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maximinimum · 8 months ago

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On the Green: 4

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: age gap, mature-ish, bordering on explicit?

A/N: thank you thank you thank you to @imaswellkid for reassuring me that I actually understand this man in some capacity and for giving me praise when I needed it the most. ily. ❤ thank you also to @the-scandalorian who had the patience to decipher my half-asleep ramblings and assure me that I was on the right path. ily. ❤ and thank you to YOU, reader, for sticking with me during my unintentional months long hiatus of this story - I hope you enjoy!

Series Masterlist

The back of your suit disappears in the lush greenery as he follows you through the forest. You guide him deeper and deeper, the light reflecting off your helmet flickering between the leaves. Moss gives way to thick, creeping vines, and then the earth opens up into a deep, gaping pit.

You stand at the edge, and his glove reaches through the air to pull you away from danger but before he can grasp your suit – you jump.

You’re at the bottom of the pit together, your profile alight as he watches you dig. His eyes slip over the flutter of your lashes, the tip of your nose, your plush lips. You turn and say something to him, and he smiles. Opening his mouth to reply, he tries to take a breath in, but the air is…thinner. Like his suit has a leak.

He checks his filter and when he looks up, you’re gone, the connection hose between your suits cut.

You’re running again, and he’s chasing you.

Ezra.

It’s your voice, but it doesn’t sound the same as it does from within his helmet. It sounds like you’re outside of him and inside of him all at once, whispering his name. He loses sight of you, and panic blooms in his chest. His lungs constrict with every gasp for air, his body breaking out in a sweat underneath his suit and then several things happen all at once:

He’s in the pod with you beneath him, your body arching underneath his.

A moan breaks free of your throat; a masked person hiding in the bushes before they disappear.

A scream – he can’t decide if it’s a cry of ecstasy or of pain – and he’s pushing forward between your spread thighs.

Ezra.

He reaches for your face, your lips parting to allow for his thumb to press inside.

He does; another masked person peering in through the pod window.

Ezra, you moan.

You suck hard on his thumb, a deep groan reverberating from his throat as his hips rock forward and —

He jerks awake.

With his heart pounding and his cock hard, you perch at the edge of his cot, your delicate face etched with worry.

“Ezra. Ezra, hey.”

Your hand presses down on his chest, and he covers it with his own for a moment as the surroundings of the pod become clearer, sharper. Your face comes into focus, a luminous, soft thing in the hazy dark and for a split second, he feels an overwhelming draw towards you. As if he should sit up and meet your mouth with his.

His cock throbs, and he flinches. Shit.

“Hey,” he breathes, taking his hand off yours. He sits up, trying to disguise the aching heft of his cock under his thermals. They leave nothing to the imagination – he knows, since he’s seen you in yours.

“You okay?” you ask. “Another nightmare?”

He’s used to them after being in this line of work for as long as he’s been in it, but he’s not used to someone else seeing them. He feels slightly sheepish, but can’t decide if it’s because he feels vulnerable or guilty, like you know what he was dreaming about.

“Seems so,” he replies, the corner of his mouth lifting ruefully. “Sorry to have woken you, Birdie.”

You shrug. “Wanna talk about it?”

He pauses. “Not particularly, no.”

He’s grateful for the way you immediately drop it.

Weeks on the Green have left you with a certain sort of familiarity with each other, one that’s grown and flourished in the way only sharing a very small space allows. You know about his nightmares, and he knows things about you as well.

He knows you prefer to start your day in silence: a hot beverage, your headphones, your journal. You look even younger then, swaddled in your blanket by the window, your face still puffy with sleep.

You like it neat, a good balance to his own disarray.

You’re a good cook, which has saved him from a diet that used to consist purely of Bits Bars.

You’re methodical and measured, which, paired with his own impulsive ways, makes for a good partnership.

However, he’s been careful beyond that.

Whatever role you assumed during life with your father is not one he intends to make you relive. You’ve taken every single thing he’s thrown at you in stride, but to make up for it, he’s tried to balance the scales by teaching you anything he can. He hasn’t allowed you to assume the role of caretaker. You’re equals, or, if anything, he’s over corrected in some sort of fucked up recompense for everything you went through before this. Just like he promised, he’s protected you.

And he’s needed to – with word getting out about your ship, he’s had to take care of two more people in the last month alone. He taught you how to shoot after you asked him to, and he was grateful for it later on when the second one almost got the better of him. It was a close call, and he hated you being in it.

Hated the man more though, which he satisfied with a shot between his eyes.

He blamed the pull towards you after that on the adrenaline, but he wasn’t being honest with himself. It began long before that. The lessons themselves had been tests of his self-control: your smaller back tucked against his chest, your eagerness and willingness to learn, the way you preened under his praise.

He fucked his fist in the shower that night and blamed it on so many things: the needed release of stress, the forced proximity, how long it’s been since he was able to sink into a willing partner. His loneliness crept into the dark room while you slept that night and he thought about how, until now, it had been satisfied with your close companionship.

That night, he’d laid awake and wondered how eager you’d be underneath his hands.

Would you beg him to teach you what he likes? Would you ask for more the way you do now that he’s encouraged it?

Then the dreams started, and it got worse. Your face, so close to his each time you woke him. The warmth of your body next to his cot. They only made the urge to protect you fiercer, both from himself and the scavengers, and that didn’t even take into account the real threat. The one he’s waited for to show up since he found you. The one who he promised –

They appear in his dreams, alongside you. Hiding in the bushes, peering in the windows. But they aren’t ones who come looking. They wait for you to come to them, and so far, he’s avoided it at all costs. He made that deal when he was desperate for a ship, but now he’s more desperate to keep you safe.

You both need to get off this fucking planet.

He shakes the thought of the others free as you crawl back to your own cot. Your headphones discarded on the floor next to your face down journal and your rumpled socks, you tug the blanket up around your shoulders, rolling over to go back to sleep.

Too unsettled to follow you, he stays awake.

–

He watches you frown in concentration, focusing on the tiny piece of metal in your hand.

Your fingers are so much more nimble than his, but even you’re having a hard time finding purchase. It slips within your grip the longer you hold it, and not for the first time, he marvels at something seemingly so insignificant in size, yet so crucial to your plan. The converter in your palm is what sparks the engines to life – just a tiny scrap of intricate wiring, one of many that clips into a board that then fits neatly beneath a panel on the floor.

And unfortunately, the thing that took the hardest brunt of impact upon your rough landing.

There are forty in total needed and you have twelve that function. Thirteen, he counts, if you’re successful with this one.

Satisfied with your work, you blow gently on the piece. His eyes drop to your mouth when you purse your lips, and it stays on your profile until you break his reverie, handing the converter to him.

He blows out a breath, prepping the voltage pen.

“Here goes nothing, little bird.”

He attaches the pen to the converter, and the pod is silent for a fraction of a second.

His thumb presses forward and – red.

“Fuck,” you mutter, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t understand what the issue is.” The statement is laced with frustration, and he runs a broad hand down his face before dropping it onto his lap. “Do you have any idea?”

You shake your head, defeat etched into your features. “I wish. I’ve rewired it a couple of times. I’m scared if I keep messing with it, it’ll strip what there is to work with.”

Leaning back on your hands, you arch your back to stretch the muscles and the action draws his gaze downwards, focusing on the way he can see your chest through your tight thermals.

“I feel like we should call it,” you suggest. “We’ve been at it for ages, and I’m starving.”

You crawl over to the cupboard next to your bed, your pert little ass in the air as you rifle through the contents and he thinks about how he’s starving too. His mouth waters, and his tongue drags slowly across his bottom lip.

“I can read through the manual again,” you start to say, the rest of your words fading into the background as he continues to stare. Your thighs, the flare of your hips, the peek he has of your cunt. He can see the shape of it through your leggings, a tiny hot little space that he imagines the heat of. He longs to touch it. It calls for his fingers, or his tongue and he imagines the taste of it through the thin material.

What would you sound like if he put his mouth on you that way? Would you let him?

“Maybe I missed something.” You straighten, sitting on your knees to thumb through the pages of the ship’s manual and the youthful way you bite your lip as you study it stirs shame in his gut. It’s a sensation he’s not used to, and though it would normally be easy to ignore, he can’t. Not when it comes to you.

You are so fucking young, and he needs to get out of here.

Still, he wonders if you feel it like he does. The tension that fills the space sometimes, the magnet that pulls the two of you together. He might be inclined to say you don’t feel it…but he also knows people. He’s seen a flicker of interest on your face, he’s seen your pretty eyes hooded with what he’s sure was lust. With anyone else, he’d have already broached the subject of a…mutual arrangement, but with you, guilt stops him every time. He’s not used to the feeling stopping him from doing anything, but the imbalance of the situation is too much for even him to think about taking advantage of.

Though if you were to ask him, he wouldn’t say no.

You continue to flip through the manual, and he imagines you making the first move. Asking him to help with an ache you have, telling him only his fingers could soothe it. You, hovering at the side of his cot, whispering please. It’s perverse, the dynamic that makes him throb. You, helpless and begging for relief, and him, competent and so very willing.

Your youth plays into it, he’s sure. Your eagerness does too. You’re so sweet, and it’s been so long – which is exactly why he shouldn’t even think about sullying you with his dirty hands.

You want it though, he can tell. Maybe not everything he wants, but you do want. You’ve dirtied your hands and liked it, reveled in the things he’s been able to teach you: how to defend yourself, how to shoot, how to dig and plot and survive.

You’re a fighter, and he loves it.

He feels your eyes on him.

What would you do if he stood up and took what he wanted?

“Ezra?”

He blinks at the sound of your voice bringing him back to the present.

“Want some dinner?”

“Sure.” .

Watching you cook, he’s momentarily transported outside this pod, off this planet and into wherever you lived before this. Every action is a practiced, deft one. You work in silence, as if you’re used to it. A solitary creature, much like himself. Not by choice though – also much like himself. He’d almost think you prefer to be alone, but the way you’ve leaned into his companionship tells him differently.

Feeling the guilt press against his ribcage again when he hungrily takes in the nape of your neck, he tamps it down. Helping you instead of fantasizing about you is the least he can fucking do.

He comes to stand next to you, and you look up at him, confused.

“Want some help?”

