satanssmutcorner

[satanssmutcorner]

Wrap Party

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

After a paid appearance at an Indie film wrap party, you’re stunned to find yourself in the bed of Hollywood’s most famous douchebag

Wanna Bet?

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

You’re just an assistant to his assistant. So why does he keep looking at you like you’re a banquet and he’s starving?

Lingerie

Dieter Bravo x F!Reader

Dieter in panties. That’s it. That’s the fic.

Morning | Afternoon | Evening

Exhibition (a drabble)

Porn Star Dieter x Porn Star Reader

He’s a porn star and so are you

How Dieter Jerks Off (drabble)

Celestial Navigation(Masterlist)

Just That Kind of Day

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

It was just a no-good-very-bad-awful kind of day

The Thirteenth Step

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

The first time you meet Frankie, he trades you Xanax for cocaine.

Slumber

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Just an afternoon nap. Gone deliciously awry

Postcards

Trinkets

The Ethics of Forging Masterpieces (drabble)

The Appreciation of Fine Liquor (drabble)

[satanssmutcorner]

to call you mine

chapter seven: there it blooms

masterlist | series masterlist | ao3

“Keep fuckin’ quiet, or I stop. Got it?”

Pairing: dbf!Joel x female reader

Summary: You’ve spent the last week lying to your dad about your whereabouts, stealing heated moments with Joel while he’s been signed off work. When Joel drags you along for his first shift back, you struggle to keep your dynamic - and your feelings - under wraps. You work through it the only way you know how.

Tags: *SMUT! MDNI - age gap (24/45), dad’s best friend, cursing, bad guitar playing, bad jokes, catching feelings?! lil angsty in places, *fingering, biting, hair pulling, orgasm denial, bossy joel, almost getting caught!

Wc: 6.2k

Authors note: this one was so fun to write, i hope you guys enjoy it! i still can’t believe you guys are reading and coming back, so once again, thank you so much!! any feedback and a reblog helps me know you’ve loved what you’ve read! ✨

dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Fuck,” you spit, seething as you press your finger down on the wrong string for the third time, the chord you were attempting to get perfect this time droning against the fretboard. “Stupid fucking fingers.”

You catch Joel’s half smile as he lays back against the pillows, his bare chest still glistening with the sweat you’d both worked up only moments ago.

“You’re gettin’ there,” he says with a chuckle. “Just takes patience, darlin’.”

You sigh in frustration, riled by the way Joel’s guitar still sits awkward in your lap, your fingers stiff and unnatural. “I don’t know how you make it look so easy,” you grumble, adjusting your grip again.

“Any idea how long it took me to learn to play? Give it time.” 

You pout, pretending to look thoughtful. “What, like fifty fuckin’ years?”

He kicks his foot out in retaliation towards you, perched at the foot of the bed, knocking it playfully against your knee.

“The goddamn cheek,” he scolds, but his eyes are warm. “I’ve probably been playin’ your whole damn life come to think of it though,” he adds with a shrug.

He leans up against the headboard with a grunt, stretching forwards to grab your hand, tugging you to come sit in his lap. 

You settle against his broad frame, slotting the guitar back over your thigh as his hand slides over yours, guiding your fingers into the proper position with the same patience he’s shown you all week. 

Patience through your fumbling, the sour attitude that comes with your inability to pick things up on the first try. 

He’s even held his composure through all the guilt and stress that’s come with lying to your dad all week. You’d only slightly exaggerated your late shifts, used them as an alibi to the moments you’ve stolen together while Joel’s been forcefully put out of work.

His back was better by the second day, but you’d both found much better alternatives that still put him to work, much more favoured than sending him back to a construction site.

But beyond the countless times he’s made you fall apart, the mornings that his cock has found home between your legs before you’ve barely even opened your eyes, he’s also let you curl into him every night after you’ve clocked off from work, picked you up without a word of complaint. 

He’s filled every spare second of the past week with a kind of thrill you’d never known you could have.

You strum again, his fingers still guiding yours, and this time the chord rings clear. You look back at Joel with your mouth slightly agape, letting out a quiet, accomplished gasp.

Joel’s smile deepens, the lines around his eyes crinkling with a tenderness that makes your heart swell.

“See?” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your temple. “Told ya, patience.”

You grin, laying the guitar aside before you crawl back into his lap, his chest hair tickling the skin at the back of your arms. His arms wind around you, pulling you tight against him.

“Gonna miss these mornings,” you sigh, not quite sure why you finally decide to voice the dread you’ve been feeling as this day crept closer all week.

It’s Joel’s first shift back with your dad, just a small paint job to ease him back in, to not push him too far - though with all the things you two have been up to in the past week, there’s hardly any worry.

Joel strokes your arm, his fingers trailing up and down to soothe away your qualms, and although you don’t know it, the same apprehension of being forced apart again sits uncomfortably in his stomach too.

“Me too, darlin’,” he mumbles, lips pressed against your hair. “Been real nice havin’ you here. It’s been... special, havin’ you in my space.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, eyes fixing firm but unfocused in front of you as you ignore the way those words make your heart twist in a way you don’t know how to make sense of.

Yet another side effect of spending all this uninterrupted, intense time together, is the way the line between fucking and feelings has slowly started to blur. 

It’s easy to brush off, to put it down to the swirling high of a fucked out afterglow, so you tell yourself that once you’re back home, when these stolen moments go back to exactly that… you won’t feel so confused. 

“Why don’t you join us today?” Joel breaks through your trance, apparently not having noticed your thoughts starting to derail entirely. 

“You mean - you and… dad?” you ask hesitantly, not sure you’re understanding him correctly. 

“Sure,” you feel him shrug beneath you, “might be the hard reset we need before things have to go back to, uh, normal,” he swallows thickly, “It’s only an easy paint job anyhow.”

Your brows pull together, not thrilled by the idea. After a solid week of lying to your dad over text, telling him not to disturb you on a morning because you’re totally wiped - when really, you’re still tangled in Joel’s sheets - you have a newfound remorse, an uncomfortable sense of wrongdoing at the prospect of facing him again. 

But, any time with Joel that you can afford to take, you will. He’s probably right after all, it will be an abrupt shock to the system that you both clearly need to start acting more appropriately around each other again. 

Maybe it’ll even help squash the unsettling development of shifting affection. 

“Fine,” you sigh, “nothing better to do with the day anyway,” you add with a groan, slipping out of his lap to stand beside the bed with an outstretched hand. “C’mon part-timer, my dad will have been there an hour easily by now.”

He wraps a calloused hand around your own, hauling himself from the mattress without using a single ounce of your strength, but the sentiment was sweet enough. 

You turn to get dressed, but he doesn’t let go, tugging on your hand to pull you back into his arms.

Your hands flail across his chest, a surprised yelp leaving your lips as his hands move to cradle each side of your face. 

“It’s gonna be fine y’know,” he mumbles mere inches from your lips, his forehead dipping against yours. “We’ll still get to do this… just a little differently.”

Your tongue darts over your lower lip before you swallow down the shaky breath that threatens to escape, not willing to allow Joel to be privy to the worries in your head. 

“I know… yeah. I know, it’s fine,” you try to agree, eyes avoiding him, looking blankly through the small space between your bodies.

He exhales a slow breath through his nose, dropping one hand to your waist, pulling your hips flush to his before he presses his mouth against yours.

It’s slow, one gentle kiss before he pulls back, forcing your lips to chase after him, your eyes finally lifting to meet his warm gaze. 

He leans back in, reconnecting his lips with yours, his tongue pushing into your mouth to slide against yours, but he’s not rough. He’s patient, savouring the moment that he’s committing to memory as his hand shifts from your jaw to tangle in your hair. He pulls you deeper into his mouth, his tongue licking slowly at your own. 

It’s everything you want - need - but his gentleness only sends your thoughts reeling all over again.

He breaks the kiss, his breathing far more level than your own as he finds your eyes again.

“I said, it’s gonna be fine,” he asserts, a little firmer this time.

Despite the war in your head, you believe him. 

You nod, plastering on your most convincing smile before lifting onto your tiptoes to press a brief kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Whatever you say cowboy,” you chime, pulling away from him as he chuckles softly behind you. 

You dig through the small pile of your clothes you made a brief stop at home for at the beginning of the week, but as Joel steps out of the room to head to the bathroom, you hunt your way through his second drawer, stealing one of his tees.

You shrug it on quickly, heart aching at the way it smells like him, at just how much comfort you find in his scent. You pull the neck of his shirt to your nose, finding it hard to ignore the painful twist between your ribs as you inhale. Your eyes flutter closed just as Joel steps back out of the bathroom, his brow arching, a playful smirk at his lips. 

“Stealin’ my clothes now, huh?” he teases, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile as you turn to face him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Miller,” you retort, trying to sound casual. “Just didn’t want to get paint on any of my stuff.”

His eyes narrow as he steps closer, his hands reaching to tug at the sides of his shirt, pulling you a little closer. “Uh-huh,” he hums, eyes raking over you. “If you say so, baby.”

Heat licks down your spine, but you swat at his chest playfully, ignoring the way his eyes hold a new hunger.

“C’mon,” you mumble, stepping around him while tugging at his hand. “You’re already late.

The ride over to the job is a little over twenty minutes, and no matter how many times you tell Joel you can just put the address into your phone to give him directions, he’s insistent at checking the paperback map tucked into his side compartment at every red light. 

“If I put it in my phone, it will literally take us right to the house.” you argue for the fifth time. 

Joel shushes you, brows furrowed as he double checks which exit to take. “And why the hell would I need to do that, when I can read a goddamn map.” he throws back, again.

Your head falls back against the headrest with an exasperated laugh. “Because it’s easier!”

He tsks, shoving the map between his knees as the light turns green. “Easier,’ he echoes, shaking his head. “It’s just this turn here. See, ain’t need your fancy ass coordinates,” he teases as he takes a hard left onto a new street. 

You roll your eyes, but despite his stubbornness, you actually find yourself a little impressed, questioning whether reading a map should be considered as hot as you so clearly find it, at least when it’s Joel. 

“And look here,” he gestures through the windshield, your eyes landing on your dad’s truck parked in the driveway to one of the houses lining the street. “Found it no problem.”

“Alright, don’t let it get to your head, Miller,” you laugh, reaching for your seatbelt as he pulls to a stop on the curb. “You were right -”

“What was that?” he interrupts, leaning forwards with a shit eating grin. “Didn’t catch ya, say it again?”

You can't help but mirror his irritatingly gleeful smile as he cocks his head, pretending to angle his ear to hear you better.

Your hand reaches to cover his mouth with a breathless giggle, your body slipping out of your seat slightly to cup the back of his head with your free hand, forcing him to look at you.

“If you let me finish,” you laugh, eyes darting warmly between his own as he pulls his head back, your hand slipping from his mouth to rest against his chest. “I said you were right - just this once.”

He dips his head forwards, brushing his nose against yours with a deep chuckle. “I’ll take it.”

You shake your head, fighting back your smile with a long exhale through your nose. This, right now, is all too easy - the give and take, the way things are so natural between you when you’re contained, hiding. The effortless pull you have to each other, the way any moment can shift so quickly into one of intense longing and hunger.

“Get out of the truck before I make you take us both back to your room.” you breathe, forcing the words out of your lungs, past the heavy ache between your ribs. 

Joel lets his hand fall to your waist, his thumb stroking gently at your side. He presses a kiss to your forehead before pulling back, reluctantly untangling your limbs to unbuckle his belt. 

“C’mon then, kid,” he says lowly, a noticeable shift forcing itself over you both. “Let’s go.”

He opens the door of the truck, sliding out with a careful glance back to you before he lets it fall shut. You sigh, forcing in a deep breath before you open the door and follow suit, rounding the bed of the truck just as Joel hauls out his work supplies. 

“Ready?”

You nod, twisting your fingers together in front of you awkwardly.

Joel has known you long enough to read you like a book, but since things between you grew complicated, he’s developed the ability to pick up on these little things even sharper. 

“You good?” he asks, shoving his truck keys into his pocket. 

You hesitate, almost brushing him off, but deceiving him feels worse than just letting your words tumble out, would only add to the guilt you’re already plagued by. “It’s just.. Dad,” you shrug. “Haven’t had to lie to him in person yet.”

Joel’s jaw ticks, his head nodding in agreement. “We’re in it together, ain’t we? We’ll play it cool, like always.” 

His hand lifts to squeeze your shoulder, but what should feel reassuring, just feels cold and empty - because it’s not his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close, his nose buried in your hair. 

“Yep,” you agree, taking a step forwards, letting Joel’s hand drop back to his side. 

Joel lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as you saunter along your dad’s truck, stopping a few feet from the front door of the house, which is already cracked open. 

When he catches up to you, you’re looking back at him expectantly, waiting for him to push on through the entrance. 

He glances at you, wordlessly stepping through the threshold, leading by lifting the heavy box of his gear through the space before holding the door for you. 

“Careful,” he says gently, watching your footing as you step over the ripped up floor. “Place is a mess.” 

You give him a quick nod, eyes following the sound of metal scraping against the wall. You bristle at the sound, shadowing closely behind Joel as he wanders down the hall to locate your dad. 

He’s busy in what looks like the downstairs bathroom, knelt down, replastering the bottom of the walls with laboured breath.

“Need a couple extra sets of hands?” Joel greets, kicking the foot of his boot gently. 

“Shittin’ hell, Joel!” your dad curses, dropping his trowel to the floor. “Could’a fuckin’ killed me sneakin’ up like that,” he pants, his hands resting against the floorboards as he fights to find his breath.

Joel chuckles, placing the heavy toolbox to the ground. “Gone soft while I’ve been off?”

Your dad chortles, hauling himself to his feet as he claps his hands together to rid them of dust. 

“Asshole. Enjoyed the peace ‘n quiet more like,” he says, clapping Joel on the shoulder, his eyes landing on you as you peer around the corner with a pensive smile. 

Joel steps to the side, allowing your dad to pass.

“Speakin’ of peace, the hell are you doin’ here, kiddo?” he laughs, pulling you in for a tight hug. “Ain’t seen you all week with all that sleep you've been catchin’ up on.”

Your eyes dart to Joel as your dad releases you, looking at you expectantly. 

“I, uhh…”

“I made her tag along,” Joel cuts in, stepping next to you, nudging your arm with his elbow. “Drove over to the house thinkin’ I’d catch a ride with you,” he nods to your dad, “but you’d already left. Caught this one lookin’ lonely and figured we could put her to good use.” 

Your dad scoffs. “Ain’t you heard? Poor girl’s been workin’ her damn ass off down at the bar, ain’t been gettin’ home til gone three,” he looks to you with knitted brows. “Sure you're up to it kiddo?” 

You blink, brain still trying to catch up with all the lies you’re finding yourself tangled up in.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m good,” you reply, nodding your head quickly. “Feels good to be out of the house doing something different…”

He frowns, looking you up and down, a little unsatisfied. “You’re sure now?”

“Promise.”

After a tense moment of silence, he relents with a short nod of his head.

You peer at Joel, a gnawing kind of hollowness between your ribs as he meets your eye. It feels wrong, the way the lies slipped so easily off his tongue, how your dad believed you both so quickly, didn’t even blink. 

Joel clears his throat, redirecting his attention to your dad. “Where’d you need us then?”

Your dad steps back into the bathroom, groaning as he reaches down to pick his trowel from the floor. 

“Plaster’s dry upstairs and already been primed,” he says as he crouches down on the floor again. “Your pick on the rooms. Y’all can work faster together or take a room each, I ain’t fussed so long as it gets done.” 

Joel nods, extending his arm to usher you in the direction of the stairs. “Catch you at lunch, buddy.” 

You make your way for the stairs, bounding them slowly, careful not to trip on the dust sheets lining the flooring. When you reach the top, you let Joel pass you, allowing him to take the lead. 

He stops short of the master bedroom, casting you a weary glance. 

“Wanna take a room each or work together?” 

You shrug, despite the agonising pull to stay close to him.

He sighs, grabbing your hand to pull you close enough that only you’ll hear. 

“D’you wanna be alone?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head, lifting your eyes from his feet to meet his own. Nothing sounds worse.

“Then c’mon. We’ll take the biggest room first.” 

He steps into the bedroom, letting you trail in behind him.

The room is bland and impersonal, the dull brown of the walls and the sheets covering all the furniture screaming at you both for a new lease of life. 

There’s a step ladder and an extendable roller propped against the closet door, the paint and trays already lined against the skirting board, ready to go. 

“You even any good at paintin’?” he asks with a chuckle, an attempt to lighten the mood and get conversation flowing, to distract from this painful shift. 

You lift one shoulder in a loose shrug. “Not terrible,” you reply. “Dad probably spent more time showin’ me how to fix things up rather than playing dolls when I was growing up,” you laugh softly, “so I guess it’s finally being put to use.”

Joel hums thoughtfully, kneeling to pour the paint into one of the trays before propping up the step ladder and resting the tray on the top step. “Off you go then,” he says, nodding to the ladder as he holds out a brush. 

Your eyes narrow, looking between the paint and his outstretched hand. “You want me to cut in?” you ask, staring at him a little bewilderedly. 

“Sure. I’ll get goin’ down here,” he nods towards the bottom of the wall. 

You scoff, laughing humorlessly as you cross your arms over your chest. “Oh, so you get to sit on your ass, while I’m up there?” you gesture to the ceiling. 

Joel chuckles, grabbing your hand to pry it open, forcing your fingers to close around the brush before pulling you flush to his waist. 

“Actually,” he mumbles against your lips, “it was so I could look at your ass.”

You grit your teeth, refusing to let a smile spread across your face, but there’s no stopping the warm flutter of excitement in your belly.

Still, you don’t let him in on the effect he has on you, pushing your hands against his chest to put some distance between you. “Whatever, pass me the tape,” you say with an outstretched hand.

He scoffs, almost offended. “We ain’t got no tape. That’s the easy way out.”

You roll your eyes. “God forbid anything ever be fuckin’ easy,” you sigh, climbing the ladder slowly, the metal steps creaking beneath your feet. 

He chuckles, watching you with a stupid grin on his face as you dip your brush in the paint, wiping off the excess before pressing it gently against the wall, about an inch from the ceiling. Thankfully, you’ve watched your dad paint enough walls to last a lifetime.

You glide the brush to the side, angling the bristles just right to allow the excess paint to seep from the edge, swiping the brush along the border of the ceiling. Your hand is steady, despite being under Joel’s watchful, critical eye.

When the brush starts to run out of paint, leaving your work streaked at the edge, you pull back, admiring your half decent job at painting a straight line. 

Joel hums, his arms crossed over his chest as he nods his head with reluctant approval. “Ain’t bad,” he shrugs.

You raise a brow, lips set in a straight line as you glare at him. “Well, if you actually got to work, you could show me how it’s supposedly done,” you bite back playfully. 

The two of you soon fall into a productive rhythm - you make your way along the top of the wall with careful precision, edging around the windows and doors as Joel works a little faster around the skirting boards and any outlets. 

It takes the better part of an hour just because the room is so big, but after you make your final swipe along the edge of the windowsill, you drop down from the ladder, rolling your wrist to loosen the stubborn cramp you’ve worked up. 

“Need a break?” Joel asks, setting his own brush down and standing to his feet.

You stretch your arms behind your neck, rubbing at the tight muscles you’re not used to straining for so long. “Maybe just ten minutes,” you suggest with a slight wince. 

Joel laughs quietly, wiping his hands on a rag from his toolbox. “Sure. Wait here,” he says gently, before disappearing down the hall with the rag still in hand. 

He reappears in the doorway no longer than thirty seconds later, quietly making his way over to where you're resting against the windowsill, holding the dampened cloth he’s using to wipe down his hands. 

“Here,” he mumbles, clasping his hands around yours, “let me help.”

He steps either side of your feet, enclosing you with his broad frame as his hands work to gently wipe away the dried paint from your skin. You watch him work quietly, the tenderness in the moment tightening your throat as you lift your eyes to his face, tracing over the focused lines between his brows, the tight line of his lips. 

He’s helping you with such attentiveness, turning your palms over to check the backs of your hands, trailing the cloth over the edges of your nails, removing any stubborn paint from your cuticles. 

It’s a fairly simple act, yet the way he says nothing - only moves his fingers with such a devoted tenderness - pulls loose a thread in your chest that bursts the seam that’s fought too long to hold back the hopeless adoration you’ve not dared to give heed to. 

He drops the cloth onto the windowsill when he’s happy your hands are clean. Just as you think he might step away, his hands wrap over your shoulders, his fingers curling to press into the tender muscle either side of your neck, rubbing in soothing circles.

You sigh as he works free a stubborn knot, your eyes screwing shut with a grimace.

“Damn, baby,” he says softly. “You’re tense as hell.”

You laugh breathlessly, your body rocking as his hands continue to roll over your shoulders, gently working the stress from your muscles.

“Feels good,” you sigh, sinking forwards, propping your arms against his chest to stop yourself falling into him. 

He chuckles, letting his hands slip down the sides of your arms, dropping them to your waist to pull you against his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“Glad to be of help,” he mumbles against your hair. His beard tickles the top of your head, but it couldn’t feel more like home. 

The realisation is fucking terrifying.

Joel seems to notice you stiffen in his embrace, pulling back to tilt your chin with his rough fingers. 

“You sure you’re okay?” he presses for the second time since you stepped out of the truck, his eyes tracing every inch of your face.

That look of concern - the way he never hesitates to fucking care, to be so gentle, to give you everything - you’re walking willingly towards a raging fire, one you’re bound to trip over your own feet and fall into head first.

The ache in your chest is unbearable, a surfacing of something so wrong, but so unimaginably, beautifully painful, so enamoured and intense. It blooms like a wildflower that despite all elements that should cause it to wilt, emerges fiercely strong. 

Joel is still quiet, waiting for you to say something, but there’s no world where you could ever tell him the way you’re feeling, could spill the thoughts that are weaving a conflicted mess inside your head - and if you say them out loud, it means admitting that they’re real.

And so, this dance that’s become second nature is your only way out. You press your chest against his as you grind your hips forwards, letting your leg hook around his, and wait for the inevitable timing of his breath to catch.

“No,” you breathe, your breasts pushing against his chest. “I’m not okay.” 

Joel rolls his hips forwards involuntarily, the quietest moan leaving his lips as his brows knit together with confusion. 

“Baby, wh-”

“I’m not okay,” you interrupt, tangling your hands in his hair, tugging him close, his forehead tipping against yours, your breath frantic against his lips, “because I fucking need you,” you whine, slotting yourself over his lap and grinding forwards needily. “Need you, now, Joel.”

His hands rest at your waist, his eyes screwing shut, crinkled at the corners as he fights to keep hold of any kind of restraint. 

“Darlin’, we shouldn’t,” he argues, the words choked, forced through the tightness of his throat. “Your dad, he’s right downstairs - shit - stop doin’ that,” he groans as you roll your hips again, chasing the friction of his thigh. 

“Need you to make it stop, Joel,” you cry, not sure whether you mean the ache between your legs or the one still sitting heavy beneath your ribs. “Please, just make it stop.”

Joel frowns, brows pulled tight together as he drags his eyes over your face, reading the desperation that paints your features. 

He considers you for a moment, watchful and overly attuned to the quieter ways in which your neediness bleeds from your body.

After what feels like an agonisingly long pause, he hums softly, slipping a single hand from your waist to trail it gently up your back to cradle the back of your head. 

He lets his nose brush against yours, traces it along your cheek, all the way to the underside of your jaw. 

He presses his lips there, trailing slow, open mouthed kisses along your neck, the heat of his mouth making you tremble in his arms. He stops just short of your ear, his fingers tightening in your hair as he whispers,

“Keep fuckin’ quiet, or I stop. Got it?”

You nod your head frantically, breath stuttering as you arch your back against the windowsill.

Joel tugs at your hair, pulling your head back to catch your eye with a heated glare.

“Gonna need you to use your words,” he growls, his fingers ghosting over the skin beneath your shirt, his shirt sitting loose over your frame. “Ain’t sure if you’re capable of followin’ orders.”

“Promise, Joel, please,” you beg, your voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Be so good, I’ll be so quiet, just - fuck, just touch me, please.”

He hums against the skin below your ear, quietly contemplating as his fingers ease lower across your midriff, his calloused fingertips leaving your skin burning as they edge closer to the waistband of your shorts.

“Not a single fuckin’ sound, y’got that?” he mumbles against your jaw, the stern edge to his voice only adding to the desire wound tight, low in your belly. “Unless you’re dyin’ for your daddy to catch us, n’ ruin our fun.”

You shake your head, rolling your hips impatiently towards the hard telltale of his own desire strained tight against his jeans. “No, no, I swear, just need you to make me fucking come,” you plead, the heat between your thighs quickly becoming insufferable. 

Thankfully, Joel finally shows you some mercy, his fingers slipping into your shorts to meet the warm, wet desire you’ve built between your legs, all for him, all because of him. 

He glides his fingers through your folds, and when he trails up to your clit, rubbing slow circles right where you’re aching for relief, it takes every ounce of your restraint to keep your word, to bite back any sweet sounds of pleasure he so easily pries from your lips.

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose, your head falling back, caught in Joel’s gentle hand still tangled in your hair. As he slips his fingers lower, your eyes screw shut, two thick fingertips teasing at your entrance, just barely giving you a taste of what you want, what you crave.

He pushes slowly, stretching you open, finally giving you the pressure and the fullness you’ve been aching for, your jaw going slack on a silent cry. 

“That’s it, I gotcha, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, “feels better, huh?” 

You nod your head, letting your forehead press against his as his fingers withdraw at a cruel, torturous pace before pushing back in, his thumb curling to press against your clit. 

