucky knows those eyes.

No.

He rips the mask off and nearly sobs, his hands trembling as he continues to hold them with all his strength knowing it was hurting them but what choice did he have.

"Doll?"

Just a thought, okay love you, bye.

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel angst #avenger fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #avengers

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semercury · 2 years

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There's so much that I'm just like ugh over

#stuff sarah says #first off... its holidays... so people who treated me awful and scarred me are vsiting family #that just so happens to live across the street from me #and you know it's just... why does she get to be married with a kid?#she fucked me up so bad i cant get close to people well without imploding #and her brother is just like. dude choked me out as kids. dude screamed at me in a parking lot and made me have a panic attack #how come he gets to be happy too? like tbh im worried about his gf or wife or whatever #he was fucking violent #and then secondly... i got so caught up in the euphoria of seeing family that i dont see often and miss #that i completely forgot family i want nothing to do with is also coming over tomorrow #and apparently the mother of the fiance or wife or who the fuck knows anymore bc we dont get to know about their wedding is coming #and i really dont like her #and our house is tiny #and like i feel like garbage today physically and i just want to cry #and theres just too much other stuff going on too and i know other people are hurting #and im here with my silly little problems and i just want to scream

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tieronecrush · 4 months

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secret santa

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

summary: your parents throw a christmas party every year, and this is your first time in the “adult” secret santa exchange. the last few times home, you’ve found joel, your dad’s friend, staring a bit too long, flicking away when he’s caught. for the game, of course, you get joel’s name. and you’re going to make sure it’s the best gift he’s ever received.

rating: E

wc: 5.6k

warnings: daddy kink, age gap (sorry folks but i did want to try my hand at dbf!joel lol i pictured him around 50, reader around mid-late 20s), alcohol consumption, mentions of food, distant relationship with parents, party, christmas, gift giving, secret santa game, bit of deception on reader's part just to get joel alone, lingerie, body worship, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, restraints (using clothes/undergarments), daddy!joel, soft!dom joel, praise, a few instances of degradation, dirty talk (as always)

a/n: (images in moodboard do not convey what reader looks like, only the vibe! no descriptions of reader) my first dbf!joel…milestone moment lol <3 hope y’all enjoy my take on the dbf trope! and tysm to my babies for beta-ing @northernbluess and @kiwisbell love you both 😚

dividers by @saradika

Twenty years. This same godforsaken party has been happening every December for the last twenty years of your life, full of overserved middle aged parents, and never has it been less enjoyable than since you’ve been an “adult”. An adult still treated as a child, chastised, fawned over, always told to follow the golden rule. No, not treat others as they wish to be treated. Your family��s golden rule was speak only when spoken to.

And your father was the enforcer. Always required you home for the party, even away, out of state for college, away for the semester studying abroad halfway across the world. You were flown home and called upon to do the heavy lifting — groceries, liquor runs, cleaning the house, decorating to make it all feel magically festive.

At times, it felt like Cinderella had nothing on you. At least she had a prince.

The only time that this party has ever been remotely improved was when Joel Miller moved into the neighborhood. He’d snuck in under your radar due to the fact that it happened the few months you were living abroad, but coming back for the party and Christmas break, you were quickly introduced to him by your father. His new “best friend”. One among many. Each serving a unique purpose to get your dad ahead.

Upon meeting Joel, you were drawn to him immediately. Skeptical over the fact he found company with your dad, but much to your surprise, he was different. Maybe lonely and looking for a friend; you’d found he was living alone, his adult daughter, Sarah, in her final years at the University of Chicago — a choice that was hers but Joel admittedly feared, you learned. He only encouraged her, regardless of the fact he was anxious about losing his kiddo.

Not the same sentiments your dad had when dropping you off to school in the farthest, cheapest corner of the country you could find. He was nearly jumping up and kicking his feet together in glee to get you out of the house.

Joel, though, Joel was kind hearted and patient. He was curious and caring, asking you about school, work, your life every time he saw you over the years. Warmth radiated from him despite his more shy demeanor. Comfortable. You felt so comfortable with him.

Which is what made the smallest of lingering glances or the slightest of smiles turned smirks that much more exhilarating.

Maybe you were being naive or projecting your burning desire for him onto every interaction, but as you stitched yourself tighter into Joel’s life over the years, you haven’t been able to help but notice him checking you out at times or slipping a subtle flirty comment into conversations between the two of you. You would give it right back, and that would usually pump the breaks, bringing things back to surface level.

There was one time this past summer, after a neighborhood barbecue that your parents left early from, that you and Joel really had a moment. It was loud, music drowning out the back and forth you were having to the point where you couldn’t quite make out every word, and Joel must have felt the same because he made sure you heard his next words clearly — “Do you want to go somewhere quieter?”

Agreeing immediately, he pressed his large hand into the midpoint of your back, guiding you out of the confines of the party and to the open air of the street. He led you to his place and around back, pulling two lounge chairs next to his pool closer to each other.

That night, thanks to the alcohol buzzing in your system, you confessed more about your home life and your feelings around it. Joel was surprised, given the picture-perfect image your father paints for everyone, but he was comforting as always. Even as far as offering you his spare room if you ever needed a break.

That’s when you knew you were done for. Never in your life had you wanted to just kiss someone that badly. Let alone all of the thoughts that came along with it.

Harboring this crush for your dad’s friend, fifty plus and a father himself, you attempted to keep things growing closer when you came back. Friendly, polite, reciprocating any amount of flirty banter he threw your way. Even initiating it yourself.

You were so incredibly into Joel Miller. And returning home this time, you decided it was high time you acted on those feelings.

The noise of the bustling party dies down enough for your dad to introduce the game, as if the attendees haven’t been participating for nearly as long as you’ve been alive. But your dad loves the attention on him, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes while everyone else gives him a laugh. Always so focused on himself. How everyone else sees him. Image obsessed enough to forget to assign anyone as a Secret Santa to his own daughter but not forgetting to give her someone to gift to.

Granted, you weren’t that upset about who you’d drawn.

Watching from afar, you see Joel survey the empty space under the tree, only the deep cherry red skirt laid out on the hardwood. Nothing for him. Everyone opens their presents, laughter and excitement bubbling across the room as the point of the game begins. Partygoers start to guess their gifters, hoping to nail down their Secret Santa in one go. Conversations are struck up as people meet their pair, ‘thank you’s exchanged along with the gifts. Joel observes from his spot with a few of your neighbors, also friends with your dad, and the sight of him shifting his weight on his feet is enough to draw up the courage to approach him.

Crossing the room, flashes of him checking you out, lingering in conversations with you about work and your new apartment in the city, seeking you out each time you visit home flood your mind, reassuring your choices the closer you get to him. The closer you get to completely jumping into the deep end, the last few steps teetering you at the edge.

Slowing to a stop next to him, a finger of yours gingerly taps his strong shoulder a few times, pulling his attention away completely. Joel turns his body to face you, away from others to solely focus on you in front of him. The subtle sign of his attraction to you has your nerves tingling, clearing your throat when he speaks up in greeting.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Y’alright?” he asks, eyebrow raised. Always so goddamn sweet.

