#pedro pascal characters fanfiction

[lieutenantsluvr]

Nights In White Satin | Oneshot

div credit dollywons

masterlist

❝ nights in white satin, never reaching the end ❞

pairing: jackson!joel miller x f!reader

warnings/tags: 18+ MDNI, NSFW, smut, mentions of violence, death, and gore. mentions events of s2e2, mild angst, confession, mentions of survivors guilt, extreme guilt, anxiety, maybe some ptsd, yearning, unprotected p in v, mentions of overstimulation, oral sex (f receiving), mature language, grumpy x sunshine, no use of y/n. would this be a fix it fic? who knows.

synop: what if the events of (game 2, s2e2) happened a little bit differently? what if he survived? what if you got your happy ending. and, what if you showed him what that happiness really felt like?

a/n: im a widow, okay? take a oneshot bc i miss seeing him. also this has been in my drafts for awhile.. so pls ignore if its choppy</3

w/c 10.1k

"Mornin'," he rumbles, voice thick with sleep, rough like gravel under boot. The coffee cup skates across the cool granite, leaving a streak of warmth behind, and the smell—rich, dark, almost divine—hits you like a prayer answered by the gods above. Liquid fuckin sleep.

"Good morning to you too, Miller," you murmur around a yawn, curling two fingers through the handle and pulling the mug close. Heat seeps into your skin, chasing away the chill clinging to your bones.

Your gaze lifts to him—Joel—watching as he drags a hand down his face, wiping away whatever dreams still clung to him. His fingers thump against the counter with a soft, aimless tap, and you catch yourself staring at the rough, calloused pads of them, worn, weathered and real.

"Tired?" His voice is softer this time, threading through the sleepy silence between you.

You nod, sipping carefully at the coffee. Blessed and sorely needed.

"Is Ellie up, or did you let her sleep in?" you ask, stifling another yawn as you tip your head in a lazy nod toward the next patrol filing into the mess hall.

"I let her sleep," he mutters, gaze flicking down to the coffee steaming in his hand. You don’t have to press him—you already know. They’re still tangled up in whatever silent war they started. Fighting, ignoring each other, walking on eggshells… some messy, stubborn version of a father-daughter standoff that's got both of them fraying at the edges.

"Aren’t you a good daddy, eh?" you tease, hiding a smirk behind the rim of your mug. Your eyes cut sideways, waiting—almost daring him—to react.

Right on cue, he lets out a low, gruff hnf, a sound half embarrassment, half warning.

"I wouldn't press you about it anyway, Miller," you say with a soft grin, slipping down from the barstool. The soles of your boots scuff lightly against the floor, the sound too loud in the sleepy hush of the mess hall.

"I'm with Jesse this morning—we’ve got the market patrol," you add, turning as you shrug into your jacket, tugging it into place with a few sharp tugs. Still, your gaze can’t help but drift back to him.

Joel stands there, broad-shouldered and a little crumpled around the edges, like sleep hadn't quite finished with him yet. Your eyes catch on the strands of silver threading through the dark, messy curls at his temples.

Pretty, you think, a little surprised at yourself. Stupidly pretty.

He doesn’t notice the way you’re looking—or maybe he does and just pretends not to. He’s good at that.

"I'm with Dina," Joel says, giving a small nod. His eyes flick sideways, quick, like a habit he can't quite shake. Watching you. Pretending not to. It's subtle, the way he does it—barely there—but you catch it anyway.

"If you’re back in time, we can hit the bar for happy hour~," you tease, voice lilting into a singsong as you nudge a playful jab toward his shoulder, stopping just shy of actually making contact. "Maybe even get you to talk about your little daddy-daughter debacle."

You flash him a grin, wide and shameless, knowing full well how much he hates when you call it that. The word debacle alone is enough to get that tight, uncomfortable pinch around his mouth—the one he tries and fails to hide every time.

He huffs out a breath, more air than sound, and levels you with a look—one that’s supposed to be warning, but doesn’t have much bite behind it. His mouth pulls into a tight line, and for a second, you think he’s going to let it go.

But, of course, Joel Miller never lets anything go easy.

"You’re askin’ for trouble, y'know that?" he mutters, low and gravelly, eyes narrowing just a touch. Not angry. Just… exasperated. The kind of exasperated that sounds a whole lot like fond when it’s him.

You just laugh, light and careless, throwing a wink over your shoulder as you head for the door.

"Been askin' for trouble since the day you met me, old man," you call back, earning a rough, half-hearted hnf that follows you all the way out into the morning chill.

. . .

Patrol was boring. The kind of boring that makes you wish for something stupid to happen, just to feel your blood move a little faster. The roads were dead quiet, muffled under thick, heavy snow. Jesse didn't talk much—just rambled now and then about town repairs, busted generators, and roofs that needed patching. Stuff that drifted past your ears without sticking.

Building wasn’t really your thing, anyway. You stuck to what you were good at—helping out in the greenhouses, lending a hand at the infirmary—anything that didn’t require a hammer and nails. Unfortunately, you were still subjected to freeze your ass off on patrol.

The wind bit at your face until your eyebrows went numb, your eyelashes stiff and clumped with frost. You were about five minutes away from becoming a human popsicle when you finally reached for your walkie.

"Jackson, come in, over," you called, voice crackling through the static.

There was a beat of silence before a faint voice answered, a little too quick, a little too tense. "Jackson copy. Twin Forks, how’s it looking out there?"

You glanced over at Jesse, who just gave a small shrug, his breath clouding in the frozen air. Raising the walkie back to your mouth, you huffed out a sigh.

"Freezin' half to death. Roads are mainly clear. We're headin' back, over" you said, teeth chattering a little around the words.

Static hissed through the speaker again. Longer this time.

Your eyebrows pulled together, unease creeping slow and sharp down your spine. That wasn’t like Jackson. They were usually fast—too fast sometimes, like they were just waiting for any excuse to chatter your ear off.

Before you could say anything, the walkie cracked back to life:

"Twin Forks, copy—have you heard from Dina or Joel? Over."

Your stomach dropped clean through you. Like stepping into thin ice.

You tightened your grip on the walkie, heart already kicking up in your chest.

"No," you said, sharper than you meant to. "Aren’t they supposed to be back already?"

The static answered for them.

And for the first time all morning, the cold wasn’t the thing making your hands shake.

Your eyes flicked up to Jesse. His face was stone—jaw tight, mouth a grim, thin line. You knew he had something with Dina. Whatever messy, tangled thing it was between them, it ran deep enough to light that cold fury in his eyes now.

"I'm following their route," you said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. "You can come with me… or you can go home."

Your teeth caught your bottom lip, biting down hard enough that the sting cut through the churning anxiety in your gut. It felt like your stomach was trying to turn itself inside out, the nerves scraping raw against your ribs.

For a second, Jesse didn’t say anything. Just stared at you, snow catching in his hair, breath huffing out in slow, frosted clouds.

Then he nodded once. Sharp. Decisive.

"Let's go."

You didn’t wait. You just adjusted your pack and started moving, boots crunching hard through the deep snow, following the trail Joel and Dina were supposed to take.

Every step forward made the pit in your stomach twist tighter. Something was wrong. You could feel it, thrumming under your skin like a warning.

You tapped your heel against your horse’s side—once, twice—and the animal surged forward into the snow, kicking up white powder in its wake. Fingers tightening so hard around the reins that the leather bit deep into your palms, leaving angry, stinging red imprints.

"Joel? Dina? Come in. Over," you barked into the walkie, voice clipped and sharp from the cold and the panic creeping higher in your throat.

Static answered. Again. No Joel. No reply.

"Fuck," you hissed under your breath, jamming the radio back onto your pack with a rough snap.

The trail ahead was still. Too still. Snow stretched in every direction, pristine and coated except for a broken trail of hoof prints leading up toward the mountain.

You didn’t need to think. You urged your horse faster, heart hammering in your chest, every muscle wound tight.

It was only a few yards up the slope when you saw it—Dina and Joel’s horse, standing riderless in the snow.

But no Dina. No Joel.

Your eyes snapped to the cabin tucked just ahead. It looked solid—half-renovated, sturdy enough to stand against the winter. Someone had been here, maybe still was.

"Jesse—front door," you ordered, voice low but firm. "Make sure no one goes in or out."

Your gaze cut to him, sharp and urgent. He nodded, pulling his gun free from his belt as he circled wide, boots crunching over the frozen ground.

"I’ll take the side door," you added, already slipping from your horse, landing hard in the snow. "Look around."

You hesitated, just for a second—just long enough to catch his eye—and the words slipped out, rougher, quieter:

"And… be safe."

The look you gave him said the rest. You were already wired tight with anxiety, your nerves scraped raw. One wrong move, and this whole thing could turn sideways fast.

Jesse gave you a tight nod, disappearing toward the front, and you turned toward the side of the cabin, heart hammering loud enough you swore it echoed in your ears.

Hand on your weapon, you moved in.

he bile clawed up your throat, threatening to spill out. Your whole body felt like it had caught fire—nerves sparking, brain short-circuiting, tears stinging hot at the corners of your eyes.

You rounded the corner of the basement, sweeping it methodically, breathing shallow, every inch of you tight with dread. Clear. Clear. Clear.

Until the stairs came into view.

You climbed them slow, careful, each step deliberate, barely daring to breathe. The wood creaked under your boots, but only slightly—only enough to make your heart jump into your throat.

Then— "Ha—ha—HA—"

The ragged gasping hit you like a blow to the chest. Violent. Desperate. A woman’s voice, cracked and breaking from the strain of it.

You froze, finger curling tight around your trigger, inching closer to the source.

Through the narrow sliver of the cracked door, you saw it.

Blood. Everywhere.

The metallic scent hit you hard, thick and suffocating.

And then— The mess of salt and pepper curls. Familiar. Burned into your mind from only this morning, when you were smiling over your coffee and teasing him about happy hour. When you wished you had told him that since the day you met him, he had meant everything to you.

Joel.

Blood soaked the floorboards beneath him, pooling like something alive, something hungry. Gushing. And he wasn’t moving.

Your body moved before your brain had time to catch up. You slammed your shoulder into the door with a force you didn’t even know you had, sending it crashing backward with a groan of splintering wood.

The room was a blur—chaos and blood and panic. The familiar weight of a body on the ground, unmoving. Your eyes barely caught it before you were reacting, fingers tightening around your weapon. The shot was instinct, clean and precise, straight to the face. The sound of the gunshot rang in your ears as one of the women dropped like a ragdoll, her body crumpling.

But then— The wind was knocked out of you.

The second she hit the floor, another figure lunged, grabbing you by the shoulders, slamming you back against the wall with bone-crushing force.

You gasped for air, panic flooding in as your body screamed to move, to do anything but be pinned here. There was a man on you, wild eyes flashing with terror and fury. You fought back, muscles burning, your hand darting to the nearest thing—anything to give you an edge. It landed on a glass bottle, slick and cold in your grasp.

Without thinking, you swung it, the bottle crashing against his skull with a sickening crack. He staggered back, momentarily dazed, giving you just enough space to slip away, your chest heaving as you fought against the rage, the fear, the overwhelming anxiety that turned your blood to fire.

Your eyes blurred—tears, or maybe just the smoke of too much anger, too much chaos. Every breath felt like a fist in your ribs.

You barely recognized yourself in that moment.

The fury inside you was pure, uncontrollable—fueled by terror, by the sight of him, by the fact that he was here, and he shouldn’t be.

And it was all too much.

You spun around, gun already raised, your finger pulling the trigger without a single hesitation. The man who had been on you moments ago crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud, his body twitching once, twice, thrice, before stilling.

Your eyes snapped to the remaining two. One was kneeling over Joel, her braided hair swinging wildly with each frantic movement, fingers locked tight around a golf club. The other was above Dina’s body, her face stained with tears as she hovered over the fallen woman. You couldn’t tell if Dina was still breathing. The sight of it made everything inside you twist in fury.

The world around you narrowed—there was no room for hesitation, no time to think.

Angry. So fucking angry. Calculated. Bloodthirsty.

You took a step forward, the weight of the rage feeding you, making everything feel sharp and clear. With one fluid motion, you threw your empty gun to the floor. The clatter echoed in the room, loud and final.

The braided woman took a sharp breath, and before you could even blink, she swung the club at you, a brutal arc aimed right for your face. You felt the crack against the bridge of your nose, the force enough to send you stumbling back, but you didn’t flinch. You welcomed it—felt it fuel the fury already pumping through your veins.

You wanted to feel this.

You didn't give her a second to recover. You lunged, body crashing into hers with everything you had. It was all strength—no technique—just pure violence. She hit the ground hard beneath you, gasping for breath, but you didn’t stop.

Your hand found her side, fingers brushing over the knife strapped to her waist. In one brutal move, you ripped it from her and lifted it high.

The first slash was messy, a deep gash across her throat. She choked, but you didn’t stop. Not until the blade bit down again and again, each thrust deeper, each second an eternity of rage, until her body stopped moving entirely.

You pulled the knife from her throat, your breath coming in ragged gasps, chest heaving as the adrenaline coursed through you, a sick buzz that made everything feel… distant. Empty.

The silence in the room was suffocating now.

You hadn’t even realized it, but Jesse had already moved in, subdued the woman who had been hovering over Dina, and now he was holding the girl in his arms, checking her pulse. Through the ringing in your ears, his voice cut through—low, steady, but with a note of relief.

"She's alive."

The knife slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor with a sickening finality. But you didn’t even look at it. Your body was already in motion, adrenaline still coursing through you, pulling you toward the only thing that mattered now.

You stumbled over to Joel, heart hammering in your chest, each beat pounding like a war drum. You leaned over him, your breath shaky as you hovered above his bloodied form.

"Hey, hey, hey…" The words came out soft, almost like a prayer, your fingers hovering above his battered skin. Every inch of you wanted to touch him, to make sure he was still breathing—still there—but you were terrified. Terrified that if you did, if you moved too quickly, you might break him with a single touch.

His face was bruised and battered, blood streaked down his jaw and neck. His breathing was shallow, ragged—but it was still there. He was still here.

Your hand trembled, fingers hovering just above him, a fragile hesitation before you finally let them settle on his chest, feeling the weak rise and fall beneath your palm.

"Joel," you whispered, voice cracking, soft but desperate. "Joel, stay with me. Cmon, don’t do this.”

. . .

It had been two weeks since the incident, but time felt warped—like it had both stopped and dragged on at once. You hadn’t left this chair. Maybe just to go to the bathroom, but even then, you barely registered it, too numb, too drained.

The room had become your world. The pale walls, the soft beeping of the machines keeping a rhythm to your broken thoughts. Every other sound faded into the background, until it was just you and the memories that haunted you.

At some point, Tommy had barged in and threatened to force-feed you if you didn’t eat something, anything, before dragging you out of the infirmary for a few minutes of air. You barely remembered it—just that he was there, urging you to move, to care, but you hadn’t felt it.

And then Maria had made you change. She wasn’t gentle about it, but you were too far gone to fight back. She made you strip the bloodstained clothes off your body—clothes that clung to you like a second skin of guilt—and put on something fresh. Something clean. Something that didn't smell like the blood of the man you nearly lost.

Joel was in stable condition now, his heart still beating, his lungs still taking in air. He still hadn't woken up.

His face was burned into your consciousness. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw it. The bruising. The blood. The scar on his temple you always teased him about, now covered with black and blue. The deep, unsettling weight of it all settled in your chest, each time harder to breathe through.

You couldn’t escape it.

His face. The desperate, silent plea you could never erase.

Ellie had visited numerous times. She never asked what you were thinking, never pressed you to speak, but she didn’t have to. She knew you well enough to see the anger, and sadness swirling beneath your skin, the tension in your every move.

She knew this wasn’t just exhaustion or grief—it was guilt. Deep, suffocating guilt. Whether it was survivor's guilt or something more, Ellie saw it, knew it. And she also knew, without a doubt, that you cared for him. The way your eyes lingered on his sleeping form. The way your hands would twitch, wanting to touch him, but afraid to.

But you didn’t act on it. You couldn't.

It was too much. The weight of your own feelings, the weight of what had happened, the fear that maybe you didn’t deserve to feel this way. Not after everything. Not after the bloodshed. Not after the fact that you were still here, breathing, while he was lying unconscious, fighting for every breath.

Would it be better to die? The thought had plagued you more than once. To die with him, to end it all and erase the possibility of this endless ache that gnawed at your insides. To take away even the chance of missing him, the chance of waking up and still feeling this pain in your chest.

What if he died and you never got the chance to say you loved him. How each and every longing stare meant something more than 'I'm afraid to let you in.' Please don't leave without letting me love you.

You wondered if it would be simpler, if the universe would just let you follow him into the dark. Maybe it would stop this gnawing emptiness. Maybe it would stop the endless loop of what-ifs, of imagining him waking up and letting your hands roam against his skin—lips and tongue trailing against every scar, every inch pain he's ever received. kissing it better.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It wasn’t supposed to feel this heavy.

But, you couldn’t escape it. The raw, bitter truth that you couldn’t let go. You couldn’t leave him. And somehow, even if it felt like a punishment, you had to keep going. Had to keep breathing for him, even when every part of you wanted to shut down and fade into nothing.

. . .