His fingers have spent enough time inside you over the past week to know exactly the angle to stroke, to know what pace builds the intense, blinding heat that licks its way across your skin. 

“Fuck,” you breathe, the noise barely registering over the wet sounds of Joel’s fingers fucking you, but it’s enough to make him still the movement of his hand.

You frown, eyes struggling to focus, to pull out of the spin of arousal you’re already lost in. When you meet his eyes, they’re full of a quiet fury. 

He disentangles his fingers from your hair, repositioning them around your neck, not too tight, but enough for your breath to catch, for your eyelids to blink slowly under the heaviness building inside your head.

“Told you to keep fuckin’ queit,” he grits through his teeth. “I ain’t playin’, darlin’.” He punctuates the point with a gentle squeeze. 

You suddenly feel too hot, too wound up, too dizzy with desire. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, to curb the way your mouth feels too dry. You sink your teeth into your lower lip to bite back any further sounds that’ll only get you in more trouble.

Joel’s eyes are on your mouth the entire time, his fingers loosening around your throat before he slips his hand to cup your jaw, thumb pressing down on your chin to open your mouth. He watches, mesmerised as your lips part, his breath suddenly unsteady.

“Huh,” he says through a dark, breathy laugh. “Here I am forgettin’ how much you love it when I’m forced to shut you the hell up.”

Before you can even attempt to speak, he pushes his thumb into your mouth, your lips instinctively closing around him, your tongue pressing it tight to the roof of your mouth with a gentle suck.

“That’s better,’ he praises, his fingers finally moving again, curling against the tight knot of pleasure between your legs. “Don’t wanna hear a goddamn sound. Bite me if you gotta’, but just shut the fuck up, alright?” 

You nod your head, frantic breaths pulling in through your nose as he adds a third finger to your cunt, stretching and filling you even further as he picks up a more punishing pace. His thumb is still pressed against your clit, sending heat down the backs of your legs with every single stroke. 

Joel watches your face, the way you can’t take your eyes off him, filled with an almost heartbreaking sense of longing sitting beneath pinched brows. He grits his teeth, an unfamiliar, painful tugging coming from somewhere deep in his chest, one he chases away with the only thing he can control - you, falling apart for him, as and when he says. 

He quickens the stroke of his fingers, curling against your walls with practiced skill. You can’t take much more, the heat crawling across your skin becoming increasingly uncomfortable, crying out to be washed away with release. 

You bite down on his thumb, hard, because if you don’t, there’s no chance your dad won’t hear you falling the fuck apart.

Joel hisses through clenched teeth, pins his forehead against yours and growls, fingers fucking into you with no mercy. 

“Again,” he grunts, thrusting harder.

A sinful flutter washes through your stomach, and you bite down, again.

His lip curls into snarl, another, pained groan leaving his throat as he feels you begin to tighten around his fingers. 

“Gettin close are ya?” he chuckles, holding the rhythm that has you moments away from shattering. “Fuckin’ love how riled you get for me,” he growls. “Even when you’re tryin’ so hard to behave.” 

Your legs are trembling, your pleasure teetering so agonisingly close to unfurling, your slick dripping down Joel’s fingers. He feels your cunt flutter, knowing you're nearly there

- and stops.

You whine, the desperate sound muffled around his thumb as you rut your hips into his hand, but he doesn’t allow you to chase your high, just eases his slick fingers out of you.

“Not yet,” Joel tuts, a sickly smug curl to one side of his lips, like he’s revelling in the way he’s ripped your high away from you entirely. “You ain’t been quiet enough to earn that.”

You mewl around his thumb, which he slowly retrieves with a gentle pop, moving his fingers to gently squeeze either side of your mouth, forcing your lips into a pout.

 “Next time,” he drawls, brushing a kiss against your lips, “if you wanna come… you keep that mouth shut.”

You stare at him entirely bewildered, your brain still a cloudy, aroused haze. You blink hard, trying to ignore the way your pulse is thrumming violently in your neck. You’re still aching for more, desperate for him, for the release he just stole away.

“You’re - an asshole,” you stutter through unsteady lungfuls of air, swatting at his chest as you adjust your shirt back over your shorts with shaky hands, tortured by the sticky heat between your thighs that’s bound haunt you for the rest of the day. 

Joel chuckles and takes a step back, opening his mouth to throw around another teasing, smug remark when suddenly, the floor creaks just outside the room.

Your blood runs cold, heart lurching so fast you feel physically sick. 

Joel moves fast, grabbing his paint tray and eyes the wall like he’s been painting the whole time. You grab your own brush with trembling fingers, trying not to look like you just got fucked to the edge of orgasm.

A beat later, your dad raps his knuckles against the door and steps into view.

“Howdy folks,” he beams, “figured I’d check how y’all are gettin’ on. Water?” he asks, holding out a bottle of water in each of your directions.

You manage to plaster on a smile, your skin still prickled with heat. “Perfect timing… we uhhh, we were just about to take a break,” you laugh, trying to hide the way your voice wavers.

Joel steps forwards to take the bottles from your dad, passing you one quickly. 

You grab it tightly, shaking hands racing to get the cap off to chug down the cold water, desperate to douse the fire in your belly.

Your dad steps back with his hands on his hips, his eyes tracing over the room with a hum of approval. 

“Ain’t bad. Your edging is a hell of a lot better than Joel’s.”

You choke on your water, sputtering and coughing as your drink drips over your chin, completely caught off by such an ill timed, perfectly innocent comment. 

Joel watches you from the corner of his eye, taking a sip of his own water to hide his smirk.

“Jesus, kiddo, it ain’t got bones in it,” your dad sighs, patting you on the back to help you recover. 

You bat him away when you can finally breathe again, twisting the cap back on to your bottle. 

“Thanks dad,” you say, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “You’re right though -” you continue, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Joel’s edging fucking sucks.”

@joeldjarin @bbyanarchist @cuteanimalmama @jovl-millvr @missladym1981 @mellymbee @picketniffler @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pattwtf @ashleyfilm @goodvibesonly421 @justajoelsreader @pedritospunk @underchaos @shansphotos @rottingr4ven @cherrygirl19 @sophiabarber2001 @vickie5446 @sheweildsmjolnirs @fairylixie0915 @alfiestreacle @untamedheart81 @mani-pedro @churchofjoemiller @morchilluv @ashhlsstuff @mysterialee @joshylanefleet @shameless-klutz @glitterspark @therewastherewas @kakiki3 @ivoryandflame

[satanssmutcorner]

Absurdthirst’s MasterList

HeadCanons

Sex Pollen MasterList

NSFW Alphabet

Holiday Central

Kinktober 2020

Kinktober 2021

Kinktober 2022

Kinktober 2023

Kinktober 2024

Weekly Writing Round Up

Writer Wednesday Blurbs

Monster Fucking/Loving MasterList

Early Morning {PP character of choice x F!Reader}

Banging Time Machine {Multiple Character x F!Reader}

The Mandalorian MasterList

Francisco “Catfish” Morales MasterList

Agent Whiskey/Jack Daniels MasterList

Pero Tovar MasterList

Javier Peña MasterList

Oberyn Martell MasterList

Ezra (Prospect) MasterList

Marcus Pike MasterList

Max Phillips MasterList

Dave York MasterList

Marcus Moreno MasterList

Max Lord MasterList

Zach Wellison MasterList

Dieter Bravo MasterList

Javi Gutierrez MasterList

Joel Miller MasterList

Tim Rockford MasterList 

Marcus Acacius MasterList 

[satanssmutcorner]

Wheresarizona’s Masterlist

| Taglist Form | Link to AO3 |

If you'd like to buy me a coffee.

No minors, please! My stories are 18+. Hello there, I’m Arizona, peddler of soft, fluffy, and spicy fics. I will take the grumpiest of boys and make them the softest, sweetest, most lovingly devoted partners. This is my Pedro Pascal Masterlist, but I have a ton of MCU fic on AO3.

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to my taglist, please fill out the form or DM me!

My DMs and ask box are open, so feel free to interact! I know it can be scary talking to writers but I promise I’m friendly and love talking to people. Requests are welcome, it’s just not a guarantee on how quickly it will be written.

I reply to comments with my side blog, @wheresarizona-writes.

Reader Inserts unless otherwise indicated.

E: Explicit, M: Mature, T: Teen, G: General

Learning to Live (E)

You met Javier Peña in a grocery store of all places, the man a bit lost as he tries to figure out his life after the DEA and Colombia. Sparks fly the moment you meet, and it’s the beginning of something truly incredible. Or Javier Peña getting the love and happiness he deserves.

Status: Ongoing (400k+ words)

One Shots:

Javier Peña NSFW Alphabet Terra Incognita (E) (f!Virgin Reader)

Don’t Come Yet (E)

Just Ask (E)

Quiet (E)

You Doing Okay? (E)

Caught (E)

September (E)

Joel Miller was the love of your life, your plans to spend the rest of your days with him derailed by the world ending. You got separated on the day of the Outbreak and never saw him again, not knowing if he survived until you find out the smuggler Marlene hired to bring an immune girl to your research hospital is none other than the man you thought you'd lost forever.

Status: Ongoing (60k+ words)

But I Would Die For You in Secret (E)

The relationship you have with Joel Miller is… complicated, and you’re not entirely sure what to even call it. There’s the fact no one can know, so his kid doesn’t find out, and you’re pretty sure he’s ashamed of your age difference—he’s not your boyfriend, but you only fuck each other; this thing started months ago, and Joel does not like it when men give you attention, because he wants you all to himself. But again, he’s not your sexy, older boyfriend.

One Shots:

Big News (G) (Dina/Ellie)

Morning (T)

but now I’m your daisy (T)

Looking: Part 1 (M)

Looking: Part 2 (E)

Please (E)

Blood in The Cut (E)

Bluebonnet (E)

Float Like a Feather (E)

Old Habits (E)

Respite (E)

but he's the one I want (E) (DBF!Joel Miller)

Temptation (M)

sweet dreams (are made of this) (E)

Rulebreaker (E)

Yours (E)

Thanks, Kid (G) (No Pairing)

An Adorably Sweet Man (M)

Creed (E)

Deeply Devoted (E)

A Mandalorian Walks into a Bar Series (E)

Darcy’s Adventures in Star Wars (E) (AO3)

Pairing: Din Djarin/Darcy Lewis

Make It Fun Series (E)

Pairing: Frankie/f!reader/Santi

My Girlfriend’s Moans are Hot (E)

Inspired by Oblivius by @juletheghoul

The Perks (M)

Learned Something New (E)

That Was Good (E)

Inappropriate Waving (E)

Columba (E) (f!Plus Size Reader)

Hold You a Minute Longer (T)

God is a Woman (E)

Nothing Sweeter (E) (modern au)

wreck my plans, that’s my man (E) (AO3)

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Sansa Stark (modern au)

My Little Thief (E)

The Pedro boys and if they’d wear Crocs

The Pedro boys and if they like Star Wars

The Pedro boys and their underwear

With the Stars Flying Past Us by @bunnelbie

Din Djarin/Darcy Lewis

Take Me to the Lake by @bunnelbie

Din Djarin/Darcy Lewis

Dancing in the Kitchen by @bunnelbie

Javier Peña/f!reader (model as reference)

Thanks, Kid by @rook-on-bough

Din Djarin and Grogu Djarin

Javier and Cielito by @miranhas-art

Javier Peña/f!reader (me as reference)

Din’s Little Family by @miranhas-art

Din Djarin/f!reader (me as reference)

Darcy Lewis, Loki, Bucky Barnes by @dchanberry

Gif headers made by @pedropascalsx

[satanssmutcorner]

@frannyzooey take me to church and the Frankie box set are by far some of my all time favourites on this site. I've recommended it (forcefully lol) to friends and gushed about the smuffy smoftness in chats. The feeling and depth of emotion you manage to convey is astounding, and I love the gentleferal vibes throughout.

Masterlist

Din Djarin Western AU: Take Me To Church Masterlist

Want: Gracie/F!Reader

Shy: Gracie/F!Reader

First Time: Gracie/f!reader

Mandalorian Masterlist

Acts of Service

Frankie Morales Box Set

Double Feature

Be Kind, Rewind 

Roll the Credits

Afternoon Matinee

Title Menu

Post Credits Scene

Home Projector

Midnight Showing

Chick Flick

Home Video

Opening Day

Movie Trivia Night

Runtime

Movie Quotes

Movie Quotes: The Sequel 

Gratuitous Sex Scene

Top Gun

Wrap Party

Sound Effects

Roman Holiday

Drive In

Box Set Drabbles

Weeknights

MONDAY 

TUESDAY

WEDNESDAY

THURSDAY

FRIDAY

Weeknights Drabbles

Pioneer Frankie

Need - a Frankie one shot

Listen - a Frankie one shot

Stuffing

Down the Hall

Pioneer Will Miller

Dave/Intern Asks

Dave/Nanny Asks

the fog (has lifted) - 1960′s marcus moreno 

the secret - marcus moreno x f!college reader

The Cabin — Din Djarin x f!Reader

The Storm - Din x Ezra x Frankie x f!reader

Rendezvous - Javier Pena x f!Reader

Joel Miller Masterlist

devour (the entire universe)

In The Dark Masterlist

On The Green Masterlist

[satanssmutcorner]

Pleased to meet you (a fairy tale)

Series, complete.

Summary: You meet Frankie Morales. Twice.

A 20-year-old French student, you're spending the summer of 1999 in New York with your best friend. When she drags you to a party in Brooklyn, you meet an aspiring pilot and the two of you spark an instant and intense connection. Separated by unfortunate events, you waste the next 15 years of your life longing for what you've lost, only to meet him again when your new boyfriend Benny introduces you to his best friend.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Gabrielle Tourneur (OFC)/French fem!Reader with a dash of Ben Miller x Gabrielle Tourneur (OFC)/French fem!Reader

Written in reader format but Reader is an OFC. There are sparse but still present physical descriptions, she is French and has a thorough background, and a name.

Rating: Explicit 🔞

Note: In 2023, I will stop apologising. Maybe. And anyway, I make no excuse. I'm in love with this pilot and obsessed by this movie so I'm making it everyone’s problem. This story is nothing if not a self-indulgent exploration of the soulmates ideal. Expect a lot of angst, and smut.

Every chapter is explicit and you should be 18+ to read this. The American university system remains a mystery to me, I googled "how to become a US Army pilot", and visas are not a thing in this AU. English is not my first language, but one I adore.

Welcome to the orange bedroom, hope you'll enjoy 🧡

Chapters

Chapter 1 - Lovesong

Chapter 2 - I Feel You

Drabble (chapter 3) - What lingers (you)

Drabble (chapter 4) - What lingers (Frankie)

Chapter 5 - Boy meets girl

Drabble - Proud Mary (Ben Miller x you)

Chapter 6 - That Brooklyn bathroom

Chapter 7 - Frankie

Chapter 8 - Shuffle Your Feet

Chapter 9 - The Way Young Lovers Do

Chapter 10 - The Deal

Chapter 11 - Sunday Morning

Chapter 12 - The Drive Home

Chapter 13 - Perfect Day

Chapter 14 - Love is blindness

Chapter 15 - Flaming June

Chapter 16 - Plainsong

Chapter 17 - Auf Achse

Drabble - What lingers (you&him)

Epilogue - Songbird

Drabbles

Road Trippin’ - inspired by one of Wildemaven’s beautiful weekly moodboard writing prompts 🔞

The ties that bind us

To Bring You My Love

More Than a Feeling

I <U SO - coming one day for sure

Headcannons

Frankie's high school locker

The TF boys' favourite things in life and how they like it done.

Benny and Gabrielle (better read between chapter 14 and 15 to avoid spoilers)

A PTMY Halloween 🎃

Playlist

[satanssmutcorner]

Old Habits Die Hard

gif by @pedrorascal

C H A P T E R S I X:

N O T E V A Y A S

pairing: javier peña x f!latina reader

word count: 14.5k (holy fuck)

rating: e (minors dni)

song inspo: barefoot in the dark by james blake ft. rosalia

summary: you and javi confront the truth you’ve both been trying to prevent, unable to hold back anymore.

warnings: 16 year age gap (reader is 21), major fluff and angst, light ptsd descriptions, dry grinding, cunnilingus, piv sex, dirty talk, praise kink

authors note: you guys have no idea how long this particular part has been in my notes app like this is my favorite chapter so far 💕✨ happy holidays chickpeas ❄️😘

When you were small, abuelita used to save seeds for you. She showed you how to grow plants from the seeds she saved from fruits and food scraps. It was a wonder to watch something grow to great sizes from such small beginnings.

She also used to console you whenever one of the little plants you did your very best to take care of would wilt and die. You didn’t understand why something you gave so much care and energy to could be gone so quickly. It always devastated you. Hot tears would track down your red cheeks and she would pat your back to soothe your breathing.

You remember one occasion. The little sprout (which you named “Pepita”, because you grew it from a little avocado seed) was found one morning wilted and brown in its tiny clay pot on the kitchen window sill. Her soft wrinkled arms wrapped around your little body as you wept into her chest. The memory, so clear in your head. She was warm, soft, and smelt like rose water.

“Yo se, bebecita. Yo se. Pero así es la vida. Necesitamos más que agua y sol para vivir, a veces las plantas también. Hay más por venir. No te preocupes. (I know, baby girl. I know. But that 's life. We need more than water and sun to live, sometimes so do plants. There 's more to come. Don’t worry.)”

Needless to say, you have some attachment issues to work on.

The situation you find yourself in feels entirely different, however. This ache inside you is foreign, even overwhelming. But most of all, you’re afraid it might be uncontainable. 

You’re not sure what to make of it. Do you suppress it as much as you can, letting yourself crumble inside and hoping no one will notice? Or do you let it free and face the backlash? Neither of these scenarios sound beneficial in any way. The war inside you has grown out of your control.

You’ve told yourself countless times that your emotions don’t rule over you. That you’re in control and that you should never place all your cards on the table. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve.

Whether you wanted to or not. 

Despite your best efforts, today has gone to hell. Your inner conflict from this morning has evolved into a mess of emotions that surge inside you like a riptide. There’s a distance between you and Javi now that wasn’t there before as you both work in relative silence. Even the gray weather today seems to match your crappy mood.

Why did you have to open your mouth? Why did it feel like you actually were moving to another country the more you spoke? And why why why do you feel so confused right now?

You’re not going anywhere. You didn’t even say it was your last day here. You’re still going to see each other. It’s just going to be different. The way it should be. He’ll stop by for your dad every once in a while. And you’ll probably be out with your own friends. Knowing this, however, doesn’t mean it would make it any easier for you.

You’ve gotten too close and it’s all your fault. You knew this was coming. The hurt was inevitable, no matter the outcome. You just hate that it happened with him, of all people.

It’s no longer just about missing this place anymore. You’re going to miss the contentment you found here. The acceptance. That doesn’t come easily in life, no matter where you go. You’re happy here. He makes you happy.

Would he miss you? Do you want him to miss you?

There’s a noise behind you that sort of sounds like a voice. Once you hear it a second time, you recognize it to be Javier’s voice calling your name. You blink out of your thoughts and turn to face him. He stands a few feet away, holding the cooler in one hand. Giving you a strange look, like he’s trying to decipher what’s going on in your head.

“Sorry?”

“Where’d you go just now?”

His look of concern melts you. And you get that familiar feeling. The one when you feel like your on the verge of tears and someone asks if you’re ok and all you want to do is spill your guts. You feign a smile to avoid his question.

“Nowhere,” you say simply, going back to tightening the barb wire between two posts. “Just a little tired.”

Lame. That is so lame.

Thankfully, he doesn’t push. But by the look on his face right now, he’s not really convinced by your answer.

“Let me deal with the wire. I don’t want you getting cut.”

Your lips curl up a bit more at his concern. He’s so cautious with you. He’s always been like that, ever since that first day in the grove. He knows you’re a capable person when it comes to this kind of work, he’s seen it. Yet he still gets nervous around you. On the other hand, it’s nice knowing that he’s concerned about your well-being.

“I’m fine, I promised I’d help. Plus you’d probably mess it up and I’d have to do it anyway,” you quip.

“I think that’s called being a workaholic.”

“I’m a perfectionist,” you retort. “There’s a difference.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” he teases back. “I’m taking a break.”

You could use a break too, to be honest. It’s getting close to 7pm now, much longer than you expected to stay. But the fence was in terrible shape so that’ll be your excuse if anyone should ask.

Rising to your feet, you dust the dirt off your knees and follow Javier to your truck parked just up the ridge. He flips down the tailgate and places the cooler on top.

“Can you toss me a drink?”

“Yeah.” He rustles through the contents of the cooler like he can’t find something and furrows his brow.

“Oh-No, wait,” he tsks and looks back at you with an apologetic look. “We don’t have any more capri suns for you, sorry-”

You toss the gloves from your pocket at him and he flinches at the impact, laughing at your reaction. A chuckle tumbles out of you and you realize that was probably the point. He’s trying to make you comfortable again.

“Shouldn’t you be drinking ensure or something, like the old man you are?,” you toss back, laughing along with him. “Pendejo… (asshole…)”

“Hey, I’m not that old, alright? Old people don’t spend all day hammering heavy wooden posts into the ground.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” you mimic. He tsks as he hands you a cold bottle of water and you smirk in return.

He makes it too easy.

You climb up to sit on the tailgate, opening the bottle and drinking almost half. He leans back against the tailgate as he drinks beside you. You savor the slow pace of the moment. Everything seems to be moving so fast in your life. You wish things could slow down enough for you to breathe. Moments like these are going to be hard to move on from. So you take what you can.

The radio plays softly behind you in the truck bed. It’s been set on Javi’s station ever since Chucho left and you haven’t bothered changing it. You don’t mind though, the music is an appreciated distraction. And every once in a while, you’ve caught Javier humming a song to himself, bringing a smile to your face.

So, for the next few minutes, you both just sit back and watch the river run. Listening to the sounds of the current, the singing cicadas, and the music meld together.

Mama, take this badge off of me

I can’t use it anymore 

It’s gettin’ dark, too dark to see

I feel I’m knockin’ on heaven’s door…

“You’re quiet again,” Javi says.

“I’m not allowed to be quiet?,” you joke.

“No, It’s freaking me out actually,” he teases back. You both exhale a short chuckle and you bite your lips to stop the smile growing in your cheeks.

“I figured I talked your head off enough for one day.” You give him a half-hearted smile and thankfully he smiles back before facing forward again. But it’s more of a sorry smile than a happy one.

Another minute passes and the tension is so thick it’s almost suffocating. You hate that it’s your fault. You fucked up and made it weird. And even though you’ve been quiet for most of the day, he hasn’t exactly been talkative either after your conversation. You wonder what could possibly be running through his head right now. But almost as if he senses your downward spiral, Javier speaks again.

“Before I joined the DEA, I was a cop,” he says, looking ahead with his arms crossed over his chest. “Did I ever tell you that?” You shake your head in response.

“No,” you quietly reply. You never knew that. You suppose he had to start a career like that from somewhere. But he’s never given you more than a couple hints about his past before. Where is he going with this?

“My parents hated the idea. Said it was too dangerous to be a cop in a border town, which they weren’t wrong about. I was their only kid so they wanted me to take over the ranch. I remember having this huge fight the day before I left…”

He pauses for a moment. He’s avoiding direct eye contact with you. Which gives you the sinking feeling that there’s something heavy about to leave his lips.

He doesn’t have to do this. He doesn’t have to open old wounds for your sake.

“My mother had been battling breast cancer for almost six months at that point. She was so stubborn, but it took a toll on her. Most of all, I remember leaving Laredo to start my career in another town, thinking only two things the entire drive. That I was a disappointment to my family. And the possibility of that being the last time I would see my mother… I was twenty. From that point, I was completely on my own. And I was terrified.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but there’s no air to push any words out. And your mind runs in circles, trying to find something to say. But more than anything, you want to know more about him. Despite his own hurt, he’s trying his best to comfort you.

“Eventually, they came around to the idea,” he sighs, then chuckles lightly. “I guess they saw how I couldn’t be irresponsible or go to parties all the time and thought it was good for me. Came to my police academy graduation and everything. They were proud of what I became. And the day I left wasn’t the last time I would see her.”

You don’t know what breaks you more. His story or how even his voice manages to be while he tells it. But either way, it sinks deep inside your chest. Making you feel full again, like he always manages to do every time you see him.

“You should talk to them,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Even if they don’t like it, you should tell them the truth about what you want. They mean well, so I’m sure they’ll come around if they see that you’re happy.”

“Do you ever think about going back? To the DEA?” It’s a question that you’ve been chewing on for a while now, well before this conversation. If he worked so hard for his career, why did he decide to retire? But the mention of it still creates tension.

There’s a long pause, and the muscles in his jaw flex as he searches for an answer. Every second that passes, the apology in your throat threatens to push through. But eventually, he exhales a deep and heavy sigh.

“I’ve spent half my life working in some form of law enforcement, and in the end, it wasn’t all it was cut out to be. So, no… I’m not really interested in going back to that.”

“I envy you sometimes,” you tell him after debating it in your head for a bit. He scoffs a little in disbelief.

“What the hell could you possibly be envious of?”

“You just seem like you have yourself figured out,” you decide to tell him “I spend a lot of time thinking about who I want to be and where my place is. Sometimes it feels like… like I can’t find my place. Or maybe I don’t have-”

“You have a place,” he interrupts, already reassuring you. When you glance back to him, his gaze still remains ahead. You’re dying for his eyes to be back on you. You crave the warmth they bring.