You smile, and he mirrors it, taking the meal packet from your hands. Dehydrated rations vacuum sealed in tiny pouches, he pours the contents of two into the pan on the stove, adding water. He stirs for a moment, watching a porridge of sorts form. Chicken, he thinks, from the color of it.

“I can’t say this looks entirely appetizing.”

“Feel free to feast on your Bits bars,” you toss back, and the edge of his mouth lifts.

“Now now, I didn’t say I wasn’t going to eat it.”

You set the bowls out, and he pours the contents of the pan into them, dividing the portions up. Your cots parallel to each other’s, he sits across from you, each of you cradling a bowl in your hands.

Rain hits the roof harder, making the small space intimate.

“What are we going to do if we can’t fix it?”

Your question gives him pause, but it’s your face that affects him more. So open, so trusting. Looking to him for guidance and reassurance, and an image of you flat on your back on your cot with the same face flashes through his mind. He clears his throat.

“Somethin’ I’ve been trying to avoid,” he replies. “Though it seems that I can no longer.”

You wait, and he meets your eyes directly.

“We’re going to have to scavenge some parts,” he says. You chew thoughtfully for a moment, and he keeps his eyes on your own, studying your expression. He lifts his eyebrow in question. “You ready to be my right hand man?”

“...I think so,” you reply hesitantly. “I mean, I’ve got the hang of the thrower.”

“That you do,” he agrees, taking a bite of his dinner.

You picked it up much faster than he thought, but it shouldn’t have surprised him the way it did. You were a determined, fierce creature – one who was capable of so much more than you thought you were, and one who reveled in it every time he encouraged you to learn something new. Sometimes, when he thought about the man he never knew, he felt frustration flare bright. He wasted you. You could have been so much more, and not just a harvester partner either.

You could still be so much more, he reasons – and not for the first time, he wonders what will become of you once you go home. He’ll be sad to miss it.

“Do you think I can do it?”

He lets the question sit for a moment. Can you? Yes. Should you? That’s a question he can’t answer. You shouldn’t even be here in the first place. But you are here, and so you have to do what you have to do.

He leans forward, as if to let you in on a secret.

“I think you can do anything, little bird.”

You smile, and he returns it – but only for a moment, before his expression sobers.

“We need a few things, and I don’t think we can get them all from the same ship. That means we’ll have to throw ourselves in the face of confrontation more than a few times. You understand?”

You nod. “What do you need me to do?”

The question is asked without hesitation, and he fights the urge to tell you to forget he ever said anything. That he’ll find another way to get the two of you out of here without putting you in direct danger. His mind races for an alternative…but there isn’t one. He knows what this place demands of people. There isn’t any hiding from it; it’s better you understand the risk and prepare for it.

“I’ll be the muscle, you the mechanic. I’ll need your nimble fingers to harvest those converters. I know where we can find some, but it might take us a couple cycles to get them all.”

“Where?”

“The other prospectors that are here. They have ships – between those and some wreckage sites I’ve come across, I’m hopeful we can gather enough for what we need. I’m not sure if they’ll be functioning or not, but it’s worth a try.”

You nod in agreement, and he scrapes the rest of his bowl clean. Spooning it into his mouth, he catches the way your eyes linger on the action and he knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. You make it too easy with your expressive face, and feeling guilty only goes so far against his impulses.

Keeping his eyes on you, he sticks the spoon back in his mouth with relish, sucking it clean.

“Tastes sweeter than I thought it would,” he hums.

You swallow hard, staring at his throat. He feels the thrill of victory, but only for a split second though, until the tension between your bodies immediately fills the small space. Your eyes hood, and his own calculating gaze narrows. He drags his tongue across his bottom lip, taking note of the way you watch it.

Will you ask him now?

Taking a deep breath, you stand instead and reach for his bowl.

He hands it to you, keeping his eyes on your ass while you walk away.

—

It started with the lessons.

Actually, it began in flickers before that: glimpses of his profile, the feeling of his arm across your chest when he stopped you from tripping over a vine, the sound of his steady breathing in the night. The lessons had only amplified it, dragging the fleeting sparks of attraction to the surface, letting them catch fire under the intensity of his presence.

You asked him to teach you how to shoot and the whole while, you felt it dripping down your spine to pool between your thighs. Two suits between you, and every word he uttered through the comm link left you feeling stripped bare.

“Easy does it,” he murmured. The speaker in your helmet added husk to his voice, and that only made it worse.

“Grip it harder,” he said, pressing his hand around yours, and your knees almost buckled.

He must have felt the tension, because he brought it up afterwards. Not directly, but that was never his way. He danced around it, until he pounced.

“Small space. Before. How did you…seek relief?” He lifted his eyebrows meaningfully.

It was a bold question, but then again – everything he’s done told you he’s a bold man.

“I don’t –” you shied away from the question, looking away. "Let's not talk about it.”

“So you didn’t.”

“I didn’t say that, I said I didn’t want to talk about it.”

“So you did?” His eyebrows raised.

No, you didn’t, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Why are you so worried about it?” you asked instead, and he lifted his hands in surrender.

“Not worried, little bird. Just curious.”

He was always curious - and that was the issue. It wasn’t true attraction he felt, but rather misplaced attraction on your part. When you thought about it for too long, you felt foolish and immature. It wasn’t him, it was the situation. He was too attentive for his own good, too charming. He thought of you as someone who was dependent on him, not someone to be attracted to. Besides, how could it be him? Not only someone with ages more experience than you, but also someone so…rough? A murderer?

A murderer that’s done so only for you, a small voice whispered inside your head.

Logic told you that you were too young, too inexperienced for a man like that. But it didn’t stop your treacherous mind from rebelling.

You did seek relief that night, hours after he teased you about it. The second he went to shower, you laid down on your cot and spread your thighs and let the fire you felt earlier consume you. You recalled his words, his touch, the solid breadth of his body behind yours. It didn’t take long with how worked up you were, but afterwards, you felt overwhelming shame. You scolded yourself, telling yourself never again. It was a violation of his fucking privacy for fucks sake, a violation of his boundaries that you did it while he was stuck inside the same small container with you. He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would mind, but still, the guilt consumed you for days, so bad that you couldn’t even meet Ezra’s eyes for fear that he would know.

You felt like your fingertips were branded red, your come a permanent stain on the skin.

Days later, you did it again.

You couldn’t help yourself. It seemed like everything he did was unintentionally filthy. The phrases he said, the little grunts he let out while working, the strain in his voice sometimes through the helmet. Everything sounded like a double entendre to your horny, shameful ears and that said nothing for the way he looked at you.

You never stood a chance against that empty promise to yourself.

Weeks of living together has taught you that he likes to shower at night before bed, and tonight is no exception. You watch as he gathers his clothes from underneath his cot, his thermals stretching across his broad back. The muscles shift underneath the thin fabric, and you track every movement out of the corner of your eye.

Pretending to clean the dishes, you’ve been waiting all day for this, and after today especially, it takes everything you have to feign nonchalance.

That spoon. The way he licked it, the sound he made, the look on his face. The mental image joins others: his hands while he works, the shift of his back muscles underneath his thermals, the heat of his knee knocking into yours when he sits close. Sounds join: his breathing through the commlink, the soft sound in the back of his throat that he makes when he shifts in his sleep.

Images and sounds cycle rapidly through your head, all joining the swirl of arousal that feels like an empty pit low in your belly and it’s everything you can do to wait until you’re sure he’s showering before you bend over the kitchen counter, thrusting a hand beneath your thermals.

The second your fingers find slippery wetness, you sigh with relief. It’s a pained sigh though, one of desperation that has you rubbing the pads of your fingers over your clit with a steady, firm press as you bite your lip to quell the telltale sounds of what you’re doing. You hurt with the way you’ve wanted him, made worse by his close proximity. It’s been raining for days and you’ve been stuck inside with him and the sounds he made last night while he was sleeping echo in your mind. You breathe hard, condensation fogging the counter top.

The sound of water splashing in the background, your imagination supplies the rest:

His tanned skin, flush with heat. His hair, even darker when wet. The line of his throat as he tips his head back, the swirl of hair around his belly button and down, the broadness of his shoulders in that small space. His forearms flexing as he washes himself – an image that automatically turns into his hand braced on the wall of the shower, steam filling the air around him as his other hand pumps frantically between his thighs –

You climb higher and higher, a heady pulse throbbing between your legs, your thighs trembling as you ascend with frantic, little whines between your clenched teeth.

The phantom weight of his cock in your grip and then the smooth, blunt tip of it sliding across your cheek, between your breasts, your lips stretching around it as your tongue molds to fit the underside.

You don’t have a ton of experience under your belt, but you have enough to know what a cock feels like. His though? Would it be thicker? Bigger? You picture him stripping out of his suit the way he does, his thermal inching up just enough to see the thatch of hair that collects underneath his belly button to lead down beneath his waistband, and you start to come, pressing your face into the crook of your arm to muffle the sound.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“Watch my fingers.”

“Easy, easy, Birdie. That’s it.”

“Hold it nice and tight. That’s it.”

Every word he’s spoken to you taken out of context to supply the scene in your head, you bite the fabric of your thermal when you come. You let out a breathless sob, your cunt pulsing as the sparks of your release burst bright between your hips, and your fingers work the last dregs of it out, savoring the intensity of satisfying the ache you’ve felt all day.

You slump against the counter, your limp hand resting between your thighs and catch your breath. The blood rushing through your ears fades, clarity bringing the sound of silence.

Silence.

The shower is off.

–

He heard it.

He thought he was hearing things as he dried off; lingering echoes that remained from his release moments ago. It was faint, but when he paused toweling, he heard it.

A muffled groan, a soft whine and even while still feeling the throbs of the spend he painted the shower wall with, he begins to harden.

He fucking knew it. He clasps himself in hand, giving his cock a firm squeeze, and listens.

There is silence on the other side of the door, and he wonders where you are in the pod right now. Where did you end up when you took your relief? He pictures it, and the flare of lust that instantly clouds his vision almost has him opening the door without getting dressed. He’ll come and find you, push you down onto your cot, rip the clothes off that have been giving him everything and nothing all at once these weeks and finally consume you, like you’ve consumed him.