You could barely function the morning it happened. Your body felt like it was made of lead, eyes swollen from exhaustion, hands shaking as they pressed against your temple in an effort to stay upright in the hospital chair you hadn't left in days.

The rustling of sheets cut through the exhaustion. Your eyes shot open, heart hammering against your chest, panic. For a split second, the room seemed to warp—was it another dream? Another cruel twist of your mind playing tricks on you?

You blinked, trying to focus through the haze of fatigue, and then you saw it. A pair of soft, tired mocha eyes meeting yours—slow and heavy, yet unmistakably aware. It wasn’t a hallucination. He was here.

“Joel…” The name slipped from your lips, barely a whisper, trembling and unsteady, as if you weren’t sure if it was real either.

He blinked once, his gaze flickering around the room like he was still piecing things together, his breath shallow but deliberate. The faintest glimmer of recognition passed through his expression, a slight furrow in his brow as if the fog in his head hadn’t completely lifted yet.

But the sight of him—alive, awake, breathing—was enough to make the world stop spinning for a moment.

You held your breath, every muscle in your body frozen. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. You didn’t want to blink, didn’t want to miss a single second.

Before you could finish your thoughts, before you could form some grand gesture, before your body could even drop to its knees in relief or allow yourself the catharsis of crying… the door to the room opened.

The flood of people—Tommy, Ellie, Maria, and a few others—poured in. Their voices were muffled, distant, like static in your ears as the room seemed to close in on you. You felt their eyes, their relief, their joy. But all you could feel was the suffocating weight of guilt pressing down on your chest. It crawled beneath your skin, an infection that wrapped itself around your throat, choking the air from your lungs.

He’s alive. You wanted to scream it, to be happy, to feel like you had the right to feel something other than shame. But it was like the joy couldn’t reach you.

Instead, it only deepened the ache. The guilt. You had almost lost him. You had almost killed him. What if you didn't make it in time? You should have gotten there sooner. Look at him. Do you see those bruises? Do you see his face? This is your fault. Your fault.

You didn’t want to face anyone. Not yet. Not now.

You turned, before anyone could speak, before they could reach you. The world seemed too loud, too bright. The room felt like it was spinning out of control, like every inch of space was filled with a thousand questions you didn’t want to answer. You left.

You couldn’t breathe in that room, surrounded by their relief, their comfort. You couldn’t breathe with him alive, with everything still hanging in the balance. You couldn’t face them. Not now.

It had been four days since he woke up. Four days since the flood of guilt and relief had crashed over you, and you hadn’t spoken to anyone since. You hadn’t answered your door when they knocked.

The world felt suffocating, and you didn’t feel like you deserved to face it. You didn’t want to face the world. You shouldn’t. The anxiety gnawed at you, relentless. It kept you up at night, pacing in the small space of your mind, suffocating you with every breath. And tonight, it was no different.

You found yourself standing outside his door in the infirmary, fingers trembling as you reached out. The wood was cool beneath your touch, but your hand felt as if it might tremble right through it. You had to do this. You had to.

A soft breath escaped you as you gathered whatever courage you could, your hand hovering just inches from knocking. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest, a steady, painful rhythm that echoed in your ears.

Knock Knock Knock

What if he’s angry? What if he doesn’t want to see me? What if it’s too late for us?

The thoughts swirled, but you pushed them down, your knuckles gently tapping against the door. The sound seemed to reverberate through your body, like an announcement that you were about to face everything you had been running from.

"Come in."

The voice was rough, deep, and it hit you like a wave—like honey to your brain, smooth and warm, yet leaving you trembling in its wake. The same voice you had sinned thinking about. "Thatsa' good girl." … "It's like you were made for me." … "Take me so good." Late at night when your thoughts spiraled, when guilt and longing tangled into something too complicated to sort through.

The same voice that had sent chills down your spine and made your heart race even when you tried to ignore it. The same voice that had teased you about liking sugar in your morning coffee, a soft joke that always lingered just a little too long.

Your breath caught in your throat. That voice. You could still remember every word, every inflection, like the memory of him had been etched into you long before this.

You let out a shaky breath, pushing the door open slowly. You didn't dare let your footsteps be loud, like maybe if you made yourself small enough, you could avoid the flood of emotions threatening to pour over the edge.

You shut the door softly behind you, the sound of it clicking shut making everything feel too real. Too right.

Your gaze flickered to him.

Joel was sitting up in the bed, propped up by pillows, his figure still worn but somehow more solid than you'd seen him in days. His expression was tired, but his eyes—they locked onto yours with a quiet intensity that made your heart skip. His hair, though still messy, had the same dark, unruly curls you remembered. But the bruises were fading now, the bloodstains mostly gone, leaving just the raw remnants of the pain he'd been through.

He didn’t speak at first, but his gaze said everything.

You’re here.

You opened your mouth, but the words wouldn't come. They got stuck somewhere in your throat, tangled in the fear, the guilt, the ache.

"Hey, Miller…" Your voice came out soft, creaky, and far too small. Awkward. You felt like a stranger in your own body, unsure of how to act, unsure of how to bridge the chasm of silence that had stretched between the two of you for so long.

Joel's gaze softened slightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was tired—physically, mentally, emotionally. His face still held the remnants of pain, the tiredness that seemed to etch deeper into his features every day. He had a rough, unshaven jawline, the dark stubble more pronounced now, and his eyes looked like they hadn’t slept in weeks either. You weren’t the only one haunted by everything that had happened.

You felt a flush of heat rise up your neck, self-conscious of how you must look—dark circles under your eyes, skin pale and flushed from lack of sleep, your clothes barely hanging on your frame from the stress and nightmares that had claimed your nights.

It felt like everything about you was falling apart. You didn’t want to show him this side of you. The broken, tired version of yourself that you were trying so hard to bury beneath the weight of it all.

Joel's voice was rough when he finally spoke. "You look like hell."

The words were blunt, honest—but there was no cruelty behind them. Just a quiet, tired acknowledgment.

Your chest tightened. You don’t even know the half of it.

"I—" You swallowed thickly, but the words stuck. The shame, the anxiety, the feeling of being so lost in your own head, it all bubbled up, suffocating. "I didn't—"

The guilt was there again, squeezing at your lungs, choking the air out of you. You hadn’t been there for him. Not in the way you needed to. And now, everything between you felt like it was slipping through your fingers.

You swallow. Deep. Visibly. The lump in your throat is thick, hard to push down, but you try. You have to say something.

"You're one to talk." Your words are meant to be a jest, a poor attempt to deflect, to mask the fragile state you’re in. But the moment the words leave your lips, you know it’s hollow. You feel it in the way your voice cracks, in the way your shoulders tremble with the weight of everything unsaid.

The tears start to fall, slowly at first, as if your body couldn't hold them back any longer. You feel them trickle down your cheeks, hot and stinging, leaving tracks where they slip beneath your eyes. It’s like the dam inside of you has broken.

"C'mere, Darlin'." His voice is low, a soft sigh that seems to carry all the weight of everything unspoken between you.

Before you can even respond, his fingers are wrapping around your wrist, gentle but firm enough that you can’t pull away, not even if you wanted to. The touch isn’t demanding; it’s an invitation. A silent plea for connection, for comfort, for whatever fractured piece of yourself you were too afraid to offer.

His pull is soft, like he’s letting you decide whether or not to lean in. And you do. Slowly, you lean over the bed, drawn toward him like a magnet, feeling the warmth of his body. It’s the closest thing to safety you’ve known in days.

The moment you’re within reach, his arms are around you, pulling you in, and you can’t stop the sob that escapes you. His hands are in your hair, fingers splaying against the back of your head, holding you to him like he’s afraid you might break into pieces if he lets go.

It’s a hug. No words, no explanations. Just him and you, and the space between you that was never meant to be there.

Your arms sink into his body, like you were carved for each other, like you were always meant to find this moment. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart. It’s solid. It's real. It’s the reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself breathe. You let yourself break. His presence steadies you.

"I thought I lost you." You hiccup, the words coming out ragged, broken. The tears just keep falling, unstoppable now. The weight of everything hits you harder than you expected, each sob shaking you to your core.

"I thought I didn't make it on time—" You inhale sharply, the breath hitching painfully in your chest as your heart races. The air feels too thin, too cold. "I thought, I thought—" The words don’t come out in a way that makes sense, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to explain.

Joel doesn’t speak at first, but his arms tighten around you just enough to ground you. To remind you that you’re still here. That he’s still here. But when you whisper the words that have been haunting you, your voice soft, shaking, the weight of it lingers in the space between you:

"What if you died?"

It’s like you’ve just said the one thing you’ve been avoiding for days. The truth. The thought that has been crushing you silently, quietly, as you tried to keep it together. The silence that follows is thick. Heavy. Joel's breath stills for a moment, and you can feel the subtle shift in his chest, like he’s absorbing what you’ve just said. He doesn’t pull away, though. He doesn’t let you go.

After a long pause, his voice comes, deep and steady, like he's trying to find the right words to anchor you. "I’m here, Darlin'. I’m here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere."

You tremble against him, a few more tears slipping free. His words feel like a lifeline. Like the space you’ve been treading on has finally found solid ground.

It felt like hours passed, the tears still coming in waves, but slowly they began to quiet. You didn’t even know how long you’d been there, in his arms, the two of you sorting through the guilt, the fear, the helplessness.

The silence between you now wasn’t suffocating—it was calm, soothing.

Somehow, though, you found yourself on the infirmary bed, tucked next to him. His presence was warm, steady, and his chest rose and fell with a deep, even breath that kept you grounded.

You had never thought you’d end up like this—lying next to him, with the scent of sterile bandages in the air, the soft hum of the room around you, and the quiet weight of his hand in yours. But here you were.

The pad of your finger traced along a deep purple scar against his forearm the one you couldn’t help but notice when you first sat down beside him. It was a stark reminder of how close you came to losing him.

Your touch was gentle, almost reverent, like you were afraid that if you pressed too hard, the moment might shatter. His skin was rough under your fingertips, but it was warm, real, and alive. Each scar, each mark on him felt like a story, a part of him that you couldn’t change. It made you ache. It made you feel sick.

Joel’s voice broke the silence, quiet but with a hint of warmth that made your chest tighten. "You don’t gotta do that, y'know." He said, his voice softer than usual, but there was an understanding in it.

"I know," you whispered, your voice a little strained, but calm, for the first time in what felt like forever. "I just… need to know you're okay."

"I'm here. Can't get rid of me." His voice is steady, but the weight of it carries something more—something unspoken. Joel’s eyes drift over your face, tracing each line, each imperfection. He doesn’t say anything about how you look, though the words are there, heavy in the air. You look like hell—tired, broken—but to him, you’re still the most beautiful damn thing he’s ever seen.

The intensity of his gaze makes your chest tighten. For a second, it feels like everything stops. The world outside the infirmary fades away. His eyes are searching you—like he’s trying to figure something out, but you can’t quite tell what. Maybe it’s the same thing you’ve been trying to figure out, too.

Your breath hitches slightly, but you hold his gaze, even though you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. It's like time slows down. An eternity of silence stretches between you, and in that silence, everything seems to hang.

You don’t want to ruin this. Not this moment. Not whatever this is.

The thought of naming it—of putting a label on it—feels overwhelming. Is it friendship? Coexistence? Just two people trying to make it through this hell together? Or is it something more? You can’t tell, but you’re afraid that if you try to define it, if you try to make sense of it, you might destroy what little of it you have left.

“You’ve got a way of making everything feel… complicated,” you finally whisper. You wish you could say more, but you don’t know how.

He chuckles softly, and you can hear the tiredness in his voice. “Yeah, I’ve got that effect on people.” His hand shifts, his fingers lightly brushing the side of your face, almost tentative, but the warmth of it fills the space between you. "I don’t have all the answers. But you’ve got me, Darlin'. That’s more than I can offer right now."

Your eyes close for a brief moment, the weight of his words sinking in. There’s a kind of comfort in them, in the uncertainty. In the fact that neither of you has it all figured out.

Fuck it.

Like a string that snaps, your brain rewires the moment you make eye contact again. It’s sudden, electric—You don’t think about it. You don’t think about the consequences, the mess, or the fact that this might break whatever fragile balance you’ve managed to keep. You just act.

Your hands slip up, fingers trembling ever so slightly, but the moment they make contact with his dark curls, something inside you stills. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull away. His eyes are steady on yours, but there’s something raw in them now. Something that tells you he’s as desperate for this connection as you are.

Inches away, you breathe in his scent, that familiar mix of dust and earth, the roughness of the world outside, but underneath it—there’s him.

A presence that’s always been there, always just out of reach. But now, now it’s close enough to touch.

Your lips part, but it's only an invitation. You don't say anything. Don’t have to. Everything that needs to be said is written in the way your bodies lean toward each other, drawn together like magnets.

His breath hitches, and before you can even think about it, he’s closing the distance between you. His lips find yours with a desperation that takes your breath away, and the world outside falls away entirely.

It's nothing like you imagined. It’s messy, raw, and full of that intensity that neither of you can contain.

His free hand slips effortlessly against your thigh, lifting your leg and guiding it over his waist. It’s instinctual, animalistic, the movement seamless. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, if that’s even possible. He kisses you like a man starved, teeth scraping lightly at your bottom lip, as if claiming you in a way words never could.

For a moment, there’s nothing but the rush of heat, the feeling of him—his strength, his need, his warmth, the way his body presses against yours.

Then, as if sensing the balance of control slipping away, you pull back just enough to whisper, your voice rough, "This was—"

He inhales, as if the pull away from you visibly made him chill.

"This was a mistake. I'm sorry." You mumble, slipping back from his hands cascaded gently into your hair. His eyes dull, as if they really calculate what's really happening here.

"I don't want to mess anything up �� make it weird…" You hesitate before taking another step back. Feet brushing against the ground of the hospital, boots making a small scraping noise as they lift from the floor. "I'm glad you're awake. I'm glad you're alive." You practically spew, "But this— Us? This can't happen."

Joel doesn't move. Not right away. His hands remain suspended in the air where you'd just been, as if the weight of your absence took a moment to register. Slowly, they fall to his lap, fingers curling inward like he's holding something fragile that just shattered in his palms.

His brows pull together, the light in his eyes dimming but not extinguished. He nods once—slow, like he's swallowing something bitter—but doesn’t speak right away. The silence between you is thick, suffocating. The kind that says everything without a single word.

Then, his voice breaks through, rough and low. “You ain’t messin’ anything up.” He pauses, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory in case you don’t come back. “But I get it. Hell, I probably shouldn’t’ve—”

He stops himself, jaw clenching. You can see the hurt there, just beneath the surface. Not anger. Just a quiet ache he doesn’t know what to do with.

“You don’t owe me nothin’. Not after what you did for me. For Dina.” His voice cracks slightly, but he clears it, steadying himself. “If this—whatever this is—ain’t somethin’ you want, I won’t push it.”

You turn to go. You don’t want to, but standing in this room any longer feels like peeling skin off a wound that’s still fresh. Like clawing your skin open, nails rough, sharp. You grip the door handle like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. The cold metallic of the handle searing into your hot sweaty palms.

But before you pull it open, you hear him again—softer this time, almost like he's talking to himself.

“I was glad it was you. When I woke up��� I was glad it was you sittin’ there.”

Your chest tightens, fingers trembling around the handle. The sound of your boots echo as you leave, but his words follow you long after the door clicks shut.

. . .

It was two days later. Two days of hiding from the town. Hiding from the man whose ghost now walked on flesh and bone legs, breathing and real, and everywhere, even your head. Since Joel had been released from the infirmary, you hadn’t so much as walked past the diner. Not the greenhouse. Not even the training range.

He was free now. Free to walk Jackson’s frosted streets. Carrying the weight of that night, that kiss, that almost. Whatever almost was.

Flyers for the winter social had started popping up, taped to doors with half-used duct tape, and coffee stained paper.

Pulling one off your door with more force than necessary, crumpling it before it could flutter too long. The word celebrate stared at you like an accusation.

Celebrate what? Survival? Guilt?

You hadn’t even gone into town yet. Too afraid of seeing him again. Of his eyes. Of that voice, gravelly and soft, saying your name like it meant something.

But, I guess it did mean something. 'If this—whatever this is—ain’t somethin’ you want, I won’t push it.'

'I won't push it.'

Fuck, Joel—You don't have to push anything. If you asked me to lay down on the ground and die, I'd surely succumb.

Your jacket felt too heavy as you shrugged it on. Maybe you’d walk. Maybe not toward town, but just out. Just far enough to quiet the thoughts screaming through your skull. Just long enough to convince yourself he hadn’t meant anything by it.

But then—three soft knocks on the door.

You froze, hand on the knob. Breath held. Like if you didn’t move, whoever it was would give up and go.

But they didn’t.

“Darlin’…?” The voice was muffled, but unmistakable. A drawl like smoke and honey, carrying your nickname like it was a prayer and a curse all at once.

Joel.

You don’t open the door. Can’t. Your fingers ghost over the handle like it might bite, like turning it would unravel something you’ve spent days trying to sew back together.

“Yeah?” you call, voice thinner than you’d like, strained from disuse and guilt and whatever mess you and Joel had brewed up in the dark of that infirmary room.

A pause. You can almost hear him shift his weight on the porch. One boot against the old wood, creaking just slightly. He’s nervous. Or maybe annoyed. It’s always hard to tell with him.

