#it's our little secret

[bet-on-me-13]

Trigons Backup Plan

So! Trigon knew from the moment his Daughter was taken in by the Monks of Azarath that it would be difficult to turn her to his will. He wasn't stupid, he knew just how hard it would be to make his daughter turn on everything she has ever known in her (very short) life.

He can't really blame her, even he believed that indiscriminate mass murder was wrong until his mid-200's, he just needs to wait for her to grow out of it.

But until then he still needs a way into the DC Universe. And if his daughter wouldn't help, then he could always just make a 2nd one.

So, he searches and eventually finds a Couple of Scientists who seem to be good targets. They are researching Magic and Ghosts, so he makes a Demonic Pact with them. He will give them the secrets needed to complete their Research, and in exchange all he asks is that they help him bare a child.

They agree, and Danny Fenton is born.

Danny was supposed to become a Hellmouth when he turned 16, unlocking his Demonic Powers and opening the way for Trigon to enter the DC Universe so he could conquer it.

Instead he managed to get himself killed at 14. Then he managed to come back to life as a Halfa, he got himself adopted by Clockwork, and he usurped the Throne of the Infinite Realms in the span of 1 year, therefore putting himself on the same level as his Father on the cosmic scale.

So there goes his Backup Plan.

Dammit.

...

Meanwhile Raven is panicking. She had been messing around with her Friends when they asked about the Spells she could do, and she off-handedly mentioned that she could cast Family Tracking Spells.

One thing led to another, and they all wanted to know if they had secret family. Then they asked if she wanted to try as well, and for some reason she agreed.

And long story short, she has a little brother somehow. A little brother who is only a few weeks away from turning 16, who doesn't know the Azarathian Spells she learned to prevent his own transformation into a Hellmouth.

Oh shit...

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret

Summary - Joel Miller deals with disgusting, intrusive thoughts about the girl next door who smells like vanilla and uses cherry chapstick.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, kinda perv!Joel, age gap, no cordyceps outbreak AU, reader's in high school but is eighteen, dom/sub undertones, seduction, underage drinking, body worship, unprotected sex, reader is called 'jailbait’ by Tommy, oral sex, breeding kink if you squint, praise & degradation

WC: 11k

[crossposted to AO3]

Joel Miller told himself he wasn’t a pervert. He just wasn’t. Double glancing at a pretty, young girl didn’t make him one of those guys — it just made him a man, right?

Never mind the fact that your father was one of his closest friends or the fact that you lived just next door, embodying half of the very typical scandalous, small-town affair. Never mind your eighteen year age difference. Never mind those obscene images that sometimes invaded his brain. Joel had heard the term once. He thinks Sarah might have told him about it from that science documentary she watched—those sordid images were called intrusive thoughts, right? Involuntary, unavoidable, unwanted.

It wasn’t only him who stared in your direction a little longer than necessary, anyway. The very first time he’d seen you, Joel and Tommy had been in the driveway doing an oil change on the truck. You and your dad had just moved in, Joel had introduced himself the day prior and helped haul a bed frame through the front room. Your dad had mentioned he had a daughter, but Joel had expected to see a girl closer to Sarah’s age. 

He hadn’t expected to see you, wearing those tight blue jeans and that tiny tank top that left very little to the imagination. The straps were thin and the fabric billowy, and when you shifted the box beneath your arm from one hand to the other, the pretty pink fabric of your bra was out in the open for all eyes to see. Your hair had been pulled into a ponytail at the crown of your head, swishing back and forth with each step. It made Joel wonder about how soft the long strands were, how they would feel between his fingers, how they would look splayed out atop a pillowcase — intrusive thoughts.

Tommy was quick to abandon his tools and cross the front yard to greet your father, offering you what seemed like an innocent helping hand. Joel thinks his younger brother has no self control, but he leaves the truck too. Only to introduce himself, though. Definitely not to get a closer look. 

Your voice is sweet, he thinks. It slides through him like a hot knife through butter. And when you laugh at Tommy’s awkward attempt at conversation, that sound stabs him in the chest because it’s so girlish. So young and youthful and airy. That pink lace is still poking out of the side of your shirt, even though Tommy now carries the box, and Joel strains himself trying to keep his eyes above your chin. 

“And you must be Mr. Miller,” you say, sticking your tiny hand out to him.

He knows it’s a bad idea, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he takes your hand in his and shakes it gently. Your skin is soft, nails painted red and manicured and he wonders what other parts of you are this soft, wonders if red has always been his favorite color, wonders what it would look like wrapped around — “Just Joel,” he tells you, clearing those damn intrusive thoughts as quickly as they appear. 

“Joel,” you repeat, tasting his name on your pink tongue and giving him a sweet smile. “There's two more boxes. Wanna help me grab them?”

He’s careful not to answer too fast, afraid of sounding too eager. But he agrees, and you lead him to the open truck bed, and as you bend over to grab the smaller box his hands flex at his sides. He thinks you must be doing this on purpose. Right? Torturing him, sticking your ass out, silently begging him to look. But he doesn't. Instead, Joel picks up the larger box and notices the scent of vanilla radiating off your skin. This is almost worse because his mouth begins to water. 

“My dad said you have a daughter,” you say. 

“Yeah. Sarah. She’s younger than you, though.”

“That’s okay. Does she like cake? I have to bake one for my home ec final and could use a taste tester if she’s not busy.”

It really puts things into perspective, and he’s glad for it. Finals. School. High school. “I’ll ask her,” Joel says. 

You lead everyone inside and direct all three men to take the boxes to the living room where you begin unpacking. You sit on the floor as you sift through the boxes, legs tucked underneath you, and Joel has to force a smile when you look up at him through your lashes. You say thank you, Joel from your knees and he feels something very, very wrong stir inside him. 

Tommy follows him back outside, and on the way back to their truck his voice is high pitched in mockery as he says, “Thank you, Joel! You’re so handsome , Joel! Let me repay you with my body, Joel!”

He just laughs it off, but as he continues with the oil change beneath the hood an uncomfortable silence settles between him. 

Eventually, Tommy shakes his head and snorts. “That girl is nothing but fucking jailbait, man.”

He sees you quite a few times after that, because your dad works in construction, too. Joel drinks the same kind of beer, and your dad has a pool table in your garage…so, naturally, they become the best of friends and very quickly at that. Tommy joins the party too, and within months they become an inseparable trio.

It’s during one of these nights when the three of them were standing in the garage with the door wide open, music playing from the speakers in your dad’s truck when those intrusive thoughts plague him again. Tommy’s losing at pool, drunk before the sun’s fully set, and your dad is laughing at something he’s saying.

You’re walking home from practice and stop suddenly at the end of the driveway. Joel can see you, but he doesn’t think Tommy or your dad can. The truck is in the way, but he’s in the perfect position. He stares a little too long, but he can’t help it. You’re wearing your cheer uniform, and your midriff is exposed, and your long legs are so fucking appetizing that his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Your skirt is rolled up at the waist, making the fabric shorter than it’s supposed to be, making it sluttier than it’s supposed to be.

When you notice him staring, you shoot him a sinful little smile and raise your finger to your lips. A secret, Joel realizes. You want him to keep something a secret, and somehow it feels intimate, having something between the two of you. He watches you unroll the hem of your skirt and pull at the ends so it covers more of your legs. You turn in a semicircle, and he licks his lips, and when you look at him again you raise your hands in question. 

He gives you a discreet thumbs up, and when you make your way up the driveway you give him the prettiest smile and say, “Hey, Joel! Nice to see you!”

Tommy gives him shit for it later, but he’s too distracted at the sight of you in that uniform to even remember Joel exists. 

“You’re late,” your dad chastises. “Practice was over at five today. It’s almost six.”

“Took the scenic route,” you reply easily, and Joel can hear the playful tone in your voice that lets everyone in the room know of your insincerity. 

You walk past them, backpack slung over one arm, but before you disappear inside you wink at him over your shoulder. 

“Get ready, Joel,” your dad tells him with an exasperated sigh. “Teenage girls are hell.”

And Joel is inclined to agree. Even more so when he’s laying in bed that night, wondering about all the things you could’ve been getting up to in that hour it took you to get home. The school was a short, ten minute walk from your house. And even if you truly did take the scenic route home, it wouldn’t have taken you an entire hour to arrive. 

So, what were you getting up to? Joel didn’t think you had a boyfriend. At least, not one you ever brought home. But not having a boyfriend didn’t mean anything. Not in this day and age. And Joel knew the mind of a teenage boy. He had been one, once upon a time, and knew without a doubt the lengths a boy your age would go to spend an hour alone with you. He thought about all of the things he was doing at eighteen, and his brain ran wild with those ideas.

After hours of laying there, unable to find sleep, Joel Miller took out his phone and opened a private search tab. It had been a long time since he’d done this, and he’d tried not to — truly, he had spent every minute since he’d closed his bedroom door trying to get the images out of his head. But it was like an itch he needed to scratch, becoming more and more irritating the longer he put it off. So, he typed cheerleader into the black and orange search bar and promised himself it was the one and only time he’d ever do this. 

He just needed to get it out of his system. That was all.

(If he was honest, Joel knew as soon as the thought crossed his mind that it wasn’t true. Even when he scrolled through the videos to find a girl who looked strikingly similar to you. Even when he turned his volume all the way down, and reached into his sweatpants with his free hand. Even when he squeezed his eyes shut and thought of that rolled up skirt and that pretty pink lace, pornographic images long forgotten in favor of the ones you’d supplied. Even when a few quick tugs was all it took to shoot thick ropes of cum across his belly. Even when he cleared his search history, cleaned himself up, and rolled over to sleep…even then, he knew it would not be enough to get you out of his head.)

The next day, Joel saw you leaving for school and couldn’t bear to look in your eyes. He couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done and feeling shameful, feeling like the very sordid man he knew himself not to be. He wasn’t a pervert, but he’d certainly felt like one that day.

You waved your hand and beamed like you did every morning. But Joel didn’t wave back. Oblivious to his atrocities, you played your hand at concern. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t… seem fine. Is there anything I can do to help?”

God—your voice, full of kindness and sweet summery grace, was better than the audio in any porno he’d ever seen. “I said I’m fine.”

Thankfully, you took the hint and scurried off, not dissimilar to a wounded animal. Guilt immediately choked him. But, pushing you away is what he’s supposed to do. So he doesn’t change his mind. 

At least, not at first.

He spends the entire summer going out of his way to avoid you. He offered to host guys nights at his house on the weekends instead of your dad's garage. He left for work five minutes earlier than normal to avoid having to hear you say good morning, Joel! and wave at him with those pretty red nails and smile at him with your pretty white teeth.

But once summer starts, you and Sarah begin spending way too much time together. And at first, it makes him nervous. You make him nervous. He doesn’t want to make small talk. He doesn't want to see you in your uniform. He doesn’t want to look at you at all, actually.

It works out in his favor though, Joel thinks, because you and Sarah have the same taste in movies, and she thinks you're the coolest thing that’s ever existed, and so whenever Joel and Tommy are in your garage, you’re at Joel’s house with Sarah. So he doesn’t have to be on edge, wondering if he’d turn the corner and you’d be standing there smelling like vanilla and wearing pink lace. 

But then you’re hosting a high school graduation party a few short months after you move in. And your dad invites Joel and Tommy to the party in your backyard. In fact, he practically begs them to come and keep him company. And Joel can’t say no, because what excuse would he have? Sarah would never let him skip it, anyway. And so his avoidance comes to an end, and he finds himself standing in your backyard with a glass bottle in his hands, watching people congratulate you and your accomplishments all day long. Straight A’s in all those AP classes you took, your dad tells him proudly, clicking his tongs together over the grill. Joel knows you’re a smart girl, he doesn’t need to know your grades to see that you have your head on straight, but he also knows you’re a far cry from the timid little girl your father believes you to be. Joel can see it in you. 

Still, you’re far smarter than he is, because while Tommy drones on and on about a project he’s got going on at home, all Joel can notice is the pretty sundress you’re wearing. It’s pink, like the lace that sometimes still haunts him. It clings to you at the top, molding sinfully against your chest, and flows out at the bottom, cutting off at your midthigh.

It’s too short, Joel thinks. Way too short to be wearing around so many male classmates. Around your dad’s friends. Tommy likes younger girls, you know. And Joel…Joel’s turning away from you and swallowing what’s left of his beer. He clinks the empty glass against Tommy’s and asks, “You need another?”

Your dad is the one who answers. “How about a shot of whiskey? The cabinet above the sink.”

Joel thinks it's a fantastic idea. He gets stopped by Mr. Adler on the way inside, who asks what the celebration is. He talks for far longer than he’d like, and by the time he gets to the kitchen, Joel really needs something stronger than beer. 

Except, when he steps into the room, he freezes the moment he sees you standing there. Your head whips in his direction, eyes wide as if you’ve been caught. It’s only as he tears his attention away from you and notices the two red solo cups on the counter and the bottle of tequila in your hands, perched over them, that he realizes what he’d just walked in on. 

Your cheeks are pink, the same hue as your dress, and you quickly try to explain it away. “Joel! Hey! This isn’t…I’m not like—you know, it’s just a celebration and…I’ll be nineteen soon and—I mean, it’s just a little .”

He raises his eyebrows, unsure of how to navigate this terrain. On the one hand, he feels the need to discipline you somehow. To turn this into a lesson of sorts, to let you know how the age of legal alcohol consumption is twenty one for a reason, that being drunk in a social setting like this is dangerous, especially for a girl like you.

But on the other hand, Joel knows he’s not responsible for you. He’s not your father, and he’s not going to be the one to give you the speech about underage drinking. He’d been far younger than eighteen-almost-nineteen the first time he’d gotten drunk. And you were right…this was a celebration. 

The war in his brain seemed to dim what little common sense he had because Joel found himself standing behind you with almost no room to spare. The sweet scent of vanilla filled the space. You’d curled your hair, and the ends tickled the inside of his arm. Soft. So, so soft he could die. He puts his big hand on your bare shoulder, and reaches above you into the cabinet, finding the half empty bottle of whiskey. His fingers twitch with the urge to squeeze your supple flesh. Christ. It’s just a fucking shoulder, Joel, he tells himself. “It’s your party,” he says. “I won’t tell.”

It feels wrong just to say it to you. I won’t tell. Perverted thing to say, Joel thinks. You spin around to face him, and suddenly your breasts are brushing his chest, and Joel can’t breathe. “Thank you,” you whisper, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and sending him into his fucking grave. 

It’s then, as he stares down at you and you stare up at him all sweet and innocent-like, that Joel finally admits to himself that avoidance has done absolutely fucking nothing to put out the fire you started. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah—it’s, uhm…it’s no problem. Have fun.”

He turns to leave, but then your arms are around his neck and he can’t smell anything but vanilla and he can feel your tits pressing into him, can feel you everywhere. But Joel isn’t a mean man, so what can he do but hug you back? If someone walked in, they’d think it was a fatherly embrace. Proud. Protective, even. 

But they wouldn’t know that all Joel could think about is the way your skin felt under his calloused hands. Or the way your soft hair tickled his cheek as he laid it against the top of your head. Or the way your hips were nestled right between his thighs—and you were so warm and—

Intrusive thoughts.

“You’re the best, Joel,” you say, eyes bright and cheery. He’s relieved when you pull away, but also a little bit empty. He watches you pour a shot into each red solo cup. “You know, I’ve never tried whiskey. It seems so, like… manly .” You giggle, and it’s music to his ears but Joel begins to wonder if maybe this isn’t your first time stealing from the tequila bottle tonight. 

“It’s definitely not the best tasting thing in the world,” he says. “Gets the job done, though.”

To put the tequila away, you have to stand on the tips of your toes. It elongates your entire body as you stretch upwards, and he can’t bring himself to stop staring at the curve of your hips. “You have to be drunk to hang out with me or something?”

The question surprises him. Yes, he thinks. Yes, he does need to be inebriated to hang out with you because otherwise his sober mind never lets him forget the way you look all dolled up. But he doesn’t say that. Instead, Joel laughs quietly and says, “I’m here for your old man. You think he wants to be the lone adult in this sea of kids?”

He says it as a joke and is thankful you find humor in it. “I’m not a kid, Joel,” you remind him. “I’m a woman now. Is my company really so bad?” You tilt your head, pushing your bottom lip into the tiniest little pout. 

Joel needs to stop staring at your mouth. He knows it, because the urge rises in him to bite that lip, to surge forward and taste your tongue for remnants of tequila. The idea alone sends a bolt of white-hot desire straight to his dick. “No, no…s’not like that,” he says. He’s too focused on your face and the gleam in your pretty eyes to notice you’ve unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle. 

You pour a shot into an empty solo cup and hold it up between the two of you. “I’m scared,” you admit sheepishly. “Is it gross?”

The wrinkle in your nose is the cutest thing he’s ever seen, and the sight forces his lips into a small smile. “I don’t think so,” he says. “But you might.”

“Because I’m a kid ?” You scoff, but shake your head and smile at him all the same. “Women mature faster than men, you know. Which means when I make my decisions, I know what I’m signing myself up for.” 

“Oh, is that so?” He remembers being this cocky as a teenager. He thinks maybe you’ve been spending too much time around Tommy and his defiant attitude is rubbing off on you. Joel offers a challenge—if you’re just so mature. “Drink up, then.”

He watches every microscopic movement as you lick your lips and lift the cup to your mouth. It’s a beautiful sight, watching you tilt your head back and swallow the tiniest bit. And when you pass the remaining liquid to him, your expression is fashioned from steel. Nonchalant, blank. 

But he sees it, sees the way your hands twitch at your sides, sees the way your jaw feathers as you clench your teeth. He can’t help but chuckle at your persistence. Joel turns the cup in his hands and puts his mouth right where you did. 

It’s almost like kissing, he thinks. Having his mouth where yours was seconds ago feels good. Better than he thought it would. And he can taste cherry-flavored chapstick before he can taste the whiskey, and he wonders when the last time was when he’d had a shot because it goes straight to his head and makes him feel drunk. Or maybe it’s just the wide smile that stretches across your face. 

“That’s awful,” you confess. “I’ll stick to tequila, I think.”

“Tequila’s worse,” he says with a shake of his head. Tequila makes Joel feel your age, makes him forget the word consequences, makes him buzz with energy. 

“No way,” you say. “The taste isn’t nearly as strong.”

While that may be true, it wasn’t about the taste at all and he doesn’t really know how to explain it. “Tequila encourages people to make bad decisions.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Bad decisions,” you echo contemplatively. “Sounds like a great time.” You take both of your tequila filled cups in hand and press a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for always keeping my secrets,” you whisper. 

Joel has to stand in the kitchen an extra few minutes after you leave because he still feels the ghost of your lips on his skin and doesn’t know how to act. Eventually, though, he finds the courage to face his brother and your father. He stays for the remainder of the party and helps your dad clean up the yard after everyone filters out. 

It’s a relief when he’s finally in his own bed that night. He tries to resist thinking of you. Truly, he does — but it’s no use, and he’s alone in his bed, and this time he doesn’t even reach for his phone when he touches himself. 

And it’s good. So good that he tries to draw it out. He tries his damndest to make it last. But his efforts become futile in just minutes, because he can feel your soft lips, can taste cherry chapstick, and he’s right there—right fucking there—when his bedroom door creaks open. 

“Joel?”

For a second, he’s convinced himself he’s gone crazy. He’s well and truly lost it now, and his fantasies have grown into hallucinations at this point. You’ve driven him batshit insane. But his eyes focus in the dark, and he realizes his mind isn’t playing tricks on him at all. “What are you doing here?”

You take it as an invitation, and he desperately wishes you wouldn’t. He can still feel the buzz from the beer and whiskey, and his cock is hard beneath the sheets, and his brain is filled with images of you, and you’re in nothing but spandex shorts and a loose tank top, and when you sit on the side of his bed you lay your hand on his knee for balance and Joel’s hands shake. 

“How did you even get in?”

“I used the key under the mat,” you confess. “I need your help.” Your voice is so mousy and soft, and it pulls him back to his senses. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You were right,” you tell him. “I made a bad tequila decision and now I’m sad.” 

Joel doesn’t know what to say. You couldn’t possibly still be tipsy, he thinks. It’s been hours since he saw you in the kitchen, but he supposes you very well could’ve gone back after everyone left. Either way, you’d come to him to fix it, and even knowing the right thing would be to call your dad, he was still high on the second secret you two shared. So, Joel sighs and puts his hand on yours. “What did you do?”

“I snuck a boy into my room,” you say.

Joel’s jaw clenches. Anger rises in his chest, crawls up his throat, and chokes him. A million things cross his mind—first, what the hell did he do to you? Did he hurt you? Joel would find the boy and break his fucking jaw. Did he touch you? Maybe he’d break the boy's hands instead. Or, worse, did he touch you when you didn’t want him to? The thought alone has his heart beating so fast he thinks he might die. Slowly, quietly, he asks, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you sigh. And it isn’t one of those teenage girl nothings, it’s sincere. You climb over him to the other side of the mattress, and Joel thinks he should stop you but the sight of you in his bed is so fucking pretty that he can’t bring himself to. “That’s the problem. I wanted him to fuck me.”

The words give him pause. Everything freezes. 

“But he didn’t want to,” you say. “Even though we were flirting all day.” You turn on your side, hands beneath your head. “I don’t get it. Is it because I’m not pretty?”

He can’t stop the snort that leaves him at that. Joel can’t believe you’d wonder about it for even a second.

“Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

If there’s anything in the world he hates, it’s this. He wonders a little if maybe you’re antagonizing him. It’s a yes or no question, isn’t it? So why does saying yes feel so… heavy? Weighted? He decides it best to keep the conversation directed away from his personal opinion on the matter. “Of course you’re pretty, baby.”

Baby? God. Maybe he has lost his fucking mind.

But it seems to bring you so much joy he doesn’t have it in him to regret it. You wrap your small hands around his bicep, and he can feel the heat in your touch, and it’s like he’s burning from the inside out. And when you turn a little more and bring your leg across his hips, Joel can’t breathe. 

He wonders if you can tell how hard he is, wonders how he’s supposed to push you away when you just keep withering away his resolve. If he hasn’t lost his mind yet, he’s about to. “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

The words hit him like a freight train. But after a second, he realizes that you actually mean sleep —and he knows it’s a bad idea still because he’s having those intrusive thoughts once more. But he can’t say no. So instead he says, “I don’t think your dad would be comfortable with that.”

“I’ll tell him I had a sleepover with Sarah,” you quickly supplied. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He doesn’t either. But Joel knows he should be. And if not alone, certainly not with you. And yet, he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing. 

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I think about you all the time,” you say. “I thought you were mad at me for a while. That made me sad, too.”

It made his chest ache to think he had caused you any harm. But it was for the best, wasn’t it? You probably just saw him as someone to seek comfort in, and he saw you as something entirely different. He was no good. Definitely not for you. 

A few minutes pass, and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you kiss his cheek again in the same spot as this afternoon and say, “Thank you, Joel.” And he feels so wrong. He feels awful, and selfish, and greedy, and desperate, and perverted.

He thinks that’s the end of it. But then you kiss his jaw, and this time it’s an open mouthed kiss that leaves wetness on his skin. Joel shivers. 

You kiss his neck, and his cock throbs inches from your thigh. He should stop this. He knows that. Joel isn’t a stupid man—he’s just a bad man. He doesn’t stop you when you climb into his lap. He doesn’t stop you when your tongue darts out between your lips as you kiss his collarbone. He doesn’t stop you when your kisses grow heated and heavy.

And when you kiss his lips, he doesn’t stop himself from kissing you back. He doesn’t stop himself from threading his fingers through your silky hair to pull you in deeper. He doesn’t stop himself from biting that bottom lip and sucking off the cherry flavor. He doesn’t stop himself from slipping his tongue into your mouth, or from lifting his hips just a little bit, pushing himself against you. The friction pulls a low groan from somewhere in the back of his throat, and Joel knows he won't be able to ever stop himself now. 

You take the small movement as your cue to unleash yourself and roll your hips against his even harder. He can feel the wet heat radiating from you even through the spandex shorts, can feel his benevolence fading into the ether. You let out a breathless moan when you roll your hips again, and again, and again. And he curses, muscles tight, and feels a confession on the tip of his tongue. Joel wants you to say it, just once — wants to hear his name in your mouth shrouded in lust. He’s imagined it so many times, but he wants to hear it. 

But then you pull away abruptly. “Joel?”

You sound mousy again, and he feels suddenly ice cold. “Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

He holds your hair away from your face for the remainder of the night as you vomit up the rest of the tequila in your stomach. You apologize over and over again and greedily drink up the water he brings you. 

Normally, Joel would hate this. But it’s you, and something feels good about taking care of you. About making sure you’re safe, making sure you feel pretty even with sweat coating your pallid skin.

You fall asleep sometime in the middle of the night, and Joel carries you to his bed. He doesn’t climb in next to you. He can’t because he already feels bad enough for allowing a drunk eighteen year old girl into his bed. It’s his turn to feel nauseous. Shame smothers him, and guilt, and mortification…Joel knows he should feel regret, too. But he doesn’t. 

Sometime before sunrise, he nods off with his head resting against the bedside table. He doesn’t hear you leave, but when he wakes an hour later you’ve vacated the room. 

