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Need
Summary: Frankie needs you.Â
Rating: Explicit, feelings?
A/N: idk what the hell this is - I sat down to write something else entirely and this poured out. This is not Box Set Frankie - this fic is set right after his mission in the movie. Hope you enjoy it!
â
âI need you.â
Frankieâs husky voice sounded tired, almost slurred over the phone and you close your eyes with a deep sigh, relief flooding through you as you rolled over in bed, staring the dark ceiling. Â
âWhere are you? You said youâd only be gone for the weekend, said ââ
âI know what I saidâ, he replies, and you hear the rustle of bedding as he shifts position. Hotel bed and not a hospital, you hope. âI need you. Can you come?â
You say nothing, a strange swirl of anger, frustration and relief churning in your stomach, a small dash of lust at the sound of his sleepy voice. You hear him breathing on the other end of the line, the slow, comforting sound of it and you want nothing more than rest your cheek on his chest like you do in bed; the same steady breathing lulling you to sleep.
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EM đđđ I love you so much ohmygod that gif literally represents me every time I even think about this man okay????
Sososososo glad to contribute to the Frankie brainrot bc honestly??? My brain is always with this fic I mean Iâm pretty sure I wrote it in a DAZE it was just ripped out of the nastiest crevices of my mind
Love u babe and thank u for reading ilysm
The First Time
Kinktober Day 15: Size Kink
Tags: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Reader, afab!fem!reader, unprotected piv (pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids), fingering (r!recieving), oral (r!giving and recieving), Frankie's monster schlong, yeah he's got a giant dick we all know it (w/c: 1.5K)
A/N: Part of the rapid-fire Kinktober catch up! My absolutely massive size kink really let itself free with this one (get it?? massive?? hehehe) but anyway please enjoy my ramblings about taking Frankie's gigantic schlong. (I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings for Kinktober!)
The first time you undress Frankie, really see him for the first time, bare and open to your gaze, you think youâre fucking hallucinating. Heâd been so shy when youâd first met, so unassuming next to Pope and Will and Benny. Tugging the brim of his cap to cover his eyes, a timid little smile playing on his face as you flirted with him, not his friends.Â
You couldnât have expected the fucking monster between his thighs the first time you have him naked in your bed, his cock so thick you can barely wrap your hand around him. You don't expect the way you choke on him when you try to blow him, only for you to realize that you hadn't even made it halfway.
He doesnât fuck you that night, the both of you too high on each otherâs bodies and too tipsy from the bottle of wine youâd shared earlier.
âNeed time to get you ready, hermosa,â he whispers in your ear, fucking you so hard and deep on his fingers you nearly cry. âNext time baby, next time.â
The first time he fucks you, he doesnât make it all the way. You think you're ready, despite Frankieâs protests, begging him to fuck you, grinding into his mouth, into his fingers as he works orgasm after orgasm out of your heaving body. Through your blurry eyes, you can see the way his hips thrust gently into the mattress, fucking himself into your sheets as he eats you out, groaning into your pussy as you gush down his face. Itâs fucking maddening.
He lines himself up, pressing into you gently, so gently, but God, itâs already too much. Too fucking much. You gasp as the thick head of his cock presses into your entrance, spreading you so much wider than his fingers, wider than youâve ever been stretched. It fucking stings, and you dig your nails into Frankieâs shoulders as you try to take it for him.
He only sinks in halfway before your body just canât take it anymore, squeezing him so tight that he canât possibly move deeper. Tears spring to your eyes at the feeling of it, and you try to apologize, but Frankie only leans down to seal his mouth to yours, kissing the breath out of your lungs.
âFeels so fucking good,â he mutters against your lips, sounding so fucking wrecked, and you throb around him at the sound of it. âYour little pussy is so fucking tight.âÂ
You feel lightheaded at the destroyed rasp of his voice, and when he moves, you feel lightning rocket up your spine, whining loudly against his lips. He grins, the shy boy from the bar long gone as he thrusts until heâs halfway in again, fucking you on only half his cock as you keen beneath him. You have no idea how heâll ever fit inside completely, how just half of him fills you up more than anyone else ever has. âWanna take all of you,â you gasp, âwant it all inside, fuck, Frankie, please.â
He shushes you gently, smoothing his hands down your sides. âMi amor, we need more time to get you ready,â he murmurs softly. âNext time, baby, next time.â
He fucks you just like that, breaking you open with just half of his cock and fisting the base in a large, warm palm until you squeeze around him with your orgasm. When you beg him to cum inside you, he groans, pumping you full, gripping tight to your thighs. You promise yourself that next time you'll take all of him.
The first time you take Frankie, really, truly take him, you think that heâs more affected than you are.
Youâre so wet, dripping down your thighs from Frankieâs endless preparation, his lips shiny with your slick as he leans down to kiss you slowly, deliberately. You find that you donât mind the taste of yourself.
Heâs been fucking you on his thick fingers for what seems like hours, spreading you so wide, wide enough that you thought youâd break.
You donât know how many times heâs made you cum, how many times heâs told you that itâll make you looser, get you ready. You think he just likes watching you fall apart, his eyes blown wide as you tremble against the sheets.Â
When he finally, finally notches the thick tip of his cock against your entrance, pushing forward slowly, you try to brace yourself for pain. Itâs so much, heâs so much, and it should hurt, fuck, you should feel like youâre being ripped apart.Â
But your mind is foggy with desperation, your need to finally fit him inside, that you can barely feel the pain at all. You can only gasp for air as his cock stretches you wide, pressing in so deep itâs like you can feel it in your lungs. And he just slides in, easy as that, as if it was easy all along.
And as much as you moan and gasp, your fingers clutching into the skin of his back, it is nothing compared to the way Frankie fucking whines at the feeling of it, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he stills his hips, pressed in as deep as he can get.
âFuck me, please, oh my God, Frankie,â you gasp, grinding your hips against his on pure instinct, desperate to get him in deeper, somehow. But his hands tighten on you, gripping so hard you think heâll leave bruises.
âStop,â he says, deep and raspy and fucking primal. âStop fucking moving, shit, âm trying not to fucking cum.â He sounds goddamn sinful, and your pussy throbs at the sheer idea of him filling you up just from finally fitting inside you. You let him breathe through it, raking your nails gently up his back. He shivers at your touch.
You suck air in through your teeth when he pulls out, just barely, only to fuck back in. He does it again, and again, and again, thrusting so deep into you that his cock fucking drags into your sweet spot, not even trying. Youâve never felt so fucking full before.
âFuck, baby, youâre so goddamn tight, donât even know how I can fuckinâ fit,â he mutters, pulling your thighs tighter around his hips and pulling you down onto his thick cock with every thrust. âThis little cunt is just sucking me in, âs like she canât get enough.â
âGod, yes, Frankie please,â you choke out between labored breaths, your vision blurring at the edges. All you can fucking feel, hear, smell is Frankie above you, warm and towering over you, filling you up so perfect.
âSo goddamn pretty wrapped around my cock,â he growls, pounding into you hard enough that tears start to pour down your cheeks. âMy greedy baby, am I big enough for you?â
âFuck! Yes, itâs so- itâs so fuckinâ big, Frankie, I can feel it in my fucking stomach.â Youâre slurring your words, your brain turned to mush as Frankie breaks you apart so viciously. He reaches between you to rub quick circles into your clit with a calloused thumb, and your body locks up, your back arching so far it presses your tits into Frankieâs strong chest.
âThatâs right, honey, just fuckinâ feel it. Nobody else can fill you up like I can, right?â he snarls, and you can only nod frantically, choked moans punched from your throat every time he thrusts inside you. âCum, sweetheart. Show me how much you love my big cock.â
And you have no other choice but to fucking scream, pulsing violently around him as you cum. Youâre fucking lost in it, broken apart in the best way possible, and Frankie groans, stilling inside of your as he fills you up with cum. Itâs pure bliss, a goddamn revelation, and you donât think itâs ever going to fucking stop. He smothers your cries with a kiss, licking into your mouth and soothing you like a wild animal as you both ride out the aftershocks.Â
When you finally feel yourself start to breathe normally again, to find it in yourself to blink blearily up at him, smiling softly when you see him already staring down at you. As he pulls out of you, you feel the emptiness immediately, whining as he shushes you gently. âI know, honey, I know,â he murmurs, falling beside you and pulling you into him. âYou did so good for me.â
âDamn right I did,â you murmur, sleep already weighing down your eyelids. âWho else is going to take that monster dick of yours?â
He laughs, loud and gruff in the most perfectly Frankie-way you could possibly imagine. âDonât act like you didnât fucking love it, hermosa.â
And, well, you donât really have arguments for that.
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Yeah this is going to rule my mind for the foreseeable future rip
Ruined!
Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader
Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. Youâve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.
Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.
Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.
Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game âverse
Surely he was hurting you now.
Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.
At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itselfâkeep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age wouldâve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.
He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.
Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:
ââSâit too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?â
Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.
Crying, too.
Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.
âYou kiddinâ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.â
Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like theseâor when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you upâbut when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.
Joelâs guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.
Almost.
He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.
Almost.
âYou know I canât sleep without your cum inside me.â
And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Miloâs tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.
âYou do wanna fill me up, donât you, daddy?â you teased.
Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.
Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.
He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.
âSON OF Aââ
ââgood girl.â
You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this manâs dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.
âOh, sweet pea, I didnât mean to make you cry.â
Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.
âMmrooonme,â you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.
âWhatâsâat, honey? Canât hear ya.â
Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew heâd be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.
âYouâ ruined me,â you repeated. Now clear as ever.
Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,
âRuined? Pussy feels just fine tâme.â
Youâd kill him if he wasnât so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.
âNo. Ruined me. For anyone else.â
Probably forever.
âGood.â
You knew he liked it that way.
You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.
First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.
âShit,â you whimpered.
Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.
âJust a little more, sugarâthatâs it,â he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.
Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over themâlacing his fingers through your ownâand his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.
âYou ruined me too, yâknow,â he mumbled into your skin.
His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.
And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.
âCâmonâ let daddy have it,â he growled, âLet daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?â
It was.
More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joelâs lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.
He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, âDaddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.â
Maybe ruined wasnât such a bad thing to be at all.
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This is too perfect not to reblog
Putting powdered sugar on the post below
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I think Iâm. Actually dying.
title: creature comforts
series: a gift
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: E, for explicit sexual content. 18+ only - you will be blocked.
summary: A gift.
Joel didnât call it that. Didnât say as much. Didnât say anythingâactually.
But itâs yours. Your mattress. Your bed. There are so few things you can call yours these days.
warnings: whew, buckle in causeâŚ
dirty talk; dom/sub undertones; panty gagging; pussy slapping; slight orgasm delay; vaginal fingering; vaginal penetration; mentions of cumplay and swallowing; some manhandling; slight spanking; if you squint - there might be another kink in there; rough sex; praise kink: slight degradation and humiliation; aka i never recovered from that shushing motion; something about being silent or you lose the right to come can be so personal to someoneâŚ
this is not a safe gagging practice, please do your research and practice safe gagging!
| masterlist | playlist |
|| read on AO3 ||
part (i)
Belly down, ear pressed into the mattress, you tune in and out of the dwindling noises in the building.
Doors shutting, boots thudding along the hallways. Quieter and quieter as the sun outside your window burns an angry orange-red.
Always so quiet after the working day. Deadens by curfew.
You like the sounds at this time of day.
Like a sudden power cut on a humid summer afternoon.
Shadowy blurs of nothing dance behind your eyelids. If youâre stillâvery stillâyou can hear the voices of the couple on the floor below you.
Stunted words, loudest at the vowels.
Something, something, card, something, somethingâ
A laugh.
The sound teases a smile out of you, feeling the resistance of where your mattress meets your cheek. Where the pressure has undeniably left its hexagonal pattern painted on the side of your face.
A gift.
Joel didnât call it that. Didnât say as much. Didnât say anythingâactually.
But itâs yours.
Your mattress. Your bed.
There are so few things you can call yours these days.
Everything and anything is a tradable commodity. The shirt on your back, the jacket that will see you through next winter, the belt that holds up too-big-trousers over your hips.
And thereâs a price to pay for attachment.
More heavy boots on the tired hallway floors. A scuff and thenâ
Something sinks in your stomach. Low, and heavy.
Heâs back.
Eyes still shut; you take comfort in the sound of hard footsteps. You could pick the sound of it out of all the sounds in Boston. Know them well, draw calm from them.
Suddenly, it stops.
You sense him before you see him. Lingering in your doorway like he always does. Wordless and severe-faced.
Dazed and skin fuzzy from creature comforts,
(You really shouldnât get attached.
Summer has a vicious habit of encouraging platitudes.
You really shouldnât get attached.) you twist away from the window and find him standing where a door should be.
Sweat. Grime on thick, dark denim. The salt and pepper in his hair more salt than pepper these days. Sleeves pushed and stretched over the elbows, as far he could will them to.
The lines of his veined forearms defined; muscles swollen after a day of laboring.
He mightâve taken the steps two at a time; the line of his shoulders (broad and strong) lifting just a little more with every breath.
(Nearly takes up the breadth of the entrance. Staunch and stoic andâ)
Heâs washed in that unforgiving late-afternoon sun. Sweat slicks along his neck, his throat. Red-orange light making tanned skin practically glow. Eyes the color of burnt cognac, brighter when heâs dazzled.
Would there have been a time, before, when heâd come through the front door and announced himself? You imagine the hum of his truck pulling into the driveway, the thrill of watching the shorthand meet five on the clockâs face, the impatience of greeting him at the door.
Lips dry, you lick at them, and he watches.
Nothing. He says nothing.
So wordless he reminds you of those blackout summer days. Thereâs solace in that too. You prefer to listen to the sounds of him; rooting around the kitchen, tinkering with something or other on the tiny living room tableâthe tired groans when he gets up after resting his feet during the evening.
His eyes track the line of your body. The way your bare legs cross at the ankles at the head of the bed, the short edge of the oversized shirt (this too will one day be traded) you tugged on to battle the heat. It spells out a place youâve never been nor ever will go. A tacky tourist shirt with a turtle printed down the front (the puffy, printed ink has long peeled off) and the words Nassau, Bahamas.
The look on his face, painted dark and hungry. All that light coming through the window is impossible to contest against this burning inside of you. Cinders of desire left on their own, flaring on and off throughout the day.
He says nothing because he doesnât have to.
But when he does, Joel speaks in statements.
Roll over.
Hands up.
Yes, you can. Take it.
And on the occasion, Another, give me another.
His steps are weighty, welcomed; floorboards groaning and giving. Feel it in the hard pulse of your own heartbeat against the bed.
His knee is first, sinking the mattress at the edge of your hip. Then his elbow at your shoulder.
You find his gaze, intense and intent on you. Dark eyes, hooded brow. Unwavering in the one thing in his sight heâs after.
You.
The sun bleeds angrier yet into the room, the heat of the day clinging to the glass windows and the sticky fibers of the mattress. He leans over you, imposing lines and sturdy weight. Close like this you smell the day on him, old soap warmed by his body, smoke clinging to the fabric of his shirtâand something imperceptibly him. Reminds you of how much stronger it gets the further down his body you taste.
The memory of it lulls you into a daze, eyelids heavy and meeting his gaze. Deep and unreadable. And yet you try. You search the lines etched along his face, the ones at the corners of his eyes, skin tanned deeper.
Nothing.
Always nothing when heâs busy drinking you down with purposeful eyes.
A tiny noise echoes in your throat. A sigh and a gasp. Soft and sudden.
One hand (weather-worn and calloused) wraps around your shoulder, squeezes and shoves. You easily give, understanding immediately, and roll onto your back.
The waiting can be ruinous.
Silence and more waiting. A perfect pairing. Gets the heat already spooling in your lower tummy relentless with need. An ache you know Joel is very good at soothing (and using against you).
With no need for flare, he flips the edge of your shirt up. Impossible not to, but instinct says to shy away. Heâs quicker. His hand comes down on your thigh, keeping you from curling your legs into yourself and hiding your underwear.
(These you traded a weekâs rations for.
And know you might have to again if Joel ruins them.)
His palm runs down the top of your thigh, but before it can even make contact with your knee, right where heâll nudge at them to openâa stuttered breath escapes you.
A whine.
Deep, brown eyes flit to yours, his stern expression unfailing. You roll your lips together, biting down and trying in vain to control your rabbit heart.
You frown when the warmth of his large hand abandons its spot on your thigh.
Joel stares you down. Seriously. So seriously. A thick finger presses to his lips and softly (in three quick successions) shushes you.
ShhâŚshhâŚshhâŚ
No noises. No sounds. No begging.
Just answers to his questions when he exacts them.
You exhale, blinking away the arousal hot in your tummy fighting to overwrite your thoughts, warring with your body as it flushes at the reminder of why you should stay silent. Itâs enough incentive to get you to nod as obediently as you can.
That same hand smooths over the curve of your cheek, eyes intent on yours, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw when his finger settles behind your head. He whispers, so darkly that the usual gravelly nature of his voice scrapes and fights through every word.
âGood girl.â
Any other occasion, you could challenge thisâthisâŚgame. Youâd bring his thumb into your mouth and bite down until he tosses you onto your front, takes you from behind until youâre sobbing with unrestrained desire into the mattress.
Misbehave again, heâd warn (panting, sweating through his shirt), flipping you over and holding your face still in a tight grip, fucking himself with the other. Between grunts and curses, heâd tell you to open your fucking mouth, spurts of hot cum on your tongueâcatching on your cheek, lips, and chin.
But this isnât like that.
Itâs been a long, hot day. Heâs tired and has no patience for your whiny, desperate mewls.
Joel wants to touch. Wants the comfort of soft skin and your body opening for him.
So, you oblige. Your knees fall open this time, juddering at first, and ankles skirting along the mattress.
Heâs made it unbearably hot.
The mid-afternoon is beating through the window at the worst possible angle, sunlight encroaching over the two of you. The heat of him, racked up from tirelessly working all day seeps into you. His body, propped up on an elbow and forearm, looming over you. The rest of him sinks the mattress down, feeling more and more of the fabric of his shirt and jeans flush against you.