You sigh, a tinge dramatic but attempting to sell the dismay and toying with the flute glass in your hand. “Lame surprise, but I’m your Secret Santa and I stupidly left your gift upstairs. It’s a bit obnoxious to bring down so d’you mind coming up to open it and you can grab it at the end of the night?”

Joel agrees with a jolt of nervous excitement down his spine. Shuddering out the feeling subtly, he clears his throat and nods, awaiting your lead. He thinks he catches the slightest drag of your eyes up and down his body, lingering at the expanse of his shoulders and the sliver of his chest that is exposed from the two undone buttons of his red flannel.

When no one’s paying attention, you bring Joel upstairs into your old room that you’re staying in while you’re back in town for the holidays. He stands around a bit awkwardly, sticking out like a sore thumb with his broad shoulders stretching his red flannel, thick thighs straining deliciously against the perfectly worn material of his Levi’s. Stark against the frilly softness of your room, with its bright white furnishings, and feminine touches. He’s all man. Nothing like the guys your age who think they’re like him.

Joel glances about the room before he asks, “So, what was so difficult to get under the tree, sweetheart? You didn’t have to get me anything so major.”

“I wanted to. I mean, noticed you eyeing what I got you for a while so figured the least I could do was give it to you…” Joel’s face twists up in confusion, perplexed by the riddled clue before you’re standing in front of him, reaching to the side of your plaid skirt and dragging down the zipper. Joel stutters out nonsense at your actions, lifting his hands in surrender.

“Doll, I think—you don’t—” His mumblings die in his throat when you drop the material to your ankles, revealing red satin panties. When you turn around, a bow sits at the top of your ass, tying up the material to stay on your hips while elasticated bands run along the outline of your cheeks to connect to the crotch. Very little of your bum is covered, showing off the supple flesh to Joel. He’s rendered speechless, averting his gaze after a second too long of staring, the mumblings starting up again.

“S’not a good idea, shouldn’t be up here right now…” Joel looks around, looking over his shoulder toward the door. One of your hands reaches up to gingerly cup his chin, turning his flushed face to yours again. His pupils are blown wide, eyes darkened with desire. Your own gaze flicks down between the two of you, smirking at the bulge growing at the crotch of his jeans. So desperately trying to fight against what he really wants. Even when you’re serving it up in a pretty little package.

He makes no movement toward the door, which you take as a sign of letting go of at least some of his apprehension. Fingers grip the hem of your sweater, pulling it up and over your head, discarding it on your carpet along with your skirt.

Matching red satin material, the bra you’re wearing has a similar structure to your panties. Held up with straps and the usual clasps at the back, the front is a large gift bow, pulled tight when you tied it earlier this evening to push up the flesh of your breasts. One tug at the tail end of both the ribbons, the one at your chest and at your ass, would fully expose you to Joel. Something you’re desperate to propose to him.

“Aren’t you gonna unwrap your present, Joel?” Picking up each of his hands in yours, you guide one to your lower back and one to your chest, coaxing his fingers to wrap around the ends of the bows. “Or do you not like your gift? I thought you wanted this…”

“No, no, no. I like it. I really fucking like it, sweetheart, I just…Everybody’s downstairs and—”

“I can be quiet. I’m a good girl, Joel.”

That flips a switch in him, hearing those words from you. His eyes darken further, pink tongue poking out to wet his lips. A burning stare combs over you, head to toe, alighting flames in your gut that lick against your insides. Heat crawls across the back of your neck, pooling in your collarbone, and craving oozes between your ribs and between each of your vertebrae. Joel’s right hand lifts from his side, skating up the length of your left arm and leaving goosebumps rising in its wake. Fingertips ghost over the strap of your bra, down to the center of your collarbone, and sitting there. That lasts only a second before his long, thick fingers wrap around the base of your throat, raising his loose grip to settle underneath your jaw.

The silence is heavy, airy breaths the only sounds passed between the two of you. His hand at your neck coaxes your head to tip back, staring up at him looking down at you. A flicker to your lips. A low, curious hum. Arousal pools in between your thighs as you wait with bated breath for something, anything to happen.

“You’re dangerous, doll.” His whisper is coated in lust, his gaze greedy as it drinks you in once again.

“I’m a gift,” you correct sweetly, feigning innocence as a smirk grows on your face at his dark chuckle.

“A gift that keeps on giving?” he questions. His hand twists to allow his thumb to find your bottom lip, dragging across its glossy, cherry surface.

“I guess you’ll have to find out…” Your mouth stays open after speaking, tongue slipping out to lick the tip of Joel’s thumb. He presses his finger further, pushing between your lips as you welcome it, sucking gently. Joel sighs, shoulders relaxing while his eyes flash with need.

“Christ…” he hisses under his breath, shaking his head subtly before clearing his throat. Speaking sternly, unwavering, he says, “Can I unwrap my present, babydoll?”

His thumb leaves your mouth with a quiet pop, hand finding its place again at the slack of the bow at your chest, other arm wrapping around to find the bow at your ass. A gentle tug moves the satiny smooth material a few centimeters, not enough to pull it fully undone.

“All yours, Joel. Picked out ‘specially for you.” Joel smirks at your candied reply, eager to give him exactly what he’s been wishing for. What you’ve caught him staring at the last few times you’ve come back home. What you have been wanting for just as long, if not longer.

“Such a sweet girl. Beautiful girl.”

The words send a tingle down your spine, stoking the flames inside of you. Your eyes stay trained on Joel’s face while his fingers draw the bow at your chest undone, the lengths of material hanging at your sides and exposing your breasts. He licks his lips at the sight of your pebbled nipples, rolling out a stifled groan from his chest.

“Fuck, baby…S’pretty.”

Joel’s hands fan across your lower back, holding your hips against his, pressing his bulge into your covered mound. His broad frame folds forward, draping you backwards in his arms as his mouth attaches to your chest. Humid, open-mouthed kisses are littered across your skin, nips taken at the tender flesh of your breasts. Closing his lips around one of your nipples, he sucks strongly, pulling a whimper from your throat.

“Thought you could be quiet, doll?” he rasps, raising an eyebrow as he looks up at you from your sternum.

Nodding furiously, you pout your lower lip out, whispering back, “I can be, I will be. I promise.”

“You promise? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, baby.” Joel stands up straight, pulling you with him to press against his torso. Catching your lips in a deep kiss, Joel breathes a sigh into your mouth, melting his tongue against yours and drinking in the taste of you.

Dripping with saccharine sugar. Coated with syrupy goodness, plump and succulent like a maraschino cherry. A toothache, or maybe even a heartache waiting to happen.

He’s fucking screwed, but damn if it doesn’t feel good as he nails himself to his own persecution from whoever may find out about this.

Handfuls of your undulating curves fill his palms as he kisses you, groaning into your mouth as he grabs at the swell of your ass. Silky satin brushes against his hand, reminding him of the other part of his present to unwrap. Pulling away from your mouth with one last lick of your candied taste, he has the mind to imagine what the rest of your flavors all across your body might be.