“You still have time. You have all the time in the world,” he continues. You hum in response, but no words follow. You know he means well, it’s just that you don’t entirely take the words to heart.

In the three years you stayed alone in Houston, you never felt like you grew there. You had your own place, a degree, but not a life that was your own. That’s three years of your life, gone in a flash. And you’re still debating whether it was wasted or not.

“I envy your freedom,” he adds after a few moments, and that does grab your attention. “You’re still growing, still have every choice in the world to make. I’ve made almost every mistake a person could possibly make.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of,” you exhale. “What if I’m wrong? What if I’m making a huge mistake?” 

“I don’t really have the answer to that. But, if it makes you happy, actually happy, I think it’s worth finding out.”

He’s right. You know he’s right. It takes a combination of strength and courage to achieve the goals you want. But they are achievable. You’re just afraid of the heartbreak that might come along the way.

You inhale and exhale a deep, heavy breath. Letting the worry leave your body and already you feel a little lighter. Out of pure instinct, your head bows down into Javi’s shoulder. Like how you would with Mari sometimes when you need comfort beyond words. The intoxicating mixture of his musk and tobacco drifts off him and your eyes flutter closed as it kisses your nose.

There’s a tinge of panic inside you for a second, because you don’t know if he’s the type that’s uncomfortable with physical touch. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t give you any indication that it’s not ok. And after a couple seconds, his head leans against yours and your heart swells. You soak him in, letting yourself mold perfectly into him and it feels oddly familiar, like coming home.

“Thanks for listening to my bullshit for a while,” you mumble.

And then, he says something that you had no idea how much you needed to hear from someone until they fell from his lips.

“You’re in your twenties. You’re not supposed to have your shit together yet. It’s ok to take your time.”

“I didn’t know you were such a softie,” you tease. The smirk on his face can be heard in his voice as he speaks again.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go advertising it, alright?”

“I won’t,” you tell him softly.

You pull away from his shoulder, but not all the way. Just enough to look at him. Goosebumps rise to your skin when his eyes finally find you again. They’re soft and tawny. And he’s so close that his eyes keep dancing between yours. You can faintly feel his breath against your face and it makes you dizzy with affection.

You could close the gap. You could shatter the walls you both built up. It’s so tempting.

But out of fear, you pull back.

“We should probably start finishing up,” you murmur. 

…coward…

“Yeah..” He blinks a few times before taking a deep breath and looking away.

…coward, coward, coward…

You slide off the tailgate and pat the dust off your ass, reaching to put your gloves back on. But just as you’re about to walk away, a hand takes hold of your arm and pulls you back.

Suddenly, you’re being spun around and pulled into Javi’s chest. His strong arms wrap around you and you think you’ve either died or this is one of your dreams. Your eyes flutter closed, your arms find his back, and everything else is nonexistent. Only his warmth, his scent, and his words exist in this moment. 

If it feels this good, it must be right. 

This feels too good, it’s completely wrong.

He pulls back a bit after a few moments, looking down to meet your gaze. Everything about him is warm. His eyes, his arms, his concerned expression. And you love the way he has to crane his neck down to meet you.

“Don’t let the future ruin your day when it hasn’t even happened yet, ok?”

After exhaling another deep breath, you nod and smile. You’re not sure if you’re assuring him or yourself. Maybe both. But when your eyes glance behind his head, your smile falls a bit.

“Those clouds might,” you point out, noticing the sky over his shoulder.

He lets go of you and turns back to take a look at the sky. It’s been gray most of the day but the clouds to the south grew pretty dark in the past half hour or so. Javi shrugs and turns back around, plucking his gloves out of his back pocket and placing them back on his hands.

“Nah, I think we’re fine. I checked this morning, it’s supposed to swing away from us.” 

You look back at the sky steadily growing darker and back at him, not confident in his answer.

“Suuure.”

Not even twenty minutes later, fat drops begin to fall and you and Javi scramble to gather all the tools and gear scattered around. This part of the fence is finished but a big storm could possibly undo all the work you’ve done today. But that's a ‘tomorrow’ problem.

By the time everything is in the truck bed, the drops turn into a shower and it’s time to go. Javier takes it upon himself to hop in the driver’s side and you toss him the keys as you climb into the passenger side. The keys fumble before they slide in the ignition, but when he turns the keys, there’s only a clicking sound coming from the engine.

Oh, fuck.

His eyes widen and he tries turning them again. And again. And again. But the truck refuses to turn over. Rain now pelts the windshield and everything outside of the cabin is blurred by the rushing water. A giggle bursts out of you out of pure nervousness.

“Oh, my god,” you laugh.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…,” he groans, pressing his forehead to the stirring wheel.

Well, shit. Maybe you should’ve taken his truck after all.

Your body shakes with laughter and you think things can’t be any more ridiculous right now. That is until Javi opens his mouth again.

“Ok, ummm…” He turns to look out the back window but there’s no way he can see anything. Only the blurry red image of the truck is visible. He faces you again again with a square lock to his jaw and his brows pinched together.

“We can make it,” he says.

“No, we can’t-,” you laugh.

“We can make it,” he says again, more firmly.

“Javi, it’s already pouring and it’s like ten minutes on foot to your house! We’re gonna get soaked!”

“It’s better than sitting in this hot ass car waiting for this storm to pass. It’s only gonna get worse if we stay.” His hand grabs the door handle, still locking his eyes on you.

“I’m going, whether you stay or not,” he says with a cocky smirk. The pressure only makes you laugh even more but you still put on a shocked expression.

“You asshole! You can’t just leave me here,” you exclaim, still unable to contain your smile.

Is he really serious right now?

He takes your words as a challenge, opening the door only a sliver. The sound of heavy rain crashing against the car rushing through the crack. He doesn’t say a word. Just continues to peer into your eyes and they gnaw at your resolve with each passing second. He knots his brow in that cute concerned Javier way and you can’t help but melt a little. That’s all it takes.

God, can he always look at you the way he’s looking at you right now?

After debating it for a few seconds, you let out an aggravated groan.

“Fuck it,” you grumble.

Giving in, you push the passenger door open, quickly jumping out of the truck. Thick sheets of water pour against your head and shoulders.

And you both make a run for it.

•

“I thought you said you checked the weather,” you shout through the wall of rainfall.

“I did,” Javier yells back. “The fucking weather guy said it was swinging east!”

“Well, clearly ‘weather guy’ needs a new fucking career path!”

You both run through the muddy driveway. Already soaked to the bone but also not trying to linger outside for any lightning to strike either of you. This storm came out of nowhere. The rain pelts against Javi’s clothes like bullets. Drenching him from head to toe.

When you finally reach the cover of the dark porch, you both take a moment to catch your breath after running through the pelting rain. There’s a bright flash of white and a split second later comes the giant boom of the thunder. It shakes the walls of the house and you both flinch away from the edge of the porch. A little frightened but equally in awe of the enormous strike.

He doesn’t realize it until a moment after, but his arm has outstretched itself in front of your chest, gently pushing you backwards and away from the strike. Quickly, pulling it back to his side, Javi opens the front door and immediately feels the cold air of the dark house blow against his drenched shirt.

“And you wanted to wait in the car,” he teases.

“Shut up,” you toss back, laughing. “And did you seriously push me back just now? What were you gonna do, fight the fucking lightning for me?”

“Shut up,” he says, giving you a flick on your shoulder as you both walk inside the house, flipping on the lights on the way in. He doesn’t waste any time taking off his waterlogged boots, caked with mud, leaving them outside the front door besides yours.

Javier huffs a deep sigh as he takes a seat on the small wooden entryway bench. His cold wet clothes now sting his skin like needles. He turns to see you standing just past the hallway, untangling your soaked braid with your fingers.

Goosebumps break out all over your glowing wet skin with tendrils of wet hair clinging around your face. The tank top you wear is completely soaked through and molded to your torso like a second skin. A tan trip of your stomach peeks beneath the wet cotton. You move your hair to the side to run your fingers through it and…

“...fuck me…,” Javier breathes to himself, hoping to God it was low enough to go by unnoticed.

White. You chose a white shirt today. Wet, transparent white.

Beneath the wet fabric is a very visible, very thin pale blue bra on full display. From the straps over your shoulders to the little bow tied at the front between your breasts. The color is the perfect combination of cute and sexy against your skin. But it’s when his eyes land on the two little peaks jutting through the material that Javi’s breath is taken entirely from his lungs.

Despite the cold, his cock twitches in his jeans, devouring every inch of you. The muscles in his jaw ache as he clenches his teeth so hard he almost cracks a molar. He begs his eyes to tear themselves away, but fuck, you look like heaven. The urge to push you against that wall and take a pert nipple in his mouth is so goddamn overwhelming that he can almost taste the wet fabric on his tongue.

You didn’t seem to notice when you were both jogging through the rain to the house. Maybe because the only thought occupying your minds at the time was seeking shelter. But the moment you realize your current state, he sees it in your expression. The drop in your face and the color on your cheeks as your arms immediately cross over to hide your chest.

When you turn in his direction, Javi’s eyes float in the opposite direction. Trying to land on anything but you.

Silence envelops the house. The playful, friendly atmosphere you’ve managed to put back together, now swiftly shattered to bits. Replaced with an awkward tension so thick he can barely breathe.

“Um, can I- Is it ok if I get a towe-”

“Yeah,” he quickly replies, secretly wishing for the earth to swallow him whole right now.

Did you seriously ask if it’s ok for you to get a towel? Jesus…

“It’s cold in here.” He stands up straight, his eyes avoiding anything in your general vicinity. “I’ll get you something to change into.”

“Are you su-”

“Yes.”

Javier cringes at himself. He knows he’s being curt and it might come off as rude. But his skin is crawling right now. His body is steadily betraying him and he needs to do something to fix this. He’s the one who fucked up with the weather after all.

He strides through the kitchen and into the laundry room with you quietly following a few steps behind. The laundry he took out of the dryer last night sits in a basket on top and without a second thought his hand practically dives in, searching through the pile. Most of it is way too big, but you’ll only have to wear it for a few hours.

Suddenly, he pauses. The gravity of his actions weigh heavy on his shoulders.

He’s picking out his own clothes for you to wear. You’re going to wear his clothes. The thought gives him as much torment as it does satisfaction. The image of you in one of his large gray sweatshirts enters his mind. Relaxed and comfortable, the soft fabric hanging loosely on you.

The only thing on you…

He can’t deny how much his heart craves to see you like that by the way it clenches at just the thought.

But you’re waiting right behind him. Standing there, soaked to the bone. And now he feels like a fucking asshole for momentarily fantasizing about you. Again.

Goddammit. Goddamn this whole situation.

He’s a grown man and you are just at the start of your life. He can’t keep doing this. This can’t become normal. It’ll only be harder when you leave.

He grabs a fresh towel along with a sweatshirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants he figures will be comfortable enough for you for the time being.

“Here,” he says, handing you the clothes. “You can put your clothes in the dryer once you’ve changed.” You pause for a moment with some apprehension. Looking at the clothes and him before taking them.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You make your way to the bathroom around the corner of the living room without another word.

He wonders if you were thinking the same thoughts as he was about wearing something of his. But he’s not about to let you wait out this storm, sopping wet in the cold a/c. It’s the least he can do for all your help around here.

He hears the click of the door closing to the bathroom and he’s able to breathe again.

He’s alone.

Opening the lid of the washer, Javi peels the wet T-shirt off his torso and wrings out the water over the basin. Goosebumps rise across his skin from the cold air and a shiver crawls up his spine. He might as well toss his jeans in there too and just get dressed in his own room. 

Just as he unbuckles his belt, the phone in the kitchen rings. He tosses the shirt in the basin with a wet plop and grabs a towel from the basket as he makes his way to the kitchen. The phone on the wall rings again before he picks it up.

“Hello,” he answers.

“Javier,” his fathers voice is garbled over the phone. There’s some laughing and yelling in the background and his father is mumbling something not entirely coherent back. 

Ah fuck, he’s been drinking.

“Mira, Todavía estoy aquí en el rancho de Ruben, pero la tormenta es muy fuerte aquí, así que voy a estar...pérate. Oye! Te veo moviendo mis dominós, Hector. Pinche tramposo. Voy a estar en casa tarde, Mijito. (I’m still here at Ruben’s ranch but the storm is really strong over here so I gonna be…hold on. Hey! I see you moving my dominos, Hector. Fuckin’ cheater. I’m gonna be home late, son.)”

Javi taps the phone to his forehead, his brows etched in frustration. This is exactly what he was hoping wouldn’t happen. So, of course it would because at this point the universe is obviously fucking with him. And today, of all days.

Great. Fucking perfect.

Forced to be here in this house, alone with the woman of his dreams that he can’t have, in the middle of a goddamn storm. It’s a fantasy begging to be played out. He takes a deep breath, trying to find his patience.

“Estas borracho? (Are you drunk?),” he asks, even though he can tell from the fumbling and laughing on the phone.

“Nooo,” his father firmly denies, but then gives in after a few seconds. “Un poquito (A little bit),” he chuckles. Javi sighs, really not in the mood for this.

“You got there alright, Pop?”

“Sí, sí estoy bien (yeah, yeah I’m fine),” he answers. “They said on the radio the county is under tornado watch so just hunker down in the house. I’ll be back late.” 

“Alright,” Javi sighs. “Be careful, ok? Call me when you’re about to leave.” He agrees. Finishing the conversation, he hangs up the phone and pinches the bridge of his nose between his eyes. 

What a mess.

He has half a mind to lock himself in his room the rest of the night. But that’ll just make matters worse. Standing up straight, Javi steals himself. He can do this. He can endure a couple hours alone with you. It’s not like he’s some kind of animal that’s incapable of self-restraint. He has a moral compass, even if it wavers from time to time.

He leaves the kitchen, deciding to go straight to his room to change. He makes his way through the main hallway and around the corner to his room. Once inside, he opens the dresser and grabs a fresh white t-shirt, boxers and a pair of sweatpants and quickly changes. Relishing in the immediate warmth it brings to his clammy skin. After passing the towel over his hair a few times, he feels dry enough head back. He could definitely use a beer to calm his nerves, though.

The old wooden floor creaks under the heavy footfalls of his bare feet as he walks through the hallway again. Pausing just before the entrance of the kitchen, he catches a glimpse of you sitting on the counter.

The kitchen phone is cradled against your ear with one hand as the other twirls the cord around your fingers. His eyes get a chance to drink you in. Clean skin and damp hair brushed back. The points of your cheeks slightly flushed. You’re practically swimming in his clothes and it’s so adorable on you. He bites back a growing smile, seeing your thin gold necklace over his heather grey sweatshirt. 

A piece of you mixing with a piece of him.

You look comfortable. Like you’ve always worn those clothes and always chose that spot of the counter to sit on as your legs dangle. It’s so domestic it nearly strangles him.

As he walks in, your eyes lock onto his. He doesn’t know why, but whenever you look at him, he always feels unguarded. He doesn’t feel the need to mask himself in your presence. 

You give him a smile and he returns it instinctively. Looking out the kitchen window, water pours down relentlessly. The stormy sky has darkened even more after the sun has gone down and few lightning bolts strike the ground in the distance with their delayed thunder reaching the house moments later.

“No te preocupes (don’t worry),” you reassure someone on the other line. Still twirling your finger around the phone cord. “I’ll be back later tonight when it’s safer to drive. Ok… Yes…Mmhmm… Love you.”

Opening the refrigerator door, Javi pulls out a Corona from the back shelf as you hang up the phone. 

“You want a beer?” He asks, then feels the urge to lighten the mood of the room. “Or maybe you want, like, juice or something?” Remembering how you couldn’t help but go off on him the last time he took a jab at your age. You let out a scoff that devolves into a chuckle. 

“I’ll take a beer, old man,” you taunt.

He laughs through his nose, grabbing a second bottle and uncapping both. Handing it over to you, you take it in your hand and tap the lip to his bottle with a clink, thanking him. He leans back against the counter opposite of you as you both take a swig. 

“That was my dad,” you decide to speak first. Your voice is low and gentle. “I let him know I’ll be here waiting out the storm.” You meet his eyes, watching his expression like it might give away something he’s not saying. He nods in acknowledgment.

“Dad’s waiting it out at the ranch so he’ll be back late,” he says, figuring you should know.

“Oh… ok,” you say, trying to sound neutral. But the implication is so obvious now. You’re alone together, and no one is coming anytime soon. 

Silence settles again. The thought of César is sobering. Reminding Javi to keep his distance. That he’s not for you. On one hand, he respects you and your father far too much to act on his desires. And on the other, having anything to do with Javier is too difficult to deal with for anyone, let alone someone still finding themselves.

But the feelings are still there. He can’t deny them. It shouldn’t be a big deal though. He’s been attracted to plenty of women before and did nothing. But he can’t seem to ignore the growing part of him that knows that something about this, about you is different. Special even.

It doesn’t feel forced. Being with you. And talking with you has always as easy and comfortable as that first night outside of that gym. Seeing the way you are with his father, always there to lend a hand and check up on him. And how Javier counts down the hours when he’s going to see you again.

His entire being craves you and he doesn’t know what to do about it. But for now, he’ll behave, share a beer with you, and admire you from a safe distance.

“The records in the living room…,” you break the silence. Probably trying to keep things from getting more awkward than they already are. “Are they all yours?”

He takes another swig from the bottle. “Some,”he answers, “most of them belong to my dad.” There’s a little excited look across your face and your eyes practically beam. 

“Can I finally take a peek?” You fold your lips in between your teeth to hold back your smile. 

How could he ever say no to you when you look at him like that?

“Sure,” he agrees.

Immediately, you slide off the counter and walk out of the kitchen. Standing up straight, he follows a few steps behind you into the living room. Your soft footsteps, muted by the deep red Persian rug that covers most of the living room floor. 

The old wooden media console that holds the records nearly spans across the entire wall. And the large wooden Pioneer speakers sit on each side. The console is completely filled with records, only separated at the center where the record player and receiver are placed.

You sit down on the carpet, level to the records, running your fingers over the countless row of old covers. Javi takes his seat, sinking into the corner of the leather couch and resting his arm over the top. You mutter the various artists as you flip through the covers.

“Silvio Rodríguez, Rubén Blades, Santana, nice. Laurindo Almeida, wow. Oh, my god, Malo? Wow.” You pause on one particular record cover and chuckle lightly, “Vicente Fernández. Definitely your father’s.”

You continue flipping through the covers one handed with the corona in the other. Until your hand stalls on an album that catches your eye. Sliding it out carefully, you examine the cover front to back. The corners are bent and tattered, the colors long faded. Evidence of a well loved record. You turn to look back at him over your shoulder with a pleading look on your face. 

“May I…?” You’re asking him, but he has a feeling you probably would’ve played it anyway regardless of his answer. He smiles at you, drinking in your expression, your voice, how at ease you look sitting there crossed legged on the carpet. Making yourself completely at home.

“Sure. Go for it,” he encourages.

You place the bottle on the console and begin to carefully pull the record out of the sleeve, placing it lightly on the turntable. After turning everything on and making some adjustments on the reciever, you place the needle on the moving disc and the gentle sounds of a spanish guitar begin to play.

Picking up the beer and the cover, you walk towards the couch and take your seat on the opposite end. Bringing your legs up on the side. You’re completely enamored just reading through the list of songs on the back of the album. You both sit back, letting the music take over the silence for a while. He isn’t too familiar with it, but he’s sure he heard his dad playing it once or twice growing up.

“I don’t think I can ever get tired of Los Panchos,” you sigh. He smirks, taking another drink.

“Isn’t this kind of music a little outside your age group?” He teases and you chuckle lightly.

“Los Panchos are timeless,” you retort. “Songs like Piel Canela and Nosotros are classics. I grew up listening to them as much as my parents and grandparents did. And Eydie Gorme is an icon.” 

You point to the woman in blue on the cover of the album. It’s clear you’re dying to talk about this and he’s more than content listening to you ramble on. 

“Her voice has this… beautiful longing that just breaks your heart when you hear it. She captured the emotion of the music. It was a perfect match to the lyrics and guitar melodies. Like she was made to sing those songs, you know?” 

You glance back at him for an answer, as if he were another expert on the topic instead of someone who had forgotten that the record even existed in the console. But he’s the one who’s here to listen and maybe that counts for something. He shrugs apologetically.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he gives a half smile.

“I remember my grandmother would make coffee on early Saturday mornings,” you trail off. Looking distantly as you recall the memory. 

“And she was very old school. She would grind the beans herself with a little coffee mill, and use the little coffee sock strainer. And she would be singing Los Panchos the whole time. Preparing her little cup of coffee like it was her ritual. The smell of the coffee in the kitchen and the songs she would sing those quiet mornings. I don’t know, it just… stuck with me. Those songs made so many little memories.”

You turn to face him again but he’s not sure he’s even blinked since you first spoke. He has some records from his high school and college days but he’s not a big music buff. Since he left for Colombia, he never really had the time or frame of mind to dive too much into music. Usually just listening to whatever came on the radio in the car.

But listening to you gush over the music and how nostalgic you are over songs written decades before you were even born. The way your face lights up over a dusty worn out record. 

Christ… And he thought he was attracted to you before.

“What?” You breathe out a laugh, smirking at him with suspicion. He knows he’s staring but he can’t help it. Your smile widens and you look away, abashed. 

“I know, I know. Boring stuff.” You take another swig to finish the rest of your beer, dropping the subject.

“No, no it’s not that,” he starts, but then his throat runs dry. The words he wants to say are so heavy on his tongue but he’s not sure he should speak them into existence. At least what they really mean. 

You turn back to face him with a raised brow, waiting for his answer. Looking at him with the sweetest eyes. And the words fall out before he can stop them.

“It’s just... The way you talk about the things you’re interested in. How you can’t help but ramble about them. It’s…cute. You’re cute.”

There. They’re out there now. Up for interpreting any which way. He knows you’ll probably take it as a compliment to your personality, but the word is heavy with the underlying meaning. 

The room becomes quiet and it’s deafening. The storm outside feels miles away now as he looks at you and you look at him. The song fades into the next and Javier’s heart almost stops when he recognizes the melody.

Tanto tiempo disfrutamos de este amor

Nuestras almas se acercaron tanto así 

Que yo guaro tú sabor

Pero tú llevas también

Sabor a mí…

You’re both frozen in the thick tension you’ve created. And there are a hundred different emotions in your eyes right now. But he recognizes a few of the same ones he’s feeling. 

Longing and turmoil. Fear and desire. 

Shuffling in your seat, you turn to face him completely. Bringing your knees up and resting your head to the side on the couch. Something has definitely shifted between you. His lungs ache from holding his breath. Waiting for whatever happens next. When you speak again, your voice is hushed, the words sounding almost painful to speak.

“Do you really see me as a kid?”

As soon as he hears those words, guilt twists like a knife inside him. They cut deeper into your skin than he had realized. But it wasn’t said because of your age or your interests. He was pushing you away. Trying in some way to protect you and prevent what was already inevitable because he thought it was the right thing to do. 

But in doing so, he’s wounded you. If he’s vulnerable with you, you get hurt. If he pushes you away, you get hurt. All he’s done since meeting you is give you grief. His stomach sinks. 

He knows the real answer. 

You both do.

“No,” he murmurs. “I should… but I don’t.”

Your gaze remains fixed on him. Eyes slightly wider but not necessarily shocked. You both knew there was something there, lying just beneath the surface. It was only a matter of time before it bloomed. He can practically see the gears turning in your mind, thinking of what to say. He downs the rest of the beer, more nervous now than he ever remembers being.

You bring a palm to your face, running up your cheek and over your eyes. Fear coats his stomach like a thick syrup and he can’t bear to look at you. 

He fucked up. He should’ve just kept his mouth shut. He should’ve lied. Or maybe he read this wrong. Maybe it was all one sided and he made things even worse. 

But then a small chuckle bubbles past your lips. He looks up cautiously to find you laughing silently, your smile peeking behind your palm. He peers towards you with his brows knitted together. 

God, he’s so confused. What did he do now?

“If we’re going to talk about this… I could use another beer,” you breathe out. 

You rest your head to the side, gazing at him with this look of adoration he feels entirely unworthy of. But a smile curls his lips helplessly. Seeing you sit there in his clothes, damp waves of hair draping over your shoulders, looking at him with those soft eyes. 

“Alright then,” he concedes. Pushing himself off the couch, Javi rises to his feet and heads back into the kitchen. 

He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or terrified that this conversation is about to happen. But either way, he knows it’ll decide whatever relationship he has with not just you, but your father. Your whole family, really. 

He’s not exactly the “upstanding gentleman” type that your family would probably expect you to be with. God knows that’s what you probably deserve.

But somehow, something pulled you together like gravity. There was something you saw in him that was worth your while.

Grabbing another two Coronas from the fridge and uncapping them, he turns to walk back into the living room. He catches you looking down into your lap, chewing your bottom lip and fiddling with the sleeves of the sweatshirt. 

What you must be thinking right now…

He plops back down in the same spot as before, reaching over to hand the bottle to you. You take it with a shy ‘thank you’. Both of you take a couple swigs, mulling over what to say. He’s never really been in a position like this before. But then the question he’s been asking himself since he met you comes to mind and he figures he’ll be the one to break the ice first.

“Can I ask you something,” he says, his tone confident and calm. 

You nod your head. “Shoot.”

He leans back against the corner of the couch to better look at you, his free arm stretched out over the top. 

“When we first met, and you asked me to smell you, you were just fucking with me, weren’t you?”

You quirk a smile, looking away and taking another sip to stop a laugh from escaping. He grins, running a hand through his hair and down to his neck. A laugh blows through his nose

“I fucking knew it,” he quips sweetly. “You little tease.” 

