hotmess-x

[hotmess-x]

harry i would choose you

[hotmess-x]

Joel cockwarming his girl, when she can’t sleep because of insomnia anyone????

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” As he sees you waddling over to his room where he works on his desk. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep, huh?”

You don’t hesitate—you climb into his lap, his hands settling on your hips as he leans back to take you in. He sets his glasses aside, eyes scanning your face, where tiredness still clings to your gaze.

“Can’t sleep.” You murmur, a pout forming on your lips, already nuzzling into his chest.

He coos. “Oh, my poor baby.”

He cradles you—softly, sweetly—his hand gliding up and down your back, fingers threading through your hair until he hears you mumble something into his chest.

“Wanna feel full.” you look up to him, big doe eyes trying to convince him.

“Sweetheart, i’m working right now. Can’t use distractions.” He answers, a sigh leaving his lips, hands rubbing up and down your arms.

You pout. “Please, daddy.”

And how could he ever say no to that? How could he ever say no to that sweet pout and those pretty, doe eyes?

He grumbles something under his breath, sliding your hips to sit on his knees. Then, he pulls out his half-hard cock, tugging at it a few times before signalling you to stand up.

You do immediatly, and slide off your panties.

And when he got you on top of his cock, he murmurs: “Easy, baby girl—you ain’t awake enough to take it fast.”

And when he slowly stuffs you with his cock, he chuckles at your glassy eyes closing peacefully, the small whimper leaving your lips and at the nuzzling back into his chest.

“No squeezing.” He demands as he puts his glasses back on.“Otherwise you can get your ass back to the bedroom.”

Satisfied with your hum as an answer, he starts working again. You on his lap, stuffed full, finally sleeping on his chest.

When he is done, he carries you—still impaled on his cock—to the bed and cuddles you to sleep.

And when he wakes up in the morning, fully hard inside of you, aching in need—he fucks you awake, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

[hotmess-x]

i am so in love with this man 😩😭

a/n: Clint is everything my ovulation riddled body needs. There’s really nothing else to explain—hope you enjoy this unhinged, caring, perfect specimen of a man. Shout out to @just-here-for-the-moment thanks for sharing in the madness 💕 ps. Not beta’d, all mistakes are mine!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, some dick taps on the kitty, body insecurities *period sex*, allusions to shitty exes, a tiny little bit of jealousy- Clint mentions past relationships, Clint being a little dommy, but very daddy, daddy kink *obvi*, reader is nondescript, only a small mention of hair being wet from shower, period piece - takes place in 1987, Clint being a hedonist, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader

Ko-fi link 🥲💕

word count: 3.6k

reblogs are appreciated

Masterlist series Masterlist

-

He finds you in bed, despite having left you in the kitchen. 

“Someone looks cozy.” He smiles and you mirror the expression back to him despite your headache. You hum around a stretch, wincing through the general discomfort. 

“What’s wrong baby?” His fingers make short work of his zipper, of the buttons on his shirt–a wave of relief crests when he pulls the covers back and slips into the bed with you. You scooch into his arms before the covers are back in place. He laughs low at the moan of relief you let out. 

“I feel like shit.” You half groan, half whine into his neck. His palms skate under the loose shirt you wear, his shirt. The warmth of them on your lower back draws an involuntary sigh from somewhere in your belly, warm and humid against his throat. 

“You think you might be coming down with something? I can pick up some soup from the diner, have you taken anything?”

“I don’t think so, I had a migraine when you left.” You clutch him tighter; crawling into his skin wouldn’t be close enough. You mouth at his throat, tongue tasting the salt of him in the desperate desire to have him closer. He lets out a throaty laugh, and obliges your silent, yet exceedingly clear want. 

“Oh, am I the cure then?” He rolls you smoothly onto your back, “Is this all a ploy to have your way with me, baby?” The tip of your finger follows the silvery line of his scar, along his cheek, swipes at the plump of his lower lip. Just the warm weight of him makes you feel better. 

“Oh I doubt I would need any sort of ploy to have my way with you.” You smile, biting your lip at the look in his eye. 

“You aren’t wrong, you could ask–” He presses his lips to your neck, moving along the skin on display under the loose neck of his shirt, “-you could command, you could beg, you know I love it when you beg.” His tongue tastes the hollow of your throat. You hum around the feeling of it, savouring the low tone of his voice. When his hand slips under your shirt and finds your breast you sigh, then wince when he squeezes a bit too tight. His head perks up. 

“Did I hurt you?” 

“No no, just a little tender.” You hold his hand to your breast, reassuring him that you don’t want it to end and he nods. 

He lifts your shirt as best he can under the comforter. Even though you’ve done all manner of things with him, even though he’s seen, touched–tasted every inch of your body, your heart still flutters when he looks at you. With bated breath, with your lower lip trapped between your teeth you watch him dip to lick at the peak, watch him draw it into his mouth gently. He hums around it while you melt. The pleasure, the ache of it is so strong it makes you squirm under him. 

“Really sensitive today.” He notes with a mischievous grin, dragging his teeth along the side of your breast with just the right amount of pressure. He leans to one side, his hand slipping down the slope of your belly, dipping under the band of your panties and laughs when he dips his fingers into the seam of you. 

“My poor baby, you’re so wet your panties are soaked–” You frown, you’re turned on, sure, but soaked? When he brings his hand back up to taste your arousal, as he always does because he’s a saint, your heart sinks. 

“Fuck!” You sit up fast enough that it hurts and what greets you is a nightmare. Your panties, the comforter, the sheets underneath you and most likely the mattress–his fingers are stained bright red.

“Hey–hey it’s okay–” embarrassment floods your body and you ignore him as you practically sprint into the bathroom. Hot tears slip down your cheeks, shame burns clean through as you all but rip your panties down and toss them into the sink. 

“Baby, this is nothing!” He calls out, moving around the bedroom but you cannot stop crying. You should have known, you scold yourself, scrubbing at the stain with scalding water. You cannot imagine what he must be thinking, how disgusted and disappointed he must be at the mess you made of the bed despite his gentle words on the other side of the door. 

“Baby?” He still moves around, calling out and you can imagine him stripping the bed, tossing out the ruined sheets. The thought of him having to buy new ones makes you groan to yourself, you’ll have to replace them, it's only fair.

“Baby there's peroxide under the sink, it’ll help with the blood!” You hear him through the door, how he knows to use peroxide for blood stains is something you can’t dwell on just now. 

The stain comes out surprisingly well, with a proper run through the washer your panties should be good as new. The tears still stream as you toss them into the laundry basket he keeps in the bathroom, you can do a couple of loads while he works. The bedroom sounds quiet now, no footsteps, no quiet words. He’s probably gone and for that you’re grateful. You can clean up, erase everything and try to fix things while he’s out. When you open the door, the bed is stripped, and there’s a towel covering the stain.

You quickly grab a clean pair of panties, some old sweats, a new t-shirt and some warm socks but then he walks in and your heart falls. Every part of you wants to run back into the bathroom, lock the door, pray that he never looks at you with disgust. 

“Hey–Wait.” His hand grabs your arm, pulling you gently towards him. 

“Let me shower, I’m disgusting–” You try to keep your distance but he frowns, pulls you closer anyway. 

“Hey. You are not disgusting, nothing about you is disgusting. This is nothing.” He pulls you close but all you can think about is the fact that you’re not wearing a pad, that you aren’t wearing underwear and you might leak onto the floor. 

“I bled everywhere, I ruined the sheets, did you wash your hands?” Again you try to pull away but he holds you tighter.

“Baby, it’s nothing. Sheets are in the washer, and I sprayed the mattress with stain remover. This is normal, this is something your body does with or without me in the picture and I need you to know that I don’t think it’s gross or disgusting or anything other than normal.” 

Your eyes clench tightly, your mind trying and failing to take in his words. “But.. but I made a mess, it’s blood–it’s gross–” 

He tuts, squeezing you tighter.

“No, no it isn’t.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, “I don’t want you crying over this, it’s nothing to be embarrassed or sad about. Just a little accident and I’ve already pulled out the darker sheets. I have some old towels too, we can lay them down before bed.” 

You groan into his chest. “Why are you this sweet to me?” 

He laughs, pulling your face up to kiss you softly. 

“Sweet? You mean mature? You mean educated on what happens during a menstrual cycle?” 

“Yes. Guys are usually grossed out, or insensitive.” You clench your thighs together, praying nothing will drip out.

“Well, I’m a grown man and I genuinely like women so this is nothing but business as usual. I’ve also had other girlfriends and partners before you so this isn’t my first rodeo.” 

“Please don’t talk about your other girlfriends.” You mumble into his neck and he laughs, goodnaturedly. 

“Point taken, so long as you don’t talk about other shitheads you’ve dated who didn’t deserve you.” You nod into his chest. “Want me to shower with you?” 

It’s tempting, but the thought of him seeing your blood swirling down the drain gives you pause. 

“I could massage your back, rub your shoulders…I could make you come–” 

Your eyes shoot up–this must be a dream. No guy you’ve ever dated before was ever this practical about your period. The most you could hope for was that they’d just ignore it until it was gone. And sex? That was always a no go, for you anyway. None of them ever turned down a period week blowjob. 