He dresses quickly, pulling his thermals over still damp skin. Opening the shower compartment, he finds you at the sink, scrubbing your hands.

In the kitchen? You didn’t even lay down on your cot? Your need must have been too urgent, and he grins at the idea. Will you let him fuck you there?

He feigns ignorance, coming to lean casually against the counter. Leaning in close, he wears a mask of politeness. “Thanks for cleaning up.”

“No problem,” you reply, not meeting his eyes.

In any other situation, he’d revel in the game of cat and mouse. He’d plot out ways to get you to break or bend to his will, letting you dangle on the edge until you were begging him for relief. But now…he pauses.

“You okay, Birdie?”

“Yea.” Your expression is one of fake brightness, your eyes giving it away. “Just…thinking about tomorrow.”

It’s clear that’s not the whole truth. He knows what he heard and from the rapid beat of your pulse under your delicate skin tells him that you’re obviously hiding something, but the mention of tomorrow is like being doused with cold water.

Tomorrow, when he brings you out into the Green, putting you in the path of danger that you never asked to be in. You never asked for any of this, and he feels sickened at the previous idea of pushing you down on your cot to take what you’re “offering”. He should be focusing on preparing you for the danger that’s out there. He knows better than this, and for the first time in a long time, he feels chastened.

“You’ve got this,” he reassures you, and though he can feel the slight hitch in your breathing when his hand rests on your shoulder, he ignores it. “We’ve got this. As your partner, I swear on my life I won’t let anything happen. Understand?”

He feels you lean slightly into his touch, and suppresses the urge to pull you close. It’s been a long time since he’s comforted anyone, and he’s surprised the impulse comes back so quickly.

You look up at him, and the impulse grows with how vulnerable you look. So open, so trusting – yet resolute in your faith in him.

You nod. “We’ve got this.”

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maximinimum · 9 months ago

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it actually really doesn’t matter at all and everything will be okay forever

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maximinimum · 1 year ago

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Always on the Tip of My Tongue | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

Part 6 of Meet Me in the Back

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: when you see joel flirting with another girl, you start to lose your head. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink, phone sex, smoking, alcohol consumption, light ~sexual touching~ with an OMC (some of which could be considered dubcon but is ultimately consented to), some angst besties :), jealousy, pettiness, Feelings, all that fun stuff!!! word count: ~7.6K | ao3 a/n: life has been kicking my fucking ass, and so has this chapter. for like 5 months. but I’m so glad to finally have it out. title is from Hate to Be Lame by Lizzy McAlpine. listen if you want to cry over these two. enjoy friends :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

Blonde. Skinny. Around 5’3”. Flouncy little dress that’s too skimpy for the 40-degree weather outside. A six-pack on the counter and a pointed chin nestled in her palm propped by her elbow.

The last time you’d seen this charade, it had been you.

You flex your hand on the door handle, peering through the glass. Joel’s forearms are resting on his thighs, a smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head at her.

Something claws at your stomach, propelling you forward. The door chimes. Joel doesn’t look.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. No ID, no booze. Just how it goes.”

Darlin’.

You slip between aisles, keeping a watchful eye on the counter – on Joel’s expression – as you pretend to scan the chips.

“I promise I’m twenty-one! Don’t I look twenty-one?” You can hear the pout bending her lips, the shrill lilt to her voice, the vocal fry that grates across her words. She bends steeper over the counter, the hem of her dress kissing the bottom curve of her ass.

Joel’s thumb swipes at his lower lip as you see his eyes light up in what seems to be a subconscious response to what is surely a devastating view in front of him. “Don’t matter what you look like, sweetheart. No ID, no booze.”

“And I can’t convince you otherwise?” The enticing drag to her voice sets off a flurry of something in your stomach again.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not. It has to be something else.

Your hand closes around a bag of chips absentmindedly as Joel dips further forward onto his forearms.

“You think you got what it takes to convince me, darlin’?” Joel smirks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Cause I—”

The bag slips from your hand and plops to the floor with a squeaky, crumpling sound against the linoleum, and Joel’s head jerks up.

When his eyes meet yours they go wide, a fly nearly caught in a web. He straightens up, stiffens like a board, and makes a show of clearing his throat as he glances back at the girl at the counter. “I’m sorry, miss. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave and come back with ID. I can’t help you. That’s final.”

You see his fingers fidgeting against his jeans as he sets his jaw and avoids your gaze.

“Fucking seriously? Fuck you, old man,” the girl bites back, shoving the Coors Light across the counter so hard Joel has to shoot his arms out to catch it before it smashes to the floor. She’s out the door seconds later, leaving you standing in the aisle and Joel staring down at the case clutched to his pudgy stomach.

For a long moment the only sound is the buzzing of the lights on the ceiling. Then your footfalls clatter against the linoleum as you make your way to the counter. You slap your retrieved bag of chips in front of Joel and begin rifling for your wallet.

“Darlin’…” Joel starts, falling flat in the air between you. The absence of the telltale beep from Joel’s barcode scanner has you looking up.

Darlin’.

“Just the chips,” you state, brandishing your debit card between your fingers.

You spot something in his eyes. Hesitance. Anxiousness. You don’t dwell on it.

“Please,” you punctuate, signaling your disinterest in whatever the fuck is happening between the two of you right now.

“Darlin’, I didn’t know you—”

“Joel?” You interrupt firmly, and he almost flinches. “It’s fine. Just the chips, please.”

He eyes you warily as he takes up the bag, scanning it, and watching you slide your card into the reader. You stare down at the tiny screen taking an abnormally, cruelly, long time to process.

The lights buzz.

“Pretty young thing,” you mutter before you can stuff the words back into your mouth.

“Don’t be mad, sweetheart.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Promise, it wasn’t nothin’.”

“Wasn’t my business if it was.”

“You seem a little mad.”

You exhale heavily out your nose, fixated on the tiny spinning wheel on the screen that you’re begging to finally chime and tell you to remove your card.

“I’m peckish.”

“Hell does that mean? You wanna peck at me?” Joel asks, his stool creaking under him as he leans back.

You look up at him from through your lashes for a moment. “Means I’m hungry.”

“Oh.”

You arch your eyebrows once in acknowledgment, and the blessed machine finally beeps at you. You snatch your card back and shove it in your wallet.

“Thanks,” you throw at him as you gather your spoils and head toward the door.

“Sugar—”

“Later,” you call casually in dismissal over your shoulder and let the door snick shut behind you.

You slam your car door shut and collapse against the back of your seat, chips tossed to the passenger side.

It doesn’t matter. He can flirt with whoever he wants. He can proposition whoever he wants. The two of you are nothing. This is nothing.

You wrap your arms around the steering wheel and bang your forehead against it with a thud, groaning.

The hell is this shit? Whatever you’re feeling. This churning sensation that’s tightening your insides. Because it cannot be what logic is telling you it is. Because that would be fucking stupid. You are fuck buddies. Nothing more than that.

You fumble around inside the median compartment for a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, roll down the window to a burst of frigid air, and light up. The first puff only minimally tamps your nerves, so you keep inhaling. You pull out your phone, idly scrolling, cascading smoke out the open window from the side of your mouth as you tap ash onto the asphalt.

The sound of scraping footsteps on the pavement next to your car has your attention swiveling to the left, where Joel is traipsing closer and closer.

That feeling starts up again.

With no pretense, he plucks the smoldering cigarette dangling from your fingers and leans his arm against the frame of your car, taking a lengthy drag.

“I wasn’t finished,” you say, a hint of annoyance infiltrating your words.

“I’ll let you finish,” he mumbles around the filter, only removing it to billow smoke from his lips. “Always let you finish, don’t I?”

“Whatever,” you mutter, reaching out to retrieve your stolen cigarette and attempt to resume your stress relief. Unfortunately, the “stress” in question is tapping his fingers against the hood of your car.

The silence stretches on as the white fizzles down to dull copper and Joel’s eyes monitor the front of the store. The taptaptap-ing of Joel’s fingertips grinds at your nerves.

“Didn’t mean to upset you, sugarplum.”

“You didn’t upset me.”

“Seem upset.”

“I already fucking told you, dickwad. I’m not fucking upset,” you snap, chucking your spent smoke on the ground at Joel’s feet. “You can fuck who you want. No skin off my nose.”

Joel heaves a heavy sigh and snuffs the ashen cherry out under his shoe. “Just didn’t mean to…rub shit in your face like that. ‘S’all.”

“There’s nothing to…rub,” you insist, dropping your head back against the seat. “You’re fucking other girls. I’m fucking other guys. This is a non-issue.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Joel presses his back flat against the car, folding his arms across his chest with a wide stance. “Ok. Good.”

You stare out the windshield, the salty streaks of ice melt marring the surface of the parking lot.

“I’m… I’m bein’ safe. Just so you know. With anyone else.”

It takes a second for the meaning of his words to sink in, but when they do, you do a mental double-take. “Wait, like… protection? Like condoms?”

His head nods steadily, eyes staring off in the distance.

“You hate condoms.”

Joel nods again, turning his head to the side to peer at the back of the lot. And your ears are playing tricks, the wind is blowing too loud, the cars on the surrounding streets too noisy. Because you swear to god you hear him say something that sounds eerily similar to, “But I like you.”

But you’re sure he didn’t, because when he turns back he just says, “Just tryna be more careful. Don’t need any little critters crawlin’ around the family jewels, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, that’s smart. I, uh, I am too. Having them wear protection. Just so we’re clear.”

Joel nods resolutely once more. “Okay then.” He springs himself off the car and starts slowly walking backward toward the entrance. “You wanna…pop back in for a bit?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever turned him down before. He’s always got that naughty glint in his eye, that charming smile, that bulge in his pants. But this time…you do. Maybe to prove a point. Maybe more to yourself than to him. “Another time.”

Joel nods deeply and twists about-face on the heel of his boot, his hands tucked in his pockets.

The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you roll up your window.

It starts to fester. The absolute last thing you want it to do. A constant frustration clouds the back of your mind, slowly creeping forward.

It takes significantly more effort to focus on work, to go out with friends, to run errands. You see the inside of more than a couple men’s bedrooms, hoping the right fuck will clear the fog.

There is one guy. A friend of a friend of Mandy’s who tagged along to a bar one weekend and finessed his way inside you by the night’s end. Nate. He’s a douchebag, but he’s hot and his dick isn’t entirely forgettable.