“You’re one to talk,” you toss back, offering a mischievous little smirk.

“‘If you ever need me to straighten someone out, just give me the word.’” You toss his words from that night in the Waffle House back at him. 

“You didn’t think I’d see through this whole possessive act you’ve got going on? You’ve been flirting with me this whole time.” 

He meant it, though. Every word. And the memory of you in his jacket… A chuckle spills past his lips.

“I distinctly remember you saying something about my ‘Lucky Jacket’ when you gave it back to me. You think I didn’t see through that? I know you looked through my pockets.”

At that, your cheeks flush red. Your jaw tenses and suddenly the conversation feels like it’s about to turn into an argument. 

“Alright. We both said a lot of things,” you tell him with a twinge of embarrassment. “I can own up to that. But you had as many opportunities as I did to stop.” 

Your words sink into him. You’re not wrong, but it’s more complicated than just stopping. How do you stop a moving train dead in its tracks?

“You think I haven't tried…,” he grumbles under his breath, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Excuse me?” The tone of your voice becomes bitter. And he realizes how shitty that must’ve come out. Leaning forward, he meets you face to face so there’s no confusion. He breathes your name to capture your complete attention.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” he groans, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan for this to happen. For any of this to happen.” 

You lean forward, inching closer and closer to him and he’s burning under the heat of your gaze. The urge to hold just a part of you is so strong. Your brows are furrowed in confusion, searching for whatever meaning he’s trying to convey.

“Ok, so… What do you mean then,” you ask him quietly, irritated but understandably more nervous than anything. Javi’s chest feels ready to burst. The answer is so simple. So why can’t he just say it?

“I don’t even know where to start...” He murmurs. 

“Javi, please… just talk to me.” 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he warns. 

“If you don’t tell me right now, I swear I’m walking right out that do-,”

“I want you!” 

The words burst out of him before he can think and he’s frozen. Your eyes grow wide at his sudden confession. A mixture of astonishment and confusion written all over your pretty face. A blush rises to your cheeks and he wills his lungs to breathe again. 

There it is. No use in hiding it anymore.

“I want you,” he breathes, trying to find the strength to get the words out. “You’ve been driving me… crazy… ever since I’ve met you.”

There’s a few moments of silence before you gather your thoughts into spoken words. And each moment that passes drives him further into panic.

“I drive you crazy?” You ask cautiously, suddenly shy from his response. Your eyes are glossed over and he hurts everywhere. He would sooner die than see you cry again, especially about something he said or did.

“Yeah,” he sighs, resting his forehead against his palm, leaning his arm against the top of the couch. “You do…”

“Like… in a good way?” 

Javi pinches the bridge of his nose, a toothy smile peeking beneath his hand as his shoulder shake in a silent laugh. 

Can he not be any more clear?

“Yes, in a good way,” he chuckles as he explains. “Like… how beautiful you look in those little dresses you wear. How you call me out on my shit and how stubborn you are. How you smell like a fucking pastry…,” He trails off, unable to stop himself now that the wall is broken.

“I mean, God-” he huffs out a deep breath. “Do you not realize how irresistible you are?”

You don’t answer. You just continue to look at him. Frozen and wide-eyed, still processing everything he’s said up until this point. 

Do you really not know that? You have to know that.

He is dying to hold you. His arms are practically twitching to reach out and bring you into his chest. But instead he scans your expression. Following the slope of your flushed cheeks down to your plush open lips just begging to be snatched into his. 

God, he wants to know how you really taste.

You probably catch him because you glance down to his lips too, so ready to close the gap between you.

“I want you, too,” you say in nearly a whisper. The words sending shockwaves through his entire body. “For a long time now. I… I don’t think there was ever a point when I didn’t. I kept getting the feeling there was something between us and I thought it was just me. You drive me crazy, too.”

Your eyes sparkle. Actually sparkle. It sounds cartoonish but maybe it’s because he’s never really seen anyone look at him the way you do. He lays a palm to his forehead, closing his eyes briefly.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, rubbing his hands over his eyes then down his stubbled cheeks. “I’m having a crush for the first time in like 20 years.” You quirk a half smile as you gaze at him. Looking so damn beautiful right now that it breaks him.

“So… what do we do,” you ask softly, hugging your knees to your chest.

Javi’s stills. Suddenly thrust back into the reality of the situation. He turns in his seat, facing his body forward and resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Nothing,” he says, taking the last swig of his forgotten beer. “We do nothing.”

The words taste like shit in his mouth. And the drop in your face would make a knife in the heart feel better. But this can’t happen. He’s caused you enough pain. And you don’t deserve someone like him.

“If this is about my age or my father, I swear to god-“

“It’s not just that-,” he interrupts.

“Then what?” Your ask, your voice dripping with a mixture of fear and frustration. “We just go back to how it was? You’re gonna flirt with me this whole time and then pretend like you-“ you pause in the middle of your sentence, taking a sharp breath in, like some sudden realization just hit you. 

“Was this just a game?” You ask him so calmly it terrifies him. “I was just another girl to mess around with?”

“No! Fuck, no! I care about you! It’s just…” he huffs. 

How does he even begin? He’s in turmoil and you must be so confused. He tilts his head to face you again, seeing your broken expression. Your red eyes are brimming with tears that refuse to flow and your brow is etched in pain. So tormented with longing and fear. And he can’t help but break inside.

“Listen…,” he takes a deep breath, praying for the right words to say to you.

“I have this… incredible way of fucking up the best things in my life. People that get close to me get hurt. And that’s the last thing I want to do to you.” He pauses. The next words stick to his throat, reluctant to leave. 

He never intended to tell anyone about the past 8 years, not even his own father. But you deserve to at least know why he’s holding back. He looks down to the floor, unable to hold eye contact with you. And he can already feel the muscles in his free hand tense as it starts to tremble.

“I’m not a good man,” he mutters. “Good men have died because of me. Because I was cocky and arrogant. I joined the DEA to be a part of something bigger than Laredo and make a difference. And instead I got involved in something…really fucked up. The things I’ve done…the things I have to live with...” 

His mind floods with memories. The orphaned baby, left behind in the wake of destruction. Helena, who trusted him to keep her safe as he sent her into a den of wolves. Working with another evil and justifying it for the greater good. 

To say that he’s going through some shit would be a gross understatement.

“You don’t deserve to deal with that. I don’t… deserve you. And I shouldn’t want you.”

Javi braces himself for your disgust. For you to wince away from him and save yourself from any more pain. He doesn’t deserve your kindness, your understanding, or even your attention. But knowing that doesn’t stop himself from craving you.

You rise from your seat and stand up. Taking a cautious step forward, you slowly move towards him. One foot in front of the other until you’re standing directly in front of him. His hand is already shaking from his nerves and he almost feels like hiding somewhere. Even with his head hanging inches from your stomach, he can’t bear for you to look at him. 

But unexpectedly, your hands come up to rest on his shoulders. Squeezing them gently then slowly moving behind his neck and running through the fringes of his hair. And every tense part of his body starts to loosen beneath your hands.

“I’m here, Javi…,” you breathe. Your arms drape over his shoulders, drawing him into an embrace. “I know you're hurting and I won’t push. But I’m here for you… I’m not going anywhere.”

Something inside him shatters and he gives in. Dropping the empty bottle on the carpet, his arms wrap around your midriff loosely. He breathes a sigh into your stomach, melting completely under your touch. 

You’re so warm. 

You press a kiss to the top of his head as you run your fingers soothingly through his hair. And another on the crown. Then another on his forehead until he’s falling apart in your arms.

Your hands glide to cup his jaw, gently lifting his face to meet yours again. He only catches a glimpse of your face before you’re pressing your lips to his. Finally closing the gap between you and he swears to God he sees fireworks. It’s sweet and tentative and says everything you want him to know.

You’re still here. You still want him, scars and all.

You pull away, giving him the chance to see if maybe you had gone too far. Still hovering just over his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I just needed to know what that felt like.” 

He can’t move. He can’t breathe. All he’s capable of doing at this moment is looking at you. Your eyes are hazy and red rimmed and they seem to look right through him into his very core. 

He can’t resist anymore. Everything he’s kept buried inside himself begins to rise all at once. And his body takes over what his mind is still trying to catch up on.

Javi’s hand comes up to your cheek, sliding behind your neck. Gently pulling you back into him and taking your lips into his. This time, fully immersing himself in the feel of your lips, relishing the charged energy between you.

You sigh against his mouth, matching his movements and slow rhythm and he’s pretty sure he’s dreaming at this point. How many times has he woken up in the dark hours of the morning to this exact fantasy?

He deepens the kiss. Tilting his head to better sink into you. You open your mouth as an invitation and he gladly takes it. Gently licking the seam of your lips before dipping inside. And that one simple touch of your tongue against his has him burning inside. Slowly blowing the spark into flame. 

You shiver under his touch and it adds fuel to the fire. His other hand steadily glides up your clothed back and a small whine escapes from you. Running both hands through his hair in response.

He has to stop. He needs to stop but he can’t.

The kiss soon becomes hungry, eager for more because he can’t get enough. He’s starved for you and he needs more. You breathe out little sighs through your nose, so lost in his lips. For a moment, you gently suck the tip of his tongue and his whole body shivers with pleasure. 

Blood rushes to his groin, aching for you and he’s dying to give you everything he’s been holding back since he’s met you. 

Without stopping, his hand leaves your neck, gliding down your body to the bend of your knee and he pulls, urging you forward. Taking the hint, your leg comes up over his hips followed by the other until you're straddling him. The contact makes you both groan softly, his hands flying to grip your waist for control. 

You cling on to each other, hands roaming over each other’s body and panting against the others lips. The scent of brown sugar and vanilla wafts in his nose and everything about you is heaven. 

Everything about this feels so right.

Javi grips tighter at your waist, pulling you down against him. You moan against his mouth, pressing your core to his hardening cock. Heat rises to his skin at the feel of you but he needs more. Feeling bolder, he does it again. Slower, more intentionally and you meet him halfway, finding a rhythm.

Your hips slowly wind against him as your lips devour him. The pulse from your cunt beats against him with each languorous roll and he’s so hard he can’t take it. Javi’s hands dip beneath the hem of your- his sweatshirt, gliding up the warm smooth skin of your back. They rise up to your shoulder blades and he pauses, only now noticing that there’s no bra. 

Realization hits him that there’s probably nothing beneath the clothes he gave you.

He breaks the kiss, leaning into the crook of your neck. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Javi mumbles a curse against your skin, gripping at your waist for dear life and trying to find any thread of self restraint he has left in his body.

“Tell me to stop,” he huffs against your skin. 

“Please don’t…,” you plead, pulling him deeper under the waves of your desire. You’re already breathless, and he’s barely touched you.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” His voice is ragged with guilt and yet the hand that climbs your back takes hold of your shoulder from behind you. Pulling you down against him again so his cock rubs perfectly over your clit. 

“I know…,” you whine, rolling your hips again and he swears to God you’re going to kill him.

His lips graze the skin of your neck, wanting more than anything to leave his mark on you as he comes up again. Leaning his forehead against yours.

“If you don’t stop me right now, I’m gonna fuck you right here on this couch,” he warns. His voice husky with need.

“I can’t,” You pant, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your voice brimming with a hundred different emotions. “I can’t stop wanting you.”

He glides the pads of his fingers down your back, nudging his nose against yours and he’s too lost. Lost in the feel of your skin on his, in the scent of your hair, in the taste of your plush lips. Lost in your beautiful spirit.

“Javier…” you breathe.

The sound of his name from your raspy voice snaps the very last thread of his restraint. And he gives in.

Fuck. He’s going straight to hell.

Javi wraps his arms around your waist, standing up without warning and taking you with him in his arms. You gasp at the sudden rise but immediately wrap your legs around his waist, your arms holding on tight around his shoulders.

He carries you out of the living room and down the hall, trying his best to kiss you without missing a step. Coming to the door of his room, he shoves it open with the side of his shoulder hard. Sending it slamming against the wall as he comes to the edge of his bed, tossing you on top.

You yelp as you bounce on the bed from him manhandling you. But before he dives back into you, he turns back to the door. Closing and locking it. 

And then he pauses. Taking in the moment and finding whatever coherence he has left in him. 

You’re here. You want him. You still want him. You may not know everything right now, but you accept him for him. Not the mask of him.

Turning to look at you, you sit on the edge of the bed. Wide eyed and wanting. The room is dark save from the lamp on the bedside table and the window flashing occasionally with lightning from the storm outside. 

He drinks you in, mesmerized by the rise and fall of your chest with each heavy breath. Your hair cascading down over your shoulders and around your face. And he’s certain you’re the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen.

You are going to wreck him.

He strides towards you. Quiet and calm but no less hungry for you. When he reaches you, your eyes look up at him with so much emotion. Your pupils are blown wide, darkening your eyes like deep pools.

“Come here,” he murmurs.

Your breath hitches and you comply. Rising slowly to your feet, standing inches away from his chest. He brings his palm to your cheek and your eyes flutter closed, leaning into his touch. 

He leans down, taking your lips in his at his leisure. He kisses your cheeks next, then your jaw and down to your neck. His tongue peeks out, swirling circles on your neck and leaving a trail of soft wet kisses. Still so slowly it has your body buzzing for more.

Your hand flies to his side and grips the material of his shirt. He continues to leave kisses along your neck and nipping gently at your skin but being careful not to leave any marks. Without leaving the comfort of your neck, his other hand dips underneath the sweatshirt, raising it slightly.

“Is this okay?” His breath is hot against your skin. 

“Yes,” you whisper.

With both hands, he raises the material little by little. You lift your arms up in response. The sweatshirt comes off you and lands forgotten on the floor, leaving you bare in front of him.

The tops of your shoulders are sun-kissed from the summer. He follows the slope or your shoulder lower and lower until his eyes land on your perfect breasts. Javi stands there breathless, practically drooling at you until you speak again. Tugging at the hem of his shirt. 

“Your turn,” you say, your voice hushed. 

You gently lift the material up and over his head. Once it’s off, it’s tossed aside to the floor along with the sweatshirt. His heart pounds in his chest. Feeling more exposed than as if he was naked in front of you. Your hand lands on his chest, dragging your fingers down to the plains of his stomach, landing on the fringes of his happy trail. That single touch burns through him like a shot of whiskey.

“I hated feeling like that,” he huffs out with a deep breath.

“Like what?”

Javi’s hands land on your waist, soaking in the warmth of your skin. His left hand glides higher and higher until he reaches the curve of your breast. He takes it gently in his hands, running his thumb over the peaks of your nipple and you melt in his hand.

“Holding back,” he whispers, leaning into your ear. You shudder, leaning your body into his hand as he tugs and squeezes. And he groans at finally having you in his hands. You shudder beneath his hand, laying your arms on his shoulders. 

“I thought about this so much,” you murmur. “About you. How good you would feel.” He raises his brows, leaning back and looking up to face you.

“Really?” 

You nod with a sweet smile across your lips. 

“When you gave me your jacket that night you drove me home, I didn’t want to take it off. Wearing something of yours, feeling your warmth on it, it made me…”

You run a hand lazily through his hair, leaning your forehead against his and closing your eyes. The hot air of your breath mixing together.

“Made you…,” he tries to continue your thought. He rolls your nipple between his fingers and you hiss through your teeth. Your arms pull him down closer until there’s no distance between you.

“It made me wet,” you whisper, hovering just above his mouth.

Javier curses under his breath. He can’t take this anymore, he needs you. Dipping down, he pulls at the backs of your thighs, sending you falling backwards onto the bed. 

He’s on top of you in a second, diving back to your mouth and kissing you like he needs fucking air. You whimper against his mouth, flicking your tongue against his and he’s spiraling.

“You’ve done this before, right?” He pants the words into your neck, leaving hot wet kisses from below your ear down to your shoulder. It’s probably a stupid question. But if you say no, he’s out. It’s already bad enough his hands are on you when they shouldn’t be, but that’s a line he won’t cross.

To his surprise, your body starts to gently shake with a beautiful breathy laugh. It reverberates against his lips right into his confused heart.

“What?,” he chuckles against your ear. 

“I’m not a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking,” you giggle, running a hand through his hair. “Is that a disappointment?” 

“No,” he smiles. “Just curious about what you like.”

His lips trail down your collarbone, going lower and lower until he snatches a nipple in his mouth. Swirling his tongue over the peak and groaning at the taste of your skin. A moan escapes from you and you arch your back for him. His hand plays with the neglected breast as he tugs and pulls your nipple in his teeth. 

Fuck, you taste so good. 

He wonders what else tastes good.

He leaves your breast and rises above you, standing at the edge of the bed. Looking down and seeing you squirm in heat, he’s ready to drive himself into you right now. But he wants this to be good for you. You deserve the best so you’re getting the best. He tugs at the waistband of the pjs you’re still wearing.

“Lift your hips for me, Chiquitita,” he encourages.

You do so without hesitation and he yanks the pants clean off you, tossing them behind him as he kneels to the ground. Finally taking a good look at your gorgeous cunt and his mouth fucking waters at the sight. 

He kneels to the floor and yanks you to the edge of the bed by your knees, spreading you wide in front of him. He kisses up your thigh, slowly leaving a trail higher and higher, making your whole body squirm. Then finally, he takes your pretty pussy in his mouth.

You gasp, clutching on to the sheets of his bed and he feels your thighs quiver between his shoulders. Javi hums against your cunt, savoring the sweet tang on his tongue. He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, keeping you in place but you squirm under him. Your whole body trembles from his ministrations.

“Fuck, Javi…,” you whimper. 

He sucks on your clit, dragging it out between his lips, feeling your stomach tense beneath his palm. Licking you up like a fucking peach until you’re writhing and desperate to come. Doing as much pleasure for him as you.

Soon, your breathing becomes shallow, all your muscles tense up and you’re close to falling apart. Wrapping an arm around your leg for support, he closes his mouth around your clit, lapping at it with his tongue at a deadly pace and you sob. 

Closing your eyes shut, your hand flies to his hair, grabbing a fistful as you climb higher, your orgasm cresting inside of you. Your voice grows louder with each moan and you’re so ready, you’re right there. 

Then suddenly, you arch your back, your breath caught in your throat. Your whole body tightens and you moan so loud it’s music to his ears. You come hard against his mouth but he doesn’t dare stop. Drinking in your arousal, still kissing and nipping at you.

You tug at his hair, urging him to pull away from your overstimulated clit and reluctantly he does. Leaning the side of his head against your thigh for support as he catches his breath.

He looks at the results of his work. Seeing you collapsed on his bed, legs spread wide and your pussy glistening in the pale lamp light. When was the last time he ate anyone out? He can’t even remember. But after devouring you, he can already tell he’s completely hooked to your flavor.

“You ok?” He pants.

He takes in your expression, your flushed cheeks and toothy smile across your face. You lay your arm over your eyes and chuckle tiredly. You nod a yes, unable to form words. 

Yeah, you’re ok. 

Pride fills his chest. The guilt of his actions are almost completely gone from his mind. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. And he has no clue how he would even begin to explain this to anyone. But having you here in his bed, skin to skin, feels more right than anything he’s ever known before. 

He’s taking tonight for tonight. He can feel guilty tomorrow.

Standing up straight, he goes to open the drawer of his nightstand, pulling out a condom from the box inside. His fingers dip inside the waistband of his sweatpants, yanking them down and kicking them off.

You sit back on your elbows, watching him through heavy lashes. There’s a sheen of sweat over your body, making your skin glow in the dim light. Your eyes glance downward and he grins, noticing how your eyebrows shoot up at the sight of his stiff cock. He breaks open the wrapper and rolls on the condom, stroking himself a couple times, groaning at the relief. 

The next second, he’s back on top of you and your arms fly around his neck again. Pulling him into a heated kiss and whimpering at the contact, making his cock twitch against your hips. 

His hands roam your body, learning every inch of you and what parts get you worked up. Your hips grind against him but he pins them down to the bed, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Are you ok with this?” He huffs out. He pulls away when you try to lean in and kiss him. You whine in protest but he needs your answer. He needs to know if you really want this and the consequences of it afterwards. 

“Baby, I need you to tell me.” 

A fog lifts from your expression and clarity takes over. Your eyes lock onto his, your brows twisted upward with this look of warmth on your face. Your eyes gleam and he’s wondering  why you’re looking at him the way you are. 

Was it the question? It’s a basic question. Maybe you’re having second thoughts?

“Yes,” you say, breathless. “I need you.”

Fuck. Yes.

Javi’s hands grab hold of your waist, tossing you higher up the bed and onto the pillows with ease. His hips line up to yours and the tip of his dick instantly finds the wet heat of your pussy. His left hand keeps him up besides your head as his right takes hold of your hip. 

He thrusts inside, both of you gasping at the feeling as he splits you in two. His fingers dig into the meat of your thigh and his whole body shudders, overwhelmed by the feel of you.

Your eyes shut tight, throwing your head back on the pillow. Your hair fanning everywhere in a beautiful disarray as your hands claw at his back, trying to hold on to him.

“Oh, fuck,” you cry out. “Javi…”

“I got you,” he assures, breathing hot air against your neck. “You feel perfect.” 

You are perfect.

He thrusts again, setting a pace so slow and so sweet as he stretches your walls. You lock your ankles together at the small of his back, moaning with each long drag of his cock. He dips down to snatch a nipple in his teeth, dragging it in his mouth and swiping it with his tongue. Trying to savor every single piece of you he possibly can.

After a while, he loses control though and he’s kissing and nibbling you all over. Even biting the meat of your jaw in particularly deeper thrusts. 

He could do this all night.

He doesn’t mind the slow pace. In fact he loves it. It means he gets to learn what you like. Taking note of things he does that makes your cunt squeeze around him and committing them to memory. Giving every part of your body the devotion it deserves. And from all the pretty sounds spilling from you right now, you love it too.

Javi feels your heels nudge at his lower back, urging him to go harder. A hand runs through his sweat damp hair and he swears his chest is about to burst. He wishes he could die as happy as he is right now. You look up at him, capturing him with those big doe eyes.

“You don’t have to be gentle,” you say, a slight mischief to your tone. “I won’t break.”

His eyebrows shoot up at your request. A little surprised to hear a sweet little thing like you being so forward. He was more than content being tender with you. But he also can’t deny how much he would love to tear you apart. 

Who is he to not give his girl what she wants?

Your thighs caress his waist, provoking him. You are definitely going to be the death of him. He smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“You want it rough?” He asks. You give him a short nod.

Javier’s hands fly to your hips with a steel grip, yanking them up at a steeper angle. Grabbing both legs, he places them over his arms and leans forward. Planting his hands on either side of you as he folds you in half.

“I’ll give you rough,” he warns.

And then he starts to fuck you.

The first hard thrust already has you shaking. Your eyes roll back closed and you cry out a sob in pleasure as he drives into you at a steady pace. Slamming into your cunt and making your whole body tremble beneath him. He thrusts into you again and again and he’s still not even in full gear yet.

Your breasts bounce at the movement and he watches them shamelessly, practically drooling like a dog. 

You’re so pretty.

You catch him looking and you smile at the attention. Your hands come up to squeeze them, pulling the peaks between your fingers, putting on a little show for him to watch. Completely lost in the madness of the moment.

You fucking tease. If his face wasn’t red already, it damn well is now.

“You feel so good,” he moans. “So fucking good…” 

He keeps up the pace, his hips smashing against yours and he’s so lost in you. You desperately try to grab onto the sheets but it’s not enough. Your hands land on his shoulders , digging your nails in and desperately trying to hang on, making him groan. Words spill from his mouth before he can stop them.

“Such a good girl for me,” he grits through his teeth and you whimper. Absolutely adoring the pet name he’s given you. 

He loves calling you that. And he definitely knew that it affected you. But he couldn’t help himself. Seeing how it made you blush and bite your lip. He’s fucked his hand raw just thinking about it.

“You like that, huh?” He chuckles breathlessly, knowing damn well that you do. 

“Only when you say it,” you whine, knitting your brow and biting your lip just as you’ve done plenty of times before.

He kicks up another gear. Fucking into you earnestly and watching you writhe under him. A string of curses fall from your lips. And he tries to think of anything to keep himself from spilling into you right now.

“Fuck… Don’t stop… Don’t stop,” you beg.

Not a fucking chance.

His head is spinning. His muscles are screaming. But he doesn’t dare break pace. Not until your completely and thoroughly ravaged. 

Your moans grow higher, your nails raking at his shoulders in a frenzy. Your hips match his rhythm and he can feel how close you are. Your eyes are shut tight and your mouth hangs open. Javi places a hand to cup your face.

“Look at me,” he demands.

You open them and they’re brimming with a mix of emotions. Lust. Yearning. Passion. Warmth. You’re so fucking beautiful. The words echo endlessly in his mind. His heart pounds and he can’t stop. How could he ever resist you?

He thrusts over and over again. The sounds of moaning and your bodies coming together fill the room. Your back bows and your breath is stolen but you don’t dare to look away from his eyes. The lids, threatening to close. Your orgasm crashes over your body like a wave, completely engulfing you. The expression on your face is enough to put him over the edge.

“Javi!”, you cry out, your voice hoarse. Your whole body tenses as you come. Every moan and lewd noise that you tried to control coming out of your mouth as he fucks you through it.

“Fuck… Yes… Yes,” he groans. God, he’s gonna come.

Your cunt wraps around him in a vice grip, your legs tremble and he’s so close. He leans in further, shoving your legs aside and wrapping an arm beneath you to pull you in tightly. His thrusts become shallow, driving himself deep inside you to the hilt. 