He wonders if you remember how you ended up in his bed, if you remember how eager he was to taste your mouth, if you remember anything at all. He hopes not, because that would mean a conversation he was not equipped to handle. 

When he trudges down to the kitchen, Joel stops upon the sight before him. Sarah sits at the kitchen table beside Tommy, who’s sitting across from your dad. And then there’s you—standing in the kitchen with a spatula in your hand and two still-wet braids in your hair.

It isn’t the fact that you’re in his kitchen, making pancakes for everyone, padding barefoot on the tile that makes him anxious. No one in the room can read his thoughts. They wouldn’t know how much it pleases him to see it. They wouldn’t know how he thinks he could get used to this, but knows he can’t.

No…no, it’s the fact that you’re wearing his flannel that makes him anxious. Your father wears flannels on occasion…but this one is so plainly Joel’s that he wonders why your dad is sitting there laughing at something Sarah said instead of killing Joel with his bare hands. He swallows thickly and pours himself a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning,” you say cheerily, as if last night hadn’t happened. He thinks you’ve forgotten, or maybe just decided not to ever mention it again.

It was only a lapse in judgment, after all, wasn’t it? Just a split second where you and Joel both lost all sense. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. “Morning,” he responds. 

You ask him to help carry one of the heaping plates of fluffy pancakes to the table. When he reaches for the taller one, your hand brushes against his and Joel nearly jumps out of his skin at the contact. But then you’re holding your pinky out to him expectantly, and whisper, “Our little secret.” 

The vanilla scent is gone, Joel notices. You smell like irish spring instead. Realization dawns on him that you must have showered while he was asleep— and used his body wash. There’s something about that little tidbit of information that sits with him. He likes it, he thinks. He likes smelling himself all over you, likes that something possessed you to use his things without asking. Something inside of him shifts, something… intense. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but Joel winds his pinky finger around yours anyway. It feels so good to have yet another thing between the two of you. Something of yours that belongs only to him. It makes him feel giddy as if he wasn’t running on a single sip of coffee and an hour of sleep.

The remainder of the summer goes on without incident. You don’t end up in Joel’s bed again, though you never once leave his intrusive thoughts. He sees you sometimes, tanning in the backyard. He has a perfect view from his bedroom window, and he wonders if maybe you wear those tiny bikini tops for his benefit. But he never asks, even during the few moments you have alone, and is content to pine after you but not touch for the rest of his painfully sorry life. 

He works. You taunt him. He plays pool in your garage. You come home late in too little clothes and smelling of vanilla scented tequila. Joel says nothing, though. He listens and agrees with your dad that since graduating you’ve become a little wild . A little… defiant. They dance around the word bad, but Joel knows the truth. Knows that more than anything, you need a little bit of discipline. 

You’re not his to correct, though. So he doesn’t. He certainly enjoys watching you, however. He watches you sneak out through your window one night when he’s sitting on the porch. You press your finger to your lips, creating another secret between the two of you. He walks into the kitchen one night to find you filling a vodka bottle with water. Joel says nothing—but after grabbing another beer he’s got a smile on his lips he can’t seem to shake. 

He’s mowing the grass in the backyard one sunny afternoon, and he catches a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. Joel holds a lot of your secrets close these days, but this one is…different. 

Through your bedroom window, he can see you changing. The curtain is wide open, and you’re wearing nothing but that same pink bra he first saw you in, matching panties, and those knee high socks you used to wear with your cheer uniform. He’s not sure if you’re getting out of your clothes or into ones more comfortable, but he knows he can’t look away. His mouth is dry, and all the blood in his head rushes south. He thinks you’re beautiful. He wants to touch you so badly it’s overwhelming. The supple curves of your hips, the soft tendrils of your hair down your back, the swell of your breasts— God, you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. 

And then you pick something up from the floor, and Joel realizes a second later that you’re putting on his flannel. The one you stole at the beginning of the summer. Do you wear it often? Do you always wear it alone, half naked in your bedroom? His lips part and his breath catches in his throat. He’s not there. He’s just standing in his backyard, ruining this patch of grass…but a part of him is. Something of his is there, with you, touching you, and somehow it sets him on fire. 

Especially when he watches you climb into bed. He won’t watch you sleep, he decides. He might have intrusive thoughts and secrets and uncontrollable fantasies, but he’s not a creep. 

Except you don’t go to sleep, so Joel continues to watch. He watches you run red painted fingers over your bare skin, between your breasts, over your belly, and back up. You do it again, slower this time, and Joel’s cock strains in his jeans. He watches you slip your hand beneath the band of your panties. He can’t see any details from this far away, but his breathing synchronizes with the speed of your fingers.

Suddenly, he remembers you’re still in his flannel. Realizes that you put it on to touch yourself. Pressure builds in his cock, and he finally admits that yeah— maybe he’s a little bit of a perv. But only for you—there’s something about you that drives him fucking insane. 

He stands there and watches you touch yourself until you finish. He revels in the small arch of your back, in the tremble of your legs, in the way your chest heaves with each ragged breath on the come down. He wants to clean you up with his fucking tongue. 

Joel doesn’t finish mowing the lawn that night.

When you go off to college, he can’t deny what a massive relief it is. You move across Texas to some campus far away, and the distance makes him feel like he can breathe easily again. He stops having so many disgusting, intrusive thoughts. He stops feeling guilty every time he plays pool with your dad because those secrets he kept for you were ones that don’t truly matter. Not when you’re nowhere to be found, anyway. 

As the year stretches on, Joel realizes that he’d been wrong all along. He wasn’t a pervert. You are a seductress. Even Tommy jokes about the obvious schoolgirl crush you had and admits one night when it’s just the two brothers that if you had thrown yourself at him, he wouldn’t have been able to resist you so easily as Joel had.

It’s not him that’s in the wrong. It’s you. You and your soft hair. You and your pretty smile. You and your red nails. You and your pink lace. You and your soft voice. You, you, you. 

For several years, those intrusive thoughts haven't plagued him. Not until your junior year of college, when some problem with campus housing surfaces and you’re forced to stay at home for a few days. Your dad is excited about it and forces the four of you to go out to dinner together to catch up. 

He sees you for the first time in so long, and you look so different but somehow even prettier. You’re wearing a short white dress, and Sarah tells you you look like an angel, and Joel silently agrees. You have a tattoo on the inside of your wrist. It’s the tiniest little image of two hands with their pinkies wrapped around one another, and he thinks it’s so fitting for a girl with so many secrets. 

Every time you look at him during dinner, Joel shifts in his seat. He isn’t very hungry. Not for food, anyway. He’s a little floored when you proudly present your shiny, brand new ID to the waitress and order a fruity pink drink called a Paloma. You explain that it has tequila in it, and share a subtle glance across the table, and Joel feels his insides warm as if he was the one drinking a cocktail instead. 

He drowns himself in work the entire week. He cannot— cannot afford to find himself back in his old ways. You’re a woman now. A fully grown woman, who no longer needs validation from older men. He knows you're not interested. He knows this time, this time, it really is Joel who’s the problem. Avoidance, surprisingly, works. 

Until you knock on the door one night with a DVD in your hand. “Is Sarah home? I found my old copy of Evil Dead. She said she missed having movie nights.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, uhm—she spent the night with a friend. Sorry.”

“Oh,” you deflate. “That’s okay, I get it. She’s older now. It’s…”

“Weird,” he finishes. 

You laugh softly, and the sound brings a smile to his face. “Yeah, really weird,” you agree. “I just hope she’s nothing like me.”

“Why’s that?” Your eyes darken, and Joel asks himself why he’s attempting to make conversation at all. It’s dangerous. He knows this. 

“You know,” you say purposefully. “All those secrets? There were definitely more.”

For a reason he can’t pinpoint, it makes him a little annoyed. He knew it the whole time—of course,  he knew there were more secrets than just the ones he was privy to. But a part of him wanted to know you better than anyone else. And maybe he did, for a second, but that second was long gone now. It was probably over moments after it began. “Yeah, well…that’s different.”

“How so? She’s only a little younger than I was when I met you.”

It’s an accusation. Joel can feel it. He can feel the anger seeping through your fake sweetness, too. But he doesn’t understand it. He didn’t do anything wrong. “You’re not my daughter. That’s what’s different.”

You roll your eyes, and his hands twitch with the urge to grab you by the jaw. “God, Joel—you’re such a pussy. Do you know that?”

Your words startle him. A crease forms between his brows, and he takes another step out of the doorway. “ Excuse me ?”

“Just say it! Say what you so desperately want to say. I can take it. Say it.”

The words come out slow and deadly, sounding far meaner than intended. “Say what?” 

“Tell me it’s different because I’m a slut. It’s okay, Joel. It’s just the two of us now. Go ahead. Admit it.”

His jaw ticks. 

“What, you think I’m dumb? You think I don’t hear you laugh at Tommy’s jokes when I walk out of a room? You think I didn’t know you guys called me jailbait for years?” You laugh cynically, arms crossed over your chest, and Joel thinks he’s never seen you so angry. So heated. 

So hot.

He grabs your elbow and yanks you close. “Have you lost your fucking mind?”

Your face is inches from his, and he can smell vanilla and cherry and something happens. Something familiar and unique to you. Something disgusting. “And you know what the worst part of it all is?”

The worst part is that he’s twice your age. The worst part is that he’s known you since you were in high school. The worst part is that he’s friends with your father. The worst part is that you’re friends with his daughter. The worst part is that those perverted thoughts were never involuntary. They were never unavoidable. They were never unwanted. They were never intrusive. 

“You like it,” you say with a smirk. “You like that I dress up in short skirts for you, and you like it when I climb in your bed when someone else leaves me unsatisfied. I almost finished that day, did you know?”

“ Jesus—fuck —don’t—”

“You barely touched me but I was so close just sitting in your lap. You like that I put on your clothes and touch myself in front of my window, hoping you’ll see. You like that I’m a slut for you, Joel Miller. Admit it. It’s okay. It’ll be our little secret .”

He pulls you into the house and slams the front door closed. His blood boils beneath his skin. He should have slammed it in your face, he thinks. But you’re here now—trapped inside with him. Or maybe he’s trapped inside with you. 

The pleased smile on your face is his undoing. His breath comes fast, and he knows if he moves an inch there will never be any going back from this. So he doesn’t move. His limbs are frozen and his eyes are fixed on yours.

After a couple of tense filled seconds, your smile falters. Joel sees it. He hears the slight change in your voice too, as you confess, “I want you to touch me so badly.”

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck —Joel holds your face in his hands and slams his mouth to yours. You taste just the same; cherry sweet and delicious. It’s his favorite flavor, he thinks. Better than any forbidden fruit. Your tongue is so soft against his and impossibly more greedy. You invade his mouth, his soul, his heart. 

It happens so fast, and so easily. Your arms loop around his neck and Joel pulls you flush against him and grips the back of your thighs. He lifts you up and you wrap your legs around his waist, hips already rolling against him like some feral thing inside of you is desperately clawing to get out. His cock has never been this hard, Joel knows. And he knows—he knows that he could cum just like this. Touching you, tasting you, feeling your softness. It’s enough. 

Still, he wants more. He wants to see you fall apart. He wants to reach inside your chest and make you feel what he feels, make you feel tortured the way he’s been for years. 

Joel walks to the sofa and sits with his legs spread wide. You’re still kissing him with everything you have, and it’s a clash of tongues and lips and teeth that he loves so much it’s an effort to thread his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull you away, but he does it. You’re both panting, and you let out a whimper at the loss of contact. His cock is throbbing, straining behind his jeans. “Put your money where your mouth is, baby,” he says breathlessly. “You wanna act like a slut for me, be a slut for me.”

He fists your dress in his hands and pulls it up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. And then it’s just you, sitting in Joel’s lap, wearing nothing but pink, lace panties and a pair of strappy white heels. You’re so pretty, and he’s always known it—but seeing you up close has him weak. He can’t keep himself from touching you, from running his hands over your hips and living the fantasy he’s existed in for what feels like forever. 

Once he starts, Joel can’t stop. He runs his calloused palms over your belly, your ribs, allowing his thumbs to ghost across the underside of your breasts. He moves slowly, meticulously, enjoying every moment. And when you hook your thumbs in the band of your panties with the intention to remove them, he places his hands over yours. “Hell no,” he says. “You think you can tell me you almost finished in my lap that night and get away with it?” 

“But, I—”

“Nuh-uh. Prove it.”

Hesitantly, you tilt your hips against his. He wishes he was in only sweatpants the way he was that night because his jeans are keeping the feeling of your wetness away from him this time. But he can see it—the baby pink fabric is darker at the apex, and as you grind your hips against his Joel realizes you’re creating a mess on his clothes, too. 

He understands. He really, really does. He feels it, too. Joel understands how desperate and needy you are. And because he’s just so understanding, he grants you a little reprieve. He leans forward and takes your nipple into his mouth. He’s real sweet about it too, giving you the same tender treatment your mouth gave him that night in his room. He licks the hardened peak softly, swirling his tongue, and you let out the prettiest moan he’s ever heard. The pace of your hips picks up, rolling against the bulge in his jeans faster. 

“Oh, god,” you whimper. Your breath catches, and he can hear your heart beating rapidly behind your ribcage. He peppers kisses across your sternum and inhales deeply, sucking in a breath that’s nothing but you and holding it in his lungs. He kisses your other nipple and pinches the one wet with his spit between his thumb and forefinger. 

He sucks your nipple into his mouth and groans when you fist your hands in his hair. You sound so pretty, he thinks—and he leans back on the couch to admire just how pretty you look. He can’t catch his breath, but he doesn’t mind.

Your pace falters the slightest bit, and your chest is heaving a little slower now. He sinks lower into the couch and thrusts his hips up into you—once, twice, and your legs are shaking. “Aww,” he coos. “You’re so sensitive, baby. Look at you.”

Too lost in your own bliss, Joel decides to help you, to teach you. He grabs your chin and forces it down, forces your attention to where your bodies are joined.

“I told you to look,” he repeats. Joel turns his fingers in the waistband of your panties and pulls them taught, creating even more pressure against your clit. The pink fabric immediately becomes darker, sopping up some of the mess you’ve created on top of him, and Joel intends to make good on his wish to clean you up with his tongue. But not yet—not when you still have something to prove. “You gonna cum just like that? Hm?”

You nod frantically, your attention flickering between his dark eyes and your panties clutched between his thick fingers. “ Yes,” you tell him, legs trembling. Your pace is quick, and each roll of your hips becomes shorter and shorter. And with Joel moving underneath you it only takes seconds more before you combust. “Oh, fuck—fuck—I’m coming, I’m coming—!”

“That’s it,” he says, and you feel the deep timbre of his voice skitter across your skin like embers. “There you go. You’re being such a good slut for me, hm?”

When your orgasm finally fizzles out, you fall limply forward and Joel is there to catch you, like he always has been, like he silently vows he always will be. He rubs soothing circles against your spine and presses sweet kisses into your hair, waiting patiently as you try and regain what little composure you have left. 

You lift your head from the crook of his neck, and your eyes are glossy and your bottom lip is swollen and your cheeks are flushed with a rosy hue, and Joel thinks you’ve never been more beautiful. But then you slide from his lap to the floor in one fluid movement, and he realizes that this is the prettiest you’ve ever been; on your knees before him, eyes bright with anticipation and excitement. You place your hands on top of his strong thighs, look up at him through your lashes and ask softly, “Can I suck your dick, Joel?”

He has to squeeze his eyes shut. He has to because his cock is so fucking hard and your voice is so sweet and filthy he can’t handle it. He breathes in slowly through his nose and says, “Of course you can, baby.”

Without a moment's hesitation, you unbuckle his belt. The metal clinks in your fingers, and Joel’s heart is racing when you unbutton his jeans and hook your thumbs through the loops to tug them down. His cock snaps against his belly, and you lick your pink lips.

You take it in your hands, and Joel aches when you swipe your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty sweetness of his precum. He can’t believe this is really happening, that you’re really here, running your sweet, sweet tongue over every inch of his cock. You’re tasting him, savoring him, and Joel wonders if it pleases you to see him all bent out of shape like this. 

He prides himself on his masculinity. He’s always been a strong man, one who handles his shit on his own. Maybe it’s the Texas in him, but Joel’s always had traditional values. He’s always been the provider, the protector—he’s always been the one in charge. But when you wrap your lips around him and ease his cock into your hot, wet mouth, he’s at your complete mercy. 

“ Fuck,” he hisses, hands going to your hair. He tangles the silky strands between his fingers, and you hollow out our cheeks, creating a suction that has him groaning. He feels each pass of your lips down his spine, pressure forming low in his belly. “Just like that, pretty girl.”

You wrap your hand around the base and stroke the length you can’t fit into your mouth, and his grip in your hair tightens. Your nails are painted red—and the look of them wrapped around his cock is far better than he’d ever been able to imagine in his head. It’s so good that he doesn’t want to stop, he wants to cum just like this. He wants to expend himself at the back of your throat and watch his cum leak out of your mouth.

But Joel doesn’t get too far ahead of himself. There are other things, filthier things he wants to do to you than fill your mouth up. You let out a whiny groan as if sucking him off is somehow more pleasurable for you than it is for him. It’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and the vibrations nearly send him over the edge, but Joel rips your head back to prolong this precious time with you. 

Your eyes are glassy, makeup smeared, lips swollen. You give him a beaming smile and Joel huffs a breath. “Did I do a good job?”

“ Yes, baby,” he says. “You did so well. C’mere, stand up.” You do as told, even though your legs are wobbly, and Joel lifts your foot into his lap. He unbuckles the straps of your heel, takes it off and sets it aside. He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and repeats the action with the other one, and then proceeds to pull your panties down your legs. He helps you out of the pink lace, and he knows he shouldn’t but he just can’t help himself and shoves them between the couch cushions, where he hopes you’ll forget about them.

He presses his mouth to your hip bone, an open mouthed kiss that leaves goosebumps in its wake as he does the same to your other side. “That feels so good,” you tell him.

Joel keeps peppering wet kisses across your belly, below your navel, over your pubic bone. Your thighs are pressed together, and you’re shifting on your feet in anticipation, and Joel can see the shiny wetness coating your pussy. He reaches between your legs and so gently slides his middle finger teasingly over your slit. It comes away sticky and wet, and he can’t resist the urge to lick the digit clean. It’s heady and sweet, and he feels drunker than whiskey or tequila has ever made him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, forehead falling against your abdomen. “What are you doing to me?”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “I want you so bad, Joel. Please touch me.” Your hands are in his hair, stroking the unruly curls and lightly pulling.

The word please in your mouth sounds so fucking cute, so needy and desperate. What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to be a good man when you exist? He can’t, Joel knows. So long as you’re near—he’ll never be a good man. Only a bad one. Only a perverse one. He hooks his arm around your leg and lifts it over his shoulder, keeping his other hand wrapped around your waist for balance, and lets himself taste you fully, to drink from the source. 

And Jesus Christ, Joel loses it. He laps at your pussy, swallowing you up. He cleans up the mess you made in his lap, relishing in the decadence. He could do this for hours, he thinks. Could swirl his tongue around your swollen clit, could suck it between his lips, and kiss it softly for the rest of his life. He breathes in slowly, taking your scent deep into his lungs, and wonders why he’d ever want to come up for air. Your moans are music to his ears.

He dares a glance up at you to watch your expression when he reaches beneath you and slips a finger easily into your dripping pussy. 

Your head falls back, your mouth falls open, and Joel falls in love. 

The noises you make are obscene as you grind against his face, but not nearly as much as the sounds he’s making from between your legs. He’s groaning with your clit in his mouth and you’re creating a puddle in his palm, and it’s so sloppy and disgusting and he fucking loves it. 

Joel silently admits that you were right; that he loves your obscenities. He loves your secrets. He loves your defiance. He loves your depravity. 

He loves that you’re such a fucking slut. 

“Oh, god— Joel—!”

He pulls away because if you’re going to moan out his name again it’s going to be because of his cock. He stands abruptly, keeping one hand at the small of your back, and holds your jaw. With your face tilted up towards him, he smirks as he watches tears form in your eyes. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Why did you stop?” Your voice is so whiny, so hopeless and frantic that it makes his cock twitch. “You were about to make me cum,” you say.

He kisses you hard, and you moan into his mouth, and Joel runs out of patience. He lifts you up and lays your back flat against the couch. He’s hovering over you, and his cock is just inches from the place it’s wept to be inside for so many years. Joel rolls it against you, gasping at the feel of your pussy on the underside of his cock. You’re so wet, and he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to last long enough for this to be good for you. 

But he’s determined. “ Joel,” you beg breathlessly, bucking your hips to try and find just the right angle where he slips inside.

“Yeah, baby?” He tilts his head slightly, watching as your eyes flicker back and forth between his hips and his predatory grin. 

“You’re being mean,” you say. “Stop teasing me. Just put it in, Joel, I need it so bad.”

He kisses your forehead. “S’that right?”

“Yes!”

It’s impossible, he thinks, to hold back his laugh. “You’re so fucking cute, baby,” he says. “Say please.”

“ Please! Please, please ple—!”

Joel lets out a ragged breath as he pushes into you. Finally, he thinks. Finally, finally, finally. “Fuck.”

It’s so much better than he ever imagined. He sinks in deep until your hips are flush, and even then he pushes your knee back to open you up and get impossibly deeper. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, and Joel kisses you to swallow up the beautiful sound. 

You take him like you were made for his cock. And maybe you were, because Joel had never known it could be this fucking good. He knows it’ll never be this good again. “You’re taking it like such a good slut, baby,” he whispers into your ear, tongue sliding up your neck. He pulls his hips back and snaps them forward, the sudden change in force ripping a cry from your throat. “Shhh, it’s okay. You can take it.”

With your arms and legs wrapped around him, Joel fucks you slow. Real slow, real deep—he’s touching parts of you you didn’t even know existed. You feel so full and pressure coils around your spine. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes yes— mmm—!”

He sets a steady pace, hitting that soft spot inside of you every time. He reaches between your bodies and swipes this thumb over your clit. “Say thank you, baby.”

You look right into his eyes, warm and dark and full of devotion. You say, “ Thank you, Joel,” and you suddenly remember the same memory he does of that first day. 

He remembers how pretty you looked on your knees, and you remember how you spent that whole night in your bed touching yourself to him. 

And now it’s happened, it’s finally happened, and his cock is buried deep inside of you and his thumb is pressing hard against your clit and before he realizes it, your pussy is squeezing him as you cum. 

Tremors rock through your body, legs shaking and red painted fingernails clawing at his back. He keeps his same steady pace and says, “Give it to me, baby. Good fucking girl, being such a good little slut for me. That’s it. Give it to me. There you go.”

Even when your muscles loosen, you keep your limbs wound around him tight. Like even though you’ve finished and he’s seconds away from following you there, you still want him as close as possible. It makes him feel tender. “I want you to cum inside me,” you say, and Joel’s cock spasms in your tight pussy. “Cum in me, Joel, please —fill me up.”

He shouldn’t, he really fucking shouldn’t, but he already is, and stars blur his vision. Joel fights through the blindness though, and squeezes your cheeks in his hand. “Look at me,” he orders, and looking at your face makes him cum even harder. You take his thumb into your mouth, soft tongue circling it. And Joel bottoms out inside of you, has the best orgasm of his entire fucking life inside of a girl half his age, but cannot bring himself to regret a single second.

The weight of him over you is heavy but comforting. It’s perfect, and helps you catch your breath. Joel is panting, and you smell like vanilla and irish spring and cherry chapstick and when his eyes close, he wonders if he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Your fingers are stroking his spine lazily when the fear creeps in. Do you regret it? Now that it’s out of your system, do you wish you’d never have done it? Never have taunted him, never had let him keep all those secrets, never have come over tonight? The Evil Dead DVD sits on the floor by the front door, abandoned. 

There couldn’t have been much tequila in your mixed drink. You didn’t taste like alcohol at all. But still, you’d had some—do you feel like maybe he took advantage of you? 

Joel is afraid to look at you. He’s afraid to open his mouth, to ask if you’re alright, to apologize, to beg for your forgiveness. 

But then you ask him softly, “Is it okay if I sleep with you tonight?”

He hears the echo of those words, and wonders if you do, too. You wince as he finally sits up and pulls himself out of you. He knows he should say no, but he can’t. Instead, he asks, “Will you make pancakes in the morning?”

The sound of your girlish laughter greets him and calms his fears for now. “Anything you want.”

Joel stops at the bathroom on the way to his bed and cleans the sticky mess from between your legs. It’s then as he realizes how many unhinged decisions he’d made tonight. He doesn’t know if you’ve slept with other people without protection, doesn’t know if you’re on birth control, doesn’t know if you’d be willing to take a contraceptive pill in the morning if you’re not, doesn’t know anything. The distance, while easier, has taken so much of you from him. And the realization leaves Joel cold. 

You’re so young, and he’s so much older than you…if the worst happened, would it even be the worst? Do you even want kids? 

A new fantasy emerges in his brain. The first one since admitting to himself that it’s a little more than just an intrusive thought. You’re standing on the back porch with a beaming smile, hand over your eyes to block out the bright summer sun while he mows the lawn. You’re in a pretty pink sundress, and your belly is swollen with Joel’s baby, and his knees buckle as he leads you to his bedroom. 