Joel turns you in his arms, back flush to his chest as he grinds his bulge against the lustrous fabric, smirking to himself as you whimper quietly, so hushed he can barely hear it over his heartbeat thudding in his ears. Lips coast over the shell of your ear, nibbling your lobe before pressing a kiss right below.

“Can I undo your other pretty bow, babygirl? Unwrap the rest of my present?” Joel nips again when you breathe out consent. He walks you closer to the bed, hitting your knees against the frame before he takes one step back, touch still lingering on your skin. From behind you, he sighs appreciatively as he drinks in your form, licking his lips as his eyes devour you.

Pinching the ribbon between his thick fingers, he flicks it against your skin, satisfied with the way you react with goosebumps raised. One gentle tug unravels it all, exposing your cheeks to him fully and with the drop of the material from between his fingertips, your panties fall to the floor. One hand wrapping around your thigh, Joel coaxes you to step out to the side with it, kicking the fabric from your ankle.

He kneels behind you, pressing his lips against the swell of your ass. Flooded with the scent of your skin, vanilla and cinnamon, the smell of Christmas. Nose smashed into the supple flesh, teeth sinking into the curve, a gentle bite stealing another taste of you. A curse is mumbled against you, a sweet kiss pressed on the tiny birthmark on your ass, tongue tracing into the fading bite mark.

“Joel…” you whine above him, hand reaching back and nimble fingers tangling into his messy, gray curls.

“I know, doll. Got lost there for a second. You’re so perfect…”

He sighs again, standing up with a quiet crack in his joints. A blatant reminder of the difference between you two. Young versus old. Sprightly versus verging on doddering. Even if he is eager, there’s no denying the difference.

There’s no doubt in your mind that Joel’s about to be more of a gift to you than you are to him. The way he’s touching you, delicate worship before he’s even gotten to what he truly wants, taking his time despite the pressure of the party downstairs. Serves as a reassurance that he wants this as much as you do, wants to take his sweet time if this is going to be his only chance.

You pray to god it isn’t. Even before you’ve even laid eyes on his cock, you just know. He’s going to fuck you senseless. Ruin every other man for you.

In a blur, he guides you to fall forward onto the mattress, hooking fingers to remove your panties from your other ankle while you scoot toward the center. He finds solace between your legs, propping your hips up into a kneeling position to give him easier leverage.

“Think this might be my favorite present I’ve been given, doll. So fucking gorgeous. Looking delectable…Can I have a taste, darling? You as sweet as you seem?”

Your head is turned sideways, laying against the plush comforter, opening your mouth to whisper to him in the same moment he swipes his tongue through your folds, groaning into your inner thigh before he dives back in, working to devour you like a man starved, quenching his thirst on your arousal. Flicking his tongue against your pearl, coated in your translucence, suckling at it with pure need. Turning to press the front of your face into your bedding, it muffles your moans and whines, raising in pitch as he fucks your tight cunt with his strong tongue, lapping at you with the same fervor he’d lick the color from a candy cane.

“Fuck, Joel, fuck fuck fuck!” you shout in a scouring voice, scratching your vocal chords together with a strain. Curling your fingers into the softened, washed fabric, you gasp when one of his solid fingers slips into your walls. He groans, holding back his louder reaction to your gripping walls, hypnotized by the way you even stretch around his fingers when he adds another.

Head against your thigh, he studies the way you take his middle and ring fingers, the velvety slick of your pussy, and the spongy spot he finds, curling his digits to press into it and watch you squirm helplessly from the sensitive pleasure.

“Talkin’ all well mannered and pretty. So quiet and polite all the time. With your ‘yes’sir’s and ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s. You think about saying those to me while you’re under me like this?”

“Yes, yes’sir. All the fucking time. Every time I—I looked at you, felt myself…felt myself gettin’ so fucking wet. Was always dripping around you, waiting for something to happen. For you to take me so I can be a good girl for you, sir,” you confess, obedience and need sitting every word so prettily into his ears. “M’so—Fuck m’gonna come, Joel.”

He nods slowly, taking last looks at your cunt before he moves his fingers in and out quicker, dipping his chin down for his mouth to find your clit against, lapping at your dripping wetness and sucking hard. At the next press of his fingers against that spot inside of you, your vision grows blurred, white haze painting everything with a dreamlike filter. You bite into the linen fabric of your comforter, gagging yourself to keep quiet as you come, digging the balls of your feet to the mattress to push yourself away from Joel who continues to work you through it. He grabs at you, tugging you back to get his fill until you sob, overstimulation drawing tears up to the corners of your eyes.

“All kept and composed and ladylike. Been taught to behave, haven’t you? Bet you fucking love to be such a little slut. Anybody ever let you? Such a dirty girl, aren’t you, babydoll?” Joel’s voice sounds distanced at first, senses falling back into place in your body as you come down completely. His work-worn hands coast over your body, roughening against your soft skin like sandpaper moving with the grain. Little resistance but catching in places it favors.

“Just—Just for you, Daddy.” It slips out smoothly from your mouth, the weight of the title heavy against your tongue in the same way you imagine his cock would feel. Filling. Satisfying.

Joel rises slowly from where he’s bent behind you, letting one leg fall behind him as he stands, the other propped on the bed. His eyes narrow in on yours, lips parted and tongue darting out as he replays what you said.

Daddy.

First, you’re already on his mind and years younger, yet he couldn’t stop picturing you in this exact position. Next, you’re the one to make the first move, dragging him away from this Christmas party and presenting him with a Secret Santa gift that feels way out of the budget. You’re priceless. And now, you’re laid out for him, already nearly at the level of fucked out from him only using his mouth and fingers, and you’re fucking calling him Daddy.

Best Christmas of his goddamn life.

“Now, darlin’, were you saving that to be the cherry on top of the cake? ‘Cause that’s just about the sweetest thing. My pretty lil’ babydoll saying she’s Daddy’s dirty girl,” he scoffs in disbelief, shaking his head while his fingers work his button open on his jeans, dragging the zipper down against his throbbing bulge. “Gonna have to be quiet, yeah? Gotta keep your sweet mouth closed while Daddy fucks you, doll.”

“I’ll be quiet, promise. Please, Daddy.” Your pleas widen Joel’s smirk, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips once again. He pushes his denim down with his cotton boxers in their wake, sighing softly when his hard cock is fully freed. His tip is aching and red, leaking precum and leaving a wet spot on his underwear. With one hand, he starts to slowly stroke himself, holding in a moan enough that it leaves his lips as a soft exhale.

“Good girl…” he mumbles, studying your form. “Move back toward me, babygirl. Hands behind your back.”

Complying with his direction, you inch back until Joel places a hand on your lower back. At that, you lay forward again, the side of your face pressing against the duvet as Joel steps back from the bed and searches the floor. A dribble of drool drips from the corner of your lips as you watch him, one large hand around his cock, spreading his precum along his length. Part of you has the mind to beg for him in your mouth, to completely disregard the need pulsating your cunt at the moment, and to feel his warm spend coating your throat as he finishes fucking it.