He shoves his face into the crook of your neck, squeezing his eyes shut and letting go. The orgasm wracking through his body like an earthquake. His cock pulses inside you as he bites onto your shoulder. Javi moans your name into the crook of your neck, overcome with pleasure and everything is perfect. You, this moment, all of it. 

Fireworks burst behind his closed eyes. Fuck, that was incredible. He can’t remember the last time he came like that. And even while he’s still riding through the remnants of it, he wants more. He doesn't want to be done with you yet.

As he starts to come down from the high, he feels your hands run down his back. You press soft kisses along his neck and shoulder. Soothing him through his descent and he falls to pieces inside.

How are you always so soft? So gentle towards someone as rough as him? What makes him so lucky to deserve you?

He tumbles down onto the bed, grabbing your leg and wrapping it around his hips, rolling you half over him as he lands. You plop on top of him, completely fucked out and he’s never felt more satisfied in his life. 

A wave of calm washes over him. Having your skin on his, running his hand in your damp hair. He feels as relaxed and as whole as he did the first night he met you.

You both remain tangled together for a while, letting the bliss ebb. The hot air of your breathing and the sweat from your bodies mixing together. His hand comes up to push back the damp hair clinging to your face, which currently rests on his chest. 

“You ok?” He asks.

“Yeah…” you say breathlessly, your hand running slowly up his chest. “You?”

He smiles, taking your cheek in his palm and tilting your face to meet his. Feeling more content than he ever remembers.

“More than ok,” he sighs just before pressing his lips to yours.

You linger after he pulls away. Hiding your face in the crook of his neck and tugging him closer with your arm over his shoulder. Craving to keep the connection. You sigh deeply into his skin and now he’s a little concerned. A thousand things must be running through your mind right now. 

“Hey,” he says softly. “You’re not ok… What’s wrong.” He presses his palm against your neck and runs his thumb along your jaw trying to soothe you. Was it too much? Did he hurt you? Do you regret it? He starts to panic inside.

“No no, I’m ok. Really,” you murmur softly against his neck. “I’m just… I feel kind of vulnerable right now, I guess. I don’t do this a lot.”

A weight presses against his chest and he doesn’t know what to say. Knowing that sex isn’t something meaningless for you makes this so much more personal. So much closer to his heart than he ever anticipated. It’s equal parts terrifying and exhilarating.

He doesn’t speak right away. Instead, he presses kisses to your forehead. Reassuring you that he’s here, he’s not going anywhere. His hand takes yours from his shoulder. Softly gliding it down his chest and resting the pads of your fingers at the bottom of his rib cage where a tiny dip can be felt just beneath the skin.

“Can you feel that?” He murmurs against the crown of your head. You hum in response, feeling around the bump.

“My first year in Colombia, I got caught in the middle of a crossfire on a street in Bogotá,” he explains. “A bullet hit my vest, right here. It didn’t go through but the force from the bullet fractured one of my ribs. It never really healed right.”

His hand mingles with yours as you continue to run over the area. And he says those six words that he’s never been able to say to anyone, hoping you understand his sentiment.

“I’ve never told anyone about that.”

Your hand stills its movement. A smile presses against his neck and he hopes you’re feeling more at ease. But inside him is a whirlwind of questions. Too many for tonight. 

“Do you want to talk?,” he whispers. He can only guess that’s the right thing to say right now. And honestly, he wouldn’t have the answers to anything you asked. But he just needs to know if you’re ok.

You shift out of his hold. Lifting yourself up and over him, your legs straddling either side of his hips. Your hair falls like a curtain around him and all he sees is you. This beautiful, amazing woman. The woman of his dreams.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” you breathe, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, and then his lips. Javi’s hands find the small of your back and you shiver at his touch. His body comes alive again under his skin, wanting more.

“Tomorrow…,” he sighs, taking your lips into his.

Eventually you’ll have to untangle. You’ll get up, get dressed and drive home and he hates it. He hates that you can’t stay. That you’ll have to leave after what you’ve done. 

But for now, while you have your own small world together, he’ll steal every minute he can.

•

•

•

C H A P T E R S E V E N

M A S T E R L I S T

T H A N K Y O U A L L💕

taglist: @catchallfangirl @leithatnight @wonderless-screwup @babydarkstar @thevoiceinyourheadx @overly-obsessed-with-you @the-corvus-bandit @fangirl-316 @parkjammys @kirsteng42 @sadbutradbarnes @lauramb7 @bbyanarchist @ayoungpascallover-readings @natashaispunk @suttonspuds @bloobsi @nectav @pinebeam @chxpsi @mistycate @danettededanone @blub-senpai @carlalovesflowers @auberosier @gioispunk @brvnnhildes @sofsofsposts @thesecretbitch01 @princessgriffin1998 @brunette-overalls @d-sav @emilianamason @pedrohoe04 @casssiopeia

[satanssmutcorner]

Unrequited (bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader)

Moth's Masterlist // follow @mothandpidgeon-updates and turn on notifications to stay updated with my fics!

pairing: bfd! pre-outbreak!/Jackson!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E 18+MDNI

summary: You arrive in Jackson 22 years after the outbreak only to be reunited with your best friend’s dad, the man that stole your heart and broke it when you were fourteen– Joel Miller.

contents: best friend's dad, age gap, outbreak night (nothing that isnt in ep 1), big angst, abandonment issues, brief suicidal ideation, daddy issues, grief, Joel guilt, unprotected p in v sex, reader doesn't know where Jakarta is, reader is not described physically but Joel picks (adult) reader up, moth never uses y/n.

wc: 9k

a/n: This has been a bitch to finish but I'm quite proud of where it ended up. It's the longest os I've written which makes me nervous nobody will want to read it but I hope you do.

Thank you a million times to @ezrasbirdie for making me finish this and betaing. Also thank you @lowlights for listening to me ramble on this! Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Old man, take a look at your life. I’m a lot like you. Neil Young

You’re waiting for Sarah on the front steps when she gets home. School ended nearly two hours ago and you’ve been sitting here a ball of nerves. The whole world seems to be uneasy this afternoon. You notice sirens, a team of fighter jets scrambling above. It's like your anxiety has spilled out of your chest and it’s taken life all around you. 

You finger the corner of your notebook. On the inside are doodles— hearts and bubble letters. Juvenile daydreams put to paper. Your first name and after it his last, testing out the sound of who you would be if only you’d been born in a different decade. Mrs. Miller. 

Sarah doesn’t look very happy to see you. It’s been two weeks since you’ve talked to her and you’ve never felt more lonely. 

Her words still ring in your ears. 

“It’s like you’re in love with my dad.”

“No I'm not!” you said, your whole body tingling with the heat of embarrassment. You’d never felt so exposed in your life. 

“Sometimes I think that’s the only reason you’re even friends with me,” she said. 

You've been ruminating on that accusation ever since. You pine for Mr. Miller the way only a fourteen year old can. It’s the kind of infatuation that makes you understand how Romeo and Juliet ended in tragedy. All-consuming, unrequited, so in love it hurts.

So maybe Sarah’s right. Your heart flutters every time Mr Miller appears in the kitchen, wearing a dark t-shirt that hugs his biceps. You try not to stare at his aquiline nose when he drives you home from Sarah’s soccer games. Sleep overs at the Miller’s house mean more opportunities to be around him, learn the little details that make him him. And there were plenty of sleep overs because your parents are always so busy fighting, they never bother to keep track of you. 

But you’ve been in agony without your friend. It’s a pain sharper and more present than the yearning you’ve felt for Mr. Miller. You’ve talked to her every day since you moved to Austin in fourth grade and since this fight, there’s been an empty space in your heart. 

“Hi.” You stand up, hoisting your backpack awkwardly over your shoulder. 

“I’m supposed to go next door,” Sarah says. 

“Can I just talk to you for a minute?” you ask. 

She sighs but opens the front door with her key and lets you follow her into the living room. 

“I’m sorry,” you say before you lose your nerve. “You’re right. I like your dad.”

It’s probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever owned up to. You wish you could explain to her that you know how silly it is to be in love with a full grown man, your best friend’s dad. It’s not like he’ll ever see you as anything other than a kid. 

You can’t put into words how he makes you feel. It’s not just his broad shoulders or chocolate eyes, though it’s undeniable that he’s gorgeous. He asks about school and comes to see you in the musical. Joel is an adult that actually gives a crap about you. 

You want to tell Sarah that one of the reasons you love her father so much is because of her. Because he’s such a good dad, because he raised such a cool, funny, smart daughter. That Sarah makes him better. 

It’ll take years for you to find words for all of that. So you just do your best right now. 

“I can’t help it. I wish I could,” you say. 

That’s true. And not just because your crush has made you lose your only friend. It’s exhausting to feel such a powerful longing, to want something you know you’ll never have. It’s torture. 

“But you’re my best friend. And that’s not why. I promise,” you say. 

Sarah sighs heavily, her pretty hazel eyes full of remorse. 

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just get jealous sometimes.”

“I promise I won’t make you feel that way ever again. I could never like him more than you,” you tell her, sitting beside her on the couch and looking her in the eye so she knows you mean it. “He’s…old.”

You both laugh. 

“He’s so lame. This morning he said that Jakarta is in the Middle East,” she giggles. 

You don’t know where the hell Jakarta is but of course Sarah does. You throw your arms around her. You’ve missed her so damn much. The past two weeks have felt like two decades. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell her. 

“Me too.” She returns your embrace. “Do you have to go home? You can sleep over if you want. It’s my dad’s birthday but I don’t think he’s going to be home until late.”

Your heart twinges at the offer and not because it means you might see Mr. Miller at breakfast. You won’t even look at him again. Tonight is about your friend.

You end up watching some corny action movies and gorging yourselves on microwave popcorn. Everything feels right again. You don’t think about Mr. Miller. In fact, you’re grateful that his double has gone over into a late night so you don’t have to be in the same room. You’ve sworn to yourself that you’ll act normal around him but you’re not sure that sheer willpower can stop you from getting butterflies when he’s right there. 

At some point, you pass out in front of the tv, happier than you’ve been in a long time. 

Sarah nudges you awake sometime after midnight, concern all over her face. 

“Was I snoring?” you ask, groggy. 

She’s looking out the window. Helicopters fly so low overhead, the whole house rattles. It’s a wonder you slept through all of this noise— the choppers are joined by the wail of a car alarm, pops like fireworks. The TV is playing a high-pitched tone and when you peer at it, you see a test pattern on the screen. 

Dread settles in the pit of your stomach. 

“Something’s going on,” Sarah says almost to herself. 

A sudden thud against the back door makes you both jump. You swear, shaken out of your sleepy haze. 

“Mercy?” Sarah asks. 

You’ve spent enough time with Sarah to become acquainted with their neighbors The Adlers and their border collie Mercy. Mr Adler used to pay you each a dollar to walk him. Mercy’s frantically pawing at the glass. 

Sarah goes to the door and steps into the yard. You follow, unsure you want to leave the familiar safety of the house but unwilling to be alone with such an eerie feeling in the air. 

“What’re you doing out here, boy?” Sarah says, crouching down to pet the whimpering animal.  

“Where’s your dad?” you ask her. 

You hope the question doesn’t make Sarah think you’ve already forgotten your promise. Everything’s just so wrong. You’d feel a lot better with an adult around. 

“Don’t think he came home yet,” she says. You can hear the concern in her voice. “Let’s take Mercy back. The Alder’s will be home.” 

Mercy puts up a fight as Sarah pulls him across the lawn. It’s late and dark save the street lamp and a few porch lights that have been left on. You shiver despite the fact that it’s a warm southern night. 

The front door to the Adler’s house stands open and inside is black. No. Bad. You want to run back to the Miller’s house and lock the door behind you but the promise of Mr. And Mrs. Adler inside keeps you moving towards the darkened entrance. Maybe Mrs. Adler will give you some cookies while you wait for Mr. Miller. 

Sarah steps in first. The dog bucks and strains against her grip on his collar. Sarah fights to keep hold of him but Mercy’s thrashing makes him hard to pin down. He pulls free from Sarah’s grasp and darts away. 

You have half a mind to do the same but Sarah keeps going forward. She’s scared, too, her breaths shallow as she tip toes down the hall.  

“Mrs. Adler?” Sarah asks, her voice barely above a whisper. 

You reach for each other without even realizing it and you enter the kitchen holding hands. 

What you see there is beyond your wildest imaginings. There’s blood, a lot of it. Sarah’s shoe slides in the stuff and you grab her before she loses her balance. The room is cast in shadows but a street light streams through the window in the side door. Its beam falls over the form of Mr. Adler, limp on the floor. His back is against the door and a gush of dark blood sparkles in the sodium vapor. 

You’ve never seen so much blood, never seen anyone injured so brutally. It looks like he’s been attacked by some wild animal. Mercy was acting strange but the dog couldn’t do that.

“Help me,” he rasps. 

He’s speaking to you. You’re actually here. This is happening and you need to do something. 

But before you can form a coherent thought, your eyes travel deeper into the kitchen. Beside the island is more blood…and more bodies. 

As if seeing Sarah’s neighbor with his neck ripped open wasn’t enough of a horror, you’re now watching Nana hunched over Mrs. Adler’s corpse, her face buried in the younger woman’s neck. The scene before you makes no sense. Most of the time the old woman is barely conscious, hasn’t left her wheelchair in years and yet she’s on all fours before you looking feral. 

Sarah squeezes your hand so tight you’re afraid your knuckles will break. 

Nana slowly raises her face to you. Her eyes are pitch black and her mouth teems with twitching tendrils. You are staring at a living, breathing monster. 

When she leaps at you, you and Sarah bolt for the door. Your heart hammers against your ribs. Sarah makes it out first and races towards the sidewalk. 

Once you’ve gotten onto the front step, you slam the storm door shut behind you to trap whatever that thing is inside. SLAM. Nana collides with the door and it rattles violently. You hold it closed with every ounce of strength in you, listening to the creature behind it scratch and wail and willing yourself not to look through the glass to see its horrible face. Terror holds your muscles taught. You’re not sure how long you can stay like this, your sneakers skidding across the ground. 

With a roar, Uncle Tommy’s truck pulls up at that very moment and Mr. Miller hops out of the passenger seat before its even come to a full stop. He’s a fearsome sight, broad and rippling with untamed energy, his muscular arms outlined by the headlights of the car. You’ve never been more grateful for his presence. 

This nightmare is almost over. Joel’s come to save you. 

“Girls get in the car!” he bellows. His voice is raw and ragged. 

Just as you’re ready to make a run for it, The door flings out towards you, and you’re thrown aside as if you weigh nothing. You hit the driveway hard, your head connecting with concrete. 

For a moment, you can’t hear anything but the gush of blood pumping in your ears. You’re dizzy. Suffocating. There’s a warm trickle at your temple. Sarah calls your name. Your vision is blurred but you can make out the ghoulish form of the creature barreling towards her. 

“What’re we doing, Joel?” you hear Tommy ask.

There’s a thud and then quiet. 

You gasp again and again but your lungs won’t fill. 

Are you dying? Help. You need help. The monster lays lifeless at Joel’s feet and you pray that he’ll scoop you up and take you away from this. Your eyes finally come into focus to see Mr. Miller comforting Sarah, holding her face in his big palms, so fixated on her that he doesn’t notice that Mr. Adler has appeared in the doorway. 

Mr. Adler is still covered in so much blood and his gait has become twitchy as if his legs are on backwards. He moves towards them and you want to call out a warning but you’re still choking for air. Luckily he hasn’t noticed you but he soon stands between you and the Millers. 

“We’ve got to move,” Tommy says. 

“Get in the car,” Mr. Miller says to Sarah, throwing a protective arm in front of her. 

“But she’s hurt!”

She steps towards you. You’d cry her name but you’ve still got the wind knocked out of you and you’re too terrified to make a noise. Mr. Adler makes an inhuman sound as he advances, a croaking, growling gurgle. 

Mr. Miller pushes Sarah towards the truck. 

“Leave her!” he barks. “Get in the car!”

You sputter and choke as you watch Sarah, Joel, and Tommy drive away. 

You wait for a long time. 

As the truck pulls off of the curb, Mr. Adler is joined by his wife in the street, making chase. You’re finally able to draw breath and rouse your body off of the ground. You scramble back across the lawn to the Miller’s house and lock yourself inside. There’s enough adrenaline coursing through you that you’re able to push the sofa to barricade the front door. You draw all of the curtains and grab the biggest knife you can find in the kitchen. It’s ridiculous, something you’ve seen in scary movies, but you’re living in one right now. 

You hide yourself away. Sarah’s bedroom seems like the obvious place to do it. Familiar and safe. You curl yourself into a ball in the corner, clutching your knife and staring at the closed door with wild eyes. 

Sirens go through the night. Gunshots. At one point even the roar of a jet engine. 

For hours your body quivers as you try to make sense of what you’ve just witnessed. Flesh-eating mutants. Gore. Death. You keep waiting to wake up from a bad dream but you don’t. They left you. They abandoned you in a nightmare. 

No. That’s impossible. You can accept that a comatose elderly woman made supper out of her son in law but you refuse to believe that Joel would desert you. 

He’ll come back for you. Sarah will convince him. There’s always been room for you in their family. 

But as the sun begins to peek through the blinds and the noises outside fade away, you begin to lose hope. 

The muscles in your body go slack, exhausted from hours of uncontrollable shaking. Your instinct for survival and your need for sleep war with each other. Exhaustion is winning. 

You cautiously open the door to Sarah’s room. The house is still, more quiet than you’ve ever experienced. You creep into the room at the end of the hall. The olive green sheets on Joel’s bed are still messy from when he woke up here the day before. A normal morning. His birthday. 

You rest the knife on the night stand amongst the things he emptied from his pockets— coins, receipts, a stray nail. You slip into the bed and wrap yourself up. It smells like him— spicy deodorant and sweat, fresh cut lumber like the hardware store. The scent reminds you of all those times he was close, when your heart leapt. 

They’ll come back. Mr. Miller wouldn’t leave you. 

He left you to die but you just go on living.  

It takes some time before you’re brave enough to leave the Miller’s house and see what’s left of the world. Your parents are nowhere to be found. It’s safe to assume they were infected that first night. 

You’re on your own. 

A QZ is set up outside of San Antonio. They assign you to housing for separated minors. An orphanage. You never make friends, not really. Trust is too fickle.

At night you lay in your bunk and wonder what life would be like if anybody gave a shit about you. Maybe you would have been with your parents when it all went down. You’d be a snarling monster but at least you wouldn’t be alone. 

On the worst nights, when you like yourself the least, Mr. Miller’s words echo around your skull. “Leave her.” She's not worth it. Forget her. 

You don’t imagine yourself in his arms anymore. Instead you picture him and Sarah and Uncle Tommy, all happy and safe hiding out somewhere idyllic. A sweet little cabin with a stream nearby, surrounded by peaceful woods. You’ve heard some people live like that.

Some days you wish you were with them. Others you wish they were all dead. 

When you turn 18, you age out of your living situation. It couldn’t come soon enough. Things are changing and it seems like all the kids that stay in FEDRA school are being groomed to go straight into uniform. You dodged that bullet but life’s not easy. Now you’re well and truly alone, scraping by to keep food in your mouth and a roof over your head. 

It only lasts a few years, though. By the time you’re 21, there’s an emergency evacuation. Outbreaks are happening within the walls and with so many people living on top of each other, it’s only a matter of time before shit hits the fan. They send swaths of people to Dallas but word is, there’s no room for such numbers and they consider everyone from San Antonio an infection risk. 

You’ve heard enough stories to know what that means. There won’t be a warm welcome when you reach the next QZ. So you ditch the convoy and head north. 

You bounce around for years, sometimes with others, a lot of time solo. Doing what you have to. It’s not a life, just survival. 

By the time you reach the wilds of Wyoming, you’ve had enough. You break off from the group you’re traveling with. You leave them this time, just decide to walk into the forest and let the earth swallow you up. You’re exhausted, sick of hanging on by a thread. Too much of a coward to kill yourself, you wander around waiting for the cold or your hunger or a bear to do it for you. 

They find you. Some scouts that look mean and tough take pity on you and offer you a place with them in a commune where things are half normal. 

It’s the first time being alone has worked to your advantage.  

Jackson is a strange place. It has walls like the QZ but it’s quaint. There’s laughter and evergreen wreaths, happy children that build snowmen in the center of town. Some of these kids have no idea how fucked up the world has become. All they know is this charming little haven. 

You spend the first few days in the infirmary, getting patched up, regaining your strength. You feel like an animal compared to the people in your new community. It’s hard to accept that they’re willing to help you, no strings attached. 

Eventually you’re well enough to have your own place. They set you up with a little apartment over one of the stores in town. You’re invited to take your meals in the dining hall. 

It takes you back to those first days at your new middle school after you came to Austin. Unfortunately, this time Sarah’s not there to offer you a seat at her lunch table. 

You keep to yourself, overwhelmed by all of the strange new faces. Head down, you eat your breakfast. It’s the best food you’ve had in years. As your belly fills, you start to relax and try to get used to the idea of this being home. 

Then you hear a familiar voice say your name. You wonder if you’re hallucinating when you see him standing in front of you. 

He’s gained a few decades but he looks good. His hair is nearly shoulder length and there’s a mustache on his upper lip but that’s him alright. 

“Uncle Tommy?” you manage. 

“That really you?” he asks. 

Tommy puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. His smile wrinkles the corners of his eyes. You nod and you’re smiling too.  

You expect to be upset. Tommy was there when you were abandoned after all. But you’re flooded with relief and a small flame of hope. 

“Shit. What’re the chances?” he asks, studying your face. “C’mere.”

He pulls you through the lines of tables. Your head spins with questions. How did he end up in Wyoming of all places? How long has he been here? Did you actually die out there only to be sent to this strange afterlife? 

“You remember this old son of a bitch?” Tommy asks with a chuckle when he stops at the table in a far corner. 

And suddenly you’re face to face with Mr. Miller. 

He’s old. Grey hairs run through his stubble and curl from his temple. There are deep lines in his face. He’s still good looking despite how weathered his features have become, still broad, still with that wonderful silhouette.

It’s funny. In your mind’s eye, you’ve never imagined Joel aging. He stayed the same while you grew up. 

He looks at you for a long moment and then his thick bottom lip falls agape. His eyes glitter and his dimple appears as he recognizes the woman that you’ve become. 

“Kiddo,” he whispers as he stands up. 

He pulls you into a hug and his wide palm smooths down your back. He still smells just how you remember and without warning you’re sobbing into the front of his flannel. 

You spent hours upon hours imagining what you might say if you ever saw him again. Sometimes it was a speech biting with venom, others a confession, a question. Now, though, your mind is blank, overwhelmed that fate has brought you back together. A testament to your survival. 

“It’s alright, babygirl. You’re okay,” he says into your hair. Words you needed to hear all those years ago. 

You stay like this for a long time, surrounded by him. He holds you the way you wished he had as you cried into his pillow in that empty house. Eventually you pull yourself together with a shaking breath. 

“Where’s Sarah?” you ask, casting your eyes around the crowd in the mess hall. 

There’s a girl sitting beside Joel, her curly hair pulled back into a ponytail, watching this scene unfold. Everyone else is polite enough to pretend you’re not bawling in the middle of lunch. Can’t be the first time it’s happened. 

At your question, Tommy goes stone faced. The muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “Infected?” you squeak out. 

“It wasn’t like that,” Joel chokes. 

“She didn’t make it through that first night,” Tommy says. 

It’s a punch in the gut, the air’s knocked out of your chest all over again. While it had crushed you to be abandoned, part of you understood. Joel had to choose and he picked his daughter. Even if he’d been in love with you the way you used to dream about, he always would have chosen Sarah. You couldn’t hold that against him, no matter how much it hurt. There just wasn’t anyone in the world that would have saved you. 

But knowing that he failed her, that he failed you both, makes you sick. All those years of bitterness come flooding back to you and your tears turn hot and furious. 

“You let her die?” you demand. “You told her to leave me behind and you didn’t even save her?” You push Joel, your hands against the wet spots you left on his shirt. It’s ineffectual. He barely moves against your pathetic shove but his face crumples. You know he hates himself as much as you do in that moment but that’s not enough. You hit him as hard as you can and he does nothing to defend himself. 

“Hey, hey,” Tommy says, trying a hand on your shoulder. 

“You should’ve saved her,” you bark. 

Heads have turned now as Tommy holds you back. 

“I hoped you were dead every day since you left me,” you say. 

You can see on his face that Joel’s definitely wished the same thing. 

You go on berating him, your tears mixing with spit as you snarl and shout, until Tommy’s able to wrestle you out of the dining hall. 

The summer comes. After a long, cold winter, everyone in Jackson welcomes the change of seasons with open arms. Everyone but Joel. 

Ellie was a salve for the deep wounds on his heart. They’ll never fully heal but at least they stopped overwhelming him for some time. Since your dramatic reunion, though, those scars have been torn open once more. Especially today. 

It’s warm and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. The July weather is mild compared to summers in Texas. Fresh air blows in through the open windows of the house, beckoning Joel outside but he has no desire to be in the sunshine. 

“You okay?” Ellie asks. 

She’s just come down the stairs. It’s early and Joel’s already at the kitchen table. Didn’t sleep much. 

He and Ellie have been together long enough that she understands the wordless shifts in his moods. They’ve gotten worse since you arrived in Jackson. He does his work and patrols, sometimes he nurses a whiskey alone at the bar. The rest of the time he keeps to himself. He’s sliding back towards the man she met back in Boston. Joel’s rebuilt the walls that surrounded him, brick by brick since that afternoon in the dining hall. 