You climb in beside him, and he holds you under the blankets a little tighter than you hold him. Emotion chokes him. Joel swallows it down. But then you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“I want to keep you,” he confesses. “I want to keep you forever.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. He wonders if maybe you think he’s going to say more, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t have anything else to say. 

“So do it,” you whisper. 

“But I can’t.”

“You can,” you tell him with a sigh. “You can, Joel. That’s the real secret.”

The words reverberate through him. They clang around in his brain and leave him with something akin to elation. You kiss his jaw, and Joel thinks maybe you might be right. Maybe he will keep you. 

But for tonight, having you here pressed against him with the promise of pancakes in the morning is enough.

[PART TWO]

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

[cherryobx]

also love how ur blog is just me sending u asks. its giving soulmates (dont tell rafe)

wouldn't have it any other way ;)

[kingkatsuki]

Imagine Dynamight going to a school to be interviewed by the little children there, sitting down in one of the chairs in their classroom that is far too small for his hulking form but he sits down in it without complaint as the kids sit down in front of him with crossed legs.

And he loves it, because they have no filter— just like him, and they end up asking him the most blunt questions without hesitation. And some of the questions he’d never usually answer if they were coming from broadcasters or reporters, but he can’t lie to these kids so he keeps responding openly and honestly.

Even when one of the little girls asks “Mister Dynamight, do you have a girlfriend?”

It’s a rumour that’s been circulating for months as the media try to work out who the mysterious woman is in his life (if there even is one!) and it’s confirmed immediately when Bakugou answers with a, “Yeah, I do.”

And as his PR manager is having a meltdown in the corner, Bakugou’s grin is wide when the little boys in the room sound out a simultaneous chorus of “ewwwwwww”

[mssalo]

safety - Part: I

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Obsession themes, Stalking, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of military past, Manipulation, Power dynamics, Joel needs a hug and therapy. As per usual.

4k

Enjoy!

Part II Part III

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel Miller wasn’t the type of man who sought peace or ease.

He’d spent too many years living a different kind of life-one built around routines of survival, discipline, and a level of alertness that never quite faded.

Now, back in Texas, he carried that constant vigilance like a second skin.

He’d settled in a small, secluded home just outside of Austin.

The area was quiet, isolated, the kind of place where nobody asked too many questions.

The locals respected boundaries, and Joel had made his clear. He kept to himself, lived a simple life, and preferred things that way.

People complicated things—something he wasn’t interested in anymore.

Most of his days followed a routine that he clung to with the same intensity he had in the service.

Early mornings were spent with coffee and silence, the smell of pine trees drifting through the windows of his old, weathered cabin.

Afterward, he'd take to the woods, either hunting or just walking trails he knew as well as the lines in his hands.

Out there, he could let his mind focus on something tangible—the tracks of a deer, the feel of the rifle in his hand.

There, his senses sharpened again, always on alert.

Joel’s awareness never dulled, not even after all these years.

Every noise, every shift in the wind or crunch of leaves beneath his boots, kept him on edge.

He was always scanning his surroundings, ready to react.

He knew it wasn’t just about the hunt.

It was the way his brain had been wired, after all the years of needing to be ready—whether it was for survival or something worse.

It wasn’t paranoia, just the reality of a mind that had been trained for danger. He told himself.

He didn't see many people. He didn’t want to.

But the thing about always being on edge was that it left little room for rest.

At night, the memories clawed their way in—images he’d rather forget but couldn’t.

Sleep was shallow and rare.

Even when he managed to drift off, he was often jolted awake by some phantom noise or sensation.

And once he was up, it was hard to shake the feeling that something or someone was out there.

He’d get up, check the locks, sometimes even patrol the perimeter of his land just to make sure.

In the quiet of his cabin, with only the crackling of a fire or the hum of the wind for company,

Joel would pour himself a drink.

Whiskey, usually. Something to dull the noise in his head, to take the edge off the constant tension that never quite left him.

But he never drank too much. He couldn’t afford to. He needed to stay sharp, always ready—just in case.

His life wasn’t complicated, and he liked it that way. He didn’t need company or connection, not anymore.

He kept things simple: survival, routine, and the solitude of the Texas wilderness.

It asked nothing of him, and in return, he didn’t have to share the parts of himself he’d buried long ago.

· · ─────

Waking up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat had become part of his routine, and after tossing and turning for hours, Joel would get up, make coffee, and try to focus on the small tasks that anchored him.

The sun was just beginning to rise as Joel Miller pushed the key into the ignition of his truck, the familiar rumble beneath him a small comfort in an otherwise uneasy world.

He had always been an early riser, but lately, the habit had turned into more of a necessity.

Driving out into the quiet Texas morning was one of those tasks.

The roads were mostly empty, and Joel preferred it that way—less to watch for, less noise, fewer things to trust.

He liked things simple.

Routine. Predictable.

After everything, it was easier to stick to what he knew, to keep the world at arm's length.

It was safer.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as his eyes flicked from side to side, scanning the road ahead and the landscape around him.

There was no telling who or what could be out there, even in a sleepy Texas town.

He wasn’t stupid enough to let his guard down, not after everything he'd seen.

Trust was a currency he couldn’t afford to spend, not anymore.

He kept the radio off, preferring the silence. It gave him space to think, to process.

Most of the time, though, it just made him more aware of the quietness around him.

Every little creak or snap of a twig was magnified, every shadow cast by the rising sun something to take note of.

He didn't trust the peaceful exterior of the world anymore.

Too much could change in an instant.

It was exhausting, always being on edge like that, but Joel had learned to live with it.

He couldn’t imagine doing things any other way.

As he drove further down the road toward the camping&outdoor supply store, he caught a glimpse of something moving in the distance—a flicker of motion between the trees.

His heart quickened, and his foot instinctively lifted off the gas pedal.

He slowed down just enough to check the rearview mirror, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the tree line.

Nothing. It could’ve been an animal, but Joel’s mind didn’t let him settle on that.

Even when he convinced himself it was probably just wildlife, he remained alert, tension rippling through his muscles.

"Could be anything," he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tighter. "Ain't takin' chances."

The camping store was a bit of a drive, but Joel didn’t mind.

The solitude of the open road helped him clear his head, as much as his thoughts would let him, anyway.

Hunting was something he could still rely on.

He didn't need anyone else for it, and it gave him an excuse to get away from people.

He wasn’t much for conversation these days, always keeping interactions short and transactional.

He liked the supply store too; the guy who ran it knew not to ask too many questions, just handled the sale and let Joel be.

It suited him fine.

As the store came into view, Joel exhaled, his mind already running through what he needed to pick up.

The truck tires crunched against the gravel as he pulled into the lot, parking in a spot that allowed him a clear view of the entrance and the surrounding area.

Old habits.

Joel turned off the ignition and leaned back in the seat, taking a moment to observe the store.

His hand absentmindedly reached toward the glove compartment, where his gun was stashed, just in case. He didn’t need it often, but knowing it was there kept him grounded.

After a few seconds of scanning the area and feeling satisfied that nothing was amiss, he stepped out of the truck.

The supply store wasn’t busy, just a couple of people browsing inside.

As Joel stepped into the store, the familiar scent of leather and canvas greeted him. Country music hummed low in the background, and the quiet atmosphere brought him a sense of calm.

The simplicity of the place was something he appreciated—straightforward, nothing complicated.

Just the way he liked it.

His boots thudded softly on the wooden floor as he made his way toward the back, scanning the shelves for the hunting gear he needed. It was his routine, one he kept to himself.

The sudden crash jolted him like a gunshot.

Joel’s instincts took over, his body reacting before his mind caught up.

His hand flew to his side, fingers brushing the handle of the knife he always kept on him. His eyes darted around the store, scanning for threats, muscles coiled tight and ready.

He felt that old familiar rush of adrenaline—the kind that came from years of having to be on guard every second.

His heart pounded, the edges of his vision sharpening as he prepared for the worst.

But then, he saw her.

Just a girl. Bending over, trying to gather the gear she’d knocked to the floor. No threat. No danger. Just her.

Joel exhaled slowly, the tension easing out of his shoulders as the world settled back into place.

He let go of the knife, though his pulse still hammered in his ears. He hadn’t been expecting someone like her to trigger that reaction. Not here. Not now.

But for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

She was clumsy, but calm—no panic, no rush to fix what she’d done.

It was as if she was used to things slipping from her hands, not bothered in the slightest. That softness, that ease, it drew him in like nothing else had in a long time.

And even though the tension from the noise had faded, he found himself still rooted to the spot, watching her.

His eyes trailed over her, catching the way her long, soft looking, hair tumbled down her back, how her tender fingers fumbled with the items before her.

She was a mess of soft edges, and he hadn’t seen anything that soft in years.

He’s not used to that.

His world had become hard, sharp, filled with things that made sense, with people who didn’t get too close.

People like him, always on edge, always prepared.

She stood up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and for the first time, Joel saw her face.

Young. Too young. Early twenties, maybe.

Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, her lips parted in what looked like mild embarrassment as she glanced around at the mess she had made.

But it was her eyes that hit him the hardest.

Doe eyed, wide, bright, completely unguarded.

So easy to read.

She looked right at him, her gaze catching his, and Joel’s breath hitched in his chest.

What was this girl doing? Looking at him like that?

She wasn’t supposed to look at him that way—not with that kind of openness, that kind of… trust.

Her blush deepened as her gaze flickered to the ground, but not before Joel saw it creep up her neck, warming her face.

She was blushing because of him.

When was the last time that happened?

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, her voice light, soft, but not the irritating kind of soft.

It was smooth in a way that made something settle in Joel’s chest. Normally, he hated small talk.

People’s voices grated on him. But hers didn’t.

Her voice wrapped around him, warm and gentle, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, Joel didn’t hate it.

“I didn’t see you there,” she continued, letting out a nervous laugh, her hands brushing against the fallen gear.

“I swear, I’m always knocking things over.” She smiled shyly, that blush still clinging to her cheeks, and Joel’s chest tightened again.

She was yapping—just rambling on in a way that would’ve made him turn his back on anyone else. But he couldn’t move.

He was locked in place, listening to her soft, musical voice as if it was something he hadn’t heard in years.

Maybe because it was. Maybe because no one ever talked to him like this anymore.

Most people avoided him.

They saw the hard set of his jaw, the cold glint in his eyes, and they stayed far, far away.

And that was just how he liked it. Less mess, less trouble.

But not her. She was still standing there, babbling about how clumsy she was, her voice a soft hum in his ears.

Joel felt something shift inside him, something he wasn’t sure he liked. He didn’t know her.

Shouldn’t care about her babbling, or the way her scent—something fresh and sweet—drifted toward him, making his head swim.

But here he was, standing there, drinking in her voice, her scent, like he hadn’t been around anyone like her in years.

Which, to be fair, he hadn’t.

Joel cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak, though his voice came out rougher than he’d intended. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he muttered, his words gruff, but his feet still rooted to the spot.

Her smile widened, and her eyes lit up.

The warmth in them caught him off guard. He wasn’t prepared for that.

“Thanks for not laughing at me,” she said with a small, bashful laugh, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her jacket. “Most people would’ve.”

Joel’s brow furrowed. “Why would I laugh?”

She shrugged, glancing at the gear still scattered on the floor. “I’m kind of a mess.”

Her words didn’t sit right with him. How could someone like her—someone so soft, so full of light—call herself a mess? He is a mess.

But before he could respond, she smiled again, her lips curving up in that sweet way that made his chest tighten all over again.

And that scent… God, he couldn’t place it, but it clung to her, swirling around him like a warm blanket.

His mind raced, cataloging every little detail about her.

Her soft pretty eyes. The way her smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle just a little. The way she smelled, like fresh air and something sweet. Vanilla?

He was reading her, studying her like he used to study his surroundings, picking up on every detail.

But none of it made sense. She didn’t make sense.

Normally, he’d be long gone by now. His thoughts already moving on.

But she was still talking, still smiling up at him, and instead of walking away, he just… stared.

She cleared her throat again, glancing down at her hands before looking back up at him.

“Do you work around here?” she asked, her voice a little softer now, a little shyer.

Joel blinked, realizing he hadn’t said a damn thing in what felt like minutes.

He shook his head. “Nah, just pickin’ up some things.” His voice sounded foreign to him—rough, cold, not at all the kind of tone that matched the warmth she was giving him.

But she didn’t seem bothered by it. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, her lips curving up in that smile again.

“Oh, cool. What are you picking up?”

Joel stared at her, unsure of why she was still talking to him, still smiling at him.

But he found himself answering her anyway. “Just some gear. Hunting stuff.”

Her eyes brightened, her smile widening even more. “Oh, hunting! That’s cool. I’ve never been, but I always thought it seemed kind of… peaceful, you know? Just you and nature.”

Peaceful? Joel had never thought of hunting as peaceful. Necessary, sure. But peaceful? Not in the way she was describing.

He grunted, not sure how to respond, but she just kept smiling, her voice still light, still soft.

“Oh, gosh,” she said, standing up with a bundle of fallen gear in her hands, a sheepish smile on her face. “I could never hurt an animal, though. I don’t know how people do it. Like, I get hunting and all, but... me? No way. I’d be useless out there.”

Joel’s brow furrowed, still caught between the sharp edge of his earlier reaction and the softness of her voice.

“Right,” he muttered, nodding slightly, feeling more awkward than he had in years.

“Well,” Joel grunted, his voice a little rougher than intended, “it ain’t about enjoyin’ it. It’s necessary. You do what you gotta do.”

And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t understand why he didn’t just walk away.

He should’ve. He should’ve grabbed what he needed and left.

But something about her—her scent, her smile, her softness—kept him rooted in place.

He wasn’t good at this. Talking. Interacting. Especially not with someone like her—someone who looked at him like he wasn’t something to be avoided.

But she was smiling at him, her eyes wide and innocent, like she wasn’t aware of how the world really worked.

Before he could say anything else, he saw her blush deepen, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket.

She was nervous, but not in the way people usually got around him.

She wasn’t scared. She wasn’t backing away.

She was blushing because of him.

Hm?

As the awkward silence stretched between them, Joel cleared his throat, the sound rough and abrupt.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been standing there, just staring at her while she kept talking, her soft voice filling the space between them.

He needed to go.

This whole interaction had lasted far too long, longer than he was comfortable with.

His chest tightened with a mix of confusion and frustration, and he could feel the tension creeping into his limbs, urging him to move, to walk away.

She was still smiling at him, her eyes bright, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him.

“Right,” Joel muttered, his voice gruffer than he intended.

“I should… get goin’.” He nodded awkwardly toward the hunting gear in his hand, using it as an excuse to leave.

Her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes flickering with a hint of confusion.

“Oh, sure! No problem,” she said quickly, her voice still sweet, but there was something softer in it now, like she wasn’t quite sure what she’d done wrong.

Joel could feel her eyes on him as he turned away, the tension in his shoulders growing with every step he took.

He forced himself to keep walking, not allowing himself to glance back, not letting himself think about the way her scent still lingered in the air around him.

As he pushed open the door of the shop, the cool air hit his face, a stark contrast to the warmth that had been building inside him.

He needed to get out of there. Now.

“Have a good day!” she called after him, her voice still light, still warm.

Joel didn’t respond.

He just kept walking, his boots heavy against the gravel as he made his way to his truck, his mind already trying to shove the whole interaction into the back of his mind.

It shouldn’t have affected him like that.

Joel climbed into his truck, the door creaking as it shut with a heavy thud.

The sun was setting, casting a golden light over the horizon, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he sat there, staring straight ahead.

He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had settled deep in his chest.

That girl—he couldn’t get her out of his head. It didn’t make sense.

Her smile. The way her cheeks flushed when she looked at him.

The softness in her voice, the way she smelled—fresh, sweet, and somehow... so pure.

His brow furrowed as the memory tugged at him, gnawing at the edges of his mind like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

He hadn’t felt like this in years—hadn’t felt much of anything, to be honest.

And yet, there it was. Something stirring inside him, something he couldn’t ignore.

With a grunt, he turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life.

He needed to get his mind straight, back to reality, back to the things that actually mattered.

Surviving.

Not some girl in a supply shop.

It couldn’t be because of her.

But as he shifted the truck into gear, his grip on the wheel tightened even more.

He couldn’t deny the physical reaction in his body—the tension building low in his gut, the heat rising through his chest.

Joel shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his breath catching for a moment.

He hadn’t even noticed it before, hadn’t allowed himself to.

But now, as he adjusted himself, the realization hit him with a force that nearly knocked the breath out of his lungs.

He was hard.

His heart pounded in his chest, the weight of it settling low in his gut.

How long had it been?

He couldn’t even remember the last time he felt like this, the last time his body reacted this way.

But it couldn’t be because of the girl in the shop, right?

“Jesus.” He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening as he fought the urge to dwell on it. “There was no way.”

She was just a kid. I mean, a woman sure. But so young, soft, innocent.

Completely the opposite of everything he was—everything he’d become.

Joel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened even further, his mind racing.

This was wrong. He shouldn’t be thinking about her like this, shouldn’t be feeling this way.

But the more he tried to push it down, the more it rose to the surface.

Her voice, the way she’d blushed when she looked at him, the scent of her clinging to the air around her like a warmth he hadn’t known he needed.

Joel shifted again, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. He’d drive home, clear his mind, and forget about it.

Forget about her.

But as he drove down the empty road, the tension in his body only seemed to build. It had been years. Years since anyone, or anything, had made him feel like this.

And the truth gnawed at him, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

It was because of her.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

moodboard:

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

New series incoming!! Thank you for the nice comments, they make me the most motivated to keep writing. :)

[wszczebrzyszynie]

turns out theres way more than 3 people who enjoy my self indulged slavic minecraft fanarts. so hm. more polish folk clothes kreatura grian

[puppyeared]

(guy who has never played cotl) haha au time

[redpapercraness]

bring me brightness

[httpknjoon]

catching morning ghosts | jjk

plot | Before leaving the beach house, one of yours and Jungkook's friends caught something unbelievable.

words | 1.8k+

genres | fluff, crack,  secret relationship au, established relationship au, friends to lovers au

pairing | jungkook x reader

note | finished writing this while watching bangbangcon earlier. oh, I miss my ot7 so much! anyway enjoy reading! finale is coming!

main masterlist  |  drabble series masterlist

It was an early morning on the beach.

The distant sound of ocean waves plays as background music while Blaire and Jenny both clean up around the bonfire you guys set up last night. They were the earliest to wake up so they decided to do the cleaning while waiting for the others. It was agreed that you guys would go home on Sunday morning to rest at your own homes before going busy again. 

“Oh, god. I think I drank too much last night.” Jenny groaned as she picked up an empty can of beer. “I don’t remember how I even got into my room.”

Blaire laughed, “Jen, you didn’t. You somehow ended up sleeping on the kitchen floor, you scared the hell out of Dara! Wooshik had to carry you up to your room.”

Jenny scratched the back of her head. She definitely doesn’t remember any of that. The last thing she did that she can recall clearly is handing you your third can of beer while singing along to some song Jungkook plays on Wooshik’s guitar. She can also recall Dara casually leaning on Wooshik while chatting with Blaire.

“What time is it?” Jenny turned to Blaire after they finished cleaning within a few minutes.

Blaire checks her phone, “It’s almost 7:30. They still have like half an hour.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go get my bags and maybe check on the others too.”

Blaire nods and Jenny goes back inside the house. Before going straight to her room, Jenny began knocking on everyone’s door. For her first victim, she knocked on Wooshik’s door. It took exactly four knocks before Jenny heard, “I’m already awake!”. With that, she moved to Dara’s, who quickly opened the door.

“Oh, good morning.” Dara greeted her. The youngest in your group was already prepared to leave and all freshened up. She was just putting on her favorite earrings when Jenny knocked. “Is everyone ready?”

Jenny chuckled, “Actually, you’re the first one to open the door.”

“I thought Wooshik’s up already?” Dara asked. “He messaged me like minutes ago.”

“Yeah, he is. But he didn’t open the door. I still haven’t checked on YN and JK.” she explained. 

“Oh, okay… Anyway, you go check on them. I’ll make us coffee after I’m done with my bags.” Dara offers, earning a nod from Jenny.

As Dara closed her door, Jenny moved on to Jungkook’s door. And it seems like one, two, three couple of knocks are not enough as she hasn’t got any response from him. So, Jenny called his name while continuously knocking.

“Jungkook?”

“Jungkook?”

“Jungkook?”

“Jungkook?”

You groaned as you shifted in your sleep. Eyes still closed, you snuggled closer to the familiar warmth you can feel next to you. Inhaling his scent, your head lays on his chest comfortably while he holds your back. 

“Jungkook?”

After another call of his name, you tapped softly on Jungkook’s chest, whispering, “Babe.”

“Hmm?” Jungkook simply hummed in response.

“Jenny. Door.”

With how cozy and half-asleep you two are, you were too lazy to get up and have proper sentences in your conversation. You kept your eyes closed, comfortable on his skin, even though you wanted him to answer the door. Jungkook didn’t get up immediately either. As soon as he opens his eyes, he plants a kiss on the top of your head. You slowly moved your head and looked up at him, already with a smile on your lips.

“Whatever, I’m checking on YN then.”

“Ow!”

Your eyes widened. Jungkook panicked and fell on the wooden floor since he was lying on the edge of the bed. His fall resulted in a thud noise.  Shocked, you covered your mouth while your boyfriend rushed to go get to the door. With his butt still feeling a little numb, Jungkook opened the door, covering any chance that Jenny might see who is the other person inside. He had to cross his arms over his chest as he didn’t get the chance to put his shirt he left on the floor.

“Oh, hey, Jen.” Jungkook greeted her, trying to be as casual as he could.

Your best friend’s brows furrowed. She can feel something strange with this messy-haired guy in front of her, but she cannot just point it out. Plus, she heard that thud.

Nonetheless, she tried to shake it off, clearing her throat, “Uh, we’re leaving at 8.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course– I’ll go prepare. And my stuff too. That too.” 

Jungkook’s tongue was rambling with words and all you can do is listen on his bed while you watch his back conversing with your lovely best friend, who you wish is not suspicious of any of this. 

“Okay, you go do that. I’ll wake up YN–”

“Wait!”

Jenny was ready to knock on your door next to Jungkook’s but your boyfriend stopped her. Knowing that no one would answer those knocks since you are obviously nowhere there, Jungkook cuts her off.

“I’ll do that.”

“Why?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh… uh… you know… since we’re leaving in the same car, I can help her with her bags.” Jungkook tries to reason out.

“I know that, Jungkook. I’m just gonna wake her up,” she replied, still finding Jungkook’s actions a little strange.

“But she–”

Ping! A notification sound interrupted their weird conversation. Jenny checked her phone in her hand and immediately saw a text message from you.

From YN

i’m up! no need to check on me. i can literally hear u and jk outside. lemme just take a quick shower.

After reading that, Jenny looked at Jungkook and showed him your text message. It was like someone lifted the weights on Jungkook’s chest as he can breathe better now with your solution.

“I’ll go get my bags then. Don’t go back to bed, okay?” Jenny told him before leaving for her room.

You watched as your boyfriend sighed while closing the door behind him. He picked up his shirt and put it on before sitting on the bed. You scooched closer to him and hugged him.

“That was painful to watch.” you giggled.

His shoulders fell, “We should really tell them about us soon.”

“Yeah, maybe when we get back to the city? I think Wooshik knows already,” you said

“Huh? Why?” he asked, turning his head to you.

“He literally called me Princess last night when I was taking photos of Bam.” 

“He did?” he asked and you nodded. Unexpectedly, he wrapped you in an embrace, making you two fall back on the soft mattress of the bed, “No one gets to call you that except me!”

You simply laughed at that. You two ended up cuddling on the bed for no more than five minutes before you tapped him again to let you go so you could finally go back to your room.

“I should go change before we go,” you whispered.

Jungkook agreed, lifting his arm on your waist. He would usually request for five more minutes but he knew that your friends were already up. He followed behind you as you walked to the door. Just when you opened the door, Jungkook pulled you into him, immediately leaning down to peck your lips. He sees your lips form into a smile as he pulls away.

“Can’t let you start your day without a morning kiss,” he mumbled.

“Of course–”

“Guys?”

Two hearts dropped on the floor. You and Jungkook snapped your heads to the side where you heard someone say something. You instantly meet eyes with Dara, who’s currently frozen in place. Her bags fell from her hands when she witnessed you and Jungkook kissing. You two let go of each other, taking a few steps away for more space in between.

“Oh, hey, Dara?” you chuckled awkwardly. “Good morning?”

“Yeah, good morning, Dara.” Jungkook greeted her two, scratching his hair.

It took your innocent friend a few more seconds before processing everything. Her index finger points to you two as if asking if you and Jungkook are together. She was speechless, to say the least. Both of you nodded slowly. You raised your index finger in front of your lips before saying,

“Please?”

As soon as she understood it, Dara nodded, “O-Okay. I’ll go make coffee.”

Even though she was still confused and surprised about everything, Dara walked down the stairs with her things to remove herself from this awkward situation. Left alone, you and Jungkook looked at each other before you walked back to your room.

“Hi, Bam… What are you doing outside, buddy?”

Jenny was putting her bag in the trunk of Blaire’s car when she spotted Bam walking towards her, bringing something in his mouth. She was petting his head when she noticed it.

“What’s that?”