But you’re fucking selfish. This is also a gift for you, so win-win.

Pressing your wrists together at your lower back, you observe as Joel locates what he is looking for, standing up with a devilish smirk. Your panties.

He towers over you again when he steps back to you, one hand coasting over the curve of your ass, a gentle smack delivered that makes a quiet yelp escape from your lips. The same hand skims back up your skin, easily grabbing both of your wrists in his long fingers and holding them closer while he slips the silky material behind. In a quick motion, he has your arms tied together with a bow, a content smile on his face as he makes eye contact with you.

“Wrapped all up again, babydoll. Such a pretty gift for me.”

“Well you’ve got a pretty package, Daddy,” you reply with a mischievous giggle, earning a breathy chuckle from Joel behind you. He grips the knot of your makeshift restraint, tugging taut to arch your back and pull your hips closer. His other hand wraps around the base of himself, dragging the head of him through your drenched folds, circling your clit, and chuckling again at the jump of your thighs.

“Please, Daddy, I need—” you start pleading, muffled into linen before you’re cut off by the stretch of Joel’s cock filling your tight hole, a gasp escaping your lungs with a punch. Your mouth is stuffed with the duvet from your bite down, nursing your tongue against the material as he slowly presses into you, inch by inch. There’s an ever-so-slight pain candy-coating the pleasure, melting away to get to the gooey, oozing center that spreads over your entire body.

Pausing when he reaches the hilt of himself, Joel sighs, rolling his head back as he internally thanks whatever Christmas magic must be out there for this moment.

“So fucking tight, baby.”

Your dampened whine shoots a wave of intense need throughout him, growling low as he holds your restraint tighter, dragging his hips back before he starts a punishing pace. Control escapes him, desire taking over his actions as he starts to properly fuck you. His cock teaching you how to take every single inch of it.

Messes of his name and your moans are stifled and stuttered into the comforter gagging you, chest hovering over the mattress as Joel holds tight to the knot in your panties.

“Can’t hold back any longer, baby, jus’—fuck—jus’ gonna take Daddy’s cock like a good girl, aren’t ya?” The only precision remains in the soft cracks of skin on skin, not loud enough to draw any attention from the party downstairs. Poppy carols play faintly in the background, the only other soundtrack being the vulgar mumbles slipping from Joel’s lips.

Drawing you closer and closer, the edge is tasted on your tongue, so close but barely in reach as the man behind you rocks his hips, the tip of his hard cock brushing that same spongy spot inside of you that he managed to reach with his fingers, bruising into your cervix with each snap.

At the next drag-out, Joel pulls away from you completely. When you whine with protest, he’s tugging you to stand up on your knees, whispering in your ear amid his quick movements, “Need to see your face when I make you come all over my cock…”

Before you can be left with any thoughts to a response, he’s flipping you onto your back, hands tied still, and tugging you near again. He steals a pillow from the top of your bed, shoving it under your hips to lift your pelvis, gifting himself the perfect angle to thrust into you again from the height he stands at.

The new angle punches out moans from your chest, Joel’s name littering the empty room as you try so hard to remain quiet.

“Shh, I know, doll, I know. Feels so fucking good, doesn’t it? Y’love bein’ Daddy’s little slut.” Nodding furiously, another louder moan leaves your mouth, brows knit together with worry as you hurtle closer and closer to the edge.

A large palm moves to cover your mouth, shaking his head slowly to remind you of your promise to be his good girl, his quiet girl.

“Pleasepleaseplease, Daddy…” He feels the vibrations of your voice against his hand, the words muddled into slight nonsense from pleasure clouding your brain. Joel holds onto one of your legs, pulling it up to hook onto his shoulder and press forward to get deeper inside of you. The switch has you screaming into his palm, eyes squeezing shut as you squirm under him.

“Eyes on me, babygirl. Keep your eyes on Daddy.”

Joel’s hips pound into you, chasing his own climax. Your eyes snap open at his instruction, mouthing at his hand and moaning loudly behind it, nodding your head furiously. Your tight walls squeeze around his hard cock, his grunts held back to keep quiet despite the noise of the party downstairs growing in volume.

“Come on, doll. Come on my cock…Fuck, you gonna let Daddy fill up your pretty little cunt?” The quick, speechless nods answers his question, both of you toeing the edge.

There’s a moment when both of you seize up, muscles tense and eyes burning into each other’s. It only lasts a split second before it explodes with a pop, at the same second a champagne bottle pops downstairs. Joel breathes out your name, over and over, mingling with your whimpers of his name and Daddy switching back and forth in your mind. Interchangeable to you.

Pleasure fizzes over your bodies like bubbles in the flutes being filled, the bubbling aerations trickling up up up to your head, making you feel lighter than air as pure bliss overwhelms you. Tingles aftershock across your nerves, a shiver sent down your spine as Joel pulls out.

Quietly, he groans as he watches his excess spend drip out of you, mixing with your come and glistening against your folds. One thick finger swipes at the spot, pushing the swirl of you back inside of your walls.

A soft whimper slips from your lips and Joel’s eyes meet yours in a flash, a gentle smile stretching across your face. He coaxes you to sit up and unties your hands behind your back, slowly massaging your wrists with his thumbs and kissing where the skin rubbed against the fabric. The tender touches accompany the soothing, comfortable silence.

Redressing you, Joel attempts to tie the bows of your bra and panties, huffing softly in frustration. You giggle when he’s working on your bra, taking his chin gingerly between your fingers and turning his head to look at you. Leaning in, his lips catch yours in a sweet, sugary gumdrop kiss.

It’s another moment before both of you are fully dressed again. You study yourself in the mirror above your dresser, smoothing your hair down. Joel steps up behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and kissing your shoulder through the knit sweater. He turns you around to face him again, grinning shyly as his eyes comb over your face.

The two of you share another kiss, his calloused hand cradling your cheek when he pulls away.

“You gonna be under my tree again on Christmas day, doll?”

“Depends…Were you naughty or nice this year?” you counter, earning a quiet laugh from Joel as he shakes his head.

“Think what just happened has put me on the naughty list for a long time, babygirl. And you, too.” He shoots you a cheeky wink and you laugh, shaking your head as you lock your fingers together in front of you.

“I did actually get you something though…” you admit shyly, rocking back and forth on the heels of your feet.

Joel grins, eyes flicking down to your anxious hands. His thumb brushes against the skin of your cheek, eyes meeting yours again as he replies, “You have another gift for me? Didn’t need to do that, doll.”

“I mean…Kinda needed a backup plan if this whole thing didn’t work out.” A chuckle is shared between both of you before you continue, “Sorry for spoiling the whole guessing game of Secret Santa.”

“Darlin’, you could spoil any games for me if it ends up with this kinda surprise.” Joel smirks before stealing another quick kiss, pulling away when you step back to fish out the small, meticulously wrapped giftbox from the top right drawer of your dresser.