“I was going to meet Dina at the mess. Want to come? Or I could stick around?” she offers. 

It’s going to be one of those dark days, the kind that makes him question why he’s been hanging on for so long, and Ellie knows it. She’s giving him a lifeline, offering to be with him so he doesn’t have to ask. He should accept it, but he doesn’t want to waste his energy putting on a brave face for her when he feels so broken. 

“That’s alright, Ellie. Go on,” he says. 

She doesn’t push him. She never does. She just gives a sympathetic smile before she slips out. 

Once seems gone, his heart begins to ache. 

Sometime later, there’s a knock at the door. The last person he expects to see on the porch is you. You look a little nervous, like if he’d taken longer to come to the door you might’ve bolted. 

He hasn’t spoken to you since that day that you came back into his life but the words you said play relentlessly on loop in his mind. He should have made amends by now. You were his daughter’s best friend and of all the places at the end of the world, you’ve ended up in the same town. He passes by the old pharmacy you live above just about every day, thinks about seeing if you’re in so you can have a conversation. He even knows what he’d say, but he can’t work up the courage. There aren’t any words that can make right what he did to you. 

The guilt metastasized deep in his gut. His failure compounded. 

So he doesn’t blame you for keeping your distance, avoiding him when your paths cross. He lets you be angry with him, as he deserves. 

“Want some company?” you ask. 

He recognizes the look on your face and it dawns on him that he might not be the only person struggling today. He steps aside to let you in. 

Joel sets a cup of tea down in front of you. It’s not the real thing. Dried herbs from the garden Maria keeps. You’ve taken a seat across from him at the table, glancing around the kitchen so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Surprised you remember,” he says. 

“My best friend’s birthday?”

He shrugs as he pulls up a chair across from you. “Was a long time ago.”

“I think you underestimate the power of female friendships.” 

You wear a soft smile that makes Joel’s heart ache a little harder. He takes a good look at you, seeing you up close for the first time. There are hints of the girl he knew back in Austin but she’s buried under years of hard living. 

You’re the same age Sarah would have been today. The same age he was when he lost everything. 

You sigh and scratch awkwardly at your neck. 

“Listen, I’m sorry about…all that shit I said. It’s…” you trail off and he’s sure you’re still mad at him, deep down. 

“I reckon I’m the one that owes an apology. I shouldn’t’ve left you back there. Sarah begged me not to,” he admits. “I was trying to keep her safe. But I fucked that up, too.” 

“That’s not true. I was just angry,” you tell him. 

“I was always so pissed at your parents for not caring enough about you. Turns out I was just as bad,” he says. 

He hadn’t given any thought to the choice he made all those years ago. His priority was his family and he had no room for the rest of humanity. Joel didn’t realize until he saw your face again just how selfish that had made him. The past months he’s been haunted by the thought of it, a young thing all alone in the chaos. If Sarah’s watching over him, which sometimes he hopes she is, she’d be ashamed. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to think since I got here and…I don’t blame you. I’m not your kid. It just—“ You laugh without humor. “God, it’s so stupid but I had a huge crush on you.”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up. You fiddle with the chipped handle on your mug.

“I know. I was just a kid but I was head over heels for you,” you say.

Joel can feel himself blushing. It’s a sweet thought. He’s honored in a strange way. He remembers the gravity of Sarah’s crushes– Leonardo DiCaprio, Usher, some guy with a lip ring from one of those punk bands she listened to.

“So when you left me…I was a little heart broken.”

“Shit,” Joel says. 

“I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. I just wanted you to know why I was so hurt,” you tell him, leaning forward in your seat. “You didn’t know any of that. And it’s not fair to hang that over your head. It wasn’t your job to rescue me.”

“Course it was,” Joel responds. “You were just a kid. I let you down.”

You look at him gratefully and a tear slips down your cheek. It takes a minute for you to fully take that in and it seems like something you’ve needed to hear. 

“Joel. I forgive you,” you tell him. 

A thick knot forms in his throat. 

There’s a litany of names in his mind, so many people he’s failed. Henry and Sam. Tess. Sarah. He’s never expected to be absolved of any of his sins, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven. But those three words make him feel lighter, like he can stop beating himself up. At least for a moment. 

He tucks his chin into his chest trying to keep his own tears from spilling over. Your hand slips over his, a gentle, reassuring touch. 

The two of you stay like that for a little while, crying together, then becoming reacquainted. You talk for a long time. There’s a lot of catching up to do but the conversation keeps coming back to Sarah. It’s a gift to share memories of her, to hear stories that he’s never heard. You knew Sarah better than anyone in the world— her favorite store in the mall, what she wanted for her birthday. Her hopes, her dreams, her fears. No fourteen year old goes to her daddy with her problems. You were there for her, though. Right up until the end. 

“I, um, you should have this,” you say. “Well, it’s yours.”

You and Joel have migrated to the couch in the living room as the afternoon has crept on. You reach into your back pocket, a little reluctant, and pull something out. 

It’s a photograph, dog eared and creased from years of being carried with you. Joel recognizes the picture— you and him and Sarah, all three of you donning life jackets, smiling as you float on a calm river. He and Tommy took Sarah kayaking and she asked if you could tag along. It was a wonderful day. Blue, cloudless sky. 

The last time he saw the photo it was hanging under a magnet on the refrigerator in the kitchen. 

“How’d…”

“I stayed in your house for a while. After. Just kind of hoping you might come back. I took that when I left. And I ate all your food,” you say with a little chuckle. You wipe some snot from your nose. “I guess…well, you probably don’t have a lot of pictures of her.”

You’re right. There was an outdated school photograph in his wallet when they left that night and it had been too painful to look at for years. It still stings a little but it feels easier to share with someone, someone that knew her so well. 

“You sure?” he asks. 

You nod. “I know where to find it.”

He props the picture up on the coffee table so you can both look at it and meditate on that day when everything felt so perfect. 

“Remember we made you play “Crazy in Love” on on repeat the whole way there?” you ask. 

“I still get that goddamn song stuck in my head,” he complains. 

You laugh and rest your head on his shoulder. The familiar gesture cracks something open inside of him. He’s taken back to his favorite nights when he’d watch a movie with Sarah and she’d cuddle against him. Somehow the memory doesn’t hurt as much as he anticipates. 

You sit like that, looking at the picture, both quiet, your smiles fading as you remember what’s happened since. 

“Sometimes I think I see her,” he chokes. 

He’s never told anyone that. But it seems like you might understand, He trusts you won’t meet his admission with a pitying smile. 

“How’s she look?” you ask. 

He can’t help but chuckle. He nods. 

You don’t say anything, you just burrow your head a little deeper into him. Joel puts a gentle kiss in your hair. 

You’re a fixture in the Miller house once again, part of the family. You babysit for Maria and tell her embarrassing stories about Tommy. You and Ellie tease Joel relentlessly. You sit with him in the evenings, sometimes singing along when he pulls out his guitar, other nights neither of you speak at all.

Slowly, you find yourself falling in love with him all over again. It’s not the same infatuation you harbored when you were young. You’re both different people. And you hardly knew him back then. Not really. What did a fourteen year old know about grown men?

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm. After being alone for such a long time, it’s magical to have a companion. Joel seems grateful for the company, too. He’s there whenever you turn around, like a promise. He’s not leaving you behind even if you’re just going from the stables to the library. 

Neither of you acknowledge it, this easy rapport. A light squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand when you get misty eyed. He probably doesn’t mean anything by it but you’re pretty sure you can’t live without it. You bask in the sweetness of these exchanges, trying not to think too hard about the fact that you used to spend Saturday nights giggling on his daughter’s bedroom floor. 

He’s still Mr. Miller, after all. 

Autumn comes and you’re inseparable. You realize just how much when you convince him to attend the children’s choir performance in town. You expect him to demure. Watching kids being kids must be painful. But he’s by your side in the dining hall as the little ones sing “Clementine” and “Oh Susanna”. 

He puts his arm around your shoulder so you can lean into him. It might just be a paternal gesture, maybe you’re still a little girl in his eyes. That’s ok with you if he keeps absentmindedly massaging your upper arm. You can’t remember the last time you felt so safe, so loved. 

Afterwards, he walks you home and you’re in such a good mood, you start singing to yourself.

“Johnny Cash,” he says approvingly. 

You laugh to yourself. “You know, I started listening to him ‘cause of you. You had his CD in your truck,” you admit.  

You wanted to like all of the things Joel liked. He would think you were so interesting and grown up because you knew all the words to “Riders in the Sky.”

“Least I was a good influence,” Joel says, shaking his head, his cheeks turning pink. 

He’s so handsome when he blushes, you feel a little giddy when you come to stop in front of the old pharmacy. 

“G’night, darlin’,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze. 

He waits. He’ll stand here and watch you get inside like he always does. He doesn’t need to— it’s not like people even lock their doors in Jackson— but he’s insisted on it so fervently that you stopped arguing. 

You shouldn’t do it. It’s so silly. But there’s a softness in his eyes and his gentle touch still tingles on your arm. His salt and pepper hair is caught in the string lights that line the empty street. You can’t help yourself.  

You kiss him, smoothing your palms up the front of his flannel until you sink your fingers into the curls at the base of his neck. The tip of his nose is cold from the chill in the evening air but his lips are warm and sweet. 

You haven’t had a whole lot of experience kissing. You’d just started doing it when the outbreak happened and things haven’t been very romantic since. This is one of the better ones. Relatively chaste but unbearably tender. Certainly better than you could have imagined all those years ago. 

It lasts longer than you expect. Joel kisses you back. He rests his hand on your waist and the way it covers so much of your back makes you swoon. Soon, though, he’s pulling away, cradling your cheek. 

“We shouldn’t do that,” he says.

“I know,” you sigh. You’re reluctant to break away, savoring the brush of his nose against yours. 

It’s all wrong but you’re not ashamed for trying it. 

“Just once. I’ve always wanted to,” you say. 

He presses his lips into your forehead. It feels bittersweet. A kiss you longed for for twenty years came and went. 

You wave to him from the door before you go in for the night. 

That kiss confirms Joel’s fears.

He’s spent months convincing himself that this is completely platonic. He would never have feelings for his daughter’s best friend. Even if he always wants to be around you.   

He’s looking after you, comforting you, protecting you. He’s making up for those years that he made you suffer through. You forgave him but he’ll never stop atoning. 

And then you kissed him. 

Suddenly, he’s buried in an avalanche of thoughts he’s been disavowing. 

You’re pretty and soft. You're strong and you ease the pain of his memories. You make him feel a little less alone. 

The warmth of your lips, your body pressed to his. He was ready to lose himself in you. 

That’s when he heard it. 

It was Sarah’s voice chiding him with all the reasons why this is wrong. 

She’s been in his head, his inner critic since the day she died, pointing out every failure and weakness in him. He could picture her looking down on him with disgust. She’s the same age as your daughter. She was just a kid when you met her. She deserves better than you. 

He’s making the same mistake as before, letting his instinct get the better of him. The responsible part of him takes control. He can’t give you any more reasons to try and kiss him again. 

If Joel is good at one thing it’s denying himself. 

He backs off and you can sense it, he knows you do. Sometimes he catches you looking at him and there’s a longing in your eye. It fucking kills him but it’s just another reason why he’s no good for you. 

Despite whatever it does to you, you haven’t got anybody else in Jackson so you stick around. He can only imagine how much it hurts you. 

“Why did I go north?” you complain when Joel opens the front door. You’re holding a scarf tight around your neck, shivering against the cold. The sky is a dismal shade of gray, snowfall on the horizon. 

Joel gets you in the house with a chuckle. He starts a fire, a luxury you little apartment doesn’t afford. You shiver in front of the hearth. 

“Traded for this,” you say, pulling a thick book out of your coat and tossing it onto the coffee table. 

“Oh good. I was looking for some light reading material,” Ellie quips from her spot on the couch.  

“It’s a dictionary,” you explain, “so you’ll quit cheating at Boggle.”

“You're in trouble now,” Joel laughs. 

“I don’t cheat. I just know more words than you guys,” she says. 

“Dentment is not a word,” you reply. 

“Neither is thoard,” Joel says. 

“Sure it is. I’m about to thoard the two of you in this game,” she says.

This should be enough. A winter day by the fire. The simple joy of a board game. Laughter. This is practically a normal life. 

But each time Joel’s eyes fall on you, there’s a pang in his chest. You’re just close enough that he could reach out and touch you but he won’t. He can’t.  

When the sun sets, Ellie retreats to her room. Eventually, you fall asleep on the couch, wrapped up in a quilt as the fire dies down. You look even younger, curled up serenely. There’s no worry on your brow. Usually your face is in a perpetual frown even when you’re not in a mood.   

The snow is already knee deep with no signs of slowing. There’s no sense in sending you back out there. 

Joel scoops you up as gently as he can. He feels his age, back straining, but he doesn’t mind. He enjoys how you nestle your face into his chest as he mounts the stairs, warm and snug in his arms. A smile pulls at his lips. 

He sets you down carefully on his bed and you whimper groggily at the loss of his touch. Your eyes crack open. 

“Snowing pretty bad. Sleep here. I’ll be on the couch,” he whispers. 

“Stay,” you murmur. 

He hesitates. Carrying you to bed was already crossing a line. He’s not worried about keeping his hands to himself. He’s been able to control himself for this long. If he lays down next to you, feeling you warming his sheets, smelling the peppermint soap on your skin, he’ll be so far gone for you, there’ll be no coming back. 

But denying you this simple request feels cruel. He imagines you waking up here all alone. You’re half asleep but what if you remember asking him to remain only to be abandoned again?  

He gets into bed, still fully clothed and careful to stay on his side. His jaw is clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. You give a satisfied hum and sink back into sleep, your body melting into the mattress. 

Joel watches you for a moment, fights the urge to put a kiss on your forehead. He crosses his arms and stares at the ceiling, beginning to tangle with the web of emotions that accompany you. Once it gets too confusing, he drifts off as well. 

When you reach out for him in your sleep, he can’t deny you. Joel tries his hardest to pretend it doesn’t feel good, that this isn’t something he’s wanted to do. So he imagines the nightmares that come to you. Reminds himself that you wouldn’t have seen any of that shit if he hadn’t left you for dead. Now that you're in his arms, he’ll make sure nothing touches you ever again. The least he can do is hold you and make sure it goes no further. 

You both find reasons that you should stay the night. Neither of you acknowledge it. Joel just hands you one of his t-shirts and busies himself as you slip out of your clothes and get under the covers. It’s all rather innocent, Joel does more than rub your back even though you sometimes feel his morning wood through his sweatpants. If he wants you, he doesn’t let himself have you. And he could. 

It’s fine with you if cuddling is all this is. You don’t try to do anything more than that, unwilling to upset the unspoken agreement between you. You can be satisfied with a broad, firm chest to rest your back against. Sleep is better beside him, his heart beats guiding your own. The weight of his arm draped across you makes your body feel deliciously heavy.  

After a while, though, it happens. 

Joel’s having a nightmare. His murmurs and restless movements wake you. His mouth twitches and his brow is creased. You smooth circles into his shoulder until his eyes open. Even in the darkness you can see the despair in them. 

He blinks, coming back to reality, remembering he’s not wherever his dreams took him. You brush your fingers through his hair, gazing at one another as his breaths even out. Normally, his age is obvious– the lines in his forehead, the sun spots on his cheek– yet right now he looks young. Like a boy that needs to sleep with a night light. 

You’re not sure who initiates but you find each other in the dark. At first he’s not kissing you at all, his lips are just brushing your cheek or your nose. It’s sweet and gentle. You try to hold in a moan, worried that any noise might shatter this moment. 

The kisses are timid as if you’re both waiting for someone to stop this. Joel lets out a shuddering breath against you. This is a bad idea, you’re both thinking it. After you kissed him the last time, he held you at arms length. When this blows up, you’ll lose him entirely. But you need to be closer to him. 

You open your mouth to him, tangle your legs between his. His hand slides under your shirt, roaming your bare skin. You thought that snuggling under the blanket was enough but now you realize just how hungry you’ve been to be touched. Really touched. He needs it too. Joel leans into your hand on his jaw with a whimper. 

You don’t open your eyes. You might be the one dreaming and you don’t want to wake up. 

It’s quiet, just the sound of hot breaths and desperate kisses, the swish of the sheets as you shift your hips to meet his. You keep yourself from rocking against him, try to enjoy the feeling of him without crossing yet another line, but you’re aching. His shirt has ridden up so you feel the softness of his middle, the light hairs on his chest. Your fingers intertwine with his as his mouth trails down the column of your neck and. Joel buries his face there. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathes. 

You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for. This? Then? The years in between? None of it matters because you want to live in this moment forever. 

You shush him, pull him back to your mouth. You’re ready to lose yourself, to forget, to ignore the storm of thoughts constantly plaguing your mind. This is all you want. 

You peel off your clothing, helping him slide out of his sweatpants until there’s nothing between you. Joel’s skin is warm and soft against you and you realize you’ve never been this close to another soul. 

When Joel settles over you and you feel him throbbing between his legs, you shiver with nervous anticipation. You expect him to say something, to warn you that this is a bad idea, to promise this won’t change anything. But his brown eyes look as confused with need as you feel. There’s no room for thinking or it will crush this fragile moment like glass. 

You tilt your hips to allow him in, already slick from being so close to him. 

Slowly, he enters you, kissing you all the while. He makes a choked sound, wincing as his body stills. The noise makes you clench around him. 

Together you take a moment to get your bearings and you adjust to the fullness of him. Joel’s eyes are pressed shut, his teeth digging into his bottom lip. 

Before he begins to move, his thumb finds your clit, grazing it lightly. After years of solitude and now months being just out of reach of him, the sensation makes you gasp sharply. 

You’ve had sex a handful of times. They had been more about fulfilling a self destructive urge than a desire for pleasure. It’s never been like this. 

You start to lose sense of everything but the feelings of your body. Your core tenses and your breaths go short and you start to forget that it’s Joel whose hips are stuttering into you. It’s as if this euphoria can erase some of those awful memories. 

Soon you’re shattering beneath him, a crescendo that has you tugging on his hair and gasping for air. Joel grunts into your ear. He follows after you, hissing as he pulls out of you. He pulses into his hand, his release dripping from his fist onto your sweat damp skin. Then he collapses onto you. You run your fingers through his long curls and he kisses your forehead. There might be tears in your eyes– maybe his too. It’s too dark to be sure– but when his breath evens out, it still sounds ragged against you.

Eventually he gets out of bed and leaves the room and, in that moment, you can feel everything hanging over your head again– what you’ve just done, the horrors of the world. Perhaps even more intense than before. 

But Joel returns quickly. He flicks on the light on his bed side table and cleans you with a damp rag. His touch is gentle, reverent, and his dark eyes travel over your naked skin to yours. There’s a question in them, guilt, but you have no regrets. You smooth your hand out on the sheets beside you and he lays back on his pillow. He surrounds you with his massive arms and you fall asleep grateful that you don’t feel abandoned anymore.

You worry that it was just a one time thing, try to accept that it might never happen again. But the next time you share Joel’s bed, he’s pulling you into him, pressing kisses into your shoulder, nuzzling at the spot behind your ear. His hard length prods at the small of your back. 

It starts like that every time. Intimate, sensual, quiet. It’s never tearing his clothes off or pushing you up against a wall. You just stay close, breath each other in, trail fingertips across skin. Neither of you ever speak above a whisper.  

Joel barely talks at all except to ask, “That too much?” and “Feel good?” 

You live for the moments when his hand skates over your hip, his dark eyes soft. 

“Pretty,” he says almost to himself. 

He’s such a beautiful man. Your fingers trace the smooth plane of his chest, dusted lightly with hair and a few stray freckles. Age has only improved him. The greys in his stubble catch the glow from the lamp on the nightstand. You study him with the same attention to detail you used in your youth. The cleft in his bottom lip, the dimples on his lower back, the scar on his temple. You’ve memorized it all. 

Joel breaks open for you. He lets you see him vulnerable. He’ll fuck you with thrusts that shake loose deep emotions. Just as quickly, he’ll hold you together when it feels like you’re falling apart. 

You lay with him after, sticky with the shared heat of your bodies but reluctant to roll away and break the connection. 

Whatever this is, you don’t speak its name. There are too many questions and conflicts that it might not withstand. It exists only for you and him. A safe haven in the chaos, a bit of respite at the end of long years. 

In his arms, you’re not his dead daughter’s best friend. He’s not the man that left you when you needed him most. You’re just two people that need to not be alone. Each time, it’s the same. The overwhelming bliss of Joel making love to you is second only to the understanding that he’s finally come back for you. 

Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear from you. Comments and reblogs always appreciated.

[satanssmutcorner]

Masterlist

All stories are 18+ | Join my taglist! | Buy me a Ko-Fi

The Language of Flowers - Part 5 (Victorian Gardener!Din x reader)

In the Cards (Dieter x metaphysical shop owner!reader)

The Kitchen (time travel!Pero x reader)

Anthology (Marcus Pike x ofc)

Pero Tovar - The Great Wall

Frankie Morales - Triple Frontier

Agent Whiskey / Jack Daniels - Kingsman 2: The Golden Circle

Din Djarin - The Mandalorian

Max Phillips - Bloodsucking Bastards

Maxwell Lord - Wonder Woman 1984

Ezra - Prospect

Marcus Pike - The Mentalist

Javier Peña - Narcos

Javi Gutierrez - The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent

Oberyn Martell - Game of Thrones

[satanssmutcorner]

OONAJAEADIRA’S MASTERLIST

Call Me Adira: Hey, friend!!! I like to chat. I do my best to answer all comments, DMs and asks. Tumblr’s a party and I treat it as such. Let’s dance, kitkat.

No Minors Please: My work is 18+. I will respectfully ask minors to turn away to protect themselves and me. Thank you.

The Name of the Game: Romantic reader inserts based on Pedro Pascal’s characters. There’s intimacy in a lot of my fic, but it’s gonna be sooooooft and full of feels.

Taglists and Notifications: you can always request to be on the character taglists for any of my work, or you can bypass my mainblog and follow any of my character sideblogs to mainline my fic. Links to the sideblogs and taglist form can be found here!

-

Sub-masterlists containing all writing related to the characters including multi-chapter fic, one-shots, ficlets, and extras.

Note: Some boys don’t have a character page and only exist in my Six-Sentence Ficlet Vault. They’re marked with an * and that link will take you there.

GENERAL ACACIUS GLADIATOR II

CHARLIE SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE*

CLINT FREAKY TALES*

DAVE YORK EQUALIZER 2*

DIETER BRAVO THE BUBBLE

DIN DJARIN THE MANDALORIAN

EDDIE THE VAMPIRE BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER*

EZRA  PROSPECT

FIRE MEET GASOLINE (THE SIA VIDEO)*

FINK THE FOX THE WILD ROBOT

FRANKIE MORALES TRIPLE FRONTIER

JACK DANIELS KINGSMAN: THE GOLDEN CIRCLE

JAVI GUTIERREZ UNBEARABLE WEIGHT OF MASSIVE TALENT

JAVIER PEÑA  NARCOS

JOEL MILLER THE LAST OF US

LUCIEN DE LEON THE UNINVITED*

KERMIT SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE*

MARCUS MORENO WE CAN BE HEROES*

MARCUS PIKE THE MENTALIST*

MAX LORD WONDER WOMAN 1984*

MAX PHILLIPS BLOODSUCKING BASTARDS

MR. BEN SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE*

NICO HOUSE COMES WITH A BIRD

OBERYN MARTELL GAME OF THRONES

SPECIAL AGENT ORGEGA THE SIXTH GUN*

PEDRO ACROSS THE STREET CALLS (APPLE TV)

PERO TOVAR THE GREAT WALL

REED RICHARDS FANTASTIC FOUR: FIRST STEPS*

SANTOS DRIVE AWAY DOLLS*

SILVA STRANGE WAY OF LIFE*

THE THIEF CASILLERO DEL DIABLO

TIM ROCKFORD MERGE MANSION

COMANDANTE VERACRUZ BURN NOTICE*

-

Shortcuts to my multi-chapter fics and series. These stories also have links on the above character masterlists. All are ongoing unless otherwise noted.

A Girl Walks Into A Bookshop - Ezra (main story complete)

Branded - Pero Tovar

The Fires of Philomena - General Acacius

Good. Things. Take. Time. - Pedro Across the Street

I’ll Never Fall In Love Again - Dieter Bravo (complete)

Leave Off Your Wandering - Joel Miller

Light and Shadow Sequence - Max Phillips

The Locksmith Series - The Thief (complete)

Losing My Religion - Din Djarin

Operation Techmate - Jack Daniels

Sweets Series - Javi Gutierrez

That Awoooo Inside You - Fink the Fox

This Will Be The Day That I Spy - Jack Daniels

-

Collections and multi-character musings you may or may not find elsewhere in my lists.

SIX-SENTENCE FICLET VAULT 

2022 WINKTOBER MASTERLIST (Also found in the Six Sentence Vault)

2024-2025 FLUFFBRUARY MASTERLIST (Also found in the Six Sentence Vault)

HEADCANONS

TROPES MASHUPS IMAGININGS

Song Assignments for all My MCs

Seven Minutes in Heaven

YEAR OF TROPES

.

[satanssmutcorner]

Decided to track down my favourite fics just so I can keep track of them. So much good writing out there, and all the fic authors that deserve recognition. Pls know you're hella appreciated by this horny caffeine dependent entity.