She leaned down and reached for that something in between Bam’s teeth. It did not take long for her to identify what it was. Her eyes widened as she held the plain green string bikini top in front of her face.

“Jen, what’s that?” Blaire, who just walked out of the beach house with a cup of coffee in her hand, asked. “Whose bikini is that?”

“I… don’t know. It’s like something Bam saw in the sand there.” Jenny replied, dumbfounded.

“Hmm. No one really stayed here except us.” Blaire said.

As if on cue, you and Jungkook walk out of the house with your bags to put them in his Jeep. Even though you were the one who let Bam out of the house earlier, you are unaware he brought a gift for everyone. You greeted Bam as he followed behind you to Jungkook’s car. That’s when you felt Jenny looking at you.

“What’s going on?”

“Bam brought this.” Jenny showed the green bikini, slinging in her finger.

Your eyes widened, immediately recognized what it was. It was yours. But you lost it last night after going to a quick night swimming with your boyfriend. Since it was already dark, you two had a hard time looking for your top after you got off the water. Jungkook let you wear his shirt instead before you sneaked back to the beach house.

“Oh, it’s YN’s,” Jungkook replied casually while organizing the bags. You almost shut him off.

“How… did you know?” your best friend asked. Her suspicions about Jungkook from earlier are just growing.

You watched as Jungkook stopped what he was doing and thought for a second. “Uh, I heard her complaining about losing something.”

Jenny looks at you for confirmation. You nodded and took the said piece of clothing from her.

“That’s right. Thank you, Jen. I probably left it on my room’s floor or somewhere.” you reasoned out nervously.

Although she squinted her eyes for a quick second, Jenny didn’t say anything and left you and Jungkook alone. Instantly after that, Jungkook chuckled. You glared at him in exchange.

‘I swear I’ll never go skinny dipping with you again.”

He lowered his sunglasses, “I doubt that, Princess.”

TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@hobiuwusunshine @alinerl @daydreamiies @craftymoonchaos @awseokjin @yoonabeo @luvrsofbts @bloopkook @chvngbiin @takochelle @wildarmy @cuddlysoftbear @luv-minhyun-world @shydestinyyouth @bbtsficrecs @fan-ati--c @rjsmochii @jkbabiey @hopeworldjimin @chieftoadturkeynickel @ppeachyttae @tannies-luv @loomipee @sanctify-mp3 @stuffy1985 @di0rgguk @tswisal1 @amara-mars @jksgirlhere @callmejimmeo @rapmonie2047 @daemontargaryenwhore @juju-227592

[bakudekublogblog]

the funniest part about coming to mha late, was I knew bkdk was extremely controversial and had seen some of the discourse about from the outside, so when I finally decided to watch it I was shocked to discover just how much of the plot revolved around izuku having a huge crush on kacchan

[mirukiamauri]

Aipri as well will collab with Sanrio! Here are all the pairings!

[orbitsuns]

[pearlessance]

Our Little Secret [part two]

[PART ONE]

Summary - Joel Miller has commited an act of sin with the girl next door and seeks out penance.

Pairing - dbf!Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings - explicit sexual content MDNI, angst, infidelity (not against reader or Joel), heavy on the breeding kink towards the end, jealousy, oral sex, unprotected sex

[crossposted on AO3]

Joel’s fears return with the sun and are amplified tenfold when he wakes up alone. 

You must have come to your senses, he thinks. Must have finally seen him for the terrible man he truly is and escaped while you still could. Like fleeing from a predator's clutches; because that’s what he was, wasn’t it? A predator? A man who exploits young girls for his own benefit, who takes advantage of them in an act of personal desire. His stomach turns. 

Except that isn’t the whole truth. It isn’t the plural form of girls, it’s just one. Just you. You, who he wants to nurture, to protect, to take care of in the way a man is supposed to take care of a woman. You, who entices him with short skirts and soft touches and tempting words about keeping you all to himself. They must have been words said in the afterglow of sex, Joel tells himself. They didn’t mean anything. Right? Endorphins were high because all of that long laid, pent up sexual tension finally came to fruition. But it was over now, and Joel was alone. Again. 

The abrupt shattering of glass slashes through his bleak thoughts. He wrenches himself out of bed, takes the stairs two at a time, and stops in the kitchen. 

You’re still here, and Joel can breathe a little easier, but there’s glass at your bare feet, and that’s a problem. “Don’t move,” he says. He turns to grab the broom, but out of the corner of his eye he sees movement and repeats a little harsher this time, “Don’t. Move.”

“I wanted to bring you breakfast in bed,” you say, your lips pushed out into the cutest little pout. 

He sweeps the glass away from you, careful to get every last piece, and dumps the shards into the trash can. It’s only then, when he knows for certain the risk of harm has well and truly passed and he’s the only threat to you left in the room, that Joel can appreciate the sight before him. There’s a heaping plate full of pancakes on the counter, a mug of steaming coffee, and the orange juice carton, unopened, is sitting beside two forks. The pancake on the top of the stack has chocolate chips in it. 

Maybe its because he never thought you’d actually do it, or maybe it’s because of the grim mood he’d just been in, but Joel finds himself feeling appreciative for more than just breakfast. It reminds him of that morning all those years ago, when you’d been in his kitchen wearing his flannel. He wonders if you still have it, if you still wear it, if you still put it on and think of him late at night. You’re wearing something new this time. It’s just an old, faded t-shirt Joel had forgotten about at the back of his closet, one he hadn’t worn in years. It swallows you up. It’s long enough to cover all of your most intimate parts, and yet somehow you still make it look sexy and erotic and slutty.

He knows it's wrong. He knows its a terrible, awful idea���but it’s the next morning and you’re still here and Joel just cant’t help himself. He smiles softly at you. “It’s okay,” he promises. He closes the distance between you, crowding you against the counter. He puts his hands on your hips and you look up at him with parted lips. “I won’t make it back upstairs anyway. I’m too hungry.”

You put your hands on his bare chest, delicate, red painted nails scratching softly against his skin. “Is that right?”

Joel nods, and decides to soak up the moment. Your hair is tangled around your shoulders, and you smell like him, and your makeup is smeared around your eyes, and he thinks you’re beautiful. He never wants to forget the way you look right now, in his clothes, in his kitchen, in his hands. He can’t help himself from leaning his head against your shoulder and kissing the juncture of your collar bone. He can’t help himself from tasting you, from using his teeth, from leaving a bruise to make certain he’s in your head for a few more days. He wants the sound of your breathy moan embedded in his fucking brain, wants it stamped in his skin. “Yes,” he answers, lifting you up with his big arms around your waist and setting you on the counter. “I’m starving, actually.”

Starved is such a perfect term for it, he thinks. Because Joel lowers himself to his knees before you, and his mouth waters like he hasn’t eaten in days. He massages the supple flesh of your thighs, presses his mouth to the inside, and leaves marks there, too. He has suffered for so, so long without you. And if you come to your senses, he wants you to think of him every time you look in a mirror. 

He wants you to think of him and the way he makes you feel, wants you to think of the way your legs part for him on instinct, like your body knows him. If you come to your senses, Joel wants you to remember for the rest of your fucking life how it feels to have his tongue inside of you, to have your clit between his lips, to have your hands in his hair. 

He wants you to remember what it’s like to grind your pretty pussy on his face, what it’s like to have his fingers inside of you, what it’s like to shake and tremble at his touch and whine when he pulls away moments before you cum. He wants you to remember the lingering taste of yourself in his mouth when he kisses you, wants you to remember how fucking perfect it feels when he pulls his cock out of his sweatpants and buries it deep inside you. You like it when he pushes in so far there’s no telling where you end and he begins, Joel knows. You make the prettiest sounds, and your hands grip his shoulders a little tighter. You’re so needy for him it’s unreal, so reactive, so perfect. He wants you to remember what it feels like when he kisses you with all the love he has left in him, hoping you can hear the words in his movements. He wants you to remember what it feels like to cum on his cock and leave a mess on the counter.

Joel wants you to remember what it’s like to be so desperate for him you call out for God.

When the two of you finally get around to eating the breakfast you spent all morning making, the pancakes are cold and the coffee is tepid. Joel wonders why it’s still the best cup he’s ever had.

After breakfast, your cell phone buzzes. It’s a voicemail from campus housing, and Joel realizes you can’t stay here in his kitchen forever. You help him clean up the dishes, and the counter where he made a mess of you, and then you abandon his old, faded t-shirt and pull your dress back on. He helps you find your shoes (and conveniently fails to mention the pink panties still stuck between the couch cushions. Joel is a terrible, sordid man, and stealing a bit of lace is the least of his recent transgressions). You pick up the Evil Dead DVD, and start to leave. 

But just as your fingers touch the handle, the door is swinging open and Sarah is standing in the threshold.

Joel doesn’t know what to do. His heart is stuck in his throat, and he sort of feels like a kid again, being caught by Tommy while sneaking back in through his window. He doesn’t know how to explain, doesn’t know where to begin, is terrified his daughter will begin to see him differently, or— 

“Perfect timing,” you say, and Joel is more confused than he’s ever been in his life. “Here.” You hand the DVD to Sarah, who’s face splits into a grin the moment she reads the title. “I have to head back to campus today, but wanted to give this to you before I go. Figured you’d get more use out of it than I would.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!”

“Language,” Joel chastises. 

You and Sarah both turn your heads to him simultaneously, and shoot him mirrored dismissive looks. Joel knows his only child is older now, growing into a young woman with a colorful vocabulary, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hear it.

Sarah turns to you, cheery demeanor falling away. “I wish you could stay,” she says. “I miss having you around.”

Joel does too, but he keeps his mouth sealed firmly shut. 

When you’re gone, he feels empty. He falls back into his normal routine of work and beer and pool, and you leave town to finish up your school year, and the only time he ever hears about you is when your dad drinks a couple too many and talks about you over the football game on TV. Joel hears about how you finish your junior year of college, still with those straight A's, and he feels the need to express how proud he is of you. Because he really, really is…but it’s your dad’s job to gush about what an extraordinary woman you’ve become. Not Joel’s. So, he keeps his mouth shut about that, too. 

He thinks about the saying distance makes the heart grow fonder, and thinks it’s such bullshit. Because the longer you’re away, the more he realizes how stupid he’s been. How dispicable and sleazy he’s been, how he could have potentially fucked up not only his relationship with his very best friend but with his own daughter, too. You deserve more than what he can offer, Joel knows. You deserve someone to experience being a young adult with, someone who you can relate to, someone who can take care of you for the rest of your life. You deserve someone better than Joel, and even though it hurts to admit, he does it. Distance has made his heart grow smarter.

Sarah graduates, and you stay in town for only two days to attend her graduation party. Your dad offers to host the celebration in his backyard, and Joel reminisces about your graduation party. He remembers how pretty you looked, how happy you were that day. And when you come back to town to celebrate his daughter, he loves that you’re still so bubbly and airy and carefree. He loves that you spend an entire day with Sarah picking out decorations and hanging up streamers and ordering cupcakes and making a poster board filled with Sarah’s favorite pictures.

During the party, you’re leaning your shoulder against the fence, red solo cup in hand, talking to Tommy. You’re wearing a black skirt that’s too short, too tight, and you have a pretty pink blouse tucked into it. When you cross one leg casually over the other, Joel realizes you have a run in your sheer, black tights. How did that get there, he wonders? He wonders too, why you’re giggling like that when Tommy just isn’t that fucking funny. 

Joel crosses the yard and twists off the top of his beer. “You two enjoying yourselves?”

“Yeah! It’s been a great turn out, and she seems happy,” you say, nodding to Sarah on the other side of the yard. She’s talking to a group of girls in her class.

“You did great with her yesterday, you know,” Tommy tells you. “You’d be a great mom. When’s it your turn to have babies?”

“Oh, God,” you say. Joel hears the echo of a very, very different sounding ‘oh, god,’ and takes a hefty sip of beer. “Probably not anytime soon.”

“No? Why not? Finish college first, of course, but after that?”

You only have one year left of school. There’s no rush. Why is his brother so interested in your contribution to procreation, anyway? It’s fucking weird, Joel thinks. 

“Maybe one day. I’d have to find the right man first,” you say. “You know, do it real traditional.”

“Any prospects lined up?”

“Christ, Tommy,” Joel sneers. “Leave the poor girl alone, would you?” He has no room to talk, Joel knows…but he can’t help himself. Not around you, anyway. His self control goes out of the window. 

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “And…no. No prospects.”

Tommy shakes his head in disbelief. “Now I know you’ve got all those big city boys up there waiting on you to give them a little attention. A girl like you?” He sucks in an exaggerated breath. “You’d get scooped up real fast.”

“That’s the problem though, isn’t it,” you say dismally. “They’re all boys. I said I want a man.” 

Joel can’t believe the words he’s hearing. Can’t believe how you could be so obvious, but how Tommy could still manage to look completely oblivious. He’s relieved when Sarah steals you away to introduce you to a friend. 

Joel helps your dad prepare the grill, and they talk about how crazy it is that both of their girls are grown up now. They talk about how old they’re getting, and how fast time flies, but Joel can’t pay attention because he can feel you. Can sense when you steal a glance at him from across the yard, because goosebumps break out across the back of his neck. He watches you disappear into the house, and excuses himself to follow you. 

He shouldn’t. Joel knows this. But, Christ, is he bad at following his instincts. He finds you on the tips of your toes, hands in the liquor cabinet, and wants to laugh at the irony. History repeats itself, it seems. He stands behind you with a hand on your hip and reaches for the half empty bottle of tequila. He sets it on the counter and when you don’t even turn to look at him he says indignantly, “You’re welcome.”

You wiggle the cork free and take a swig straight from the bottle. “You want me to thank you? For what, exactly?”

Truthfully, Joel doesn’t understand your bad attitude. He doesn’t understand why you’re so happy and bubbly to everyone else, but for some reason seem so… dissapointed with him. Joel might be a pervert when it comes to you, but he’s never, ever done anything you didn’t ask him for first. And it’s not fair, he thinks, that you get whatever you want. You get to go off to college and fuck boys that leave you unsatisfied. Because Joel knows Tommy was right — he knows they’re lined the fuck up for you. He’s not stupid. You get to leave him, and live your life, while Joel is forced to stay right where he is and think of you. You, you, you, all the fucking time. It’s not fair. If anyone should be angry, it’s him. “Oh, I dont know,” he says sarcastically. “Maybe for keeping all of your secrets.”

You turn to face him and lean your back against the counter. You’re in the same exact spot you were the first time you kissed his cheek, except this time you’re narrowing your eyes at him instead. “They’re your secrets now, Joel,” you tell him. “Not mine.”

“How are they not yours?”

“Because I don’t give a shit if the whole world knows them,” you say. “I don’t care if everyone here finds out what a slut I am. I don’t care if my dad finds out I fucked his best friend. But you do. Which makes them your secrets.” 

He doesn’t understand. “Are you saying you want him to find out?” The thought alone chokes him with anxiety. It would change everything — everything. No one would ever look at him the same. His perversion would be loudly on display. “Are you insane?”

“No, Joel,” you say. “I’m not insane. I just don’t lie to myself.”

“I don’t—”

“Then tell me right now you don’t want to be with me.” 

He’s in way over his head, Joel thinks. He doesn’t know how to navigate this, doesn’t know how to explain to you that it has nothing to do with what he wants and everything to do with what he is. He can’t lie, not to you, so he says nothing. Not yes or no, just nothing.

It’s answer enough, though, and when you speak again your voice is a whisper, a breath of life into a brand new secret. “You can have me,” you say. “I want to be yours. I think I always have been. Please, Joel… please.”

He hates the way you sound. He wants to fix it, but doesn’t know how. So, he does what he’s good at, he does what he knows makes you feel good. Joel kisses you hard, and savors the taste of cherry because something tells him this might be the last time. Your mouth opens, and your tongue is so soft against his, and he can’t get enough. Does it make him a bad person to want you so badly? Twenty-one-almost-twenty-two is a fair bit of life lived, isn’t it? Maybe it could work. Maybe he wouldn’t drag you down or keep you in Texas when you’re meant for far bigger things.

Joel slips his hand between your thighs and lets out a ragged moan when he realizes that you’re wearing nothing beneath your skirt. It’s just the nylon fabric of your tights, and he can feel the wetness gathering, can taste you on the tip of his tongue like a word he can’t quite remember. Joel wants a refresher. “Fuck, baby,” he sighs, forehead resting against yours. “I need you to be real quiet for me, okay? Can you do that?”

You nod frantically, and Joel gets on his knees. He pushes the fabric of your skirt up your legs and it bunches around your hips. He rips the nylon tights apart, giving him a perfect, unobstructed view of your pussy, shiny with desire. Desire he created, desire that belongs to him and him alone. Pride fills him when he thinks about it for too long. 

He doesn’t waste a second. Joel worships you like a man starved, and wonders if he’ll ever be satisfied. Wonders if he’ll ever get his fill of the sweetness between your thighs, wonders if he’ll ever tire of hearing you whimper. He licks at your clit, leaving no part of you untouched, and his cock strains in the confines of his jeans. Just tasting you has him teetering on the edge of release, but he wants this to be about you. He wants to show you how much you mean to him, wants you to know that just because he can’t be with you doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be. He slips two fingers into you and curls them upward, and you have to cover your mouth with your hand because you promised to be quiet. 

Joel makes you cum in his mouth, and feels like maybe his place in the world is right fucking here, on his knees for you, because its the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. Better than cherry, he thinks. But not as good as it feels to be inside of you. 

He turns you around and shoves your chest down against the counter. As he unbuckles his belt, he presses a kiss to your spine and says, “You want a real man, is that right?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “Yes. I want you.”

Joel slides the tip of his cock through your slick, lips turning up at the corners as you roll your hips back towards him. “I know you do, sweetheart,” he says. “Slutty girls need a little bit more, don’t they?”

You nod, a desperate whine coming from your chest. “Yes, yes—please, Joel, please.”

His name in your mouth is the end of his restraint. He eases into you, memorizing how it feels to stretch you out, memorizing how tight your pussy is, how fucking perfect it feels wrapped around him. Joel kisses your cheek softly and buries himself inside of you completely. “I want you to think about me,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, hips rolling against yours slowly. “When you go back to school and do this with all those other boys, I want you to think about me.”

He pulls out at an agaonizingly slow pace, and slams into you without warning. Your hand over your mouth barely muffles the sound. “Fuck.”

“They can’t make you feel like this, can they, baby?”

“Mm’no,” you answer, and Joel rewards you with another hard, deep stroke. “Just you, Joel, just you, just you, just you.”

It’s a prayer, he knows. He can feel the devotion in your words, and the piety makes him ache. Is this how it’s supposed to be? Is it supposed to feel like this? Like pain, like loss, like finality? Like intensity, like consumption, like religion? Joel wants to say it. He wants to say it so fucking bad. He says something disgusting instead. “This pussy was made for me, you understand?” He reaches beneath you, and his fingers swipe over your clit, and your legs start to shake. “It’s all me, pretty girl. It’s all fucking mine.”

You clench around him, and he has to hold you up to keep you from falling. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and Joel wants to stay inside of you forever. “Yours,” you say softly. “I’m yours, Joel.”

Oh, how pretty you sound, he thinks. He’s going to miss this. He’s going to miss you so fucking bad. And because he may never get another chance to say it, Joel decides to make one more really fucked up, awful decision. 

He decides to tell the truth. 

When he spills his cum inside of you, he buries himself as deep as he can. He kisses your forehead and murmurs, “I love you, baby.”

He feels lighter, now that the words are no longer trapped in his chest cavity. You don’t say anything, and he’s not sure what that means, but Joel knows it’s not smart to stay like this. So he pulls out of you, tucks himself back into his jeans, and fixes your skirt.

The door flys open, and Joel is absolutely fucking mortified to see your father and Tommy walk into the kitchen. 

You uncork the tequila and raise the bottle to the air, cheeks flushed but easily passable as a buzz. “To growing up,” you say proudly. You take a swig and gimace at the taste.

Joel pulls the whiskey from the cupboard and pours shots for himself, your dad, and Tommy. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you pulling at the ends of your skirt, barely covering the rip in your tights. 

“To graduations,” your dad says. “Sarah’s today, and another one of yours next year.” He tilts the shot glass toward you before tossing the liquid back. 

Tommy raises his glass. “To hopefully getting little nieces or nephews soon!” 

Joel thinks his brother is drunk on shitty beer. Joel also thinks about his cum between your legs. He raises his glass. “To getting old,” he says, though he’s not particularly happy about it. The whiskey feels good going down. It acts as a buffer to shield him temporarily against the truth that gnaws at his psyche; he’s going to lose you. 

Sarah decides to attend college at the same university as you, and Joel can’t help but be a little nervous. It’s your senior year, and Sarah’s only a freshman, and Joel knows she’s going to cling to you, and you’re going to let her, and he isn’t sure how he feels about Sarah hanging out with people older than her. 

It turns out okay, from what he can tell, though. It’s weird to have an empty home, but he fills his time with work and helping your dad renovate your house. Joel doesn’t hear from you. Even when you visit during Christmas break, you barely manage to look at him. He doesn’t force the conversation, either. He knows it’s for the best. And that deep, aching feeling in his chest is just something he’ll have to find a way to get over. 

Sarah drones on and on about how much she loves college, about how many friends she has, about how you’re tutoring her in English and how thankful she is when you help get her a job as a barista.

And when the holiday is over, you’re standing outside beside your car, saying goodbye to your dad while Sarah hugs Tommy beside you. Joel approaches, holds his daughter tight, and reminds her to let him know if she needs anything. 

There’s a weird, uncomfortable moment when your eyes meet for the first time all week. It would be weird if he didn’t say goodbye to you, wouldn’t it? It would prompt questions from both Tommy and your father, because the two of you had once been so close. 

You move first. You plaster an awkward smile on your face and wrap your arms around his neck. Joel’s shoulders relax for the first time in months. 

It feels so right to hold you, as easy and painless as breathing. He puts his hands on the small of your back, and his fingers twitch with the urge to slide them down and grab a fistful of your ass. Instead, he holds you tightly and relishes in the feeling of your head on his chest. He lays his cheek against your hair and breathes the sweet scent of vanilla deep into his lungs. “You too,” he says. “Call if you need anything, alright? Anything at all.”

You nod and pull away, and Joel wonders if you know how much he means it. A single phone call and he’d be on the other side of Texas in an hour, because that’s what you mean to him. You’re not his, but he wants to love you like you are.

And he’s given the chance to prove himself just a few short days later. 

He’s watching the soft flakes of snow fall from the sky through his bedroom window when Joel’s phone rings. It’s an unknown number, which he’d normally ignore and block in the morning, but something tells him to answer it. Just this once. So he does, and he’s getting ready to tell the telemarketer to fuck off, but then he hears your voice. 

“Joel? Are you there?”

“What’s wrong?”

You sniffle, and he’s throwing the blanket back and searching for his jeans on the floor. “Nothing,” you say. “It’s…it’s nothing. I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“If it’s nothing, then why are you crying? And why are you calling from an unknown number?”

“My phone’s dead,” you explain. “There’s, uhm—there’s a pay phone outside of my dorm. I didn’t want to wait for my phone to charge.”

Something is off, Joel can feel it in his bones. He holds his phone with his shoulder and pulls on his leather boots. “Talk to me,” he says. 

“Actually, I—I’m sorry. It’s late. This is stupid. I don’t know why I called. I’m sorry. Have a good night, Jo—”

“Baby,” he interrupts. “Baby, baby—don’t hang up. Talk to me. Please talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it, yeah? Tell me.”

You don’t say anything, but Joel can hear you breathing on the other end of the phone, can hear you teetering on the edge of a decision you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about. He understands. He really, really does.

Finally, you sigh heavily and say, “You told me you loved me Joel. You said…you said that and then you just let me leave. You just—you—you…God!”

The hands of guilt wind themselves around his neck and squeeze as realization hits. He is the reason you’re upset, the reason you’re crying, the reason you’re hurting. He hates it more than he’s ever hated anything in his life.

He doesn’t speak. He lets you get it all out, lets you purge your anger and disdain, your disappointment. It’s all rightfully placed, Joel thinks. “You asshole! Why would you do that? How could you say that and then go back to acting like it changed nothing? I’ve tried to get past it but I can’t, Joel! You never should have let me leave or—or you never should have said it if you didn’t mean it! It’s just—I don’t…it hurts! It’s mean! You’re being so—!” 

“I’m sorry,” he interrupts. Rightfully placed or not, he’s not strong enough to hear the sorrow in your voice, not strong enough to hate himself more than he already does. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. He’s not apologizing for it. Joel’s not sorry at all for that overwhelming feeling you elicit in his chest. He’s only sorry he said it, sorry it’s caused you so much pain. If he’d known it would hurt you this much, he would’ve swallowed those words and kept them locked up for the remainder of his life.

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” you say. “I want you to say it again and mean it this time.”

Joel doesn’t understand. It’s cruel, isn’t it, to ask him to do something knowing it will hurt you? He can’t. He’s already done enough damage. He can’t.

“Please,” you whisper. “Please, Joel.”

He runs an exasperated hand down his face, and pressure builds behind his eyes. He can’t. He can’t. How is he supposed to live with himself? How is he supposed to hurt you, this little girl whose life has been made miserable because he couldn’t resist your temptation? 