“I ain’t here to fight,” he finally says. His tone is gentler than expected. Tired. “Just… wanted to talk.”

You lean your forehead against the wood. Cold. Solid. Safe. “About what?” you ask, not unkindly, but not welcoming either. Somewhere in the middle. A purgatory of almost.

Another pause.

“’Bout that night,” he says, like it hurts to even admit it out loud. “About… what you said..”

You squeeze your eyes shut, breath catching somewhere between your lungs and your chest.

You don’t want to open the door. But God, you want to hear what he has to say.

"I am uh— very sick. very ill." You lie, a fake cough following the announcement. "Cough, Cough, Haack."

There’s a pause. Long enough to make you think—maybe—he bought it.

“That so?” Joel says, flat. Almost amused.

You can practically hear the eyebrow he’s raising.

“’Cause I saw you at the stables this morning, arguing with Tommy ‘bout the feed schedule. Didn’t look real near deathbed to me.”

"That—was a hallucination," you say quickly. "Fever dreams. Very common with… plague. And, you're still recovering." Your face burns. Shit.

A muffled chuckle—soft, rough, and goddamn sweet.

“I’ll wait,” he says simply, like he's got all the time in the world. “Out here. Cold’s good for the immune system, and recovery.”

You bite your lip. Damn him. Damn that gravel-sweet voice and that infuriating patience. Damn that sexy ass fucking voice.

Because you know—you know—you’re going to open the door. Maybe not now. Maybe not in the next ten seconds. But eventually.

Your fingers wrap around the handle, pressing it down and pulling toward you. The wooden door creaks open, revealing the screen door. A thin barrier between you.

He looks… good. Brown jacket, blue jeans, a belt, and new boots, the remnants of blood no longer. His eyes were still dark, and tired, but there was an air of relief to them, like he had relaxed long enough to feel somewhat a semblance of peace.

The cold air rushes in, bites at your skin like karma. He’s watching you with that unreadable expression, the one that’s somewhere between stern and soft. Somewhere between don’t push me and please, push me just a little.

“Hey,” he says, simple. Low.

You swallow hard. Your throat’s suddenly dry, like the lie about being sick took too much out of you. Fuck, maybe you were ill.

“Hey,” you echo. Quieter.

He shifts, thumbs hooking against his belt. It’s a casual stance, but you can see the tension sitting behind it. You know him well enough to read the signs. He’s rehearsed something. That jaw twitch? That's anxiety settling into his gut. That tiny nod to himself? That’s a man about to dive headfirst into something he’s not sure he knows how to swim through.

“I ain’t here to mess things up,” he starts, voice steady, “or push somethin’ you don’t want. But I been thinkin’, and…” He pauses, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re not the only one who’s scared, y’know.”

That hits harder than you expect.

“I wake up every day grateful I get to be scared,” he adds, quieter. “Grateful you pulled me outta there. Grateful I get to even have this conversation.”

Your fingers twitch around the edge of the doorframe. The weight of it all, the what-ifs, the blood, the almost—they come rushing back.

He steps a little closer, boots scraping softly against the porch wood.

“So I figured… if you're done bein’ on your deathbed," his mouth tugs in a half-smile, “maybe you’d let me take you to that winter social at tipsys…”

You stand there. Mouth hung agape open like some fucking fool. I'm sorry? He said what? What the fuck did he just say to you?

"You.. uh.." You stutter, fingers curling against the door frame, "You… don't hate me?"

Joel’s brow furrows—just slightly. Not in frustration, but in that Joel Miller kind of way. The one where he's thinking? The one where he's registering how to fix this. The kind where concern looks like confusion and softness hides behind the grit.

“Hate you?” he repeats, like the words physically repulse him. “Darlin’, I don’t think I could hate you if I tried.”

He steps a little closer again, enough that the warmth of his breath ghosts across the screen.

“You saved my life. You nearly lost your damn mind doin’ it. I saw it. Hell, I felt it.”

His hand lifts, hovers at the screen like he wants to touch you through it but won’t risk the boundary unless you give the signal.

“I hated that you ran. I hated that I woke up and you weren’t there. But hate you?” He shakes his head, the weight of it settling like snowfall. “I could never.”

The silence that follows is sharp and thick, clinging to the air between you.

“You still think I don’t want you?” he asks, voice rough. Not angry. Just naked. “'Cause I’ve been tryin’ not to want you every damn day since I met you. And I’m losin’ that fight.”

Your pulse is thunder in your ears.

Oh fuck…

Your gaze drops—floor, boots, anywhere but his eyes. Then slowly lifts again, like your body’s trying to catch up to your heart.

Your brain? Gone. Empty. Nothing but static between your ears.

Your hand moves on its own, fingers brushing the cold metal of the screen door latch. One soft twist.

Click.

The lock gives.

You glance up, startled by your own movement, eyes locking with his like you just said something out loud without speaking.

Because you did.

That sound—that soft, quiet click—wasn't just a noise. It was a confession.

You wanted him. Still do.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, waiting for him to make the first move. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, a nervous habit you can’t shake. Your pulse hammers in your ears, and for a moment, you wonder if it’s just you feeling this, or if he’s as sick with it as you are.

The seconds stretch on, too long. Too quiet.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, closing the distance between you. His hand reaches up, brushing the edge of the screen door, before he grips the frame with the same steady, sure hands that had been so tender earlier.

His gaze doesn’t leave yours. “You sure about this?” he asks, low and rough, voice dragging across your skin like a touch.

It’s a question, but you both know it’s not. It’s him waiting for you, giving you space to breathe, even as every inch of him is drawn to you.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, and it pulls at you like gravity, drawing you closer despite every rational thought telling you to back away. He’s patient, but there’s that edge beneath his calm—something hungry, something wild, that’s been buried too long.

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t,” you say, your voice quiet but steady, betraying the storm crashing in your chest.

He gives a half-smile, a flicker of something dangerous. “Good,” he mutters, then leans in, just close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your lips, but not close enough to touch.

The tension is suffocating. The world outside doesn’t exist. Not anymore.

And then he speaks again, voice almost a whisper, lips brushing against your ear.

“Because you ain't runnin' away this time.”

With one quick motion he's in the house, hands slipping against the hooks of your jeans. His boot knocks against the wooden door, closing it. A sway of air as it slams.

His mouth is already against yours, hand moving up to splay against the middle of your back—leading you, leading you straight back against your kitchen countertop only a few feet away. Mouth falling from your lips, he moves into the nape of your neck, a quick and deep inhale—"Fuck, darlin,'"

"You don't know," A small nibble against the tender skin, "… what you do to me."

The air is thick, heavy with anticipation. His body presses against yours, firm. You gasp, it's the warmth of his breath skimming across your neck, his lips brushing against the delicate curve of your shoulder. Facial hair leaving a tickling sensation in wake.

His fingers tighten around you, pulling you even closer, and it’s as if your bodies have a language of their own—unspoken, raw.

“You don’t know what you’ve done to me either, Joel,” you breathe, your own hands trembling as they find their way to his chest. His shirt soft against your fingertips, pulls at you like it’s just one more obstacle you need to get past. Nails scraping at the buttons of the flannel. You feel like a caged animal.

“I think I got an idea.” His chuckle is low, dark.

His hand slips between your legs, hand splayed across the material of your jeans with a subtle press. "Can practically feel it."

His lips find yours again, hungry this time, teeth grazing against your bottom lip. His free hand presses against the small of your back and the other your thigh, hesitating to lift you.

His voice drops, barely a whisper against your lips. “You sure you want this, darlin’?” It’s the same question from earlier, but now, it’s not doubt—it’s something softer, something more urgent. A plead. A fucking prayer. Like if you said no, he'd get on his knees and beg.

His eyes lock with yours, his thumb brushing the side of your jaw as he waits for you to answer.

It only takes seconds for you to dive into another kiss, urgency flooding your body like fire. Your fingers tremble as they work at the buttons of his flannel, fumbling slightly with each one.

His lips are on yours again, a hungry, desperate rhythm that matches the frantic pace of your heart. His hands move to your waist, gripping you tight. The flannel falls open, the fabric grazing your hand, and fingertips finding refuge against tanned scarred skin. It's a sin to hide a body this fucking pretty under clothing.

Joel pulls back just enough to look at you, his breath ragged, eyes dark with something raw, something dangerous. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. The hunger in his gaze says it all. Without a word, he shifts you, his hand firm against the curve of your back, pulling you up just enough to sit you on the edge of the counter. The movement is quick, efficient, and the cool granite meets your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the warmth of his body, pressed against you.

Your breath hitches as his hands slide under your shirt, rough against your skin, pulling you even closer. His lips hover just above your ear, his voice gravelly, rough. “You kiss like you patrol.”

He's purposeful with each movement. Every drag of his finger causing a fire in it's path. Hands gently coming to the hem of your jeans, and then with a small pop, the button is undone. A slow, and soft shimmying down until all he can stare at is his glistening prize.

"Greedy… Unhinged..." He continues, lowering down to his knees— his hands slipping down your thighs, to your ankles, and then hooking your legs above his shoulders, "Clumsily, maybe…"

Within seconds his mouth is against you. It's hot, wet, animalistic as if the man is starved. Clumsy. Messy. Tongue grazing over every sensitive fold— and your very swollen clit. He flattens his tongue against you,—then as quick as he can extinguish the pleasure, he nibbles against you. Profanities dripping from your mouth, his name followers like a prayer of forgiveness.

"Needy fuckin girl, y'taste so good."

The response to his words. Your free hand shoots out to the top of his head, fingers interlacing with salt and pepper curls. Wanting can't even describe your state of mind right now. It's more like yearning, fucking craving.

Forearm burning from strength it takes to hold yourself up on the countertop, needing to see him on his knees for yourself.

You curl your fingers, a soft tug of his hair earns that deep guttural growl from his throat.

"mmh, easy, girl," His breath fans across your pussy, sending shivers shooting up your spine.

You try to look away—try to break this sight, but you're pretty sure if you blinked hard enough you'd wake up from this dream. He dips lower, his mouth pulling you closer to the edge, grounding you to him like you were the only thing that ever mattered.

His lips release from your cunt with a pop, tongue curling against the spit line that follows. His eyes settle against your own— dark, and frantic.

The release of the sensation causes you to shiver, the overstimulation already coiling in your core. Twitching, a small huff to every breath you release.

"That all it takes to get you shakin' like a leaf?" He chuckles—soft.

The tension in the air thickens as you lean down, close enough to make your heart race, yet he doesn’t rush it. His hand still holds your thighs spread apart, the warmth of his touch grounding you.

"I want you." The words flow easily. Easily because your brain is pathetically melted inside of your skull.

He practically purrs, another deep growl from his throat, "Yeah?"

"Then take it… 'ts all yours," He tilts his head with his words, eyes dancing over every single feature you have. He stares at you like his brain maps out every mole, and scar. You needily grab at the remnants of his unbuttoned flannel, pulling it up towards you. He smiles, smiles. Excitedly standing back up, and leaning into your touch.

You don't hesitate. You pull him back in, mouths clashing, breaths hot and broken. His hands roam your thighs, your hips, possessive like he’s memorizing you, branding you. You feel the scratch of his callouses against your skin, grounding you, making you dizzy all at once.

One hand tilts your chin up, the other slides up your back, holding you steady while his mouth traces a trail from your lips to your jaw, then lower, pressing kisses down your throat, your collarbone.

You tilt your head back to give him more space, a soft, desperate noise escaping your throat. His name slips from your lips without thinking—"Joel."

That sound alone seems to snap something inside him. Saying his name like that. Like you need him. Like you fucking crave him. It practically got him drunk on sin.

He lifts his head, eyes dark and molten. His hands grip your waist firmly, thumbs stroking slow circles against your sides. “Gonna take care of you, darlin’. Gonna give you everything you been needin’… just like you deserve.”

The jingle of his belt catches your attention, as if your brain can process anymore. His fingers softly unthreading the leather from the metal, and with a clank—it's slipping to the floor.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, voice rough, thumb brushing tender over your hipbone.

You nod, too breathless to speak.

That's all he needs. The pads of his fingers undoing the button of his jeans, a soft slide down and the sight nearly makes you keel over. You've met god. How could someone hide such a perfect cock? The size of him itself steals the air from your lungs.

"Please," You breathe, "Please Joel."

"You look so damn pretty like this," he says, half in awe, half in something darker, heavier.

"Layin' below me, fucked out on your kitchen counter."

Without a delay he inches in, the tip of his cock pressing against your needy, and swollen entrance. The angle is perfect, a slow and greedy intrusion that causes your nails to scrape at the granite of the countertop.

"Fuck—" He exhales, a restrained whine from his throat, "You were made f'r me…"

Joel inhales as he plunges himself fully. Without a second thought, he pulls back out, before sliding back in. It's like a game for him, eyes downward on the motion. Watching the back and forth of his cock as he dives in and out of you.

His pace quickens, the musical rhythmic of the thrusting becoming faster, and faster. He's hitting spots you didn't even know you had. Spots that nobody has ever reached. You can barely hear, ears ringing, vision blurred by inklings of tears.

You don't realize your howling his name until he speaks.

"Gotta… Quiet down there, darlin'…”He chuckles, deep and gravelly as he holds back a strained noise. Hips snapping back and forth, the wet squelches of your pussy like music to his ears, "… don't want the neighbors thinkin' you got coyotes."

Every thrust is a further hit to your core, releasing a sound that vaguely resembles a wheeze rather than a moan. Each muscle in your thighs threatening to give out, as you open your legs wider and wider for his ravaging.

Joel likes to drag it out, pulling his cock all the way out, leaving only the tip—grinding there for a moment until his own body twitches, and then slamming back in as hard as possible. Hands vice gripped around your thighs, bringing you to and from him like a pocket pussy.

“Sweet girl, oh fuck.. fuck..”

Sloppy around him, already drenching the area between you two - wet squishing noises as he drags back the mixture of pre and slick, just to bury it back inside of you.

"Gonna paint your fuckin' insides at this rate…" He exhales, shakily. He's fucking into you like a wild animal. At the end of the day, that's what he is. Bloodthirsty, a killer, known for his haunting and inhuman actions.

“Fuck, please.. right there, oh fuck, Joel—" You cry out, hips clumsily and weakly fumbling against your meeting point, trying to bury him deeper inside of yourself.

Bottom lip taken between his teeth, glossy eyed staring down at the sight of his cock sliding in and out. "Can feel you squeezn', know how close you are…"

Back and forth— milking cries from your sweet lips. Continually riding the way you clamp down on him desperately, leaning into your orgasm.

"J-Joel— Oh my g.." The words can't even release from your throat, before your head tilts back and a series of gargled profanities and pet-names drool out.

"Good fuckin' girl, just like that… take it just like that…" his words are pure fucking filth.

It's not long after you that his hips start to snap messily, losing his train of thought at every deep bury into your overstimulated pussy. Head tipping down—he clamps his eyes shut, riding the high of your squirming.

He cums. It paints your insides with boiling heat, both of you stringing out whines and grunts. The snapping motion continues, as he ruts the cum deeper and deeper inside of you. He's purposefully dragging out his own relief. Doesn't want it to end. Fuck, he never wants it to end.

"Fuckin' hell…" Joel murmurs softly, slipping out with a slow release. The tension eases in your gut, and you feel every muscle in your body screaming at you. You let out a noise between a sigh and a whimper, the feeling sends a shiver up and down your body. Goosebumps in the wake of his hot breath.

“Yeah.. you ain't gettin' away from me again…"

. . .

[mybworlds]

The rescue

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Warnings: use of you, you’re a mermaid, I won't give any details except for nice long legs and very long hair, nudity, violence (a little?), use of both pov. If I missed smt please let me know.

Summary: You and Marcus face death, but something unexpected happens to everyone, including the power of Rome.

Masterlist

A/N There’s one chapter left and I’d like to thank you for all the support you have given to this story, thank you, thank you so much 😊 Likes, comments and reblogs are not mandatory, but very appreciated! ❤️

You spend the night sitting, your hands clasped, your head resting on his shoulder. You talk, talk, talk.

You also ask him about Lucilla's fate and he remains silent for a long time, almost as if he hadn't heard you, then he answers you in a whisper telling you that they had no mercy on her, they executed her like any other criminal in the arena so as to show the people what it means to go against them. At his words you cling even more to him, you know he wasn't in love with her, but you imagine that knowing that a person you knew is dead could be upsetting and you imagine that even a strong and hardened person like him could have been shocked by it.

“I wasn't in love with her,” he clarifies, “but… losing her, it upset me. I should have done more for her.” He confides in you, you stare at his profile so masculine so pronounced and you like him more and more, if possible “But what really shocks me is that there’s nothing I can do to get you out of here, to save you.”

“I chose my destiny long before we were even here in this place,” you remind him.

“I know.” he murmurs turning slightly towards your face “Why me?” he asks you.