[satanssmutcorner]

My Michael Keaton Smut Masterlist

Beetlejuice: Beej x Readers 

Host With The Most

Googly Little Ghoul (fluff)

We’ve Got A Deal

Ghosts Who Solicit

Dante’s Inferno 

Batman: Bruce Wayne x Readers

Little Details (fluff)

Little Details (part II)

Rain On Our Windows

Multiplicity: Doug Kinney/Two/Three x Readers

Three’s A Crowd

Long Day

What Do You Think? (Fluff)

Spiderman Homecoming: Adrian Toomes x Readers

Paper Thin Cami - Part I

Paper Thin Cami - Part II

Dumbo 2019: VA Vandevere x Readers

Shadow Of A Dream (hurt-comfort) 

Smooth Running

Night Shift: Billy Blaze x Readers

The Stiffs, The Stiffy, and Me

Michael Keaton x Readers

Home Run

[satanssmutcorner]

My Christoph Waltz Smut Masterlist

Christoph x Readers

The Austrian Suitor 

Ibiza Nights

Emotional Interview (Fluff)

IHOP

Django Unchained: King Schultz x Readers

Candyland

Stargazing

Bedtime Story

Forgive Me?

Right Beside You (Fluff)

Nightmare (Fluff)

Sweet Talking Gunslingers (ft. Val Kilmer’s Doc Holliday)

Such A Tease

Assist Me (Part I)

Assist Me (Part II) (Fluff)

The Romance Of A Yellow Rose

Inglourious Basterds: Hans Landa x Readers 

Verführung

Geheimnisse

Meister 

Grotesk Burlesk (Landa x Marilyn Manson)

Downsizing: Dusan Markovic x Readers

Neighborly

Water For Elephants: August Rosenbluth x Readers

Mood Swings

[satanssmutcorner]

My Willem Dafoe Smut Masterlist

Mississippi Burning: Alan Ward x Readers

Business As Usual 

Spiderman: Norman Osborn x Readers 

Double Date 

Kiss Me When It’s Dangerous 

Aquaman: Nuidis Vulko x Readers 

Torture 

Platoon: Elias Grodin x Readers

Chasing Rabbits (Fluff)

[satanssmutcorner]

My Tim Roth Smut Masterlist

Tim Roth x Readers 

Those Eyes 

Those Eyes - Part II

Coming Home

Distraction

25th

For Those Who Made It

Best Friends (Ft. Gary Oldman) 

Reservoir Dogs: Mr. Orange x Readers

Busted

The Incredible Hulk: Emil Blonsky x Readers

Tomorrow (fluff)

You Look Better Dirty

The Lost Curse

Gridlockd: Stretch x Readers

Dive

Four Rooms: Ted The Bellhop x Readers

Room 326: Ted Finds Love

Room 326: Ted Finds A Little More Than Love

Lie To Me: Cal Lightman x Readers

Dilated 

The Curious Case Of Two Doctors In The Nighttime (ft. Dr. Perry Cox) 

My Tim Roth Ao3 Collection

[satanssmutcorner]

Ultimate Daddy Masterlist

A supreme ruling masterlist of alllll my fic masterlists. For better reference! 

Marilyn Manson Masterlist

Christoph Waltz Masterlist

Josh Brolin Masterlist

Bill Skarsgard Masterlist 

Michael Madsen Masterlist

Tim Roth Masterlist 

Hateful 8 Masterlist

Willem Dafoe Masterlist

Michael Keaton Masterlist 

Brad Dourif Masterlist

Jack Nicholson Masterlist

Harry Potter Daddies Masterlist

Misc Masterlist 

[satanssmutcorner]

I Like it, I Love It

I want some more of it

I try so hard, I can't rise above it

I don't know what it is 'bout that little girl's lovin'

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

Summary: Joel Miller knew he was going to hell. And if he wasn't sure before, he knew it for certain now. Especially when he picked you up and you were wearing that tiny denim skirt and your cowgirl boots. You’re half his age, and he’s old enough to know better. But with your fingers laced through his and that bright, infectious smile, he finally starts to forget the guilt and the shame. He might even let himself have fun. || smut MDNI 18+, also fluff, girthy (but legal!) age gap, rodeo / fair date, summer romance, no outbreak, Joel POV, shy!joel, soft!joel, new relationship, reader isn't a virgin but its her first time with joel, reader is afab, smallchested!reader, reader is a lil insecure of her body, slightly angsty!joel, he's feelin' guilty, joel miller is down bad, older!bf, car sex, pinv, praise kink, nipple play, nipple orgasm 👀, fingering, grinding, riding, a lot of kissing (like a lot), picture whichever joel you prefer, 'daddy' mentioned but no daddy kink, size difference || all my love to @littlcdarlin for our filthy discussions of tiny titties and joel miller loving you in a mini skirt. also of course @cavillscurls who has also helped me with ideas for this! y'all are filthy pervs just like me :)

Joel Miller had made peace with the idea of going to hell a long time ago.

The air smelled like fried dough and horses as you scampered ahead, all bounce and bright energy, the summer heat curling around your shoulders. There was a hum of excitement in the fairgrounds even from a distance, something charged and electric that settled deep in his chest, though he knew it had less to do with the lights and music and more to do with you.

You made your way in a tiny denim skirt, cowgirl boots kicking up dust, legs long and golden in the sun. All smooth, soft skin begging to be touched. And Joel figured, yeah, his seat in the fiery pit was reserved and waiting.

And touched you he had, just a little, just a polite hand on your knee during the ride over. He caught the way you glanced at him, the way your fingers twitched like you were tempted to take his hand and move it up your thigh yourself. You wanted more, and he did too. But he hadn’t crossed that line. Not yet.

Because Joel was a gentleman, or at least trying hard to be one. You were only a couple of months into… whatever this was. Dating? Seeing each other? Going steady? You hadn’t defined it and Joel hadn’t asked, partly because he was terrified if he put a name to it, it might fall apart, and partly because he still couldn’t quite believe you were even here with him. That a girl like you had looked his way in the first place. Most days, he felt like a man trying to catch lightning in a bottle, grateful but always expecting it to slip out of his hands.

Still, the guilt sat just behind the thrill. You were young. Young enough that he should know better. He could see it in the way people looked at you, the way they looked at him when you were together. Sometimes he felt himself spiraling a little, late at night when he was alone, wondering what the hell he was doing letting a girl like you anywhere near him.

Up ahead, you grabbed a spot in the ticket line and turned back to him with that familiar light in your eyes, the kind that made it impossible not to smile back. Joel caught up, slow and steady behind you, hands in his pockets, already fighting the urge to touch you again.

“Before I get too distracted, we need a plan,” you said as you moved up a step. You glanced at the handful of people still ahead in line, then turned to face him fully, eyes bright and serious in that teasing way of yours. “What do you wanna see?”

Joel shrugged, more interested in the way your lips curved up than in any of the rides or games. “What do you wanna see?”

You held up a hand, ticking off your demands. “Spray and Race game. I will be kicking your ass at that, by the way.”

Joel nodded, amused.

“And then we have to see the barrel racing, obviously. Can’t come to the fair and not watch a bunch of cowboys do their thing. That would be criminal. Oh, and if I don’t get either funnel cake or kettle corn by the time we leave, I will riot.”

“Can’t have that,” Joel said, letting a chuckle slip out as he rested his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently forward with the line.

You looked up at him again, smiling like you couldn’t help yourself. “Okay, but seriously, what do you wanna do?”

Joel shrugged, easy. “I’m happy doin’ whatever makes you happy, baby.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning despite yourself. “Cornball.”

He kissed your hairline gently and you stepped up as the ticket booth opened.

“Two, please,” you said, cheerful as anything, leaning your elbows on the wooden counter.

The woman behind the plexiglass had a kind face, her cheeks round and flushed, oversized glasses magnifying her eyes making them look cartoonish. She gave you a warm, buttery smile as she slid the tickets toward you.

“Here you go, dear,” she said sweetly. “Y’all enjoy the fair now.”

Joel reached into his pocket to pay and slid a couple bills across the counter. Before he could tuck his wallet away, you turned, leaned up, and kissed him on the corner of his mouth in quiet thanks. It was just a soft, grateful thing, casual and comfortable. Nothing out of the ordinary for two people dating.

But Joel saw the woman’s energy shift in real time from sweet to surprised. Her smile faltered like it had hit a pothole, and her eyes went sharp.

Joel flushed to the tips of his ears, but you were already thanking her, plucking the tickets from her hand like nothing had happened.

And just like that, you were off again, sunlight on your shoulders, tickets in hand, skirt swaying as you moved toward the fairgrounds. Joel smiled politely at the woman who was now fully glaring daggers into him, and he turned to follow you.

“This thing is rigged!” you huffed, letting go of the water gun with an exaggerated sigh. 

The plastic clown stared back at you with its chipped paint and smug little smirk, like it knew exactly how badly you’d missed the mark. You crossed your arms, glaring at it as Joel laughed behind you, the sound low and warm in his chest.

He wasn’t laughing at you, not really. There was too much affection in it. He was caught somewhere between loving the look of focused frustration scrunched between your brows and fighting off the sudden urge to win you the biggest stuffed animal at the booth, just to see your face light up again.

So he stepped forward, doubts flaring in his gut for half a second before he shoved them down and moved in close behind you. 

Slowly, carefully, he leaned forward. 

His chest met your back first, solid and warm, and you stayed still as you let him fit behind you like a puzzle piece, with his legs bracketing yours, close enough that his knees brushed the backs of your thighs. When he bent over you, the hem of your skirt shifted just enough for the soft curve of you to press against the front of his jeans. He clenched his jaw, eyes locked on the clown’s face, trying like hell not to focus on how good you felt against him.

He raised his hands, letting them hover a moment before easing them down, covering your smaller ones with his own. His palms were wide and rough, fingers slipping into the empty spaces between yours until you were surrounded by him, snug in his arms, your hands now steadied on the plastic grip of the water gun.

Your next breath was sharp and audible. He felt it echo in his ribs.

He adjusted your grip on the plastic gun, his hands never leaving yours, “Let me show you how it’s done,” he murmured, voice low near your ear, and he felt the reaction ripple through you. 

Your arms tensed at first, then softened, and he could see the goosebumps rising along your skin, catching the light.

He probably shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he did. Probably shouldn’t have let his lips graze the shell of your ear. But he was already in it now, already pressed against you, mind foggy as the smell of your vanilla perfume invaded his senses.

“Deep breath in,” he said, quieter this time, watching the way your lips parted as you listened, your chest rising beneath his. “Slow breath out.”

He swallowed hard, trying not to think about how natural this felt. How right. He focused on the target instead. The clown, the ridiculous game.

“Gotta squeeze the trigger like you love it.” he murmured.

You let out a quiet, breathless laugh, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you moved back into him, and he felt the swell of your ass push into his lap even more.

But before he could react to the feeling of your warm body pushing into his, the starting bell rang, loud and shrill, snapping both of you into motion. Joel pressed his finger over yours on the trigger, guiding the plastic gun with a steady grip. Water sprayed clean and fast, hitting the target right in the center.

You gasped softly, maybe surprised it was working, maybe still recovering from how close he was. Joel kept his focus, eyes on the game, though it was damn near impossible with the way you felt against him.

“Gentle, steady now,” he said when he felt your aim start to slip, adjusting your elbow with a nudge.

The buzzer went off a second later, a shrill little chime of victory as the clown’s mouth filled and your light blinked bright red at the top of the board. You’d won–first place, of course.

Joel eased back, slower than necessary. His hands lingered a second too long on your waist before he finally stepped away, the heat of you still clinging to him even as you turned with wide eyes and a grin that could’ve leveled him.

“I won?” you said, eyes lit up, like you couldn’t quite believe it.

He nodded, watching you, unable to look away. “You won.”

You picked out a prize without hesitation, grabbing the biggest, fluffiest looking stuffed animal on the rack and hugging it tight to your chest. Joel didn’t even care what it was. All he saw was your face, still flushed from the game, eyes shining, mouth curved in that soft, teasing way you got when you were proud of yourself.

The day stretched long in that golden, syrupy way only Texas summers could manage. The kind that made the day feel like it went too fast and too slow all at once. Joel let you lead him from one booth to the next, happy to be tugged along whether you were forcing a cowboy hat onto his head or pressing cotton candy to his lips. It was far too sweet for him, but he still smiled and shared bites with you, watching the sugar dissolve on your tongue. But it wasn’t the thought of his teeth rotting that did him in that day. No, it was the taste of your lips when you leaned into him, sticky-sweet and warm as you kissed him again and again, always grateful for buying you whatever you asked for. 

Later, at the rodeo arena, you led him up into the metal bleachers with a half-finished bag of kettle corn tucked under one arm and your stuffed bear you won in the other. The crowd buzzed around you, cheering and stomping as the barrel racers burst out into the dirt, all speed and muscle. Bulls followed, snorting and kicking against the reins, the announcer’s voice booming over the speakers like thunder rolling through a canyon.

At some point, you shifted. Instead of sitting beside him with your legs stretched out straight like everyone else, you turned and draped them across his lap. Your thighs settled on him, warm and bare, boots dangling off the other side of his legs. You leaned back on your palms, smiling up at him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Joel rested his hand on your knee without thinking, like it was second nature now. But something in his chest shifted, slow and deep. Watching you watch the riders, your body relaxed and fully at ease in his, he felt it settle into place like a quiet truth.

You wanted this. Not just the fair or the games or the sugar highs. This. Him. His hand on your knee. Your legs over his lap. Your lips on his in front of a crowd that might judge the way you looked at him—an older man, years and miles ahead of you. But you didn’t care. You wanted people to see. Wanted them to know he was yours.

And Joel wasn’t sure what the hell to do with that. With the quiet, aching certainty that you didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. That you wanted him, plain and simple. Because the truth, the part he couldn’t shake no matter how sweet this all felt, was that he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

He was too old. Not just in birthdays, but in body and mind. Every morning he woke up sore in places he didn’t used to notice. He needed two cups of coffee before his brain even came online. He’d lived more lives than he wanted to admit, made more mistakes than he knew how to name.

And still, here you were. Laid up across him like it was the only place you belonged. Smiling up at him like he hung the damn moon.

He swallowed hard and looked down at your knee beneath his hand. Your skin warm, your body settled into his like you’d been doing it for years.

You were real. This was real.

And maybe… just maybe, he was allowed to want it, too. Even if he was still trying to believe he had a right to.

By the time the sun finally dipped beneath the horizon, the fairgrounds glowed with soft light, strung bulbs swaying between posts and tents, flickering like lightning bugs trapped in glass. The air had cooled, but instead of slowing down, you pulled Joel into a wooden building near the edge of the fairgrounds with a painted sign outside on the windows that said:

Swing Dancing Tonight: Live Band!

Joel followed you inside, the bar buzzing with life as people line danced on the floor, women and men alike to an old honky tonk song. The band was lively and energizing as he ordered you drinks at the bar. But before he could even hand you yours, you were already in the middle of the dance floor. So he sipped his beer, watching you sway and stomp to the song. He could watch you like this for hours, thumbs in your belt loops, hips swaying to the rhythm as the drums beat through his chest. He watched how your legs moved, long and shining in the bar light, the way your skirt hugged your hips so perfectly as you turned, giving him the perfect view of you. You were all confidence and charm, laughter rising over the music as you spun yourself in a circle or stepped just slightly out of time.

Then, the song ended, and another started. One he actually recognized.

Spent 48 dollars last night at the county fair

I throwed out my shoulder, but I won her that teddy bear…

“Joel,” you said, breathless and bright, pointing at him with one hand and waving him over with the other. “You know this one, don’t you?”

She's got me sayin' "Sugar Pie", "Honey", "Darlin'", and "Dear"

I ain't seen the Braves play a game all year

He felt a grin twitch at the edge of his mouth but didn’t move. Just shook his head slightly and kept his arms folded over his chest.

Your face scrunched into the kind of pout that always worked on him. “Aw, come on,” you pleaded, stepping closer. “Come dance. Please?”

Joel glanced around. The room was full of couples—young people, mostly, folks your age with their arms around each other, moving with an easy rhythm. There were a few older couples too, clinging close, still smiling like they remembered falling in love every time the music hit them just right. Joel didn’t see anyone else who looked like you and him. The difference in age stuck out like a sore thumb. He knew how it looked. He always knew.

But then he looked back at you.

The way you were beaming at him, not caring who was watching. Not ashamed or holding back. You wanted him, wanted to dance with him, here, now, in front of all these strangers, like none of it mattered.

I'm gonna get fired if I don't get some sleep

My long lost buddies say I'm getting in too deep

He exhaled slowly, then dropped his arms and nodded. “Alright.”

You lit up, grabbing his hands and leading him to the floor, smiling wide as you pulled him into place. His hand found your waist and your hand curled into his, small and warm. You were already moving before he had a chance to think. He stumbled through the first few beats, stepping left when he should have gone right, but you didn’t mind. You were giggling, swinging your hips and mouthing the words to the song like it was written just for you.

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

I try so hard, I can’t rise above it…

Joel watched you, half focused on the dance, half lost in the way your smile grew wider each time he got it right. And he did get it right, eventually. Something about the rhythm caught him. Something about your fingers tightening just slightly in his hand each time the music swelled.

Don't know what it is 'bout that little girl's lovin'

But I like it, I love it, I want some more of it

He spun you around, and when you landed back in his arms, you pressed in a little closer, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and something soft in your eyes. Joel felt the guilt unravel a little more. It didn’t disappear, but for the first time that day, he stopped listening to the nagging voice in his head that told him he was no good for you. 

Then a tap on your shoulder pulled him out of it.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

Joel turned, keeping one arm around your waist. You paused too, breath catching in your chest from the last spin. A man stood just beside the two of you. Tall, dressed in boots too clean for real ranch work, and smiling a little too confidently.

“Can I help you?” you asked politely, eyebrows lifting.

The man looked between you and Joel, then nodded toward you.

“I was wonderin’ if I might steal you from your daddy for a dance.”

Joel felt your spine straighten where his hand laid across it. His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. He waited for your reaction. Because, after all, this young man was closer to your age and seemed like someone you should be dancing with if it wasn’t for him.

“No thanks,” you said, sweet as anything. “I’m perfectly happy to keep dancin’ with my daddy.”

And when you turned to Joel smiling, it was with a wink. Surely not very subtle, and not in the least bit shy. His stomach flipped. He might’ve choked on the word if he hadn’t been too focused on keeping his mouth shut and his hands respectful.

The man blinked, frowned, then gave a quick nod before turning back toward the crowd.

Once he was gone, you turned back into Joel, your hands finding his chest again, your grin sharp.

“So rude.” you shook your head with a little grin.

Joel chuckled low in his throat. “Poor kid’s probably off pouting after bein’ turned down by a pretty thing like you.”

You laughed, eyes bright. “Well, maybe next time he’ll think twice before trying to cut in.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Next time?”

You leaned in, “You think I’m lettin’ anyone else dance with me tonight?”

He didn’t get the chance to answer before you moved in even closer, lips just shy of his.

“Why don’t we make sure everyone in this place knows exactly how much I like my daddy, huh?”

And then your mouth was on his.

Your hands slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, nails grazing skin, tugging just enough to make his knees want to give. Your lips were hot, certain, hungry, certainly not the casual kind of kiss you gave him earlier in the day, out on the fairgrounds, sweet and easy in thanks.

No, this was all for him, a kiss with weight behind it. With purpose and damn near possession.

Joel’s hands slid around your waist, fingers pressing into the small of your back. He pulled you close, pressed his mouth harder against yours like he was drowning and you were the only air he had left. The music thumped somewhere in the background, but he barely registered it. You were all he could taste. Sugar and sweat and something warm that settled heavy in his chest.

You broke the kiss eventually, barely, breath brushing over his lips as you smiled.

“Think they got the message?” you asked, smug and breathless. 

Joel gave a low laugh. “Not sure. Might need to run it by ‘em again.”

And then he was kissing you all over again.

Eventually, the music wound down and the last of the dancers trickled out. Voices quieted, boots scuffed across the old floorboards toward the exit, and the warm hum of the fair outside dimmed to a gentle hush. The tents had started closing down, lights blinking off one by one, vendors packing up what was left of the night. It was quieter now, the energy settling like dust in the air, and Joel walked beside you back toward the parking lot, your fingers looped loosely in his.

The moon was high and clear, silver light stretching over the dirt and gravel. The air had cooled just enough to feel like relief after a day of heat and sun, and the scent of fried dough and hay still hung faint on the breeze.

He opened the passenger door for you, helping you up with a hand at your waist before closing it gently behind you. Then he circled around, climbed into the driver’s seat with a low groan in his knees, and exhaled hard as the silence wrapped around the two of you.

“I had a lot of fun today,” you said, voice soft in the quiet, eyes turned toward him as you set your teddy bear in the back seat.

Joel looked over with a slow, tired smile curling on his mouth. “Me too, baby.”

He leaned across the console and tipped his chin up slightly, looking down at your mouth, just to invite you in. He meant for it to be a quick kiss. A thank you. Something simple.

But the moment your lips touched his, it was anything but a simple kiss goodnight.

You lingered, lips warm and sweet, your mouth soft against his, your hand rising to his jaw, nails grazing over the rough edge of his beard, and Joel shivered, a quiet sound catching in his throat.

He didn’t dare move, not when you deepened the kiss like that, the press of your lips firmer, the way you breathed into him like you were trying to get as close as you could. Your tongue slipped forward, slow and teasing, and Joel swore his heart damn near stopped.

He lifted his hand to cup your cheek, fingers spread along your smooth jaw, and tilted your face to kiss you fuller. Your lips parted for him, welcoming, and when his tongue met yours, you gave the softest little gasp, like it startled something in you.

Then you shifted closer and he barely had time to register it before your hand braced against his chest and you pushed, guiding him back into his seat. His breath caught, pulse thudding in his neck as you climbed into his lap, straddling him like you’d done it a hundred times. Your knees pressed into the leather on either side of him, the denim of your skirt hiking up just enough to make him dizzy.

“Baby, what’re—” he started, voice rough, but the question never made it past his mouth. Because then you were kissing him, really kissing him, and everything else seemed to disappear. 

Your hands slid up into his hair, fingers tugging gently, grounding yourself as your mouth moved over his with something between hunger and certainty. You were warm and pliant against him, chest brushing his, thighs squeezing around his hips. His head spun with the closeness, the heat, the soft weight of you in his lap.

You’d done this before, though it was all you’d done together, all the kissing and heavy petting to last a lifetime. Joel was content with it, never wanting to push for more. His hands found your waist, steadying you there, not to stop you, but partially to feel you, partially to anchor himself. You moved with a slow rhythm, your body pressing in, every little shift setting him further on edge. You kissed him deeper and hungrier with each passing moment.

His fingers flexed against your sides. You were already breathing hard, your mouth dragging over his, then down to his jaw, where you pressed a few kisses there too, so soft and addictive. Joel tipped his head back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, and let himself feel it.

The truck windows were already fogging up from the heat between you. Sweat prickled at the base of his neck and your thighs were warm around him, your hands still tangled in his hair, and when you whispered his name against his lips between kisses, he felt the restraint in him begin to fray.

But when you pulled away to press your forehead into his, he saw the furrow in your brows, the pained look across your face as you spoke for the first time.

“Please, Joel,” you breathed into his mouth, lips wet against his, soft and trembling with want. “I’m ready. I want you.”

The words cut through the haze in his skull like a hot knife. He pulled back just enough to look at you, hands rising to cradle your face, his thumbs resting beneath your jaw. His calloused fingers tilted your head gently, angling you toward the windshield where the streetlamp's glow filtered through the dusty glass. He needed to see your face, to find your gaze and to know you were sure. Your eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted and swollen from his kiss. You looked like sin incarnate, lit up in the dim streetlamps, and it made something deep inside him curl and twist and clench.

“Baby…” he murmured in warning, his voice barely holding together. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep telling you no. 

But you didn’t look uncertain. Not even close. Your fingers dug into the front of his shirt, clinging to the fabric like it might disappear if you let go, and then your hips rolled forward, grinding into the hard, aching shape of him beneath his jeans. He swallowed hard, trying to hold on to reason, but the friction sent a jolt through him that scrambled every logical thought.

“I mean it,” you said, voice cracking open with need. “I need it so badly. Need you.”

He studied your face, silent, trying like hell to slow the blood roaring in his ears. There was a flicker of hesitation—one that made his heart stutter—but it wasn’t yours. It was his. Because deep down, Joel knew he should stop this. Knew he should say something responsible, something like let’s wait, this ain’t the place, I don’t wanna rush you. We should wait til we get you home. Something that would make him a better man than the one currently hard and straining beneath your thighs.

He couldn’t stop the wriggling worm in the back of his head that kept telling him you were younger. Too young for him. But you were looking at him like he was the answer to every ache in your body, like you had no idea what you were getting yourself into. That look alone was almost enough to make him want to stop this entirely. Almost.

But then your mouth found his again, and you moaned into the kiss, and whatever was left of his restraint dissolved under the heat of your breath. You sounded like you were made to fall apart for him. You felt like a fever in his arms, your skin hot and soft and flushed. And he wasn’t strong enough to let go.

“Christ,” he muttered, and his hands slid down from your face back to your waist, pulling you tighter into his lap. The denim of your skirt had already hiked up too far, bunched high on your hips as you straddled him. He hadn’t been able to stop looking at you all day. Your legs, the way that skirt clung to your curves, the fucking sway of your hips when you walked away from him. Now, with you on top of him, split open around his thighs, skin warm and trembling, it was like every filthy thought he’d buried was clawing to the surface.

And God, the way you moved against him, slow and teasing, your skirt nearly around your waist, the bare stretch of your skin beneath his hands, the greed built up in him even more than ever before. Not just to have, but to see. 