“I know orgasms help, I could fuck you on the bed if you want, lay more towels down now and give it to you however you want it but I get the feeling you’d rather do it in the shower so you can wash it all away.” His thumb slides across your cheek and tears fall again, involuntary. 

“Or not, sweetheart, I can just tuck you in on the couch, throw on a tape and get you some chocolate ice-cream. I just want to help make you feel better.” It’s almost too much when he wipes the tears away. 

“You promise you aren’t grossed out? You actually want to…do stuff with me? The blood doesn’t bother you?” You hate the pathetic, whiny tone of your voice. He frowns.

“Listen, I always want to do stuff with you, a little blood won't stop me, definitely won’t gross me out. I need you to understand that your period doesn’t bother me, in fact, can I be honest? I really enjoy it.” He smiles, hand slipping down to hold onto your ass.

“You do?” You frown, squeezing your thighs tighter, you can feel the drip coming, “I don’t want to make a mess—“ you pull away, stepping quickly into the bathroom. He follows you in.

“Yes, I do.” He leans against the counter, smiling soft as you sit and wipe again. 

“I can see why, this is definitely the height of sexy.” You scoff, half in agony at the cramping, half drowning in desire for him. You can almost feel it, that fucking amazing way he has of holding you down, of making you feel every single inch of his glorious dick—you sigh.

“Everything about you is sexy to me.” 

You cannot help but smile. Your bottom lip slips between your teeth, he looks good enough to fucking eat. His arms are crossed, highlighting the definition in his biceps. Your eyes rove over him, moving to his broad shoulders, to the long line of his neck. 

“You’re eating me alive with those eyes pretty baby, I could be balls fucking deep in you right now. I could be fucking you into that mattress as we speak.” 

You let out an involuntary moan, your cunt clenches and you can feel it, the filling stretch, that reassuring strength holding you where he wants you. 

“You like the thought of that hm? You want it so bad don’t you Princess?” His arms uncross, one big hand slides down his belly, cups himself and you groan, he’s such a fucking tease. “Just say the word.”

“I do. I really do want it but—“ 

“No buts.” He shakes his head, “finish up and come to bed.” There is no room for argument, and so you don’t even try. You sigh into the empty space he left behind, frowning at the whole situation. 

On one hand, an orgasm or three would definitely help, but the thought of getting everything all messy with blood makes you squirm. The curiosity burns too brightly to deny him though, the thought of him not only being comfortable with period sex, but wanting it makes your blood sizzle in your veins. 

Once finished with your business, you find him in the bedroom, straightening out some more towels to cover up a bigger patch on the bed. Fresh new sheets wait to be used on the dresser and he’s taken off his shirt. 

“Come on over baby, come get comfortable.” He stands beside the bed, holds his hand out like a siren, an unavoidable pull you don’t even try to fight.

“Up.” He murmurs against your temple, gripping the bottom of your shirt. You raise both arms above your head and he smiles, slipping his shirt up and off before you carefully get into place in the middle of the towel pad he’s laid down. 

He’s naked when he joins you, he kneels where your legs would usually be open. It’s a little too real though, and so you have them closed, drawn up almost to your chest to make room for him. There’s something in his expression, an excitement you've only seen when you’re doing the filthiest things, when you have his cock in your mouth, or when he’s got you mewling under him. 

Wordlessly he grips the top of your thighs, bringing your legs down and spreading them wide, his eyes zero in on your cunt and he licks his lips. It burns you up from the inside, a mix of hot shame and arousal, you can feel it collecting at the open mouth of your pussy, drooling out and you aren’t sure if it’s arousal or blood. You cover your face. He tsks. 

“Why are you getting all shy on me? We’ve done everything there is to do, you’ve swallowed my come, I’ve fucked you in every way I could think of and this makes you shy? A little bit of blood?” You groan into your arm, “look at me princess.”

His head is tilted in almost mock confusion when you finally look at him. 

“I thought you knew what I did, I thought you knew that blood means nothing to me.” He presses forward, adjusting himself so his cock is pressed against the lips of your sex, rubs himself against it. “See? A little bit on my cock never hurt anyone, no one died.” He keeps rubbing himself in it, spreading it, coating himself. It’s uncomfortable, it’s embarrassing, it’s the hottest thing any man has ever done. 

His thumb joins the fray, spreads that mix of blood and slip up towards your clit. It’s too good, and despite your mixed feelings, despite your lust and disgust, your hips cant up, chase the friction of his thumb. 

“You’re just a little girl aren’t you? Just a little girl who needs her Daddy to hold her down and make her come.” He smiles, eyes sparkling in delight as you come under his hand. He waits until your eyes focus on him, and then he sticks his thumb into his mouth. He lets out a laugh at the way your mouth hangs open in shock. 

“Just a little mess, nothing we can’t handle.” He scoots a little closer, smiling in a way that makes you a little nervous, a little rabid. 

“Give me your hand, I want you to spread it open for Daddy.” That warmth of shame, of pure hunger for him burns clean through you, makes you pant, makes you lick your lips. He brings your fingers down, positions them so you’re spreading your sex wider, so he can practically see inside you, the dark pink, now bloody red of your insides. 

With a moan of his own, he grips the base of his cock and slaps the tip of himself against you. It sounds wet, it feels obscene. 

“Such a pretty little pussy, even all covered in blood. Prettiest little thing I’ve ever seen.” He smirks as the heavy weight of him comes down in quick succession until you squirm. Only then does he slip inside in one heavy thrust. 

“Watch me pretty baby, watch me fuck this little cunt.” He groans out the words, holding your legs open, spread almost uncomfortably wide while his hips move. “Feel it, feel yourself spread around me.” You obey, because not obeying isn’t an option. You crane your neck to watch, grimacing in both discomfort and pleasure at the way you’ve marked him, his cock, his groin. He stops for a second, leaning forward to push a pillow under your neck. 

“That’s better, keep watching.” The caretaker in him is so embedded, so prevalent you almost swoon. His big hands move up, grip your waist so he can fuck you faster, harder. 

You move your hand but he puts it back, guides it to rub your clit while he rocks himself inside. Nods in approval when you swirl your fingers in tune with his rhythm. 

“That’s it, keep doing that.” One hand still holds your waist, the other moves down, his thumb presses against the lip of your sex, spreads that mess up, helps to pull the hood back from your clit while you touch yourself. It’s so filthy, so messy, so perverse. You come again, harder, longer than the first time. 

“That’s it Princess, come on this cock.” He’s not out of breath, but you can hear the exertion in his voice. His thumb strums at your nipple, wet with blood and arousal. 

“Daddy knows what this little cunt needs, and it needs my come doesn’t it?” He speeds up, makes your breasts bounce, makes you whimper under his onslaught. “Tell me you want my come, baby.” 

“I want it–” Your voice isn’t your own, it’s higher, breathier. He shifts, and you gasp. “Oh fuck right there–” You practically beg. 

“Right there? What’s gonna happen if I stay right there huh? What’s gonna happen if I keep hitting that spot?” His hair is in his face, his chest is flushed, his eyes are half lidded. He knows what’ll happen, he knows you’ll come again and you want to tell him but you can’t, you can’t stop whimpering with every push of his cock. His thumb finds your clit again and it all shatters, you clench with a scream, a wet gush from somewhere deep inside. 

“Oh fuck yes–” He falls onto you, pistoning his hips harder, giving you no respite until you feel him groan into your ear, feel him empty him inside, the way he swells bigger with every spurt. 

Your breath comes out in pants underneath him, your skin feels feverishly hot but the cramps are practically gone. He sighs, presses his lips to your neck, and then softly to your mouth, breathing deep through his nose. 

“Feel a little better?” His hand comes up and wraps softly around your neck. You can’t speak just yet, so you nod. “Good, come, let's shower.” You see his age when he gets up with a groan. The blood is everywhere now and you make a face. He tsks, guides you softly into the bathroom and turns the shower on. 

He helps you rinse under the hot spray. Warm, callused hands lather up the soap and wash the blood from your breast, from where it’s spread up to your belly, gently slips between your thighs to clean the source. Your face presses against his neck when he slips those soapy hands down your back. A warmth that has nothing to do with the water fills you when he slides his fingers between your cheeks, when he rubs your pussy from the back, when he slides his fingers against your asshole. 

“Do you want to come again?” He slides his fingers down, circles the rim of your opening, further still until he rubs your sensitive clit. “Or is it too much?”

“Too much.” You breathe into his ear, he presses his lips to your forehead with a nod. 

Once he’s cleaned himself off, he urges you to finish up, and leaves you in the shower. It’s nice to stand under the spray, to feel the heat of the water and the distinct lack of pain. You smile to yourself as you wash your hair; how silly to be embarrassed of a little blood given what he did for a living. How silly to doubt his words, or think that he might be cruel to you when he’s been nothing but loving. 

He’s waiting for you with a towel when you shut the water off, dressed and smiling. He envelops you in it, dries your back, and your arms, crouches down to dry your legs and feet. 