“Because I saw beyond your war-scarred face, because I saw you and understood that you were not cruel like the others, because you give importance despite this unjust world to feelings like pity and love and because all of this makes you a wonderful person, Marcus.” you answer him, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You are such a pure soul..” he tells you, but he can't finish the sentence as you hear footsteps getting closer and closer, then the prison door opens and finally two soldiers come to open the door to your cell. A soldier drags you away without saying a word or telling you anything about what might happen to you, “NO, LET HER GO!” Marcus shouts as he tries to get up and escape the warrior's grip, but the other one pushes him to the ground again and there you see him punching your beloved in the face, kicking him in the stomach, then in the midst of this violence the man who had grabbed you by the arm, drags you away. As you walk away you only hear the muffled moans of your Marcus.

“Hold on,” you yell at him, almost making a move to turn back to him.

The soldier yanks you violently again, throwing you against a wall and pulling out a dagger aimed at your throat, the man looks you in the eyes for a long time and then hisses through gritted teeth, “Stop fighting, there's not much you can do for General Acacius anymore. There is for you. Give them what they want and save yourself more suffering.” His words seem to be an advice, a terrifying advice rather than a threat.

You look at him in disbelief, as if you don't understand the nature of that suggestion, how can a man who dragged you away from your beloved try to help you in some way?

“Listen to me,” he insists, looking at you with his dark eyes.

“Please help me.”

“I can't do more.” he replies. “My life and that of my family are at stake.” He adds in a grave tone. “Do as I told you,” he tells you before continuing on your way to a place unknown to you for the moment.

You think back to the man's words, you don't know if Marcus was killed down there in that dungeon, if you won't soon come to a horrible end. No one will save you this time, it's the thought that most often pops into your mind.

The soldier then leaves you in the hands of another man who looks decidedly creepy and evil. Those small, dark eyes scare you, as do his big, stubby hands that grab you forcefully and drag you away.

The prison guard leads you along a very long, narrow and steep corridor, the light becomes increasingly blinding as you get closer to what you imagine is an exit, then someone opens the door and you find yourself outside in a forecourt that to your eyes appears to be very large and full of sand stained with fresh blood. Horrified, you try to escape, but the monster that led you up there grabs you even more violently and pushes you outwards, making you hit your head violently on the ground. For a while everything is muffled, everything is reduced to a pale buzz, your eyes are closed from the pain and confusion you feel.

No one feels sorry for you, you think. No one tries to protect you or reaches out to help you stand up.

Slowly you begin to hear the voices of the crowd again although you can't make out what they're saying, it almost seems like thunder because what you hear is so loud, it feels like you're in the middle of a tornado, everything seems to be spinning senselessly around you.

“Behold what happens to a flower torn from its meadow!” you hear someone shouting in the distance, it seems to you to be Geta's voice, but from there you are not at all sure, it could also be Caracalla or someone else, impossible to say for sure.

You try to stand up, but it's so hard. You can barely sit up and look at the hundreds of faces watching you.

“A flower that could have borne much fruit and which instead was incinerated by the madness of those who did not believe in the goodness of that field, a flower whose seeds could still be sown and could bear flowers and fruit and instead...” you don't really understand the meaning of his words, you just know that you’d like to escape and instead you can barely stare at the sky covered by timid clouds above your heads.

“I’ll give it one last chance, but not before I give it one last watering!” you hear again, while this time you clearly hear someone laughing.

Do they laugh at the words they hear?

Are they laughing at you?

Do they laugh at your misfortune?

The doors of a gate open and when you turn around you see Marcus being dragged there in chains. His gait is decidedly limping, he has a swollen and purple eye, and there is a cut on his forehead, cheek and lower lip from which blood is gushing.

“The two lovers and traitors of the Empire.” presents you the same voice.

“Death to them!” someone shouts, “Long live the emperors,” someone else exclaims.

You search Marcus's eyes, barely lifting a hand as if you wanted to touch him even though you know you're too far away for any kind of contact. He's watching you, you see him open his lips as if he wants to talk to you, but he's too far away for you to hear him, you see him mouthing something like don't be afraid, I love you, but you're not sure.

“Kill ‘em!” you hear someone shouting again, but now you focus on his face, you observe it as if enraptured, as if you knew deep down that that was the last face you’d ever see. You are calm, you know that at least in another life you and Marcus will be together, happy; when suddenly your loved one's face contorts into an expression full of fear and then all of a sudden something or someone drenches you completely and you seem to come back to the present.

The crowd laughs. They laugh, they laugh a lot. They are loud. You, on the other hand, realize that the water has touched you and that is when you realize that there is no hope for you. You look at Marcus scared, your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes widening in terror, but then you realize that apart from fear, nothing has happened.

Did your aunt make fun of you?

Marcus also looks confused, you are happy, but both confused.

“My beautiful flower, you still have the chance to bloom, I’ll show you what happens to traitors, for them there is no chance, no redemption” Geta sentences “bring him here before us,” orders the emperor.

The men do as told and Marcus is carried almost to the centre of the arena, in line with some stands occupied by the twins.

“General Acacius, you’ve been found guilty of high treason against the crown. Therefore, the punishment is death.” Geta adds solemnly, the crowd is buzzing and you are not sure if they are in favor of this sentence or if they are against the man's words “Do you have any last words to say?” asks the man, looking down at the prisoner with an air of superiority.

You watch with eyes wide open in terror as Marcus observes his people, you hear them grumbling, some in his favor, some against him. You wonder how his own people do not react towards Geta and Caracalla and how they can allow a brave man who was always in favour of the people to die and stand there and watch without reacting.

His gaze falls on you, his dark eyes search yours, you are afraid, you feel a sensation of cold, deep terror, you observe his face distorted by the beatings he suffered, blood at the corners of his mouth, a bruised eye, then Marcus speaks “I’m a soldier. I am and I will always be. I hope that one day my death can..”

“Keep it short, traitor,” Caracalla interrupts him, rising from his seat as if to speed up the execution.

“Save her.” he says in a deep, resolute tone of voice as if he doesn’t allow for any reply to what he said and he says it while looking the twins in the eye and then looking back at you.

You shake your head in terror, you hear a noise like something stretching in the distance, you run towards Marcus as if to shield him, sensing what is about to happen to him. You hold him tight, terrified of letting him go. Marcus, however, pushes you away from him abruptly, making you fall. You are shocked by that gesture, you want to protect him...

You are even more surprised when you see him moving even further away from you, right in those moments you hear many hisses in the air and then these hisses materialize into arrows. Arrows pierce Marcus repeatedly in the chest, back and legs.

“NO!” you scream at the top of your lungs. Marcus has his back to you so you don't know what his expression is right now, but you see him fall to his knees, as he continues to be mortally wounded “STOP,” you shout “STOP, PLEASE!” you continue, somewhat awkwardly reaching Marcus who has fallen onto his back. The arrows have finished hitting him, “Marcus, Marcus,” you call as you lift him up and lay his head on your thighs, his eyes are closed, his lips parted, “Marcus,” you whisper, caressing his bleeding and swollen lower lip.

Your eyes fill with tears knowing that you can't help him, knowing that your loved one's life is slipping away through your fingers and that you can do absolutely nothing to hold it back, you can't do anything.

“M - Marcus,” you moan trembling, his breathing is getting weaker and slower. He’s dying, you can't do anything for him. The man you did all this for, the man you risked everything for, including your life, is leaving you forever. The expression on your face contorts in pain, tears stream down your cheeks and fall onto your beloved's face.

You place a trembling hand on his chest, an arrow is right there next to his heart, a sob escapes you and you squeeze your eyes shut, a scream escapes you along with more tears that copiously wet his face, his neck, his chest. His breathing stopped.

Slowly you remove the arrows that pierced his chest, his back, his legs. Marcus has left you. He's dead. The thought is unacceptable, but the situation is like this, he's gone.

You pull him with difficulty until his face rests on your chest, you caress his cheek ruined by the tortures he previously suffered. “MARCUS!” you scream in pain, looking up to the sky, you don't know which gods of the sea to pray to, who to ask for help. Everything around you seems to have stopped, you hear nothing but your own screams of pain and your copious tears that wet the face of the man still pressed to your chest.

Then something totally unexpected happens. Marcus moves, it's almost imperceptible, but he moves. You lower your head in total disbelief. You see his eyes start to move from under his lids, slowly his chest begins to rise and fall, then he opens his eyes.

“Marcus,” you coo trembling, your hands shaking from the strong emotion and with equal joy mixed with confusion you bring your hand closer to his cheek which seems to be healing second after second. You are incredulous and absolutely speechless, you had no idea that what you read years ago in a manuscript, jealously guarded by your father, was real.

When your eyes meet again, he smiles at you, reaching out a hand to your face, “You saved me…” he whispers, caressing your cheek with his thumb “..again.”

You close your eyes and place your hand on his, then take it and kiss it softly.

But in that sweet bubble, slowly everything around you takes shape, color and noise again. The crowd is buzzing in disbelief at the scene they have just seen, someone points at you, then you hear Caracalla again and this time his words are directed at you, “She's a witch! The woman is not only his accomplice, but also endowed with mysterious and dangerous magical arts!” he exclaims, pointing at you. “Only the gods know what such a creature would be capable of!” he continues, inciting the crowd by continuing to define you as a sneaky, treacherous creature, capable of who knows what atrocities. Geta stands there silent, perhaps shocked by this part of you that is completely foreign to him.

Marcus slowly sits up, as three soldiers of the Praetorian Guard enter, fully armed and heading towards you, the man next to you starts to stand up, but you turn to him, holding him by the arm. He looks at your face with a questioning expression and then you shake your head weakly as if to tell him not to do anything and then he’s still very weak and above all you don't want anything bad to happen to him. Now the focus is no longer on him, but on you and you are ready to die to protect him and know that he's alive.

The guards drag you away from him, Marcus despite your nod not to move, does the same to try to save you from their grip and so, noticing the movement, one of the three guards steps back and violently places a foot on the man's chest, who, grimacing in pain, forcibly lies down again.

The two emperors descended into the arena and you were dragged before them. Geta seems shocked and as if he saw a monstrous creature before his eyes, he follows his brother almost by force. He barely glances at you, it's Caracalla who instead appears amused by you saying that you will entertain them, you don't know what he means nor do you care. You're ready to die for him.

“Oh, he will look.” It's Caracalla again speaking, he's in front of you and you don’t know what to expect. He smiles at you, but it's a crazy smile, it's a scary one.

Before you can register in your mind a possible move of his, the man with a quick and violent movement tears your clothes revealing you in your nakedness in front of everyone. You scream in surprise and shame, covering as best you can. You curl up in a ball, before hearing voices getting louder and louder, then another cold shower. Guards, supposedly on Caracalla's orders, continually throw water at you, causing you to fall back and slip several times.

Your skin feels like it's on fire this time, it's burning.. your screams of pain echo in the amphitheater, Marcus' voice screaming your name is so far away, that pain is so piercing, so sharp, it takes your breath away.. maybe you're dying.. you're dying knowing that Marcus will live. You hoped you could live with him, but that's not how things will go..

The voice of Caracalla telling the people “Here is a monster who is revealing her true nature.” you can barely hear him.

He sees you fall apart. Your strength is abandoning you and once again General Acacius can do nothing to save you, to wrap you in his arms and whisper to you that everything will be alright because it wouldn’t be the truth.

He tries to get up, but is continually knocked down by a kick, now by a push. Acacius has not yet regained his strength after... what he lived.

He's watching you lose consciousness and he can't shield you with his body to defend you, he knows, you told him what would happen to you if the water touched you, but why did nothing happen to you before and now it does?

He now sees you lying on your side, the water flows over your naked body and your long hair and as it passes it seems to set your skin on fire which becomes swollen.

Marcus is about to try again to reach you, when a horn in the distance interrupts the barbaric spectacle. Acacius recognizes them, they must be the men of the Praetorian Guard and the men loyal to him that he, Lucilla and some members of the senate had convinced to overthrow the power of the two tyrants.

The arena almost begins to shake, the people flee from the stands, the two emperors are carried away for their safety. There are only the two of you left in the arena and Marcus can finally come over and lift you slightly into his arms.

He calls your name, stroking your cheek with the back of his ruined hand, “Please, open your eyes. Talk to me.” He begs.

Your skin is getting colder and swollen second by second, your lips are parted, he sees them so parched.

“What should I do?” Marcus asks in a desperate whisper before kissing you on the lips.

You open your eyes with a confused expression as if his kiss had just saved you from death.

“What should I do?” he asks you again, holding you gently in his arms as if he wanted to give you his warmth.

“My father..” you murmur, struggling to keep your eyes open. “The sea..” you whisper, closing your eyes.

“What's it got to do with your father? Please, tell me how I can help you.” he insists.

You open your eyes again, “We have to.. get to the beach.. call my dad.. he.. he will hear you, scream.. scream loudly.”

“What’s his name?” he asks, leaning his face close to yours. You barely open your eyes and manage to whisper his name.

Marcus lifts you into his arms with great difficulty, what happened to you has greatly weakened both of you. The battle rages around you and Marcus would have rushed to fight under other circumstances, but not now, not when you are in this condition. The journey proves tiring and desperate, but Marcus doesn’t give up until the sand and gravel touch his feet.

There, Marcus shouts out the name you whispered in his ear. Once, twice, ten times, he has lost count of how many times he has shouted your parent's name.

He sinks to his knees in the gravel, his face contorted with fatigue and pain and fear of losing you. You're leaving him, he feels you.. he feels your body weakening in his arms and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

“My love,” he whispers, moving a lock of hair stuck to your temple, “I was completely incapable of protecting you… I should have done more… I – I…” all his words get stuck in his throat as he sees your head bowing more and more, your strength abandoning you completely.

Marcus screams that name again at the top of his lungs and this time something happens, out of nowhere the sea begins to ripple, the wind begins to caress your skin and suddenly out of nowhere a massive figure slowly emerges from the sea holding a trident.

Marcus doesn't know what to do or say, he’s completely stunned and amazed by such a sight. He doesn't know how to behave, he's not afraid, but he really has no idea what he should do or how to explain how to help you.

The figure emerging from the sea reveals himself even more imposing as it approaches Marcus. So you too came from the sea like this?

The man kneels down holding the scepter with one hand and with the other he touches your face with great sweetness, then he looks up at Acacius who doesn't know whether to be worried or calm about the look your father is giving him.

“My daughter,” he says in a barely audible whisper, then turning to Marcus he adds, “I will now cast the counter-spell that will save her.” Acacius nods “But in doing so she will return a mermaid in the depths with me. This whole story has proven that yours are two incompatible worlds. She will always be in danger and you... you seem like a strong man, but not strong enough to protect both of you from the dangers that she especially would run.”

Marcus still has one arm around your shoulders, caresses your face with his other hand, kisses you tenderly on the forehead and then says to your father, “Save her. If she has to be away from me to live, then take her away and save her.”

Your father nods and then lifts you into his arms and carries you with him, you become smaller and further away, then where you dived into only small ripples remain.

Acacius collapses to his knees, the pain of the sharp contact with the gravel barely registering, now he wonders if you will actually survive or if you will end up dying down there far away from him.

You saved him today, and he? What did he do?

He didn't even say goodbye to you, he didn't tell you I love you every time those three words were on the tip of his tongue, he didn't hold you close enough.

He didn't..

The noise and echo of the raging battle are barely perceptible. He who has taken part in dozens and dozens of battles, he who has always been on the front lines, today feels completely empty.

He lost everything.

His name, his home..

You..

Marcus Acacius feels lost and even the idea of fighting is completely indifferent to him, what's the point of fighting if he doesn't have the right motivations and ideals to do that?

Even taking away power from Geta and Caracalla no longer matters to him.

Cui prodest? (Who benefits from all this?)

When you open your eyes again, you feel completely dazed.

There are your sisters and even a nanny you haven't seen since you were just a few inches tall, are you dead?

You try to get up, but you realize that you are without strength and above all that you are a mermaid again.

But what..?

“Don’t worry, little girl. You’ve lost a lot of energy and blood,” the woman informs you, tucking the seaweed blanket around you.

“How long have I been here?” you ask confused, looking for your sisters’ faces.

“You slept for almost ten days. We were starting to fear the worst,” your sister Acqua replies.

“Why am I here? What happened?” you ask, closing and squeezing your eyes tightly as if to quickly register the fact that you don't know if Marcus is okay, how you survived, what you're doing there, and how you got here.

“Easy, little sis,” Melody, another of your sisters, replies, “daddy will be here soon and will tell you everything. In the meantime, let her rest.” she adds, inviting your other sisters and your nanny to leave the room.

“Melody?” you call her when it’s just the two of you. She comes over and sits next to you, “Am I dead?” you ask her bluntly still feeling very dizzy.

She takes your hand, “No, baby. You’re here, you’re with us, in your world.” Melody is silent for a moment, then looks into your eyes, “I love you and I would do anything for you because your happiness is the most important thing for me. But... I'm afraid for you, I'm afraid that you could be in serious danger being... up there.” you nod weakly “Well, what happened to you, happened when you were there.”

“It didn't happen because I was there, but because I accepted a dangerous potion. It could have happened here too.” you reply, trying to sit up, but you're still so weak, so you give up. “I love him, Melody. The feelings I have for him will never end.”

She sighs, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You are about to answer when you hear your father’s voice behind your sister, “This is not the time to think about this, my daughter. Now you just need to rest.”

Your sister Melody kisses your cheek and swims away, your father stays. When he’s sure no one can hear you anymore, your father approaches you, “How do you feel?”

“Tired, but fine.” You reply, “Father, what happened to Marcus?”