Slowlyâso achingly slowlyâhe moves down your cheek. Down your neck, the space between your breasts, tickling between your ribs, and over your navel where he stops. His fingers curl around the edge of the shirt and hitches it up another inch, exposing your lower stomach.
Palm flattening, the air is gradually pressed out of your lungs (so desperate to take one regular breath). His attention is rapt where his touch lays, just above the elastic band of your underwear. Itâs as if youâve somehow disappeared, as if you werenât lying there trying to tame your heartbeat and stay as still as possible.
You try. You try so hard not to make a noise, not to jerk your hips, but itâs impossible when the weight of his large hand cups you outside your underwear.
Itâs not possessive. Itâs not gentle. Itâs so casual it makes you think for a moment this isnât what you think it is. Joel touching you, getting off on the reaction only he seems to be able to stir from deep within you.
Eyes tightly shut; you hear him cluck his tongue disapprovingly. He saw the way your tummy tensedâ-jumpedâ-at the barest of contact.
You nod again, hoping thatâll be enough to appease him.
And you canât tell if what comes next is merciful or cruel.
Joel swipes a thumb over the damp patch of cotton, before quickly hooking the gusset of your underwear to the side and⌠touches you.
Feverish skin, face aflame from the way he handles youâexplores you. The thing low in your tummy burns hot and bright, demands to be acknowledged and to pursue more of that warmth youâre so familiar withâthe thing youâd been wrestling with all day.
Clawing at the mattress, you stifle all the indignant sounds in your throat, feel the strain of it in your faceâworsening when you crane your neck ever so slightly to watch how Joelâs hand moves between your legs.
Pinching, cupping, and massaging.
Itâs perfunctory the way he touches you. Cursory and offhand. Like heâs touching you just for the sake of touchingâfeeling. Like the pleasure heâs pulling from you is an insignificant consequence of his wandering fingers. This is for him, not for you.
A short and choked gasp manages to fight its way out when his thumb finally skates over your clit.
âHush.â
Lips roll together, breathing hard and forced through your nose.
You know whatâs at stake. If you donât follow theâtheâthe rules, unspoken as they can be, then you wonât get the finish. You wonât get to see him finish.
He continues his almost curious path, fingers gliding through your slit.
âThat feels good, huh,â that gruff voice of his, coupled with his words, makes your nipples stiffen hard under your shirt. âAlways so fucking wet.â
Even though thereâs a biting edge to his tone you nod. Youâll agree with anything he says at this point as long as he just doesnât stop tracing your clit in that mind-meltingly slow circle.
âHear that?â His mouth is at your ear, hot breath and all.
Hear it, feel itâsense it running down your entrance, over your skin and onto the mattress. All over Joelâs hand.
One finger tests your entrance and the obscene sound of your wetness makes you want to bury your face into the crook of his neck where he smells the strongest of Joel.
Thereâs no word for what heâs doing to you. Maybe devastating you. Taking his sweet timeâthe luxuryâto finger fuck your entrance as slow and shallow as he can, testing reactions out of you as he keeps touching like youâre something heâs merely toying withânot with any intention to bring you to a peak.
At the thought, the muscles in your belly jump again, tensing and relaxing in quick succession. And you do a poor job to swallow down a throaty moanâ-
â a hard slap comes down on your clit, and the moan that follows is louder than the lastâ
Another slap.
It has your overly sensitive flesh singing, making you bite down on your bottom lip to keep quiet. Hands grasping at the mattress and eyes snapped shut, you feel the strain in your throatâburning to cry out.
You positively throb. Ache. Clenching around nothing painfully. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, and they fly open at the sudden hard grip around your cheeks.
Those same fingers that probed you in a deliciously cursory way were now digging into the softest parts of your face, bringing your attention right at his harsh and surly gaze.
Half his face, cast in a shadowâ-split by the dying light coming in through your window. Joel is intimidating when the sun is out, but when it waned and night settled (the dark corners of the apartment never fully lit) he became the reason for cautionary tales.
He towers over you, something heâs perfected in the short time youâve known him.
âWhatâd I say,â Joel growls, bringing his lips against your ear, the front of his jeans pressing up roughly against your side. You can feel it there. His need, tenting and straining and begging for relief. âDonât wanna hear a peep out of you.â
You canât nod. His grip holds you firmly in place.
ThisâŚwickeder version of the quiet game, where you struggle to keep your tongue stiff behind teeth and sealed lips. Yes, the needâurgeâto make a sound (any sound) is intense, but the threat of beingâŚ
(A terrible-no-good thought swirls to lifeâ
One of muffled cries and being fucked so hard the mattress burns against your cheek)
âŚreprimanded.
Thatâs always been impossible to resist.
Even more so when his hips press into you a little more desperate, the bulge growing more evident behind his zipper. Whatever effect he has on you, thereâs always quiet turnabout. One he wonât ever let you be too privy to, but itâs enough for you. Enough to let you know thereâs something about you that keeps him coming backâsinking his weight into your mattress no matter the time of day.
So.
You chance it.
Mouth opening, you hardly recognize yourself. Pitchy and tight and warbling.
âS-sorry,â you say, voice choked with desperation. âIâm sorâyouâI-Iââ
More. You had more to say but Joel squeezes your cheeks until you have no choice but to fall silent. A sharp bite of pain, it zips straight down between your thighs. A fresh rush of wetness trickles right out of you.
âListen to you,â he says, words rumbling low and dark. âCanât even get your words out right.â
Squirming, panting, and even daring to reach out to the front of his shirt, you say. âJustâjust wan-want youâneedâneeded you all d-day. Please, Joelâwannaâne-need to come.â
Instead of more pain or another strike against your throbbing clit, youâre met with strained and pointed silence. The slow way he shakes his head, eyelids heavily hoodedâlooking at you as if he pitied you. It leaves you raw and discomfited, wishing youâd said nothing at all. White hot heat flushes down your body, you think it should be shame but the arousal coiling tighter and tighter just confuses you.
âNo manners.â His disparaging expression melts into something harder. Sterner. âGreedy fuckingâdonât tell me what you need.â
You open your mouth to contest it or apologize, you canât tell and wonât ever know because heâs quick to sit up, your grip bunching his shirt falling away.
Joel works fast, positioning himself between your open legs and grabbing you so roughly at the hips that you have no choice but to yelp.
âShouldâveââ he huffs, wrangling and ripping your underwear off and down your legs. He has to bring your legs together and fold them over you just to get them past your ankles. âShouldâve kept quiet.â
In one fist, he balls up the ruined fabric before moving with such deliberate energy you freeze with brazen anticipation. Joel presses his hips into yours, gasping sharply when the hidden edge of his zipper presses down on your clit.
Itâs the opening Joel needs, stuffing your wadded-up panties in your mouth, effectively silencing the sound.
âNone of that begging,â he growls impatiently, leveraging his weight on his forearm. âNone of that noise. You take what youâre given. Understood?â
His eyes search yours when you say nothing. Your mind too overrun by the sensation of his harsh jeans on your sensitive flesh, a mouth full of your taste, and your heart hammering in your ears.
Joelâs hand comes down on the side of your thigh, another quick and sharp slap.
The sensation is too much and not enough. You bite down on the cloth and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus past the intense wave of pleasure. If he keeps at this youâll surely be pushed right over the edge, and no doubt thereâll be repercussions.
You blink up at him, eyes heavily hooded but pleading. You just about manage a jerky nod and itâs enough for him to move back down your body and kneel between your thighs.
Thereâs a small, but obvious wet patch on the front of his jeans, where the hardened outline of his cock strains againstâthat pressed against you.
He quirks a brow before following your line of sight at where you're most entranced. Then he shakes his head, rubbing a large, rough palm down the front of his jeans. Watching him twitch at his own attention, your pussy clenches painfully around nothing.
âMouthy, messy girl,â Joel says, softer this time. He moves, big hands pushing at the insides of your thighs, urging them wider yet. âWhat am I gonna do with you.â
He stares right where you feel most exposed, sending a shock wave of shivers down your spine.
And then heâs touching you again, just like before. Teasing and light and no real rhythm to predict. Collecting your pleasure with every sweep of his palm and fingers. You wrestle with the stream of moans and sighs that live and die in your throat, gagged and muffled by your panties.
You feel every ridge, every knuckle, as he adds more and more pressure. His thumb makes a wide circle around your clitâ-once, twice, and a third time before two fingers slide inside you. You inhale sharply at the sudden stretch, but itâs silent enough to be forgiven. Heâs filling and pressing against something devastating inside you, your hands on their own accord reach up to clutch the edge of the bed, desperate to hold onto something to keep you present.
âGood,â is all he says, voice breaking down the middle. Itâs taking its toll on him too, heâs resorting to palming himself over his jeans with his free hand (right over the wet patch, again and again). âGood. I knew you could keep quiet for me.â
It takes everything in you to keep silent while taking what Joel gives you. But you donât know how much longer you can stave off the inevitable. The pleasure building up inside you, reaching a dizzying height, has your head swimming with the promise of what waits for you over the edge.
But you know if you let a single sound out, that promise could be easily ripped from you.
The only real noises are Joelâs quiet praises and stuttered curses. That, and the obscene sound of your wetness filling your hot bedroom.
Youâre blazing. Body heat and summer heat blend together, threatening to render you useless. You hopelessly thought it would assuage once Joel finally gave you what you wanted, but itâs a wildfire coursing through your veins. Your hands tangle into your t-shirt, tugging it up and under your armpits, enough to reveal your breasts to the stale air of the room. Anything in an effort to try and alleviate the heat.
âThatâs it, show me. Good girl.â
With your panties, your mouth goes drier than usual at his words. The drawl with which he speaks, slow and syrupy with none of the sweetness, makes you pant.
Joel pumps his fingers with purpose now, your hips canting into his touch. Slow and thorough, youâre reduced to a desperate, wanting thing. Thereâs no shame left to wring from your body, grinding into his hands where the heel of his palm sporadically brushes your clit. If you keep at it like thisâif you keep brushâbrushing into his touchâŚyou couldâŚyou couldâ-
But he slows down.
On purpose.
You blink your eyes open and strangle down the urge to vocalize your displeasure, but you canât stop the way a leg kicks out.
âQuit,â a low, lazy warning.
But your hips wriggle, left and right.
He strikes the side of your thigh again, flesh on flesh ringing through your earsâloud in your relatively empty bedroom.
You nod. You nod and nod and nod. Emphatically. Pathetically. You try to give a show of good faith by bracketing your legs further open and moving your hands above your head.
He shakes his head at you. That disparaging look lining his handsome features, making your skin feel incredibly tight at your own pitiful eagerness.
Joel starts up again. Rougher this time, not letting you ease back into your pleasure and making it twice as hard to keep the noises to a minimum. Maybe that was his plan all along because the struggle to restrain yourself only intensifies the enticing thing flaring wildly inside you.
Heâs drawing out your pleasure to the point tears start to prickle your eyes. Youâre so strung out by your own desire you canât tell which way is up, never forgetting this is something Joel is allowing you to haveâand at any moment he could change his mind.
âYouâre gonna come.â
 The quiet arrogance in his voice, like heâs stumbled upon some embarrassing revelation he can use against you.
And he does just that.
âMmm. Yeah, I thinkâ-â his breathing is ragged, the vulgar squelch of your wetness when he draws his fingers all the way out before slowly pressing back in should embarrass you. Instead, your walls clamp down on him and you bite down on the fabric of your panties. âYouâre gonna come hard.â
His words are unhelpful to keep pace with the rogue way your pleasure wants to gallop away from you. Catching up and then slipping through your fingers like sand, every time your clit meets the heel of his palm.
âYouâve been so goodâquiet,â he whispers and youâre probably dripping right out of his hand. âDo you want to?â
Your brain is too flooded with voracious, selfish thoughts about your own want and need that you nearly miss the question. Itâs like asking if you longed for a warm meal on a cold day, if you wanted the window cracked at the pinnacle of a heatwave, if you wanted to taste the first fruits of spring. Yes, yesâof course, yes. You know he needs an answer, and you know better than to keep him waiting.
The hand heâs been busy worrying the outline of his erection comes up to squeeze your inner thigh in warning.
âRemember. No words.â
So, you nod. You start nodding and screwing your eyes shut so hard stars bloom behind your eyelids. You resist pleading or calling his name, to hear him tell you that you beg so pretty for him.
âThen?â He asks, all taunt and syrupy, slow drawl. âCome.â
His thumb does something irreparable to you. Soft, soft, and then a pressure thatâs so right with a rhythm that you can trust (and you can trust Joel, you trust him with your life).
It has your hips coming off the bed and fisting the edge of the mattress. It takes you by surprise, astounded by the shock that single thought sends through you.
âThere you are,â he says, raspy and barely above a whisper.
Itâs merciless wave after merciless wave surging through your body and locking down everything below your hipsâpulsing desperately around Joelâs fingers pumping into you as he doesnât stop talking you through it. Between your soundless orgasm ripping through you, and your hand coming down to tweak your nipple, you can barely make out his encouraging words.
Thatâs it, and Thatâs my girl, and Come all over my hand, greedy girl.
You canât tell how long it lasts, just the hum of distant generators and the blood rushing through your ears, heartbeat struggling to return to its normal tempo. Your sweat is slick against the bed, body hot all over. You barely register the way Joel moves over you, removes your panties from your mouth, and replaces it with two thick fingers.
The very same two fingers he finished fucking you with, dripping wet.
âWhat do we say?â
Lust-heavy eyes blink blearily up at him, your orgasm a heavy blanket over your sluggish, soupy thoughts. But from the look on his face, eyebrows coming together and forming that deep dent between them, heâs frowning. Joel needs an answer.
Staring up into his eyes, you barely manage to form the words around his fingers. âThank you.â
He watches you lick and suck and drag your lips over his skin. You taste the salt of him, the wetness he drew out of you, and humâsighing through your nose.
Joel is transfixed by the way you relax your throat, taking him deeper, circling his strong wrist to keep him in place.
âNow,â but the word breaks around a curse. He tries again. âNow, what do I get?â
You look up at him, sucking and licking at his fingers, waiting for him to give you further permission to speak.
âHmm?â
Sliding them out with a wet pop, he takes them to a nipple, pinching and tweaking until youâre whimpering.
âAnythingâeverythingâp-please.â
You try to convey your reverence by keeping your t-shirt pulled up and over your breasts, giving him as much access as he pleases.
âPlease. So polite.â Mocking the way you asked. âWhere were your manners earlier, hmm?â
Thereâs no chance of answering him because he closes that short distance as he hovers atop you and takes your bottom lip between his teeth.
And he bites down.
Hard.
Not in a kiss, no, never a kiss. Itâs like heâs channeling all his pent-up frustration into it. Reprimanding you for getting him this heated. All you can do is whimper and moan through it.
âEyes on meâlisten carefully,â Joel releases your lip, and his hand wedges between your bodies. âIâm gonna fuck you now, and I wanna hear every little sound while you take my cock in this greedy pussy.â
He pinches your clit. âOkay?â
âY-yesâplease,â you croak, adding hastily. The promise of more of Joel turns the slowly stoked arousal roiling in your gut to molten heat. That turnabout from earlier rears its head, because at your dutiful reminder to use your manners, Joel swears and strokesâpetsâyour clit.
He sits up between your legs again. His movements feel slower, heavierâmore resoluteâas he undoes his belt. You swallow thickly at the sound of metal clinking, at the worn leather slipping through the loops of his jeans, sliding along his palm as he winds and curls it. He undoes the button, then the smooth slide of his zipper over the strain of his cock.
With one swift tug, he frees his lengthâhard and leaking precum, glistening down the swollen head. Joel gives himself one lazy stroke just for your hungry gaze.
Thereâs an instinctive urge to close your thighs at the sight of him, thick and strong. But youâve taken him so eagerly before, moaning through every pinch as he stretched you out to fuck you right.
Joel grabs at your hips and shifts you over his thighs, your legs coming to rest against his broad shoulders. There was something about him being still clothed while you lay there with your shirt rucked up over your breasts, backs of your naked thighs touching denim and flannel that has your body starting the overheating process all over again.
His gaze doesn't leave yours. An inexplicable something in your expression youâve only seen him wear with you. Thereâs hunger, and then thereâs this.
 Youâre unbelievably wet again. You can feel it the moment Joel nudges his head between your slick slit, sliding it between your lips until it bumps your clit. You writhe and wiggle, gasping and incessant for more. But he gives a reprimanding grunt and holds you still, his grip hard at the flesh of your thigh. Bruises of his fingerprints will bloom there, without a doubt.
Heâs ruthlessly slow, dragging the head of his cock between your lips. You feel the slick slide, the ease with which he could simply slip into you.
âLook at the mess youâre making,â his voice is reduced to a punched-out sound. His own restraint appears to be failing him. âMessy, wet girl. You want this?â
And he slaps the head of his cock against your clit. The noise alone makes you stutter a cry and nod furiously.
âNow you canât speak? Hmm?â Joel slides his length against your clit, letting you grind and rub along his slickened cock. Itâs twitchy, juddery movements from the lack of give thanks to the position. âAfter all that noiseâall that, fuckâall that babbling, you donât know how to ask for what you want?â
Itâs unfair. Itâs unfair you feel like your next orgasm could come barreling through you so easily, all down to being warmed up from your previous pleasure and his mouth.Â
âSay it,â he coaxes, and his head teases your entrance. You hear him let out a pained groanâat the way you instinctively flex around him. He then repeats it, harsher and more ragged with want. âSay it.â
You gasp it. Beg it.
âFuck me,â you feel like youâre coming up for water. âPleasepleaseplease. Fuck me, Iâwantâwant you to fu-fuck me.â
You let out a loud, obscene sound thatâs meant to be a moan, suddenly so full, Joel burying his cock deep in your tight, wet cunt. You can feel the way you immediately, involuntarily clenched down hard around him. He didnât ease you into it, didnât bother letting you adjust to the pressure of him filling you up. Just pressed his hips right into yours in one swift movement, the air leaving your lungs.