Joel knows he loves you. And he thinks you know it, too. But saying it opens a wound better off sealed, and he wants to watch you flourish. He wants to watch you become your own person, wants to watch you live a full, satisfied life. And you can’t do that with him. He doesn’t think it’s possible. 

You let out a breath. “It’s snowing,” you say, voice thick with emotion. “It’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, he wants to say. Instead he says, “You deserve someone better.”

“I don’t want someone be—”

“You deserve someone you can relate to, someone you can grow old with.”

“I can grow old with you, J—”

“I’m already old, god dammit. Listen to me. You deserve something that doesn’t hurt,” he interrupts. “You deserve someone who’s good to you, someone your own age who doesn’t make you cry in the middle of the night. You deserve—”

“I don’t care about any of that, okay? All I’ve ever wanted was you.”

You’re making this impossible, he thinks. He drags a hand down his face. The forbidden fruit is in his hands, begging him to take a bite, and he nearly does it. He opens his mouth to say it, to damn all of the consequences and succumb to whatever hellish fate awaits him in the afterlife all to have you for himself, and then—

“Please insert twenty-five cents for an additional three minutes.”

“I have to go,” you say, voice cracking. “I guess I only wanted to say that I love you more, Joel Miller. Because I would have never let you walk away.”

The line goes dead, and Joel’s sitting there in complete silence with one boot laced, and for the first time in all his life he feels himself swell with grief. The loss is so heavy, so final—and he can’t breathe. His lungs are filling up with all the words left unsaid, and he’s afraid that if he digs out the roots you’ve grown in his chest that nothing will ever feel quite the same again.

The pain is there, and it’s smothering, but if not the pain then what else would he have left of you? 

He doesn’t sleep that night. Or the night after that, or the one after that. It takes less than a week of canceling plans and insisting he just has a cold before Tommy is pulling into the driveway and slamming his fists against the door, demanding to know what the hell is going on. 

Joel tells him. Over six shots of whiskey and a panic attack, he confesses all of his sins at the kitchen table to his little brother. He expects Tommy to be angry, or disgusted—but he isn’t even surprised. He says, “Well, shit, Joel,” and runs his hands through his hair. “Now what are you going to do?”

A million dollar question, it seems. He wants to drive up to that big university of yours and knock on every door until he finds your dorm room. He wants to exhale all those words trapped inside his chest cavity and keep you for himself like he’s always wanted. But that’s such a selfish thing to do, Joel thinks. It’s not what’s best for you, or him, or anyone. 

So he does nothing. Even on his fortieth birthday, when he gets a text message that reads Happy Birthday. I still love you more. He doesn’t reply, because he doesn’t know what to say. 

Well, that’s not entirely true—he knows exactly what he wants to say, but chooses to say nothing because if he does it would change his life, your life, the lives of those around you. So Joel suffers in silence and dreams of you instead, repeating the same old habits. 

You and Sarah come home for spring break together. And a boy your age gets out of the passenger seat. You introduce him to your dad, and Joel doesn’t catch his name but doesn’t really want to know, anyway. 

He tries to swallow the anger in his chest. He can’t expect you to live an empty life that mirrors his. That’s not what he wants for you. The whole point of his avoidance was to make sure you were able to live fully, happily, with someone your own age. Even though his brain is calm enough to rationalize this, it doesn’t change the fact that Joel thinks the boy is a terrible match for you. 

Joel’s helping your dad renovate the kitchen, and he’s waited a month so he could get your opinion on a couple things. At the hardware store, the four— five —of you are debating between three different backsplashes. Joel and Sarah stand a foot behind, watching the scene unfold. 

Your dad has a single white, porcelain tile in his hand. “It’s nice and bright,” he says. 

“But you painted the cabinets white,” you argue, holding up the sage green ceramic piece. “Change it up a little. The green would look better, I swear.”

The boy at your side holds a piece of sand colored masonry, and says, “You’re crazy. White on white is no good but neither is green. What is this, a soup kitchen?”

From a contractor’s standpoint, Joel agrees that the  warm toned green would look far better than the cool toned masonry—but it’s not his place for input. He’s only here to help haul the tiles home and grab the tools they need. And even though the way your little boyfriend speaks to you grates against his nerves, Joel says nothing. 

Your dad ends up going with the masonry, calling it a happy medium, but Joel can tell that you're the least happy out of the three. He doesn’t mention it.

Everyone decides on pizza for dinner, and Joel teaches Sarah how to grout tile, and for a single moment everything feels good and normal. Tommy comes over to help with the project, and you’re laughing at something he’s saying with your hands covered in masonry dust, and you seem content—but then your eyes meet from across the room, and Joel feels the Earth tilt on its axis. 

Your smile falters, and your jaw feathers, and you quickly look away but not before he catches the flash of hurt in your pretty eyes. It makes him feel nauseous. Joel abandons his tools and heads for the front door. Sarah asks if he’s alright, and he says he just needs some fresh air. 

Joel can feel the panic attack coming from a mile away. His palms begin to perspire, his chest constricts, he can’t suck in air fast enough. He reminds himself that you’re here—here, and safe, and happy if not for him. You’re fine. Even if he’s not, you are and that’s all that matters. That thought combined with the cold night air helps a little, abates the fingers of grief around his neck, but then he hears it. 

“I know, babe. I’ll be back in town soon. I just need to get through this week and then I’ll take you out to make up for it, alright?” 

Joel freezes. He strains his ears, trying to pick up the rest of the words as his anxiety hones itself into fury. 

“You know I love you more than her. Of course I do.”

He’s off the porch before he can think better of it. The boy you brought home is standing on the side of the house, cell phone pressed to his ear, and his eyes widen when he sees Joel. “I’ve gotta go,” he says quickly, but before he gets a chance to hang up the phone Joel grabs him by his shirt collar and slams him up against the side of the house.

The words come out slow, even—despite the seething rage that fills him. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t knock your teeth down your throat.”

He laughs, actually laughs in Joel’s face and says, “Cause I’ll air out all those dirty little secrets our girl keeps.”

Joel’s grip tightens. The word our grates against his spine.

“What? You don’t like it when people refuse to mind their fucking business? Me either,” he says. “So let me go, or I’ll tell them everything.”

“Let me tell you what’s actually gonna happen,” Joel says, slamming him against the siding, relishing in the gasp of pain he makes in response. “You’re going to go in there and apologize for being such a scumbag. You’re going to come clean, beg her forgiveness, and if she forgives you maybe—maybe then, I’ll let you walk out of here with no broken bones. Do you understand me?”

“And why would I do that? You think she deserves an apology? We’ve been together for over a year, you know that? When was the last time she spread her legs for you, huh?” The timeline slots together in Joel’s brain, and his jaw ticks. “I’m not apologizing for cheating on a slut.”

Joel’s fist flies across his face, leaving a split lip and blood in its wake.

He doesn’t understand what the fuck you even see in this guy. You obviously care about him enough to bring him home, to let him meet your dad, to stay with him for so long, but God —this is the worst person you could’ve ever picked. 

“Ooh—good one! Does it make you feel better to hit me ‘cause I can have her and you can’t? Wanna know another one of those dirty little secrets, Joel?” He tilts his head forward and whispers. “She can’t get off unless I let her call me daddy. And ya know, feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think her daddy issues come from her real father, do they?”

Joel hits him again, an elbow to the jaw this time. 

“Dad!” Sarah’s panic stricken voice cuts through the fog of Joel’s rage.

He just doesn’t get it. You’re smarter than this. You deserve way fucking better than a half-assed relationship with a boy who—Joel stops.

In the dim glow of the porch light, he sees it. He finally fucking sees it. The boy has dark hair, has messy curls on top of his head, has tanned skin and calloused hands and warm eyes. It’s all vaguely familiar.

He looks like Joel. Or, what he looked like twenty years ago, anyway. 

Tommy grabs his brother by the shoulders and hauls him away, giving you just enough room to swoop in and coddle your little boyfriend, dabbing at his split lip. Tommy’s shoving Joel backwards, away from you and towards his house next door, but the force isn’t necessary. Because now he knows your newest secret, a real one. He knows you don’t care about this boy—you only care that he looks like Joel, and it brings him a strange satisfaction. 

“What the hell is going on?” Your dad asks, standing between the two families.

For a moment, he thinks about outing the bleeding boy to your father. Thinks about telling him how, at the hardware store, he sided with a boy who cheats on you, betrays you, disrespects you. Your father would be just as furious, Joel knows. 

But then he thinks about last summer in the kitchen, less than a year ago. He thinks about your phone call in December, he thinks about the look you shared inside moments ago and how deeply that pensive sadness seemed to run. And then he decides he’s already caused enough suffering, and so Joel shrugs and says, “Honest mistake. I thought he was an intruder.”

It’s a shitty lie, and no one believes it, but Sarah has her arm around Joel’s elbow and leads him home before anyone can ask any questions. Tommy says he’ll come over tomorrow to finish the backsplash, and Joel is thankful because he won’t be able to look at you and see that sad look again without crumbling. 

Joel’s sitting at the kitchen table with a beer in one hand and a bag of frozen peas on the other when Sarah sits beside him with a scolding look on her face. “You don’t get to fuck this up for her.”

“But I didn’t mean to—”

She holds up her pointer finger. “Stop talking. I’m not finished.” Sarah waits until Joel sighs and shrugs his shoulders before continuing. She leans on the table with her elbows and says, “She told me everything.”

His brows pinch together as he searches his daughter's face for something, for anything—but it’s completely blank. “What do you mean?”

“Cat’s out of the bag, dad,” she says. “I know about all of it. The night she brought over that DVD, the night of her grad party, the night of my grad party, the phone call. I know all of it.”

Joel doesn’t know what to say. He isn’t angry with you for telling Sarah. You should have someone to turn to, after all. He doesn’t fault you for that, but Joel also understands how it likely appears. He doesn’t know where to begin, how to apologize and explain that what you mean to him is so much more than attraction. “Sarah…Sarah, I—”

“Stop. Talking,” she repeats, and Joel silences. “I honestly was hoping you would tell me before I felt the need to do this,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But you’re a typical man so I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

He opens his mouth to defend himself, to offer an explanation, but promptly closes it when she narrows her eyes. 

“I can get over the fact that you’re…I don’t know, involved or whatever with my best friend. I can get over that. What I can’t get over is you being a dick to her.”

Joel doesn’t get it. He’s never, ever been disrespectful towards you. He doesn’t have it in him. And the pain he has caused you has always been for your own good— never out of malicious intent. If anything, he’s been nothing but selfless with you. He’s suffered in your place, and he’d do it a hundred times over if it meant you’d end up happy in the end. He gnaws on his bottom lip as Sarah continues. 

“She has spent half the semester crying over you and just decided recently that she’s ready to leave the past in the past. She likes him.”

He can’t stay silent any longer. “He’s not good enough for her. You didn’t hear—”

“I don’t care what he did or didn’t do,” she interrupts, holding up a hand. “Right now, we’re talking about you. If you don’t want to be with her, if you don’t love her, then let her have this. Even if he breaks her heart, let it be her decision to be with him. Not yours.”

Joel picks at the peeling label on the glass bottle. He stares at it as if the answer to all his problems lies underneath. Quietly, he asks, “And if I do?”

“Do what?”

He swallows, and asks a little clearer this time, “If I do love her, what do I do then?”

“Then you man the fuck up and put your money where your mouth is.”

Joel can’t even be mad about the crude language, because it sounds like advice he would give. There’s so much of his stubborn, loyal attitude in his daughter, and he can’t help but be proud of the woman she’s become. He nods stiffly. “I get what you’re saying. I really do, but—”

“But nothing. If you love her, then love her, dad. It’s not complicated.”

She makes it sound simple, Joel thinks. He wishes so badly that it was. 

“What are you so afraid of?”

He’s afraid of losing the friendship with your father, worried about tarnishing the relationship you have with him, terrified of getting old while you continue to exist in your youth. There’s a million things he’s afraid of, but he settles on the biggest one, the fear that sits like a brick in his stomach. “I’m not good enough for her, either.”

Sarah snorts. “You can’t be serious.” When Joel says nothing, she shakes her head in annoyance and says, “Honestly, dad, I don’t understand how you can be so blind. Let me put it in a way you can understand; you love her, and she loves you. Everything else? Get rid of it. It doesn’t matter. Her dad, her boyfriend, Tommy, me—none of us have anything to do with it. You’re both adults, and you’re doing nothing but hurting the both of you trying to be the good guy. Get it now?” 

He still doesn’t think it’s so simple, so black and white. But it doesn’t matter what Joel thinks, because there’s a knock at the door and you’re standing on the other side when Sarah answers it. She invites you in, but you insist it isn’t necessary. 

“It’s alright,” you say. “I just came to say goodbye.” There’s a sadness in your voice, a familiar sound of longing. “We’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning.”

Joel clenches his teeth and looks away when Sarah glances back at him. He can’t see you, and wants to steal one last sinful glance, but thinks better of it.

“You’re leaving already?”

“Yeah, yeah—I know it’s early, but I don’t…I don’t know. I thought I was ready but now I’m not…I’m not so sure.” You sniffle, and Joel feels his chest crack wide open. “I’ll come back at the end of the week to drive you back to campus. But you’ll call me every day, yeah? So I won’t miss you so much?”

Sarah laughs softly, and disappears from sight. Joel can hear your soft sigh of relief, and finds himself thankful that it’s his daughter you seek comfort in. He’s thankful Sarah is able to provide that for you, even if he can’t. 

Because he can’t.

When you leave after promising Sarah you’ll let her know when you’re back to your dorm, safe and sound, she returns to the kitchen with her arms crossed over her chest. 

Joel can feel the irritation, the disappointment. Sarah goes up to her room and slams the door, and Joel feels the reverberation of the wood in every disc of his spine. 

He sits there, in the deafening silence, and wonders where the hell he went wrong. He wonders why doing the selfless thing feels so awful, wonders if he’s destined to live an empty life and die an empty death. 

It isn’t until three hours later that Joel gets up from the kitchen table. It’s after midnight, and he drags his weary body upstairs. He has every intention of crawling into bed and slipping into a peaceful oblivion for as long as his body will allow. 

Except, Joel finds himself hovering in the hallway just outside his bedroom. He’s afraid to move, because if he walks through the door he’ll never be able to go back. He knows it, can feel the truth of it in his bones. But if he doesn’t…if he doesn’t, everything changes. And it might turn out bad—it might end up being the biggest, most selfish mistake of his life. 

But one aching, terrifying thought nags at him; what if it doesn’t?

“Joel?”

It’s as clear a sign from the universe as he’s ever seen. He makes his decision, and begins to feel at home within his own body after feeling so displaced for so long, and Joel’s so grateful for it. He’s even more grateful he never moved the spare key from under the welcome mat. 

This feels familiar. It feels like an echo of a time years ago, when he thought he ached for you but had no clue how deep his longing would one day be, a time when the scent of vanilla perfume wasn't a shock to his heart. It feels like an opportunity to do things right. It feels like a second chance. 

And he’s not going to fucking waste it. 

It’s his turn to confess his mistakes, though they’re not tequila induced and instead made completely of his own stupidity. 

“I just came to get my phone charger from Sarah,” you say. “I’ll just be a sec—”

“I mean it,” he blurts, swallowing his nerves. He repeats it again, clearer and more precise because it’s the truest thing he’s ever said. “I mean it.”

You wringing your hands around one another in front of you. And he can sense the buzzing of nervous energy, and even though you both know exactly what he means you still ask timidly, “Mean what?”

His heart is pounding in his ears. “All of it. Everything. You might not see it, Sarah might not see it, but you…you deserve better than anything I can ever give you,” he says. “I’m old and I’m tired and I don’t have anything but this house to my name. I can’t give you anything you can’t find a better version of after ten seconds of looking.”

“Joel…I—”

“Hold on. I need you to hear me right now, baby, okay?” His hands are shaking. When you nod, he continues. “I mean it when I say I’m no good for you. I never have been. I’ll just drag you down and hold you back from better things. All of that is true. You and I both know it, but god dammit, I mean it when I say I love you, too. I love your laugh and I love your smile and I love your heart. I love everything about you, and it makes me an awful person because I’m not supposed to feel those things for a girl half my age. But I do, I do—and fuck, baby, I know I’m a bad man, but I’m…I’m yours.”

The words are out. He’s said them, and there’s no going back. Everything he’s held inside for so long is sitting on the floor between you—the entirety of Joel’s perverted heart. Your eyes are glassy, and you're breathing slowly like it’s suddenly a task, but you’re saying nothing and he starts to fill with fear. 

Joel is seconds away from begging you to say something, to say anything—but then you’re there, you’re there, in his arms with your hands in his hair and your lips against his. Your body slots perfectly against him, and Joel thinks that if this is his greatest sin then God can cast him out of the heavens for all eternity and he’d say thank you on his knees. 

Your tongue is so soft, and Joel bites at your bottom lip, savoring the sweet and sugary taste of cherry. He lets his hands roam down your back, allows himself to grab hold of your curves and squeeze the supple flesh. Nothing has ever felt this good, he thinks. You pull away first, and you’re panting hard, and you whisper, “Prove it. Show me, Joel. Show me how much you love me.”

It’s the easiest request he’s ever wanted to fulfill. He grips the backs of your thighs and lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He uses one hand on the small of your back to hold you close, to press his lips to yours again, to moan into your mouth. He uses the other to open his bedroom door, the prospect of closing it behind him much less daunting now that your limbs are wrapped around his.

Joel lays you gently on the mattress, and straightens his spine to look at you. He soaks it up, memorizes the sight of your hair splayed out around you, your thighs parted for him, the pink flush on your chest. Nothing has ever been so beautiful, he thinks. Nothing and no one will ever, ever compare to you. He sighs blithely, licks his lips and says, “Fuck, baby.”

Through a soft giggle you ask, “Do you think I’m pretty, Joel?”

He pulls the collar of his shirt over his head and discards the fabric on the floor, leaving him in nothing but his jeans. He crawls between your legs and leans on his elbows, placing them on either side of your head. “Yes,” Joel says, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “I think you’re the prettiest.” He kisses your forehead, and then your cheek. “D’you wanna know what else I think?”

You can feel him smirk against your skin as you run your hands along the cords of taut muscle in his abdomen. “Yes,” you answer breathlessly, resisting the urge to lift your pelvis against his. “Tell me everything.”

Joel obliges. He kisses the tip of your nose. “I think you were made for me.” His kisses grow hotter, wetter, as his mouth graces your jaw, your neck. “I think I’ve loved you since you were eighteen, since the first moment I saw you.” He tugs at the seam of your t-shirt, and you lift your spine slightly so he can pull it off. You’re not wearing a bra, and seeing you bare again after so long makes his mouth water. 

He kisses your sternum, the soft tissue of your breast, and then sucks your nipple between his lips. He doesn’t realize until now how much he craves the taste of you—how much he’s missed it. 

“I think I’m gonna marry you one day, baby,” he says, pressing his mouth to your other nipple. He can feel the vibration of your laughter in his mouth, and his heart constricts at the sudden happiness it brings him. 

“Marry me?” Your hands are in his hair, giving him the slightest direction in the form of light pressure, and Joel is all too happy to follow it. But he does it slowly, giving himself enough time to drink you in.

“Mmhm,” he says, peppering kisses down your belly, across the plane between your hips. He hooks his finger into the waistband of your sleep shorts and pulls them down your hips. “I think I’ve wasted enough of our time. Don’t you?” Gently, he runs his fingertips over your panties. They’re pink, of course, with red polka dots—and Joel groans at the sight. It’s a ghostly touch, but enough to pull a strained gasp from your throat. Your hips buck towards his hand, and Joel reminds himself to take his time even though his cock is throbbing painfully in his jeans and every instinct in him begs to ravish you. 

“Yes,” you agree. “But…maybe we go slow.”

There’s a slight hint of unease in your voice, and Joel rushes to fix it. He reaches up and wraps his big hands around your ribcage, stroking the skin softly with his thumbs. He presses a kiss to your panties, right above your clit, and says, “Relax, baby. I don’t mean right now. Soon though, yeah?”

Your body loosens beneath his touch, and a pretty smile breaks out across your face. “Soon,” you breathe. “But right now, I need you to touch me. Please, Joel.

The sound of desperation in your mouth is so pretty, he thinks. And you deserve anything you want, and Joel intends to give it to you. He pulls your panties down your legs,  pushes your thighs apart, and keeps his eyes trained on yours as he slides his tongue through your slit. You’re so wet, and the sound you make in response to the feel of his hot, wet tongue is the most heavenly sound he’s ever heard. He licks and sucks at your clit until you’re a trembling mess beneath him. And when your breaths turn shorter and more labored, Joel slips two fingers inside you and curls them to meet the sweet spot that makes you writhe. 

One hand is in his hair, pulling at the strands desperately, while your other is twisted in the sheets. In his sheets. Joel can’t keep his hips from rolling against the side of the mattress at the sight of you, at the taste of you, at the feel of you in his hands. Because you’re here, in his bed, and he can taste your cum in his mouth, and fuck he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts.

When your body falls limp, only then does he come up for air. He cleans you up with his tongue, not wasting any of the sweet nectar you’ve cleansed his sins with. Joel stands up slowly, raking his nails across your sensitive flesh. “Does that prove my love, pretty girl?”

He can see the wicked gleam in your eye, and he knows it wasn’t enough. Of course it’s not. You prop yourself up on your elbows and confess timidly, “Maybe I need a little more,” you say. “Some more proof.”

Joel unbottons his jeans. “Hmm, I guess I should’ve known better.” He pulls the denim off and kicks it aside, delighting in the slight parting of your lips as you take in his cock, heavy and hard between his legs. “Slutty little girls always need more, don’t they?” 

You nod, and Joel returns to his rightful spot between your legs. He’s so close—so, so close to home, to resting his weary heart…but your body is his confessional, and Joel isn’t done repenting. 

He rests his calloused palm against your throat gently, a caress. “You wanna know what else I think about?”

You’re squirming beneath him, hips lifting desperately. “Please, Joel,” you beg. 

And he knows you’re not begging for his thoughts, but he gives them to you anyway. “I think about putting a baby in you,” he confesses, laying his free hand flat against your abdomen. He smirks when you let out a shallow breath and your hips start to move faster, seeking him out. 

“Oh—God, fuck,” you whimper. 

“Aw, I’ve hardly touched you yet,” he teases through a soft laugh, drawing his fingers against your ribcage delicately. “You like that idea? Hm? Want me to fill you up with my cum ‘til your belly’s swollen with my baby?” 

You’re nodding, and he can feel your quickened pulse beneath his hand, and Joel decides he’s put you through enough. “Yes,” you tell him. “Yes, yes—please, Joel, please please please.”

He reaches down and guides his cock into you, and your pussy takes him so eagerly that he can’t help but mirror your low moan. “Fuck, baby—you feel so good,” he murmurs. 

Slowly, he rolls his hips against yours. Your legs are wrapped around his waist, your arms are around his neck, and he kisses your bruised lips until all the air has left your lungs. “Oh, God—!”

“Shh,” he coos, moving his hand around your neck and instead using it to grasp your jaw. “Look at me. Look at me. Quiet now, sweetheart.” 

Your eyes are glassy and wide and beautiful, and Joel picks up his pace. His cock slams into you, filling you up, and it’s impossible to keep quiet. “I can’t,” you whine. “I can’t, Joel—it feels too good, it’s too much, I—!”

He kisses you hard, swallowing up your cry of bliss when he reaches down to circle your clit with the pad of his middle finger. “I know, baby, I know,” he soothes. “It’s okay, you can take it.” 

The prettiest sounds are falling from your mouth with each deep thrust of his hips, sending shivers down his spine. Joel wishes he could be here, be inside of you forever. He wonders how he’s ever going to get his fill, wonders if it’s even possible. You’re so fucking perfect and you’re his and God—he wants to eat you the fuck up. 

He can feel your pussy constrict around him, and he lets out a probably-too-loud-moan that mirrors yours in response. He knows you're close, can feel the rush of heat, can feel you tremble around him. “You gonna cum for me? Hm?” 

Joel slams into you relentlessly, obscene sounds filling the space of his room. Your second orgasm is impossibly stronger, sending electricity dancing across your skin.

You open your mouth to tell him, but Joel seems to know your body better than you do and before the words are out of your mouth he’s whispering in your ear. “There you go,” he says. “I love you so fuckin’ much baby, my good little girl. Give it to me. Thaaat’s it.”

His hips slow just slightly as you come down, but his thrusts are no less punishing. You press kisses to his collarbone, his neck, his chin—every place you can reach. Your mouth is desperate and needy and shameless, and there’s no better sin than the divinity of your lips, he thinks. 

Joel’s pace falters and becomes frantic, and he groans into the crook of your neck as he fills you up. You whisper, “I love you, Joel,”  and it does him in completely. 

He collapses on top of you, unable to move, but you don’t seem to mind. You stroke his spine lazily, tracing soft patterns into his flushed skin. He could sleep just like this, he thinks—but it can’t be as comfortable for you. So he pulls himself out of you wistfully and helps you crawl under the blankets. 

With a blissful sigh, he pulls you close and holds you against his chest. 

“What now?” 

Joel doesn’t know, if he’s honest. He knows he wants you, knows he has you, knows he’s unable to go on without you by his side any longer. But the rest? It’s all uncharted territory. “You go back to school,” he says. “You only have a few months left. Get that fancy degree of yours.”