“Don’t you want to know how you got back here?”

“First I’d like to know about him. Is he alive? Is he okay?”

Your father smiles, “Yes,” he caresses your cheek, “he’s fine. He’s the one who called me. He loves you. He really does, you know?” Your heart pounds in your chest at the thought of Marcus, of how you feel about him, of how even your father understood it “He loves you so much that he gave up on you. He preferred knowing you were safe even if far away from him rather than keep you there and watch you die.” he tells you, caressing the contour of your face.

Your eyes fill with tears, “I wish I could tell him how loved I felt by him, how safe I felt with him. Always.” your voice trembles “I will never forget this.” you add “If I have to marry a newt you want, I will.” shy tears fly down your cheeks.

“Oh, my daughter…” your father lowers his head for a moment “I want you safe, you know that. But I don’t want you to be unhappy.”

You give each other a long, silent look full of unspoken words.

[punkshort]

Just This Once: Part Two

Pairing: dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Your dad surprises you after work with a brand new bed as a late birthday present. The kicker? Joel is there to help assemble it, leading to a very tense afternoon.

Warnings: no outbreak au, language, smut (18+ MDNI), age gap, phone sex (alluded to), sexual tension, references to masturbation (both), reader's mom is dead, reader has hair (length unspecified), size kink, unprotected piv sex, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), dirty talk, sneaking around, mutual pining, takin' nudes

WC: 6.6K

Part One | Part Three

Let me know when you get home safe

You smirk and collapse into bed.

I've been home for 20 min. What took you so long?

Then...

??

You roll your eyes and burrow deeper into your covers.

I thought you'd text me sooner. I left almost 40 min ago.

You wait anxiously for Joel to reply, staring at your screen for the words to appear. Truthfully, you have no idea what you even want him to say, just that you want to keep him talking.

I had no idea what to say

You grin and before you can reply, another text comes through.

Still don't

Butterflies bloom in your stomach as you type out your response.

Where are you?

It takes less than thirty seconds for him to answer: bed.

You're thinking about me in bed?

You can practically hear his heavy sigh from across the city.

We can't do that again, I told you

Do what?

Don't play dumb darlin - you know what

I just asked a question.

Your old man's got a shotgun in his basement, I've seen it

Your shoulders sag and you relent.

Ok ok.... it won't happen again and I won't breathe a word of it to anyone. Promise.

Good

And you think that's the end of it. After you don't reply to his last text and he doesn't add anything further, you roll over to switch off your lamp and you do your best to focus on falling asleep without thinking of Joel's deep brown eyes gazing up at you while you ride him, all hazy and filled with desire. You quickly find it's impossible not to and it has you tossing and turning while trying to ignore the fresh ache growing between your legs. You skirt your hand down past your sleep shorts with a frustrated huff when, to your delight, your phone lights up again.

What are you wearing?

---

It's Friday, fucking finally. Your entire week at work had been shit. You made one tiny mistake that ended up costing you three hours to fix, a mistake you don't normally make and you just know it's because you've been distracted.

It's been two weeks since you've gone to visit your dad, meaning it's been two weeks since you've laid eyes on Joel. That night you shared should have slowly become a distant memory, but instead you found yourself texting him every single day, making it impossible to forget. Sometimes it was innocent enough, but at one point or another the conversation always turned flirty, which then turned heated, which then evolved to one of you giving in and calling the other so you could whisper filth into the phone with your fingers stuffed inside your pussy, but no matter how much you try, you're never able to get as deep or make yourself feel as good as Joel did.

It's driving you crazy.

So when you arrive home from work Friday afternoon and throw your car into park, you're too distracted to notice a familiar pickup truck parked on the street. To be fair, you live above a restaurant, so there's often cars parked along the street. You've learned to block it out. But when you go to open your door only to find it already unlocked, your heart stutters in your chest and you glance around. That's when you spot your father's truck and you roll your eyes.

"Dad?" you call up the stairs from down below.

"Yeah, honey, up here!"

You close the door behind you and trudge up the stairs, dodging various pairs of shoes you store on the end of each step. Right when you turn to enter your kitchen, you hear your father talking and laughing with someone. You don't have much time to wonder who it is because then you hear his voice, all low and velvety smooth. The very same voice that just the night before was telling you through the phone how much he missed your perfect, soft pussy and then begged you for a picture.

It suddenly became impossible to breathe.

"Hey, Kiddo," your dad says when he steps out of your bedroom. He's carrying large cardboard pieces to the stairs and sweat coats his face. "Me 'n Joel are puttin' your new bed frame together. Almost done."

Him and Joel. Joel. Putting together your bed. Joel is in your bedroom.

Your skin feels like it's on fire and your blood is pumping so fast, it makes you lightheaded.

"Uh, w-what new bed frame?" you stammer, forcing yourself to move out of his way.

"The one I promised for your birthday," he calls over his shoulder from your stairwell. Your eyes rake across the kitchen towards your open bedroom door, but Joel is nowhere to be seen. "Sorry it took so long but I told ya I'd get to it."

"Oh," you say, "uh, t-thank you. You didn't - um - you didn't have to do that."

Your dad emerges from the stairs and your gaze sweeps back over to him.

"Sure I did. It's your birthday present. 'Sides..." He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and looks to the floor when he says, "felt bad 'bout our fight. Wanted to make things right, check in on ya. Miss seein' you 'round."

"Oh, Dad, it's fine. I'm not mad anymore, I've just been busy with work and stuff," you say. He looks down at your work clothes: a thin blouse half tucked into an off-white pencil skirt and heels.

"Look so grown up," he murmurs softly. You give him a small smile and shrug, temporarily forgetting Joel is just in the next room until your dad says, "Don't my little girl look all grown up, Joel?"

Joel's standing in the doorway to your bedroom, staring at you across the kitchen. You swallow and tighten your fingers around the edge of your counter and you fucking pray your father doesn't read the hungry look in Joel's eyes when he slowly and appreciatively sizes you up and down.

"Yeah," he finally says, voice only a little gravelly. It could be innocent, but you knew better. He clears his throat and tries again. "Look real grown up."

You give him a smile, one you hope looks natural. "Thanks, Joel."

Your dad snorts and crosses the kitchen, heading back towards your bedroom to finish your bed frame. "Callin' him Joel now? Since when?"

Joel locks eyes with you and you see it. You fucking see that heated look he gives you, letting you know exactly what he's thinking about: you, grinding down on his lap and whispering little teases in his ear while calling him Mr. Miller.

"Oh, uh, I-"

"I told her to," Joel says over his shoulder once your dad disappears into your bedroom. Joel's eyes remain firmly pinned on you when he adds, "She's grown now 'n all."

Your eyes widen and you shoot him a look, but Joel just grins and turns back around, back into your fucking bedroom, to help your dad finish up.

Your head spins. This is not the way you wanted Joel in your apartment for the first time. You tiptoe in your heels to peek inside your room, where your father is sprawled out on your carpet with a wrench and Joel is holding your new padded headboard in place. Your dad is murmuring to himself as he focuses on securing the headboard to the rest of the frame but all you can focus on are Joel's massive hands curling around the beige fabric. You bite your lip and lean casually against the doorframe, allowing yourself to fantasize about Joel's grip on that headboard while he's pounding into you over and over and-

"I'm gonna order some pizza!" you exclaim suddenly. Your dad pauses and looks at you curiously but Joel just smirks. There's no possible way he didn't see right through you. Not with that smile and the way his cheeks tinted.

"Alright," your dad says slowly before focusing back on his work. You hurry into the kitchen and place an order from the restaurant downstairs, then anxiously look around. You're lucky your place isn't messier. At least your laundry is put away and the only dishes in your sink are from breakfast.

Still in your work clothes, you wander over to check your fridge, delighted to find that you have a few cans of beer left over from your friends.

In your bedroom, you hear your dad tell Joel he's all done. You hear shuffling and you imagine they are putting your bed back against the wall because next, they pop out of your room and head towards your living room, where your mattress and boxspring are temporarily being stored.

Joel tosses you a wink as he trails after your dad and you have to turn around and do the dishes so they don't see how flustered you are.

Your legs press together when you hear Joel's familiar grunts from somewhere behind you while he and your father struggle to drag your boxspring and then your mattress back in place. You're scrubbing a plate so fucking hard, you're surprised it doesn't shatter in your hands because you can't stop thinking about Joel and all the things you'd let him do to you if your dad wasn't there at that very moment.

"- you listenin' to me?" your father's voice says, causing you to jump and drop your sponge.

"Huh?"

You look at him, trying to ignore Joel next to him as he sheds his flannel and plucks loosely at the black t-shirt underneath, unsticking it from his sweaty chest. Fuck.

"Said Joel's gonna take the trash out and I'm gonna go grab that pizza. How long they say it'll take?"

You blink, blood singing hot in your veins when you mumble should be ready soon, then slowly dry your hands on a towel while your father and Joel collect the trash from your bed frame to take down to the dumpster.

Your apartment is silent for a few minutes after they disappear outside, the only sound coming from your heart pounding steadily in your ears as you wait for the door downstairs to open again.

When you hear the squeaky hinges open and close, then the dull, slow thud of his footsteps climbing the stairs, you remain stock still at your sink. Your fingernails press so hard into the stainless steel, it's a wonder they don't break. You can't bring yourself to turn around when he steps through the door, back into your kitchen. He told you it couldn't happen again and you agreed, but your phone calls the last two weeks spoke otherwise.

Without saying a word, Joel's on you in an instant, spinning you around and crashing his mouth hungrily against yours, driving away that little voice in the back of your head that keeps reminding you just this once, just this once.

You nearly crumple in his arms, feeble fingers digging into his shoulders for something to hold onto. His tongue slips past your lips with a groan and his hands grab eagerly at your blouse, bunching up the fabric in his fists, too fucking crazed and desperate to feel you again.

You whimper and he swallows it down, big hands releasing your shirt to travel lower and grab at your ass confined in your tight skirt. His skin is slightly damp with sweat and he tastes so good and feels so warm that it has you guiding his hand to the zipper of your skirt, encouraging him to pull it down.

"Can't," he mumbles before latching his mouth onto your neck.

You're impatient. You rake your fingers through his tousled hair and he sighs against your throat.

"Y'smell so good," he says, body pressing against yours, pinning your back to the edge of the counter.

"Joel-" you beg, but he keeps talking and his hands keep searching, grabbing for any part of you he can find.

"Been half hard since I got here," he admits, the confession sending a shock of arousal straight through your stomach and down to your core. "Got any idea what it was like for me to be in that room, movin' that mattress, knowin' you were fuckin' yourself right there last night?"

You gasp and claw at his hair, his neck - anywhere - while his mouth drags down the column of your throat. He ruts his hips against your stomach and you squeak when you're reminded of just how fucking big and thick he is. You drop your hand and rub your palm against the soft denim, over his impossibly hard cock caged in his jeans, and you whine in his ear. A wordless plea.

"Can't," he says again, but his hips buck forward, chasing your hand. He pulls you closer, his teeth scrape your jaw, and then his lips are seared over yours once again, smearing whatever remains of your lipstick.

Joel gasps and breaks the kiss but keeps his hips firmly pressed into your palm. He looks down at you like he wants to swallow you whole, his brown eyes so dark they look nearly black. One hand lifts to get tangled in your hair as you both fight every impulse to tear each other apart right then and there.

"I'll ... I'll call you tonight-" he begins, voice sounding pained. You shake your head. His grip in your hair tightens.

"No, Joel, please," you beg. Not another phone call. If you didn't know any better, you sound as if you're on the verge of tears. He sighs and presses his forehead to yours, his wet lips hovering over your mouth when you say, "it's not enough. I need you. Please, Joel, I can't-"

The door downstairs swings open and you fucking fly apart. Joel's eyes, which were just filled with lust, now are wild with panic.

"Go to your bedroom, y-your hair and-" he waves his hand in front of his mouth and you hurry away as he's wiping the lipstick from his own mouth, closing the door behind you. A few seconds later, the door to your kitchen opens and you hear your father's voice. With trembling hands, you unbutton your blouse and unzip your skirt so you can change into more comfortable clothes while you hear plates being pulled from your cupboard. Your dad is telling Joel some story about the customer ahead of him in line who was asking every question under the sun about the ingredients in their sauce as you pull on a soft pair of leggings and an oversized shirt.

Before joining them for dinner, you tug a brush through your hair, taming the mess Joel's hand left behind, and wipe off the lipstick from your mouth and cheek. Once you think you look somewhat normal, although internally you might be on the verge of a fucking stroke, you take a shaky breath in and step out of your bedroom.

"Hey! There she is!"

You give your dad a weak smile and head for the fridge, avoiding Joel's eye but feeling his stare burning into your back.

"Here, I have a few of these," you say, grabbing the cans of beer and putting them on the table. "Some friend left them behind, I think."

Joel is sitting at your small, round kitchen table next to your father with an untouched piece of pizza on his plate. Meanwhile, your dad is nearly halfway through his first slice. You pull a glass from your cupboard and fill it at the sink, using the opportunity to take deep breaths and calm your nerves.

Unfortunately, when you turn around, Joel locks eyes with you and you feel as though you may melt into the floor. His fists clench tight on the table and you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it, but his chest rises quicker than usual and there's a pink tint to his cheeks.

You sink into the chair across from him and shakily pick a piece of pizza from the box. You're hungry but you're so fucking turned on, it's hard to think about anything else. The pull between your legs is so uncomfortable, it has you shifting your weight in your seat while you take a few small bites of food. Joel must be feeling similarly because out of the corner of your eye, you finally see him slowly unfurl a fist and pick up his pizza.

"You seein' someone?"

Your eyes snap up to your father and you freeze. "What?" you ask breathlessly.

He points to the beers before grabbing one and cracking it open.

"You said a friend left 'em. You seein' someone new?"

Your throat closes up. You shake your head and take a bite of pizza so you can avoid elaborating. Across from you, Joel stiffens but remains silent. Your dad chuckles and he elbows Joel, snapping him out of his trance.

"'Member when we'd sit on the porch, waitin' for her dates to bring her home?"

"That only happened, like, twice," you mumble.

"Boys need'ta learn early on not to mess 'round and have some manners. Kept 'em in line," your dad continues, grabbing another piece of pizza. "Say the word and I can do it again-"

"How about you, Dad?" you ask, cutting him off. You can practically feel the tension radiating off Joel's shoulders from the direction the conversation was heading, and you need to put a stop to it. "Are you seeing anyone?"

The distraction is sufficient. Your dad launches into a ten minute monologue about his dry dating life while you and Joel do your best to act interested. The last fucking thing you want is for your dad to scare Joel off by reminding him of his fierce, protective side. Like he isn't already aware.

But perhaps you were too late because after they both finish eating and say their goodbyes, Joel can't look you in the eye. Something tells you that it isn't because he's trying to hide his attraction for you. You can't put your finger on it. Something about his body language and energy just seem... off. And then sure enough, hours later when you are distracting yourself with television after sending Joel multiple unanswered texts, you think your suspicion is correct.

---

A loud pounding on your door wakes you from a deep sleep. You startle awake with your heart in your throat. Your television is still on, forgotten, just like your phone buried somewhere in your sheets. You stumble out of bed after another knock that threatens to bring down the entire building and squint at the microwave to check the time.

Just past two in the morning. What the fuck?

You are about to go downstairs when logic prevails and you go to your window, instead.

The only car on the street is Joel's truck, right in front of your building.

Shit.

You fucking race to your bathroom and gargle with mouthwash for about three seconds. As you are hurrying down the stairs, you comb your fingers through your hair, hoping you look decent enough but knowing deep down it wouldn't really matter.

When you open the door, a shiver shoots down your spine.

"Joel," you barely get out before his crowding you, pushing you up against your stairs, mouth already devouring yours as he kicks the door shut behind him.

You curse, but it's muffled. His mouth is hard and insistent against yours, almost like he's angry, but not at you. His hands scan your body, over your pajamas, your face, your exposed skin, while his tongue explores your mouth. It's familiar now, for you both, under the cover of night once again, where your secret can remain safe.

It's a miracle you make it up the stairs without falling. You don't remember his mouth or hands ever leaving you as you stumble through your kitchen and into your room.

The television still plays in your otherwise dark room. Flickering lights dance across the walls, soft syndicated laughter is registered in the back of your brain. He untangles one hand from your hair and the other he pulls from underneath your shirt, then he takes a step back. You both drag in air, panting and studying each other's faces. His cheeks look flushed and your skin feels just as hot. Hair equally wild. The energy between you is palpable, crackling like electricity.

"Thought you got scared off," you say, breaking the silence. He blinks.

"Why?"

You shrug, already wishing you had waited til later to bring this up.

"You seemed weird when you left."

His throat bobs and he shakes his head, then his gaze shifts to your chest before finding your eyes again.

"Just needed to get the hell outta here 'fore he noticed somethin' was goin' on."

You nod slowly. Oh. So maybe you're a little paranoid. It doesn't explain the unanswered texts, but you don't feel much like talking anymore.

You dip down, crawling backwards onto your bed and whisper his name, dropping your head onto your pillows with a sigh, then fight back a smile at the greedy way his eyes rake up and down your body.

"Come here," you say quietly. You reach your arms out and wiggle your fingers. His dark eyes lock with yours and you grin.