You can feel all of him, tightening around him as you sputter and gasp your way through the first stroke.
âJoelââ
âLouder.â
It hadnât been your intention, but he draws out and slams back into you with such force and little pre-empting that his name flies from your lips in a pitchy, choked moan.
At this angle, heâs fucking right up against something debilitating. A spot so seldom pressed against with such fullness you have no choice but to cry out again and again. All you can do is beg for more.
Heâs swearing and gripping your calf, his hips picking up speed. Shoving in and out of you, barely giving you a chance to catch your breath.
Your words are warbled nonsenseâgargled sounds that have no rhyme or reason. Quickly you become feverish with pleasure, flooding your senses as you hold down tight to the mattress. But youâre drifting away faster than you anticipated. The temperature in the room is suffocating, and the sweat forming along Joelâs throat drips into and down his shirt.
He watches with that same something from before, dark eyes drink you up as he starts fucking you into the mattress.
Your mattress.
Your pleasure.
âNoisy girl.â
Youâre sobbing loudly, calling out his name followed by a tight string of pleasepleaseplease. Sweat slicks to your forehead, trickling down the side of your temple and into your hair.
âIs this what you wanted? Huh? Wantedâfuckâwant the neighbors to hear you takingâtaking it so good.â
He slows to let you feel the drag of his cock, making you feel every inch. You can hear the squelch of your wetness, the sound of it so loud that the only thing to rival it is your pitiful pleas.
âJustâjust after some attention, hmm?â Joel huffs. âFucking needy. Shouldâve made you work harder for itâshouldâve bent you over andââ a hand suddenly squeezes your ass roughly, before reeling back to land a hard slap. Hard enough to feel the welt of his handprint for the next few days to come. âAnd made you count them out loud for me.â
âYesâyes, please!â A cry mingles with a gasp.
Joel swears incredulously at your quick response, shaking his headâa derisive look fighting, but unable to break through the intense pleasure already on his face.
He thrusts back into you, and you can feel it pulling you higher and higher with each stroke. Itâs becoming frighteningly clear you wonât be able to hold back any longer.
âClose,â you warn in between another string of nonsense sentences. âCloseâJoelâsoâOhâoh oh!â
A hand comes around and his thumb does that irreparable thing again on your clit. Rougher this time, unforgiving with his touch, and itâs impossible to stop your orgasm from crashing to the surface.
Youâre calling out his nameâpractically screaming so you feel the scrape of his name along your throat. Your hand instinctively comes up to muffle it, only to have Joel wretch it away, leaning over slightly so he can press it into the mattress next to your headâbearing down on you, fucking you harder and faster through your orgasm.
It feels intense, it feels like too much, but he holds you firmly in placeâhis own hips falling into a sloppy rhythm when you squeeze and pulse all around him.
Youâre disoriented, words and more noises streaming out of you as you begâfor what, youâre not even sure anymore, but your hips keep bucking and chasing the last dregs of your orgasm.
Joel follows shortly after, cursing loudly through gritted teeth and pulling out. He fucks himself into a tight fist, hot ropes of cum landing on your stomach.
Tickles and pools at the navel.
He catches his breath, shoulders rising and falling, sitting back until heâs sitting on his heels. Your legs part at either side of him, feet on the mattress, inner thighs trembling lightly.
For a long minute, he gazes at the mess he made. At your spread thighs and wet cunt, at the cum on your belly, the mess on the mattress, and the thoroughly-fucked look on your face. Sweating and sticking to the mattress.
And you let him. Blinking dreamily.
Tucking himself back into his jeans, he zips up and moves over you to tug your shirt the rest of the way off. He uses it to mop up his mess, and while he takes his time to do that you suddenly notice how the early evening darkness has started creeping in. The streetlights have flickered to life and there are distant echoes youâve come to know as FEDRA patrolling.
The mattress shifts and you immediately miss his warmth, the weight of him on your bed. You turn your head away from the window and in his direction, watching his tall retreating form (steps a little slower, but lighter, than when he first arrived).
He stops at your doorway, digging in his back pocket for a moment before producing something. Whatever it is, itâs small. Joel places it with the lightest clink on top of your drawer where youâll eventually get up to fish out a new pair of underwear and shirt.
Itâs a little glass bottle. Inside, some kind of liquid. Reddish-purple. And secured with a tall black cap.
Joel takes one last look at you over his shoulder. A look that stretches on, and tugs something deep and hidden inside you. The last light of the day on his face makes the ache of whatâs buried underneath even worse. He says nothing (as you expected him to) before retreating into the living room or the kitchen or his own room. Youâll hear the noises soon enough, and soon enough youâll know.
Your eyes flick back to the tiny bottle.
A gift.
Joel didnât call it that. Once again, he didnât say anythingâactually. But itâs been part of the silent language you two have developed. A mattress, a shirt, aâ
It clicks.
From the recesses of your brain, still fighting to produce a coherent thought, you realize itâs a bottle of nail polish.
An undeniable swoop in your belly makes your breath catch, like racing down a grassy hill faster than your legs can manage, momentum propelling you faster and faster.
Another gift.
You blink at the harmless trinket in the growing darkness of your room. Proof of the inexplainable thing between you and Joel
(And then you hear him.
Hear the faucet and the clink of glass.
A glass of water for you).
Thatâs the problem with attachment.
ThisâŚthis you could never trade.
For this, you would starve.
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âSay you want me to stay,â You tell him, and he does, whispers it into your mouth, chases your tongue with his.
This fucking MURDERED me holy shit so good so good AHHHHHHHHHH
"You Should Probably Leave" | Joel x Reader oneshot
Part 1 of Play it Again, a new series where each story is a oneshot, but all are shaped around country songs.
Song: You Should Probably Leave â Chris Stapleton
Summary: He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late. And then when he gets home you help him out, too, even though you both know you should probably leave.
Tags/Warnings: MDNI, 18+, smut, porn without plot, prose but kind of poetry/lyrical, sexual tension, PIV, oral (m! receiving), sub!Joel, you're Sarah's babysitter, AU! No outbreak, set in the 90s.
Word Count: 1.4k
A/N: I've taken the lyrics and worked them into the story, so I'd really recommend listening as you read. I've been thinking about writing this series for sooo long because country songs + Joel is a match made in heaven. If you've got any song recommendations, let me know!
Itâs like a dance, a well-worn routine that you both know, practised and perfected after months of repetitions. You both know where it leads but youâll still follow all the steps. Thatâs how it is.
You put Sarah to bed ages ago, spent the last few hours of babysitting on the sofa finishing up some college work, waiting for Joel to get back. His key in the door is a familiar click, the latch sticking the way it always does, his shoulder forcing it open.
You stay where you are. When he comes into the lounge his toolbelt is still strapped around his waist, the remnants of a long dayâs work painted across his handsome face and strewn in dust thatâs collected on the knees of his well-worn jeans and callused hands.
He pauses in the entrance, arm stretched up above him to rest on the mantle of the door, t-shirt pulling up to reveal a strip of tanned skin above his belt. Thereâs a glass of wine half-drunk on the coffee table beside you and your feet are tucked up under you.
Neither of you speak for several long moments. You just watch each other, the tension too delicious to break.
âYou should probably leave,â He says, but you make no effort to move and he stays where he is, too, dark eyes watching you.
His expression is open, taunting, and you already know whatâs going to happen. You untuck your feet and shift them onto the worn carpet, standing to step towards him. His form takes up most of the doorway, his shoulders so broad that they almost touch both sides of the frame.
When you reach it heâs looming over you, blocking the exit off from you if you wanted to leave, but you donât. You turn into him, press your nose to the slice of skin between his shoulder and neck and inhale deeply, smell the work of his day on him: the musk of sweat, the tang of iron and sharpness of wood shavings.
âI suppose it ainât all that late,â he says, voice rumbling through his chest, âstill time for you to finish your wine.â
You wonât finish the wine, but itâs all part of the well-worn routine the two of you have. He works long days. You help out with Sarah, make her dinner, put her to bed when he has to stay late.
And then when he gets home you help him out, too. Let him relieve some of the tension that he carries in his shoulders, on his thick-set jaw. You press the first kiss here, letting the rough caress of his stubble eat into your own cheek. When you let your hands course through his hair, scratching your nails into his scalp, he leans into it, eyebrows pitching up, something like a whimper falling from his lips.
Thereâs a devil on your shoulders, and its urging you each towards the same predetermined end.
âWe shouldnât.â He says, but he doesnât move away.
âJust one kiss?â You ask, feeling him relax into your touch, the bulk of him slipping down the doorframe, bringing his mouth within reach of yours.
âAlright,â He rasps back, his voice pitching with need, and you claim the last syllable with your mouth, press your lips against his, pull a moan from somewhere deep in his chest.
âSay you want me to stay,â You tell him, and he does, whispers it into your mouth, chases your tongue with his.
When he looks at you his gaze so intense itâs almost intimidating, and you recognise the look in his eyes, the need thatâs behind the blown-out pupils and hazy expression.
The slow retreat to his bedroom is well-practised, the carpet belying a well-trodden route you both know. He lets you walk him backwards up the stairs, sighs when you push him against the closed door to fit your mouths together again.
Inside, his bed is unmade and you press him into it, pin his hands above his head and lick a thick strip up his neck, following the tendons to the underside of his jaw.
His moans are the chorus of this well-rehearsed dance. They spur you on as you undress him, revealing the strong lines of his chest, the thick trunks of his thighs, the impressive bulge of his cock in his briefs, already half-hard.
He twitches in your hand when you draw him out and you shift down the bed to take him into your mouth, the head of him heavy and salty on your tongue. His cock swells, the vein that spans the underside pulsing against your palm.
Itâs intoxicating and dizzying and familiar, the recognisable ache in your jaw as you take him into the back of your throat, fist gripping the part of him that wonât fit.
âSo good to me, darlinââ He groans, running shaking fingers through your hair, trying to sit up against the headboard.
âRelax,â you tell him, pushing him back down to lie against the rumpled duvet, âI know what you need.â
You know him and he knows you, and you both know how this goes. You pull back, work your dress up over your head and pull down your panties, which are ruined with your slick, so damp they catch on your thighs as you peel them off. Joelâs eyes widen as he watches; he can never believe you want this â want him â as much as you do.
When you sink down on his length â the fat head of his cock catching at your entrance, making the stretch delicious and white-hot â he squeezes his eyes shut tight.
You run a finger along his eyebrows, coax him to open them and he does, a muscle in his jaw fluttering as you rise up and drag your cunt back down onto him again.
âI wanna do the right thing, baby,â he tells you, as though this â the pinching heat of him between your thighs, the tremble of his hands as he clutches at the flesh of your ass â isnât the greatest thing thatâs ever happened to either of you.
But you know he hates himself for it, hates that heâs a good decade older than you, that youâre Sarahâs babysitter, that this â this twisted arrangement you have where you stay when he gets back and then end up in his bed â is the only thing that gets him through those long works days sometimes.
âI know,â you say, âbut itâs getting kind of hard to resist, isnât it?â
âYou should leave,â he says, thrusting up into you, âwe should â Jesus, baby, just like that â we should stop.â
You arch up off the bed, tilting your hips so that he can drive his cock deeper, bottoming out and groaning brokenly into your ear. Itâs filthy. Depraved, probably: The slap of his hips as he cants them up into yours, the breathy moans that tumble from your mouth, Joelâs desperate, needy curses.
Itâs easy to make him come like this: Three steady, deliberate rolls of your hips and heâs a quivering mess beneath you, his hands fisting in the sheets as he spurts hot and wet inside you.
After, you tell him you should probably leave. He makes you come with his fingers first, tells you to finish your wine, that it still ainât that late.
And when the sunâs on your skin at 6am, heâs there watching you sleep, hoping youâll say youâll stay, even though you should probably leave.
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ONE THING ABOUT ME IS IM GONNA EAT UP A YSD INSTALLMENT LIKE A LAST MEAL
This was so fucking good I literally love how supportive they are of each other and the smut is everything I ever think about ever i meannnnn somno kink go brrrrr
spring breaks loose | joel miller x f!reader
a your summer dream one shot
your summer dream masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates
It's spring, you're young, you're lovely, you have a right to be happy. Come back into the world.
âShirley Jackson, We Have Always Lived in the Castle
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pairing: joel miller x f!reader
rating: 18+
word count: 11.2k
series warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] we'll call him dad's buddy!joel, fairly soft!joel, age difference (28/50), angst, smut (will specify with each chapter), fluff, alcohol, food, secret relationship until it's not.
chapter summary: building bridges and starting fresh. it's springtime in austin.
chapter warnings: smut, lots of fluff, a sprinkling of angst, consensual somnophilia, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, squirting, vaginal fingering, oral (m receiving), alcohol + intoxication, reader is so very eepy, food, discussions of infidelity, a whole lot of dialogue and tying up loose ends, heather comes with her own warning, in this house we hate chris, time hop, pov swapping. no use of y/n.
a/n: we have reached the penultimate chapter of ysd (for real this time). thank you to everyone who has stuck around this long. thank you to @frannyzooey for helping me work out a few things in this chapter, @joelscruff for beta'ing, and @5oh5, who offered me plant guidance many moons ago now.
i also wanted to just boost the fact that i do have a kofi account, and while there is never any pressure to tip, life is hard rn and i always always appreciate the help. love ya'll sm.
*lastly: be sure to see the very end of this post for a special SNEAK PEEK of the upcoming final chapter of your summer dream.
january
-
"I'm really happy," you insist, and in spite of it all, Joel's lips twitch up at the corners. You've told him how happy you are about a thousand times, but watching you confidently profess it to your father is something else entirely.Â
"I'm really happy, okay?" you repeat, firm as you stare down the man across from him. Your father's face remains unchanged, stoic and blank as he nods. Joel swallows tightly as you nod back, and then you're gone.
Neither of the men utter a word until the back door swings shut behind you. Joel can feel your father's eyes on him, but he can't bring himself to meet them. He should say something. He clears his throat but thenâ  Â
"Joel...since Costa Rica?" your father asks. He doesn't sound angry, Joel notes. No, he soundsâŚhurt.Â
At last, Joel looks up from the table, and your father stares back at him with obvious confusion in his eyes. Confusion andâas Joel had imaginedâhurt.Â
Joel sighs.Â
"Yeah," he nods solemnly, shifting in his seat. "Yes."
Your dad just shakes his head, and Joel can practically see the cogs turning in his mind, playing back those days at the resort, piecing it all together in real time.Â
"That whole time we were there, youâ?"
"Noâ" Joel cuts him off. "NotâŚnot the whole time."
Like that makes it better. Your father doesn't look at him, still lost in thought, still shaking his head defiantly.Â
"I wasâŚwe were right across the hall. Youâall that sneaking aroundâweâyouâ"
His rambling dissolves into incoherent sputtering until Joel finally chimes in again.
"I'm sorry," he says, and then he's shaking his head too, like he's just as much in disbelief about the whole thing as his best friend is. And he is, really. Couldn't believe it then, can hardly believe it now. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Goddamnit, Joel," your father suddenly exclaims, a palm coming down hard on the tabletop. His anger seems to catch up with him, as though Joel's quiet apology had somehow been the final nail in the coffin. "She's Sarah's age! I mean, thatâthat's my daughter!"
Joel swallows and sniffs back a heated flow of emotion. He knows he deserves it, deserves every bit of your father's ire. But that doesn't mean it doesn't sting, that feeling of being scolded by his oldest friend in the world. He shrinks a bit and crosses his arms over his chest defensively.
But he doesn't actually defend himself at all. For some reason, he digs the hole deeper. Maybe he's tired of lying.Â
"Younger," he grumbles, staring down at his hands.Â
"What?"
Joel clears his throat, cautiously daring to meet your father's accusatory glare.Â
"She's younger than Sarah."
There's a long and painful beat of silence as your father sits back in his chair with a heavy, exasperated sigh.Â
"What the hell is this, Joel?" he demands. Still biting, still cold, though not quite as infuriated.Â
Joel seizes the opportunity. He leans forward, elbows on the table, pleading. Where to begin? He thinks about what he'd want to hear if the roles were reversedâand starts there.
"Everythin' was mutual, right from the startâI swear," Joel begins. "And I...I mean, I couldn't even remember the last time I seen her before that day at the airport. I ain't never even thought about her like that before. Then we wereâspendin' all this time together, which you wanted us to doâ"
"Uh-uh, don't you go puttin' this on me," your dad cuts in. "You know damn well this ain't what I had in mind."
Joel nods.Â
"I know, I know," he agrees. "I didn't meanâsorry."
Your father doesn't respond. Joel sighs.
"Listen, she was hurtin', manâyou don't know the half of what that boy did to her," Joel attempts to reason. "We got to talkin' about it all and I...I just wanted to be there for her, you know? And, sure, there was attraction there, she's a beautiful girlâ"
"Alright, alright, alright," your father interrupts again, grimacing. "I don't need to hear about all that."
Joel nods again, swallowing back the words he'd been about to sayâthat the attraction had, miraculously, flown both ways. That you'd wanted him just as much as he'd wanted you. That he never would have sought you out if he hadn't known that was true.Â
He contemplates his next words carefully.Â
"Look, it wasn't right to keep it from you," Joel concedes eventually. "Weâor, Iâgot caught up in it. You think I expected this? I mean she justâ," Joel shakes his head, lost for words again as his cheeks warm and his lips curl into this fond little smile when he thinks of how completely and quickly you'd made a home for yourself in his heart, "She took me by surprise, man. But you know what it's like when you got a good thing goin'. You don't wanna risk losin' it."
Your dad just frowns, his mouth seemingly fused into a hard, unforgiving line.Â
"Costa Rica was months ago, Joel."
Joel sighs.Â
"I know. I know, okay? I wanted to tell you sooner. But she wasn't ready for that and I wasn't gonna go against her wishes."
Your father's jaw ticks as he chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking. Coldly assessing the man across from him like he's seeing him for the very first time. Joel crumbles under that stare, hates how it feels coming from someone he's known so long.Â
"You know me, man," Joel pleads, wide eyes boring desperately into your father's. "You know me. When have I ever gone for someone younger? When have I ever even wanted that?"