It’s not his. It could never compare to his. But it’s something. So you’ve allowed Nate to become something of a repeat offender. An expendable piece of arm candy for when you’re with your friends. He fucks rough and dirty, he calls you a good girl.

He fills gaps. The gaps that have been left by him molding your body to his cock. The gaps that persist from you decidedly avoiding falling into bed with that disgustingly foul, devastatingly well-endowed man again for the umpteenth time.

Seeing him flirting with someone else that night set off an alarm in your head. Something that now persistently buzzes under your skin. You feel it sting when you think about him directly. Like your body is punishing you.

It’s been about a month since you’ve seen him. The cold winter has given way to a slightly warmer spring. He texts you sporadically.

February 19

Joel: really didnt mean 2 upset u sugerplum

Joel: really srry

February 26

Joel: is it one of them wierd jumpy years???

Joel: LEAP YEAR

Joel: how do they exspect us to know wen those r???

Joel: checked the calender in the office. is feb 28 the leap day?

Joel: miss u

March 14

Joel: whether is real nice 2day. bet ur wearin one of ur skanky sundresses huh?

Joel: woudnt say no 2 a sneek peek 😉

Joel: no presshure tho

March 17

Joel: cant stop dreamin bout that tite fuckin slit

Joel: wanna b inside it again soon

Joel: ill make it sooooooo good 4 u

Those last ones come in quick succession late on a Friday night while you’re hanging at Mandy’s place with a smattering of friends, your leg draped over Nate’s as his hand slides up your inner thigh — as high as he’s willing to go in the present company. He’s not quite as bold as…some people. But you like that he doesn’t keep his hands to himself.

Nate’s preoccupied even as he strokes your sensitive skin, locked in a spirited debate with another guy about some inane bullshit.

Despite the typos, Joel’s words have your core pulsing. Flashes of his massive cock splitting open your pussy flutter across the backs of your eyelids as you attempt to soothe yourself and the stupid, horny bitch between your legs. Your eyes snap open in response to the unwelcome images and you take a steadying breath, adjusting your seat and covertly palming your clit as you tug down on the hem of your denim shorts. That gets Nate’s attention, and he squeezes your thigh, giving you an appraising look.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “You think Mandy would disown you if we fucked in her bed?”

“Yeah, she would,” you mutter back. “Let’s get out of here?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he chuckles, giving your leg a final squeeze before stretching his arms above his head with a fabricated yawn. “Getting a bit tired. We’re gonna dip,” he tosses to the group, knocking his knuckle against your knee to indicate the we.

“Ok, I’ll see you later, babe,” Mandy throws to you from the couch opposite, giving you air kisses. You reciprocate the gesture and let Nate lead you out, his hand solid at the small of your back.

As soon as you arrive at the car, your back is pressed against the chill of the passenger side door and Nate’s mouth is on you. His hand wedges between your legs, rubbing up against your pussy through your shorts. You whimper quietly, but cup his jaw, pushing his mouth back from yours.

“Not here, dumbass. You’re gonna jizz in your pants again.”

“I only did that once,” he grumbles, huffing as he shoves off from the car and rounds to the driver’s side. You’re on the road soon after, his hand tickling at your inner thigh again over the center divider.

It’s not the hand you want. It’s the hand you should want. The one you want to want right now. You hate that it’s not. All because you bent over for that stupid fucking cashier one time, and now you’re here. A perfectly handsome man’s hand is making its way up toward your aching clit, hindered only by distressed denim, and you don’t give a shit about it. Because it’s not the hand you want. It’s not the cock you want. Not the filthy mouth you want.

Didn’t mean to make you upset, Sugarplum.

Fuck him. For so many things. The life-altering, reality-shattering dick. The soft, torturous glances when he thinks you’re not looking. The sly, knowing glint in his eyes when he thinks he catches something in yours. The stupid turns of phrase.

The shameless flirt in him, aimed not only toward you, but toward any pretty girl he sees.

Fuck. Him.

Ok, so maybe you’re a tiny bit upset. You’re dealing with it. And you’ll continue to deal with it. In whatever way you see fit.

“Can we make a pit stop? I’m dying for a soda,” you say, rolling your head against the leather of the seat to face him.

“You wanna stop for a soda?” He replies, a whine apparent in his voice. “I’m trying to get you naked as fuck as soon as possible. Don’t cockblock me.”

You roll your eyes. “But the more hydrated I am, the more hydrated she is,” you inform, tapping two fingers against your crotch. “Don’t you want her juicy?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Quick stop.”

“Perfect. Take a right up here.”

–

You spy a sliver of his truck around the side of the building, so you know he’s here. You hop out of Nate’s car, and you have a few seconds to peer inside before Nate’s hand is at your back again.

Joel is right where you’ve always left him.

You can see the jiggle of his knee peeking over the countertop from his boot bouncing on the crossbar of his stool. His phone is discarded by the cash register, but he’s got a clipboard and pen in his hands this time. You see the flick of his wrist as he checks something off on it.

For a fleeting moment, you second-guess yourself.

But then Nate is at your back, hauling the door open for the two of you.

Joel perks up as the bell chimes, but you’re too attuned to the features of his face to overlook the slight drop in expression when he sees you. Sees Nate with you.

Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. But he did it to you, right? Let him see how it feels.

“Evenin’, folks,” Joel gives a courteous nod, eyes snagging on you and taking hold.

“‘Sup,” Nate replies in passing, guiding the two of you back toward the soda fountain.

You want to turn and look back at him as he clears your view. You want to see the expression on his face now that you’re not observing him. Because you can feel him observing you. Like his eyes are piercing through the cotton of your shirt, through your skin, right to your heart that feels like it’s beating far too fast for a casual drink stop.

But you don’t. You grab your cup and start filling it with ice. You dispense your soda. And when it’s almost full, you feel the slide of Nate’s hand down your ass. He gives you a light squeeze, and it makes your face start to heat. Normally you wouldn’t give a shit. You’re not opposed to PDA. But he is watching. You know he is.

You’re securing a lid onto your cup when Nate’s hand slips lower, down the center of your ass, until you feel his fingers start to stroke over your pussy again from the back.

Before you can say anything you hear a sharp interjection from behind you.

“Hey.”

You both turn back as Nate snatches his hand from between your legs. Joel’s attention is trained on the two of you, a look of bored annoyance on his face.

Not exactly what you had expected.

Joel leans forward onto the counter and reprimands in a jaded tone, “This ain’t Friskies Night at The Calico Kitten. Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Huh?” Nate responds, a bit dumbfounded, turning fully around to face him. You follow suit hesitantly biting your lip as the guilt of this entire situation starts to set in. You wanted him to feel guilty. To feel sorry for making you feel bad. You’re not so sure you want that anymore.

“You heard me. ‘S a public fuckin’ place. And private fuckin’ property. Keep your hands off her.”

Nate takes a step forward. “You’re really telling me how I’m allowed to touch my girl?”

“Nate…” you warn softly, putting a hand on his arm.

“Why the hell are you even looking at my girl to see how I’m touching her, huh?” Nate continues, slipping his hand around your waist possessively.

Joel’s eyes flit over yours, and you’re not even sure how to react. You feel foolishly caught in the middle of a situation that you crafted. You don’t offer anything but a subtle shake of your head to Joel.

I’m not his girl. I’ve never been his girl. Please don’t make me say it.

“Part of my job’s to make sure beautiful women like her are safe,” Joel asserts, pointing a finger at you. “You feel safe, darlin’?”

Darlin’.

You swallow slightly and nod, your voice caught in your throat for some odd reason.

“You want him touchin’ you like that?”

“She’s totally fucking chill with it, dude,” Nate butts in, but Joel throws up a hand in a stopping motion.

“Don’t remember askin’ you a goddamn thing, son.”

You clear your throat and, with shaky conviction, announce, “Yes. I’m fine with him touching me like that.”

“Hear that, old man? Told you she’s chill with it,” Nate brags, giving you a swat on the ass that makes you jump. You restore your resolve quickly, sizing Joel up with your eyes and your renewed confidence. He doesn’t reveal anything to you that he hasn’t already let slip, and it almost disappoints you. His own gaze seems to be scrutinizing you in return, like he’s daring you to make a move.

“Come on,” Nate mumbles, grabbing your drink from the counter behind you and starting toward the cash register.

You see Joel shrug and chuck his pen onto the counter like a dart, skidding across the surface. As the two of you approach, he unmistakably says, “Far too pretty for a little boy like that, sweetheart.”

“Please,” Nate scoffs, plopping your drink in front of Joel absentmindedly as he tilts his head toward you with a smirk. “Says the dinosaur over here, running his mouth and playing the white knight like he’s got a shot in hell of scoring a sexy piece of ass like you.”

Joel snorts at that, eyes fixed on the barcode he’s scanning on the side of your cup. “Son, you are stumblin’ into a dick-measurin’ contest that you are embarrassingly unequipped for.” Joel glances directly at you with a smug look cemented on his face. “Ain’t he?”

Nate takes in your vague expression, then narrows his eyes slightly at Joel. “Why are you asking her like she’d know?”

Joel gives a little upside-down grin and a shrug, focusing his attention on his monitor. “I’ve found that girls have a pretty good sense for that kinda thing. Don’t they sugar…” he starts, meeting your eyes from beneath his eyelashes, “tits,” he concludes smoothly.

You see the glow in his eyes. The knowledge of what he wants to call you, but knows better than to divulge in front of an outsider.

Your heart throbs in your chest.

Even now, when you’re very blatantly trying to make him feel insecure, that unique Joel self-assurity shines through. Not only that, but the respect for you and the privacy of your little trysts stands unwavering between the pair of you. He could blow up your spot. He could tell Nate how unabashedly you scream on his cock, how your eyes roll back in your head every time he sinks inside you. How he’s trained you to call him “daddy” and trained your cunt to slide down onto his generous length with humiliating ease and reasonable grace.

But he doesn’t.

And that alone would win him any dick-swinging contest, if his staggeringly large cock hasn’t already.

“Fuck it, it’s on the house,” Joel says, waving his hand at the soda and jabbing his finger onto the touch screen on his monitor. He plucks a straw out for you from the cup stocked with them by the register.