His hands fall to his belt and warmth pools low in your stomach, deep between your legs. You squirm impatiently when he slowly slides the leather through his belt loops.

"Just..." he begins, pausing when you sit up to toss your shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare to him. He swallows hard and continues. "Just one more time."

You would have agreed to anything in that moment, so you nod while he pushes his jeans down to the floor before lowering himself to your bed. He crawls over you and your legs spread so his hips can settle there, pressing against your aching cunt. His arms tuck underneath your shoulders and just the weight of him pressing against your chest and pushing your legs apart is so fucking exquisite that it has your own hips circling for friction. You moan into his mouth when his lips find yours again and everything feels right, so fucking right, that tears burn the back of your eyes.

"Bad girl," he murmurs against your lips. Your fingers card through his thick, wavy hair and you smile. "Textin' me when I'm out with your old man. Coulda got me killed."

"You - what?" you breathe, tipping your head back so he could leave wet, open mouthed kisses along your throat. He sucks a little mark over your pulse point and then his lips find yours again before answering.

"Went out for a few beers after we left," he says while tilting his head to the opposite side. His tongue glides back inside your mouth and you taste it now, the remnants of the drinks he had earlier. Your fingers in his hair tighten. Relief washes over you.

You decide to ignore how obviously desperate you are for Joel's attention - something you know is a bad sign. Instead, you sigh and rut your hips upwards a little harder, pulling a low groan from his throat.

"Did you have fun?" you ask with a teasing grin. He picks up on it and growls, then palms your hip, squeezing the soft skin there, pulling you closer.

"Not as much fun as I'm havin' now."

You giggle when he pinches you and you try to squirm away, but you're still pinned helplessly underneath his broad frame.

Joel laughs, too, before leaving a trail of gentle kisses across your chest. It feels so loving and sweet that it has your breath catching in your throat even before his mouth latches onto your breast, tongue teasing your nipple with a satisfied hum before doing the same to the other.

"I missed you," you whisper boldly, pulse thrumming fast in your throat as you wait for his response. Is it too much? Maybe. But it's true.

"Was just here a few hours ago," he says. You roll your eyes.

"Not what I meant."

Joel sighs and rests the side of his head against your chest. You're absolutely certain he can hear how fast your heart is racing. He wraps his arms around you a little tighter when he admits, "Me, too."

And it's enough, for now, to know he craved you the same way you craved him.

His hand skids down your bare side, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, until one finger hooks around the lace edge of your panties and gives them a playful tug. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and lift your hips so he can slide them and your shorts down your legs.

You become very aware you are stark naked underneath Joel Miller for the very first time while he somehow still has on his t-shirt and boxers. He pushes off the mattress and looks down to admire you all sprawled out for him and you feel a rush of embarrassment. That is, until he says-

"So fuckin' beautiful."

His voice is soft and filled with so much awe that you just might believe him. His gaze skims every inch of your exposed skin: your arms, your waist, your thighs. Like he's trying to memorize every little thing he sees.

"I want you," you gasp when his fingers delicately graze the inside of you leg. His deep brown eyes lift and he smirks when his fingers trail closer and closer to where you need him most.

"Yeah?" he asks. His voice sounds deeper and your legs begin to shake. His fingertips brush over your slit and you gasp again, body writhing on your bed - the bed he helped fucking build. You nod and lift your hips.

"Please."

Joel tuts and pushes one thick finger through your folds. He circles over your entrance but doesn't go any further. He just slowly slips his finger through your pussy, dragging it up, up, up until he's pressing down on your clit and you're moaning his name with your eyes squeezed shut.

"This what you want?" he breathes, arousal evident in his voice. You nod enthusiastically, chest heaving as he continues his slow, torturous route. Then he removes his finger and you whine in protest until your eyes reopen. He slips his finger into his mouth with a quiet groan, eyelids fluttering and you imagine his tongue swirling around, collecting your slick and swallowing it down.

You're afraid you may go insane if he doesn't fuck you soon.

"Joel-"

"I gotta- fuck," he moans before dropping onto his hands and settling his shoulders between your thighs. He pushes open your legs, spreading you wide so he can admire your glistening cunt up close. His teeth nip your inner thigh but his eyes remain glued to your center. "I gotta taste you, darlin'," he says, and it's amusing how he actually sounds filled with regret when he says it. You would have laughed if his lips didn't suction around your pussy a second later, tongue plunging through your folds just to flatten and circle your clit with the perfect amount of pressure to make your back arch off the mattress.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you moan his name. Your body is so wound tight, not only from earlier when he had you pinned against your kitchen counter with your father just downstairs, but from weeks without his touch.

"Can't believe how good this tight little pussy takes my cock," he mumbles, face buried between your legs, eyes closed.

Your thighs tremble underneath his hands, which are splayed wide, thumbs parting your lips to make way for his tongue. One of your hands snakes down to get lost in his messy hair, the other grips the sheets for dear life while Joel eats at your center with more enthusiasm than anyone else who has been in his position. By a mile.

His beard burns the inside of your thighs and in the back of your mind, you hope you'll still feel it in the morning. You're so desperate for any reminder of the way he tears you apart that you'll gladly embrace the discomfort.

Every time his warm tongue glides through your folds, he moans. Your face feels like it's on fire when you grind your hips onto his mouth, gasping and dragging in air like you're drowning. He seems to love it. Every roll of your hips causes him to squeeze the meat of your thighs, and when you whimper his name, all rough and needy, his tongue works even faster. He licks and sucks and moans into your cunt, and when he slides two thick fingers inside of you with ease, you curse and dig your heel into his back.

"Fuck," he whispers when he pulls his face away to catch his breath. He stares down at his fingers buried deep, watching the way you stretch for him, suck him in. His eyes go dark when a thick drop of your arousal slips down his fingers, pooling between his knuckles.

"Wish you could see the way this perfect pussy opens up f'me," he murmurs, still entranced.

You don't even think. Your mind is a hazy blur, heart thrashing in your chest at the way he holds you right on the brink of your release. So, you say, "Show me," and point to the Polaroid next to your bed.

Joel's eyes flicker, following your hand, and he grins.

You had been tinkering with it the past few days, trying to fix the blue marks that were showing up on all your photos. After cleaning the rollers and checking the expiration date on the film, you figured out a film shield was the answer and you had been taking test shots in your room since it had the best lighting.

Could he have taken pictures with his phone? Sure. But something about the way he handled the clunky camera with one hand was so fucking hot, you're eternally grateful you abandoned it on your end table.

He takes one picture, then two. The familiar whir of the rollers fills the air, drowning out the television behind him, then the photographs spit out, one at a time. You writhe a little when his attention gets drawn to the pictures and his hand between your legs stall. He waits about thirty seconds for them to develop, then without even showing them to you, he growls and drops them into the sheets. His mouth suctions over your pussy again and you gasp. He sucks and flicks his tongue over your clit while his hand pumps steadily into you, curling his fingers, making you nearly scream if it isn't for how fast and hard you're breathing.

"Joel-" you gasp, "Joel, I'm - I'm gonna -"

You struggle to finish your sentence but it doesn't matter. He knows. Joel hums between your thighs and works faster, devouring your cunt and dragging your orgasm out of you. Your body tenses and you cry out his name, but he doesn't let up. Not until your legs clamp the sides of his head does he remove his fingers to drink down every drop of your release, then he finally lets his jaw relax.

You're seeing stars. You have to be covered in sweat and you probably look insane, with your hair and eyes all wild while you lay there, completely fucked out.

He must enjoy it, though, because next thing you know he's covering you with his body once again. His lips are on yours and all you can taste and smell is you, but you aren't repulsed. In fact, you find you really fucking like it. When it's on him, when your taste and scent is mixed with Joel's, it's intoxicating.

"Shoulda done that last time," he rasps. He leans back to sit on his knees and tugs off his shirt, letting it fall somewhere on your floor. You blink and try to admire his bare chest while he's kicking his boxers off, but it's hard to focus. Then, just as fast as he sat up, he's back on you once again. His breath skips when he glides the tip of his cock through your folds, then rests against your opening. You're still struggling to come back to earth, body lax and sated and so fucking warm underneath him. He groans brokenly into your neck when he presses inside, reveling in how easily you welcome his cock now that he already worked you open with his mouth and fingers.

You make a soft noise and circle your arms loosely around his neck. There's no need to go as slowly as last time. You're so fucking soaked, you're more than ready for him, but he still takes his time. He holds your hip steady with one hand as he feeds you his cock, inch by inch, parting your walls and sighing against your dewy skin.

"Shit," he groans. His teeth pinch your throat when he bottoms out and you gasp. "This what you want? Needed my cock that bad?"

"Yes," you whimper, "Christ, Joel - yes."

He drags himself out and plunges back inside you with a rough grunt. Your legs fall open wider, giving yourself up to him entirely.

His beard is scratchy and it tickles your skin, making you shiver when his mouth traces the edge of your jaw. He fucks you slow and deep, like he wants to make it last, like he wants you to remember. Your lips find his shoulder and you leave a path of open mouthed kisses across his tanned skin. And when your tongue darts out to taste him properly, he groans and rolls his hips deeper.

It's perfect and intense and it's everything you could ever want.

"Jesus, look at you," he says. But you look up at him, instead. He looks how you feel - needy, wrecked, and desperate. Then his eyes fall between your bodies, where his cock slides in and out of you, coated in your arousal, and you groan when you see what he sees.

Look at us, you want to say, but you bite the words back. It feels like it's too much. But you think it. How could you not, when you seem to fit together so perfectly?

With his voice smooth and soft as velvet, he says, "Dirty girl... thinkin' 'bout me fuckin' you like this with your daddy in the room."

Your cheeks burn and you try to swallow, but your throat is too dry. When you meet his gaze, he looks different. He's worked up and his eyes are pitch black. His hips start to pound into you faster.

Your throat tightens.

"I- fuck," you choke out when he brushes up against a particularly sensitive spot. You try again. "Y-you're the one who kissed me whe-"

Joel chuckles and shakes his head, dark curls falling loose across his forehead.

"I saw the way you were lookin' at me 'fore all that," he goads, then leans down to nip at your earlobe before adding, "When we were puttin' together the bed. Tell me what you were thinkin' 'bout."

You whine and pitch your head back into your pillow. You can already feel your hips ache from how fast and hard he's fucking into you now. It has your breath stuttering and your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

When you take too long to respond, his mouth suctions over your breast. His teeth leave a sharp bite on your nipple and you yelp.

"Tell me," he says again. You shudder, breath too shallow and quick to answer, so you grab one of his arms and lift it above your head. You press his hand around the padded headboard and he gets it. The smirk he gives you is deadly when plants his other hand into the mattress for leverage.

Your legs wrap around his waist and he starts to slam into you. Each thrust knocks the air from your lungs. He pushes you further and further up the bed until the top of your head hits the headboard. Joel sees it and he drops to his elbow. The hand that was pushing into the mattress is now cupping the top of your head and you think you might implode from the way his arm curls protectively around you while the other is gripping your headboard so tight, you can see the tendons twitching in his wrist.

"Like this?" he grits out. You nod, mouth agape and brows furrowed. Tears spring to your eyes as you teeter on the edge. He sees them and kisses them away when they fall. Ultimately, it's the hours and hours of pent up frustration that have you coming so hard, your vision goes white. But it's the combination of how rough he's fucking you and how sweet he's holding and kissing you that has your cunt pulsing around his cock, dragging out your orgasm for what feels like an eternity.

"Fuck," he gasps. His fingers tighten around the crown of your head and you feel his bicep flex along the side of your face. "W-where? Where, baby?"

His voice sounds urgent but you still take a second to soak in the word baby before murmuring inside, just like before.

He doesn't hesitate. He comes a moment later, yanking on your headboard for support with a loud groan. You hear it rattle and you plant kisses on the underside of his jaw, hoping to melt away some of the tension being held there.

His hips flex forward erratically, each push paired with a heavy grunt until he finally stills. His hand drops from the headboard and his face tucks into the crook of your neck.

You feel his breath fanning across your sweat soaked skin and you close your eyes. There's no rush, this time. There's no risk. So you lay there and catch your breath with Joel's massive body pinning you into the mattress and heavy cock softening inside you.

"Goddamn," he murmurs in between light kisses to your collarbone. You hum and soothingly run your palms up and down his back with your eyes closed. He shivers when your nails graze his spine and he holds you a little tighter. You swear you could fall asleep, just like that.

Joel begrudgingly lifts himself up to slide out from between your legs. His eyes flicker with something dark when he sees his seed leaking out of your spent cunt, but he blinks it away and rolls onto his back with a tired groan.

"Just need a second and I'll get goin'," he assures you. His forearm is thrown over his closed eyes and you take the opportunity to study his broad chest and soft belly in the glow from your television. God, he's so handsome. How did you not see it before?

"Why don't you stay?" you ask, voice raspy and thick. He peeks at you in surprise and drops his arm to his side.

"Yeah?"

You remember his comment last time, about his house feeling lonely, and it pulls at your heart. "Yeah," you say, shifting onto your side and wrapping an arm around his middle. You nuzzle into his chest and he drapes an arm around your shoulders.

"Okay," he says softly. "But next time, we're figurin' out a way f'you to stay at mine. Want you wrapped up in my bed, feedin' you breakfast."

"Next time?" you repeat, unable to keep the eagerness from your voice. "What happened to just this once?"

The hand drawing aimless circles on your arm stills.

"It... I - uh -"

You lift your chin and shoot him a sly smirk.

He rolls his eyes but you see the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Just go to sleep," he mutters. He sounds annoyed but you know better.

You close your eyes with a smile and his hand resumes stroking your arm.

Deep down, you know what you're doing is so much more complicated than what you're willing to admit within your four walls. Maybe you'll figure it out, maybe you won't. But neither of you are willing to think about that tonight. Because tonight, away from familiar, judgmental eyes, you're just two people seeking comfort in each other.

And it's enough.

[millers-girl]

willow & whiskey | a joel miller fanfic

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

series summary: The outbreak took a lot from you, but it gave you a little sister. Wherever she goes, you go. Now, that means crossing the country with a man who keeps the world at arm’s length. But 3,000 miles has a funny way of making the heart forget how to be alone.

warnings/tags: age gap, mature language, mentions of blood and violence, grumpy x sunshine, sexual content, angst, no use of y/n, more tbd!

chapter 1: all that matters

chapter 2: what it takes

chapter 3: things worth saving

chapter 4: where it hurts

chapter 5: before the dawn

chapter 6: who we carry

chapter 7: [coming April 26, 2025]

[eff4freddie]

Sittin'

Joel Miller x F!Babysitter Reader No outbreak Joel Miller AU - Words: 10k

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI

You're working your way through medical school, supporting yourself by taking the occasional babysitting gig. One local single Dad needs someone to look after his 10 year old daughter Sarah on nights when he's late back from the jobsite. And it's all fine and good until your neglectful boyfriend decides to crash the party. Warnings: small age gap (Joel is 32, reader is in medical school), reader is babysitting Sarah as a side hustle to support her studies, Sarah is cute, reader has a shit boyfriend, Joel is trying really hard to resist, exhibitionism, thigh-riding, praise, dirty talk, thigh-humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, general defiling of a perfectly good granite countertop, Joel has opinions about how a woman should be treated as is not afraid to demonstrate them.

A/N: My attempts at writing PWP almost always end up like 10k lol. Whatever, I like a good slow burn. If you enjoy, comments and reblogs are always appreciated. Thank you - Freddie x

It was a hot night, the latest in a long line. You knew you were lucky getting to spend some of your evenings over at the Millers, simply because it meant you got to sit under Mr Miller’s air conditioner, the box wedged firm into the window in the living room, little droplets of water condensing and running down the pane of glass underneath it. You’d put a dishtowel down to protect the carpet.

You knew you were lucky, too, because once Sarah went off to bed you could spread your books over Mr Miller’s kitchen table, listening to the buzzing of the fridge as you tried to memorise the functions of the lobes in the brain. In class, your biomedicine professor had blown up balloons and handed out sharpies, inviting her students to draw the lobes in the right place, and yours had popped when you pressed too hard on the occipital lobe, and your lab partner had laughed and said that it was ironic, but you couldn’t figure it: the motor cortex would have been ironic, this was just startling.

You cracked your neck, rolling your shoulders and looking over to the clock on the wall. Nearly 10:30 PM. Mr Miller would be coming back soon.

Sarah was a good kid, and some nights she stayed up to ‘help’ you study, mostly by pointing to pictures in your textbooks and asking you to explain them to her. She’d hated the full-page coloured illustration of the eye, but had been fascinated by the heart, trailing her finger along the arteries, into the chambers, tracing the pathway in and out again. You’d make a cardiologist of her, yet.

Tonight, she’d only made it to twenty minutes past eight, her eyes growing heavy as she turned the pages of your book. This one didn’t have as many pictures, and you could sense her fatigue in the stuffy air.

‘What kind of doctor do you want to be?’ she’d asked, and you’d pulled your hair up off your neck to try and get some air on your skin. You weren’t sure how to explain it without sounding gruesome, without giving her nightmares. She was only 10.

‘When people have emergencies and they have to go to the hospital right away, they need to see a doctor to patch them back up again…’ you’d said, and she’d stared at you with a tiresome expression on her face.