You let out a soft groan. “I have to leave in the morning. I promised.”

He should feel bad for your boyfriend, most likely sleeping in the spare bedroom in your dad’s house that Joel just refurbished two months ago, but he doesn’t. There’s not an ounce of sympathy for him. But he does have sympathy for you, which is why he asks, “You want me to take care of it?”

“Like you did earlier tonight?” You snort, and the sound is light and airy and carefree and Joel is so happy to hear it. “No, I got it.”

“You gonna break up with him?”

“Mm. Haven’t decided yet,” you say. The sarcasm is thick in your tone, but Joel can’t help the slight panic that erupts in his chest. But the second you notice he isn’t laughing with you, you quickly amend, “I’m kidding. Of course I’m going to. First thing, okay? I promise.”

He nods and kisses your temple. “Okay. And while you’re gone, I’ll talk to your dad.”

You prop yourself up on an elbow. “Alone?”

“I’ll probably use Tommy as a buffer,” he says. “But you shouldn’t have to deal with it. He’s going to be upset with me—not with you. You’re not the bad guy here.”

“I don’t think you are either, Joel,” you say. 

But he doesn’t agree. And he never will, no matter how many sweet words and even sweeter touches you offer. “I’ll take care of it.”

You lay your head back on his chest, and his panic eases until it withers away into nothing. “Okay,” you say. “And…and after? After I finish school, will you still be here?”

Joel can sense the hesitation in your voice, can feel the sudden rigidity in your limbs. He caresses your face and promises, “Yes, baby. I’ll be here.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

He’s not sure what he expects your answer to be, but he definitely doesn’t expect the stab to the chest when you say, “Whenever I leave, you change your mind about me. How do I know you won’t do it again?”

“Look at me,” he says. When you do, his eyes are molten with affection. “I will be here,” he repeats. “I will be here, and I will still love you. Do you understand me?”

You nod let out a long, sleepy breath. “Good.”

That night, Joel sleeps better than he has in years. So much so that he’s up before you, and this time it’s his turn to make the pancakes. He doesn’t do nearly as good as you, burning half of them and undercooking the other half, but he doesn’t worry about it because he realizes he has so much time to perfect it. Time he never had before. 

You pad barefoot down the stairs wearing your sleep shorts and the t-shirt he discarded last night. Joel wonders if he’ll ever grow tired of seeing you in his clothes.

When you notice Sarah and Tommy sitting at the kitchen table with plates pooled with syrup, your eyes widen and your cheeks grow crimson. “Uhm—morning,” you murmur, sliding into the seat at Sarah’s side. 

“Morning,” Joel responds, sitting a plate of pancakes in front of you. “Coffee or orange juice?”

“Uhm…orange juice,” you reply timidly. 

Joel pours you a glass, and joins you at the table, and doesn’t know how to break the weird silence that’s settled over the room. 

Thankfully, though—his daughter volunteers to do just that. “It’s gonna take me a second to get used to this,” she says. “And I will, I swear—but I’m just telling you now that I’m never gonna call you mom.”

Laughter breaks out in the kitchen, and the smile on your face brings Joel so much joy he can hardly contain himself. 

“That would be so weird,” you say. “God—could you imagine?”

“Fuck that—can you imagine living together, dude? It’s going to be amazing! I’ll always have someone to hang out with. Plus I won’t be the only one in this house with decent film taste anymore,” Sarah says. 

“Don’t you dare throw me in with this guy,” Tommy says, pointing a finger at Joel from across the table. 

“No, no—you like terrible movies too,” you argue. 

It sparks a heated debate, and pancakes get flicked from a fork across the table, and there’s a giant mess to clean up afterwards, but Joel Miller has never been so content, so at peace, so happy.

When you take your little boyfriend back to the city, Joel reminds you to call him if you need anything. He uses the opportunity of your absence to do the scariest thing of his life. 

He’s playing a game of pool in your dad’s garage, and Tommy is leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand, and Joel decides there’s no time like the present. “I have to tell you something,” he says. 

Your dad doesn’t look up at him. He lines up his cue and lets out a heavy sigh that sounds so similar to the ones of your frustration that it’s startling. “This about my daughter?”

Joel and Tommy exchange a look of uncertainty. “Uh—yeah,” Joel prods carefully. “Yeah, it is.” He doesn’t know where to begin, so he decides to only say what he needs to say, to say it firmly and without room for question. “I’m, uh—I’m in love with her. And after she graduates she’ll be coming home and we’re…we’re going to be together.”

He doesn’t say anything and at first, it unnerves Joel. He simply draws his cue back, shoots, and waits until the ball falls perfectly into the table’s pocket. He calmly lays his cue at his side, picks up the black eight ball from the table, and chucks it at Joel’s head. 

It misses him by an inch, and something shatters behind him, but Joel is too busy running from your father to look back and assess the damage. 

“You motherfucker! I should kill you! That’s my fucking kid—!”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Tommy is stepping between them, shoving your dad back. “Just hear him out, man! It’s not what you think!”

A warmth erupts in Joel’s chest to hear his brother’s words, to hear him defend his atrocities so easily. Joel knows exactly what thoughts are going through your fathers head, because they went through Joel’s first. He knows it looks like he’s just an old man trying to get his rocks off with the first pretty, young thing that ever looks his way, and maybe there’s some truth to that, but it’s also so, so much more. Still, Joel has a daughter, too, so he understands. “I swear I love her,” he says as if it’s some sort of consolation. “I really do.”

The vein in your dad’s temple protrudes as he shoves past Tommy and gets in one good punch, splitting the skin of Joel’s cheek. “Get the fuck out! Get out of my house before I break your fucking jaw!”

Joel listens. He slips through the half-opened garage door and goes home, adrenaline coursing through him. There wasn’t a lot of blood, and he considers that a win. He cleans out the cut on his cheek, orders a pizza, calls you to tell you how it went. You’re angry at first, when he tells you about his small injury, but Joel assures you that it’s the least he deserves. He says he’d do it a hundred times over if it meant you’d be coming home to him.

Tommy comes through the door a couple hours later with a weary look on his face. He flops down on the couch beside his brother, grabs a slice of cold peperoni pizza and says, “Fuck you for that, by the way.”

“How is he?”

“Fine for now. I think he’ll come around. Just give him a bit of time.”

They polish off the pizza, Tommy crashes on the couch, and Joel sleeps well with the scent of vanilla still lingering in his sheets. Several days later, he’s mowing the front yard with his t-shirt tucked into his back pocket when your dad gets home from work. 

When he crosses the yard and approaches him, Joel turns off the mower and prepares himself for another swing. Except, your dad only raises a hand and says, “I don’t want to hear about it. I don’t want to see it. We’re neighbors, Joel—keep the fucking windows closed or so help me God.”

“Done,” he agrees quickly with a shrug of his shoulders.

“And I swear to Christ, if you break her heart—”

“I won’t.” It’s the truth, and Joel thinks your dad knows it, too. He shakes his head and says it again, firmer this time. “I won’t.” 

There’s a second of silence, and it’s thick and heavy while your dad debates on whether he should hurt Joel again just for good measure. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “There’s a Longhorns game tonight. Tommy’s coming. You can…you know, you’re welcome to come too.”

“I’ll be there,” Joel promises. 

It takes a few weeks, but the comfortable energy between the three men returns, and one night your father even tells Joel, “Better you than that asshole she brought home for spring break. Kid was a cunt.”

Joel agrees, and all that’s left for him to do is wait for you. It’s only a few months until graduation, but it feels like a lifetime when he’s wasted so many years already. He calls you every night and his thoughts never stray far and for a little while, it’s enough.

He busies himself by finishing the renovations in your dad’s house, and then turns to his own to do the same. 

Joel starts with the kitchen, painting the cabinets and switching out the hardware. He clears out half of his closet for you, buys pink hangers to sit beside his black ones, buys a two pack of toothbrushes and sticks yours in the cup on the sink right next to his. Your dad offers to help when Joel says he wants to build a deck for the backyard, and they use Tommy’s truck to bring home new lawn chairs that recline so you can tan in those tiny bikinis comfortably.

He puts cherry chapstick on your nightstand. He buys pancake mix and orange juice and a bottle of top shelf tequila. And when you finally graduate and walk across the stage to receive your fancy degree, Joel is the second loudest person in the crowd. (The first is Sarah, who greets you with a flower bouquet bigger than your head.)

When you finally, finally come home to him, your eyes turn glassy when you discover what he’s spent his time doing in your absence. You say, thank you, Joel and throw your arms around his neck and drown him in kisses and he feels religion stir in his chest.

He asks you later that night what your favorite thing is, asks you whether it’s the deck or the tequila or the pink hangers. Your favorite part is him, of course it’s him, but you say instead that it’s the remodel in the kitchen. 

The backsplash is sage green.

[masterlist]

divider by @thecutestgrotto <3

a/n; i seriously cannot thank you guys enough for the unending support on this, i love you all so much <3

taglist; @aamatis-blog1 @goldenispunk @storytimeblog @locaparapedrito @bluesweaters15 @ace-27749 @joelmillerlover123 @shivkillian @bbyplutosblog @tiredbuthappy @samsamsantos @elegantduckturtle @pinkiec6-rubi @pascaltesfaye @pedropascalsbbg @heheheilovepedro

[euphoricfilter]

omg i LOVED open the way u wrote tae was so 😩✊💦💯✨ i’m addicted to ur writing style!!! if ur still doing requests could u pls do taehyung x reader where he’s your aunt’s boyfriend and he’s really into you and lowkey flirts with you but you don’t realize how much until you two are left alone 🫣 ends with smut and can be yandere hehe the rest is up to you bc i trust you dear author!!

𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭:

pairing: yandere! taehyung x f! reader

genre: smut || non-idol au || fluffy-ish but in a kinda dark way

summary: it’s wrong, but it feels so good.

word count: 4.5k

tags/ warnings: slight age-gap, stalking, infidelity, coercion, naive! reader, but she means well, anxiety, briefly mentioned panic attack, smut in the forms of: unprotected sex (this is fiction don’t be stupid), dom! tae, sub! reader, big dick! tae, ddlg themes, cry baby reader, thigh riding, fingering, dick riding, creampie, squirting, slight cum play, cockwarming

notes: yes! thank you for having so much faith in me, and i hope this lives up to your expectations :’)

request rules can be found here || my masterlist

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Taehyung remembers the exact day he fell in love with you. How he’d been mindlessly flicking through dating apps for a quick fuck; only to stumble across, well not you, but your aunt.

She was pretty. Conventionally attractive at most, a little plain, but seemed like she’d gotten around with enough men to please him for the night. The skimpy little lingerie pictures enough for him to know that she was somewhat desperate in her search for a partner and maybe all she had to offer was her decent body— by his standards.

And as he’d been scrolling through her other photos, mingled among half naked mirror selfies, there you were. The prettiest little thing he’d ever seen.

He’d found all your aunt’s social media before making the leap to message her, wanting to know just how close the two of you were and if this little plan of his would be worth it in the long run.

There were photos upon photos of you posted on every profile she had. Like a little trophy, your achievements now her own to flaunt to the world through the web.

You and your aunt were close. That much he had gathered from her social media. Peeved that he was unable to find your own, left to see your aunt’s grating face beside yours in every photo. Nothing a little editing couldn’t fix. He had already picked out a cute photo album for all the pictures he planned to take with you.

He later found out that his soon-to-be girlfriend was more your sister than auntie. With 15 years between your mother and herself, she’d always felt too young to be anything other than a sibling your mother was never willing to have, leaving you as an only child.

And only child who still lived home with their mother because the big wide world is too scary for some people.

That just gave Taehyung another reason to take care of you. While your mother bitched at you about finding a job, with him you wouldn’t have to lift a finger. The ground you stepped on too precious, hands too delicate, body a temple that he planned to worship.

Your aunt was a little older than he would usually go for, but anything to have you in his clutches, the sacrifice was worth every second.

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It’s easy to woo a woman who’s desperate. A few sweet nothings and a big dick can get you a long way with a pitiful lady whose self-esteem lays in the depths of hell. Luckily, he lurked that low, and now he had a prize he was trying to win, kneeling before the devil himself to have you as his own.

It wasn’t long before your aunt had invited him to dinner with you and your mother. Caring more about your validation than your mothers, but he wasn’t all that bothered about the woman anyways. A spitting image of you if you were to age 20 odd years. But it wasn’t her he was after.

And Taehyung could feel his cock throb under his slacks at the sight of you, fidgeting under his gaze as he takes a little longer than proper watching you from across the table; though neither your mother nor his girlfriend seemed to notice, too hung up in their own little catch-up to care.

He could see your fingers itching to pick up the crayons left by the last little family that had sat at the table, your eyes trained on the maze from the kids menu. Probably mapping out the way in your mind, squirming when he assumes you’d escaped the maze.

And Taehyung wants to coo when your mother tells one of the waitresses to clean up the mess; pitiful pout on your lips that you hide behind your teeth when she turns to you, asking what you wanted to order.

Your eyes flit to the menu, then to your mother, then over to Taehyung before blurting you’ll just have salad. Unbothered, your mother shrugs, calling over the waitress again when she asks the rest of the table if they’re ready to order.

Taehyung thinks the little dinosaur shaped nuggets would have suited you better. Maybe a pretty pink milkshake to match your pretty pink cheeks.

He wouldn’t mind feeding you spoonfuls of whipped cream between bites of french fries, and then buying you a cute strawberry cake for afters. You look like you might have liked the brownies and vanilla ice cream better though.

Maybe he could spoil you a little, buy you both and when you shake your head, claiming to be too full; he’d pull you over his lap, teasing the edge of your panties as he makes you lick the chocolate sauce off his fingers.

And oh how sweet you would taste after that. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stop kissing you until your lips are swollen with his love, sticky with his spit and left over ice cream that he would clean with his tongue.

His mood sours when his girlfriend runs a hand along the length of his thigh, lovestruck smile plastered on her face as your mother asks questions on how the two of them met.

His little fantasy of your perfect little date being shattered by the shrill voice of your aunt as he fawns over your new sweater that your mother informs them that you’d ordered online.

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He eased you into it. His own little game of how long he can keep up his flirty little touches before someone noticed.

Carefully brushing over your back as he walked past you. His arm slung around your shoulder when you’d be stood by yourself in the garden as the rest of your family gathers around the grill. More interested in the smell of food than one another.

But Taehyung found you didn’t like large groups of people, family or not, loud noises picking at your brain, like an itch that won’t go away until tears gathered on your waterline and Taehyung would have to sit in the corner of your room with you until you calmed down. Your head in his lap as he runs his fingers through your hair.

Because he seemed to be the only one who cared that you’d had a panic attack, worried to leave you alone, to cry until your head hurt. To then feel sorry for yourself as you curl up between the arms of your plushies that line the bed. Now why would you do that, when he could hold you tighter than your little bear ever could?

“Thanks for helping her. Poor thing, her anxiety has been worse as of late. Must be school” his girlfriend whispers from the door, heart swelling with happiness at the image of you two together.

“Having such large family gatherings isn’t helping” he mutters, tongue poking the inside of his his cheek as your aunt waves him off.

“We’ll get her to stay up in her room next week then”

Other times, his fingers lingering over your own a little longer than they should as he gives you gifts.

You assume Taehyung must come from money. If the shiny looking pearls that hung around your aunt’s neck were anything to go by. Her dead-end, 9-5 job could barely cover rent, you doubted she was splurging on overpriced rocks and fancy dinners that she flaunts when she comes over. Making you scroll through endless pictures of 5 course meals that you have no interest in.

He never spoke of himself much. You had never heard of his parents, nor did he ever seem busy with friends when it came to your weekly dinners. Your aunt didn’t seem to care either way; having won the jackpot with a rich, hot boyfriend that would fuck her like a common whore at night and treat her like royalty during the day.

Taehyung was very generous, you knew that much. He often came a couple of times a week to visit you with your auntie. And each week he would have a new gift for you.

“You spoil her too much” your mother had tutted one afternoon. You hadn’t said anything, too preoccupied with the paint set Taehyung had wrapped in pretty wrapping paper. Pink with scattered little red hearts.

You’d started to keep the wrapping paper Taehyung gave your gifts in. Gluing them in an empty notebook with the dates written in your best hand writing beside them. Because it felt like a waste to throw such pretty paper away. And it always left you wondering why he had so much wrapping paper to begin with. Maybe he just likes giving, and then you read online that it was a love language, did that mean Taehyung loved you?

Gentle touches had turned to your knees grazing as you sat beside one another on the couch. To you sat between Taehyung’s legs from the floor, while he sat on the chair as you both played a game on the TV.

Some evenings while his girlfriend helped your mother in the kitchen he would lay your thighs across his own, fingers skimming the bare skin until goosebumps prickled in his wake. And he’d hide a smile behind his hands as you squirmed over his lap.

He starts feeding you at dinner, disguised as him asking for your opinion on a new recipe he was trying out. To suggesting what you order when you go out for dinner together with your aunt who was in awe of how well the two of you got along.

Compliments had started off simple too.

‘You look pretty today’ turning to ‘My y/n is so beautiful’ while his arms wrap around your waist. Praise of your beauty never ending, it seemed Taehyung had a compliment stored away on his tongue for all hours of the day. Even when you’d just woken up, hair tangled and eyes a little puffy from eating ramen so late the night before. He had given you a gentle ‘good morning’ as he brought you into his chest for a hug.

His heart had swelled once you’d gotten more comfortable with him. Albeit still awfully shy, you had now started to approach him first. The years of dating your aunt finally paying off as you gift him your own paintings. Thank you cards decorated with the little stickers he’d bought for you and way too much washy tape.

His favorite of your little gifts so far had been the small cakes you’d baked after hearing him tell your beloved aunt that chocolate was his favorite. It wasn’t. It was yours, but he liked the smile on your face when he’d said that, and the fact you both had something in common, even it were as insignificant as your aunt had pointed out.

He’d tugged your chair closer to his own that evening. Aware of your eyes watching his every little move as he shoveled your cake into his mouth. Low hum of appreciation rumbling in his chest as he gives you a cheeky smile.

He adores the way your cheeks had flushed red when he’d carded his fingers through your hair, “So smart. It’s delicious, darling”

And you hadn’t been able to contain your smile.

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“Baby, can you take Y/n to the train station? I think she’s meeting a friend out of town but her mum’s gone for the weekend and I have work in the morning”

And of course he’d agreed.

And that’s how he found you, wrapped up warm in your winter coat in the passenger side of his car; nose red from the bitter cold morning air. Perfect for kissing, but he doesn’t want to scare you off when he’s so close to where he needs you.

“Meeting a friend?” he asks as you shut the car door. Leaning over to help strap you in, you don’t seem to mind, unfazed as his arm reaches over your body, and Taehyung thinks you really must be perfect; needing his help, needing someone to just take care of you in the way you deserve. In the way he knows you need.

“Yeah” you nod, voice barely above a whisper, but he hears you, attuned to how soft you spoke.

“A close one?”

You shrug. “We used to be, but she moved out of town for school and thought we’d catch up while she’s on winter break”

She.

Taehyung’s lips curl up, “Must be nice to catch up”

You hum at that. Feet tapping against the floor.

“You don’t look very excited, baby” his eyes flit to look at your face, teeth digging into your bottom lip.

He’s moments away from touching your lips, ready to scold you that you shouldn’t chew on the skin until it bled, a bad habit he’d come to see you have; but the car behind beeps and he’s stepping on the gas, eyes-brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Just a little scared of taking the train” you admit, hands tucked under your thighs.

“Nothing to be scared of, i’ll be here when you get back” he smiles over at you, and you nod slowly at that.

“Is that really okay?” you ask him.

And Taehyung wants to coo, “Of course, baby. Just call me when you’re on the way home, and i’ll be here right as the train gets in”

“Promise?” you look up at him through your lashes and Taehyung feels his cock throb at your desperation.

“Pinky promise” he gives you his little fingers after he parks the car.

You connect your finger with his own, gentle smile tugging at the corner of your lips as he stamps your thumbs together.

“You got everything?” he asks, leaning over into the back seat to grab your bag.

“I think so” you nod.

“Money?”

You hum.

“What about my goodbye kiss?” he asks, and you simply blink up at him.

“Kiss?” you gape.

“Mhm” he nods, tapping his cheek.

“I thought kisses were only for family” you whisper and Taehyung’s head tips back against the seat.

“I am family, aren’t I?” he turns to look at you, and you think he looks sad, a pang of guilt striking through your heart at his disheartened expression.

Your head tilts a little, “I guess so”

You lean over the center console, hand landing on Taehyung’s thigh as you lean up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. Taehyung turns his head a little, your lips pressing against the corner of his own, though you don’t seem to notice as you keep your eyes closed.

“Good girl, now be quick or you’ll miss the train” he runs his thumb over your cheek.

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As promised Taehyung was there when you’d gotten off the train. His arm wrapping tightly around your shoulder as he pulled you into his chest. The gentle beating of his heart through his thick sweater lulling your anxieties, fingers holding onto his arms like you would crumble if he were to let go of you.

“I got you this” you’d told him once you’d gotten home, inviting Taehyung in to warm up with a hot coffee before he left, “I got one too, so we could be matching” you rock back and forth on your feet.

You drop the little keychain into his palm, character from a game he’d seen you play many times carved out of wood and delicately painted.

“It’s beautiful, baby”

Taehyung thinks he can see the cogs of your mind start to overheat at the pet name. No more anxiety there to overshadow the term of endearment. Your cheeks flushing pink as you flop down onto the couch beside him.

“Come here and tell me about you day then” he pats his thigh.

You look up at him, eye brows furrowing in confusion.

“Need me to help you, hmm?” his hands hold under your arms, tugging you up your your legs straddle one of his thighs. You squeak at the sudden motion, hands grabbing onto his shoulders for support.

He feels your thighs clench as he stabilizes you, cunt throbbing as he holds onto your hips.

“Taehyung” you whisper, fingers clasped onto his sweater.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, gentle smile on his face. Expression so innocent you feel bad for thinking he had an ulterior motive.

“We’re not meant to be doing this” you squirm, pouting when his hands hold onto your hips tighter.

“Doing what?”

Your mouth stays shut, humiliation bubbling through your body as Taehyung watches your face. You shake your head.

“Don’t be shy, baby” he smiles, hand coming to cradle your face in his palm.

You lean into his touch. Hips stuttering forwards as he urges you on.

A chocked whimper drips off your tongue like honey as your panties brush against your clit.

“Like that baby?” he asks, shushing you when you open your mouth to protest.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you” he hums, rocking your hips for you. Your head falls onto his shoulder as jolts of pleasure wrack down your body, slick staining your panties.

A broken moan slips off your lips as Taehyung rocks you harder, slowly brining you to the peak of pleasure, moments away from tumbling into what will be your first orgasm of the night. You whimper against his neck, warm breath fanning his skin as you now rock your hips, Taehyung clenching the muscles of his thigh to help you get off.

“Go on little one, cum for me” Taehyung urges, hands slipping down to grab your ass as your hips stutter. Your thighs shake, teeth sinking into the skin of his neck as you fall over the edge. Little stars scattered behind your eye lids.

“Well done, baby” he soothes, pulling you into his chest.

Your breath comes out uneven, tears cascading down your cheeks in little pearls.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Taehyung pulls your face away from his neck, thumb coming to brush away your tears.

“I did something bad” you snivel, trying to pull yourself off Taehyung’s lap.

He hold you down, tutting. “You haven’t done anything wrong” he shakes his head, easy laugh reverberating through his chest and you just shake your head.

“You’re— you’re dating my aunt, we shouldn’t— I shouldn’t— I just- ” you squirm out of his lap.

Taehyung grabs onto your back, cradling your head between the junction of his neck and shoulder, rocking the both of you back and forth as you let the tears fall.

“You’re okay” he hushes, gentle hands rubbing down your back as you hiccup, “It’ll be our little secret, yeah? Just wanna make you feel good, you’ve been such a good girl recently”

Your shoulders shake as more tears dribble down your cheeks, “been good?” you ask, voice a little broken from the tears.

“Very good. The best even, don’t you think you deserve a treat?”

“Taehyungie always gives me a treat” you use the sleeve of your sweater to wipe your cheeks, hips rocking forward a little.

Taehyung’s hands smooth down your back, “I haven’t given you a treat for being so brave. Going on the train all by yourself, i’m proud of you, darling” he hums, bouncing the leg you were sat on.

Taehyung can feel your cunt clenching around nothing through his jeans, your hips rutting against his leg like a little puppy. He tangles a hand in your hair, pulling your face out of his neck and he feels his head tip back at the look of your tear streaked cheeks, a little blotchy, your eyes begging Taehyung to defile you.

“Has anyone ever touched you here, baby?” his hands slip between the waist band of your sweats, finger toying with the cute little bow on your underwear.

You nod, thigh twitching as Taehyung eases his hand into your panties. Fingers parting your slit, gathering your wetness before he slicks up your clit.

You fall into him, arms slung over his shoulders as he draws lazy circles on your sensitive pearl.

“Yeah? Did they make you cum?”

“No” you whisper, and Taehyung laughs. A daunting laugh that sends a shiver down your spine.

“That was selfish of them, wasn’t it, darling?” he frowns, and if you weren’t so drunk on the pleasure that consumed your body, you may have noticed how condescending his tone was.