Your father's face doesn't change but he also doesn't argue, so Joel goes on.
"All I wanna doâall I have ever wanted to do for that girlâis take care of her. And I-I know maybe it'sâŚuncomfortableâ"
Your father scoffs at the understatement of the century, and Joel can't help the way his own lips twitch upwards too. It's a moment of genuine camaraderie, of two fathers well aware of the absurdity of their situation. Their matching grins quickly fade, but nevertheless, Joel feels somewhat more at ease when he next speaks.Â
"âbut it's real," Joel concludes, "What we got. S'hard as it is to understandâand believe me, I ain't even sure I understand it, butâŚ"
His voice trails off into a pensive sigh, mirrored by your father. There's another stretch of silence, but the air feels less tense now, a little less thick with disdain. Again, Joel ponders what he'd want to hear if he was in your father's shoes. What would give him the peace of mind to know this was okay?
"I'mâŚ" he starts to say, but he's shocked to find the words get caught in his throat, obstructed by a sudden lump of emotion. He grunts past it, straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders while your father looks on with furrowed brows.Â
"I'm in love with her," Joel finally manages, voice low and laced with devotion.Â
It's infinitesimal, but Joel could swear he sees your father's eyes soften.Â
"I ain't told her that yet," he continues. "But I think she knows. I think she's a smart girl, and I think she knows this is real, too. Hell, I don't think she'd'a stuck around this long if she didn't think I was serious about her. And so, IâŚI think you gotta trust her on this one. Even if you don't wanna trust me."
Your father crosses his arms over his chest and takes another long, weighty sigh.Â
"Jesus Christ, Joel," he mutters, shaking his head down at the table. But it doesn't sound angry or even hurt anymore. It almost sounds teasing, and Joel almost laughs.Â
"I know," he smirks. "Trust me, I know."
"S'pose I got no business tryna forbid it, do I?" your father says.
"She wouldn't let you even if you tried," Joel replies, grinning wider when he thinks of how you'd respond to that. You, so independent and sure of yourself. Yeah fucking right.
Your dad huffs out a single laugh. "Ain't that the truth."
Tentatively, both men sip at their drinks, falling back into something of a routine. It still feelsâŚawkward. But the worst seems to have passed.
Meanwhile, Joel's heart is pounding in his chest as the reality of his admission catches up with him. He loves you. He's in love with you. He's never said it out loud before. His entire body suddenly aches with the need to see you, just so he can say it again and again and again.Â
Joel polishes off his drink, pursing his lips around the burn of whiskey on his tongue. The two men lock eyes, and Joel thinks maybeâmaybeâhe can see the early signs of forgiveness there.Â
"I get it f'you need some time," Joel says. "Guess I justâŚwanna make sure me n' you are gonna be alright."
Joel's best friend sighs, before nodding slowly and sympathetically.Â
"Yeah," he grunts. "Yeah, we'll be alright. C'monâ"
He cocks his head to the side as he rises up out of his chair and Joel hastily follows suit. Your father pulls him into an affable, if somewhat unsure, embrace, firmly patting his palms over Joel's upper back. Joel returns the hug instinctively.
"Don't fuck this up, Miller," your father grumbles over Joel's shoulder.
Joel chuckles, honestly grateful for the familiar ribbing. "Won't. Promise."
That's about the time you come charging back through the door.
-
four months later
-
A blanket of grey coats the early-April sky above, a telltale sign of rain to come. It's appropriately ominous, you think, considering what you're about to do.
Joel herds you toward his truck in the driveway with a hand on your lower back, but something in your periphery gives you pause. A glimpse of colour that hadn't been there before, stopping you in your tracks about halfway down his front steps.Â
"Those are new."
Joel stops too, following your eye line as he casually throws an arm across your shoulders. He smiles when he sees what you see, letting you guide him a little closer to what had once been an unassuming, mostly barren patch of dirt on his front lawn. Now, poking out from the otherwise lifeless bushes are a handful of tulips, vivid green stems giving way to pink and yellow petals, tentatively blooming in spite of the day's limited sunlight.Â
"OhâŚyeah," Joel shrugs. "Sarah and I planted 'em. Years ago. Grow back every year around this time."
You're not sure why that stirs something in you. But it does.Â
Joel Miller has tulips in his garden.
Curiously, you inch towards them, crouching to delicately curl your fingers around the unfurling petals.
"They're beautiful," you muse. You turn to face him and find he's watching you with equal curiosity. "Pink and yellow?"
"She picked the pink."
"Adds up," you nod. "What made you go with yellow?"
He stares at your fingers fiddling with the stems, and shrugs. You think he seems a little shy.Â
"Can't remember," he says. "They're sunny, I guess. Bright."
A tightness knots in your throat as he reaches out beside you to touch his own fingers to the petals, softly running his thumbs against them, seemingly deep in thought. You think of a younger Joel Miller, picking out yellow tulip seeds to plant with his daughter because they reminded him of the sun. A younger Joel Miller digging holes in the Earth to lay down his roots, burying a memory only to watch it grow back, year after year. A sure thing, a constant. Always there even if you can't see them.
Of course Joel Miller has tulips in his garden.Â
"What?" he probes after a moment of prolonged silence. You clear your throat.Â
"Nothing," you smile, craning to kiss his cheek and feeling the low rumble of his responding chuckle against your lips. "I love you."
He cups a hand over your face before you can get too far, pressing his mouth to yours in a deeper, far less chaste kiss.Â
"I love you too," he murmurs as he pulls away.Â
You're still thinking about the tulips as Joel backs out of the driveway, and the first of the day's raindrops begin to hit his windshield. You make your way out of the safety of the cul-de-sac, and with the low hum of the radio playing in the background, you count the houses on the street outside your window in an attempt to calm your nervous mind.Â
Joel doesn't interrupt your silence. But as you merge onto the freeway, your heart begins to poundâand you decide you need a distraction.Â
"It's nice they grow back every year," you say absently out the window.Â
"Hm?" Joel's brows furrow as he glances over at you, sitting with your chin atop your fist and staring out at the steadily increasing rainfall. He quickly catches up with your train of thought. "Oh, the tulips. Yeah, it is nice. 'Specially after Sarah left. They always reminded me of her."
You nod and make some noncommittal humming sound. Talking was a stupid idea actually.Â
As ever, Joel notes your demeanour.Â
"You alright?" he asks, taking your hand across the centre console and squeezing three distinct times.Â
You sigh.
"Just nervous."
"You'll be fine," he insists lightly, not for the first time. "I reckon she's a lot more nervous'n you are."
You can't argue with that. Heather is the one who fucked your ex-boyfriend. Heather is the one working to make amends. Heather is the one who threw away your friendship and is now asking for it back.Â
"Yeah, that's probably true," you agree quietly.Â
Joel sighs. He lifts your conjoined hands to his mouth to lay a kiss against your knuckles, keeping his eyes on the road as he does.Â
"JustâŚremember, you're not goin' there to forgive her or toâŚpretend like nothin' happened," he says. "But I think you'll feel better once y'get this all hashed out."
"I know you're right," you nod, allowing the truth of his words to wash over you as you take another steadying breath and lean your head back into the seat behind you. "I just feel like I-I've been carrying the weight of this for too fucking long. I have to let it go. I'm doing the right thing."
It's a mantra you have to keep reminding yourself ofâyou're doing the right thing. Not just from a being the bigger person standpoint, but for you. You need to do this so you can close this chapter of your life for good.Â
"You're takin' the time to hear her out after all the shit she put you through," Joel goes on. "Makes you a better person than most people I know."
The pride and adoration in his voice makes warmth bloom in your tummy, but you roll your eyes all the sameâout of habit more than anything else.Â
"I don't know about that."
"I do."
His gaze darts in your direction again, and there is no trace of a lie in that look. So you choose not to fight him, just smile tightly and accept his reassurance, falling back into comfortable quiet for the rest of your drive.Â
By the time he pulls up in front of the cafe you'd agreed to meet Heather at, your nerves have returned tenfold. Is she already inside? You're ten minutes early so maybe not. Is it better if you're here first or would that make her feel weird? Why are you worried about making her feel weird? Â
God, it never used to feel this terrifying to see your best friend. You have half a mind to ask Joel to wait with you but ultimately decide against it. You need to be a big girl about this.Â
"I can do this," you tell yourself instead.Â
"You can," Joel agrees, taking you in his arms and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Call me if it goes south and I'll come pick y'up, alright?"
You nod resolutely as you unravel yourself from his hold.Â
"'Kay. Thank you."
"Good luck, baby girl."
With one last parting kiss, Joel lets you go, watching you from the driver's seat until you disappear behind the door of the cafe.
-
Heather is not there yet, as it turns out, and you can't tell if that makes this better or worse.Â
Now you're faced with new dilemmas. Should you order her a coffee? You haven't seen her in eight months; what if she takes it differently now?Â
She fucked your boyfriendâwhy would you buy her a coffee? the pettier part of you wonders.
And that'sâŚtrue, you suppose.
So you buy yourself a latte and get it in a to-go cup, find a seat at a two-person table in the back of the dining room and wait. But not for long.
Barely five minutes later and Heather is coming through the door. She spots you and there's a moment of awkward uncertainty as you half-rise from your chair, the both of you waving at each other before Heather gestures to the line at the till. You nod and retake your seat.
You resist the urge to text Joel. You can do this. You can do this on your own.
Heather settles up, cautiously setting her coffee cup on the table beside yours and you're not sure whyâinstinct or somethingâbut you stand when she gets there, and let her pull you into a hug.Â
"Hi, babe." Her voice is thick and her arms are tight around you. And, goddamnit, for everything she put you through, there is a familiarity in that embrace, something long-forgotten in the warmth of her voice.Â
"Hey," you murmur, letting her squeeze you in tighter before you both pull away. "Hey."
She assesses you with wide, wet eyes, hands still resting on your shoulders.
"You look amazing," she says.
"Thanks."
"I don't even know where to start," she shakes her head. "Thank you for seeing me."
"Of course." Like you hadn't stewed over it for literal weeks.
"Why don't I justâI mean, I have toâ"
You can see her struggling, and you can't help but sympathize. She was always the more confident of the two of you, always more direct and braveâbut in that warm kind of way that used to always put you at ease. Now, she seems completely lost, awkwardly taking a seat and waiting for you to do the same. She clutches her hands around her coffee cup and you don't think you've ever seen her look so small.Â
"I amâŚso fucking sorry," she finally says. She doesn't shy away from you when she says it, and you have to respect her courage for that. She looks you dead in the eyes and doesn't avert her stare even once.Â
You swallow tightly. "I know."
"Can IâŚwould you let me explain?"
"Actually, Heather," you say, straightening in your seat a bit to steel yourself. Heather's face falls, until you go on, "Can I go first? I just need to say my piece and then, yes, you can explain."
She's nodding furiously before you even get the words out.
"Of course, yes, oh my god, please."
She sits back, probably gearing up for the lashing of a lifetime. It's not quite what you have planned butâ
"You really hurt me. You and Chris. Whatever the story is, whatever went down, it doesn't change the fact that what you two did just... completely fucked me up. My entire life changed overnight because of you. I spent so many days crying, screaming, trying to just...figure out what I'd done to deserve that. Why wasn't I enough? Why wasn't I good enough for Chris? Why wasn't I a good enough friend to you? Like, if I was a better friend to you maybe you wouldn't have done that to me, you know?"
Fat tears slowly well in Heather's eyes as you speak, finally spilling over as you near the end of your monologue. But she doesn't interrupt or argue, and for that, you're grateful.
"I wondered about all of that for a really long time," you continue. "In those first few days when it was hardest...and for so many months after. But...I'm okay now. I think actually it all kind of worked out in the end, as crazy as that sounds."
At least it had all brought you to Joel.
"But I just needed you to know what it did to me. I think it's important that you know."
Heather hastily swipes at her tears, blinking them away and nodding her agreement.
"And that's it, that's all I have to say," you conclude. The weight on your shoulders feels lighter already. "You don't have to say anything back but...I do want to hear you out. You can...you can tell me what happened now."
That was the point of all this after all, you guess.Â
Heather takes a deep, shaky breath. You sip your coffee.Â
"Okay. Well, fuck. Okay. I had feelings for Chris," she begins. "But I neverâI never dreamed of acting on them while you two were together, you have to know that. It wasn't premeditated or-or-or something I actively thought aboutâ"
"I never thought that."
It's true. Heather's a lot of things, but she's not conniving.Â
"Okay," she nods, seeming genuinely relieved. "Good. I mean, it still doesn't make it right, I know that. But heâ"
She cuts herself off, a nervous shiver passing over her. Her courage wanes, and she looks down at the table as she dives into the part of her story that neither of you wants you to relive.Â
"That night at your birthday party, he started telling me things. HeâŚ"
Her voice trails off again, and you can understand her fears, but you need to know this. Whatever it is.
"Heather, it's okay, you can tell me."
She glances up at you. You make your resolve as clear as possible on your face until you see her nod.Â
"What happened wasâŚI was drunk and I-I told him how I felt," she continues. "I shouldn't have done that, I know that. But that's when he started saying all this stuff about how he wasn't happy and how he was planning to break up with you. He-he said he'd always wanted to be with me instead."
She stops, peeking up at you, but the only response you can offer her is a curt little,
"Oh."
Interesting. He'd made no indication of his unhappiness to you.Â
"In that moment, I justâŚI believed him. I should have just come straight to you but I let my stupid feelings get in the way and Iâ"
"He can definitely be very convincing," you say bitingly. Heather almost laughs, but quickly reins herself in.Â
"It's no excuse, and I know that," she says. "I just really thought he meant it. That he was going to end it with you and choose me instead. Not that that would have been okay either, but. God, in hindsight, I just was not thinking clearly at all."
Heather buries her face in her hands but it's getting hard to focus. You're flitting back through memories, trying to piece things together. Had there been signs? Since meeting Joel, you're acutely aware that you hadn't been as happy as you could have been with Chris, but you can't ever recall letting that on at the time. And you certainly can't recall Chris ever letting on his unhappiness. It doesn't add up.Â
"Then he did end it with you and you went to Costa Rica and I felt like, 'Okay, this is what he'd promised,' butâŚI could tell right away he was having second thoughts. All of a sudden, he's changing his tune, saying he wants to get back together with you and basically telling me I could just be like a-like a side piece or something."
At that, you scoff mirthlessly. Of course.
That's why he hadn't let anything on. He'd been trying to have his cake and eat it too. Motherfucker.Â
"Yeah," Heather goes on. "So I said, 'Fuck you' and I walked. I was already feeling terrible about what I'd done to you and that just settled it for me."
"Fuck," you sigh, pinching at a pressure point between your eyes.
"And I haven't talked to him once since then," Heather insists. She reaches across the table and wraps a hand around your wrist, and you let her. "I promise."
You place your own hand over hersâagain operating on some kind of deep-seated instinct.Â
"Thank you," you tell her. "ForâI don't know, for being honest."
"I would've told you everything sooner if you'd have let meâ"
"I know."
"But I knowâI know you needed your time. You didn't have to hear me out at all, and I would have deserved that. I take full responsibility, I do, but, my god, babeâ," Heather's lips pull up in a smirk and you share a knowing glance, "âthat guy fucking sucks."
You could try to fight the way your own face contorts into a grin, but you don't.Â
"Yeah," you agree. "He really fucking does."
There's a short beat of silence, filled with the sounds of your uncertain, quiet laughter.
"Are we okay?" Heather finally asks tentatively, letting your arm go. "Orâshit. Sorry. You don't have to answer that."
"NoâitâŚI don't know yet," you say truthfully. "But, you know, I don't think you deserve what he did to you, either. And I'm sorry."
"I'm okay now. All I really care about is you."
You smile at each other tightlyâuncertainlyâand sip quietly at your coffees. She doesn't demand forgiveness or push the subject further. You think the air feels just a little clearer now, a little more like before.
"So what's new with you?" she chimes in after a moment. "How've you been? You never post on Instagram anymore."
Your smile turns a little shy as you debate telling her about Joel. But her gaze is so earnest and curious, it makes you want that normalcy, to be able to gush to your best friend about the man you've fallen in love with.Â
"Well," you shrug, sitting up a little straighter in your chair. "I'm seeing someone."
Heather's jaw drops in genuine delight, her eyes going wide with wonder.
"No way! Tell me everything."
And you do. You tell her all about Joel and Costa Rica, and every perfect moment since. Heather gasps and squeals at all the appropriate times and you find yourself remembering why it feels so good to have someone to talk about these things with. It's so validating to watch someone be as excited about your love life as you feel about it.Â
"Wait," she interrupts, early on in your retelling, "If he's your dad's friendâhow old is he?"
You bite your lip, hardly bashful about it these days, but after the disaster that was telling your parents, you never know how someone could react anymore.
"He's in his fifties," you confess.
Heather's hands come up over her mouth, but her eyes are swimming with barely-contained glee.
"Shut up, oh my god," she exclaims. Her initial shock fades into awe, and when her hands fall from her face, you think she looks kind of impressed, "Damn, girl. That's hot. Is he hot?"
You smile. "He's so fucking hot."
When you're home later, you'll have to remember to tell Joel how good it had felt to brag about him. You're sure he'll act coy, but you know it'll make his ego bloom, just a little bit.
It goes on like that as the minutes pass, you catching Heather up on the whirlwind that the last eight months or so have been. She looks kind of proud, and that feels good too. You're so proud of Joel, proud of the life you've built together, the way he's taught you so much about yourself and helped you grow into this new, happier person. It's nice to have someone else see that.
"So, your mom still doesn't approve?" she asks once you've got her fully up to speed.
You shrug. "Not as far as I know. I haven't spoken to her since that night we told them."
"Oh, babe."
You just shrug again, pushing back on her sympathetic gaze.Â
"Maybe she just needs some time," Heather posits, "I mean, you seem so happy. She'll see that eventually."
"Maybe, yeah."