“Wait, what? Why?” Nate challenges, skeptical.

Nate secures his hand around your waist again, but Joel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t give it any attention at all. Just scoots your drink closer to you and says with a wink, “Don’t say I never did nothin’ nice for ya.”

You wrap your hand around the base of the cup, and when your fingers don’t meet each other around the circumference of it, your mind is flooded with images. When you glance up at Joel, it’s apparent that he’s already plagued with the same vulgar recollections.

Joel clicks his tongue against his top row of teeth and winks at you again in sendoff. He doesn’t say it, but the message is clear.

We both know what’s going on here, sugarplum.

–

Nate doesn’t get any. He doesn’t even make it out of the car at your place before you shut it down. And he is comically distressed about it. He calls you a bitch and a tease before peeling out of your apartment complex with screeching tires.

It sits heavy in your stomach how mortifying it would be for Joel to have seen that kind of behavior. But honestly, Joel probably pegged that attitude in him within seconds. He’s smart that way. Intuitive. God, it enrages you.

You saw the shift in him when he realized you were parading around with a sorry excuse for a man. Suddenly the threat he’d initially perceived was neutralized and it became more of a game to him than anything else. He was toying with Nate. While you stood there, battling with yourself over what you were doing.

Your phone vibrates when you step inside your apartment.

Joel: dont gotta b doin shit like that to get my attenchin sweetcheeks. u alreddy got it.

Something about the cocksureness in his demeanor earlier and the matter-of-factness in his text has frustration flaring up inside your chest.

You: Sure didn’t have it the other night. Some random blonde bimbo walks into the store and your cock is practically out.

You fling your phone onto the couch and head to the kitchen, pulling out a hard seltzer and cracking it open to down a generous gulp. Your nails clack against the counter as you see your phone screen alight over the back of the couch.

You don't particularly want to see what he has to say to your text. You had just wanted to say it. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. But you wanted to. You needed to. That’s the downside of texting shit like that, you suppose. The other party is probably going to respond.

Bitch, this is what diaries are for. Get a fucking diary.

Too late now.

You drag your feet over to the couch and drop heavily onto it, staring at the text notifications from Joel on your lock screen. Five of them. You take another healthy swig of your drink and take the plunge, unlocking your phone and swiping to your text thread with Joel. But you are not prepared for the deluge he smacks you with.

Joel: u excpect me to b a monk when ur not gracin me with ur presents princess?

Joel: shure askin an awfull lot of a guy who dicks u down like hes paid 4 it

Joel: ya its been a while but i kno 4 a fact taht lil creamie gusher btwn ur legs remembrs how ur daddys cock feels squirtin his lode deep inside it

Joel: u bein petty aint as cute as u tihnk it is little girl. ur fuckin with a grown man. not some pussy boy like that chode u was flawntin around me with

Joel: if ur planin on keepin this up u better at leest try a little harder

Fuck.

You’ve never heard him talk like this. Like he's pissed off. He’d seemed so calm and collected at the store. Like he couldn’t give two shits about who you were hanging around or who was touching you. Your eyes start to burn with tears as you read the texts over.

You responded to his sexts by dragging your fuck buddy into his place of work. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react to that? Of course he’s pissed off at you. Why didn’t you take two seconds to think through your shit before reacting?

Bitch. Get. A fucking. Diary.

The fist around your gut clenches when more text bubbles pop up.

Joel: fuck. im sorry sugerplum. idk y i just threw all that at u. that wasnt polite.

Joel: just a dumb ol basterd shovin my whole goddamn foot in my mouth

Apparently you both need diaries.

Your heart hurts reading his texts. You’re enraged at yourself for driving him to this, running him through the whole gamut of emotions that a person experiences when they see someone they have feelings for giving attention to someone else.

Someone you have feelings for.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The fist around your gut is now joined by its twin around your heart.

You have feelings for Joel.

Deep down, you’ve known this for a while. It’s been brewing, whirring around your brain. You’ve shut it down every time it’s cropped up, wrapped your hands around its throat and squeezed until you’d sufficiently silenced it for the time being. Beat it into submission, starved it of oxygen, stuffed it into a box and set it ablaze.

Then you’d see him again and it would burst out of its charred prison, bigger, bolder, better than before. An exhausting cycle that you were only vaguely aware was occurring.

But that’s it. You have feelings for Joel.

So, you respond to him in the best way you know how, the way that you think would make him smile to himself the most.

You: Doesn’t even come close to what I can shove in my mouth

You bite the side of your thumb, a grin pulling at your lips as a weight seems to lift from your chest, as the fists begin to loosen. Your stomach flutters when the next message flies in.

Joel: cheeky girl

Joel: wheres ur boyfriend

Your smile broadens and you take another sip of your drink.

You: Got lost in the cavern you’ve made of my pussy. Might never see him again.

Joel: atta girl

You slap a hand over the cheek-bursting grin expanding across your face and toss your phone into your lap. But after a moment, when it dawns on you that you have no one to hide it from — not even yourself — you let your hand fall from your face and into your lap, your head leaning back against the couch as you beam up at the ceiling.

Another buzz.

Joel: hows about u make it up 2 me by showin daddy his cavern 😏

You giggle to yourself, hand already working on the button of your shorts.

You: Been a minute since the last excavation, might have caved in a little

Joel: daddy can fix that in a jiff. hes always got his tools with him

Joel: gonna jackhammer that little bitch rite open again while u scream on it. mine ur cave with my shaft til daddy finds gold

You whimper as you shove your shorts and panties off your legs, your mind rifling through all the sensory memories you have of Joel’s cock plowing through you in that relentless rhythm he’s perfected with you.

You spread yourself wide for your camera, your heels mounted on the couch cushion to maximize exposure, and even you are taken off guard from the wetness seeping from your opening just from his trademark filth. It’s like your pussy is hardwired to drench itself the second he speaks in that particular brand of dirty talk only he can pull off.

Your hands are shaking with eagerness and arousal as you send off a photo, your fingers descending onto your clit hastily as you await his response.

You feel so keyed up you accidentally drop your phone when it starts to buzz aggressively in your hand, Joel’s name and photo popping up on your screen with an unexpected call.

You recover and accept the call, fumbling to hit the speaker button to hear his voice.

“Shit, never locked that goddamn door so fuckin’ fast. Jesus Christ, baby. All spread and smilin’ at me like that.”

“Just from thinking about you, daddy,” you sigh, lying fully onto the couch and hooking your leg over the back of it to make room for your brazen depravity.

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’ girl,” Joel groans, and he already sounds wrecked over the phone as you hear the muffled scrapes and scuffles of him releasing his length from his jeans. “Gash is dripping like a leaky faucet. Who’s it for, baby? Tell daddy who’s it for.”

“You,” you whine desperately, bucking into your hand at the grit and authority in his tone.

You hear a light tutting over the line. “You know better’n that. Tell me.”

You give a breathy whimper as you abandon all dignity for him once again. “It’s for Daddy Joel.”

A reedy groan travels through the speaker, followed by the easily identifiable sound of him spitting shamelessly into his palm. “Fuck yeah it is. That’s a good little slut.”

You can feel wetness dripping between your asscheeks as you rub at your clit to the reedy groans Joel gifts you with as the sound of slapping skin exposes his hand jerking his cock.

“Are you stroking yourself for me, daddy?”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah I am, baby. Right on our dirty little couch in the back. Can’t wait to bust you open on this bad boy again.”

You give a breathy laugh and say, “Is ‘bad boy’ referring to the couch or your cock?”

Joel lets out a low chuckle in return. “How’s about both? Wanna sit on this couch while you sit on me. Feel you bounce on it like the naughty fuckin’ bitch you are.”

You moan in response, your brain supplying you with memories of how it feels to drop down on his thick length until he bottoms out inside you. A wave of pleasure pulses through your body at the flashbacks, and you’re hit with how much you miss this man and his dick. How you crave the way he infiltrates your mind and your body in the most sinfully grotesque ways. You wish you had more visuals on your phone of what it looks like when he gapes open your cunt on his cock. That’s the first thing you want to do, you think, when you get your hands on him again. Make him film your defiling, showcase the stretch of your hole around his thickness as he retrains your body to take him after so long without him.

Your toy collection cannot do him justice. Maybe you bought a dildo that rivals his size, but it could never replicate the warmth of him inside you. The absolute control he has over you in those intimate moments when he lays claim to you. You can suction a silicone cock to a mirror and fuck your demons away as often as you’d like, but you can’t cup your own jaw with a heated, rough-hewn hand. You can’t fill your own ears with vile odes to the ways your bodies meld together, enrobed in that gritty southern drawl. Your imagination is only so colorful, and even if you had a thousand years, you could never amass the range of shades you would require to successfully capture his essence.

No, you could never paint him, even in your mind. You’re content to instead be a canvas for him. And as nit-picky as you are over your own appearance, whenever he gets done with you, a part of you feels like you could put an O’Keefe to shame. And he would undoubtedly agree.

But for the moment, you offer what little you can as your thoughts scramble by your own hand. “Yes, daddy. Wanna feel you fucking everywhere.”

“You stuffin’ that cunt full for me, sugarplum?”

You whine and tease two fingers down to your opening. “Not yet. Nothing compares to you.”

“Little boyfriend don’t stretch you out, huh?” Joel taunts, laughter in his voice as he baits you.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend. And no,” you admit, not terribly concerned with how easily you crumble over this man. You could argue back, stoke the jealousy, make Joel wonder exactly how he measures up next to Nate. But you’re done playing that card. Really the whole hand is blown at this point. He sees through you so effortlessly, you may as well have never had a poker face at all.

“Mmm, yeah, daddy knows how good he gives it. I told ya before. They all come crawling back to daddy Joel. You crawlin’, baby? You on them hands and knees for me?”

Your tail firmly between your legs like the bitch you were tonight, you whimper and say, “Yes, daddy. I’m crawling.”

“Lemme see.”

A whine escapes you, but you open your camera and maneuver yourself onto your hands and knees on the cushions, balancing your phone against the armrest to capture your compliance. The timer ticks down quickly and your wanton gaze stares back at you in a still image, your tits falling with gravity between your arms, your nipples peaked, your lips glistening from biting them subconsciously through your lascivious acts on this sofa tonight.

