Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Sometimes when me and Bubbles get a little baked, we like to try and nail Smarties into Julian’s glass.” You grin at the camera and take a hit off the little bong Bubbles hands you.

“It’s real fun,” Bubbles chimes in, eyes wide, “but boy does he hate it. Especially if he don’t see ’em before he takes a sip. Best is when we catch him nappin’."

“Oh yeah,” you say, laughing. “Julian almost never naps, but when I bake some of mine and Ricky’s special brownies, he gets all cuddly on the couch watchin’ cable like an old man. Passes out right in the middle of his programme. Once he’s out, we can throw whatever the fuck we want. Long as we don’t hit his face, he doesn’t wake up.”

-

Julian’s snores fill the trailer. You and Bubbles creep inside, motionin’ the camera crew in like it’s a stakeout. You sit across from him and dump a whole box of Smarties into a bowl.

“I got the record,” Bubbles says, pushin’ his glasses up and lining up his shot. He flicks the first candy in a nice arc- and hits Julian’s pec and falls to the floor. Bubbles huffs. You snicker.

“Good try, Bubs. Watch the pro.” You close one eye, aim, and let a pink Smartie fly.

It clips the side of Julian’s nose and lands dead center in his glass.

For a second you don’t breathe. Then Julian snorts awake, eyes blinking. Bubbles slaps his knee like someone just insulted his honour.

“Aw fuck, guys, I swear I can do it-” Bubbles starts starts, but you both talk over him.

“How many fuckin’ times I gotta tell you two not to throw your fuckin’ candy-”

“Baby, you’re up! Good mornin’, sunshine-”

“I was takin’ a god damn nap and I wake up and my glass is full of-”

“Baby, I beat Bubbles for once, even if it’s only a half point-”

Bubbles spins, already shepherding the crew to the door. “We better go, guys. She’s really in trouble with old Julian. He's told us four, five times now not to be throwin’ our candies in his drinks. Let’s get out before I get in shit too!”

-

Julian leaned back in his chair, the ice in his drink clinking as he swirled it lazily. The park had finally gone quiet for the night. No yelling, no gunfire, no Ricky setting something on fire by “accident.” Just the crickets and the faint bass from J-Roc’s trailer way down the lane.

You stepped out onto the porch barefoot, stealing his drink right out of his hand. He raised a brow, but didn’t say a word while you finished it off and handed him a fresh one. Then you swung a leg over and settled into his lap, knees bracketing his hips, hands resting on his shoulders like you’d done it a thousand times before.

“Can’t stay mad at me forever Jules.” you said softly, brushing a curl back from his forehead.

“Pretty sure I can,” he muttered, though his hand was already sliding up your thigh, settling warm and heavy on your hip.

You hummed, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “Mm. Don’t think so.”

He grunted,  the sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan. as your lips trailed up to his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. He didn’t move at first, letting you work for it, but you felt the moment he caved. His hand came up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a slow kiss that tasted faintly like rum and smoke.

When you finally pulled back, you were both breathing a little heavier. You smiled, cocky but soft. “See? You don’t hate me.”

Julian chuckled, low and rough. “Didn’t say that. Just-” He paused, eyes flicking over you in that way that always made your stomach twist. “Guess I’m bad at staying mad when you start climbing on me.”

You smirked and rocked your hips just slightly, not enough to be obvious, but enough for him to notice. His jaw tightened, glass forgotten on the table beside you.

“Thought so,” you murmured.

He leaned back again, eyes still on you, a small, dangerous smile tugging at his lips. “You better quit while you’re ahead, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” you whispered, leaning down close enough that your nose brushed his. “Or what?”

Julian didn't answer your question. Instead, he set his glass aside with a soft clink, his hand already finding the small of your back, his fingers splaying possessively over the curve. The porch light flickered overhead, casting a warm, intimate glow over your entwined forms, as the distant sound of breaking glass and raucous laughter drifted in from J-Roc's party down the road. The world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you in your little bubble of desire.