“You’re spoiling me.” You smile, placing your hands on his shoulders for balance. 

“Yes I am. And I’ll continue to do so.” He presses a kiss to your womb, to your inner thigh when he lifts your leg. 

He dries your belly, your breasts, rubs the towel over your head like one would a little kid. You laugh, he kisses your nose. 

The whole outfit you'd grabbed is laid out. The clean pair of panties, sweats, the shirt and the warm socks. A pad too, on the bathroom counter. He gently swats your hand away when you reach for it. Instead he takes your panties and slips them up your legs, reaches for the pad, peels away the backing and sticks it exactly where it needs to go. He presses his lips to your belly again when he slides them up your hips. 

Hormones rage, and the tenderness, the care he takes makes you want to cry. He slides the sweats on next, puts the socks on your feet. 

“Up.” You obey again, lifting your arms so he can put your shirt on. You bury your face into his neck once you’re dressed, needy for his love, for the care he gives so freely. A satisfied sigh leaves your mouth when he wraps his arms around you, holding you just as tightly as you need him to. 

“I want you to curl up in bed and get cozy, and I’ll go grab us some food.” The soothing circuit of his palm at your back lulls you, makes you pliant, a drip of a girl within his grip. 

“Can you get me some icecream?” Your fingers curl into the base of his neck, threading through the damp curls there. 

“Of course pretty baby, I’ll get you whatever you want. Now go on, get in bed.” A soft kiss, and a light tap on your ass sends you on your way, smile firmly in place. 

-

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[hotmess-x]

show me | jm — 3

ft: dbf!joel miller x virgin!reader genre: smut

incl: consent king joel miller, 18+ mdni, p in v, loss of virginity, SEX (finally), dirty talk, mainly praise, gentle joel, SPITTING, he goes all out, pillow talk, riding, missionary, messy finish, cum play (?? barely) both are consenting grown adults. part one part two

summary: you finally tell joel to show you how to take him, every inch of him— inside you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Saturday nights always start the same: your dad and Joel on the porch, beers sweating in their hands, voices low and steady. Joel always paces himself, lets your dad be the loud one. He plays at being drunker than he is, because you know by now—he stays because of you.

You rinse dishes you don’t need to rinse, wipe counters already clean, just to keep your hands busy. Every ordinary sound in the kitchen is backlit by memory. Joel’s fingers under the blanket weeks ago, slow and patient until you learned what your own body wanted, the way his cock throbbed in your hand while he groaned that’s it, baby girl, tighter; his taste on your tongue when he let you lick him messy and praised you through every noise you made. Little lessons, one after another, stacking up until your body feels like a fuse waiting for the spark.

The porch goes quiet. Chairs scrape. You hear Joel’s voice, low and steady: c’mon, I’ll help you upstairs. Your dad grumbling, heavy feet on the stairs, a door shut. Silence.

Then the soft click of the guest room door down the hall. You wait long enough to make it real. Then you pad barefoot toward him. Joel is sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, looking at the floor like he’s trying to outstare it.

He looks up when you step inside. His mouth tilts, half-sad, half-ruined. “Shouldn’t want you so bad.”

“Who says it’s bad,” your voice a whisper.

He huffs a laugh through his nose. “Well, baby, got one person in mind,” he says. It makes you blush— how he made a joke.

He shifts, knees open, palms on his thighs. It makes a space, a question, an offer. “You comin’ to end our lessons?” A smirk on his lips, another damn joke. Cocky tonight.

“No,” you answer. “I want you to show me something else.”

He looks like you pushed him and he found balance anyway. “Show you what, baby?”

“How to take you,” you say, and the words land between you like a lit match. “All of you.”

Joel’s breath leaves him in something between a groan and a prayer. He drags his eyes up and down your face like he’s building the memory he’ll need when he can’t have you. “You sure?”

You nod. “I’m sure.”

He sits with it just long enough to honor it. Then he rises and steps close, gentle hands easing the straps of your night dress of your shoulders like he’s handling a keepsake. The fabric slides downand pools at your waist and you shiver at the cool air, your nipples perking immediately, and the warmer look he gives you, reverent and filthy at once.

“I been waitin’ to tell you how beautiful you looked today, walkin’ around like you got no clue what you do to me,” he murmurs, thumbs pressing a little path along your ribs. “Felt like a thief for thinkin’ it.”

“You can think it,” you whisper, and he smiles, small and pained.

He undresses you the way he taught himself to—slow, asking without making you do the labor of permission each time: this okay? and this?—until you’re in a soft scrap of panties and nothing else. He kisses your shoulder, the underside of your jaw, the place before your ear where your pulse runs. You press your mouth to his throat and feel the rasp of his stubble against your lip; he huffs out a sound that’s the beginning of a break and catches your face in both hands, looking at you like you’re the thing he wanted to be good for.

“Tonight,” he says, hoarse, “I teach you how to be on top first. You control it. You tell your body I’m yours. You set the pace. Then I’m gonna flip you and give you what you’ve been askin’ me for in your sleep.”

Heat flashes through you. “Okay.”

He strips down to his boxers, then nothing, and your breath catches the way it always does when he’s hard and heavy and flushed, thick veins under skin you’ve tasted but haven’t felt from the inside. He leans back against the headboard, broad and braced, and nods you forward.

“Come here,” he says, voice low enough to live inside you. “Climb up, baby girl.”

You straddle his lap, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. He is heat everywhere—thighs, belly, chest, breath. His hands settle on your waist, thumbs tracing slow circles that tell your nerves to unclench.

“We go slow,” he says, and his mouth brushes your collarbone like punctuation. “You breathe. You stop me any time. Tap me twice if you can’t get the word out. You understand?”

“I understand.”

“Words.”

“Yes, Joel. I understand.”

He adjusts you with patient palms until the head of him nudges your entrance, slick from the memory of the way his mouth and fingers made you ready before, from the way your body has been ready for months. You flinch at the thought—tight, nervous, hungry.

“Look at me,” he murmurs. You do. “Gonna be a stretch. It’s supposed to be. You ride through it. You don’t rush it. When I say breathe, you breathe. You listen to me?”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I’m listening.”

“Atta girl.” He kisses your mouth soft and slow, then leans back to watch. “Take me in.”

You sink, an inch. Your breath stutters; he squeezes your waist. “Breathe.” You do. The burn settles along your edges, then eases. You sink again, another inch, and the pain goes bright—not bad, not good, just big. Your fingers find his shoulders and he groans at the feel of you holding him there.

“That’s it,” he says, steady. “You’re doin’ it. Curl forward. Good. Just like that. Lift a hair. Down again. Easy.”

You move in small arcs, taking him by fractions. The stretch makes your eyes water, the fullness makes your mouth fall open. He keeps his voice where you need it: “That’s my girl. You feel that? That’s me. You’re takin’ me so sweet.” His hands never push. They hold, they steady, they remind you your bones have somewhere to live.

Halfway down, something gives—your body learning him, the burn blurring into pressure, the pressure rounding into pleasure. You gasp, he hears the change and grins, wrecked and proud.

“There she is,” he praises. “I know that sound. You with me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and you mean it all the way through.

“Good girl. Keep goin’.”

You take him the rest of the way with a slow, careful descent. When you’re seated flush in his lap, your thighs trembling from effort and shock, a low curse tears out of him like it’s been waiting years. He drops his head to your shoulder for a second, breathing you, then lifts his face and looks you in the eye.

“How you feelin’?”

“Full,” you say, half-laughing, half-crying. “Oh my God.”

He smiles, helpless. “That’s me in there. All the way, baby. You did it. My brave girl.”

You sit with it—him thick and deep inside you, your body a new shape around him. The ceiling of pain cracks and the light of sensation pours through: the way your body clamps and flutters and learns him, the way your clit is suddenly loud with blood, the way his pulse beats against you from the inside. You roll your hips just to see and you both moan in the same breath.

“Easy,” he warns, but he’s laughing, breathless, ruined. “You find your rhythm. Think small at first. Rock forward—yeah—back. Make it a circle. There you go. Christ almighty.”

You ride him like he told you— slow circles, then a little lift-and-fall, then the first real slide where you feel the ridge of him drag along nerves that throw sparks all down your legs. He praises every bit you learn.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doin’ so good. Look at you—fuck—look at you takin’ my cock like you were made for it.” His voice grits into filth without losing its gentleness. “You feel that stretch? That’s what you’ve been needin’, huh? Told you I’d show you.”

You find a tilt that makes you gasp and chase it; he swears and meets you there, just a fraction, a reflex he bites back the next instant so you keep control. Your hands roam because they need to—his chest, his throat, the thick cord of his shoulder, the scar at his bicep you don’t know the story of yet. His head falls back, you lean over and kiss the tendon in his neck and he makes a noise you’ll remember when you’re old.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says, rough.

“Good,” you whisper, and then you say it again stronger. “So good. I like… I like being on you. I like all of you.”

He groans like you pulled his roots. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

When your thighs go shaky from the work, he reads it in your body before you think to say it. He palms your spine, kisses your jaw, and murmurs, “You ready to let me take it?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and it feels like a vow you’ve been writing for months. “Please.”