The picture whooshes off to Joel, and a gravely moan announces its reception. “Fuck me, little devil. Need you to drop those girls in daddy’s mouth so I can suck ‘em ‘til they’re raw.”

“Should punish them for getting us into this mess in the first place, shouldn’t we?” You purr, situating yourself on your back again to continue why you started.

“Damn well should,” Joel agrees, a grunt sliding into his words as he pulls at himself. “‘F’it weren’t for those knockers, you’d be down a twelver, some smokes, and a shit ton of good daddy pipe.”

“Especially the pipe,” you sigh, your fingers working ravenously at your clit. “God I love that big fucking cock, daddy. I’m gonna come thinking about it.”

“And I’m gonna blow my load all over my fist thinkin’ about your tight little gold mine. Shit,” Joel grunts out, the smacking sounds on the other end getting louder and faster.

“Oh, fuck, daddy,” you cry out as you feel that telltale warmth start to trickle through your limbs and the pulse of your pussy under your fingers.

“Yeah, fuck, come for daddy,” Joel growls out, followed by a series of curses and deep moans through the speaker as you assume he’s experiencing similar results.

As your adrenaline fades, you sink into the couch, and the weight of all your actions today start to sink with you.

“Shit, babygirl,” Joel exhales heavily as his own high dwindles. “Missed those sexy noises of yours.”

“Me too,” you admit, swallowing as you catch your breath. “Missed yours too.”

You hear a light laugh over the phone. Then silence starts to settle between the two of you. Time drips and each second feels like a drop into the pool sitting in your stomach, rippling and sloshing as you fight against being the one to spear through the quiet.

“Broken record here, but I’m sorry if I upset you flirtin’ with that girl, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were there. If I’d’ve known, I’d never…”

Something in your stomach goes tight again, and a burning starts behind your eyes. You hate that he keeps bringing this up. It had felt embarrassing enough in the moment. Mortifying enough to shut him out, to try and sort out the bullshit in your head about him. You’d made the mistake of trying to shove it back in his face, and it only made you feel worse. Every ounce of you just wants to move the fuck on from that night, from this evening, from this weird fucking limbo the two of you are stuck inside.

The words might have a little more bite to them than you mean for them to, but before you can pull them back you say, “Stop saying you made me upset. You have no idea how I feel.”

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, and it feels like your heart is palpitating to the passing seconds. When he speaks, his voice is bordering on defeated. “Startin’ to think you might be right about that. G’night, beautiful girl.”

A lump forms in your throat almost instantly.

“Joel,” you try to reassure, to prevent tonight’s exchange from ending on a sour note, but you watch the call end on your screen as you say it. That tightness in your stomach squeezes, the wetness brimming your eyes reluctantly spilling over.

You roll onto your side, drawing your legs up closer to your chest as you let your emotions overcome you for the first time in a long while. You beg the universe for him to call back so you can tell him what you discovered about yourself tonight. You can’t bring yourself to do it. You need him to do it.

He probably thinks I hate him.

I could never hate him.

You give yourself over to the sorrow and allow yourself to feel.

—

The skin around your eyes feels crusty and tight with dried tears when you blink awake. The apartment is still mostly dark, and you’re still half-naked on your couch.

As your memory from tonight pieces back together in the fog from your sleep, you pat around for your phone. 5:02 AM. No missed calls or texts.

You sigh, tossing the phone onto your coffee table and curling in on yourself again. The sleep has you thinking clearer.

You need to tell him. You can’t keep it inside when it feels like it’s boring through your chest. Especially when he’s sitting in that dingy store, likely thinking you can’t stand him. The hurt in his voice when he hung up a few hours ago is haunting. You never want to hear him sound like that again.

You wrangle your shorts back on, spruce up quickly in the mirror, and grab your keys.

You’re at the gas station in minutes, pulling up to the front. You allow yourself a single deep breath, not enough to second guess, and head to the front door.

The bell chimes tinnily, but the store is quiet. And Joel isn’t sitting on his stool. You don’t let it sway you.

You pass the first aisle. Nothing.

You pass the second aisle. Nothing.

Then you approach the third aisle, and you swear your heart skips. Joel is at work on the floor, kneeling on a foam pad and restocking the shelves.

“Be right with ya,” Joel says dismissively, reaching into the box behind him.

“What if I was upset,” you blurt out before he even has time to look at you.

Joel freezes for a moment as the sound of your voice flows from his ears to his brain. He twists back around as his gaze gravitates to yours, eyes widening in surprise as he pulls his hands from the box. His eyes roam over your body, toes to tits, then finally to your face. “Well, hello there, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you rush through the word, fold your arms across your chest just for somewhere to put them. “What if I was upset.”

Joel studies you for a long moment, his eyes squinting slightly in scrutiny. He falls back onto his ass, wincing gently as the pressure is taken off his knees, and drapes his arms over the clearly aching joints.

“What if you were upset, you’re asking?” He repeats, his tone prodding for further explanation.

“Yes,” you reply simply.

His eyes float to the side, drudging up what exactly you mean by that, before nodding to himself once he thinks he understands. “Upset at me tryin’ to slip it in another girl?”

A flash of disgust splashed across your face before you can school it, but you nod. “Yes.”

“Well,” Joel starts, his eyes shifting to the ground between his legs before meeting yours again, “What if I didn’t like you flittin’ around here with some dipshit punk? What if that really fuckin’ pissed me off, actually?”

“It pissed you off?”

Joel raises one eyebrow and sets his jaw firmly in response.

A creeping satisfaction radiates in your bones at this revelation. It had worked. He played it off, but it worked. So your behavior hadn’t been all for nothing. The crudeness of which you’d allowed Nate to touch you in the dim light of the store, the sting of the slap to your ass, the tingle you’d felt when Nate brushed his undeserving fingers over your pussy under Joel’s surveyance — it all burrowed under Joel’s skin.

“I wanted it to.”

“I know,” Joel says lowly, almost like he’s ashamed he’d fallen for it.

The heels of his boots squeak on the linoleum as he fixes his attention on the half-stocked shelves.

Moments drag by, and it becomes apparent that Joel is leaving the ball in your court on where this conversation leads.

You sigh, kicking your foot nervously and barely grazing the floor. “What if I don’t want to see you fucking around with another girl like that again?”

Joel’s eyes are drawn back to you again. You can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he says, “What if I don’t give a fuck about any other girl, even if they tried?”

A spark of light ignites in your chest as you battle with the smile pushing at your own lips.

None of this is even a solid answer. Not even a solid question. The open-ended what-ifs rallying back and forth, all at once saying nothing and everything you want to verbalize. But it feels right. It feels good.

Joel leans forward, a broad hand cupping around your calf, and your heart swoops. “Sugarplum,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours as his mouth brushes above your knee. Your eyes drift closed, luxuriating in the plush press of his lips on your skin, the gravity of the act somehow infinitely more magnanimous than it would have been at any time before now.

You’re both startled out of your skin as the bell chimes again and a breeze wending its way through the open door, a man in a suit heading straight back toward the coffee dispenser.

“Shit,” Joel mutters under his breath, pressing another kiss to your thigh before shoving himself off the floor and dusting off his jeans. You take a steadying breath and stem the heat in your cheeks with your palms.

Joel’s hands find your hips, stroking just under your shirt with his thumbs as a soft smile plays on his face. “Let’s talk later.”

You nod at him, pulling your lower lip between your teeth, suddenly feeling very bashful. “My place after I get off work? I’ll text you the address.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Joel affirms, his greedy eyes crinkle with his smile, and you’re not positive whether he’s undressing you or admiring you with them, but you ultimately figure it’s both. Always both. Joel’s lips find your forehead and it’s a losing battle to train your face into anything but exhilaration.

“Guess it does,” you reply softly, unable to stop yourself from raising your fingers, touching his lips that very well might be yours now, just as much as your own are.

Joel hums against the pads of your fingertips, pressing a delicate kiss to them and whispering, “My little sugarplum.”

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maximinimum · 1 year ago

Text

Code Red | Chapter Nine: High Voltage In Her Lips

Pairing: No outbreak AU dbf!Joel Miller x f!OC (told in 2nd POV)

Summary: Joel reveals that he's coming along to Michigan with you to see your mom, but you didn't tell her anything about Joel other than he’s your boss. She doesn't know her daughter is dating said boss, let alone that he’s her dad's best friend who's so much older than her. He starts to see how different you are when you’re not around your dad, and he loves it. Surly nothing bad going to happen while you’re here…right?

Content Warnings: SMUT, 18+ only blog MDNI. Enemies to lovers, dads best friend Joel, age gap (readers in her twenties and Joel is in his forties), slow burn, written in 2nd POV, no use of y/n, broken father/daughter relationship, daddy issues, strained sibling relationships, dd/lg relationship dynamic, fingering, restraints with underwear, orgasm denial, teasing, slight nipple play, choking, dirty talk, degration, pet names during sex (specifially cum slut, dirty girl, little one/girl, Joel is daddy ofc) rough sex, one (1) threat of panties being in your mouth as a gag, pussy smacking, penetration (p in v), a small look into aftercare but not much. Let me know if I’ve missed anything!

Authors Note: Hello, slutties. Miss me? We're here with a light (ish) slow chapter this time with nastiness packed in it. It's the calm before the storm, me thinks. ||wc: 4.9k || notif blog || ao3 ||

Joel stares at you from the side of your seat in the airport and your body surges with anger. You stand up and become almost eye level with him and without saying a word, you smack his arm a couple of times with your book.

“You are such an asshole! I thought you weren’t coming, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Joel chuckles and tries to dodge your book but it doesn’t work out that well.

“I got it all sorted out. Tommy said he could handle work for me and Sarah thinks I’m going for work and so does her mother.” Joel extends his arms out to wrap thema round you, his black suitcase standing freely behind him as he lets go of the handle.

This was really happening. Joel was going to meet your mom and see where you’d go every summer since you were a baby.

“That’s not funny. I really wish you would’ve told me because now we probably can’t get seats next to each other.” The annoyed look on your face starts to fade rather quickly as you have trouble staying upset with him. He just wanted to pull one over on you and he did it successfully but surprises weren’t your thing, you hated surprises.