You kept grinding your hips into his, the rough denim of his jeans rubbing deliciously against the soft cotton of your pajama shorts. Each slow, sensual roll sent sparks of pleasure shooting through you, stoking the embers of your arousal. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. You could feel his pulse jumping beneath your lips, could taste the salt of his skin, the musky scent of his cologne filling your head.

He let you tease him for a while, his breath growing hotter, his grip on your hip tightening. Then, with a low, almost feral growl, he slid his free hand into your hair, fisting the strands and tugging your head back. He claimed your mouth in a searing, hungry kiss that stole your breath and set your heart racing. His tongue delved deep, tangling with yours, tasting you, consuming you with desperate need.

As he kissed you, his other hand slid down to squeeze your ass, his fingers sinking into the pliant flesh hard enough to make you gasp into his mouth. The kiss grew heavier, the air between you crackling with tension. Your bodies pressed closer, hips locked together as you lost yourselves in the slick slide of lips and tongues. 

After a lingering kiss that leaves you both breathless, you finally pull back, flashing Julian that sly, mischievous smile he knows all too well. He lets out a low groan, his dark eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"The fuck are you schemin' now? C'mon, let's just get inside," he mutters, his voice rough with a mix of desire and impatience. But you ignore him completely, sinking gracefully to your knees right there on the porch of his trailer. Your hands glide up his muscular thighs, fingers teasing the edge of his belt buckle as you bite your lower lip and gaze up at him with wide, innocent eyes. He groans again, his head whipping around to scan the dimly lit park, checking for prying eyes in the shadows.

"It's fine, Jules- everyone's either hammered or passed out cold. No one's gonna spot us," you reassure him, pouting dramatically and resting your chin on his knee for the full puppy dog effect. Your hand drifts, palming the growing bulge in his jeans, feeling his cock twitch eagerly under the rough denim.

"Fuck, babe, I-" He swivels his head once more, sighing heavily in defeat. "Shit, alright. Make it up to me, then.” You giggle triumphantly, your fingers flying to undo his belt with practiced ease. In seconds, you've freed his hard length, leaning in to press soft, teasing kisses along the shaft just to hear him moan that deep, gravelly sound that sends shivers down your spine.

"Is this..." Kiss. "...a good way..." Lick. "...to make it up to you?" You swirl your tongue around the tip before suckling gently, and he groans louder, his free hand threading into your hair, fingers tangling just enough to hold you close.

"Alright, fuck, sweetheart," he rasps, tugging you forward with a gentle insistence. You oblige, taking more of him into your mouth, your tongue tracing the thick vein along the underside before sliding down to the base. A soft gag escapes you as you adjust, but you hold steady.

Julian throws an arm over his face, trying to muffle his own ragged breaths, but you pull off just enough to slap his thigh playfully. 

"The fuck are you doing? You gotta keep your eyes-" You try to scold but you’re interrupted. 

"Fuck it," he growls, cutting you off. In one swift motion, he tucks himself back into his pants, zipping up haphazardly. Before you can protest, he hauls you to your feet by the arm, his body crowding yours as he backs you toward the trailer door, his grip firm but not rough.

“What- Julian!” you yelp as he hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing, your hands flailing against the back of his shirt. The world tilts, trailer park spinning past in a blur of busted lawn chairs and empty beer cans.

“Move it, I’m not fuckin’ you out on the porch,” he grumbles, kicking the screen door shut behind him with a metallic bang. You grin wickedly and pinch the firm curve of his ass through his jeans.

“Mr. Lahey’s right, you do have a nice ass- OW!” The sharp smack he lands on your own cheek cuts you off mid-squeal. He dumps you onto the bed, mattress springs groaning in protest, and yanks his black T-shirt over his head in one smooth motion.

You giggle, shimmying out of your pajama shorts while he crawls over you, dragging your top off with impatient hands. He crashes his mouth against yours, all teeth and coke-sweet tongue. You try to kiss him back but can’t stop the grin spreading across your face.

“You’re a smug little shit, you know that?” he mutters against your throat, voice low.