“Lay back.” His voice dips into that command that has always landed like care. He flips you with a sure, easy strength, rolls his hips at the same time so he never leaves you, and you find yourself under him, knees open, your back sinking into the mattress while the weight of him fits over you like it was always meant to.

He braces on his forearms. His eyes search your face. His hand finds your cheek, your mouth. He slides his thumb against your lower lip and you suck it without thinking, he curses and kisses you, tender and obscene.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” he says, and you do.

The first thrust is careful. Deep. He watches your eyes for flinch or fear and finds neither—finds only shock-pleasure—and the relief in his face is almost painful to see. The second thrust is less careful. He sinks to the hilt and the sound you make is something you’ve never heard yourself make before, he groans like a man passing a boundary he swore he wouldn’t cross.

“That’s it,” he grits. “Good girl. You tell me if you need me to slow down.”

“Don’t,” you say, and the word is a low, aching thing. “Don’t slow down.”

“Wanna show you something,” he grits, his hand going up to your face, thumb on your chin angling you down to watch the way he slides in and out of your cunt so deliciously. “Look at how pretty she’s takin’ me.”

You whimper at his words. You’re fucking wrecked. You’re dizzy, head spinning, eyes glassy at how obscene and hot and big he looks and how tight you feel and how wide he stretches you. His eyes look up at you, watching your face, watching your brows pull together and your mouth hang open at the sight of where your body connects to his. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he mutters.

Then he fucks you. Not mean, not mindless—just honest about wanting you. His hips drive you into the mattress, the good ache blooming again and dissolving again until there’s only heat and the rhythm that finds itself between your bodies. He says filthy things soft and soft things filthy, all of it for you.

“You feel me? That’s me, baby—deep.”

Really fucking deep.

“Yeah, you like that. tell me you like it.”

You like it so damn much.

“That’s my girl, so tight, so sweet—take it, take it—”

“Joel,” you gasp, because it’s all you have for a moment.

He pulls out nearly all the way and stares at where you’re slick and swollen, then looks at you like he’s asking a question with his eyes. You nod, already breathless yes, and he leans back and spits—quick, dirty, hot—right on your pussy. The sound it makes when he slides home is obscene, wet, perfect, you moan, high and helpless.

“Oh my God,” you breathe, shocked by how much it turns you on. “Joel—that was so hot—,” you whine.

“Yeah?” he growls, eyes going hungry-dark. He does it again, rubs it in with the thick head of his cock, then buries himself to the base and holds there a beat like he wants you to memorize it. “You like my mess on you? You feel good for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you sob, shameless now. “Yes, Joel, yes, so good—”

He changes his angle and hits a place inside you that makes your body light up in white. He knows it the moment you do and chases it, drives into it again and again until you’re clawing his back and shaking. He brings his mouth to your ear and the words come like a low vow you feel in the base of your belly.

“Come for me,” he tells you, voice breaking. “Come on my cock—there you go. Ride it, eyes on me—that’s my good girl—”

You break, the way he broke you on his fingers the first time but bigger, deeper, built out of everything he taught you and everything he withheld until tonight. Pleasure tears through you and he holds you there, fucks you through it, chest pressed to your chest, his hand sliding to your jaw to keep you with him. You say something like his name and a prayer and a thank you all at once without realizing it.

He hears the last part a heartbeat later when you gasp it clear, almost crying, “Thank you.”

Joel loses it. His face goes open with it—shock, devotion, ruin. He groans like you pulled something vital out of him and he snaps, hips punching against you sharper, needier, a pace he’s kept caged for months. His hand slides from your jaw to the column of your throat, gentle but firm, not choking, just holding you in place like a frame for a picture.

“Don’t—” he tries, torn in half. “Baby, I gotta— I should pull out—”

You shake your head, breath catching. “Don’t. Please don’t. Please, Joel—please fill me up—please—”

He fights himself for one doomed second. Then he folds like you knew he would. A ragged curse breaks out of him. He presses you down with that careful hand at your throat, grounding you while he drives deep. “You know I can’t tell you no, baby girl.”

“Please,” you beg again, shameless, greedy for the last line breaking. “I want it. I want you in me.”

He buries himself to the hilt and cums with a sound you’ve never heard from him—a rough, stunned groan that turns into your name. Heat floods you, thick and hot, and the knowledge of it—Joel inside you, giving you everything he meant to keep—tips you back over the edge into aftershocks that make your thighs shudder around his hips. He keeps moving in small, deep rolls, working it into you like a promise he intends to keep, until you both sag, breathless and shaking.

Silence lays itself over you in warm sheets. The room smells like sex and soap and the kind of summer night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

Joel’s hand leaves your throat to stroke your jaw, your cheek, your damp hairline. He kisses the soft spot under your ear. “You okay?” he asks, rough, tender, reverent.

“Yes,” you whisper, and then you laugh, a little shocked, a little overwhelmed. “Yes.”

He eases out of you carefully and you whimper at the loss. He watches the mess he made slide out and swears under his breath, flashes wrecked pride across his face. He takes his shirt from the chair and cleans you as gently as you’ve ever been touched. When he’s done, he presses the heel of his hand to your thigh, thumb rubbing little circles like you might still be the nervous girl at the top of his lap learning to breathe.

“You said thank you,” he murmurs, amazed and wounded by it. “While I was inside you.”

You flush, throat tight. “I meant it.”

He breathes like that almost hurts. “I’m supposed to be the one sayin’ thank you. For trustin’ me. For… God, for lettin’ me take you like that.”

“You didn’t take me,” you say, a drowsy certainty in your voice. “You taught me. You gave it.”

He closes his eyes like he can’t stand you saying kind things to him. When he opens them, there’s that ache you asked for—love threaded through filth, want braided with care. He cups your face in one big hand and leans your forehead to his.

“You did so fuckin’ good,” he whispers. “Rode me like you listened. Took me like you wanted to. I’m so goddamn proud of you, baby.”

Your throat tightens. You nod against him.

“You feel okay there?” He glances at your throat, where his hand had been. “Too much?”

You shake your head. “No. I liked it. It was… grounding.”

“Yeah,” he says softly, like the word’s been waiting for him. “That’s what it’s for.”

He settles you on his chest, draws the sheet over your hips. You lie there listening to his heartbeat slow, to your breath even out. When you shift, you feel the heavy warmth still inside you and blush. He feels the blush somehow, smiles against your hair.

“Manners,” he says ruefully, a chuckle tangled in it. “I meant to be a gentleman.”

“You were,” you say, and press a kiss to his sternum. “You are.”

He huffs. “You begged so pretty. Never stood a chance.”

You hide your face and he strokes your spine. The world shrinks to two: your cheek on his chest, his palm mapping easy lines across your back. It feels like something that shouldn’t be possible in the same room as what you just did, but that’s how this has always been with him—soft and awful, tender and wrong, the exact right thing inside the wrong box.

“Tomorrow,” he says eventually, after you two get a tiny bit decent, voice drowsy and thoughtful, “is gonna be ordinary on the outside again. Same rules. Careful. You always set the pace, baby. You tell me how you wanna play it.”

You nod. “I know, Joel .”

“I… I should say that I really enjoy this. Showing you this. Showing you how to feel good,” he starts to say, his voice laced with sleepiness, “show you how to be loved.”

You don’t say anything. You just hum. Because the way it broke off towards the end, you know he’s not quite ready to speak more on that. And he sure as hell isn’t ready to hear you say it back to him; to say you loved being loved by him.

You fall asleep to the slow geography of his hands, to the memory of him telling you to breathe, to the feel of being full and finally not afraid of it. Morning will bring coffee and jokes and long sleeves over marks and Joel leaning in your kitchen doorway not looking at you for three entire minutes and then failing with a smile. The day after will be something else. The line you crossed will still be crossed and somehow the ground will still hold.

For now, there’s a man who watched you become a woman right on his lap and bit his tongue bloody because he couldn’t say what he was proud of out loud. There’s a girl who learned how to take him and kept her eyes open while he taught her. There’s a breath, a beat, a hush.

There’s the soft, stunned way his voice sounded when you said thank you and he knew he was in love with you.

For now, it’ll still be stolen moments and hidden kisses and whispered I love you’s.

For now, your dad is oblivious that his best friend ruined his little girl forever. (In the fucking best way possible.)

taglist: @oceanasworld @madnessofadaydreamer @pedroswife69 @iheartleonkennedyy @brittmb115 @thepilatesprincess @armandispunk @dani111 @amyispxnk @ultra-nina-bella @pedrito-is-punk7 @valyrianjoel @billionairecowgirl @moodstabilizermommy @pleurspetal @kyloispunk

note: the END. they finally, finally fucked. ignore any plot wholes shhhhh. PHEW. felt like i built this one up too much n under delivered i apologize in MUCHO advance, i love all of you. also, gonna call you guys bumbly. don’t ask. iykyk. don’t forget to read part 1&2.