“Let’s take these off, shall we” he pats your behind, smiling as you lift your ass high enough for him to slip both your sweats and panties over your thighs.

His fingers return to your clit, letting you buck your hips up to meet his fingers. You whine when he dips them lower, stimulation suddenly gone, the orgasm that was slowly building dissipating as he nudges the entrance to your cunt.

You roll your hips forward, wad of slick dripping from your hole onto his jeans as you wait for him to push a finger inside of you.

“Taehyungie” you snivel, another wave of pitiful tears glazing your cheeks in saline pearls.

“What, doll? What do you want Taehyungie to do?” he urges, blood flowing south at the way your mouth falls open in a pitiful whine. “I cant do anything if you don’t ask”

You take a hold of his hand, pulling it towards your sodden core, “here, please”

“Yeah?” he asks, sinking a finger into you.

You let out a breathy sigh as he adds a second, using your thighs to bounce on his fingers, you pull your sweater over your breasts, matching little bra on display for Taehyung to see.

“So cute, baby. And all mine” he croons, crooking his fingers, as he leans forward to press a kiss to the swell of your breast, your cheeks heating from the crude squelch your pussy was making.

Taehyung uses his free hand to tug your bra down, watching your cute tits as your bounce over his lap, your knee nudging against his cock.

“Want you to come over my cock, darling” he groans, fingers slipping from wet core.

You unzip his jeans, fingers a little shaky as you help his pull both his pants and boxers off before they’re discarded on the floor somewhere.

It felt wrong. Fucking in the living room where anyone could open the front door and walk in. You might have been a little more worried if you mum wasn’t gone for a couple of days, and you knew your aunt was at work.

You felt a pang of guilt at the thought of your aunt. What would she think if she were to find out.

But Taehyung just wanted to make you feel good. Surely there was nothing wrong with that.

“Up you go” Taehyung helps you straddle both his thighs, hard cock slapping against your leg, coating it in a sheen of his sticky precum.

He holds the shaft, one hand on your thigh to help lower you onto his cock. You whimper as the thick head pops through your entrance, your mouth falling open as a lick of pain shoots up your spine.

You stay with the tip sat inside you, your hips rocking a little to try and adjust to the size.

“Good girl, you’re doing so well for me” he shushes when you moan, trying to push in another inch.

Taehyung spits onto two of his fingers, bringing them down to toy with your clit. Your thighs quiver, sinking another inch of his thick cock inside of you. “Almost there, baby”

You pull up until the tip, dropping all the way so your ass meets his thighs. You wrap your arms around his neck, a fresh wave of tears dribbling down your cheeks.

“No need to cry” Taehyung eases his hands down your sides, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he feels your cunt convulse around his length.

“Feels good” you hiccup, “like feeling full”

Taehyung groans at that, hands gripping the meat of your waist, pulling you up his length before he slowly sinks you back down. You moan, breathy and cute and Taehyung wishes he could shove you against the couch and fuck you within an inch of your life but he supposes your first time together could be a little slower.

“Just like that” he praises as you start to bounce on his cock, wetness pooling around the base, coating your own thighs in your own heady arousal.

It was lewd, the noises your pussy were making as you dropped back down onto Taehyung’s dick. He uses the floor as leverage, fucking up into you, making sure his cock was as far into you as he could go.

You cry out, his name the only words you seemed to know as your orgasm slowly starts to build.

Your teeth nip at his neck, saliva painting his skin. “Wanna cum” you whine.

Your breathing stutters when his fingers find your clit, relentless as he flicks the swollen bud. Your thighs start to shake, leaving Taehyung to thrust up into you with all he had.

“Wait—“ you squeak, vulgar moan cutting you off, “feels like i’m gonna pee” you cry, trying to push yourself off Taehyung’s cock. He holds you down, continuing to fuck up into you.

“Just let it go, doll” he groans, head tipped back against the back of the couch.

“No” you cry, “I really have to—“ you’re cut off as you feel what you can only describe as an explosion of wetness leak from your cunt.

Taehyung’s cock slips out of you at the force of it, your thighs shaking as Taehyung holds you to his chest, fingers slowing down their figures of eight on your clit as he helps you ride out your high.

“Well done, baby. You squirted” he soothes, lazy smile on his face as he lines his cock back up with your cunt, “it’s almost over, i’m close” he tells you.

You simply lay slumped against his chest. Hips jutting forward in overstimulation as Taehyung slowly drags his cock through your walls.

“Too much” you try to pull away, only for Taehyung to bring his hand down, a harsh slap on your ass.

You hiccup at that, walls sporadically clenching around his length to bring him to his peak.

Taehyung’s hips stutter, thrusts sloppy as he nears his orgasm. You feel his cock twitch before he’s flooding your cunt with his thick cum, painting your walls white.

You cum again at the feeling as Taehyung continues to rock into you, his dick slipping out of your soiled hole before he’s pushing it back into you again, making sure his cum is as deep as it can go before he keeps you sat on his cock.

He slowly starts to soften inside of you, dick twitching in interest as your cunt continues to clench around his length.

And it’s not long before you’re dozing off, still impaled on his cock as he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

“My precious girl” he smiles.

[mssalo]

Hummingbird - Part: II

Summary: In the quiet town of Jackson, Joel becomes consumed by a dark and overpowering obsession with his new neighbor. What begins as fascination quickly spirals into something much darker as he loses control over his desires.

11k

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, dark!Joel, obsessive!Joel, manipulation (emotional and psychological), gaslighting, power imbalance, age gap (not specified), stalking, dubious consent, daddy kink, breeding kink, possessive behavior, noncon elements, oral (pussy eating), unprotected PIV, creampie, voyeurism, possessivel controlling dynamics, trauma exploitation, Joel using your vulnerabilities against you, power play, obsessive desires, Joel blurring lines between protection and ownership. Joel is a huge red flag and reader has major daddy issues. Enjoy!

long&intense

Here's Part I.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Joel’s days had settled into a new rhythm, one that orbited around you.

Every moment spent outside Jackson’s walls, on the lookout for threats, was consumed by a burning impatience to return. The dangers he once faced with such resolve now seemed trivial compared to the intense need he felt for you. His thoughts were constantly on you, wondering what you were doing while he was gone. He imagined your gentle smile as you taught the youngest children in the settlement.

His patrols, once a predictable routine, now felt like an unwelcome interruption—an unwanted separation from the focus of his obsession.

You.

And now, he was determined to make you love him.

When he wasn’t on patrol, Joel made excuses to cross paths with you. He’d drop by the schoolhouse under the pretense of checking on repairs or offer to carry supplies for you.

At first, you were taken aback by his attention—after all, the quiet, gruff man who led patrols through the wilderness outside Jackson wasn’t exactly known for being sociable. But your innocence worked in his favor. You didn’t question why he lingered a bit too long when you spoke or why his gaze followed you so intently whenever you were near.

“Mr. Miller,” you greeted him one afternoon, flashing that soft, sweet smile that stirred something dark in him. “Here again?”

“Just Joel,” he corrected, his voice low and rough as he leaned against the doorframe of the classroom. “Figured I’d check in. See if y’all needed anythin`.”

You laughed lightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Always so helpful. I think we’re good today, but thank you.”

Joel’s eyes wandered to the children seated on the floor around you, their attention fixed on makeshift toys. He watched as one of the toddlers tugged at your dress, seeking your attention.

You were made for this. Made to be a mother.

He had seen you with them, crouched down, your voice soothing as you explained lessons or comforted tearful faces.

The way the children gathered around you, their trust unwavering, only heightened his primal urge. There was something about the way you nurtured and cared for them—the tender touch, the encouraging words—that stirred a desire in him beyond mere lust.

The sight of you, so gentle and attentive, sparked a deep, almost possessive longing in him. He imagined you with a child of your own. His child. The fantasy of you, swollen with his baby, your body soft and round, consumed him.

Joel pictured you in your small home, barefoot and glowing, your belly growing larger with each passing day.

The thought twisted something deep inside him, merging his desire with a possessiveness that bordered on madness.

You were too pure, too kind to grasp it, but Joel knew. You were meant for him—to bear his children, to belong to him in every sense.

His gaze darkened as he envisioned taking you right then and there. To bend you over one of the small desks, your soft curves pressed against the rough wood, his hands gripping your hips as he filled you—over and over.

The thought nearly overwhelmed him, the raw, primal urge almost too strong to control.

His hands flexed at his sides, clenching and unclenching as he fought for control. This wasn’t the time. Not yet. You weren’t ready. You still smiled at him with those innocent eyes, unaware of the dark hunger building inside him.

Joel wanted more than to claim you physically—he wanted to own every part of you. He wanted your mind, your heart, your body. He wanted you to be consumed by him the way he was by you.

He could wait. He’d be patient.

For now.

“Joel?” Your sweet voice cut through his haze, pulling him back to the present.

He blinked, realizing he had been staring. Your eyes met his, and you tilted your head slightly, concern touching your features. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, clearing his throat, his voice thick with a rough edge. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You smiled again, that same sweet, innocent smile that made his blood boil, completely unaware of the filthy thoughts running through his mind. You were so trusting. So naive.

Joel forced himself to return your smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“If you need anything,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, “anything at all, you just let me know, alright?”

Your smile widened, and for a moment, his heart skipped a beat. “I will. Thank you, Joel.”

He nodded, turning to leave before his control slipped any further. As he walked away, he felt the weight of your gaze on his back, innocent and oblivious. He clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he stepped out into the cold air. His cock already throbbing again. His mind raced with plans, ideas forming and reforming. You were going to be his—he was going to make sure of it.

But first, he had to make you need him as much as he needed you.

· · ────────

In the weeks that followed, Joel's plan took shape with meticulous intent. Every interaction was calculated, every word carefully chosen to weave himself deeper into your life.

He began lingering outside the schoolhouse after his patrols, finding small tasks to do—fixing a loose door hinge, offering to carry supplies.

Always nearby. Always watching.

You began to smile at him more often, a soft glow in your eyes whenever he appeared.

Joel knew he was becoming a part of your routine, a constant presence you started to rely on without even realizing it.

The simple greetings, the quiet moments—each one brought you closer to him.

You started seeking him out.

You’d ask him for help with things around the house, questions about Jackson, and slowly, unknowingly, you let him into your world. Joel played the part of the dependable neighbor with ease, masking the deeper hunger that burned underneath.

It wasn’t just about being near you anymore. It was about making sure you needed him—emotionally, physically.

He wanted to become the one person you couldn’t live without.

One late afternoon, he found you sitting on the porch of your house, the sun casting a soft, golden light over everything. You had a worn notebook in your lap, absently humming a soft, familiar tune as you scribbled something down.

The sound was sweet, gentle, and it tugged at something deep inside Joel. He paused for a moment, just watching you, captivated by the way the melody seemed to wrap around you like a warm embrace.

When you finally noticed him, your face lit up, and his chest tightened at the sight.

“Hey, Joel,” you greeted him with a soft smile, the tune fading into the quiet evening.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice rougher than usual as he approached, the wooden porch creaking under his weight when he sat down beside you. “What’re you workin’ on?”

You glanced down at your notebook, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Oh, just some lesson plans for the kids. Busy day.”

Joel’s gaze softened as he watched you.

The way the light caught the soft strands of your hair, the way you absentmindedly tapped your pencil on the edge of the notebook—everything about you was so gentle, so perfect.

His hand twitched at his side, aching to reach out and touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips.

Instead, he kept his voice steady, though the desire simmered just beneath the surface.

“You’re good with them. The kids, I mean.”

You smiled again, a little shyly this time, the compliment making you blush just slightly. “Thanks. I try.”

The way you smiled at him, the trust in your eyes—it was all he needed to know that his plan was working.

You were beginning to let your guard down, to lean into his presence. Every time you looked at him like that, so open and unaware, it drove Joel further into his obsession.

my pretty little hummingbird.

The melody of your earlier humming lingered in his mind as he sat next to you, and he couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to have you all to himself—to be the one to hear you hum as you moved about your shared home, maybe with a child cradled in your arms.

The image of you, round with his child, your body soft and full, made his heart pound, once again.

He wanted that. He wanted everything with you.

You had no idea just how deeply he wanted to be your everything, just like you were becoming his.

For now, he would keep playing the part of the protector, the one you could count on.

But it wouldn’t be long before he’d make sure you needed him just as much as he needed you.

He could already see the shift—the way you sought him out more, the way your eyes softened when they met his, how you were humming more often, especially when you were near him, like you were already growing comfortable in his presence.

You were slipping into his grasp, slowly but surely.

And soon, you’d realize just how much you needed him—how much you craved the protection and the stability he offered.

He watched as you turned back to your notebook, your lips parting slightly as you absentmindedly hummed again, lost in thought.

Joel clenched his fists at his sides, the desire to claim you in every possible way nearly overwhelming. But he could wait.

For now.

· · ────────

That same evening, as the two of you sat on the small, worn sofa in your living room, the air between you seemed heavier, more intimate.

Joel was sitting close, the warmth of his body radiating toward you as the low light from a nearby lamp flickered softly against the walls.

There was a strange comfort in his presence, a grounding sense that you hadn’t expected to feel. Yet there he was—always there.

You hadn’t planned to talk about it, not with Joel, not with anyone.

But something about the quiet of the evening, and the way he sat so close, made you feel safe enough to let it out.

You shifted, pulling your knees up onto the couch, hugging them slightly as you stared at the floor.

“My father… I don’t talk about him much,” you began, your voice low, almost a whisper.

Joel didn’t interrupt. He just listened, his fingers barely grazing your arm, his touch subtle, steady.

He was patient, waiting for you to open up.

“He was never really the same after my mom died. He was… distant, like he was there, but at the same time, he wasn’t. I kept trying to reach him, to get him to see me, to just… care.” You paused, the lump in your throat growing harder to swallow.

“But no matter what I did, no matter how hard I fought for his attention, for his approval, he just... pulled away more.”

Joel’s fingers tightened slightly around your arm, his silent way of telling you he was there, listening. Right?

“We survived together for a while, just the two of us, after everything fell apart. He wasn’t much of a father by then, more like… just someone I had to follow, to keep up with. I was always trying to prove myself to him, to show him I could handle it. But it was exhausting.”

Your voice broke for a moment, and you felt your breath catch in your chest.

Joel shifted closer, his arm resting behind you on the back of the sofa, offering you the comfort of his presence without a word.

“And then… he died,” you whispered, the pain of the memory washing over you like a wave.

“We were out there in the wilderness, trying to survive, just like always. He got hurt, and I tried—I tried so hard to save him, to keep him alive.

A silent tear slipped down your soft cheeks, "But, again, it wasn’t enough. I wasn't enough. He died, and then he really left me. For good.”

A shudder went through you as you recalled those final moments, the coldness of his absence washing over you again.

"He left me, Joel. After everything. I was so alone after that. Completely abandoned.”

You took a shaky breath, the weight of your confession settling between you. "The anniversary of his death is soon."

You could feel the weight of the silence between you, the raw emotion of the confession hanging in the air.

You hadn’t spoken those words aloud to anyone, not since it happened. The loneliness, the helplessness—it had all stayed locked away inside you for so long.

Joel’s grip on your hand tightened, his thumb stroking the back of it in slow, soothing circles.

He shifted slightly, moving closer to you on the couch until his thigh pressed firmly against yours. His other arm, warm and strong, wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you toward him with a gentle but insistent force.

“Come here, sweet girl,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with that unmistakable Southern drawl that had become so comforting.

Without thinking, you leaned into him, your head resting against his chest.

The solid weight of him, the quiet rise and fall of his breathing, made you feel grounded in a way that nothing else had. His fingers tangled in your hair, stroking lightly as he held you close.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that,” Joel whispered, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“Your father… he should’ve seen how hard you fought for him. But he didn’t. He failed you.”

The words struck a chord deep inside, and you felt another tear slip down your cheek, quickly absorbed by Joel’s shirt as he held you tighter.

He made it sound so simple, so black and white, and in this moment, it was comforting to believe that maybe it really had been that way.

· · ────────

He’d watched you closely in the weeks that followed, noting your increasing need for support, how you seemed to lean on him more and more.

It was all part of his plan, a strategy to make you depend on him, to crave his presence in ways you hadn’t before.

He saw the cracks in your composure, the way your smiles were less frequent, and how your gaze held a kind of forlorn hope whenever he was near.

And then he began.

Joel had put his plan into motion, slowly pulling away over the past week—just enough to make you feel the cold sting of his absence.

The timing wasn’t random; the anniversary of your father’s death was looming, and he knew the weight of that grief would come crashing down on you.

It was the perfect moment.

He could see it already in your face, the way sadness mixed with confusion, the subtle flickers of desperation as you searched for his familiar presence.

You leaned on him more in those days leading up, seeking comfort, but now, with him gone, you were left alone again, the emptiness creeping in.

Joel understood what that feeling of abandonment could do—it would remind you of the ache of being left behind.

But this time, instead of pushing you away completely, it would draw you closer to him.

You’d start to wonder where he was, why he wasn’t there, and with each passing day, your need for him would grow stronger.

And that’s exactly what he wanted.

The power of it fueled something dark inside him, but Joel didn’t flinch from it. It wasn’t cruelty, he told himself.

It was necessity.

· · ────────

The night of the anniversary, he knew you’d be at your most vulnerable. The idea of you coming to him, desperate and broken, fed his twisted satisfaction.

And sure enough, as he watched you from his porch, he saw you approaching his house, your posture hunched and hesitant, your eyes red from crying.

You were exactly where he wanted you: fragile, yearning for comfort, and completely under his control.

When you knocked on his door, your voice barely more than a whisper, Joel paused deliberately, savoring the moment.

His face stayed cold for a beat longer, a flicker of something darker dancing behind his eyes.

He knew it was you—he had expected this.

The satisfaction of your inevitable need for him made his chest tighten, not with tenderness, but with a twisted sense of control.

His mind wandered briefly, picturing you on the other side of the door—fragile, vulnerable, and craving him in the way he wanted.

The image sent a rush through him, his hand flexing at his side before he reached for the doorknob.

Joel knew what you would look like, how you would be standing there with those wide, innocent eyes, pleading silently for comfort.

It was exactly where he wanted you.

As he turned the handle and slowly opened the door, his gaze traveled over you, drinking in every detail.

You were wearing one of those soft, simple dresses he loved—the kind that hugged your curves in just the right way, brushing against your thighs.

The fabric clung to your chest, outlining the subtle rise and fall of your breath.

Your hair, slightly tousled, framed your face, and the way the fading evening light touched your skin made you look even more delicate. Almost ethereal.

Joels eyes lingered on your body a little too long before he forced them back to your face, taking in the sadness in your eyes.

You were so beautiful like this—small, fragile, clearly aching for someone to hold you.

The thought of you being this broken, this dependent on him, sent a pulse of something darker through his veins and all his blood rushing to his cock.

He let a slow breath out through his nose, shifting his expression into something softer, more concerned.

But underneath that, there was a twisted thrill.

You didn’t even realize how much you needed him, how perfectly you were falling into the trap he had set.

"Hey," he said, voice low and calm, his gaze flicking up and down your body before settling back on your face. "You alright?"

But the way his eyes darkened just a fraction as they swept over you again hinted at more.

His need to consume you was barely hidden beneath the surface, masked only by the false tenderness he had learned to wear so well.

You hesitated, a mix of hurt and confusion on your face.

“I… I don’t understand,” you said, stepping over the threshold and into Joel’s home, your voice wavering with uncertainty.

“You’ve been so distant lately. I thought—” Your gaze flicked up to him, pleading for answers. “I thought we were closer than this.”

Joel closed the door behind you with a deliberate, measured movement.

His eyes followed your every action, noting the way you hesitated at the entryway, clearly unsettled.

The sight of you, standing there with your heart exposed, only intensified his dark satisfaction.

He could see the raw need in your eyes, the desperate hope that he might provide the comfort you were seeking.

“Come on, baby,” he said softly, his voice laced with a false warmth that barely masked his true intentions. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

As you settled onto the couch, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap, Joel took a seat beside you, his proximity charged with a subtle tension.

His gaze remained steady, almost predatory, as he observed the way your defenses were weakening.

The dim light in the room cast a soft glow over you, highlighting the vulnerability in your features.

Joel’s eyes lingered on the curve of your profile, the way your shoulders seemed to slump in defeat.

For a moment, he stayed quiet, eyes flicking down to where your fingers fidgeted in the fabric of your dress.

Then, in a voice that was strangely soft, he broke the silence.

"I thought maybe..." He paused, his jaw tightening slightly as if weighing his words carefully. "I thought maybe you'd gotten too used to me."

His words caught you off guard, and your eyes shot up to meet his. "Too used to you?" you echoed, confusion evident in your tone.

Joel nodded slowly, his expression shifting to one of thoughtful hardness.

There was something in his eyes, a shadow of frustration mixed with a dark calculation.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice gruff. “Maybe I’ve just been around too much. Maybe you’ve been handling things just fine on your own.”

His gaze was steady, almost penetrating, as he watched your reaction.

You could feel the weight of his words, a subtle threat hidden in the casual tone.

The idea that he might pull away, leave you to handle things alone again, seemed both daunting and unsettling.

“Joel, I didn’t mean—” you started to say, but he cut you off, leaning in closer.

His hand rested on your thigh, his touch a mix of warmth and intensity, grounding yet unsettling.

“I’ve been thinking,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “about how you’re managing. Maybe you don’t need me as much as I thought. Maybe it’s time I stepped back and let you handle things on your own. Alone.”

The way he spoke made you feel the absence of his presence even more acutely.

His hand on your thigh was a stark contrast to the coldness in his words, a reminder of what you could lose.

Joel’s gaze remained locked on yours, his expression a careful mix of concern and something darker.

Joel’s fingers traced a small, deliberate path on your thigh, each touch a reminder of his influence and control.

“Maybe it’s time I let you prove it. All on your own”

As his words sank in, a rush of fear and vulnerability overwhelmed you.

You felt a cold, biting loneliness creeping in.

The memory of being abandoned, left alone in a world that felt hostile and unforgiving, came rushing back.

“Please, don’t leave me alone,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Not again. Not like this.”

The desperation in your voice was raw, a stark reminder of the pain from your past.

Joel’s expression softened ever so slightly, though the darkness still lingered in his eyes.

He watched as you struggled, the fear of abandonment triggering old wounds.

You could see the glint of something almost satisfied in his gaze, a cruel sort of pleasure at the way you were unraveling before him.

His hand on your thigh remained steady, a reminder of what you stood to lose if he followed through on his threat.

Joel leaned in, his voice a whisper of false reassurance. “I don’t want to see you suffer, baby. I just need to know you really want me here. That you need me.”

"You don’t know how much I need you," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The words came out before you could stop them, a slip of your guard that Joel pounced on immediately.

He smiled, but there was nothing soft about it. "Yeah?"

His thumb, again, began to trace slow circles against your thigh, the touch deceptively gentle, though the look in his eyes was anything but.

"Because, baby, I’ve been needing you. More than you realize."

His voice dropped lower, and he shifted closer, his presence suffocating in its intensity.

"And I’ve been thinking... maybe you didn’t want me the same way. Maybe I pushed too hard, too fast."

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off again, his hand moving from your thigh to cup your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.

"But I get it now," he murmured, his voice dark and possessive. "I see it. You need me just as much. You’re just afraid to admit it."

His words hung in the air, heavy and laced with meaning, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest. Joel leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"You don’t have to be afraid," he whispered. "You don’t have to hide how much you want me."

His hand slid from your chin down to your shoulder, then lower, grazing the fabric of your dress in a way that made your breath hitch.

He was testing the boundaries, pushing them, seeing how far he could go before you pulled away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

"I just needed to know," Joel continued, his voice soft but insistent, "that you want me, too. That you’re as hungry for this as I am."

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Joel’s fingers trailed down your arm, intertwining with your own, holding them still.

His grip was firm, grounding, and yet there was that undercurrent of dominance there—the same unspoken claim he always made, like you were something precious and fragile, yet wholly his.

"I’m sorry," he murmured, though the apology didn’t feel entirely sincere. His voice was calm, soothing, but the darkness in his gaze remained.

"I didn’t mean to push you away. I just needed to make sure you wanted me like I want you."

His hand brushed over your cheek, the gesture tender, though you could sense the raw desire behind it.

"Tell me you want me, baby," he coaxed, his thumb stroking the side of your face. "Tell me I wasn’t wrong."

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, the intensity in his eyes almost too much to bear.

He was pulling you in, breaking down every last wall you had left, making you crave the very thing you’d been trying to deny.

"I need you," you breathed, the confession spilling from your lips before you could stop it.

Joel’s smile widened, that dark, twisted satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

His grip on your hand tightened, his other hand slipping around your waist, pulling you closer.

"I knew it," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. "I knew you couldn’t resist."

Joel’s eyes darkened with a twisted satisfaction as he leaned in closer, his hand brushing against your arm with an intimacy that belied his words.

“You don’t have to worry about that anymore,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, but with a dark undercurrent. “I’m here now. I’ll take care of you.”

You shifted slightly, feeling a mix of relief and unease as you looked up at him. Joel’s gaze was intense, his expression one of smoldering desire masked by a veneer of concern.

He watched as your defenses crumbled, your need for comfort making you more vulnerable to his manipulations.