Heather offers you her own scoop after that, telling you all about how she's been busy working on herself, taking courses to get her yoga-teaching license and enjoying being single for the time beingâthough she does work in a few stories of some particularly exciting hook-ups. She seems well, and in spite of everything, you're happy for her.Â
What's more, you kind of don't want your time with her to end. She seems to sense it too.
"Hey, do you want to maybe grab a drink? Like, a real drink?" she offers once your take-out cups are empty and the cafe's traffic has slowed to an early-evening lull.Â
"Yeah, okay, fuck it," you agree with a shrug. Heather smiles excitedly before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you to check your phone for the first time in hours.
Everything good? reads a text from Joel.Â
all good, you reply, i'll be a little later than i thought.Â
Take yr time. Love you.
love you too.
-
A cocktail deep, pop music blaring, and a plate of nachos between you; this is true familiarity with Heather. Â
You're finally starting to feel some semblance of comfortable, and it feels fucking good. To laugh with an old friend, even if there's still that faint undercurrent of distrust there. You imagine it won't ever fully go away. The minutes tick by, and while that distant uncertainty never fades, it gets easier. It gets fun.
"So, be honest," Heather says, diving headfirst into her second blended margarita. Her eyes sparkle with a devious little glint and you already have a feeling what she's going to ask. "This guyâŚhe's in his fifties, right?"
"Right," you grin.Â
"So likeâŚwhat's the sex like?"
Your grin widens as a warmth floods your cheeks. You think about Joel, his patience and his generosity, his big cock and his skillful hands. His curiosity and his devotion, every new experience he's offered you and how genuinely thrilled he seems to do so. You try not to think about it for long, though, because your tummy is already fluttering in a way it really shouldn't be in public.
"Honestly," you say, sipping at your drink coyly. "I don't think it could possibly be any better."
Heather makes a delighted little noise, practically bouncing her chair.Â
"Oh my god, okayâŚbut what about like, his stamina?"
"Um," you laugh. "Hasn't been an issue yet."
"I love this for you so much, babe," she smiles and it sounds like she really means it. "Can I see what he looks like?"
You have no qualms saying no to that. You may be stupidly in love, but you don't think it's biased of you to find Joel Miller beautiful. It's simply an objective truth. And it feels good to show him off.
You pull your phone out of your purse and flash Heather your lockscreenâa picture of Joel on the beach in Costa Rica, salt-and-pepper curls tousled in the breeze, soft belly poking out over his swim trunks, smiling at you over his broad shoulders.
"Oh my god," Heather repeats, yanking your phone right out of your hand for a better look. She taps the screen to keep it alive as she stares between the picture and you, smiling triumphantly across from her. "Whoa."
"Mhm," you smirk, your chest swelling with pride.Â
âThat's a man, baby," she commends you, handing back your phone. You sneak a parting glance down at the image of Joel on your screen before locking it. Heather sits back against the booth behind her, shaking her head in wonder. "And he sounds like he's so good to you."
You nod, sighing dreamily. "Yeah...he's the best."
"Good. You deserve that."
It's honestly a touching sentiment, one that makes you warm and soft. You didn't know how nice it would feel to have just one person in your life accept your relationship with Joel without any convincing at all. You share a smile and clink your glasses.Â
"I need an older man," Heather jokes, the sincerity of the moment quickly dissipating. "I'm so sick of boys."
"Joel certainly puts Chris to shame, that's for sure," you admit candidly.Â
Heather huffs. "Yeah, well, that's not saying much, is it?"
You almost squirt your drink out through your nose.Â
"Sorry, oh my god," Heather laughs, but it's too late. And it's probably wrong, but you don't care. You both descend into a fit of giggles at your ex's expense, and something about it feels weirdly cathartic.
-
It's like old times after that. Easier to forget the drama when you're three drinks deep and laughing so much. You're comfortably drunk in a way you haven't been in a while, falling quickly back into your usual repartee with Heather. You feel lighterâfreerâas you and Heather find your way to the dance floor and pick up basically where you'd left off nearly a year ago.
You also miss Joel.
He's being respectful, clearly trying to give you space, texting you to be safe when you'd let him know you'd be staying out a little longer. And that's nice and all, but you've talked about him so much tonight, and for all the fun you're having, you just want his arms around you and his lips on yours again.Â
"Didn't we go to high school with that guy?" Heather leans in close as you dance, effectively distracting you.
You follow her stare across the bar, averting your gaze the second you lock eyes with a handsome stranger leaning against the far wall. He's with a friend, and the two of them eye you and Heather with unabashed interest.
"Which one?" you giggle.Â
"The one on the left!"
You peek over at the men again, honing in on the one on the left. He does kind of look familiar. He's also still watching the two of you curiously.
"UhâŚ" you wrack your brain, trying to recall. It feels like a lifetime ago.
"Tom!" Heather exclaims. You shake your head.Â
"That doesn't sound right."
"No, it is! Tom from the basketball team, remember?"Â
You look over again, but it's still not clicking. Maybe you're drunker than you'd thought.
"He's kinda cute," Heather murmurs slyly in your ear. You grin.Â
The man is tall and lean, light-haired and certainly good-looking enough. A little older than both of you, but younger than the broader, burlier man beside him. You think maybe they could be brothers.Â
"Do you want to say hi?" you ask her.Â
Heather shakes her head.
"I have a better idea," she winks.
She grabs your hand and guides you to the bar, leaning against it and lengthening her body ever so. It doesn't take long before the men are coming up beside you like clockwork.Â
You could always count on Heather to find a way to get free drinks.
"What are you drinking, ladies?" the younger one implores confidently, placing an elbow on the bar top beside Heather. "Oh shit, do I know you?"
"I want a shot," Heather says, ignoring his question. "You guys want a shot?"
"Fuck, yeahâwhiskey alright?"
"Tequila," Heather smirks definitively.
-
Despite being out of practice, you haven't lost the ability to recognize good vibes from bad. And the guys give off good vibes. Especially once you all collectively figure out that you did indeed go to high school together.Â
You shoot a pointed look at Heather when the younger one tells you his name is, in fact, Tim.Â
"From the basketball team, though, right?" Heather asks. Tim frowns.
"Actually, it was water polo," he says.
"Water polo!" Heather repeats, looking at you with open arms and winking. You try to conceal your giggling. "Of course, I remember now."
Tim grins bashfully, even though you are sure Heather most certainly does not remember.Â
You cheers to the Ravens and down your shots and then Tim ushers Heather back to the dance floor. You happily let her go. Tim seems kind of goofy, consistently making Heather throw her head back in laughter and it honestly feels nice to watch her look so content. You think about how Joel had made you feel those first few days in Costa Rica, when you'd still been reeling with all that heart ache.Â
You think about how much resentment you'd harboured for Heather back then, and while it's not totally gone, there's a sense of kinship there now too. Chris had hurt you both, and you know all too well how healing it had been to find someone willing to stitch up the wounds he'd left. You want that for Heather.Â
Goddamnit, you miss Joel.Â
You imagine showing him off to all your old high school friends like he was some kind of trophy husband at a class reunion. You'd walk into the gymnasium, hanging confidently off his arm and everyone there would turn and stare. They'd all whisper about his age, you bet. Call you mean names behind the bleachers and gossip about whether or not he was your sugar daddy. Thinking like that used to make you anxious, now it makes you grin.Â
"You want another drink?"
The other guy, Mike, is still sitting with you at the bar. He is Tim's brother, though you don't recognize him at all. Two years older and visiting from Philly, he's pretty clearly into you. But the conversation has been easy and he hasn't tried anything weird, so you don't think too much of it. You regale him about all your favourite local taquerias and what you studied in college, conscious of the way he seems just a little bit too interested in all of it.Â
But you definitely don't need another drink, bordering on the better side of too drunk, and as nice as he is, you think it's probably best not to lead him on any longer.Â
"Actually, I think I might head out soon."
"That's cool," Mike shrugs, polishing off the beer in his hand. "Wanna go grab a bite? Keep hangin' out?"
He sounds casual enough, but there's also an air of hopefulness in his voice.Â
"Oh, that's okay." You clear your throat, suddenly nervous at the thought of quashing that hope. "I'm, um, I'm actually spoken for."
Unconsciously, your fingers fly to the shell around your neck, fiddling idly with the chain. Mike's eyes follow the motion.
Much to your relief, Mike smiles, seemingly unbothered.Â
"Makes sense," he nods. His eyes trail up and down your body in a way that makes your cheeks burn. It also really makes you miss Joel. He's the only one you want looking at you like that.Â
"Well, he's a lucky guy, whoever he is," Mike says with a wink.Â
"Yeah," you agree fondly. "He is."
-
It's a quarter past eleven when Joel finally hears a car pull up outside. Two minutes later and your key is turning in the door, Henry bounding off the bed beside him to greet you downstairs.Â
"Hi, baby boy!"
Your voice, high-pitched and much too loud, cuts through the quiet of his home. He smiles to himself as he listens to you kick your shoes off, murmuring unintelligible nonsense to Henry as you both make your way back up to the bedroom. Joel sets his book on the nightstand and tilts his glasses down his nose, sitting up straighter until you emerge in the doorway with Henry in your arms and a crooked smile plastered across your face.Â
"Hey, sweetheart," he smirks.
You visibly soften at the sight of him, Henry spilling out of your grip.
"Hi," you whine.
Joel can't quite get a read on your energy, watching you curiously strip off your jeans and crawl up the mattress till you're splayed out on top of him.   Â
"Mmmm, Joel," you sigh dreamily as you make yourself at home across his chest.Â
"I take it that went alright?" he asks, wrapping an arm around your neck to stroke the back of your head. You practically purr into his sternum and the sound makes his insides turn.
"Yes," you nod, before pressing both hands into his shoulders to push yourself up so you're straddling him, "But, JoelâŚ"
Now face to face, you appear a bit dazed as you blink down at him, an adorable little pout painting your features. Joel smirks, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he waits for you to finish your thought.
"I missed you so much," you conclude, catching him off guard when you fist the front of his t-shirt and dive forward to slant your mouth over his.
You plunge your tongue between his lips and Joel can taste tequila there, can feel it too in the way you're kissing him; sloppy, hungry, eager.Â
"Only been gone a few hours, sweetheart," he chuckles against your lips.
"I know, butâŚafter the cafe, we went drinking andâ"
"No shit."
With what appears to be considerable effort, you push yourself off his chest and point an accusatory finger in his face. Your eyes narrow and Joel thinks you look a little too adorable for your own good.Â
"Watch it, Miller."
Joel grins.Â
"Mmmm, or what?" he hums, tracing his palms up and over your sides, which seems to distract you for a moment, your eyelids fluttering as a minute shiver visibly courses through you. You quickly pull yourself together.
Your blissful features quickly dissolve back into an overdone pout and Joel watches with amusement as you pry his fingers off your body. He could resist, but he doesn't, honestly just curiousâand maybe a little turned onâas you collect his wrists in your hands and pin his arms down on the mattress beside his head.
Seemingly content with your work, you hold him there with eyebrows raisedâand Joel decides to let you have the win.Â
"Can I finish my story, please?"
"Yes, ma'am," he smirks. You bristle at that but otherwise manage to stay on track.
"We went drinking, and it was really, really fun," you go on. You shift your weight slightly, and Joel smirks when he catches the moment you lose your train of thought at the feeling of his hardening cock beneath you.Â
"And?" he presses.
"I-I think I'm still mad at herâŚbut it wasâŚnice."
"That's good, baby," Joel murmurs, experimentally rolling his hips upwards just to watch your eyelids flutter. "I'm real proud of ya."
You exhale, making a sound that's almost a sob as you abandon your grip around his wrists to fold yourself over his chest again. You greedily kiss his neck and his ears and his face, and Joel lets you. Your drunken desperation is making him harder than he'd like to admit, and it's pretty fucking endearing to watch you suck your little marks into his skin with no inhibitions whatsoever.
"I talked about you a lot," you smile, clumsily resituating yourself so you're lying against his side, folding yourself in half so you're speaking the words against his belly.Â
"Yeah?" He rests his hand on the back of your skull, chuckling at the way you keen into his touch. "Talked about me how?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," you sneer just as you curl your fingers under the waistband of his boxers.
"What're you doin' there, baby girl?"
You peer up at him with a devastating puppy-dog stare, all wide-eyed and needy. "I missed your cock. I just wanna suck on it a little."
"Jesus," Joel breathes. He's powerless to fight you then as you tug his boxers down his thighs to reveal his semi-hard cock. He really shouldn't let you in this state but you're already wrapping your fingers around him and tonguing at his slit and it's too fucking late now. He stiffens fully in your grasp and promptly loses any will to stop you.
Then you close your lips around his length and take him as deep as you can, moaning like he's just given you the sweetest gift in the world.Â
"Fuck, yeah, you missed it," he grunts as you begin to bob, downright eager with it, if not lacking some of your usual finesse. You coat his cock with sloppy strings of saliva and move on him in an uneven rhythm but Joel's not gonna argue with a hot, wet mouth. Joel is more than happy to watch you take what you want from him.Â
"Messy girl," he remarks affectionately, stroking a palm down your spine to your ass, firmly cupping your cheek in his hand. "This all you wanted? Just to come home and let me stuff that pretty little mouth?"
"Mhm," you hum blissfully around him, spluttering a bit as you swallow him down again.
"Fuck, that's a good girl," he groans.
At that, you whimper, your cheek falling into his belly with your mouth still closed around his cock. You keep up the motions of your mouth for a moment, humming and moaning around him as you draw precum from his tip and suck it down greedily until he feels your jaw slowly begin to slacken.
He pets your hair and your body goes loose, heavy where it lays across his middle.
Joel can sense a shift in you then, your eagerness fading even as you continue to lap at his tip. Your fingers feel a little weaker around his shaft but you don't let up, lazily jerking him until he feels your hand go still, your lips barely grazing him anymore. You offer him a few wet, open-mouthed kisses to the head of his cock and then you go limp.
Joel waits a moment to be sure, peeking down at you questioningly.
Sure enough, you're asleep.Â
"Oh, baby," Joel sighs fondly. He squeezes your ass but you don't stir. Your slow, steady breathing lets him know you're really out, his hard cock forgotten in your grasp. You'll probably be embarrassed in the morning, but Joel's just stupidly endeared, hoisting you up into his arms and ignoring your half-conscious sounds of protest.Â
"C'mere, sweetheart, there you go."
He nestles up behind you, cradling you into his chest with his cock pressed against your ass. You shimmy back into him and Joel tries to ignore the ache, tells himself it'll feel better to fuck you in the morning when you've sobered up anyway. He reaches back to turn off the lamp on the nightstand and you whine at the loss of his body against yours.Â
"Joel," you whisper as he retakes his place behind you. "Did you come?"
He fights for his life not to burst out laughing. You're so goddamn cute.
"No, baby," he murmurs, kissing his favourite spot behind your ear. "Made me feel real fuckin' good, though. You can make me come tomorrow, alright?"
You hum contentedly, already drifting back to sleep. Joel pulls you in tighter, whispers that he loves you even though he doesn't think you can hear him, and it's not long before he's following behind you.
-
His alarm wakes him just as a beam of sunlight passes through his window, but it doesn't have the same effect on you.
You snooze peacefully with your back adhered to his chest, the gentle curve of your ass still flush against his cock. Your panties are gone; had you gotten up in the night? He can't remember now. It doesn't matter anyway, not when he can feel the heat of your body this close, bare flesh all soft and warm against him as the memory of the night before floods his senses. He'd fallen asleep with his dick still hardâachingâand within seconds of being awake, he's right back where you'd left him last night.Â
Not that it's uncommon for Joel to wake up horny when he sleeps next to you, but it's worse like this, worse that he's already felt your lips on his cock just a few hours prior, without getting the chance to come down your throat.
"Hey," he murmurs into your hair, but you don't wake up. You just move your hips backwards unconsciously, the hard length of his cock pressing warm between your cheeks. Driving him fucking crazy and you don't even know it.
Joel growls, a low, carnal sound he barely recognizes as he trails a hand down the side of your body. He cups your ass in his palm and spreads your cheeks apart, the tips of his fingers just barely grazing your hole. You shiver and Joel smirks. Sound asleep and you still respond to having your ass played with. Something about knowing you so well makes him that much harder.Â
Pliant and gone, you let him play with you, hands traversing every inch of your skin, up and over your belly to cup your breasts. His breath ragged in your ear, he gently twists your nipples just to feel them come alive under his touch. You squirm for him and Joel responds in turn, unable to help himself as he begins to slowly rut his hips against you.Â
"Sweet thing," he husks, feeling his touch grow rougher on your hipbone, your ass flush against his bulge as he grinds into you like a fucking teenager. "You don't even fuckin' know. Got no idea what youâre doin' to me, do you?"
He knows you can't hear him. Right now, he doesn't care.Â
He's wanted you like this since Costa Rica, too nervous to ask until you'd given him the okay all those months ago now. He's had you so many ways, and still you say you want more. He's not sure what he ever did to deserve you, but if one thing's been true from the start, it's that Joel Miller is not strong enough to deny you anything.Â
Something about this, though, feels decidedly selfish. His hand on your thigh, positioning your pliant muscles to his liking, bending your leg at the knee just so he can spread you open wider, slip his fingers between your ass cheeks and scrape them over your bare pussy; that's for him.Â
The sticky wetness he feels thereâthat's his.Â
Your spine arching in your sleep when he sinks two fingers into your warm, dripping holeâthat's because of him.Â
"Still want it, baby?" he hums as he pumps his fingers in and out. "Still want this cock?"
He doesn't wait for you to answer. For once, he just takes.Â
You put up no resistance as he replaces his fingers with his cock, pulling your body back into him until his hips meet your ass.
"Fuck," he hisses as he bottoms out.
You're so warm, so tight and inviting and perfect around him.
You're so wet, slick pools of arousal coating the hairs on his lower belly, sticking to your skin where it touches his.
And you're so soft, all gooey and loose in his arms as he slowly rocks into you, as close as he can possibly get and somehow never close enough.Â
"S'my good girl," he breathes, "Take it just like that for me. Finish what you started, huh?"