Handing over the square package, Joel’s eyes glitter with boyish excitement. The corner of his mouth pulls up to one side while his thick fingers slip under the creases of the paper to rip the tape, undoing the festive wrapping to reveal the lidded giftbox that he opens quickly. Inside, Joel studies the contents. Small triangles with rounded corners made from thin nylon plastic. A deep emerald green, all sitting like precious gemstones. His initials are branded into one side with gold paint, the flip side emblemed with the silhouette of an owl.

“Sweetheart…Thank you. These are real nice…” he speaks softly while he picks one up between his index and thumb, turning it between the tips of his fingers. “They’re perfect. Gonna be sad if I end up losing one of these like all my other picks.”

You smile sweetly, stepping closer again and resting your hands on his biceps, “Guess you’ll have to take good care of ‘em.”

As he looks at you, he mirrors your smile, sharing one more gentle kiss before whispering against your lips, “Can think of another something I have to take good care of.”

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valeskafics · 1 month

Text

"Love It When You Hate Me" - Rafe Cameron x Reader

a/n: from an anon request combined with one from @aemondsbabe lmao i went a little crazy 🩷

Summary: When your father and Rafe's learn that Singh has threatened the two of you, you're put under house arrest. Ward leaves Rafe in charge of your safety.

Word Count: 5,600

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, physical violence (not by rafe or reader), gun violence, gun kink, spanking, daddy kink, dom!rafe, brat!reader, brat taming, pussy slapping, oral m receiving, oral f receiving, ass eating, anal fingering, p in v sex, creampie, unprotected sex, anal sex, overstim, hair pulling, biting

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Outer Banks characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

It’s only going to be for a few days. That’s what Ward tells Rafe when the latter complains about the responsibility he’s been given. Ward tries to dress it up as him serving as your “bodyguard” for the weekend while he and your father leave town to deal with Singh. Hell, despite his better judgment, Ward even gives Rafe his handgun to hold onto in case there’s any trouble. You arrive around twenty minutes later. Rafe hasn’t bothered changing out of the gray sweatpants and tee shirt he wore to the gym. Why should he? It’s just you, the daughter of his father’s best friend. The annoying little girl who’d follow him around all summer when you used to visit Tanneyhill as a kid. God, you were fucking annoying.

But now, when he opens the door? You’re not at all what he was expecting. You’re a fucking knockout. His jaw drops slightly, his gaze roving over your body, taking in the exposed skin of your legs in your denim shorts, your belly ring that is visible with the tight little crop top you’re wearing, the way your clothes - if they can even be called that - cling to your hips, to your tits… You take your sunglasses off, eyeing him up and down with thinly veiled disdain before shoving your Louis Vuitton duffle bag in his hands, striding past him.

“Here’s my luggage,” you say airily, “You can take that to my room.”

Oh, you’ve got a fucking attitude on you. You’re not that same little girl who used to trail after him, hearts in her eyes as she pleaded for a sliver of his affection. You’re a woman now. And Rafe fucking loves it.

“Sure,” he mutters, grabbing your bag with ease, following after you.

Ward comes out to greet you, giving you a quick hug, remarking on how much you’ve grown up since he saw you last. It’s been about five years since you last came to Tanneyhill. You were an awkward little fourteen-year-old back then, but now? It’s almost like you’re not the same person. Ward gestures to Rafe, saying that while he and your father are gone, Rafe will be taking care of you. That you two aren’t to leave the mansion because of the potential for an altercation with Singh’s men. You turn to Rafe with an innocent smile, one he can tell is completely fake, as you feign ignorance, saying you had no idea who he was.

“Sorry, I just thought you were, like, a porter or something,” you say in that same breezy tone.

Rafe scoffs, gnashing his teeth, wanting nothing more than to bend you over his knee and spank that fine little ass of yours. But he manages to contain himself, letting out a bitter, sarcastic laugh, following behind you. The two of you reach the room you’ll be staying in - Sarah’s old room. You walk in, tossing your Birkin on the bed, giving him a withering glare over your shoulder as you gesture for him to place the duffle at the foot of the bed.

“So, what, you’re supposed to keep an eye on me or whatever? While our dads engage in whatever shady shit they’re involved in?”

“Supposed to?” He repeats mockingly, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorframe, gaze never leaving your body, “More like ordered to. Your dad wants you safe. With me. So guess we’re stuck together, Princess.”

“Damn, how’d you get stuck with babysitting duty?” You scoff, “Piss your old man off?”

“Something like that,” he mumbles, continuing to stare as you unpack, a grin playing on his lips when you gingerly start placing your lacy lingerie on the bed, his mind running wild with thoughts of how good you’d look wearing those for him.

“Anyway, you can go now.”

“Oh, Princess, I’m not going anywhere,” Rafe arches a brow at your dismissive tone, continuing to watch you unpack, making no move to leave, “You know, you’ve really changed.”

“You mean I don’t follow you around like a lovesick puppy anymore? Yeah, I realized you aren’t as great as you think you are. Funny how that happens when you grow up.”

He takes a step closer, moving to stand just behind you, one hand moving to rest on your waist while the other trails along your arm, brushing your hair off your shoulder, “I just meant you used to be so shy. Such a sweet little thing.”

You give him an annoyed glare before pulling away, “Whatever. Anyway, can you, like, leave? I wanna take a bath.”

“Oh, I’m not leaving,” Rafe grins, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m your bodyguard, Princess, so you better get used to me.”

The scoff you let out is so disbelieving, so incredulous that even with his oversized ego, he’s almost offended, “You are not a bodyguard. You’re a glorified babysitter until our dads sort out whatever the hell is going on.”

“Bodyguard or babysitter, I’m not going anywhere.”

Just as he’s about to reach out for you again, Ward knocks at the door, saying that he and your dad are about to head out. That the two of you are to stay within the Tanneyhill grounds at all times. Ward practically drags Rafe out of the room by the ear when you say you were planning on taking a bath, the younger man fuming at how close he was to getting a peak at that pretty little body of yours.

“But I need to watch her!”

“No one is going to attack me in the bathtub, Rafe,” you snark, slamming the door shut in his face.

“You sure? You don’t think anyone might try to, I don’t know, drown you or something? I know mouth to mouth!”

“For the love of God, Rafe,” Ward mutters, brows pinched together as he leaves the house, hoping that Rafe doesn’t manage to drive you completely insane by the end of your time in the Outer Banks.

Your door is cracked open a smidge when Rafe returns around twenty minutes later, all too eager to do his job and check on you. He’s pleasantly surprised when he throws the door open and finds you, bent over your duffle, wearing nothing but a tiny little towel. You let out an undignified yelp when you see him, clutching your towel for dear life, glowering up at him.

“Can you knock?!”

“I needed to make sure you’re safe,” he shrugs, ignoring your attitude and instead focusing on the way your tits threaten to spill over the towel - he’s never been this interested in a girl before, it’s sort of refreshing, “Besides, one of Singh’s guys aren’t gonna knock, Princess.”

“Ugh,” you scowl, gesturing toward the door with your free hand, “Can you leave? I have to change and I can’t do that with you standing around.”