“Oh really? You think so, baby? Is that why as soon as you bought your ticket I bought mine?”

The realization sinks in of Joel sneaking off to the bathroom as soon as you showed him your phone screen after buying your ticket weeks ago.

“Joel you’re-” You were cut off with the PA system blaring over the speakers.

“Flight 3774 to Kalamazoo is now boarding.”

Joel walks behind you without saying a word and grabs all of your bags, making his way to the gates.

“Let’s go, little lady. We’ve got a mom to go see and a beach to sit on and get drunk.”

✮

The humid air hits your skin and it feels like another world out here in Michigan. Texas was growing on you but it didn’t feel like home, not like this.

“So this is it, huh?” Joel stops next to you just outside the front doors and puts his hands on his hips, taking in the scenery.

“Well, sorta. We still have to drive to South Haven but yes, this is home.”

Joel squints as the sun gleams in his eyes and he wraps an arm around your neck, pulling you close to kiss your head. The comforting tone of his affection makes your heart feel full, the fullest it's been in a long time.

“Mom doesn’t even know I’m coming, kinda surprising her.” You tell Joel as you start to walk over to the small stone wall to take a seat while you get someone to come pick you both up.

“Funny how you’re gonna surprise her and yet you hate being surprised.” He laughs softly and puts on his sunglasses and stands near you, trying to keep an eye on all the bags and you at the same time.

You look up and roll your eyes at him while chewing on your lip, opening up Uber to get a ride.

“Just because I hate them doesn’t mean I can’t do it to someone else, smart ass.” You retort and he turns around, gasping dramatically.

“Keep actin’ up, see where that gets ya.” Joel mumbles and turns back around, taking off his flannel and laying it across the top of his suitcase. The white shirt clings to his body and tightens around his biceps as he crosses his arms over his chest, looking over the horizon.

Your heart beats a little faster as he says that and you bite back a smirk before finishing up on Uber. Standing up and tucking your phone in the pocket of your gray sweatpants, you walk over to Joel and wrap your arms around him from behind and lay your head on his back. For a moment life seemed to slow down enough for you to enjoy it. You didn’t have to pretend you weren’t with Joel out here. No one knew who you two were, you didn’t have to worry about someone telling your dad, no jealous exes, nothing.

You could just be you, and Joel could be Joel.

“The car will be here in about ten minutes, just so you know.” You mumble against his back and Joel nods.

“You think they’re gonna have enough space for all your suitcases?” He jokes and his voice vibrates against your ear.

“I think so, I put in an SUV. We’ll see what they show up in.”

Joel raises your hand from his stomach and kisses the top of it gently before biting it softly, but enough to make you squeal and open your eyes, bringing you back to reality.

“Joel..” You begin as you step in front to look at him.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Kiss me, right here.” He’d never gotten to kiss you in public back in Texas, it was something you never thought would get to happen.

Joel grins as he brushes your hair away from your face.

“So damn beautiful. God.” He whispers to himself as he admires your face, brushing his thumb over your cheek softly.

Joel leans in and kisses you forcefully but with so much love behind it. There was nowhere else you could go, already pressed against his chest so there wasn’t a centimeter of space unclaimed, he groans hungrily and kisses you deeper. His groan causes you to giggle against his lips and you kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck before pulling away, gazing at him with so many feelings circling your brain.

“My my my, is that what I’ve been missing out on back home?” The small section of his hair dances between your fingers as you toy with the soft curl.

“There’s a lot more you’ve been missing out on, angel.” A tight squeeze to your ass makes you jump slightly, your racing heart leaping in your throat. The small glimpses of him being a bit handsy was already sending you into a spiral, you wanted more. You need more.

The driver pulls up just as you try to respond to Joel. She leans her head to the side closest to the passenger window and asks if you were the person she was picking up. You nod and try to introduce yourself but the expression on her face tells you she clearly meant business and time is money. The words melted on your tongue with embarrassment of her not being too friendly and you swallow them pridefully before opening the back of the car to put your bags inside. Joel follows and puts his suitcase on the bottom of the stack before lifting your bags to fill the small space. Another breeze passes by and the nostalgic feeling creeps up once more, too excited to see your mom again.

“Name’s Jean, where are we headed?” She asks, raising her eyebrow in the rear view mirror. A stern older woman with an agenda, you knew you were in good hands.

“South Haven!” You tell her the street address and she knows exactly where you’re talking about. When the sensors stop beeping at you to click your seatbelt on, she pulls off and heads towards your home away from home for a short time.

Joel takes a second to tear his eyes away from the window to look at you and grabs your hand laying on the pleather seat, giving you a soft squeeze.

“How much does your mom know about me?”

“She knows we work together-“

”You work for me.”

The comment makes you roll your eyes once more before you continue.

”-anyway; she knows we work in the same place. She just doesn’t know you’re my dads best friend or even know him like that, or that you’re my boss. It’s fine!” The last line comes out more as if you’re trying to convince yourself it truly was fine. It wasn’t your mom you were worried about, it was Joel. How long could he go before he mentioned a word of what had been going on in Texas, knowing you from your dad, all of it?

”So she knows little to nothing, gotcha. Geez, what do y’all even talk about on the phone when you talk to her? And don’t tell me ‘nothin’ because I’ve heard you for hours yappin away to her.” The amazed grin sits on his face as he awaits your answer. You can’t help but laugh as he calls you out.

”Hey! We talk about anything except my life, I don’t want her to know how fucked up it is.”

Your laugh fades as you notice a shift in Joels posture, his face no longer looking amused.

”I didn’t think it was that bad.” Joel whispers and looks out the window again.

It wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t all bad. The parts with Joel made up for the shitty parts. The parts that kept you up at night, wondering what you could’ve done wrong besides being born, the parts that sat in the back of your mind every single time you caught yourself having a good time and made you question if you deserved the goodness. He would bundle you up with all your problems and soaked them up like a sponge with water, taking the pain away for the night. He’d hold you as if he could squeeze you back to whole again.

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Baby I didn’t mean it like that I-“

Joel tries to pass off a weak smile to you, like everything is okay but deep down you knew what you’d done.

“S’okay sweetheart, don’t worry about it.” His arm snakes around the back of your neck, pulling you into him.

It was too late to take back the words shared in the confined space of the SUV and even if Joel said it was fine, it wasn’t.

✮

Your body jerks forward slightly as Jean puts the car in park in front of your moms house. The warm afternoon sun pours in the open window, causing your closed eyelids to illuminate and open slowly, blinking the sleepiness from them.

”Alright, here we are.” Jean says in a monotone.

Joel shifts under you and you sit up straight, gathering your things in your hands before exiting the car with a yawn leaving your lips.

Hearing the traffic behind you and the water just out in the distance, you smile to yourself, eager to not have a care in the world and only worry about the sand in your hair.

The brick house was getting closer and closer as you walked up the cobblestone path, admiring the hard work she put into the flowers that bloomed like beanstalks. Her pots were crowded with mixed buds of all sorts of flowers and yet they all looked amazing and healthy. Mom was always good at taking care of a million things at once.

“Mom?” You shout through her opened screen door before entering, the creaky wood still the same under your feet like the day you left.

Her head pops out from around the oven on the corner of the kitchen and her eyes widened at the sudden sight of her daughter and a strange older man. Taken over by so many emotions at once, you could see the tears welling up in her eyes and you hug her tightly, digging your fingers into her shirt as if she’d blow away from the breeze passing through the windows.

“You’re such a snot, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Oh my god, sweetheart I’ve missed you so bad.” She excitedly shouts and lets go of you long enough to take a look at your beautiful face, and pulls you in once more, shaking you all about.

There wasn’t a dry eye in that room, including Joel.

“I wanted to surprise you and I knew if I told you I was coming, you would’ve put me on the first flight here but I needed a couple weeks.” You were referring to Joel and his couple weeks he hardly spoke to you, but knowing what you know now, you’re glad you didn’t book earlier than today.

Finally mom let’s go and smooths her dress over her stomach, her focus now on this older man in her kitchen that was carrying her daughters bags.

“And who’s this?” Her kind smile flashes to Joel and he drops your bag to shake her hand, giving a firm squeeze before introducing himself.

“I’m Joel, nice to meet you. Heard so much about you. I’m uh..I’m dating your daughter, ma’am.” He almost sounds nervous, as if you two were in high school and he was your first boyfriend coming home with you.

From the side of her face you can see her brows raise a little at the information being revealed to her.

“Well it’s a pleasure to meet you! We are gonna have so much fun, I can’t wait! Enough with that ma’am nonsense, call me Katie.” She shrieks excitedly and her hands wave for him to bring it in, giving Joel a tighter hug than he was expecting, but he returns the gesture respectfully. She never liked your previous boyfriends, she deemed them all as loser assholes that were terrible for you and it never rang true to you until the rose colored glasses came off and you noticed all the red flags she smelled out miles away like a bloodhound.

Glasses of lemonade cover the counter quickly as mom pours one by one for the pair of you, her coffee cup in arms reach at all times with the coffee pot keeping more warm. She gives Joel a little tour of the cabin with all the family history scattered in between each point to a different room.

Brown and white picture frames of you and your siblings littered the front room, varying from school graduations, vacations, baby photos, everything she didn’t want to go a day without seeing.

“Have you heard anything from Lilliana? She hasn’t reached out in a while and last I heard she was swimming in Hawaii.” You ask as you raise the photo of you two together, a birthday crown on her head and blue frosting on your innocent face, the two of you just kids and so unaware of how fucked up life would be for the two of you.

“Yeah! She’s in Australia now, not sure where. That girl, I can never keep my eyes on her.” She laughs and keeps walking into the dining room, leaving you in the front room with Joel. He walks over towards you, his chest lightly up against your back. His hand comes into your sights and he takes the photo from you gently to get a better look at it. Being so raw, so vulnerable with Joel felt good but nerve wracking at the same time. What if he couldn’t handle all the demons you pretend you don’t have anymore, or trauma you carry around of stuff he doesn’t even know about?

“You guys don’t talk much I take it?”

“N-no, she um…she doesn’t agree with how my relationship is with dad. She’s always been closer with him than me, probably because she was the first born. Either way, we aren’t close like that anymore.” You walk away with a small lump in your throat and Joel watches you and looks back at the photo frame before setting it back down and following closely, not pressing the matters anymore. He knew about your sister, your dad talked a lot about her. How smart she was, how she married a good man and she’s able to travel the world while he works, her well behaved kids. Joel knew if he even said a word of what he knew of your sister, it would hurt you even more.