[hotmess-x]

H e y ,   M s .   P o t t s . If you find this recording, don’t post it on social media. It’s gonna be a real tearjerker. I don’t know if you’re ever gonna see these. I don’t even know if you’re still… Oh, God, I hope so. Today’s day 21? No, uh, 22. You know, if it wasn’t for the existential terror of steering into the literal void of space, I’d say I’m feeling a little better today. The infection’s run its course thanks to the blue meanie back there. Oh, you would love her. Very practical. Only a tiny bit sadistic. So, the fuel cells were cracked during battle and we figured out a way to reverse the iron charge, bought ourselves about 48 hours of flight time. Uh, but it’s now dead in the water. 1,000 light years from the nearest 7-11. Oxygen will run out tomorrow morning… and that will be it. I know I said no more surprises, but I gotta say, I was really hoping to pull off one last one. But it looks like… well, you know what it looks like. Don’t feel bad about this. I’m mean, actually, if you grovel for a couple weeks… and then move on with enormous guilt… I should probably lie down for a minute, rest my eyes. Please know, when I drift off and be like everything lately, I’m fine. I’m totally fine. I dream about you. B e c a u s e   i t ’ s   a l w a y s   y o u .

[hotmess-x]

Tom Hardy as Johnny Davis The Bikeriders (2021) dir. Jeff Nichols

[hotmess-x]

[hotmess-x]

Yes daddy.

[hotmess-x]

i need this right now

you feeling guilty for cheating because youve never done anyhting like that and Joels comforting you by saying things like "S' alright, sweet girl. You just need some affection, huh? Just need me to do what he aint capable of? Yeah, I know, I'll make it better." while his fingers gently worked on undoing your jeans or whatever CUZ HES BEEN WAITING FOR THIS MOMENT AND DOESNT WANT YOU SLIPPING OUT OF HIS HANDS.....

SHUT UP! SHUT UUUUUUUUPPPPPP!!

I’M LITERALLY RIPPING HAIR OUT OK maybe reader’s husband is, like, super neglectful and never home and she’s literally devastated ab it because she thought being married would sort of ‘fix’ her problems in a way but life has only gotten WORSE since marrying him and she’s so distraught. And Joel is there. Maybe he’s the contractor on some big home renovation her and her husband have been saving up for or something (🤭🤭); he’s ALWAYS over at her house these days, and with her husband away at work or on business trips so often, it’s only natural she’d want to strike up a sort of camaraderie and get to know him. FAST-FORWARD TO ONE LONELY RAINY NIGHT LMAO—like you were saying, she’d feel SOOO guilty about it at first. She never, ever, ever thought she’d be the kind of woman to cheat on her husband (and so early into the marriage? she feels like a failure). But Joel’s here to assure her that she deserves better. She hasn’t fucked it all up simply wanting to be loved, and he shows her that 😩 Your dialogue is genuinely fucking SENDING MEEEE you know he’d be so gentle the whole time, like, “Does this feel good, baby? Y’like it when I do that?” and some, “Talk to me. Tell me what you’re feelin’ so I know this is alright.” AND AAAAAAAJSKDKD him fucking her for the first time?? In the bed she shares with her husband??? 😭😭 SAYING HE’S IN LOVE WITH HER AND WOULD TREAT HER SO MUCH BETTER THAN HER HUSB- [GUNSHOTS]

[hotmess-x]

cry all you want ~ J.M

masterlist

tags: dacryphilia, vibrator use, belt as bondage, overstimulation, soft daddy dom!joel, oral (f receiving) and multiple orgasms.

ask: “Hi I was wanting to request Joel tying his girl down with a vibe on her clit just watching her cry and begging him to stop as she keeps cumming. And Joel just sits there sipping on his coffee acting like he can’t hear her as she keeps sobbing. I mean like he keeps her there for hours. Maybe he even turns up the vibe when she begs him again to stop using it. I feel like he would just love watching his baby girl’s clit get all puffy and red :( And after he takes off the vibe he immediately starts sucking her clit as she just lays there and cries, cumming even more from the feeling.” (from @bloodychick13)

divider by me :)

the soft sounds of the ranch outside faded in and out of your hearing through the buzzing between your thighs. the soft baa’s of the sheep and clucks of the chicken’s in the late evening sun filling in the gaps of noise.

meanwhile, you lay sprawled out on you and Joel’s king size, thighs parted with just enough force for you not to move them and joel’s chest pressed against your back — strong and steady heartbeat under your spine as he held a coffee cup in one hand and the buzzing, pink vibrator in the other, ignoring your sobs and pleads.

it had been hours.

hours of orgasms and overstimulation. hours of your raw little clit being used over and over again — no sympathy for your poor, used, drooling cunt. no matter how much your cried and wailed, Joel wouldn’t let up. wouldn’t give you a break or turn it down a setting.

it had only been two days since you’d bought the damn thing and he was already obsessed with playing with it. watching his baby girl getting so worked up from a damn piece of plastic. her sniffles and tears of overwhelming pleasure — god, it drove him crazy.

he could sit there for the rest of his life just playing with that little clit while you writhed in his arms. on the first hour he had resorted to shuffling down the bed a little and tying down your feet with his belt to the bed legs to keep your legs from moving so much.

“god, daddy,” you sobbed, tears streaming down your face, your lashes a wet mess and your hair practically dripping from sweating so much. “i can’t take it anymore.. s’too mu-uch.” you hiccuped, but you knew it would be no use. you had said that on the first hour, and the second so you doubt it would make him change his mind on the third.

“oh, baby,” joel cooed, voice feigning sympathy. “but y’cryin so pretty f’me.. think i’d be a fool to stop now. haven’t even gotten a taste yet. lil toy’s been doin’ all the work.” he explained.

you let out a shaky gasp at his words. “haven’t even gotten a taste yet.”

he was thinking of eating you out? in this state?

surely he was trying to kill you.

“b-but.. daddy.. i’ve already cum s’much. i can’t again — not from your mouth.” you whimpered, clinging to his forearm. your voice cracked again — wrung out and overwhelmed. “please, daddy — don’t wanna play with my toy anymore.”

joel chuckled, low and gravely — mocking, even. “you don’t wanna play with your toy?” he asked. “but daddy bought it just f’you. and ya seemed real excited in the store the other day. even let ya pick the pretty pink one, even though it was more expensive.”

you sniffled, another broken wail leaving your lips as he turned it to the max speed. “ah — ! god — daddy!”

“yeah,” joel murmured smugly, taking a sip of his coffee before setting it down on the nightstand. “that’s what I thought.”

you clung to him the best you could, resorting to just letting out your cries. not even attempting to hold them back anymore. you were pretty sure you heard the flapping of birds flying away from how loud you were, your cries were like something from a person being tortured.

joel used his left hand to tweak and circle one of your hard nipples, all the while, leaning down and resting his head on your shoulder, voice low in your ear. “s’my girl. makin’ a big mess f’her daddy, ain’t that right? pussy’s just droolin’ for me baby, drippin’ down my hand.”

you didn’t answer, you couldn’t. not from the way the vibrator buzzed on your clit. “poor thing, clit’s all red ‘n angry huh? puffin’ up real nice f’me.”

you hiccuped, practically choking on your own saliva as you felt another orgasm roll it’s way closer. “m’gonna cum again.” you sobbed helplessly, nails now digging into Joel’s flesh — not that he minded being marked by his sweet, messy girl.

“that’s right baby. you cum from y’little toy.” he comforted, rocking you a little while you cried through your impending orgasm. he took the opportunity to bring his hand that was on your nipple up to your mouth, sliding two fingers past your lips to soothe you. joel always knew his girl liked something in her mouth — and no, not in the dirty way although you weren’t opposed to that either — but more to pacify you like you would with a baby. it was about grounding more than anything.

you happily sucked in his fingers, tears dripping down your face in globs as your orgasm approached. eventually, it tore over you, causing your legs to shake uncontrollably, Joel’s belt that he’d tied you down with rattling against the bed leg post. your sounds were barley muffled by his fingers, pussy squeezing out another ooze of cum.

“that’s it, baby girl. just let that pussy cum f’her daddy. let it all out.” he’d coo, talking you through every step of the way.

when he’d finally milked you of your orgasm, he finally, turned the button off on the vibrator with a click, the buzzing coming to a hault. you felt a weight lifting off your shoulders. finally, finally being able to breath. to rest. to maybe take a hot bath to help yourself recover.

but of course, joel had other plans.

he slipped out from behind you, tossing the vibrator somewhere behind you on the bed before crawling down to settle between your thighs

oh no.

“oh, daddy please,” you begged, tears returning. “please, can’t take your mouth.”

he ignored your cries, mouth latching onto your clit in a second, causing you to yelp.