He isn’t used to this. You being so unphased by his presence. You used to be a stuttering mess when he’d pay you even the tiniest bit of attention, and now? You’re this firecracker who isn’t scared of him in the least. And it’s more attractive than he cares to admit.

“I’m your bodyguard. I have to keep an eye on you, the door doesn’t even have a lock! Someone could just burst in-”

“Someone just did,” you glare at him pointedly, hands on your hips, “Out.”

Rafe huffs and walks toward the door, turning to face you as you close it, “I’ll be right outside-”

“Yeah, okay, bye.”

He leans against the door, grinning to himself as you play some Taylor song while you get ready. He can hear you bustling around inside, the smallest of noises making him perk up eagerly, almost like a dog. Funny how the tables have turned, he muses. But he doesn’t mind. When you open the door, wearing a little pink velour dress, one that clings to your every curve, making him want nothing more than to rip it off of you, it takes every bit of self restraint not to just take you right there. Especially when you roll your eyes and cross your arms at him, the action making your cleavage all the more prominent.

“You’re still standing here? God.”

“Just doing my job,” he says, giving you a smug smile.

“Sarah says you don’t have a job.”

Rafe deflates slightly but shakes it off, following after you down the stairs, “Yeah, well, she’s wrong. I totally have a job. Like right now. Babysitting you is my job.”

“That’s kinda pathetic.”

His eyes narrow and he clenches his jaw, silently fuming as he follows you down the stairs, admiring the natural sway of your hips, the way that round ass of yours bounces with each step. You just need a good spanking. That’s it. That’ll fix you. He cuts you off just as you’re about to reach the door, crossing his arms, glaring down at you.

“Nuh uh. Where the hell do you think you’re going, Princess?”

“I have a date,” you declare, trying to sidestep him, “Move.”

“Oh really? With who?” Rafe tries to play it cool, like the idea of you going out with someone doesn’t phase him, but it has him on edge, raging with jealousy, “Do I know him?”

“All you need to know about him is that he’s better than you in every conceivable way,” you reply primly, giving him a haughty little smile.

Rafe scowls, “Well, damn, that could be anybody! What’s his name?!”

“Uh,” you tap your lip, “I think it was JJ. Yeah, JJ Maybank.”

Rafe’s nostrils flare with anger, the blood draining from his face, “Absolutely the fuck not.”

“Oh, you don’t like him?” A wicked smile flashed across your lips, “Damn, that makes him even hotter then!”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, because you’re forgetting that you can’t leave the house,” Rafe taunts, grabbing your purse from your hand and pulling your phone out, shoving it into your palm, “We’re supposed to stay here till our dads give us the okay. So use those pretty little fingers and send your little boyfriend a text canceling the date.”

You glare up at Rafe, but you realize that he’s right. You’ll get in a shit ton of trouble if you sneak out. He watches the way those glossy lips of yours pout, your fingernails tapping against the screen of your phone as you walk toward the sofa, grumbling to yourself in annoyance. He takes a seat beside you, turning on the TV. He flips through the channels, snickering to himself at the way you cross your arms, silently fuming.

“I hate you.”

“And I love it when you hate me,” he retorts, scooting closer to you, tossing an arm around your shoulder.

You let out a quiet growl of annoyance, scooting further away. He knows he’s pissing you off, getting under your skin. Hell, if it was possible, Rafe thinks there would be steam coming out of your ears. Shit, you look adorable when you’re mad. You continue scooting further away until you reach the edge of the couch, Rafe completely occupying your personal space, leaving almost no room between you.

“Look at you, Princess,” he murmurs, his eyes roaming over your body, taking in every single inch of you.

“Quit looking at me like that,” you snap at him, “I’m a person, not a piece of meat.”

“I know you’re a person. But you’re also…” He trails off suggestively, one hand resting on your thigh, your soft flesh warm against his hand, his voice a low whisper, “And you expect me to stop looking?”

“You’re a pig,” you reply dryly, pulling the thigh he’s touching away, crossing your legs and staring at the TV.

“You seem pretty comfortable touching pigs.”

Shit, he won’t stop looking at you. Or is it that he can’t stop? The girls here all fall head over heels for him, begging at his feet for a chance with the Kook prince. But not you. You just give him that icy glare.

“You’re even more annoying than when we were kids,” you remark disdainfully, grabbing the remote from him, trying to find something better to watch than Family Guy.

“You used to think I was cute back then,” Rafe grins, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot on your skin, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as he murmurs, “And we both know you still do.”

“Oh, you fucking wish!”

“And so what if I wish? You used to find me attractive at least, Princess. Everyone knows you had a huge ass crush on me.”

“Yeah, well, I was twelve,” you retort, standing up and trying to move, only for him to prop his legs up on the coffee table, making it impossible for you to pass, “And stupid.”

“You used to get so flustered around me. The way you’d stumble over your words, couldn’t look me in the eyes. You were fuckin’ crazy about me. I know you were.”

“The key word being were.”

“You can say that all you want,” Rafe shrugs, staring up at you, “But I know you still find me attractive. Why else would you have worn that sexy little dress, huh? You wanted to dress up for me, Princess.”

“You are so-” You let out a frustrated shriek when you try to step over him, his hands grabbing at your hips and pulling you into his lap. You squirm against him, doing your best to ignore the feeling of his cock rubbing against your ass, “For fuck’s sake!” Before Rafe can say anything, a loud banging at the door interrupts your bickering. Your eyes go wide and you turn to face him, seeing that his face has paled, “...Your dad’s not expecting anyone.” He nods, affirming your words, grabbing your waist tighter when the banging begins again. You cling to Rafe, limbs tangled around him, the two of you clearly terrified, “What if it’s Singh’s guys?!”

Rafe presses a finger to your lips, and reluctantly eases you off his lap. Man, you had your arms and legs wrapped around him, all warm and soft and sweet, and he has to move? This is some bullshit. He moves toward the door, grabbing your hand and pulling you along behind him. You grab the back of his shirt, the two of you walking slowly. The banging grows louder and louder, faster and faster, until you’re standing near the peephole which Rafe looks through. That’s when you hear a clicking noise and notice he’s holding a-

“You have a fucking Glock?!”

“Shut up,” he hisses, covering your mouth with his free hand, “Stay behind me and shut up!”

You, surprisingly, do as he asks, clinging to him. Rafe can’t help but find the whole situation a bit… Erotic. Here he is, holding his gun, saving the helpless damsel in distress. Okay, not helpless, not a damsel. He can already hear you bitching at him for saying that. You hear him cock the gun and let out a gasp, breaking your silence.

“You can’t just shoot someone! We should call the cops! Or hide! Or both- FUCK!” You cover your mouth as Rafe fires three shots through the door, the two of you hearing a groan of pain and a thump. You look at him, letting out a shrill noise of surprise. “Did you just fucking kill someone?!”

He opens the door, rolling his eyes, “Shut up.”