He moves without haste, content just to feel you like this, close and confined under the covers. Experimentally, he reaches around you to touch his fingers to your clit, sighing in amazement when your pussy clenches on his cock, a wave of slick gathering at the place you're connected.
"Yeah? That feel good?" he says to no one as he gently circles your pearl. He's rewarded with a breathy little moan, the prettiest fucking sound he's ever heard. His hips snap against yours with more force now, jostling you with you every thrust. He can feel his control waning, and he's gonna wake you up soon if he's not careful.Â
Maybe he's done being careful.Â
Cock still buried inside you, he rolls you both so he's lying above you, your body prone to the mattress beneath him. Your fingers curl into little fists and then you gasp, eyelids fluttering against the light of morning. Something dark and animalistic twists in him when he watches the awareness creep across your face, the way your features contort and you strain to look back over your shoulder, piecing it all together.Â
"Oh my god," you whine when it clicks. "Joel, fuck, fuckâohmygodJoelâ"
"Shh, I know, baby, I knowâŚI got you, you're okay," he babbles, folding over you to nip hungrily at your shoulders. You throw your head back and expose the column of your neck to him and Joel bites down there too just because he can. "Just had to feel you like this. You were so wet."
"Oh, fuck," you cry, voice still hoarse with sleep as Joel pounds into you harder. No reason to hold back now. "Fuck yes, Joel, take it."
"Yeah?"
"Please."
That's all he needs to hear.
With his arms wrapped firmly around your middle, Joel sits back onto his knees, taking you with him as he drapes you over his thighs and pulls you down onto his length. Your body still feels weak with sleep, almost passive in his grasp in a way he's not sure he should enjoy so much. He doesn't overthink it.Â
What he does is find your clit again, massaging his fingers over the bundle of nerves while he thrusts his cock up into you. A wanton moan pours from your throat and Joel catches it in a messy, open-mouthed kiss.Â
"There you go, there you go," Joel rambles when he feels you start to quiver, your pussy constricting around him as you spill listless, needy sounds of pleasure onto his lips. "Feels so good, don't it? Wakin' up with a cock inside you. This is what you wanted. Yeah? You gonna come?"
"Yesyes, fuck, yes Joel, I'm comingâ"
"I know," he grins, "I know, baby."
He knows because he feels it. He feels you pulse around his length, feels your muscles seize and loosen, feels your little clit twitch beneath his fingers as he coaxes you through your high. He also feels something new, something wet and warm and sinful.Â
"Oh, good girl," he groans. "Fuckâlook at that."
You're gushing for him, liquid pouring out over his fingers and his cock and his balls, staining the sheets beneath you. You writhe in his arms but Joel just keeps fucking you, fucks you until he's drawn every last drop from you. Fucks you until he's coming too, clutching you against him as his cock spasms between your walls and paints your insides with spend. Hot cum leaks out around his length, drips down your inner thighs, and makes a mess of your already messy pussy.Â
He comes and comes and then it ends, strangled moans fading into ragged breaths and heady grunts of release.Â
"Jesus," Joel pants into the hollow of your ear as he slowly comes down. "You alright?"
"Yes," you sigh. "Holy shit, thank you, Joel. Thank you."
He's got no fucking idea what for.Â
He pulls you off his cock and turns you in his lap to face him. Your arms coil around his neck and you cling to him like a koala, your face buried in his chest. He holds you there, because he thinks you might need thatâand also because he wants to.Â
"How'd I get so lucky, huh?" he ponders as he gently strokes your hair.
"I'm lucky," you protest softly. "I was trying to tell you that last night."
"I thought you were tryin' to suck my cock."
You laugh breathlessly, unravelling yourself from him just enough to let him see your face. You curl your fingers into his hair in a possessive sort of way that would probably make him hard if he hadn't just come so thoroughly.Â
"That was supposed to be an act of gratitude."
"For what? I didn't do nothin'."
He tries to keep his tone as light as yours, but his insecurities always bleed through no matter how hard he tries. You sense the earnestness in his voice, and match it head on.Â
"That's not true. You've made everything better," you whisper, touching your forehead to his. "I'm so fucking happy you're in my life."
He's gonna have to ask you exactly what all went down with Heather. He figures for now it can wait.Â
You kiss him and he kisses you back, his furrowed brows softening as your lips move against his in a now-familiar dance. The sun rises over Austin and though he's not sure he'll ever have the words to tell you, Joel thinks he's pretty damn happy you're in his life too.
-
"So I was thinking," you say around a mouthful of eggs the following Saturday.
"Uh-oh," Joel grins.Â
You fix him with a look and his grin only widens.Â
"Anyway," you continue pointedly, shovelling another forkful of eggs into your mouth. "I was thinkingâI'm kind of on a roll here. You know, in terms of, like, building bridges or whatever."
"Sure," Joel nods.
"And I'm thinking thatâŚmaybe I'm ready to talk to my mom."
Joel's eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "Yeah?"
"Yeah, likeâŚ" you shrug, focusing on your breakfast as you talk out what's been on your mind since you'd seen Heather last weekend. Being with her and hearing her side of the story had given you some foundation with which to forgive her. It's been gnawing at you that you haven't really given your own mother that chance. Perhaps if she could just see how happy you are, she'd eventually come around.Â
You explain all this to Joel, who nods along and hums his agreement.Â
"I just feel like I'veâŚclosed myself off to her and it's not really fair for me to just expect her to magically see the light, you know? I mean, look at dad. He's been coming around more, he's been seeing us together. And he's basically okay with it all now. Maybe it's just me, you know? Maybe I need to let her in."
Joel shakes his head, smiling at you affectionately. "You're too good for your own good, you know that?"
You scoff and wave him off.Â
"Whatever. But don't you agree?"
He appears to mull it over, sipping his coffee for a long moment before eventually sighing.Â
"I do," he nods slowly. "But I also thinkâŚyou got a right to protect your peace. Lettin' her in means exposin' yourself to all the shit that might come with that."
You bite your lip and nod. You know that. You know he's right. You know it might blow up in your face to try to repair that relationship. But some little voice in the back of your head keeps telling you to do it anyway. A cloying, aching need to justâŚput things back in place.
"I guess I'm just tired of feeling so angry all the time," you confess. "I'm justâŚwalking around with all this unresolved bullshit hanging over me and it'sâŚI mean, it's exhausting. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until I saw Heather, you know? If I potentially have the power to do something about that, then I thinkâŚI think I should."
Joel smiles, his sweet brown eyes crinkling at the edges.Â
"Then I'm with you, baby," he says, reaching across the table to cover one of your hands with his own. "Whatever you gotta do."
You nod resolutely, spurred on, as ever, by his unwavering support.
-
On Sunday, it rains.
Heavy showers pelt against Joel's windshield, his truck parked in the driveway of your parents' home. A quick text to your mom the day before had confirmed she'd be home around this time and that she'd be more than okay with you stopping by for an afternoon coffee. Unlike when you'd sat outside the cafe in this same truck a week ago, you don't feel nervous to see your mother. Instead, you feel a strange sense of duty and an unflappable air of confidence. All you have to do is show off how happy Joel makes you for a couple of hours. What could possibly be easier than that?Â
Plus, you're not really worried about your mother coming at you with any kind of outward disdain. She can be oddly cordial when she thinks someone is mad at her.
"I'll stay close by," Joel tells you. "Take you home when you're done."
You frown. "What? You don't have to wait for me, that's silly."
Joel just shrugs. "Ain't no thing. Don't want you takin' the bus in this weather."
And Joel thinks you're too good.Â
"I wish you could just come in with me."
It had been the only stipulation your mother had outlined, or at least that's how you'd interpreted her text asking, It's just you coming, right?
You'd burned with rage at that, typed out an entire message in Joel's defense, but he had insisted it was fine. One thing at a time. He could sit this one out.Â
"Next time," he murmurs, leaning across the centre console to kiss your cheek.Â
"Yeah," you nod.Â
He wishes you good luck, offering you a goodbye kiss before you're pulling your hood up over your head and bounding through the downpour to the front door. Your mother is pulling it open before you've even stepped onto the welcome mat.Â
"Quick, quick, come on," she hastens you with a hand around your shoulders, guiding you inside and out of the pouring rain. You catch her look back at Joel pulling out of the driveway before she's closing the door behind you both.Â
"Oh, shoot, look at you," she tuts, prodding at the wet fabric of your hoodie. "Let me get you something else to wearâ"
"It's fine, mom," you insist before she can go pulling you something hideous from her closet. You pull your damp sweater up over your head so you're in just your t-shirt, noting that hardly any of the rainwater had managed to leak through. "This is fine, see?"
"Alright," she smiles, sort of shyly. You've been apart so long, and it normally doesn't feel so weird falling back into that mother-daughter routine. Extenuating circumstances, you suppose. She glances down at the hoodie in your arms.
"Do you want to hang it up in the bathroom and let it dry? I'll get some coffee going."
You return her smile as best you can. It certainly sounds like she's trying. It certainly sounds like something a mother would say.Â
"Yeah, sure," you nod, already skirting around her to your way down the front hall. "Thanks."
You vaguely hear her hum something in response as she makes her way to the kitchen.Â
The main-floor bathroom is just down the hall, a renovation project that's been half-in-the-works for years, basically abandoned now that your parents almost exclusively use their en suite. Maybe they'd have finished it by now if you still lived here.
You flip the light on to find it looks much the same as it did the last time you were here; tiles partially laid, sink without a hot water knob. You carefully drape your hoodie up on the shower curtain rod still noticeably lacking a shower curtain.
You're flattening out the sleeves when you hear the doorbell chime.Â
Having grown up here, you respond instinctively to the familiar melody, poking your head out of the bathroom just in time to see your mother beat you to the door. She swings it open, and there on the front porch, soaked from his head to his shoulders, is Joel.Â
Your heart just about stops.
"Oh," your mother greets him, uncertainly looking back over her shoulder to where you're standing wide-eyed in the hallway.Â
"'Lo, ma'am,â Joel says. From here, you can barely hear him over the rain outside. "I don't mean to intrude. Just wanted to leave this."
You frown as he holds something out to your mother, something you can't see from this angle. Â
"Oh," she says again, sounding theatrically surprised. You roll your eyes.Â
"She left it in the truck. Just thought she might need it. That's all. I'll get outta your hair now."
He catches your eye over her shoulder then, quickly shooting you a sweet, heart-breaking smirk that makes your chest swell.Â
"Thank you, Joel," your mother says. "I'll, uh, make sure she gets it."
He smiles at her politely and offers her a parting wave, taking off at the same time she begins to close the door after him.
"What is it? What was that?" you ask, hurriedly emerging from the hallway to meet her in the entryway.Â
"Your umbrella," she tells you, hanging it up on a coat hook. "That was nice of him."
She says it absentmindedly as she makes her back to the kitchen, this time with you in tow.Â
Huh.
"Well, he's a really nice man," you say simply, leaning your elbows on the island while she tends to the coffee pot.Â
"Hm," she nods.
She busies herself, deep in thought in a way that makes you uneasy.Â
"What?" you press her.
She pours you a mug of coffee, preparing it just how you like with cream and sugarâthe same way you've taken it for years. She hands it to you over the countertop, brows still furrowed together in apparent confusion.Â
"He drove you here?"
You frown. "Yes?"
"Kind of a far drive in the rain."
"So?"
She ignores you.
"What's he doing while you're here?"
You're struggling to follow her train of thought. But you think maybe you know what she's getting at. Why she can't understand Joel doing something so selfless, why she probably can't seem to understand you and Joel at all.
The thing about your mother is that there always needs to be something in it for her. Every favour, every helping hand; it can never be truly inconvenient for her, and it must always somehow benefit her in return. You know of people out there with mothers who are truly selfless, mothers who are there for them, mothers who would drop everything at a moment's notice if their children so much as asked.
But that is not your mother. That has never been your mother.
You'd forgiven her for that long ago, convinced yourself it had just made you that much more independent, that much more self-reliant. And it did, but at a cost. That cost being someone in your life you could always safely count on, someone you could always trust to be there when you needed them.
Someone who would drive you in the pouring rain to a house he could not enter, just so he could wait for you outside and bring you home when you were ready.Â
"I don't know," you tell her honestly. "He just said he'd stay close by and that he'd pick me up when we're done."
She's still frowning, seemingly perplexed at the notion. "He's just waiting out there in his truck?"
You shrug. "I told you, mom. He's a really nice man."
"Hm," she says again, staring down at her coffee and taking a long, contemplative sip. "I guess he is."
You grin. It's not much. It's hardly anything at all, really. But it's a start. A seed you're more than willing to water in the hopes that eventually, maybe, she'll come around.
-
A/N CONT'D: thank you for reading! and now...a special sneak peek of the upcoming summer season. continue reading for the first 500 words of the next and final chapter of your summer dream. i love you all.
chapter vibes:
Sometimes life really feels like a dream.Â
Even in the monotony, even in the mundane. The morning commutes and the tins of cat food, the Sunday afternoons spent cleaning and the Tuesday nights spent falling asleep on the couch. And it's funny, how just like a dream, you move through the days as though time means nothing at all, everything blurring together until all at once, a year has passed.Â
Summer blooms, softens and warms you from the inside out. The fan beside the bed blows cool air against your clammy skin, but is no match for the heat between your legs, the overwhelming sensation of Joel's mouth fused wetly over your cunt.Â
He drinks you down like you're his morning coffee, ravenous and greedy as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and snakes his arms around your thighs. But he is in no rush, languid in the way he makes out with your pussy, whimpering and groaning at every soft, needy moan he manages to draw from you.Â
But then you claw at his scalp, tug on those gorgeous greying curls and whine. Joel smirks.
"Impatient," he mutters.Â
He's been lapping lazily at your cunt for the better part of twenty minutes now. You are not impatient. Luckily, as you've come to discover, Joel will never tell you no unless you ask him to.Â
"S'alright," he whispers, barely letting his lips leave you as he sinks two thick fingers into your core. You keen at the welcome stretch, and Joel purrs between your thighs. "Yeah, there she is. There's my fuckin' girl. You want me to make this little pussy come? Never can just wait, can ya?"
"Waitedâlong enough," you groan weakly as he nudges at that perfect spot inside you. "Please. I've been good."
You feel him smile again before he's pressing a chaste little kiss to your clit, his moustache tickling your skin.
"Yeah, you have," he breathes, and then he gets to work.Â
His tongue moves in tandem with his fingers, expertly finding a familiar rhythm he knows like the back of his hand by now. In no time at all, warmth pools down your spine and settles in your tummy, courses rapidly through your veins and tenses all your muscles. You come with dazzling force, grinding your clit onto his willing tongue with that insistent fist still tangled in this hair. Joel loves that.Â
In these moments, the dream comes alive. The mundanity of every-day life splits open and you realize, there is in fact nothing monotonous about this life at all. How could there be? Joel is hereâJoel is still here. A year since you first shook his hand in an airport parking lot, a year in which it feels as though everything changed; through it all, Joel remains. Like a tulip in soil, perennial.
"Wanna take you away somewhere," he rasps as he climbs up your body to kiss and nip at the side of your face. "What do you think? Wanna come away with me?"
You're not sure if he means forever or a day.
"Yes, please," you tell him either way.Â
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if you like penis coladas.. and getting shot in the brain!
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6 random songs from my âOn Repeatâ playlist!
Thank you so much for the tag my love @thyme-in-a-bubble
⢠Good Luck Babe! - Chappell Roan
⢠Alrighty Aphrodite - Peach Pit
⢠Sister Golden Hair - America
⢠It Will Come Back - Hozier
⢠High Enough - Damn Yankees
⢠Have You Ever Seen The Rain - Creedence Clearwater Revival
Tagging some other friends to include their music!! @kiwisbell @moonlight-prose @whatthefishh @amanitacowboy @freelancearsonist @withahappyrefrain @joelsgreys @morning-star-joy and so many more moots that I love and Iâm stupid at just canât think of usernames rn hahahaha
Also anyone else that wants to show off their superior taste in music!!