“just a taste baby. just gotta gimme one more.”

he’d also said that an hour ago.

tags: @sunlitrecs @cinnxmxngxrl @mabelmiller @tbr22pile @littledes1re @sugarcookiecupcakeprincess @msxjennipascal @nastydawggg @fae-monster @pillow-princess-69 @pascalixpunk @subconsciouscollapse @literatureheretic @winterhawkgf @ilovetoomanymen @graveyardofemotions @mytearsricochetm @muttamaro @rott3nst4rr @pressgforgoodgirl @blushinglace @willowsages-blog @joeldarling @sleepybansheee @silly-pret-ttyboy

very rushed drabble :(

[hotmess-x]

okay hear me out….joel miller x reader inspired by “steal away” by robbie dupree. that song is so joel coded to me for some reason. maybe dbf?????? honestly whatever your beautiful mind comes up with will be better than i ever imagined

okay so look, i listened to the song while writing and i definitely got the cool breeze, fresh air, giggling with joels stupid flirting and caught glances!!!!

ft: dbf!joel miller au | no outbreak | austin, tx

note: i gotta believe that joel miller would be so flirty once he knows you’re digging the vibe too… you’d make him all giddy and school-boyish, trying to get any little scrap of you he can while your daddys lookin’ the other way.

title: why don’t we? word count: 1,2k

Joel’s bottle tipped lazily against his knee, eyes on the TV—but every so often, his gaze cut across the couch, pinning you in place. The kind of look that made your pulse skitter and your throat go dry.

The first time, you thought maybe you imagined it. The second time, you knew you hadn’t. By the third, you were fidgeting with the hem of your shorts, heart racing.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Caught you starin’, darlin’.” His mouth curved in the faintest smirk. “Better be careful ‘fore your daddy sees how bad you want me.”

You flushed hot all over, glancing toward your dad—already dozing against the armrest, beer slipping from his hand.

Joel’s eyes dropped to your mouth, lingered. He tilted his head, like he was testing you.

“Let’s sneak out ‘fore he wakes up,” he murmured. “Just you ‘n me. He ain’t gotta know.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile, but Joel only leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Don’t make me beg.”

Your laugh broke free, soft and nervous, and that was all the invitation he needed. He stood, casual, like he was just stretching his legs, and drifted toward the back door. He glanced over his shoulder once, eyes locking with yours, daring you.

“Last chance, sugar. You comin’, or you gonna sit there thinkin’ about me all night?”

The floorboards creaked under your weight as you followed.

The back porch smelled like summer wood and your dad’s old cigars, quiet except for the hum of crickets. Joel leaned against the railing like he belonged there, like he’d been waiting for you. Beer dangling from one hand, smoke curling from the other, that grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Took you long enough, baby,” he drawled, eyes trailing down your legs before finding your face again. “Thought you were gonna chicken out.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “I never chicken out, Joel. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He stepped closer, close enough you felt the warmth of him. He dipped his head low, lips grazing your ear as he whispered,“Ridiculous is sittin’ in there pretendin’ I don’t see you starin’. Caught you three times tonight, sweetheart.”

You shoved his chest lightly, giggling, and he let the sound roll through him like he wanted to eat it up. He caught your wrist before you could pull back, thumb stroking over your pulse.

“Mm-mm. Don’t go actin’ shy on me now.” His voice softened, teasing but tender. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ me. Just means you got good taste.”

Your breath hitched when his thumb brushed lower, grazing your palm. You whispered back, “And what if my dad—”

Joel cut you off with a smirk, leaning down so close you could feel his beard scratch your cheek.

“Your daddy’s in there snorin’ like a bear. Only thing he’s dreamin’ about is tomorrow’s hangover.” His hand slid to your hip, tugging you flush against him. “Now me? I’m dreamin’ about this pretty little mouth.”

Your laughter bubbled out, nervous and breathless, and Joel groaned low, like the sound had wrecked him. “Fuck, you gigglin’ like that—gonna make me fall in love.”

You whispered, daring, “I dare you to.”

He grinned wide, boyish for half a second, then tilted your chin up. And he kissed you. The kiss was hot and slow, tasting like smoke and beer, his thumb stroking your cheek while his other hand held your hip tight.

When he pulled back, lips hovering, he whispered, “See? Ain’t so bad sneakin’ out, is it?”

You shook your head, dazed, lips parting to answer, but Joel stole another kiss before you could.

The kiss turned hungry fast, Joel’s mouth moving over yours like he couldn’t hold back anymore. He pressed you against the railing, his beer abandoned somewhere behind him. His hand was big and hot on your hip, sliding lower, fingers toying with the hem of your shorts.

“Mm,” he hummed into your mouth, pulling back just enough to whisper against your lips, “taste sweeter than I ever imagined.” He chuckled low, soft. “Knew you weren’t such a good girl.”

You giggled, breathless, clinging to his shirt as he dragged his beard along your jaw. He nipped your ear gently, whispering, “Better keep quiet, sweetheart. Your daddy’s ten steps away.”

That made you laugh again, a tiny sound you tried to smother, and Joel groaned like you’d just undone him. “Goddamn, you laughin’ like that—” he rocked against you, the hard line of his cock brushing your thigh, “—gonna make me lose every ounce of sense I got.”

Your fingers fumbled with his belt, and Joel leaned back just enough to watch, smirking. “Look at you, all eager. Go on, sugar. Show me how bad you want it.”

You rolled your eyes as you finally freed him, and Joel hissed through his teeth when your hand wrapped around him. “Fuck, that’s it. Pretty little thing.”

He tugged your shorts down in one rough motion, panties with them, and then he lifted you right onto the railing, settling between your thighs. You gasped at the cool night air on your skin, at the way he was looking at you—like he’d been starved and you were the only thing that could feed him.

Joel lined himself up, teased the head of his cock against you, then paused. His voice was low, gravelly, but playful as hell, “Say please, baby. Wanna hear it. Know you got good manners.”

You gave him a mock glare through your grin. “Please.”

Joel smirked, leaned in to kiss you slow and deep, and then pushed inside with one long stroke that had you breaking apart against his mouth.

He swallowed your gasp, groaning low. “Shhh. Gotta be quiet, sugar. Don’t want your daddy wakin’ up wonderin’ why his little girl’s out here moanin’.”

You giggled again, muffling it against his shoulder, and Joel’s thrust faltered from how tight you squeezed around him. “Christ almighty. You laughin’ on my cock—” he nipped at your throat, voice rough, “—you’re so fuckin’ cute. Gonna fuck you silly.”

He moved slow at first, deep, savoring it, kissing you between every thrust. But the more you clung to him, the more breathless your little laughs came, the rougher he got, until the railing was creaking and you were biting your lip to keep from crying out, head hanging back.

Joel’s hand slipped up your shirt, thumb circling your nipple as he whispered, “Daddy’s little girl. Feels so fuckin’ good. You’re mine out here, yeah? Just for me.”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding, and Joel groaned like the sound shattered him.

He kissed you hard, swallowing your giggle, and when you clenched around him he nearly lost it, his thrusts turning frantic. “Fuck—gimme it, sugar, come on, let me feel you.”

You broke apart against him, laughing and moaning in the same breath, and Joel followed right after, burying his groan in your neck, holding you tight as he spilled inside.

After, he stayed close, still buried in you, still kissing your cheek, your jaw, your mouth. He tucked your hair back gently, chuckling soft. “Cute little troublemaker.”

You laughed, flushed and giddy, and Joel kissed you again like he couldn’t stop. “God help me,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, “Gotta sneak you out more, huh?”

[hotmess-x]

THAT SHOULD BE MEEEEE

[hotmess-x]

“can you sit on my face while i jerk off” and the heavens opened up and angels began to sing amen

[hotmess-x]

Younger Harry Castillo, probably.

[hotmess-x]

ugh they are so incredibly adorable 😩

@/coffeguitar pt. 9

Summary: You visit Sarah’s grave with Joel, then share a warm, laughter-filled dinner with Tommy and Maria—where you learn just how much life you’ve brought back into Joel.

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, fluff, kissing, cursing, (1) insinuation to oral, age gap! (20s and 50s), slight angst (but only if you really squint), kissing

A/N: this got longer than I excepted…but it’s super duper cute and fluffy so—enjoy!!! Idea as usual originally by @glitterspark

It’s been months since the fight.

Everything feels more softer. Easier. The air in Joel’s house doesn’t feel heavy anymore. It feels lived in—more than ever.

You move through his space like it’s yours—because it is, in all the ways that matter. Your toothbrush sits quietly besides his. Your socks are always mismatched, and he never complains when they end up in his drawer somehow.

Furball has claimed the couch with the entitlement of a royalty, shedding white fur across every cushion like a declaration of ownership.

Joel just sighs and brushes it off, mumbling something about “that damn cat” while secretly slipping her treats when he thinks you’re not looking.

The mugs in the kitchen are yours now—well, technically his, but you’ve given them cute personalities. The blue one is for sleepy mornings. The chipped one is for when you feel extra dramatic. Joel always reaches for the one with the faded print that says ‘World’s Okayest Cook’, and you tease him for it, even though you secretly love that he never tries to be more than what he is.

He’s yours. And you let him be.

You’ve built something here. Not just comfort. Not just routine. Something that feels like home.

And maybe that’s why, when Joel asks if you want to come with him today, you say yes without even thinking. You’ve never been to Sarah’s grave. He never asked.

But today, he does. And the cemetery is really quiet.

Not the kind of silence that feels empty—but the kind that feels peaceful. The wind moves gently through the trees, rustling leaves like whispers.