✮

The sun begins to set behind the trees and your mom cooked dinner just in time to enjoy the daylight remaining with dinner served on the table in the screened in porch. She makes your and Joel's plates up before serving herself, sitting across from you two. It was comfortably quiet with the breeze blowing through the trees and birds chirping, faint sounds of waves crashing down on the beach.

“So, how did you two meet? Tell me everything!” Your mom asks before taking a bite of green beans, eyes flickering between you and Joel. Where should you even start? The truth was off the table for now, at least all of the truth.

“I was working at a bar and Joel at the time worked there too, I got some shitty customers and Joel actually went to confront them when they started a fight in the parking lot. It was crazy.” You say nervously while playing with your food on your plate.

Joel clears his throat after a big gulp of water and tries to do damage control.

“I normally don’t follow customers like that for not tipping and I’ll tip them at the end of the night but they were being real assholes to her the entire time they were there but man she kept up with them, I’ll give her that.” His warm hand squeezes your thigh softly before picking his fork back up to put more chicken in his mouth.

“Well, that was very sweet of you to do for her, lord knows all I do is worry about my babies.”

“Yeah, that night was something else. I don’t work there anymore, thank god.” you reply to ease her mind.

“Did your dad know about it?” She asks, you and Joel exchange glances before answering.

“He did, he blamed me for the entire thing while his wife sat there egging it on.” The bitterness in your voice surprised no one.

Mom shakes her head in disappointment and takes a sip of her drink.

“He hasn’t changed a bit I see. I’m sorry sweetheart.” Her hand extends over the white lace tablecloth to hold yours and she rubs her thumb softly over your skin, trying to push away those thoughts she could see seeping into your brain.

Mom was always the healer when it came to your dad. Always there to pick up the mess he made with his kids and fix you, gluing your pieces back together and polishing them to what they once were. The more you got older and the more often he hurt you, the more she had to glue and polish.

✮

“I’m surprised you told your mom about the bar, didn’t know how she’d react to something like that or how she’d see me.”

You turn to face Joel as you finish pulling your oversized white t-shirt down your body, “She seemed to understand you didn’t want an all out brawl, you just wanted them to be fair.”

Joel pushes down his jeans and steps out of them, his shirt just brushing over the waistband of his underwear. After a long evening with your mom back at her house, you two decided to go back to the cabin you were renting for some much needed unwinding time.

“She’s got a really nice house, I’d love to do something like that one day. Build a home from scratch and pass it down throughout the family.”

You crawl under the covers and pull the duvet up to your chin after turning out the big light and bat your eyelashes at him.

“Joel Miller, do you wanna build me a house?” you say all giddy and laugh like a schoolgirl.

“Someday, if that’s what you want. Does that mean I get to keep a key to the front door?” His playful grin sends electricity down your spine. Joel reaches back between his shoulders and grips his shirt, pulling it off before he climbs on top of you, the weight of his legs on either side of you making it impossible to squirm away.

“Maybe, it depends if you’re nice or not,” you mutter just before his thumb ghosts over your plush bottom lip, running his tongue over his own lip as he stares you down.

“Come on now, little one. Aren’t I always nice?”

A sarcastic laugh slips from your mouth which causes him to cock his head to the side in disbelief you responded that way.

“That is the biggest lie I’ve ever heard Joel, knock it off.” A true laugh erupts out of you and he continues to stare at you.

What was his issue? No one was ever truly nice all the time, it was okay to admit. In a swift motion your arms were yanked from under the blanket and pinned above your head against the soft pillows cushioning your head. You grunt out and squirm but it’s not even moving Joel above you. Inching closer to your face, his warm breath dances along your cheek before he begins to kiss the junction of your neck.

“I’m not nice, little one? What makes you say that? I take care of you, I make you feel good, I protect you, what more can I do, princess?” Joel’s hands squeeze your wrists the harder he bites down on the flesh of your neck, pulling a cry out from you.

“I-I–”

“Do you want me to show you how not nice I can be, sweet girl? I can fuck you like the good little cum slut you really are. Make you cry while you keep coming on my cock. Would you like that?”

Of course you’d like that. He can’t use a little pain against you, it does nothing to scare you, just turns you on even more.

Words don’t form fast enough for you and you moan in response, those whiny drawled out moans that he loves so much. Joel always says those are the sounds from angels.

An evil chuckle vibrates against the shell of your ear. You wiggle underneath him and squeeze your thighs shut to calm the anxiousness making your clit throb.

“Yeah, I know my baby would like that too much. Dirty little girl.”

Joel releases one of your wrists and presses his forehead on yours as he rips the blankets off your body. Teasingly while his eyes look into yours, he licks three of his fingers before plunging them straight into your panties, exposing how much he’s turned you on in a matter of seconds.

The dim lights of the sconces on either side of the wooden wall illuminate just enough of your face you can see the grin on his mouth and how hard he is against your thigh.

“Be a good girl and take your panties off, baby girl.”

His hand retreats from your panties and you whine at the cold fabric laying against your pussy but you don’t do what he says just yet. Instead, you take your time by running your hands up and down your sides, dragging your shirt up enough to show your hardened nipples. Joel groans impatiently and adjusts his stance against the bed, his foot flat on the floor with his other leg kneeling at the edge of you.

“Don’t make me ask you again, it’ll hurt a lot more if you disobey me.” He wasn’t kidding around anymore. You really struck a nerve with him and you were honestly enjoying it. He was hot when he was pissed off at you. Giving in to his little game, you finally listen and hook your thumbs in the lacey black underwear, pulling them down your legs and leaving them at your feet. Joel’s left hand extends out and grabs the material before grabbing your wrists once more, resting them against the iron bars of the headboard. You look up nervously to see what he was doing and give your wrists a tug but they don’t move.

Fuck.

“Somethin’ the matter, little one?” His lips scatter kisses along your cheek as his big hand shoves your thighs apart and starts rubbing your clit in soft circles. Your eyes roll back in your skull, hips starting to buck against his fingers. Being the lovely gentleman Joel is, he dips down through your soaking folds to your entrance to gather some of your wetness before going back to your clit and rubbing faster with the slick coating every inch of the sensitive nub.

“U-undo my wrists, I wanna touch you, baby. I wanna make you feel good too.”

You did, you wanted to straddle him and break yourself in two from riding his big cock.

“No, that’s not how this is gonna work tonight. Remember this the next time you fix your lips to say I’m not nice to you, sweetheart.”

A gentle kiss to your temple makes your heart race faster as the unknown actions from Joel really starts to set in for you. You have no idea what he was planning to do and part of you liked it, but the other part wasn’t sure how far he’d push you.

“Joel, please–” you manage to mewl out before his freehand comes to your throat and squeezes firmly, watching the subtle panic set in on your face.

His firm thighs make sure yours don’t plan on closing anytime soon as they’re on either side of him.

“Keep it up, please. Give me a reason to grab another pair of panties to stuff in your mouth.” The gruff in his voice was enough to make you come right then and there. Swallowing hard, you bite back a smartass response and listen.

Joel’s fingers give your clit a good smack before he pushes off his underwear, cock hard and dripping precum on the blanket under you. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t been thinking about taking him in the bathroom on the airplane to have him fuck your brains out.

“Do you think bad girls like you deserve me to fuck them?” He asks, slapping the slightly swollen tip of his cock against your aching pussy.

“Y-yes, please. I’ll be good, I’m sorry,” You beg and plead as you try to scoot yourself closer to his cock.

Without another word he rams himself into you. To keep you even more still, the hand around your throat tightens and he watches your tits bounce with every thrust of his hips. Immediately you feel like you just spun yourself in a million circles, his cock hitting that spot already like it has a detector for it.

“Apologizing won’t save you this time, sweetheart.” He grins before picking up the pace, the squelching of your pussy ringing through the open room. The neighbors can probably hear you but does it matter at the moment? Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Joel takes note of how good you’re feeling, considering your back was arched off the bed and your eyes were squeezed shut. He slows his thrusts and pulls out until just the tip is in, before he rams into you and does it again. Your nipples rub against the end of your shirt that you stupidly raised up earlier and Joel waits until it’s completely uncovered before licking a long strip over the hard bud.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, sweet girl. So beautiful when you can’t move away from me.”

“I won’t run away if you u-undo my wrists, daddy, I swear.” You tried to bargain with him and you were being honest. You would’ve gained nothing from squirming away, it feels too good to do that. You just wanted to touch him, to pull him against you.

Grunting and looking at you while he thrusts harder inside, Joel slips two fingers in your mouth all the way down your throat until you gag. That was his way of getting you to stop talking and damn did it work.

The ball of energy in the pit of your stomach starts to grow, making your legs shake and your chest rise and fall faster. You could feel yourself clenching around his cock and it makes Joel grunt louder.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight, jesus christ. You wanna come on my cock, baby? You wanna come all over my cock while I fuck you nice and deep?” Joel’s mouth crashes on yours and he goes faster, pumping in and out of you.

Just as you feel yourself tipping over the edge, he pulls out and sits back with an evil grin on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you ask way more annoyed than you intended.

“Teaching you a lesson. Think about this the next time you fix your lips to tell me I’m not nice, baby girl.”

You would’ve thought he was going to stop right there but no, he really had to make a point. Joel's hand wraps around his cock that was covered in your slick and his head falls back between his shoulders as he starts to jack himself off. There’s nothing you can do except whine and squirm, try to reason with him to let you finish.

His moans drown you out and soon enough your stomach is covered in warm ropes of cum, decorating you like a toaster strudel. Animalistic noises echo throughout the room and Joel's sweaty body jolts with every pump of cum.

You can’t hide the annoyed look on your face as you feel yourself growing wetter just by the show he put on. This wasn’t fair, not in the slightest.

He gathers himself and unties your hands before using his shirt to clean you up for the time being.

Joel’s hand cups your face and squeezes your cheeks together, “Maybe next time, little girl. Now come on, let’s go clean up.” He kisses your puffed out lip and stands, holding his hand out for you.

Asshole.

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