“Just let me be here for you,” he continued, his hand moving to your cheek, his touch almost tender but charged with a possessive edge.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. I’ll take care of you, baby. You just need to trust me.”

You nodded slowly, your resolve faltering as you leaned into his touch.

His words, though laced with a veneer of sympathy, were a seductive promise of control.

Joel could see the way you melted under his gaze, your need for him growing stronger with each passing moment.

He let his hand slide down your arm, his touch deliberately lingering as he coaxed you into his embrace.

“You’re safe here with me,” he whispered, his voice low and sultry.

“You don’t have to think about anything else. Just let me take care of you.”

You were too overwhelmed by your emotions to resist as he gently pulled you closer.

His hands roamed over your body with a possessive urgency, each touch calculated to deepen your dependence on him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ve wanted this for so long. You have no idea how much you mean to me.”

The warmth of his breath, the intensity of his gaze, and the possessiveness in his touch combined to create a heady mix of pleasure and apprehension.

Joel’s manipulation was complete—he had broken down your defenses, making you crave his presence as desperately as he desired to control you.

As his hands explored your body, his touch became more insistent, his words a blend of comfort and dark desire.

“You want me, sweet girl, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

As Joel's words and touch sank in, you felt a wave of relief mingled with your desperation.

The fear of being abandoned, of losing the small comfort he provided, made you cling to him even more.

Despite the unsettling edge to his words, the fact that he was showing you kindness again brought a surge of gratitude.

You wanted to feel cared for, wanted to be held in a way that made you forget the fear of being left alone.

"Please, Joel," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. "I want you."

Joel’s touch became a tangled mix of comfort and possessiveness.

He held you close, his hands roaming over your body with a growing insistence, reinforcing the notion that you were his and his alone.

His whispers and touches were a heady mixture of dark desire and a twisted form of affection, leaving you both comforted and caught in his web of manipulation.

Joel’s voice was low and soothing, yet carried an undercurrent of dominance.

“You’re just a girl who needs someone to look after her,” he said, each word dripping with arousal.

“Let me take care of everything for you. You don’t need to worry about a thing while you’re with me. Just relax and let me handle it all, baby. I’m here to make sure you’re okay.”

His touch was slow and deliberate, slowly tucking up your dress, his words designed to reinforce both his control and your vulnerability.

You shivered as his lips pressed against your skin, your mind clouded with a mix of longing and confusion.

Joel’s voice was soft, almost tender, but with an unmistakable edge.

“You’ve been so lost and vulnerable,” he murmured, drawing you closer.

“You need someone strong to guide you, to make you feel safe. Let me be that for you. You don’t have to handle any of this alone. Just let go and let me take care of you.”

His lips brushed against yours, soft and insistent.

"Let me be that for you, let me take care of everything. You don't have to do anything but trust me."

As his lips pressed firmly against yours, he deepened the kiss, each movement reinforcing his words, pulling you further into his control.

His tongue slid into your mouth, exploring and claiming you with a possessive fervor.

"You're so sweet," he murmured between kisses, his voice raw and heated.

"I've been waiting for this, needing to feel you like this." His hands roamed possessively over your body, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his desire unmistakable in every touch and caress.

Joel’s lips remained locked on yours, the kiss growing more urgent and desperate.

His hands wandered over your body, exploring with a mixture of hunger and tenderness.

One hand gripped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, while the other slid down to your waist, pressing you firmly against him and his pulsing length.

His kisses were relentless, each one deeper and more insistent than the last.

He traced the contours of your lips with his tongue, his touch turning more possessive.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered between heated kisses, his breath hot against your skin.

“I can’t get enough of you.” His fingers roamed over your body with increasing boldness, every touch stoking the fire between you.

Your body responded instinctively to his touch, even as your mind struggled to catch up.

Every caress, every lingering touch made you shiver, a mixture of confusion and pleasure rippling through you.

Your breathing quickened, each kiss and stroke sending waves of warmth through your veins.

Though you were unsure and your thoughts swirled with uncertainty, the sensation of his hands roaming over your skin felt undeniably good.

You leaned into his touch, your body betraying your confusion with a need that grew stronger with each passing second.

Your fingers clung to him, finding solace in the way he held you, even as a part of you grappled with the intensity of the moment.

You just want to finally feel safe again.

You clung to him, breath shaky and eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and need.

“Please,” you whispered urgently, voice breaking, “I need you to take care of me, to make me feel safe. I can’t do this alone anymore. I need you to be the one to make me feel good, to give me what I’m missing. I want you to be everything for me.”

Joel’s eyes darkened with a mix of lust and satisfaction. He pulled you closer, his voice a low, seductive murmur.

“Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea how much I’ve been waiting for you to say that. You need me to take care of you, to make you feel safe? I’m going to give you everything you’ve been craving. You don’t have to worry about a thing anymore—just let me be the one to fulfill all your desires.”

His hand traced a heated path along your side, each touch designed to ignite your senses further.

“Yes, please” you whimpered into his mouth.

That’s all he wanted.

Joel’s touch became reverent, his hands exploring your body with a possessive hunger. His lips followed the path of his fingers, kissing every exposed inch of skin as he spoke with a fervent, dirty intensity.

“Fuckin‘ perfect, every part of you is just for me,” he whispered against your collarbone, his breath hot and tantalizing.

“I want to worship every curve, every soft spot. you’re so fuckin beautiful, and you need me to show you just how much. Let me savor you, baby—every touch, every kiss is for you. You’re mine now, and I’m going to make sure you feel that deep in your bones.”

Joels lips slowly traveled down your body.

His breath was warm and heavy against your skin as he knelt before you. His gaze was dark, filled with an unrestrained hunger as he whispered, his voice a sultry murmur.

“so sweet, so irresistible,” he said, his fingers grazing your inner thighs with a teasing touch.

“I’m going to show you just how much you need me. You’re like a little princess who needs to be worshipped, and I’m more than happy to oblige. Let me taste every part of you, baby. I want to make you feel so good, so full of pleasure, you’ll never want to leave my side.”

Joel's hands were deft as he slowly peeled away the rest of your dress, his touch both deliberate and reverent. His lips traced a path along your skin.

"Need someone to think for you, hm?" he murmured, his breath sending shivers down your spine.

"To make every decision, every choice for you. You just need to surrender to me, let me take care of everything. I'll make sure you’re completely taken care of, baby. Just relax and let me handle everything."

His fingers continued their slow, teasing exploration, each movement fueling his deep, perverted desire to have you wholly in his control.

Joel carefully lifted you into his arms, carrying you toward his bed with a purposeful stride.

He lowered you gently onto the mattress, his hands lingering on your waist as he took in the sight of you in nothing but your underwear.

His breath was warm against your exposed skin as he settled beside you. "You're so perfect," he murmured, his voice a mix of tenderness and unspoken hunger.

"Just relax. I'm going to make sure you feel good."

His fingers traced lightly over your exposed skin, each touch both soothing and charged with a possessive intensity.

The sight of you, vulnerable and exposed, ignited a primal hunger deep within him.

Every curve of your body seemed to call out to him, each subtle movement you made only heightening his intense need.

The way you looked, soft and eager, made his pulse race with anticipation.

He imagined the many ways he could take control, shaping your need and dependence to match his desires.

The thought of making you entirely his, of fulfilling his fantasies and watching you respond to his every touch, filled him with a dark, thrilling excitement.

His cock, leaking and pulsing inside of his - now too tight - pants.

He couldn't help but notice the way his body reacted to you-how every time you were near, his pulse quickened, and that familiar ache stirred deep inside him.

It was unexpected, really. At his age, he thought those days were behind him, but being around you had changed everything.

His body responded to you in ways he hadn't felt in years, his cock hardening almost every time you so much as smiled in his direction.

It was like his body refused to let him forget just how much he wanted you-constantly reminding him, throbbing with need whenever you were close.

He lowered himself to the bed beside you, his breath warm against your skin.

“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice laced with both tenderness and an unspoken hunger.

“Just relax. I’m going to make sure you feel good.”

His lips brushed softly against your stomach, his kisses slow and deliberate, hinting at the path his hands and lips might take.

“Let me show you how much I care,” he whispered, his breath making your skin tingle with anticipation.

Joel's hands moved with deliberate patience, his touch growing more assured as he pressed your thighs to open.

"You don't have to think about a thing. Daddy's got you."

Your breath caught in your throat when the word left his lips—daddy. It hit you like a shock, a jolt of something both unfamiliar and undeniably magnetic.

You weren’t sure how to process it, weren’t even sure you should. But it stirred something deep inside, a part of you you hadn’t acknowledged in so long.

The air between you thickened, your heart racing as the room suddenly felt smaller, warmer.

You knew you should say something, stop this before it went further, but your body betrayed you, leaning into the heat of his touch, the promise in his voice.

The word echoed in your mind, twisting through your thoughts, confusing you with how natural, how right it sounded in his mouth.

You wanted to push him away, to ask what he thought he was doing, but you didn’t.

Instead, you stayed—silent, wide-eyed—because part of you wanted to hear him say it again.

Part of you wanted to be taken care of, to be small, vulnerable, safe in a way you hadn’t been since...

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you couldn’t deny how the word sent a rush of warmth through you, settling low in your pulsing cunt.

Joel's lips hovered just above your skin, each kiss trailing lower, igniting a soft, trembling need within you. You moaned.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire as his hands gripped your hips gently, holding you in place.

“Daddy’s gonna take care of you.”

His mouth moved slowly, deliberately, his breath warm as he teased you, each moment making your body tense in anticipation.

“You’ve been needing this, haven’t you?” he murmured, “My poor baby“, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

“Needed daddy so bad, hm?”

He paused, his lips hovering dangerously close, his voice dropping lower.

He lowered himself with a deliberate slowness, his gaze locked onto you with a mix of fervent anticipation and adoration.

“Let me show you just how much I want to take care of you,” he whispered, his voice a husky murmur, slowly taking of your damp panties - leaning in close.

His prominent nose brushed teasingly against your pulsing clit, sending a shiver through your entire body.

Each delicate nudge felt almost like a promise, hinting at what was to come.

The sensation left you both confused and intrigued, your breath quickening as you struggled to process the mingling of shock and unexpected pleasure.

His tongue made a tentative, deliberate swipe against you, licking your pussy gently, sending a shiver up your spine.

The sudden warmth and wetness made you gasp, your body reacting instinctively to the unexpected sensation.

A mix of confusion and pleasure swirled within you as your breath hitched, your fingers gripping the sheets, trying to steady yourself amidst the overwhelming, unfamiliar pleasure.

Joel noticed your inexperience in every hesitant gasp and shiver. It only made his cock harden more in his Jeans.

Joel's focus remained intently on your little cunt, his every touch purposeful. He moved with deliberate slowness, savoring the reactions you elicited.

His tongue traced light, teasing patterns onto your twitching clit, his breaths warm and soft against your skin, making you shiver with every delicate touch.

His lips lingered on your most sensitive part, the sensation of a subtle, rhythmic suction, barely perceptible yet unmistakably suggestive, creating a wave of shivering anticipation through your whole body.

You, already, were so close to the edge; Joel could see it clearly.

Your breaths came in rapid, uneven gasps, and your body quivered in response to his touch. He noticed the way your muscles tensed and the subtle tremors that ran through you.

The urgency in your breaths and the way your legs slightly shook were unmistakable signals of your nearing climax.

He pulled back just enough to watch, relishing the heightened tension as your eyes fluttered open, a mix of frustration and anticipation evident on your face.

Joel’s voice was low and filled with a dark, seductive promise. “I can feel how close you are, baby,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

“I want to feel you come undone, baby. I want to watch you lose control. Just give in and let Daddy take care of you.” His voice was a seductive whisper, every word designed to heighten your need, as his touch lingered, coaxing and teasing.

Slowly taking off his pants.

As Joel’s pants fell to his ankles, the sight that greeted you was both startling and mesmerizing. His leaking cock was noticeably larger than you had imagined, with a thickness that made your eyes widen in surprise.

The smooth, dark skin of his shaft was veined and visibly engorged, hinting at the intensity of his desire.

It was already leaking a glistening bead of pre-cum, which pooled at the tip and gave it an almost ominous sheen.

Joel's gaze never wavered from you, his eyes dark and filled with an unsettling mix of satisfaction and dominance.

“This is what you’ve done to me,” he said softly, his voice rough with need.

Cock jumping every time you looked down at him. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this way.”

You hesitated, a mixture of confusion and reluctance evident in your eyes. “I don’t know, Joel…”

He paused, his voice taking on a more commanding tone.

“If you don’t let go, baby, I might just have to leave you to figure it out on your own. You don’t want that, do you? Daddy’s here to take care of you, to make sure you’re okay. Trust me and let me help you.”

His words were wrapped in a mix of persuasion and a subtle edge of threat, aimed to coax you into surrendering.

You felt a flutter of apprehension mixed with a yearning need for his touch. His whisper, dripping with both authority and promise, coaxed you into a state of surrender.

“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Say it, baby. Tell me you want me to stay.”

Your breath hitched as you struggled with the rising tide of vulnerability. Scared of being left alone again.

With a soft, hesitant voice, you finally whispered, „I want you to stay.”

His eyes darkened with a mixture of satisfaction and hunger as he heard you utter those words.

He cupped your face gently, his fingers tracing along your jawline as he continued to whisper soothingly, “That’s a good girl. Let me take care of you. Just relax and let me handle everything.”

His touch, though tender, carried an unmistakable edge of possessiveness, making it clear that he was in control.

He gazed at you with a warm, tender smile, his eyes softening as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?” he murmured, his voice gentle and affectionate.

“Such a good girl for me. I’m so proud of you.” He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his tone filled with genuine adoration.

“You’re perfect, just the way you are. Let me take care of you.” His words were laced with a blend of endearment and possessiveness, wrapping you in a comforting cocoon of reassurance.

You felt a surge of warmth at his words, a mix of relief and comfort flooding through you.

You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with vulnerability.

A shy smile tugged at your lips as you leaned into his touch, finding solace in his praise.

The reassurance of being called "pretty" and "good girl" felt like a soothing balm, calming the storm of confusion and fear within you.

In his presence, despite everything, you felt a strange, tentative peace.

He leaned in again, his lips brushing softly against yours.

The kiss began gentle and tender, filled with a careful exploration of emotions.

His touch was both reassuring and passionate, gradually deepening as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer.

The heat between you intensified, the kiss becoming more urgent and consuming. Every caress of his lips was a promise of intimacy, blending comfort with an insistent desire.

As the kiss deepened, his hands began to explore your body with a gentle, possessive touch.

His fingertips traced a slow, deliberate path down your sides, moving closer to your chest.

With a careful, almost teasing touch, he caressed the curve of your breast through the fabric of your bra, savoring the way your body responded to his every movement.

His voice was low and commanding, his breath hot against your skin.

"Let me see all of you," he murmured, his hands already starting to slide your remaining clothes off with a mix of urgency and reverence.

"| want to see you all laid bare, just for me."

His eyes burned with intensity as he eagerly worked to reveal more of your body, his touch lingering with every movement.

As the fabric slipped away and your bare breasts were revealed, his eyes darkened with a primal intensity.

He gazed at you hungrily, his breath catching as he took in the sight. His fingers roamed eagerly over your skin, their touch lingering and possessive.

"God, you're incredible," he groaned, his voice dripping with desire.

"|'ve wanted to see you like this for so long." His hands explored your breast with a ferocity that left no doubt about his hunger, his gaze fixed on you with an almost obsessive fixation.

He couldn’t help but revel in the sight of you, so exposed and vulnerable before him.

His hands roamed possessively over your breasts, fingers tracing the curves and contours with a reverent touch.

His lips finally descended, capturing one of your nipples in a gentle, teasing kiss.

He nuzzled and licked, savoring the softness and warmth, his tongue flickering with a hunger that made his intentions clear.

Each delicate brush of his lips and tongue was an unspoken promise of his complete adoration, his perverted fascination with every part of you laid bare.

As Joel's tongue traced over your nipples, he couldn't help but let his mind wander.

The sensation of your skin against his lips, your warmth radiating through him and your sweet moans only fueled his thoughts.

He imagined you carrying his child, his own mark on you in the most intimate way.

Each teasing lick and gentle suck was accompanied by the fantasy of you pregnant, fulfilling a desire that went far beyond the present moment.

His mind drifted to the idea of you nourishing him in the most intimate way, the anticipation of tasting your milk driving him wild.

His cock throbbed incessantly, each pulse a painful reminder of just how much he yearned for you.

The ache grew with each touch, each kiss, until it became a near-constant throbbing, demanding release.

The sensation was overwhelming, an almost unbearable pressure that seemed to grow with every inch of contact, his desire for you mounting with every second

Joel’s breath grew ragged as he pulled back slightly, his eyes dark with desire.

He looked at you with a mix of need and intensity, his voice low and gravelly.

“Daddy needs to be inside you, sweet girl” he murmured.

He stared at you with a burning intensity, his voice a hushed whisper of urgency.

His movements were deliberate and filled with a raw desire that was impossible to ignore, his body pressing closer to yours with each passing moment, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

You could feel the unmistakable pressure and heat of him as he positioned himself, at the opening of your tight pussy.

His eyes locked onto yours, a fierce determination in his gaze.

“I’ve waited for this moment,” he growled, his voice thick with desire.

Silently your voice whispered out to him, “Daddy,”

The sound of your voice seemed to unlock something deep within him.

Joel groaned as he pressed deeper, feeling the way your body clenched tightly around him.

The stretch was almost too much, and you could feel just how thick he was as he slowly sank inside, inch by inch. 

"God, you're so tight," he rasped, his voice thick with strain and something darker, almost possessive.

He paused, giving you a moment to adjust, his breathing heavy as he fought for control. 

"You feel so perfect around me," he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, the weight of him settling heavily against you. "Just relax, baby. Let me in." 

As Joel pushed deeper, your body reacted to the overwhelming sensation—a mix of pleasure and a sharp, lingering ache.

Each inch of him brought a new wave of heat that burned through you, the stretch almost too much, yet somehow not enough. 

You gasped, your body tensing under the pressure, unsure whether to pull away or draw him closer.

The pain ebbed with every slow movement, replaced by a growing warmth that made your pulse quicken.

“Easy,” Joel whispered, his voice thick and soothing, his lips grazing your neck.

“I know it’s a lot… but you’ll get used to it. Just let me take care of you. My sweet, pretty girl”

Your body responded instinctively, a wave of pleasure crashing over you with each deliberate thrust, making you feel completely and utterly exposed.

He pressed into you with a steady, deliberate force, each thrust deep and insistent.

The sensation of him moving inside you was both overwhelming and all-consuming, his control evident in every motion.

His thrusts were measured but powerful, pushing and pulling with an intensity that made each moment stretch, filling you completely.

The way he moved was both commanding and passionate, amplifying every sensation and hinting at his unrestrained desire.

Joel's sounds were raw and primal, each groan and sigh escaping him with a deep, guttural intensity.

His breaths came in short, ragged bursts, every exhale a mix of pleasure and need.

The way he grunted and muttered, his voice rough and strained, made it clear how much he craved and needed you.

His movements were urgent and powerful, driven by an almost feral desire that made him seem less controlled and more driven by pure, unfiltered instinct.

As he continued to move, he couldn't help but notice how perfectly you enveloped him.

Every shift and thrust seemed to be met with an almost intoxicating tightness, making each motion feel even more intense.

Joel's voice was rough, almost primal, as he spoke through gritted teeth.

"You're driving me crazy," he growled, the need in his voice palpable.

"I've been waiting for this, to have you just like this. You're so perfect, so tight...I want you to scream my name."

Each word was punctuated with a forceful thrust, his eyes dark with a perverted hunger.

"Tell me how much you need me, baby. Let daddy hear you."

You moaned softly, your voice trembling with a mix of desperation and surrender. "I need you so badly. I want you to take care of me, to give me everything."

His grip on you tightened, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

"That's right. Tell me how much you crave me, how much you want me to make you feel good. I need to hear you beg for it."

Each thrust was deliberate, designed to push you to the edge of your limits, to make you feel every inch of his need.

He watched you intently, eager to hear every plea, every expression of your deep desire for him.

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking with raw need. “Please, just—make me feel good. I need you so badly. I want you to take me completely.”

He thrust harder, a dark satisfaction in his eyes.

“Beg me. Tell me exactly what you want. How you want me to make you feel. I want to hear it.”

You whimpered, your body trembling under his relentless pace.

“I want you to touch me everywhere. Make me come so hard, I don’t know my own name. I need you inside me, every inch. Please, Daddy, don’t stop.”

His smirk widened, a cruel thrill in his voice.

“That’s it. Let me hear how much you need me. Tell me you’re mine.”

Your voice was a desperate, pleading whisper as you gasped, “Please, take over. I can’t think straight—just make me feel what I need.”

His eyes blazed with a primal hunger as he heard your desperate plea.

A low growl escaped him, filled with raw, unchecked desire.

"You want me to take over, baby?" he rasped, his voice thick with lust.

"'Il make you feel everything you need. Just give yourself to me completely."

His grip tightened, and his movements grew more urgent, driven by an insatiable need to dominate and fulfill your every desire.

His thrusts grew more insistent, every motion deliberate and filled with a primal urgency.

He pressed deeper, feeling the tightness of you enveloping him, each movement stirring an intense reaction within him.

His hands roamed over your body with an unrestrained hunger, lingering on your breasts as he traced their shape with a feverish touch.

He cupped them firmly, his fingers gently kneading and teasing, feeling your sensitive nipples.

He leaned closer, his voice dripping with possessiveness.

“You’re my perfect little girl, aren’t you? Let Daddy make sure you feel everything you’ve ever needed. I’ll take care of you in ways no man could ever do. No man ever did. “

Something about the way he said it - the promise, the claim - ignited something deep within you.

Your body responded to his words before your mind could catch up, and a wave of pleasure washed over you, muscles tightening around him as you trembled, overwhelmed by the release.

As Joel’s movements grew more insistent, his breathing quickened, the tension between you palpable.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch both commanding and tender.

Every thrust, every caress seemed to draw you both closer to the edge of an all-consuming release.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark with an intense, almost primal desire.

“Tell me you need me,” he rasped, his voice rough with the effort of holding back. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The pressure of his body against yours, the heat of his breath, and the intensity of his gaze all combined to overwhelm you.

You felt your own need rising, a reflection of his own desperate hunger.

“I need you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with both emotion and desire. “I’m yours.”

Joel’s grip tightened on you, his control slipping as his own climax approached.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

His movements grew more urgent, his body pressing against yours with an almost unbearable intensity.

You could feel the unmistakable heat of his cock, deep inside. The rhythm of his thrusts becoming more erratic as he neared the point of no return.

With a final, deep groan, Joel’s body tensed, and you felt the surge of his release, his warmth spreading inside you.

His hands held you tightly, his breathing ragged as he let out a low, satisfied sigh.

The moment was both primal and intimate, a profound culmination of the need that had driven you both.

As his movements gradually slowed, you could feel the lingering heat of his cum inside of you, a reminder of the intense connection you shared.

Joel’s voice, now soft and breathless, whispered against your ear. “I needed this… I needed you.” His hands continued their slow, lingering caress, as if unwilling to let go of the moment, of you.

You lay there, caught between the afterglow of your shared intensity and the deep, unspoken understanding of what you both had given

Joel turned to you, his gaze dark with an intensity that made you shiver.

His hand wandered, brushing lightly against your lips before sliding down to gently caress your breast, a possessive touch that left no room for misunderstanding.

You looked up at him, a mix of confusion and an unspoken need flickering in your eyes. “But what happens now?”

“You don’t have to worry about anything, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive.

“Tonight was all about showing you just how much you mean to me—and how much I need you.”

Joel’s fingers traced idle patterns on your skin, his touch both tender and insistent.

“It means you’re mine,” he said, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone. “And it means I’m here to take care of everything. You don’t need to think about a thing.”

You shivered as his thumb brushed over your nipple, the sensation sending a jolt through you. “I just want to feel like I belong somewhere.”

Joel’s smile was a mix of satisfaction and possessiveness.

“You belong with me. I’ll make sure you never feel empty again. We both have our voids, but together, we fill them.”

His fingers continued their slow, teasing exploration, making your breath catch with each gentle touch.

“You’re not just filling a space, baby. You’re giving me everything I need.”

You felt a strange blend of relief and anticipation. “I guess... I needed this too. I can just let go.”

Joel’s hand lingered on your breast, his grip firm yet reassuring.

“That’s right. You don’t have to think about anything else. Just be here with me, and let me take care of you. I want to see you happy, feel you close.”

The way he spoke, his voice thick with desire, made you feel a mix of comfort and excitement.

His touch was a constant reminder of the connection you now shared, both physical and emotional.

As you settled into his embrace, you felt a strange sense of completeness, knowing that, in this moment, you were filling the emptiness for each other in a way that was both intense and deeply satisfying. It’s all gonna be okay. Right?

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

These two really need therapy! Hope y’all enjoyed x

Probably will only do oneshots & smut scenarios with these two fuckers- from now on.

Also, I had no beta, so if you see anything that needs correction, let me know!

[taiyami]

"What's wrong, Pharaoh? You look like you've seen a ghost."

₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚ 🎃 Happy Halloween !! 🎃 ₊˚🕯️♱‧₊˚.