“I know,” you breathe, and he nips your nipple hard enough to make you squeal again. His jeans hit the floor with a heavy thud, belt buckle clinking. One thick finger slides between your thighs, finding you soaked, and he groans as his cock twitches hard. 

“Jesus, babe…” He sinks that finger deep, curling it just right, mouth latched to your breast. Your legs splay wide to make room for his broad frame, knees hooked over his hips. Another finger joins the first, scissoring, stroking, finding that spot with ruthless precision. You claw at the muscles of his back, nails leaving red trails.

“Julian- Julian, wait- fuck, fuck, babe!” Words tumble out in a frantic rush as he works you mercilessly, palm grinding against your clit. Your thighs clamp around his waist, but he doesn’t let up until you’re shaking, until you’re coming hard around his fingers, soaking his hand and the sheets beneath you. He pulls back just enough to smirk, licking his glistening fingers clean with deliberate slowness. 

“That’s my girl.”You huff at the smug tilt of his mouth, shove both palms against his chest, and flip him onto his back. He goes willingly, a low laugh rumbling out of him as you straddle his hips. His jeans are already halfway down his thighs; he kicks them off the rest of the way with a careless flick. You wrap your fingers around his cock and give a couple of lazy pumps. He’s rock-hard, has been since the porch, but the stroke still makes him hiss through his teeth. His big hands clamp onto your hips, sinking into the soft flesh as he drags you forward, sliding your slick folds along his shaft and smearing you over every inch of him until the head nudges your clit and you both groan. 

You grind down again, chasing the spark, then lean in for a filthy, open-mouthed kiss before you sit back.You line him up, notch the blunt tip at your entrance, and sink down in one deliberate drop. The stretch steals your air. Your cocky little plan to take charge backfires spectacularly, he’s thick, and you took him too fast.

A sharp gasp rips out of you, eyes going wide, hands flying to his pecs for balance. Julian’s head thumps back against the pillow, a ragged “Fuck” punching out of him. But his grip stays steady, grounding. One brow arches, pure Trailer Park smug.

“Yeah? Feelin’ real confident now, honey? Daddy’s cock feelin’ big?” The taunt is all gravel and heat, but his palm slides up your side,  checking you’re okay even while he smirks. You whimper, nails digging half-moons into his skin

“Mhm,” you manage, breath hitching as your body starts to yield. The burn eases into a deep, aching fullness, walls fluttering around him. You rock experimentally, just an inch, and the friction lights you up from the inside. Julian’s hips flex, a shallow roll that nudges him deeper.

“Take your time, babe,” he murmurs, voice a low rumble that vibrates through his chest into yours. His thumb sweeps slow arcs over your hip, calloused skin catching on the plush curve. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Here, have a drink.”

He stretches to the nightstand for his glass. When he tips it to your lips, and the alcohol fills your chest with warmth. You cough a little, the coke clearly less than equal with the rum in the glass.

A minute later you shove the glass back at him, the buzz pooling low in your belly. You roll your hips, the drag of his cock inside you a slow, wet glide that makes your thighs tremble. The trailer smells like sex and cologne and weed from the blunts on the nightstand. You lift, almost off him, the cool air kissing your stretched entrance before you sink again, the slap of your ass against his thighs loud in the cramped space. His hands dig into your hips hard enough to bruise, guiding you down with a wet smack that punches the air from your lungs.

“Wait- fuck, Daddy-” The plea rips out raw, your voice cracking. He plants his feet on the sagging mattress, the springs screaming, and thrusts up. The trailer shakes with the frantic rhythm. You collapse forward, cheek pressed to the sweat-damp hollow of his throat. Your nails rake down his shoulders, leaving stinging red trails. He grunts, grabs both your wrists and wrenches them behind your back. The stretch burns sweet in your shoulders as he pins you there, hips snapping, the thick drag of him splitting you open with every stroke.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he growls, breath hot against your ear, beard scraping your temple. “Just needed Daddy to remind you who’s in charge, huh?” You clench hard, a fresh gush of slick coating him, dripping down to soak his balls. The wet sounds are obscene, mingling with your broken whimpers and the creak of the trailer rocking on its cinder blocks. You come with a silent scream, milking him in rhythmic pulses that leave you shaking.