The would-be intruder is one of Singh’s men. Rafe recognizes him immediately. He’s taken a shot to the shin, the knee, and the arm. But nothing life-threatening. Rafe immediately shoves his Glock into the back of his pants, dragging you along to the car, his hand grabbing your upper arm as he pulls you.

“But your dad said to stay here-”

“Screw what my dad said!”

You let out an indignant huff as he opens the passenger door and practically pushes you inside, moving to grab your seatbelt. You try to bat his hands away.

“I can do my own fucking seatbelt, Rafe!”

His jaw ticks and he speaks in a low voice, “I get your door. I get your seat. And now I’m doing your seatbelt,” he replies firmly, buckling you in, “You don’t get the perks of being a strong independent woman until we’re off the island.”

“OFF THE FUCKING ISLAND? RAFE?!”

When the two of you reach the pier, he ditches the car. Your complaining about how fast he was going and how many rules of the road he was breaking reminded him a bit of a nagging wife, but he surprisingly didn’t mind that. He grabs a hoodie from the backseat, pulling it over your head and ignoring your noises of protest.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t freeze to death on the boat in that dress,” he snaps, tugging you by the hand.

The two of you sneak your way into the cargo hold when the captain isn’t paying attention, ducking down behind a few shipment containers. Finally, you’re able to catch your breath. The last half hour has been the most intense of your life. You inhale deeply, then exhale, doing your best to ignore Rafe. And when you do finally look at him, he muses that you look a bit like a grumpy little kitten.

“This is bullshit,” you hiss, eyes going wide when he pulls you close to him, laying the both of you down on the ground, his body pressing into yours, “What the-”

He covers your mouth, his breathing growing heavy as the door to the cargo hold opens. A different man from before, dressed similarly to the Tanneyhill intruder, walks through the hold with a flashlight, clearly searching the place for you. Rafe’s eyes bore into yours and he presses a finger to his lips. You nod silently, the two of you far too close for your comfort as you hide from the man. He stalks around the hold, his footsteps echoing loudly, before finally calling someone you presume to be Singh on his phone, telling him that you and Rafe aren’t on the ship. However, he stays there, keeping an eye out. So you and Rafe spend the next thirty minutes just like that. He can’t help but admire how gorgeous you look when you’re scared, your eyes wide, your lower lip wobbling slightly. He wants to kiss you so fucking bad right now, but chances are you’ll start screaming and then? Your new friend will catch you.

So, the two of you stay still and wait until the ship begins to empty and he leaves. You make your way to the top deck and to the pier, letting out a sigh of relief as Rafe manages to hail a cab. As the two of you get in, you quickly fix his shirt so that his gun doesn’t show, earning a nod of thanks and a little smirk from him. Clearly, you’re not as averse to touching him as you pretend to be.

Rafe tells the driver to take the two of you to the nearest decent hotel. The driver replies that it could take over an hour, but Rafe insists. Finally, he sits back, running a hand through his hair and sighing. You give him an unimpressed look.

“We don’t have any luggage.”

“It’ll be fine, Princess.”

When you reach the hotel - a high-end beachside luxury resort - you are acutely aware of the stares being thrown your and Rafe’s way. After all, he’s wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt, while you’re in that little pink dress with his hoodie on top. However, ignoring Rafe’s insistence that you stay by his side, you bound over to the check in counter and immediately start chattering away to the receptionist. She seems completely charmed by you as you explain you and your “boyfriend” were about to head back to the OBX but missed the last ferry and need a room for the night. You lie that you were out celebrating your anniversary. Rafe is actually quite impressed at your quick thinking.

And the way you manage to sweet talk the hotel manager into upgrading the two of you to a suite. You walk toward the elevator, a victorious little smirk on your face.

“She didn’t suspect a thing,” you say gleefully as the two of you enter the elevator, Rafe pressing the button for the tenth floor.

“You really went full-on with the whole damsel in distress routine,” he teases, his hand not moving from your lower back, thumb stroking you gently.

“Daddy’s overprotective,” you shrug, “Better to let him believe I need his help.”

The room is pretty damn big, though Rafe notices that there’s only one bed. You immediately turn to him, eyes narrowed.

“You’re sleeping on the couch.”

He scoffs, “You’re not gonna let me sleep in the bed? After I rescued you from a possible murder? That’s just fuckin’ mean.”

You arch a brow, “All you did was shoot someone and drag me out of the house!”

“Oh, is that all I did?! Is that all I did to save your cute little ass?!” He scowls, the vein in his neck throbbing as he glares down his nose at you, “Not even a fucking ounce of gratitude, you little brat?”

“Gratitude?! For what exactly?!”

“For saving your goddamn life, that’s what! I solved the problem, I got us out of that situation, and this is how you wanna fuckin’ thank me?!”

You roll your eyes, your tone so bratty he can hardly stand it as you ass, “What, do you want me to get on my knees and suck your dick as my thanks? Fuck off, Rafe.”

You’re driving him insane. The way you flip your hair and turn your back to him. The way you refuse to listen to him. Rafe thinks he’s about to start fucking drooling if he doesn’t do something.

“Come here.”

“No!”

“I said,” he hisses in a low, commanding voice, so rough that it sends a shiver up your spine as he yanks you back against him, “Come here.”

“Hey!”

Rafe spins you around to face him, any trace of humor gone from his voice as he stares down at you, his eyes swimming with annoyance, anger, and lust, “Look at me. And say you’re fucking sorry.”

You stare up at him, your eyes wide with fear, and if he’s not mistaken, excitement, as you mumble, like a stray kitten who’s been reprimanded, “I… Sorry?”

“Good girl.” He releases his grip on one of your arms before moving his hand to your hair. He runs his fingers through your locks, his voice still low, bordering on threatening as he demands, “You’re gonna do exactly what I tell you to do. Got it?” Your response doesn’t come, and so Rafe yanks on your hair, pulling your head back so that your neck is bared to him, “I said do you understand? I’m in charge now. You do what I say, Princess. Got. It?”

“Yes, Rafe,” you mumble.

Nah. That’s not going to do. Not after all the shit you’ve made him deal with.

“No. Try again,” he demands, tugging harder on your hair.

“Oww,” you whine slightly, “Yes… Sir?”

“Almost there, baby,” he coos mockingly, “Come on. You know what I want to hear.”

He gives your hair one last tug, earning a soft moan, one that has his cock straining against his sweatpants as you whisper, “Yes, Daddy…”

“That’s a good little girl.”

His lips move to meet yours, his hand still in your hair. Rafe’s kiss is bruising, dominating, like he wishes to fucking devour you. And he’s pretty sure with the way you’re clinging to his shirt, that you would let him. When he pulls away for a moment, you whine pathetically, only to begin moaning his name again when he kisses your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin. He bites down hard, making you let out a gasp. He helps you out of the sweatshirt, leaving you just in that little pink velour dress, removing his own shirt as well. Rafe loves the way you look at him - his face, his chest, his abs. Yeah, that crush definitely never went away.

And then? The next thing you know, he’s sitting at the foot of the bed with you over his knee. Your jaw drops as you glance back at him over your shoulder.