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talking body | joel miller x f!reader
read on ao3 | tlou is created by a zionist and tlou2 is based on the Israeli occupation on Palestine, pls visit these links to help. i urge other joel/tlou fanfic writers to do the same & add these resources to your posts to educate yourself or others who may still be unaware of this info.
pairing: joel miller x curvy f!reader
rating: 18+ MDNI
word count: 7.5k (dear god)
summary: Â joel doesnât hesitate to show you just how crazy he is about you.
content warnings: jackson era, canon divergent, established relationship, unspecified age gap, (joel is late 50âs/pushing 60 & reader is whatever age you like her to be), fatphobic/misogynistic comments from a male oc, mentions of body insecurities, a little bit of jealousy (from reader), [internal] angst (feelings of guilt & shame), reader wears a formâfitting dress, joel gets handsy, body worship, pet names (sweetheart, darlinâ, baby, pretty girl), brief vaginal fingering, biting, body marking, praise kink, sprinkle of degradation, 1 pussy slap, dirty talk (or as kat put it; joel miller and that FUCKING MOUTH), oral sex (f receiving), mild ass play, unprotected piv, rough sex, spanking, multiple orgasms, possessive!joel, pussy pronouns, creampie, fluff, joel just being such a sweetheart but also an absolute menace UGH, game!joel or show!joel, reader is curvy and can be interpreted as being mid/plus sized, but other than that no other physical descriptions of reader and no use of y/n.
a/n: Â this is completely self indulgent and i love doing shit out of spite so naturally i wrote this cuz of all the shit iâve been seeing these past few weeks. also, this is me pushing the agenda that game!joel is a hips guy and show!joel is an ass guy, so i mixed a little bit of both in here bc i can. to everyone with thick thighs, squishy bellies, big tits, hip dips, and every thing in between i see you, i love you (so does joel), and he would fuck your brains out, he told me himself :3Â thank you to my loves @skrunkly-scrimblo & @phoeberidgers for being my second and third eyes & helping my indecisive ass with the visuals (and for always putting up with me) ily both sm <3 | dividers by @saradika-graphics
oh! masterlist is coming in a few days (iâm sorry, iâve been putting it off)
Joelâs still sitting at the table with Tommy and Maria when Dina cuts into your path as you approach the bar, you were getting refills for your table. Dina drags you along behind her to the open space where a few other Jackson residents are dancing, she points out that you still havenât delivered on your promise to dance with her. You playfully roll your eyes as she tugs you along, you donât really mind, youâre the type to drink and dance the night away whenever you and Joel joined your fellow Jackson residents at The Tipsy Bison, letting out all the stress and worries that had built up from days prior and tonight was one of those nights, you endured a long, shitty, fucking week.Â
One dance had turned into two which turned into three and very quickly you felt the overwhelming sense of heat from the lights and the alcohol running through your system warming up your body an ungodly amount. It didnât help that the short, tight dress you were wearing was beginning to ride up your thighs and the thin fabric on your stomach clinging to your sticky skin as sweat started to pool in places you didnât quite like.Â
You take advantage of the song coming to an end and spin out of the dance before someone ropes you back in, tugging the hemline of your dress down while you make your way to the bar to finally order refills for your table. As you wait for the bartender to come out from the back, you turn around to watch the rest of Jacksonâs residents while they drink, dance, and laugh through the night, a smile tugs on your lips as you briefly spot Dina now dragging Ellie to the small open space. You continue glancing over the room, it was busier than usual though still expected, gatherings during the fall and winter months tended to occur more often, the cold weather gives people a reason to spend more time indoors, alcohol and loud music helps keep bodies warm and memories faded away. Nights like these are needed in Jackson.Â
Your gaze eventually lands on your table, seeing a tall, beautiful, dark-haired woman standing in front of Joel, you know exactly who it isâŚEsther. Youâre not surprised, sheâs been after Joel for years, completely disregarding your relationship with him. You donât blame her, Joelâs one hell of a man but you canât help but feel a pit in your stomach when you see a smile on his face as he cracks a laugh at her joke, she playfully smacks his arm in return and you avert your eyes to scan the crowd once again.Â
You know he doesnât mean anything by it, Joelâs a gentleman, always polite and charming, he plays along as to not embarrass her.Â
 So why does it bother you?Â
You feel stupid, again you canât blame her, but then your eyes trail down her body, sheâs got a few years on you but she doesnât look it. From what you can tell, her body has remained the same since the day you met her.Â
Yours, on the other hand, has slightly changed to a noticeable degree, as you settled into Jackson as well as your relationship with Joel. Your breasts spill over the cups of a few older bras, you have a softer tummy that protrudes out in formâfitting clothes like right now and your thighs and ass fill your jeans out a bit more. Itâs a dull feeling now, not really paying it any mind anymore, you were more aware of it at first, but occasionally, moments like this remind you of the changes in your body.Â
His body has deliciously changed with age; his hair now suitably silver, though the gray patches of hair spanning across his chest and down his belly donât quite match the hair on his scalp. When he lifts his arms just enough his soft belly peeks out, perfectly protruding just above the waistband of his jeans. Heâs insecure about it, his age more apparent when youâre beside him, not that heâd ever really admit that to you, but you picked up on it pretty quickly when he started opting for loose fitting button downs and jeans, but he clearly still has an effect on women.Â
With you itâs justâŚ.different.Â
Feeling the heat of a stare on you and knowing who itâs from, you glance back at Joel, your gaze landing on his face again, you can see his face more clearly now, Estherâs still talking to him, yet his attention isnât on her, his eyes are trained on you and youâre met with an expression of hunger on his face. His eyes steadily rake down your body, feasting on the tight material clinging to your sticky skin, they pause and for a fleeting moment he fixates on your exposed thighs, his eyes trail back up to your chest, and as he lifts up the glass of whiskey heâs been nursing to his mouth, you catch his tongue poke out to lick his bottom lip, his eyes never leaving yours as he takes a long sip of his whiskey.Â
The faint buzz from the alcohol emboldens you and you wink back at him.Â
No longer giving those feelings a second thought you turn back around and try to wave down the bartender.Â
âAnother round, please.âÂ
âSure thing, sweets.â
He turns away to grab your drinks, your ears perk up when you hear someone say your name, you turn your head towards the voice, noticing a few men sitting at the edge of the bar. You recognize one of them, a younger man, who happened to be your old patrol partner and your last fling.
Naturally, you eavesdrop on their conversation. Mattâs back is to you when you hear it.Â
âSheâs not in her prime, you shouldâve seen her a few years ago,â he sneers.
His words pierce through you, you know exactly what heâs getting at, it stings even when you know it shouldnât, it festers.
A man youâre not familiar with, probably the newbie, stands further away, he opens his mouth to speak but you canât hear what heâs saying, the music is too loud and you have to fight the urge to look directly at him so you can read his lips, but he says something that earns a few snickers out of the men surrounding him.Â
The shame coils and pulls taut in your stomach, twisting, pulling, scraping so tight it makes you dizzy and nauseous.
You donât even realize your drinks had been placed on the bartop in front of you, Mattâs irritating voice cuts in and holds your attention, âCanât believe a man like Joel is still with her. No real man can fuck women who look like that and enjoy it,â he says simply.Â
The shame turns to rage and your blood boils, you feel your cheeks heating up as anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach, the blinding rage looms over you and your feet move without thinking. You begin to step forward but for the second time that night your movements are interrupted, you hear her voice before sheâs in front of you.Â
âYou ditched us to grab drinks and yet we never got them,â Maria teases.
âSorry, I got carried away,â you look away from the group of men and back at Maria, flashing her a smile, a little forced. Â
âFigured. Joelâs been eyeing you while you were dancing, I told him to join you but we both know he prefers admiring you,â she says, redrawing your attention by tilting her head into your line of sight. Â
She beckons you with a jerk of her head, âCâmon, your man gets grumpy when youâre away,â she says with a comforting smile. As the two of you grab the whiskey filled glasses, she hooks her arm through yours and walks you back to the table.Â
Joel pulls open your chair next to him, you sit down and silently hand him his whiskey, the anger fizzling out as soon as youâre beside him though the knot of shame still tight in the pit of your stomach. He senses something is off immediately, your behavior wildly different than twenty or so minutes before.Â
âThanks, baby,â he says as he watches you intently.Â
âMhm.â
You nod, shooting him a glance before averting your eyes back to a small group of residents dancing.Â
Tommy turns his head to ask Maria about the new patrol schedules for the upcoming week, Joel sees it as a window of opportunity, a distraction, so he throws his arm around you and tucks you into his side, just enough for you to smell the whiskey on him, he settles his palm on your stomach, his thumb starts rubbing small circles on your belly through your tight dress, âYou okay, darlinâ?â he whispers, his whiskeyâwarm breath against your ear.
âYup. Just tired,â you say dismissively, trying to keep your voice light, hoping it doesnât sound as pinched as your throat feels. You press a chaste kiss to the flecks of silver on his temple, attempting to sooth his worries, while internally trying to convince yourself that youâre not giving those assholes too much power over their words, even though you have, it gnaws at you so much it makes your bones itch beneath your skin.Â
He catches the deceit in your voice but he drops the subject, knowing not to pry in this moment, âAlright, we'll finish these and head home,â he kisses your forehead before he turns his attention back towards the conversation.Â
â
Joel kept on his word, the two of you leaving the gathering once you knocked back the rest of your drinks. However, finishing off your drinks meant the two of you were in a tipsy state and Joelâs insatiable when heâs got alcohol buzzing in his system. As soon as he closes the bedroom door behind him, he instantly pins you up against the door and presses his lips to yours, his mouth swallowing yours while his hands run greedily all over your body, grabbing and squeezing every part of you.
âGod, youâre fuckinâ beautiful,â he says while he nuzzles his head in the deep groove of your cleavage, he nips lightly before leaving openâmouthed kisses to the exposed skin, his big hands come up to cup your breasts, your nipples peaked and hard beneath the thin fabrics of your dress and your bra.
âFuckââ your whimper is cut off when Joel drags his lips back up to connect with yours, you hum as you taste his flavour, all oak and masculine and campfire like with a hint of spice from the whiskey. He moans as he licks his tongue into your mouth, one hand squeezes the weight of your breast while the other glides around to your back, pulling you closer. Joel always gets like this after a few drinks; itâs always heady, needy, sloppy like it is now. He kisses you with so much want and desire it makes your brain all foggy and your skin flare, forgetting the moment that threw off your mood.
That is until Joelâs hands make their way down your front, palming your tummy softly, one hand reaches under the hem of your short dress to cup your mound and the memory claws its way back to the surface, Mattâs words echo in your mind.Â
You tear your lips away from his and plaster on a tight smile, knowing your eyes will give you away, you stare at the scar across his nose, âNot tonight, baby,â you whisper, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek and tucking a silver curl behind his ear.Â
Though Joel Miller, as always, is on high alert, always studying the people around him, itâs all heâs ever known in his role of a protector. He learnt and memorized all your tells within weeks of knowing you, he doesnât need to see your eyes to catch on, he senses the hint of sadness in the hushed tone of your voice, the same one he clocked earlier at The Tipsy Bison, he knows youâre holding back.Â
âAlright, sweetheart, whatâs on your mind?â
You brush past him, walking away and sitting on the bed, âNothing, Iâm fine, Iâm just tired,â you say a little too hurriedly, your voice too syrupy-sweet. Thatâs the third thing thatâs tipped him off tonight. He follows you tentatively, sitting beside you placing his hands on your knees and guiding you to face him.Â
He assesses your face and sighs, âWeâre not gonna do that. Youâve been real quiet and distant most of the night. Darlinâ, talk to me,â he hooks a finger underneath your chin and gently tilts your face upwards, forcing you to look at him.Â
You shrug heavily, feeling stupid for letting their words sour your mood, but worse for thinking the same about yourself, when you should be grateful. Living, breathing, existing is a privilege, one that not everyone gets, something you and Joel are too familiar with, yet here you are letting dumb comments from even dumber men upset you. The same knot in your stomach from earlier pulls taut once again.
You rip your eyes away from Joelâs, not able to bring yourself to face the troubled look in his eyes. âIt's just embarrassing, and Iâm ashamed that I let things still get to me,â you admit defeatedly, your voice barely audible.Â
âBaby,â he tugs gently on your chin again, âLook at me,â he murmured.Â
You blink up at him, forcing yourself to look at him, tears pricking in your eyes when you see the worry line appearing in between his brows and the hues of concern in his eyes once again. He reaches up to gently cradle your face, the contact sends you over the edge and a tear cascades down your cheek, his calloused thumb swipes it away, the turmoil clear as day in his eyes, you hate that youâre the reason for the pained expression on his face.Â
âTell me,â he implored, his voice pinched as he spoke.Â
You can feel the walls of your throat constricting and the rapid thump of your pulse right below your jaw as you swallow tightly. Just hearing the hurt in his voice should stop you, should make you drop the whole thing. You think about leaving Mattâs name out of it, just by mentioning that Matt was the one reaffirming your deep-seated insecurities will upset him alone, Joelâs hated the guy since the day he found out you fucked him but leaving his name out of it feels like you're protecting him.Â
That coupled with the look of worry on his face, knowing his compulsive need to do right by you but he canât if you donât let him, coaxes you to tell him everything. Â
Biting the bullet and bracing yourself for impact, you take a deep breath. Â
âYou know that guy, Matt, that I used toâŚ.â you trail off quietly, biting your lip.
His lips downturn into a soft frown and yet he doesnât respond, just gives you a firm nod.Â
You avoid his gaze, picking at the loose skin around your nail, Joel notices and grabs your hands in his. Your eyes stay transfixed on your lap, you sigh deeply, âHe said, a man like you shouldnât be with someone like me, said he doesnât know how you can fuck me and enjoy it,â another tear spills down your cheek, recounting each of his words feels like hard punches to the gut. âAnd then seeing Esther hitting on you again, even though everyone knows weâre togetherâI know I shouldnât let it get to me but I canât help how I feel sometimes,â your voice quavering as you ramble admittedly.
You peer up at him under watery lashes and for a second you can practically see him fighting the urge of storming out of the house and heading back to The Tipsy Bison to find the bastard, you can see it in the flash of anger that spreads across his features, in the twitch of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils as he takes in a sharp breath.  Â
Instead, he exhales, âDarlinâ, there ainât nothing wrong with you,â he dips his head down so his eyes meet yours, you shrug again.Â
âStop that. Youâre perfect honey,â you can hear the sincerity in his voice as he runs his hand along your upper thighs, now exposed as your dress rolled up from your position on the bed.
âI get it darlinâ, hell one good look in the mirror nâ I wonder how a pretty thing like yourself could want an old man like me,â he huffs a quiet chuckle.Â
You shake your head immediately, âJoelââ
âSweetheart, itâs okay if you need remindinâ,â he interjects you, âI have no problem remindinâ you,â he asserts softly, his fingers still tracing up and down your thigh.Â
You frown, âI know you donât Joel, itâs just,â you sigh a shuddering breath, feeling that familiar pang of guilt in your chest, now regretting opening up to him. The heavy stones of guilt and shame weighing you down, threatening to swallow you whole. The last thing he needed was you burdening him with your insecurities, you know him, heâll dwell on this for days to come, checking in when he feels you pulling away.
âLemme show you, baby,â he says while softly grabbing your hands, prying them away from your middle.Â
âNo, Joelââ you began to protest.Â
âNeed to see my beautiful girl,â he encourages you gently, his hands roam down and pause right below the hem of your dress but he awaits your permission.Â
You nod softly and lie back against the headboard, you watch his face as he carefully and slowly grabs at the skirt of your dress, shoving up the soft, red material over your waist, revealing your soft, pillowy silhouette.
He hovers over you as he takes his time palming the slopes of your curves, his big hands grab two handfuls of your breasts and squeezes them tightly, lifting the weight of them up and dropping his head down to nip at each breast, then letting them fall and marveling at the bounce of your tits. His hands find your hips, heâs sliding down the bed, just enough so his head is level with your middle, he dips his head down and presses his lips to the soft flesh, his teeth sink into your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, you involuntarily let out a soft moan.Â
He grips your hips more firmly, almost like youâll disappear before him if he doesnât, he moves his lips to your other hip and nips at your skin, âMy sexy girl, fuckinâ canât get enough of you,â he says lowly, his breath hot against your skin, you whimper softly as both of your hands find the nape of his neck. His mouth moves to the soft swell of your tummy and he nips at the supple skin right above your belly button, the coarse scruff tickles your skin and you canât help the giggle it elicits from you.Â
He pulls away and peers up at you, eyes dark and full of lust, his mouth hovers over yours, âYou drive me crazy, you know that, baby?â He whispers fervently against your lips, his fingers squeezing the meat of your thighs. Â
Your glassy eyes meet his as your hand comes up to cup his cheek, âIâm pretty crazy about you too, handsome,â you whisper, his cheeks flush pink at your words, still so bashful. He kisses the heel of your palm before patting the side of your thigh, âTurn around for me sweetheart, go on, all fours, need to see all of you,â he smirks, his eyes full of intensity as they drag down your body.Â
You do as he asks and move to the middle of the bed, flipping onto your knees and walking your hands out in front of you, arching your back slightly and hiking your up ass in front of him, he moans at the sight. âGood girl,â he praises softly behind you and your pussy throbs, a familiar sticky heat pools in your panties at his words. You playfully take a glance back at him, his eyes dark and half-lidded as he sits up and moves to his knees behind you, his hands run up the backs of your thighs all the way up until they meet the globe of your ass and he whistles lowly.Â
âLook at you, so fuckinâ perfect,â he murmurs, oggling the curve of your ass as his index finger sneaks under the lace trim of your panties, taking the material between his forefinger and his thumb and lightly skimming his fingers down the lace, âNâall for me.âÂ
His fingers roam down to your covered slit and you let out a soft gasp, which only spurs him on, he runs his fingers along the wet spot on your panties, smirking when he feels the wetness staining your panties, the tips of his fingers dip below your clothed slit, âThere's my girl. Always so fuckinâ wet for me, huh?â You hum softly in response.Â
The tip of his middle finger pushes past your outer lips and you bite down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the whimper you let out. Youâre already so wet, youâre always so wet and willing for him. It should embarrass you, how easy you are for him but it doesn't because itâs him and knowing how much he revels in this, in you makes that small pinch of embarrassment fade away instantlyâŚevery single time. Â
You risk a look at him over your shoulder as he pulls his finger back out and in one swift movement he puts his finger between his lips, quickly sucking your arousal off his finger, like itâs a mindless, habitual thing for him, like heâs sneaking a taste of his meal before he digs into it. His hands reach for the waistband sitting on your hips, pulling the lacy fabric down, marveling at the dark fabric against your skin as he slowly drags the material down your thighs, his eyes catch the opaque wetness soaking the lace while he pulls them down and he moans shamelessly.Â
Your eyes widen while you watch him bunch up the material and shove the lace in his back pocket and then his hand lands an affectionate smack to your ass, âEyes forward, sweetheart.â You tear your eyes away as he brings a firm hand to the small of your back, pressing you down and deepening the arch to his liking, you instinctively drop to your forearmsâ so pliant and needy for himâhe brings his mouth down and sinks his teeth into the lush of your ass in approval. Â
His hands grab your inner thighs, spreading your legs, now he has full sight of your glistening core, two thick fingers stroke through your folds, âLook at that, sheâs so pretty baby. Sheâs droolinâ down your pretty legs,â his voice low and deep.Â
His words make your pussy throb, you canât help the whine you let out, âJoel, please.âÂ
âPlease what, pretty girl, use your words,â he commands, his fingers still languidly messaging through your puffy lips, smearing your arousal all over his fingers.  Â
âI need you, please do anything, please,â you mewl, not caring how pathetic you sound.Â
But still, not enough for Joel. A loud wet smack fills the room as he lays a firm slap to your cunt, your body flinches forward, the edges of your vision blurs and your aching, swollen cunt tingles and clenches at the harsh, yet welcomed contact.