‘I’m not a baby,’ she said, disapproving. You smiled at her.

‘Trauma surgeon,’ you replied. She nodded her head, deeming your answer satisfactory, and taking herself up the stairs to bed.

She was one of the easiest kids you’d ever babysat for, and over the years you’d racked up quite a roster. You’d started in high school, first saving up enough for the prom dress right in the storefront window, and then later keeping yourself fed during your undergrad. When you’d moved to Austin you’d rented a studio apartment in the back garden of a little old lady, a woman who had revealed herself to be an excellent cook if militant about her hydrangeas. You’d letterboxed the neighbourhood and picked up a few odd jobs but nothing lasting, until the evening you’d got a call from a very frantic Mr Miller, who was so beside himself he only asked how quick you could get there and didn’t even ask about your rates.

It turned out Mr Miller got caught up at the jobsite some nights, staying back later than he expected with his little brother to finish framing, or guttering, or wiring. He was running out of favours with his neighbours, he’d explained, and Sarah was still too little to feed herself. You hadn’t minded, his deep southern drawl doing something to you even over the phone, such that you found yourself cancelling plans just to go and sit on his couch that very evening, textbook over your knees.

Some nights with Sarah tucked up fast asleep you’d stand and stare at the pictures of the two of them, her holding up a soccer trophy nearly twice her size, him standing with his hand in his pocket, his other over the shoulders of a younger man you assumed was Tommy. If you were feeling particularly bold, or were procrastinating especially hard, you’d extend a finger and run them up and down the strings of Joel’s guitar, resting sentinel against the windowsill. You imagined his fingers pushing into the fretboard, the strings indenting the flesh.

It wasn’t even that he was handsome, although he definitely was. He was a young father, doing it almost entirely alone, and on any other man that would have made for grumpy, for overly tired, for entitled. On Mr Miller it made for kindness, for a nurturing type of strength, corded tight under his skin. For a single dad always thinking about his daughter, only ever wanting the best for her. For a man focussed on doing right for his family, small as it was.

You rolled your shoulders, the pre-frontal cortex just about beating you for the night. Just as you were wondering if the Millers kept any ice cream in the freezer, you heard the key in the front door. You listened as Joel followed the same routine, first toeing off his boots, letting out a little grunt as the second one hit the floor. You heard him huff as he stretched his back, rolling his hips in a little circle to try and get some stretch into them, before dropping his keys on the table and padding, surprisingly light on his socked feet, into the kitchen.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said, his pet name for you emerging on only the second time you’d sat for him and still, even after this many months, causing your stomach to do a little flipper.

‘Evening, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he tutted at you, moving over to the fridge and extracting a beer.

‘Told ya not to call me that,’ he muttered, but you could see the grin behind it. ‘How was my girl tonight?’

‘Perfect, as always,’ you said, smiling at him as he poured you a glass of sweet tea from the jug in the fridge without bothering to ask if you wanted any. You accepted it gratefully, suddenly noticing how dry your throat had become.

‘She’s a good kid,’ he said. He sat down, heavy, in the chair opposite you. The ceiling lamp buzzed above you both, and the light bounced off the fine sheen of sweat accumulating on his arms, on his cheeks. He glowed, even if it was under a layer of exhaustion.

‘You look tired, Mr Miller,’ you said, and he cocked a little grin.

‘You sayin’ I look like shit, Sweetheart?’ he asked.

‘No, never,’ you said, instantly regretting how quickly, how fervently, you had responded. He continued to grin at you, lopsided, the dimple on his right cheek popping out to greet you.

‘What is it tonight?’ he asked, and you held up your book to him. ‘The bio-mech-an-ics-of-thought: phys-ee-ol-o-gee of the brain,’ he intoned, before letting out a low whistle. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ he said.

‘It’s interesting,’ you defended, unsure why. ‘So long as there are diagrams,’ you added.

‘So that’s where the magic happens?’ he asked, gesturing to the illustrated image of the brain in the centre of the page you had been working from.

‘This is where thought happens,’ you nodded. ‘Kind of like…where decisions are made.’

‘Must be a woman’s brain,’ Joel deadpanned, taking a swig of his beer. ‘Can guarantee men make their decisions someplace else.’

You caught a glimpse of something dark in his eyes as he glanced over you. You blushed, swearing it was just the heat, and furious with yourself. This wasn’t like you; you weren’t some shrinking violet type. You’d had boyfriends, you’d had fun in college. You had no idea what it was about Mr Miller that made you immediately go all giggly, all girly, but whatever it was you wished it would fuck off.

The two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence. You were used to this from him, the way his mind seemed to drift, the way he seemed content enough to let it. Gently, so as not to jolt him out of his thoughts, you closed your book, gathered your pens together. Everything tucked away in your bag you were surprised when you looked up to see he was watching you.

‘Apparently Sarah’s taken an interest in science,’ he said after a moment, his warm eyes watching yours for a second. You felt a tingle of pride in your chest.

‘Oh yeah?’ you asked.

‘Mmhmm, apparently after she pushed Simon Strzelecki off the monkey bars, she offered to patch him up again.’

You grinned before you were able to catch yourself.

‘That’s…very, umm…’ you trailed off and he huffed out a little laugh.

‘It’s very Sarah,’ he agreed.

‘M’sorry, Mr Miller…’ you started, but Joel stood up, waving you off.

‘Don’t be, Strzelecki’s a little shit’f the highest order,’ he said. ‘You gonna let me give ya a lift this time?’ he asked, and this time you shook your head at him.

‘No, I can walk it.’

‘Y’know I don’t like ya walkin’ around out there on yer’own,’ he grumbled, and you felt the insane urge to reach your hand out to rest on his bicep, to ease his evident discomfort.

‘I can handle it,’ you said, instead.

Something stole over his face for a moment, a sharpness in his eyes. For a moment you gazed up at him, the furrow in his brow deepening, the muscles in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed over your face. Standing this close to him you were reminded how tall, how broad he really was. You dropped your eyes to his arms, crossed over his chest, and imagined him holding you with them, circling them around your back as you leant, safe, into his skin. You blinked yourself back to reality, worried for a second he could read your thoughts.

‘Know you can handle it,’ he said, his voice low, ‘just don’t like it, is all.’

You did this every time, this stand-off. You worried one night you would waver.

‘G’night, Mr Miller,’ you said, over dry lips. He nodded, once, at you, still evidently displeased something dark, something haunted, passing over his features before he brought them back into line.

He stood on the front porch, light still on, until you rounded his driveway and disappeared past the oak tree by the front lawn.

--

Mick was a guy from your Tuesday morning bio class, and you only realised he was your boyfriend when he introduced you to a few of his friends that way. You’d just gone with it, because it had seemed easier, and he was nice if a little full of himself at times. He was the son of the one the big ranching families, had been almost guaranteed a position at whatever college he chose on the day of his birth, hadn’t ever really considered that money was something you saved, something you worked for.

But he would never let you pay for dinner, and often he showed up to class holding a coffee just for you. You’d been on your own for a long time, had been self-sufficient well before you had any business to, and it was kind of nice to let yourself be cared for, if that’s what this was.

On nights when you had to work he would pout and complain, and you told yourself it was because he cared about you, because he wanted you around, even if some part of you knew he just didn’t like to be alone. Every once and while he would ask if he could come with you, ‘feel you up on the couch like it’s eighth grade’, and it made you feel exactly fourteen years old, like this was a summer job you had failed to grow out of. It didn’t help that he more than once referred to your sitting job as ‘cute’. His mother had stayed at home the moment she fell pregnant with Mick’s older brother, and as far as you could tell was yet to leave. You never asked about a future with Mick, terrified of what kind of picture he would paint.

On one such evening, after he’d been particularly insistent that you blow off your job and come and hang out with him and his friends, he’d starting blowing up your phone just as Mr Miller sat down beside you, weary-boned and sleepy-eyed, at his kitchen table.

You ignored the calls, tried to carry on reading even as Mr Miller arched his brow at your insistently vibrating device. You huffed, knowing at some point Mick would get bored.

‘You’re popular tonight?’ Joel prompted after a while, making you lose your place in the paragraph you’d read over at least ten times already.

You huffed out a sigh, reaching out and scrolling through the stream of notifications. He’d started texting, sometimes just sending a single emoji, sometimes entire paragraphs about how badly you were letting him down. You felt an ache bloom behind your right eye socket, and you reached up to your temple to try and massage it away.

‘It’s my boyfriend,’ you told him, and with your eyes still closed you didn’t see him scowl. ‘He wants me to come out to some bar with him and his drunk friends.’

Joel considered this for a long moment. When you opened your eyes they blurred under the sudden light, and you blinked away sleep to see him clearly again.

‘You should be out with your friends, it’s a Friday night…’ he said, almost looking guilty for a moment, and you rushed to reassure him.

‘No, no trust me…this is better. They’re boring when they’re drunk. And also when they’re sober.’

Joel smiled, straining just slightly, at this.

‘He a good man?’ he asked, and you scoffed a little.

‘He’s barely a man at all,’ you said, automatically. Later you’d reflect on this moment, feel it turn you inside out and scold your skin with the heat of your own shame. For now, though, you were too tired, and it was too hot in the kitchen, for you to catch it.

Joel caught it, though. He cleared his throat.

‘We met at college, and he’s…well, he’s kind of set up for life. He doesn’t have to worry about grades, or proving himself. He’s almost guaranteed his residency.’ You were aware you were starting to sound bitter, and maybe you were just a little. Something about Mr Miller, sitting at his kitchen table late in the evening with a beer, muscles wrapped in a plaid, his soft brown eyes watching you carefully, made you think he’d understand.

‘He doesn’t make you feel good enough for him?’ he asked, after a while.

You considered this, eventually shrugging your shoulders. ‘I don’t know if he makes me feel anything,’ you said, truthfully.

Joel leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting in his hand as he watched you, gazed at your face.

‘What do you want him to make you feel?’ he asked.

‘Seen,’ you said, without hesitation.

‘Just seen?’ he asked. His voice was deathly quiet now, almost entirely gravel. His eyes were burning, sharp. You watched as they darkened, stealing your breath out from under you.

‘Desired,’ you almost whispered. He dropped a hand to the table, his fingertips only inches from yours, resting casual on your textbook.

‘What man’s out there runnin’ round this town not desirin’ you?’ he asked, almost as though he couldn’t believe it, and you felt scorching heat on your cheeks, rushing down your sternum, pooling heavy in your core.

You blinked, terrified to move in case you broke whatever spell had befallen him. He turned thoughtful, his eyes dropping to the woodgrain of the table.

‘Y’been working a lot here…can’t imagine hanging out with me and a ten-year-old girl is the same as bein’ out there, living your youth…’

You felt something heavy shift in your belly, something essential curdle and erode.

‘I like it here, Mr Miller,’ you said, all big eyes and almost quivering lower lip. Joel moved away, sitting up straight and peeling the label off his beer.

‘Pretty thing like you, shouldn’t be spendin’ all night waitin’ on us,’ he said, almost to himself. You shook your head again, but he was closing off on you, you could see it in the way his shoulders were folding, the way his mouth was tugging down at the corners.

Without even considering it, operating almost entirely on instinct, you reached your hand out to rest on his bicep. You watched as his eyes drifted close, a long exhale through his nose. He grimaced, almost like you were hurting him, until he lifted his hand and held yours fast to him, wrapping his paw around you.

‘I really love spending time with Sarah,’ you said, just over a whisper, as he stared hard at the table. You could sense he was avoiding your gaze, and you wanted to say something to draw him to you, wanted to give him a little nugget of truth that he could take into himself, hold deep and quiet in his depths. ‘I love spending time with you,’ you said.

He raised his eyes to yours. His hand was so warm over yours, your cheeks so pink in the sleepless heat of the late evening. You saw his eyes fall to your lips and you slipped your hand from under his, reaching up to trace the contours of his jaw with your fingertips.

‘Baby…’ he whispered, ‘I been’ resistin’ you so long, don’t know if I can…’ and you pushed a finger to his lips. You didn’t want him to break whatever spell you were both suddenly under. Didn’t want him to take this from you both, whatever it was turning out to be.

‘Don’t argue,’ you instructed, quietly. With brows saddled, he nodded his head.

And he didn’t argue. Not when you moved your finger from his lips and traced it down over the hollow of his neck, over to his pulse where it thundered under your tough.

Didn’t argue when you leant forward, pressing your nose to his, giving him time to pull away, to move from your lips.

Didn’t argue when you pressed them to his, a little soft and quiet thing, earning you a wanting gasp from him, a prize you would hold in the cavity of your chest so long as your heart stayed beating.

Later, when you had gathered yourselves, when he had gazed at you and you had felt the want in him mixing with the regret, with the necessity of the un-having corrupting the want to take and take and take, you had simply gathered your books, tucking them quiet and neat into the bag at your feet. He didn’t argue with you about driving you home that night, suddenly quiet in a way that set your teeth on edge, and you felt an ache in your belly you couldn’t account for when he closed the door. You waited behind the trunk of the tree at the end of his driveway, counting the minutes he left the light on for you after you’d slipped from view, giving up when you got past 15.

--

You were unsettled. Joel hadn’t called for two weeks, and you were starting to worry that you’d ruined things, your silly little kiss bubbling corrosive at the base of your spine. You couldn’t help going over the whole evening again and again in your head.

You should have told him you preferred spending the nights at his house, that the way it smelt like play-dough and sometimes sawdust, sometimes pine, was so unique to the both of them that you felt your nerves settle the moment you stepped over the threshold. That the house was warm and quiet, that you could spread out your books and something essential to you, that in this space with them you felt more yourself than anywhere else on the planet, even locked away in your little studio apartment, even just you and your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

You wanted to tell him Sarah was funny, and smart, and kind, and being around her made you nostalgic for the childhood you never had but ached for, that you felt all that time with her she was giving you something precious and absent, something simple and something sweet. That there were nights you weren’t sure who was sitting who.

You wanted to tell him you didn’t expect anything from him, that it didn’t matter to you if nothing ever happened, if he regretted letting you kiss him, if it had just been that it was too awkward in the moment to say no. Just that you wanted to keep sitting for him, just that if all you got was a casual conversation at the end of the evening and an argument about driving home that would be enough for you, because it would have to be, and so you could make it so.

You begged off seeing Mick for the second Friday night in a row, wanting to be available in case Joel called. You felt silly but you could use the cash. Your textbooks were $400 a piece, and next semester you were taking three classes. Just feeding yourself was enough to stop your studies in their tracks.

Two things happened in the span of ten minutes. A knock at your door stirred you from your lecture notes, and your phone rang. By the time you had it in your hand you were holding Mick back from your face, your palm to his chest, as you craned your neck away from him to speak.

‘M’sorry, Sweetheart, it’s just…I know, it’s a Friday…’

‘It’s fine, Mr Miller,’ you said, ignoring the way Mick was making smoochy faces over your shoulder. ‘I don’t have any plans.’

When you got off the phone Mick was pouting again, and you sighed.

‘I thought I was your plans?’ he said, and you shrugged at him.

‘It’s good money for easy work, babe,’ you said, the nickname sitting heavy on your tongue.

‘I can give you money,’ he said, pulling you towards him by your belt loops and nipping at your jaw. You cringed away from him.

‘That would make me your whore, right?’ you said, and he grinned at you, wiggling his eyebrows.

‘Never seemed to bother you before…’ he said, and you bristled against him.

‘The fuck does that mean?’

“Oh, fuck me, babe, make me yours…” he imitated, his voice high in a general approximation of yours. You blushed, furiously. ‘You think good girls beg like little whores?’ he asked, and you knew he was kidding around, knew that he wasn’t smart enough to do it without outright insulting you, knew that you’d put up with this shit before so there was no reason why he wouldn’t assume he couldn’t get away with it now. You knew the way he spoke to you was basically your fault, and you couldn’t yell at him now that the precedent had been set. You felt yourself crumple, landing with a thump on the edge of your bed.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ he was saying, grinning at you like he’d won his prize. ‘You put the kid to bed, and I’ll come by and keep you happy ‘til Dad gets home.’

You hated the idea, the thought of Mick in that space you’d almost come to think of sacred making your stomach churn.

‘No,’ you said, and you watched as he arched his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You can’t come in…’

‘Say no more,’ he said, grinning again, and for whatever reason, you didn’t.

--

He arrived, just after 9 PM, already drunk. You winced as he parked his car in the driveway, right in Mr Miller’s spot, worried for a moment he was going to swipe the mailbox when he took the angle too fast. He skidded to a stop mere inches from Mr Miller’s garage door and you exhaled, realising you were bracing for the sound of splintering wood. He ambled over to where you stood on the front porch, tugging at your shirt sleeves in the cool night air.

‘Babe!’ he called, and you shushed him almost instantly. He was carrying a sixpack of beers, three of them already gone. His breath reeked and you wrinkled up your nose when he slung his arm over the back of your neck and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss.

‘This feels like high school,’ he said, and giggled.

‘This is my job, y’know,’ you corrected him, but he wasn’t hearing you, backing you up against the side of the house. You thumped into the brick, wind temporarily knocked from your lungs before he was on you, slipping his entire tongue into your ear in a way that made your skin crawl.

‘Easy…’ you said, and he ignored you, his hand not holding the beers rising up to paw at your breast over your shirt.