He pulled back, just an inch, his voice low and rough. “Can I… see more of you?”

Your breath hitched as you pulled away, and you didn’t answer, not at first. You sat there, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide, and he was nervous he crossed a line, that this wasn’t what you meant when you said you wanted him. He held his breath, but then, sighing, you nodded, maybe a little too quickly. Reaching for the hem of your top with shaky fingers, you paused as you brought the fabric up halfway, like something caught in your throat.

Joel noticed. “Hey,” he said gently, brushing your wrist with his thumb. “What is it?”

You didn’t meet his eyes when your voice got quiet, “I just… I know I’m not—I mean, I don’t have very big… you know.”

The words barely made it out, and Joel felt something in his chest pull tight. You were still holding your shirt, halfway lifted, frozen.

It was odd, seeing you lose that confidence that you held earlier. He watched you all day, playful and devilish in your flirtations with him. But now, now that it was just you two in the cab of his truck, he was seeing between the lines.

He sat up straighter, his hands steady as he helped you lift it the rest of the way, slow and careful, like peeling back something sacred. He tossed it into the footwell without looking. His focus stayed on the soft curve of your chest rising with each breath, the barest quiver in your chin as you tried not to read his expression too hard.

Joel didn’t say anything right away. He just leaned in and pressed a kiss to your collarbone, then another just beneath it. Gentle, slow, barely-there pecks, all warm and wet and worshipful. He moved along the slope of your neck, your shoulder, tasting skin, breathing you in.

Then he looked up at you, voice quiet but thick.

“What, these?” he said, quiet and low, barely more than a breath. His hands came up, big and warm, palms open as they slid gently to cup you. He wasn’t grabbing or groping, but feeling. Mapping you out. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen as he let the pads of his fingers learn you one soft inch at a time.

“But look,” Joel cooed, eyes flitting between your eyes and where his hands swallowed you, thumbs brushing lightly along the curves of your breasts. “Look how perfectly they fit in my hands.”

And they did. God, they did. His hands were weathered, rough in a way that made him almost hesitate, but you didn’t flinch or tense under his touch. You watched him, wide-eyed and flushed, your lips parted, chest rising fast beneath his broad hands. He couldn’t stop staring. His big, work-worn hands looked even larger against you, rough knuckles against smooth skin, thumbs grazing tender flesh. The contrast made his pulse spike, his brain full of static.

His hands flexed without thinking, fingers cradling you a little firmer. The weight of you in his palms, the way your body gave under his touch lit something in him that had nothing to do with lust and everything to do with awe. Like this wasn’t just about wanting you. It was about having you trust him enough to let him look at you like this. There was a moment, maybe two, where Joel seemed to freeze in it, torn between restraint and reverence, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going or just stay like this, memorizing the way you felt in his hands.

You made a soft noise in the back of your throat, a breathy, barely-there whimper when his thumbs grazed your sensitive nipples again, and he felt it like a bolt down his spine.

“You feel that?” he asked, voice thick. “You feel how perfect you are?”

You hesitated at first, fingers fisting into his shirt at the shoulders, then nodded, slow and shaky, and he could tell you were trying to say yes, but the words wouldn’t come. Your hands slid down his arms instead, fingers curling around his biceps as you leaned in closer, your back arching into his touch. Joel could feel the way your hips shifted, how you melted into him inch by inch.

He kissed your neck again, slower this time, then your collarbone, trailing heat with every little peck. Then lower, just a little, until he was brushing his mouth across the swell of your chest. Not hungry or greedy, just gentle, open-mouthed kisses that made you shiver against him.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured into your skin, his voice gone hoarse.

You shook your head quickly, and he felt your hands tighten around his arms.

“Not stoppin’,” you whispered, barely audible.

Joel smiled against your skin, and one hand lifted to brush a thumb across your nipple, slow and light, just enough to make your breath catch.

You arched into him then, eyes fluttering shut, your whole body moving without thought, and Joel felt something in his chest crack wide open.

This wasn’t just about convincing you you were beautiful. This was about showing you with every kiss, every touch, every look until you never doubted it again.

He didn’t wait long after you gave him permission, just enough time to kiss his way back up to your jaw, watching the way your mouth stayed slack, your eyes heavy-lidded, drunk on him already. He liked you like this, pliant and sweet and soft. He wanted you out of your head and into your body, melting into his hands and mouth and all the ways he knew how to love someone without saying a word.

Joel dipped his head again, this time without restraint, and took one of your nipples into his mouth. His lips closed around you slow and warm, tongue flicking over the sensitive peak in quick, flat strokes. You gasped, your hands shooting up to grip his hair, hips stuttering forward into his lap as your body twitched under the sudden wave of sensation.

He groaned against your skin, the sound rough and real, because fuck, the way you reacted to him from such a simple touch would damn near ruin him for good.

His hands gripped your waist, steadying you, keeping you anchored as he licked and sucked, teeth just barely grazing before his tongue smoothed over the bite. Your thighs trembled around his hips. You were panting now, your body moving without hesitation, instinct driving you to grind down onto him in slow, desperate rolls.

“Joel,” you breathed, high and quiet, your voice caught between pleasure and disbelief. Your back arched hard, head falling back, spine pulling tight like a bow. “Oh my God—”

He didn’t stop. He moved to your other breast, lavishing just as much attention, his hands sliding up your back to hold you steady while your whole body writhed in his lap. Your hips rolled down again, this time firmer, needier. Joel could feel how soaked you were through your panties, and the friction making his head spin.

You were panting harder now, moaning freely, completely gone, and Joel had no fucking clue how he was keeping his own composure. All he knew was he didn’t want this to stop. He didn’t want to do anything but keep you falling apart right there in his arms. He closed his lips around your nipple again, sucking harder this time, tongue dragging over the sensitive peak before he gave it a sharp, deliberate nip. The sound you made had every ounce of his blood roaring to his cock.

And then he felt you shuddering against him. A full-body, violent, uncontrollable shaking of your limbs as your thighs clamped around his hips, your back arched so hard it looked like it might snap. Your mouth fell open in a silent cry as your whole body seized against him.

And then you collapsed forward, burying your face in his neck, breathing fast, chest heaving.

Joel pulled away and blinked, stunned, his hands still holding you gently in place, too afraid to move.

“…Did you just—?”

You nodded against his neck, laughing, breathless and wide-eyed as you pulled back to look at him.

“I think I did,” you whispered, grinning in awe. “I’ve never… I didn’t know I could do that.”

Joel stared at you like you were the most miraculous thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

His heart was thudding like a drum. His whole body was vibrating with adrenaline and want, but more than that—God, more than that—he was absolutely done for. Completely head-over-heels wrecked by the way you smiled at him, still shaking, still glowing, sitting there on top of him like you belonged nowhere else.

He let out a low laugh, forehead resting against yours, the both of you sweaty and flushed and grinning like idiots.

“That was the most amazin’ thing I think I might’ve ever seen.”

You giggled, brushing your fingers through his sweat damp hair, gaze dipping down to his lips, swollen and wet from everything you’d just shared. Your thumb dragged along his jaw, soft and slow.

“I was serious, you know,” you said, quieter now. The words felt heavier, more deliberate. “I’m ready. If you are.”

The smile tugging at his mouth faded gently, not with worry, but with something more careful, something reverent. He lifted his hand, fingertips tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. His eyes searched yours, wanting to be absolutely sure he’d heard you right.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. “Here?”

You nodded, biting your lip, and he saw it in your face—you meant it. You weren’t offering it out of heat or thrill or to prove a point. You were giving it because you wanted him. Because this was where you felt safe.

Joel exhaled, slow and shaky, and let his hands drift down to your thighs. He started at your knees, broad palms dragging up the delicate skin, every inch of contact slow and unhurried. When he reached the edge of your skirt, his fingers slipped beneath it, warm and steady, thumbs sweeping along the crease where your legs met your hips.

You were soft and warm. His fingers slid further up, curling around the backs of your thighs, then higher, gripping your ass with both hands and pulling you closer into his lap, only your pair of panties and his denim between the two of you. You gasped into his mouth at the sudden pressure, your hips grinding down against him in a way that nearly made him lose his composure right then and there.

“You looked so damn good today,” he said, pecking you on the lips before breaking away just long enough to speak against your jaw. His voice was thick, hoarse, full of the ache he’d been carrying since the moment he picked you up. “All day, walkin’ around like that, in this little thing... you knew exactly what you were doin’, didn’t you?”

He nipped at your skin, lips brushing over your jaw, the curve of your neck. Your breath caught again, your nails scratching lightly over his chest as you rolled your hips, and he swore under his breath. 

“Joel,” you whispered, his name cracked open on your tongue, a whine that made his stomach clench. You were so soft over him, so willing, like you belonged there, like you knew he wouldn’t say no.

“I got you,” he whispered, kissing the underside of your chin, then lower, pressing his mouth to the hollow of your throat. “I got you, baby. Just… tell me what you need.”

“Touch me,” you begged, voice breaking into pieces, desperate and trembling. “Please. More. Just—more.”

He should’ve stopped. Even now. He knew that. This wasn’t some clean-cut moment, some perfect night. You were in the front seat of his truck, in some nowhere parking lot, and he was hard as stone beneath you, pulse hammering behind his ribs like a war drum. But the way you said please, as if asking for something as important as the air in your lungs, shattered the last of his resolve.

His hands moved even further up the back of your thighs, kneading your ass in his thick fingers, pulling you closer to him. His fingertips were nearly touching as they brushed the sides of your lace panties and found the heat of you, the fabric clinging to your pussy as your arousal stuck to the cotton. Every one of his rational thoughts disintegrated. A deep, guttural sound tore from his chest, something raw and entirely outside himself, and his mouth found your collarbone, teeth dragging over the skin, tongue smoothing it over.

You whimpered, the sound muffled as you buried your face in his shoulder, and his hands tightened on your ass, holding you steady as his fingers traced over the damp cotton. He could feel everything through it—every ridge and dip, the soft, swollen lips beneath the fabric, the way you pressed into his touch like your body was trying to pull him inside.

“Jesus,” he muttered, breath stuttering, eyes fluttering closed for a second like the weight of it was too much. “Baby... this all for me?”

You whimpered, burying your face further against his neck, your arms wound around his shoulders now, trying to hold on as his fingers moved with slow pressure over the damp cotton, mapping the shape of you.

With a little more pressure, he dragged his middle finger along the center of the panties, right where he knew you needed it. Your hips jolted, a sharp breath punching out of you, and he kissed and bit gently at your shoulder, trying to stay steady while you ground down on him again.

He slid his fingers beneath the lace from behind, his knuckles grazing your ass, and slipped two fingers through your folds, the heat and slick coating them immediately. The angle was tight, but it didn’t matter. He pushed in slow, groaning deep in his chest as you clenched around him, your whole body going taut.

You gasped, your thighs shaking on either side of his, your hips rocking back to meet the thrust of his fingers. He fucked you slow, steady, letting his palm grind against you with each pass, his other hand still holding you tightly, keeping you flush to him. The sound of your breath, the soft, broken moans, the wet slick of your pussy around his fingers was all too much.

“You make the prettiest little noises, baby girl,” he breathed against your neck, voice low and rough. His tongue dragged along the damp skin there, catching the salt as you moaned under him. “Pussy’s so wet for me, huh?”

You nodded fast, breath hitching as you turned your head, finding his mouth and dragging him into another kiss. It was messy, open, all tongue and teeth. You were already shaking, and then he pushed in a third finger.

You whined, body jerking in his lap, fingers clutching at the front of his shirt like you needed something to hang onto. Your mouth fell open against his, panting into the kiss as he fucked you slow and deep, the stretch overwhelming but perfect.

“Gotta open ‘er up for me,” he murmured against your lips, curling his fingers just right. “Gotta get her ready, alright?”

Your hips rocked harder into him, back arching as you ground your clit into the thick seam of his jeans, chasing friction. The pressure made your thighs tremble. His fingers were thick and relentless, and you were soaked, dripping around him with every push.

“Feels—s-so good,” you mewled, breath broken, voice small and high.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiled, lips brushing your cheek, his free hand gripping your hip tighter to hold you steady. “Tell me.”

“Your fingers are so—god,” you gasped, blinking up at him, tears catching at the corners of your eyes, “so thick, Joel, fuck—filling me up, f-feels so good.”

He groaned, dragging his mouth over your jaw, licking into the curve of your throat as his fingers thrust deeper, curling to stroke that perfect spongey spot. Your entire body tensed in his lap, thighs shaking, your moans getting louder, needier, your hands everywhere now—his neck, his hair, tugging, pulling, clinging.

But then your rhythm shifted. You started grinding harder, faster, hips snapping down against his palm in stuttering, frustrated motions.

Joel felt it the second it changed. The edge in your breath, the heat in your voice.

You whined again, a little sharper now. “Need more.”

His brow lifted, but his fingers didn’t stop. “You got more, baby. Right here. Let me—”

“No,” you cut him off, hips jerking back harder onto his hand. “Not your fingers. I need your cock, Joel.”

His eyes blinked widely at your filthy mouth, but all he could muster was a wrecked groan, low and rough, his jaw locking as he tried to keep himself together. His fingers didn’t stop right away, but they slowed, drawing out the tension just enough to leave you gasping. Your walls clenched around the retreat, your body chasing it even as he pulled away.

“Such a greedy little girl, ain’t ya?” he muttered, voice rougher than he meant, more strained. 

He dragged his fingers from you with a wet sound, both of you shivering at the loss. His hands moved to your hips again, gripping tight, dragging you forward until you were pressed flush to him. The thick line of his cock was unmistakable beneath the denim, rock hard and hot through the layers. You gasped as he pulled you against your bare thighs, your panties soaked and clinging.

Even through the denim, it was too much. Your heat, the damp of your panties, the softness of your thighs around him, it all short-circuited whatever thread of self control he was still hanging on to.

Joel’s head tipped back slightly, breath ragged. “Feel that? What you do to me?”

You nodded, a little amused glint back in your eye, though your mouth was still parted and heaving in breaths. You reached down, and he watched as your hands fumbled with his belt, the metal clinking loudly in the truck cab. His fingers dug into the flesh of your hips, just below where your mini skirt bunched up and he could see the pink of your panties, with white lace trim around them. His mind felt like it was buzzing with static.

Joel felt the tug of his belt give, then the pop of the button, the slow scrape of the zipper. He hissed through his teeth as your hand slipped inside, dainty little fingers wrapping around him. So warm and firm, but your grip wasn’t shy, and neither was the way you stroked him once, slow, before pulling him free.

He let out a low, broken sound, his head tipping back against the seat as his hips twitched into your palm. Jesus Christ, he was already leaking, hard as hell, and your soft hand felt like heaven.

He looked down just in time to see your thumb swipe through the wet at the tip, smearing it along the ridge. Your eyes flicked up, lashes heavy, lips parted, and then your tongue slipped out to wet your bottom lip. His eyes narrowed on the sight.

“It’s so… big,” you said, half breathless, caught somewhere between awe and nerves.

He couldn’t help the twitch of a grin, pride low and warm in his gut, but it faded fast when you licked your fingers and brought them back down to him. Joel’s mouth went dry as he watched, wide-eyed, his cock jumping in your grip as you used that spit-slick hand to spread the moisture, dragging it over the head and down the shaft with slow, deliberate strokes. His head hit the backrest again, a low moan escaping him as your hand wrapped fully around him. He was pulsing under your touch, every vein thick and straining, and all he could do was grip the seat with one hand and brace his other on your thigh.

His breath caught as you lined him up, the swollen head of his cock notched against your entrance, slick heat already soaking him. His hands flew up to your hips, fingers curling into your skin tight. He looked up at you, chest rising hard beneath his shirt.

“Fuck,” he managed, voice shredded. “Baby, take it slow. Alright?”

You nodded, teeth sunk into your bottom lip, and began to lower yourself down on him.

It was hell and heaven all at once.

He’d never felt bliss like this before. You were so tight, so velvety and wet and welcoming to his cock. He forced himself to keep his eyes open even as they drooped heavily, needing to see you. He watched your jaw slacken, your eyes roll back and your lashes flutter shut, the way your neck arched back at the feeling of him filling you completely. 

If you didn’t take this slow, he was going to embarrass himself. Two pumps, and it’d be over. 

“You okay?” he rasped, voice hoarse and frayed, trying to keep his focus on your face, not the overwhelming squeeze of your walls around his cock.

You nodded, still dazed, still adjusting to the stretch. He watched your hands slide up his chest for balance, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt.

“So… so full,” you whispered.

Joel groaned, his eyes squeezing shut for just a second. “You feel like heaven, baby. Fuck. Can’t—can’t move just yet.”

He breathed through his nose, short and hard, jaw clenched tight as he fought to stay still. Your walls kept fluttering around him, tightening every time you shifted. He could feel every tiny twitch, every squeeze, and it was sending his brain sideways.

You shifted your hips once, just a little roll of them, and his body jerked.

“Jesus Christ,” he bit out, thumbs digging into the soft flesh above your hips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You grinned, a soft chuckle escaping, voice high and breathless, and gave another little roll, just enough to make him groan again.

“Not trying to,” you said sweetly, rocking just once more, a little deeper this time, “but you feel so good, Joel. So deep.”

Your hips rolled again, slower this time, deeper, and Joel’s whole body tensed under you like a live wire. He hissed through his teeth, hands sliding down to grip the plush curve of your ass, thumbs digging in as he tried to ground himself, to breathe, but Jesus, it was like you were made to ruin him.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he gritted, watching the way your body moved over his, the way your thighs flexed as you lifted up and sank back down, taking him in inch by inch. “Just like that, baby. You’re doin’ so good.”

You moaned, a soft, desperate sound that made his head spin, and then you started to move in earnest, just slow at first, a grind that let you feel every ridge of him, every twitch and pulse as your slick walls dragged along his cock. His jaw clenched, hips rising to meet yours on every stroke, and then you found your rhythm.

Up, down, harder, faster. Until the sound of skin of skin filled the cab of the truck, your breathless moans and his gritted grunts, all a symphony of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.

Joel could barely think. All he could do was feel—your heat, your slick, the way you clenched around him tighter with every bounce. His hands never stopped moving, guiding you, holding you open for him, sliding up your back, your waist, gripping anywhere he could find. 

“That’s it, baby girl,” he said, mouth hot against your throat. “Look at you, pretty little thing, ridin’ me so good,”

You whined, nails digging into his shoulders as you bounced harder, grinding down between strokes, chasing it now. Joel felt you start to shake, the rhythm turning erratic, frantic, your breath coming faster as your thighs quivered on either side of him.

“My good girl,” he rasped, barely able to get the words out, his lips brushing your jaw, his voice thick with everything you were pulling out of him. “Takin’ your old man’s cock like it was made for ya, huh?”

You cried out, the sound catching in your throat as your head fell forward onto his shoulder.

“That’s it, atta girl,” he growled, hands locking down on your hips now, helping you ride him, thrusting up to meet you with punishing force. 

You were trembling in his lap, gasping his name again and again, every breath broken, every moan more high-pitched than the last. He felt the change in the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your legs started to give out, and he knew you were close.

“Gonna come for me again, hm?” he whispered, lips finding your chest as you pushed back up, a look of bliss and agony on your face when his tongue lapped at your nipple before taking it in his mouth, teeth scraping until he let it go with a pop as he said, “Come on, baby girl. Let me feel it. Wanna feel your sweet pussy squeeze the life outta me,”

Your body tensed hard as he took your other nipple between his teeth. Your back arched, your mouth dropped open as you cried out his name.

Joel felt it in the way you clamped around him, how your whole body seized and shook, how the heat of you spread and pulsed around his cock. He didn’t stop his tongue on your chest or his heavy thrusts into you. He couldn’t. He chased you through it, fucking you through your orgasm, his rhythm relentless now.

“Good girl,” he groaned, releasing your breast, head tipping back as you convulsed around him. “That’s my girl.”

It’s all he could say, all he could muster up as his blood roared. He knew he was going to leave bruises on your hips with the way he was holding you, his fingers digging deep, guiding you down onto his cock again and again as he fucked up into you, chasing the tight pull in his gut, the pressure building so fast it burned.

Your body was limp against him, boneless and spent, your forehead pressed to the side of his neck, still clenching around him in aftershocks that made his vision blur. He could feel the way you twitched as he pumped into you, cock filling you to the hilt every thrust. He could hear the wet sounds of your slick coating him, and it was pushing him right to the edge.

Maybe it was the sound of his breath, ragged and uneven in your ear, or maybe it was the way his thrusts had started to lose rhythm, hips stuttering beneath the weight of everything building inside him. Whatever it was, you knew.

You shifted, lifting your chest off his and sitting upright in his lap. His eyes opened, dazed and half-lidded, just in time to see you reach for his hands, pulling them from your hips and guiding them up to your chest. You pressed his palms back against your breasts, dragging a soft gasp from him as his fingers curled instinctively around you, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

And then you started to move.

Your hips rocked in a slow, devastating rhythm. Grinding forward, rolling back, twisting just enough to make him feel every flex and clench of your body around his cock. The new angle let him feel you in full, the grip of your pussy tighter than anything he’d ever known, slick and pulsing and dragging him deeper with every shift of your weight.

His eyes locked on you, chest rising hard, muscles taut, and he could barely keep up. He could hardly even breathe.

“Gonna come for me, Joel?” you asked, your voice breathless, raw, and almost sweet in its teasing.

He groaned, hands tightening around your breasts, his fingers twitching as you ground down harder. Your pace picked up just enough to wreck him, every movement drawing him closer to the edge.

“Come on, handsome,” you whispered, leaning in, your breath hot against his cheek. “Know you can. Know you wanna come inside me, don’t you?”

Joel’s whole body seized, the words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He could feel you squeeze around him as you said it. The flutter of your pussy gripping him like you were trying to pull every last bit out of him.

“F-fuck,” he gritted out, “Are y–are you sure, baby?”

He didn’t think he could take any more. But then you reached for one of his hands, lifted it gently, and brought his fingers to your mouth.

“Come for me, Joel,” you whispered, and then you slipped one of his digits into your mouth and hollowed out your cheeks to suck, soft and slow, tongue warm and wet.

And Joel saws stars as he came.

He groaned from deep in his chest, hips bucking up into you as his cock throbbed inside you. His release hit him hard. His hands scrambled for something to hold, one sliding across your waist and thighs, squeezing hard as his vision blurred. The one in your mouth stayed, his other fingers tightening around your jaw and cheeks. Heat coiled through his spine, thick and hot, pouring into you as every muscle in his body tensed and shook.

As he came down, he pulled his hand from your mouth, bringing your body to him, your chest against his and held you close. His forehead pressed to your shoulder, the soft rise and fall of your breathing the only sound between you for a long moment. You stayed wrapped around him, warm and wet and still twitching with aftershocks.

His breath came slow and heavy, chest rising beneath yours as his eyes slipped closed.

“My god,” he muttered, voice worn raw, scraped down to gravel.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just smiled, fingers combing gently through his hair, your body soft and loose in his arms. He felt your lips brush his temple, then his ear, warm and light, and when you shifted, you kissed the tip of his nose.

“That was…” you murmured, smiling against his skin, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

He hummed, a small sound low in his throat, eyes half-lidded, lips curved with something lazy and content.

You leaned down and kissed him again, soft and slow, and his felt cock stirring faintly inside you, twitching in the warmth he hadn’t pulled out of yet.

“Amazing,” you finished, lips brushing his.

Joel could’ve stayed in that moment forever.

His hands were still resting low on your back, fingers splayed wide, thumbs brushing along your spine. He blinked slowly, gaze flicking between your eyes and your mouth, still a little swollen from kissing him stupid.

You tilted your head, smiling like you knew something he didn’t.

“What?” you asked softly, your voice still a little breathless, lips brushing his again.

Joel wasn’t sure where it came from. His mind was fogged with desire, those damn post coitus hormones and having the prettiest girl he’d ever seen his arms. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But it echoed from the cavern on his mind until it was screaming to be let out.

“Be my girlfriend?”

You blinked, surprised, but your smile didn’t falter. If anything, it grew, soft and wide and toothy. Your cheeks warmed, and not just from the heat of the truck cab.

“Joel Miller,” you said, sweet and teasing as you pushed a bit of damp hair from his forehead, “are you asking me to be your girlfriend right after blowing my mind in your truck?”

He huffed a laugh, eyes narrowing in mock offense, his grip on you tightening like he didn’t want to let you squirm away from it.

“Well, yeah, suppose I am,” he said, a little more grounded this time, the words settling deeper in his chest. “I mean it.”

You stared at him for a beat longer, still grinning.

“Okay,” you said finally, soft and sure, like it wasn’t even a question. “Yeah. I’m your girl.”

Joel let out a slow breath through his nose, every part of him relaxing under the weight of those simple little words.

I’m your girl.

The smile that broke across his face was unguarded, wide and real, his hand lifting to cup your cheek as your eyes stayed locked on his. You were both grinning now as you brought your forehead to his, lost in it for a long, quiet moment.

Then he pulled you back in, kissing you again slow and deep, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

taglist: @lizaispunk, @joelscowgirl69, @littlcdarlin, @cuntyhunty22, @glitterspark, @joelsslutt, @melmel-fandom, @pastelpinkflowerlife, @plsilovedilfs, @yxtkiwiyxt, @whisperingcherub, @teehee18, @thebumbqueen, @alyhull, @yourgirljasmiin, @alicenasflowers, @dariaanddaria, @onthelo1012, @soymiguelsesposa, @emmiland, @heavymetalhater, @pedropascalsbbg, @izzy698