He tuts, âYou want my cock that bad, baby, I wanna hear you say it.âÂ
Bastard.Â
âJoel please, I want your cock. I want it,â you whine and writhe beneath his firm palm.
âOkay, alright, baby, sâall I wanted to hear,â he cooes, his slick-coated fingers now soothing your folds. âI just need to taste her first,â he shifts behind you, sliding down off the bed, his knees creaking as he kneels on the floor, he pulls you back towards the edge of the bed by your thighs. He tilts his head up just enough to dig his teeth into the meat of your upper thigh, just below the curve of your ass cheek and soothes the sting with a wet kiss.Â
You shiver, youâre aching for him and his mouth is everywhere except for where you need him to be.Â
Joelâs hands come up to grab the meat of your ass, spreading you open and gently pushing you forward for better access, he brings his mouth to hungrily kiss your inner thighs, tasting the sweet, sticky slick coating your skin and a pitiful moan slips from your lips.Â
Joel seems to have heard it and thatâs all it takes for his lips to make contact with your pussy, your breath hitches in your throat as he flattens his tongue and licks a long, slow swipe through your slicked folds, the first one always drawn out and meticulous and just for him.Â
You push your hips back into his face causing the tip of his nose to nuzzle into your asshole, you feel him hum in approval at your entrance. Suddenly, nothing else matters; the thick fog of insecurity, the crippling shame and guilt sitting heavy in your chest; it all melts away as a fresh wave of sensation courses through you by the warmth of his mouth on your cunt.Â
This was always his favorite part, seeking pleasure in you because it brings you pleasure, always doing what makes you feel good. To spread you open before him, having a perfect view of your alluring holes in front of him, just begging for him to devour away (and fill you up). He can spend hours on his knees between your legs and he has, slipping further and further elsewhere as he indulges in you, his lips relishing away at the altar in your hips. Â
A pressure already begins to pull taut low in your belly, youâre squirming in his grasp but his hands move to firmly grip your outer thighs, keeping you open for him and pressed flush against his eager mouth. He doesnât go easy on you like he usually does. He fucking laves at you, devouring and savouring you like heâd never get the chance again. The vibrations from occasional muffled moans and groans against your pussy make you chant his name over and over like a prayer, even though heâs the one on his knees.
You can feel him push his tongue into your hole, fucking you with it, then he moves to swirl the tip of his tongue tightly against your puffy clit, âOh god, Joel, fuck,â you moan out, your eyes roll back into your head as the coil inside your belly wounds up so tight every muscle in your body tenses. You start grinding your hips back into his face, he groans in response and loosens his grip on your legs, letting you take what you need from him.Â
He flattens his tongue against your clit before he closes his lips around it, suckling it into his mouth and moaning around it, the vibrations from his mouth makes the coil in your belly snap, and you cry out, using the sheets beneath you to stifle the noises slipping through your lips.
With his mouth still latched onto your throbbing cunt, he keeps going.Â
âFuck, Joel, I canâtââ itâs too much and youâre too weak, a trembling mess on the mattress, so you attempt to close your legs but the strong grip he has on your thighs doesnât allow you to move, it only goads him further.Â
He licks a thick, languid stripe through your heat all the way up until his tongue prods at the tight ring of muscle, again, your legs threaten to close but the firm grip of his hands keeps you wide open for him, he swirls his tongue in a tight circle around your puckered rim, âJoelââ your gasp is cut off by his white, hot mouth taking its place right back on your clit, not giving you any time to recover.
The tip of his tongue works small, tight circles on your clit around and around, only this time with more pressure than before and within minutes or secondsâyou donât really know at this pointâyou feel the pressure building in your belly and itâs growing stronger by every lick and suck from his mouth. His tongue flicks over your clit before he licks it into his mouth once more, closing his lips tightly, he gives it one last tight circle of his tongue and suckle to your clit and you break, your second orgasm crashes over you.
A choked moan escapes you, your legs quiver as they threaten to close while your hands fist the sheets beside your head, the grip he has on your thighs holds you open for him while you come all over his mouth and he laps you up, savoring, slurping, and swallowing down everything you give him.Â
Milliseconds pass and he shifts behind you, lost in the haze of your orgasm, you can faintly hear the popping of his knees coupled with a grunt behind you as he stands up. He leans forward, kneading your ass in his palms before bending down to lay another bite on your other cheek, this time with more fervor, leaving a mark, your skin tingles.  Â
Joel positions himself right against your ass and places his hands on your hips again and squeezes, âI love all of ya, baby, but this right here,â he grips more firmly at the flesh on your hips again, âFuckâ these kill me,â he mumbles, almost entirely to himself.Â
âJoel, please, I need you inside me,â you beg and shiver in his grasp.Â
He stays quiet behind you, too enticed by the sight of your weeping pussy in front of him. You think you can hear the metallic clink of his belt as it drops to the floor and the buzz of the zipper of his jeans coming undone, the sounds make you clench around emptiness, Joel catches sight of it, a lustful groan slips out of him, a guttural sound from deep within his chest. Youâre always so needy, so eager to be full of him and heâll never get enough of it.Â
He keeps one hand on your ass, the other wrapped around his cock as he swipes it once through your folds, wetting his dick with your arousal, earning a quiet whimper from you at the sudden contact. He draws his hips back slightly and finally notches the wide head of his cock into with your awaiting hole, groaning in unison as his tip stretches you open, âChrist, always so fuckinâ tight,â spitting through his teeth.
His other hand moves to your hip to hold you in place as he sinks into you with one languid, long thrust, sliding himself in as deep as he can, he feels his tip hit resistance and his breath hitches in his throat, he stills for a moment, enthralled at the sight of his cock nestled in at the very end of you, completely bottomed out in your dripping cunt, âFuckâthere you go, pussyâs suckinâ me right in, sweetheart. This perfect fuckinâ pussy,â he grits as the grip he has on your hips tightens, his fingertips digging into the soft tenderness of your hips.Â
One of his hands sneaks its way to your front and he grabs your breast beneath the neckline of your dress, he kneads it and pinches your nipple between his calloused fingers, then he pulls the neckline down along with your bra, freeing your breasts from the constricting cups, he palms them roughly before leaving them to sway, all bare and heavy, âLook so goddamn perfect bent over for me like this, I wanted to fuck you in this slutty dress all night, fuckinâ couldnât get it outta my head,â he pants heavily, his hand returns to grip your hip as he begins rocking his hips forward, âDrivinâ me fuckinâ crazy, baby.âÂ
You curse lowly as you shift to deepen the arch in your backâyou need to feel him closerâyou straighten your arms out in front of you, your hands latch on to the edge of the mattress, your chest now pressed to your thighs and hiking your ass higher in the air for him, changing the angle as your body folds in on itself and earning a low groan from Joel, a sound that rumbles deep in his throat, âSweet Jesus, thatâs good, just like that baby, always so good fâme,â heâs babbling under his breath. The palm of his other hand finds the small of your back, âTell me how it feels,â Joel grits, his voice thick and breathy as his thrusts pick up the pace.
âFâfeels so good, Joel,â you sob, and itâs true, every time feels like the first time even after all these years; he had bent you over, pressed his large hand between your shoulder blades, kicked apart your legs with his knees and when his hand found the base of your neck, he pressed your face into the wooden floorboards and stretched you open, fucking you with ruthless abandon, using your body to get himself off, dulling the agonizing memories and unspeakable horrors that had forced his hand. His unforgiving pace, your face scraping along the hardwood floor, his brutal thrusts that kept your cunt sore for days on end, none of that mattered to you, in a way you were using him too, your insides just desperate and aching to be filled and all you could do was take it, your body completely succumbing to him and accepting his girth, âs like you were made for me, his breath hot and heavy as the words buzzed in the shell of your ear.Â
His deep voice breaks through the loop of ecstasy, redrawing your attention to the moment, âTakinâ my cock so well, this pussyâs so fuckinâ good, sheâs so good to me,â he grits, both of his hands now keeping a bruising grip on your hips as he drives your hips back to meet his, pulling you back onto his cock, the slapping of his hips against the plush of your ass echoes loudly in the room. You press your face into the sheets as your moans grow louder while he drives his cock in and out of you, âThose menâŚâf they had a woman like youâŚfuckâthey donât deserve that,â Joel rambles gruffly in between his harsh, unrelenting thrusts, âWeâll show âem how a real man fucks his girl, Iâll fuckinâ show âem, Iâll show âem.âÂ
Oh god. Sparks ignite a fire that roils low in your belly, youâll never get used to how talkative he is while he loses himself in you.
âOhâfuck, Joel, donât stop, donât stop,â your words come out choked, the flow of air to your lungs suspended as he punches himself into you, your fingers dig into the mattress in attempt to anchor yourself. Â
âI know, baby, I know, just take it,â he hisses through his teeth. âThis tight pussy only made to take my cock, ainât that right?âÂ
His words are swallowed up by the obscene squelches of your cunt as it grips his cock while he slams into you. When he doesnât get a response from you he lands a firm slap to your ass, this time with more force, your skin tingles beneath his hand, âYes, Joelâfuckâyesâyes,â you moan breathlessly, completely lost in a dizzying haze of pleasure.Â
ââSâright, sheâs mine, all fuckinâ mine,â Joel snarls, his thrusts grow more aggressive, you fist the sheets beneath youâthe possessiveness in his words, the firm grip on your hips pulling you back to fuck you onto his cockâslowly, you can feel the fire in your belly making its way to curl around the base of your spine.
He tightens his grip on your hips once again, you can feel his fingernails digging into your soft skin, you crane your neck to peer behind you, spotting the small indents beneath his fingertips forming on your hips, leaving more evidence of himself on your body. You know theyâll be there in the morning. A low, breathy moan slips between your lips at the thought. Your hooded eyes flicker up to his face, he looks wrecked; his gray curls cling to his forehead as a sheen of sweat covers his skin, his cheeks flushed a shade of cherry red that extends down to his neck and tanned chest, his pupils are blown out so wide theyâre almost black, locked in on his length going in and out of your drippy cunt. His eyes flicker up to watch the ripple of your ass as he pummels his cock into you and it drives him over the edge.Â
You didnât think he could get more relentless, yet somehow he does.Â
He releases the firm grip he has on your hips and slides his hands to your ass cheeks, he glides his hands over the curve of your ass and again, he brings one palm down in a harsh slap, you make a muffled sound against the sheets. His fingers span over the globe of your ass, palming your ass cheeks and grabbing them tightly, squeezing the tender flesh, he groans loudly as he pulls them apart further, splitting you open even more for him, fucking you deeper, all you can do is whimper into the mattress.Â
âGoddamn, youâre perfect, so fuckinâ perfect,â he rasps, his chest heaves as ragged, throaty moans escape him. Unable to stop himself, he squeezes down on your ass cheeks with more vigor as he unravels and pounds into you relentlessly, his thrusts brutal against you and the tip of his cock now punching your cervix.Â
You clench around him, a sign that you're close, and he reaches around your front, he presses his fingers into your very sensitive, very swollen clit and starts rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves, bringing you to the edge of your release.Â
The lick of heat sneaks its way up your spine, dispersing itself along your nerves, setting your skin on fire, âShit, Joel, mâgonna come,â you gasp, your voice all cracked and your breath ragged, unable to breathe as your lungs search desperately for respite, a low static buzz begins to ring in your ears.Â
Somewhere distant in the endless loop of euphoric haze you hear his voice, deep and rough, âCome for me, need to feel this slutty pussy come on my cock.â A high-pitched moan spills from your lips, your eyes slip closed as your walls flutter and gush around him, your clit sore and throbbing beneath his fingers, your body convulsing in aftershocks as your orgasm erupts and smothers you entirely.
âThere you go, attagirl, my perfect girl, cominâ all over my cock,â he talks you through the trance of your pleasure. Your pussy clenches down around his length again, bringing him to his own release and he pants, âBaby, need you to turn overâshit, mâgonnaââÂ
In an attempt to bring yourself up on your shaky arms, you push your hips back into his, Joel hisses through his teeth in response. His hands fly to your hips, steadying himselfâshitshitshitâhe loses his rhythm as his own orgasm rips right through him, his thick cock pulsing and spasming inside your messy, used cunt, his frame shuddering behind you as he spills inside you. You reach an arm back behind you, grasping onto a hand thatâs glued to your hip, his fingers intertwine with yours without hesitation, desperately grounding himself as he groans painfully, long and drawn out while he fucks the last of his seed into the deepest parts of you, filling you to the brim.Â
His entire form gives out, falling forward over you, pressing his entire weight into yours, the two of you collapse onto the bed, he drops his forehead, damp with sweat, to your back as his body goes limp over you. He exhales heavily, his warm breath against your skin sends shivers down your spine, he presses a tender kiss to the nape of your neck while his hands find your hips again, quivering as he pulls his sensitive cock out of your wasted pussy with a loud grunt, earning a lewd, wet sound once he completely pulls his length out. Â
Joel sits up and leans back, his hands grab your legs keeping you spread open for him, he gawks at the flutter and clench of your leaking hole as his white milky spend drools out of you and he groans, âOh fuck me, thatâs a pretty sight right there, my girlâs fucked all full oâme.âÂ
âShut up,â you huff a quiet laugh and shut your legs, he lays a playful slap to your ass, eliciting a tiny squeal from you. Joel stands up and strides off to the bathroom while you crawl up the bed, laying your head against the pillows, the sound of running water in the background as your eyes slip closed, sinking into the blissful haze of the afterglow.
You feel his presence returning, he wraps his hands around your knees and pulls apart your legs, spreading you wide once more and he freezes, âFuck,â you hear him groan above you. You open your eyes, hazy and hooded, to find him standing between your legs with nothing on but a pair of loose fitting sleep pants, no underwear, a wet rag in hand, mesmerized by the slow flow of his cum dribbling out of your hole.  Â
Heâs completely forgotten what the hell heâs supposed to be doing.Â
âDo you need me to do it,â you tease with a small smile, a devious glint in your eyes as you look up at him.Â
His eyes flicker back up to meet yours, âKeep beinâ smart with me nâ Iâll stuff that pretty mouth of yours,â he quips.Â
You grin at him while he drags the damp cloth through your swollen sex. He taps the side of your arm lightly and you sit up, his hands grab at the material bunched around your waistline, as you lift your arms up in the air, he pulls the fabric over your head and your body shimmies its way out of it. His eyes never leave yours as his large hands reach around your back to unhook your bra, pulling the straps from your shoulders, leaving you bare as he scrunches up your clothes and the messy rag soaked in your combined releases and returns to the bathroom. You lie back down again and slip beneath the covers, the back of your head resting on one of his pillows.
Joel saunters back into the room, âScoot,â he motions with his hand and you do, he slides in beside you and pulls the blankets up to cover your middle. As expected, he tugs you closer to him, tucking you into his side, you instantly hoist one of your legs over the top of his strong thighs, one of your hands rests over his chest, feeling the strong thump of his heart beneath your hand.
As the thick haze fades, your lips part, your voice barely above a whisper, âThank you,â your fingers gliding over the patch of gray hair spanning across his chest, following the trail down the soft swell of his belly while his fingers softly trace down the slope of your side, fingertips following the curve of your body beneath the blankets.Â
He presses his lips to the top of your head and he whispers, âIâll fuck you like that every night fâit means showinâ you how fuckinâ perfect you are.âÂ
Your lips twitch, a hint of a smirk on your face as you press your face into his chest and hum, âJust admit youâre a dirty old man, will you?âÂ
Joel laughs lightly but doesnât deny it, he peers down at you with nothing but adoration and a genuine smile, âNever said I wasnât, baby, nâ donât act like you donât love it.â
âI do, and I love you,â you bring your hand up to scratch his gray beard before tilting your head up to his and press an open mouthed kiss to his lips, tasting the flavor of your pussy on his tongue, you hum into his mouth, all dazed and content.Â
âI love you, honey,â his other hand drags gently along the crown of your head, his thumb resting on your cheek, stroking it as he brushes his nose along your cheek. You can feel his lips turn up into a smile against your skin, âMaybe, I need to get ourselves some rings, that oughta keep âem away.â
You smack him lightly on his chest, âYou think youâre real funny donât you?âÂ
He laughs, loud and deep, his perfect soft, pudgy belly jiggling beneath your knee, his fingers grazing down your back, âMâjust sayinâ, sâan option.âÂ
You chuckle. âWhatever you say, Miller.âÂ
thanks for reading xx
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Inside of me there are two wolves:
The first one wants to be an active participant in my fandoms and interact with everyone and do all of the fun little games and challenges
The other one is so lazy I am quite literally struggling to type this post out let alone write fic
The latter is currently mauling the first one
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Someone: yeah it was so sad when this character died
Me, whoâs already read 15 fix-it fics and no longer can tell the difference between canon and fanon: when they what
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not to be controversial bc I know this is likeâŚnot in line with shifting opinions on fanfic comment culture but if thereâs a glaring typo in my work I will NOT be offended by pointing it out. if ao3 fucks up the formattingâŚI will also not be offended by having this pointed outâŚ
âlooking forward to the next updateâ and âI hope you update soon!â are different vibes than a demand, and should be read in good faith because a reader is finding their way to tell you how much they love it. I will not be mad at this.
âI donât usually like this ship but this fic made me feel somethingâ is also incredibly high praise. Iâm not going to get mad at this.
even âI love this fic but Iâm curious about why you made [x] choiceâ is just another way a reader is engaging in and putting thought into your work.
I just feel like a lot of authors take any comment thatâs not perfectly articulated glowing praise in the exact manner theyâre hoping to receive it in bad faith.
fic engagement has been dropping across the board over the last several years, and yes itâs frustrating but it isnât as though I canât see how it happens. comment anxiety can be a real thing. the last thing anyone wants to do is offend an author they love, and that means sometimes people default to silence.
idk where Iâm going with this I guess aside from saying unless a comment is outright attacking me Iâm never going to get mad at it, and I think a lot of authors should feel the same way. ESPECIALLY TYPOS PLZ GOD POINT OUT MY TYPOS.
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