Joel walks besides you, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. Not possessive. Not anxious. Just steady. Like he needs the contact to stay grounded.

You follow the worn path between headstones, your boots crunching softly against gravel. Joel doesn’t speak, and neither do you. There’s no need. The silence between you is full of understanding.

When you reach the grave, Joel stops. His eyes settle on the stone, and you feel the shift in him—something quiet, something deep.

He squeezes your hand once, then lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been waiting years to be released.

“’Bout time I introduced you to each other,” he says, voice low and rough.

You turn to look at him. His gaze is fixed on the name etched into the stone—Sarah Miller. The letters are worn, but still clear. Still permanent.

You nod, your throat tight. “Nice to meet you, Sarah,” you murmur.

Then you kneel, the cold grass pressing against your knees, and gently place the flowers you picked earlier onto the grave. They’re simple—wildflowers, mostly. A few sprigs of lavender. Nothing fancy. But you chose them with care.

Your fingertips graze the edge of the stone, tracing the grooves like you’re trying to understand her through touch. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what she’d want to hear. So you just stay there, letting the silence speak for you.

Joel watches you, his eyes soft. There’s moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes—not from grief, but from something else. Something warmer.

He’s not sad. He’s grateful. Grateful that you’re here. That you’re with him. That you’re the one kneeling besides his daughter’s grave, not out of obligation, but out of love.

He kneels besides you slowly, joints creaking, and places a hand on the stone.

“I hope you’re doin’ well, kiddo,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s hand stays on the stone, fingers spread like he’s anchoring himself to something real.

Then he exhales, slow and steady, and shifts his weight slightly, still kneeling beside you.

“You’d laugh at me if you saw me now” he murmurs. “I talk to a cat. I drink tea sometimes. I let someone else drive my truck.”

You glance at him, lips twitching. “You let me drive it once.”

Joel smirks. “Exactly.”

He looks back at the stone. “I didn’t think I’d ever be this soft again. Didn’t think I’d want to be.”

You reach out, placing your hand gently over his. His skin is warm, rough, familiar.

“She didn’t ask for much,” he says. “Just that I show up. That I listen. That I try.”

He pauses, then turns to you. “You do that. You make me try.”

You don’t answer. You just lean your head against his shoulder, letting the quiet settle between you.

Joel watches the way the light hits the stone, the way the flowers you laid down shift slightly in the breeze.

“I don’t come here to feel sorry anymore,” he says. “I come here to tell her I’m still here. That I’m still learning.”

You nod, your voice low. “She’d be proud of you.”

Joel doesn’t respond right away. He just sits with it. Lets it sink in. Then he stands slowly, brushing off his jeans, and offers you his hand. You take it, rising beside him.

Before you turn to leave, Joel places two fingers gently on the stone and says, “I’ll be back soon.”

You walk back to the truck together, hand in hand, the wind at your backs and the weight a little lighter.

-

When you arrive home, you slip off your boots at the door, Joel shrugs out of his jacket, tossing it over the back of the chair like he always does, and Furball trots in from the hallway, tail high, meowing like she’s been waiting for you both all day.

Joel sinks into the couch with a soft groan, his body folding into the cushions like he’s been carrying something heavy. Furball wastes no time—she hops onto his lap, circles once, then settles with a satisfied purr. Joel strokes her fur absentmindedly, his fingers moving slow and steady, and she leans into it like she’s been starved for affection.

You move into the kitchen, preparing to make coffee.

Joel’s voice drifts in from the living room, low and lazy. “You always make it better than I do.”

You smile, pouring the coffee. “That’s because I don’t treat it like motor oil.”

He chuckles, the sound muffled by Furball’s purring. “Y’still drink it, don’t you?”

You carry the mugs back into the room. Joel’s head is tilted back, eyes half-closed, one hand still stroking Furball’s fur. She’s practically vibrating with contentment.

Before you can hand him the coffee, his phone buzzes on the armrest.

Joel picks it up, squinting at the screen. “Tommy,” he mutters, then answers.

You sit beside him, quiet, listening to the conversation.

“Yea… okey… uh-huh. Okey.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone gently onto the cushion beside him.

You hand him the coffee, fingers brushing his as he takes it. “What did he want?”

Joel takes a sip, then glances at you. “He wants us to come over for dinner.”

You blink. “Tonight?”

He nods. “Said Maria’s cookin’. Wants you to meet Benjamin.”

You curl into his side, your body folding against his like always. Your face finds its way to the curve of his neck, warm and familiar. Joel shifts slightly, letting you settle, his arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“Would be a good opportunity to meet Maria and Benjamin, yeah?” he asks, voice soft against your hair.

You smile, giggling into his skin. “Today’s really the day of meeting people, huh?”

Joel laughs, the sound low and fond. “You’re on a roll.”

“I don’t know what to wear.” You murmur, looking up to him.

He sighs. “Me neither.”

-

The bedroom looks like a boutique exploded.

Dresses are lying over every surface—the bed, the chair, even the doorknob. Joel sits at the edge of the bed, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees, watching you with a smirk that’s equal parts admiration and amusement.

You step out of the closet wearing a deep green dress, the hem brushing your thighs, the neckline just shy of scandalous.

Joel whistles low. “You wear that, and I’m not lettin’ you out of this house.”

You roll your eyes, turning in a slow circle. “Too much?”

He tilts his head. “Too dangerous.”

You snort, disappearing back into the closet. “Okay, next one.”

Joel leans back on his hands, watching the door like it’s a stage curtain.

You reappear in a soft blue number—longer, flowy, with thin straps and a low back.

Joel’s brows lift. “That’s… wow.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow good or wow ‘you look like you’re about to give a toast at someone else’s wedding’?”

He squints. “Bit of both. You kook like you’re gonna gave a speech in public.”

You groan. “Ugh. Okay, next.”

He chuckles as you vanish again, the closet door creaking slightly. “You know, you could wear sweatpants and still outshine Maria’s roast chicken.”

You call out from behind the door. “You haven’t even tasted her roast chicken.”

Joel grins. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve tasted you.”

You pop your head out, scandalized. “Joel!”

He shrugs, smug. “Just facts.”

You shake your head, laughing, and step out in the final dress—a soft cream color, fitted at the waist, with delicate lace along the sleeves. It’s understated, elegant, and somehow still completely you.

Joel sits up straighter, eyes scanning you slowly. “That’s it.”

You blink. “Really?”

He nods. “That’s the one.”

You glance down at yourself, smoothing the fabric over your hips. “It’s not too much?”

“It’s perfect,” he says, voice softer now. “You look like you.”

You smile, walking over and sitting besides him on the bed. Joel leans in, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You ready?”

You pause.

He notices it instantly. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, then sigh. “I’m just… nervous.”

Joel turns to face you fully, his hand finding yours. “About what?”

You hesitate, fingers fidgeting with the lace at your wrist. “When I met Tommy, he was kind, but… he was off about the age gap.”

Joel’s jaw tightens slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You continue, voice quieter now. “And I’m scared Maria will be the same. That she’ll look at me and think I’m too young, or not serious, or just… not right for you.”

Joel’s thumb brushes over your knuckles. “Angel.”

You look up at him, eyes searching.

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “You are right for me. In every way.”

You swallow hard.

“I don’t care what anyone thinks,” he says. “But I get it. I do. You want to be accepted. You want to be seen for who you are, not just how old you are.”

You nod, eyes stinging a little.

“Well,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, “Maria’s sharp. But she’s got a good heart. And if she sees the way you look at me—hell, the way I look at you—she’ll know.”

You smile, a little teary. “You look at me like I hung the moon.”

Joel grins. “That’s because you did.”

You laugh, wiping your eyes. “Okay, now you’re just being cheesy.”

He shrugs. “I’m allowed. You’re wearin’ lace.”

Then he pulls you into a kiss—slow, grounding, full of everything he doesn’t need to say. Your hands find his shoulders, his fingers cradle your jaw, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you.

When you break apart, you’re both smiling, breath mingling in the quiet.

You tilt your head, eyes playful. “Now what are you wearing?”

Joel glances down at his soft, slightly wrinkled t-shirt and shrugs. “This.”

You scoff, reaching over to the chair where one of his better shirts is draped. You hold up the grey long-sleeved one, the fabric soft and clean, sleeves slightly rolled. “That’s way better than that basic shirt.”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Nah, that’s too fancy.”

You shake your head, giggling. “No, you have to wear something fancy. We’re meeting people.”

Joel groans, flopping back onto the bed like you’ve asked him to climb Everest. “You mean I gotta iron somethin’?”

You lean over him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Yes. And maybe brush your hair.”

He sighs dramatically. “You askin’ too much.”

You smile, brushing a hand through his curls. “You love it.”

Joel closes his eyes, letting your fingers linger. “I do.”

Furball hops back onto the bed, as if to inspect the final outfit decisions. Joel scratches behind her ears and mutters, “You think this shirt’s good enough, don’t you?”

She purrs loudly.

You roll your eyes. “Great. Now I’m outvoted.”

Joel smirks. “Two against one. You’re doomed.”