He laughs, dark and filthy, and hauls you off his cock. “C’mere, sweetheart.” One quick roll and you’re under him, knees crushed to your chest, the backs of your thighs slick with both of you. “Hold those right there.”

“Julian-” His name fractures as he drives back in, the angle vicious. The head of his cock drags over that spot inside you with every thrust, sparks exploding behind your eyes. Your voice is gone, just ragged gasps and the wet slap of his hips against your ass. He braces one forearm beside your head, the other hand dropping to your clit. His thumb is merciless, rubbing tight circles that make your legs jerk against your own grip.

“I know, baby, fuck!” He groans, the sound punched out of him as your cunt clamps down again. “C’mon, give me one more.” You shatter instantly, a full-body spasm, slick gushing around him, soaking the sheets. He slams deep once, twice, then buries himself to the root with a guttural curse, cock pulsing as he spills hot and thick inside you, the heat of it searing through your core.

For a few heartbeats the trailer is nothing but ragged breathing and the low hum of the fridge outside the door. Sweat cools on your skin, the air smells of rum, weed and sex. Julian’s chest rises and falls above you. He shifts, the mattress groaning, and presses a soft kiss to your damp forehead, then another to your mouth, slow and lazy.

He eases your legs down from your chest, thighs trembling as they straighten. When he finally slips free there’s a wet, filthy pop and a rush of warmth spilling out of you and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He smiles and drops a kiss to the curve of your hip, tongue flicking out to taste the salt there.

“Stay put, babe.” he walks over to the tiny bathroom. Water runs and a second later he’s back with a faded washcloth. You’ve pushed up onto your elbows, hair plastered to your cheek, watching him through heavy lids. He kneels between your knees again, gentle now, the same hands that pinned your wrists earlier wiping you clean with slow, careful strokes. The cloth is warm, and you hiss and twitch when he passes over your clit.

“Easy,” he murmurs, kissing the top of your head before tossing the rag into the overflowing basket in the corner. He scoots back against the pillows and hauls you into his lap like you weigh nothing. You curl into him, nose buried in the crook of his neck, breathing in sweat and cologne and the ghost of rum on his skin. Your legs tangle with his, his big palm rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades.

“You’re so easy, Jules,” you mumble, lips brushing the pulse in his throat.

He huffs a laugh, the sound rumbling under your cheek. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, sweetheart.” His fingers thread into your hair, tugging just enough to tip your face up for one more lazy kiss before you both settle, the trailer quiet.

-

The camera crew records from the driveway, cameras pointed up at the porch.

You and Bubbles are posed like guilty schoolkids opposite Julian, who’s got his arms crossed standing in front of you. His rum and coke looks like a swamp, dotted with suspicious brown discs.

“The fuck did I say to you two?” he says, looking completely exhausted. Bubbles launches into damage control, gesturing with his hands and pleading. 

 “Ya said no tossin’ candies in your drinks, Julian, I heard ya loud ’n clear! We’re real sorry, bud. I’ll replace the bottle tonight, top shelf, swear on the kitties, and my carts!”

 Julian’s glare softens a millimeter.  “Fine, Bubbles. You’re good.” Then the death stare pivots to you.

You’re biting both lips so hard they’re going white, shoulders shaking. Julian plants his fists on his hips.  “And you?”

You lose it. A snort escapes, then a full cackle. “I’m not sorry! I won!”

Bubbles spins on you immediately. “Like hell you won! That was a ricochet off the side of the trailer, that doesn’t count-”

“Ricochet, my ass! That was pure skill-”

“Bullshit, you missed by 4 feet and got lucky-”

“Pure PERFECTION Bubs-”

Behind you, Julian’s pinching the bridge of his nose so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap off. He throws the drink back like it's the only thing that can save him, only for him to spit out three half dissolved candy coated chocolates and slam his glass down on the porch rail in frustration.