“What… What’re you doing?”

He grabs you by the hair, bringing your face closer to his while his other hand caresses your ass over the fabric of your dress. He pushes the fabric up, admiring the sight of your bare ass, the flimsy thong you wear barely covering anything. He gives it a quick squeeze, groaning at how perfect your flesh feels against his palm. And then? He lets his hand fly. You look at him, completely taken aback, lips parted in shock. And he just fucking continues. He lands a second slap, a third, a fourth and a fifth in quick succession.

“You hear that, huh, Princess?” He hisses, spanking you again, loving the way your flesh jiggles with every slap, the sound of impact, “You hear what I said?”

You squirm against him, rubbing your thighs together as you whine, “Daddy, it hurts, don’t be so mean…”

“Well, I gotta show you who’s in charge, baby,” he chuckles darkly, giving you another smack, “Come on. Tell me you know Daddy’s in charge.”

You let out a choked gasp as he nudges your thighs apart, landing a flurry of light slaps against your pussy, his lips twisting into a grin at how you’ve soaked through your panties, “I- I understand, Daddy, oh God…”

Rafe continues, alternating between smacking your ass and your pussy before sitting you back up in his lap, gripping your jaw firmly, “That’s my good girl. You took your punishment so well, baby. You know what Daddy’s gonna do for you next?”

You shake your head, looking into his blue eyes, nearly black with lust as you breathe, “No… What’s next?”

“Well, Daddy wants to give you a treat, baby. Get on those knees and open that pretty mouth for me.”

You move to kneel between his legs, mouthing eagerly at his cock over the fabric of his sweatpants. You keep your gaze locked on his, your lashes fluttering as your palms move along his muscular thighs, moaning softly. You pull his cock free from the pants, giving it a few quick tugs, smiling at him playfully.

“Can I have my treat, Daddy?”

“Practice on this first, baby.”

Rafe watches, eyes rapt with attention as your lips wrap around the barrel of his gun. You don’t even make a face at the taste, just moaning and grinding yourself against the floor like a feral little thing as you stare up at him. Your saliva coats the gun, and he decides he’s had enough, pulling it away from you and pushing your face toward his cock.He groans as you take him into your hot, wet mouth, the feeling almost making him blow his load then and there. The wet, sloppy noises you make as you suck his cock are almost as arousing as the feeling of your tongue moving along his shaft, your cheeks hollowing around him as you bob your head up and down. Rafe’s fingers knot in your hair, pushing your head further down on his cock. And you just fucking take it, eyes watering, drool spilling from the corners of your lips as you stare up at him. Fuck, he’s never had head this good in his entire goddamn life. You move faster and faster and faster until he cums on your tongue, a smirk on his face as he watches you swallow.

“Was that good, Daddy?”

Rafe nods, his breath coming in short, sharp pants as he chuckles, “That was perfect, baby.”

He lifts you up, manhandling you onto the bed. He tosses his sweatpants aside, leaving him completely naked save for the silver chain around his neck. He makes quick work of your dress, smirking at the sight of you without a bra, wearing only that little pink lace thong. You grin up at him mischievously, letting out a noise of surprise as he flips you onto your stomach. Rafe wastes no time pushing your thong aside, burying his tongue inside your sweet little pussy, reveling in the sound of your moans as he devours you. He spreads you wide, his tongue flattening against you as he laps at you eagerly, your arousal coating his tongue within mere minutes. But Rafe continues, now adding his fingers, moving them in and out of you while his tongue moves to your puckered hole. You whimper, burying your face in the pillow beneath you as he spreads you open, tongue pushing past the tight ring of muscles, the pleasure being almost too intense to bear. Between that and his fingers massaging your clit, you’re crying out “Daddy” and coming again, your arousal coating his fingertips, making him smirk victoriously. He turns you to lay on your back, grinning as he licks his fingers clean, your gaze hazy as you stare up at him.

Rafe is nearly fully hard again by now, grasping the base of his cock, giving himself a few quick strokes before a grin spreads across his face. Rafe grabs his Glock, showing you that the safety is on, your eyes going wide as he pushes the grip inside you, fucking you with it. Your eyes roll back, the feeling of the cool metal against your overstimulated pussy being almost too much. But Rafe is determined to make you cum all over the handle of his gun. He rubs it against your clit over and over and over, watching as your arousal squirts over the handle, making a mess, soaking the bed beneath you. He pulls the gun away, quickly replacing it with his cock, groaning at the way you squeeze around him.

He wraps his hand around your throat, the other squeezing at your tits as he begins to roll his hips against you, “Such a perfect little slut for Daddy, aren’t you, Princess?”

Your voice comes out as a choked gasp, every thrust making the fat head of his cock rub against your sweet spot, his girth feeling almost too big as he ruts against you, “Yes, Daddy. I’m your slut. I’m your good girl, whatever you want me to be.”

“Open that mouth then for me, baby.” You do as he asks, gasping when he spits into your mouth, still rolling his hips against yours over and over and over, “Swallow.” You do as he asks yet again, earning a nod of approval and a smirk, “Good job, Princess.”

Your cunt spasms around his cock as he pounds into you, the feeling making your toes curl, your nails rake along his back, leaving angry red marks in their wake. You come all over his cock, but Rafe simply flips you onto your stomach, grabbing you by the hips. You feel his finger easing its way into your ass, making you whine, feeling so fucking full of him as he spills himself inside you, his cum leaking out of you as he continues to move his finger. Rafe doesn’t take too long getting hard again, and by the time he is, he knows that he’s going to make sure to cum in all three of your holes tonight, claiming you completely.

He spits on your puckered hole before easing his cock inside you, making you let out a low groan. Rafe stays like that, letting you get used to the feeling before he starts moving against you yet again. All you can think of, breathe, is him. His cock, his hands squeezing at your tits, his lips against your neck as he pounds into you over and over.

“You’re all mine now, Princess,” he growls against your ear, his thrusts slowing as he nears his climax, bringing your hand to your pussy, urging you to play with your clit, “All fucking mine. Your pussy, your mouth, your ass. All of you. All mine.”

“All yours, Daddy,” you agree, your fingers circling your clit, bringing you closer and closer to your peak, his balls slapping against your ass as he continues to fuck you, “All yours… I’m close…”

“Come for me, baby,” he grunts, giving one thrust, two, three more, spilling himself inside you yet again, a grin on his face as he sees you reach your own again.

The two of you collapse against the bed, clinging to each other, relishing in the moment. Rafe asks if you need anything from him, a towel, water, anything. You shake your head, clinging to him.

“Not right now. Just stay here and hold me.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “Don’t worry, Princess. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

You rest your head against his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as you take a moment to rest, listening to the beating of his heart. Rafe wraps his arms around you, smiling to himself. He never knew it could feel like this. And when you gaze up at him, with those sleepy eyes of yours, he knows the reason he wants to protect you so badly. The reason he’s been going crazy all day.

He’s in love with you. No matter how insane it may sound. And he’s going to protect you, keep his princess safe here in his arms.

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