-

The sun is low in the sky when Joel pulls the truck into Tommy and Maria’s driveway. The house glows from the inside, warm and lively, with laughter already spilling out through the open windows.

You step out, smoothing your dress, and Joel meets you at the front of the truck, his hand brushing yours.

He pauses at the porch, glancing at you with that quiet, steady look.

“You nervous?” he asks.

You nod, just a little. “A bit.”

Joel leans in, presses a soft kiss to your temple. “You’ll be fine. They’re gonna love you.”

You smile, fingers curling around his. “You say that now.”

He knocks, and the door swings open almost immediately.

Maria stands there, clothes dusted with flour, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. She’s radiant in that effortless way—sharp eyes, warm smile, and a toddler running around in the background.

“Joel,” she says, pulling him into a hug. “And you must be Joel’s girlfriend.”

You nod, smiling. “Hi. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Maria gives you a warm hug and her smile widens. “Well, aren’t you lovely. Come in, come in. Benjamin’s been climbing furniture all afternoon, so you’re in for a show.”

You step inside, and Benjamin immediately toddles over, his curls bouncing, one sock missing, holding a plastic dinosaur in one hand and a half eaten cracker in the other.

He stares up at you with wide eyes, then grins. “Hi!”

You crouch down. “Hi there. I like your dinosaur.”

Benjamin holds it out proudly. “Rawr!”

Joel chuckles behind you. “He’s got a whole zoo in his toy box.”

Tommy appears from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Hey, you made it.”

Joel claps his brother on the shoulder. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Tommy turns to you, offering a smile that’s warmer than last time. “Glad you came.”

“Thanks for having me.” you say.

Dinner is served not long after—roast chicken, buttery potatoes, green beans with almonds. You sit besides Joel, across from Maria, and Benjamin is in a high chair between his parents, banging his spoon like he’s leading an orchestra.

Maria leans in, eyes warm. “So how did you two actually meet?”

You glance at Joel, then back at her. “Online. Through a grief support group. LonelyHeartsGroup.”

Maria’s expression softens instantly. “Oh.”

You nod. “I joined after losing someone. Joel was already there. I didn’t expect anything. But then… he messaged me.”

Joel chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t think I would. But something about her post—it stuck.”

You smile. “He talked about his grief, and I did too. Then, somehow, all of this happened.”

Maria raises her eyebrows. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

Tommy suddenly slaps his own shoulder, grinning. “Wait—I made that account for him!”

Joel stares at him. “You want a medal?”

Tommy shrugs, smug. “You were being a hermit. I figured if someone didn’t drag you into the twenty-first century, you’d die alone with a shotgun and a stack of canned beans.”

Maria snorts. “He’s not wrong.”

You giggle. “So all the praise goes to Tommy.”

Tommy raises his glass. “You’re welcome.”

Joel groans. “I hate this table.”

You squeeze his hand under the table. “You love it.”

“Unfortunately.” He sighs.

Tommy wipes his mouth and leans back. “Maria and I met at a community clean-up event. She was yelling at some guy for throwing a soda can into the compost bin.”

Maria rolls her eyes. “He deserved it.”

“I thought she was terrifying,” Tommy says. “And hot.”

Maria smirks. “You asked me out by offering to sort recycling.”

Joel groans. “Romance is dead.” You laugh, slapping his shoulder playfully. “No, shh. That’s adorable.”

Maria points her fork at Tommy. “He showed up to our first date with a clipboard and a list of local environmental policies.”

Tommy shrugs. “I was trying to impress her.”

“You did,” Maria says, smiling.

Tommy reaches for the wine bottle to top off his glass, and Joel casually slides it just out of reach.

Tommy narrows his eyes. “You’re still petty.”

Joel shrugs. “You still owe me twenty bucks.”

Maria looks up. “For what?”

Joel smirks. “He bet I couldn’t fix the alternator on his old truck. I did. It exploded a week later, but that’s besides the point.”

Tommy groans. “You used duct tape and prayer.”

“Did it work?” You ask, laughing.

Joel grins. “For three glorious days.”

Maria shakes her head, amused. “You two are unbelievable.”

Joel leans back, smug. “He is now underplaying my abilities but he still calls me first when his water heater breaks.”

Tommy points at him. “Because you’re the only person I know who owns three different kinds of wrenches and refuses to label any of them.”

Joel shrugs. “Keeps life interesting.”

Maria laughs, then tilts her head. “You two ever get along as kids?”

“Define ‘get along.’” Joel smirks.

Tommy grins. “We once tried to build a treehouse. Ended with Joel’s broken arm, the tree falling apart and me getting grounded for a month.”

You laugh, listening to them explaining the story.

“And then Tommy wrote an apology letter to the tree.” Joel chuckles.

Everybody in the table starts laughing while Tommy’s cheeks heat up.

“I was feelin’ bad,” he shrugs. “Besides, I wrote you one too.”

“Aww” you smile.

Benjamin drops his spoon and claps. “Dino!”

Joel picks up the spoon and hands it back. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

After dinner, Maria pulls you aside while the boys clear the plates and Benjamin plays under the table.

She speaks quietly, her voice gentle. “I just wanted to say… since you’ve been around, Joel feels alive again. I haven’t seen him like this in years.”

You blink, heart catching. “Really?”

Maria nods. “He’s lighter. Softer. Still Joel, but… better.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” You smile, touched.

She squeezes your arm. “Benjamin’s obsessed with dinosaurs right now. If you play with him, he’ll love you forever.”

You laugh. “I’ll take that challenge.”

You settle on the floor with Benjamin, who immediately hands you a second dinosaur and declares, “You be this one!”

Joel watches from the couch, one arm kying over the backrest, his eyes soft. You roar playfully, and Benjamin giggles so hard he falls over, then scrambles back up and climbs into your lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Joel’s chest tightens—not with fear, but with something quieter. Something like wonder.

He watches the way you cradle Benjamin, the way you let him babble roar and climb, the way your voice softens when you ask him questions. And for a moment, Joel lets the thought drift in.

What if?

He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t need to. It’s just a quiet flicker in his chest, tucked away for later.

Tommy flops down besides him, handing him a beer. “She’s good with him.”

Joel nods. “Yeah. She is.”

Tommy nudges him. “You happy?”

Joel glances at you, then back at his brother. “More than I thought I could be.”

Tommy smiles. “Good. You deserve it.”

You look up from the floor, Benjamin now curled against your side, his dinosaur tucked under his arm. Joel meets your eyes, and there’s something there—something full and quiet and real.

Love.

You smile, and Joel smiles back.

And in that moment, surrounded by warmth and laughter and the soft hum of family, everything feels exactly as it should.

-

The night air is cool and gentle as you and Joel step out of Tommy and Maria’s house. The porch light casts a warm glow behind you, and Benjamin’s giggles still echo faintly from inside as he chases his dinosaur across the living room.

Joel slips his hand into yours as you walk down the gravel path, his thumb brushing over your knuckles like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

Neither of you speaks at first. The silence is comfortable, filled with the hum of crickets and the distant rustle of leaves. The stars are out—bright and scattered across the sky like someone spilled sugar on velvet.

Joel glances at you, his voice low. “You did good tonight.”

You smile, leaning into him. “I didn’t drop a plate or cry. I’ll take it.”

He chuckles. “Maria liked you. I could tell.”

“She told me something,” you say softly. “She said you feel alive again. Since I came around.”

Joel’s steps slow. He looks at you, eyes steady. “She said that?”

You nod. “I didn’t know what to say.”

Joel stops walking, turns to face you fully. “You didn’t have to say anything. She’s right.”

You blink, heart thudding.

“I didn’t think I’d ever feel like this again,” he says. “Not after everything. But you… you make it easy to breathe.”

You reach up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “You make me feel safe.”

Joel leans in, presses his forehead to yours. “You make me feel like I’ve got a future.”

You close your eyes, letting the moment wrap around you like a blanket.

Then you whisper, “Did you see Benjamin tonight? The way he kept handing me dinosaurs?”

Joel smiles. “He’s got taste.”

You laugh. “He’s sweet. I liked playing with him.”

Joel’s eyes linger on you, soft and thoughtful. “You’d be a good mom.”

You pause, surprised by the quiet weight of the words.

Joel doesn’t flinch. He just holds your gaze, steady and open.

You nod slowly. “Maybe someday.”

He squeezes your hand. “If that day ever comes… I’d be lucky to be there.”

You smile, and Joel leans in, kissing you gently—slow and sure, like he’s sealing a promise he hasn’t spoken yet.

The stars blink above you, and the world feels still.

The rest of the way home is in silence, fingers intertwined, hearts steady. Furball greets you at the door with a meow, tail flicking like she’s been waiting all night.

Joel kicks off his boots, and you slip out of your dress, trading lace for warmth. You curl up together on the couch, Furball nestled between you, and Joel wraps his arm around you like he’s never letting go.

And he is sure that he won’t.

Please, if you guys have Ideas for more parts of these two, let me know in my inbox or in the comments!!!

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[hotmess-x]

Reblog if you've found friendship because of your fandoms.

[hotmess-x]