‘Mmm…such a tasty little slut,’ he said, and you closed your eyes. ‘Little naughty baby-sitter.’

‘Keep your voice down,’ you stage-whispered, not sure how well your voices wouldn’t carry over the breeze in Mr Miller’s cul-de-sac. He leant down, resting the beers on the front porch so that he could grope you with both hands.

He groaned as he rubbed his cock at your clothed centre. You moved your face to the side, letting your eyes slide closed again.

You tried to think of a romantic movie. Tried to remember some of the fragments of the romance novels your mother had kept stowed under the bed and that you snuck into the den to read to your giggling friends. Tried to imagine a different man, a stranger’s hands on your chest, a stranger’s fingers pinching at your nipples. Tried to imagine what it would feel like if they found the sweet spot, if they sent electric shocks into your belly, into your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the sound of Mick’s heavy breathing out of your mind, focusing instead on rough and calloused fingers, the scruff of a beard teasing along your skin. Heavy accent and sweet pine, a groaned little ‘Sweetheart…’ as he slipped your shirt up over your shoulders.

‘The fuck’s going on here?’ you heard a gruff voice as your eyes sprang open, pushing Mick from you hard enough that he stumbled, backwards, landing on the grass.

‘Mr Miller!’ you exclaimed, shame burning bright on your cheeks as you righted your clothes. ‘M’so sorry, he just dropped by…’ you started but Joel was striding up his driveway, as you realised with a new flash of guilt he’d had to park on the street.

‘Hey, man…’ Mick was saying, his hands up in front of his face. ‘Just checkin’ in on my girl…’

You cringed, this particular pet name always feeling more like ownership when it came from him.

Joel looked up at you, his brows saddled. ‘You OK, Sweetheart?’ he asked you, and you realised for the first time he wasn’t angry but concerned, his fists balled up like he was ready to spring to your defence.

‘It’s Mick,’ you explained, glancing down at him as he tried to climb to his feet, getting as far as his knees and settling there for a second to plan his next move. ‘He…he wanted to…’

‘Yeah, I saw what he wanted to,’ Joel huffed out, reaching down to pull Mick upright by the back of his shirt. ‘Saw the way you were bracing away from it too,’ he said, looking directly into Mick’s grinning face.

‘What else you see, old man?’ he asked, and Joel dropped him back onto his knees.

‘You got your keys?’ he asked him, and waiting for the younger man to root around in his pockets.

‘Don’t steal my ride,’ he said, handing them over and not noticing when Joel slipped them into his pocket.

‘M’going inside, and I’m gonna call you a taxi, and you’re getting in. She can drive your car back to you tomorrow mornin’…if she doesn’t decide to drive it off a cliff,’ he said, abandoning Mick on the front lawn and coming towards you, grabbing your wrist gentle but firm in his hand and pulling you inside. ‘C’mon, darlin’,’ he said, and you followed, almost entirely on autopilot.

‘I’m so sorry, Mr Miller,’ you started but he waved you away, placing a call for the taxi while keeping you fixed in your spot with his glare. When he was done, he rolled his shoulders, sighing.

‘You sit,’ he said, striding into the kitchen and emerging moments later with two glasses of sweet tea. You realised, as you lifted your hands to take your glass from him, that you were shivering.

‘I didn’t know he was going to do that,’ you said, and Joel shook his head. You felt the waves of disappointment rolling off him and you worried for a moment you might cry.

‘He always touch ya like that?’ he asked, palming at the back of his neck.

‘Like what?’ you asked, your cheeks burning again.

‘All…clumsy and…disrespectful,’ he said, quiet. He stared at the floor between you while you perched on the edge of the couch.

‘Well…’ you started, but you weren’t sure how you wanted to finish that sentence. Sometimes he doesn’t even bother to touch me at all, you thought.

Joel scoffed, his jaw squeezed tight. ‘Guys like that are all the same, Sweetheart, just…selfish. Even in the bedroom. No lady should be touched like she’s a piece of meat.’

You considered, for one crazy moment, if Joel wasn’t so much disappointed in you as he was in Mick’s prowess. Suddenly you had to stifle a giggle.

‘What’s so funny?’ Joel asked you, surprised.  

‘Just…I mean, they all go to such fancy schools, get all that college for basically free…’ you started, trailing off when you saw him starting to smile. ‘He can’t even boil an egg, and I don’t mean mine,’ you said, and he laughed then, free and loud, and the sound of it made a little fizzle of joy spark up your spine.

This was fun, you realised, shitting on your terrible boyfriend with the most handsome single Dad you’d ever laid your eyes on. This was really, really fun.

‘So, I take it he don’t make you breakfast in the mornin’,’ Joel joked, and you snorted. ‘What you eat for breakfast, anyway?’ he asked, turning to you now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. You swallowed. ‘No, wait,’ he said, ‘let me guess.’ He pretended to look you up and down, his brow arching as he considered. ‘You’re not a waffles kinda girl,’ he said, thoughtfully. You grinned and shook your head. You’d never liked the sponginess. ‘But you’re too fun for plain old oatmeal,’ he said, and you felt a blush crawling across your chest. ‘You’re a pancake princess,’ he decided, finally. ‘Am I right?’

You pretended to consider it for a second before nodding happily at him. ‘Maple syrup and berries,’ you agreed.

‘Maple syrup and berries,’ he said, grinning in his victory. He paused, something passing between you. Suddenly he shifted forward, his knees just barely brushing yours. You found yourself mirroring him, leaning in enough that you had to put your hand out to steady you, landing it on the cushion only inches from his thigh. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek when he whispered in your ear, ‘tart…but a little bit of sweet for m’sweetheart.’

You felt heat scorch its way up your chest, reduced to kindling beside him.

‘Bet he don’t kiss ya like ya should be,’ he said, and you thought for a second of Mick, grinning and drunk out of his mind on the front lawn. You wondered if the taxi had come for him yet, and had absolutely no interest in going out to check on him.

‘Mr Miller…’ you whispered, and he groaned, then, his eyes rolling back in his head.

‘Please, baby, when you call me that…’ he trailed off, eyes blown wide and you felt, then, the thundering in your chest. From this distance you could see his racing pulse in his neck, the same pace as yours.

‘Mr Miller…’ you said, again, staring now at his lips. You wanted to reach out and just take a little nibble.

And he was on you, grasping the back of your head and bringing it down to him, crashing his lips into yours as you gasped, swallowing the echo down into his throat. His tongue, scorching hot, exploring your mouth as he teased it open, the scruff of his beard tickling your cheeks.

‘Thought about you…’ you said, without even thinking, and Joel pulled back a second to appraise you; your swollen lips, your doe-eyes gazing up at him.

‘Say that again,’ he mumbled.

‘When he’d take me, I’d think about you,’ you said, and you watched as his eyes fell shut, taking the moment to glance down at his heaving chest, the aching bulge between his legs. ‘Thought about your hands on me, Mr Miller, about your mouth.’

‘Fuck, Sweetheart…’ he said, almost as if it pained him, before his eyes snapped back open to gaze at you.

‘Kiss me?’ you asked, sweet as you could for him while you tried with both hands to hang on to the moment, to stay here in it with him. You would need to remember this, every corner of the room, every detail. Would spend nights reconstructing his face in your mind, the way he was looking at you now, wanting and red-cheeked, dark eyes and a hot little huff as your words landed their blows on him.

‘Canna touch you, baby?’ he asked, and you were nodding, pulling him towards you as he slid his hands over your waist. Threading your hands through his hair he brought you over him, straddling him on the couch as he stared up at you, brows arching high, as if he couldn’t quite believe it was happening. You smiled at him, feeling like his prize, as you brought your hips down on him and watched his eyes ease shut, heard his breath stutter. He was big, you could feel it even as the seam of his jeans rubbed at your core. You could feel yourself aching for him, hot and pounding where you ground yourself down.

‘Fuck, Mr Miller…’ you gasped as you felt him push his cock up into you, his hands on your hips and pulling you down.

‘So beautiful, baby,’ he whispered, reaching up with one hand to cup your breast, squeezing the nipple between his fingers that, even through your shirt, shot lightning bolts to your cunt. You gasped, a high-pitched little sound you were sure you’d never made before, and he soaked it down into his skin, kept it held tight and precious in the core of him, to keep him warm on cold evenings.

You felt yourself shivering, even as his warm fingertips dropped to lift the hem of your tee and trace their way back up to your tits along the skin. His enormous hands almost completely captured it, and you felt small, then, and shy, but when you looked down into his warm, brown eyes you saw only safety there, only naked desire for your pleasure.

You let your hips roll, that building ache in your core. You’d only ever felt this alone, had never had another person bring it out of you, and you felt the sharp edges of it as you felt a shard of panic slice through your gut. No one had ever done this for you, before. You weren’t sure if your body would allow it, weren’t sure if you could let go enough to fall.

‘Hey…’ Joel said beneath you, his eyes roaming your face. ‘Relax, Sweetheart,’ he whispered, reaching his hand from your hip to your jaw, pulling you down to rest your forehead on his. ‘Just you n’me, baby,’ he whispered as you rocked on top of him. ‘You can take what you need,’ he promised. ‘I got you.’

‘Joel!’ you gasped, the shiver in your body now ratcheting up your spine, your thighs burning as you rolled your hips on his lap, his cock still tucked away in his jeans. ‘I don’t know if I…’

‘Sssh…’ he cooed, raising a thumb to your lips and slipping it between your teeth. You sucked instinctually, swirling your tongue over the tip and letting your eyes drift closed. ‘Just feel it, baby,’ he said, ‘don’t force it. Let it grow.’

Never in your life had you felt like this. You took his thumb between your teeth as you ground, the spark of fear in your belly engulfed by the roar of your desire. You could feel your hips stuttering, could hear yourself starting to pant.

‘Good girl…’ Joel encouraged, slipping his thumb from your mouth now and smearing it across your lips. ‘Right here for ya, baby,’ he said. ‘Wantchya to feel so good.’

You cried out, smacking your hand over your mouth to stifle your cries. He was going to kill you, and you would let him again and again, let him bring you back to life just to kill you this way all over again. You had no idea bodies were made to feel this good.

‘Oh!’ you gasped, all the warning you could muster as he grabbed your hips with both hands, slamming his bulge up into you as he pulled you down, the seam of his jeans rubbing hard into your clit. ‘Yes!’ you whispered, your body shuddering as you felt yourself crest, the pleasure roaring from your cunt to your chest, exploding out of your skin as you rolled, roiled, boiled on top of Mr Miller.

‘Jesus, there she is…’ he whispered, and you opened your eyes to gaze down at him, your breath still coming in gasps as he watched you, awe and desire on his face. ‘There she is,’ he said again, like a prayer, a benediction.

--

You woke slowly, the dappled light streaming in through the oak tree beside Joel’s window. It took you a moment to orient yourself, to remember that you were in his bed because he’d considered it too late for you to take yourself home, even if you had Mick’s car. Because the pleasure he’d wrung out of you on his couch had left you boneless, because the idea of ripping yourself from his smell, from his heat, was unthinkable in that moment.

You stretched, noting that the other side of the bed remained made, that he had spent the night on the couch. You remembered that you had wanted to ask him to stay, that the words had formed on your lips, and that in that moment you saw the regret on his face, the longing to tuck himself in beside you and pull you into his chest, let the weight of the night take him and you with him, but that he wouldn’t allow it, that he was holding back. You weren’t sure why, but you assumed out of decency, out of respect. Out of some vague employee-boss professionalism you would both cling to in an attempt to paper over the grasping maw of desire opening up between you.

You had wanted him, and you had denied him, allowed him to deny you. You rolled to your back in a frustrated huff, surrounded by the scent of him, of his cologne and the scent of his skin imbued in the sheets beneath you.

After a while you heard noises in the kitchen and you left your cocoon, pulling your clothes on and padding down the stairs constructing a cover story for Sarah as to why you were still there. When you rounded the corner, though, you saw only Joel –in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else, standing at the stove.

‘Hey, Sweetheart,’ he said casually, as if you hadn’t come on his lap less than twelve hours before, ‘Sarah’s headed off to soccer practice, so you and me’ll have to take care of all these.’

He gestured over his shoulder to the kitchen table, where a stack of cooling pancakes stood proud. You felt a shiver of shock run though you at the sight of them, turning to Joel with the curl of tears tickling the back of your eyes. ‘No berries, sorry darlin’,’ he said, without looking up. ‘But we got enough syrup to make it up to ya, I hope.’

You weren’t sure anyone had ever done anything like this for you. You wanted to sob, wanted to walk over to the table and pick up the pancakes in your fists and mash them into your skin, wanted to drown them in syrup and eat until your belly distended, wanted to force feed them into Joel. Instead, you stepped forward, your arms opening all of their own accord, wrapping yourself around his back like a Koala. He huffed out a surprised laugh, growing serious when he turned you in his arms to face him, seeing the gathering tears at your waterline.

‘Hey, what’s this?’ he asked, and you grinned, watery, up at him.

‘No-one has ever…’ you started, catching your words before they spilled too much of the truth. Understanding passed over Joel’s face.

‘Oh, my sweet girl…’ he said, and you glowed for a minute, the words reaching down into your chest and igniting something long extinguished.

He leaned down towards you, pressed his nose to yours, his forehead resting gently on yours. You inhaled him, his scent and the sweet smell of the pancakes on the stove, tried to imprint the memory deep in your DNA.

‘What the fuck is this?’ an angry voice sounded from behind you, and you snapped away from Joel, taking several steps back. Mick, still in his same clothes from the night before, stood furious in Joel’s kitchen.

‘The fuck, you let yourself in?’ Joel asked, matching Mick’s anger with his own. ‘This is a private residence, man.’

‘That’s my girlfriend, man,’ Mick spat, his face twisting into an ugly mask you weren’t sure you’d ever noticed on him before. ‘The fuck you doing feeling her up? You stealin’ my car and my girl?’

‘Mick…’ you started but he was ignoring you, advancing on Joel. You stepped towards him, hands up to placate, but Joel was suddenly beside you, tucking you behind him and shielding you with his broad chest.

‘Back up, buddy,’ Joel said, a whispered warning.

‘Me, back up?’ Mick seethed, about to go on before Joel interrupted him.

‘Yeah, you back up. You need to sit your arse down and learn yourself somethin’,’ he said, advancing on Mick so that the younger man took several steps backwards, heading towards the kitchen table. You wondered if anyone had ever actually stood up to him, if usually his wealth was enough to make people cower. He backed into a kitchen chair, slamming down into it with a thud as he stared up at Joel, the older man red faced and pointing a finger at his chest. ‘You think that little display last night was any way to treat a woman?’ he grit out. You watched as Mick shook his head no. ‘You think she enjoyed that, being pawed at in the dark like a fuckin’ street walker?’ he asked.

‘She looked pretty whorish a few seconds ago,’ Mick responded, petulant and stupid. You could see by the way Joel braced his shoulders, his back expanding in resplendent fury, that Mick had made the wrong fucking choice.

‘Ya little shit,’ Joel said, stepping back from Mick and towards you. He held his arm to you, beckoning you into his chest and you went to him, tucking yourself against his side.

‘You have a woman like this, you fuckin’ cherish her,’ Joel muttered, tracing his fingertips along your side and making you shiver. ‘Look at these pretty little tits,’ he said, moving to cup them as you blushed, tucking your face into his neck. You heard Mick’s sharp intake of breath, mirroring your own as Joel rolled your nipples through your shirt. ‘The way you were grabbin’ at ‘em last night, you think that felt good? You make her groan like this?’ he asked, applying just the right amount of pressure on the sensitive nubs, eliciting a moan from you, unbidden.

‘Listen, man, this is…’ Mick started but Joel cut him off with just a look, stern and disapproving, before his face shifted back to adoration when he turned to you.

‘Let’s show him, baby?’ he asked, his brows saddled high. You knew you were safe with him, that at any moment you could call it off, but you wanted this. You wanted Mick to see what Joel could do to you, the sounds you could make. Wanted him to feel small and insignificant in the presence of a real man, of real pleasure. Wanting him to see what money couldn’t buy.

You nodded your head at Joel and watched as the grin bloomed over his face. ‘M’good girl,’ he said, quiet enough that only you could hear it, and you felt the bolt of want shoot down into your core. Your cunt already aching, already dripping for him.

‘Show me where,’ he said, stepping back as you surveyed the space. You nodded towards the kitchen island, the bench just above your hip height. Joel nodded, lifting you up easily to perch on the edge, your body facing Mick as he sat, frozen, at the table in front of you.

‘Slip these off, baby,’ Joel said, tugging at your sweatpants and you lifted your hips as he slipped them, your panties along with them, out from underneath you. The granite countertop cold on the top of your thighs you revelled in the sensation of it, the hard, cold surface so different to Joel’s hot body as he hovered at your side.

‘Show him,’ he said, tapping you on the knee. You spread your legs, hooking one thigh over the edge of the counter and the other widening out to your side, your cunt unfolding before the two men in front of you. You watched as Mick’s face turned pink, sweat appearing on his brow. You turned to look at Joel, the hunger in his eyes as he devoured every inch of your skin. He reached over, running his fingertips over the inside of your thigh, moving closer to you, leaning over your body to whisper into your ear.

‘You’re dripping onto my countertop, baby,’ he said, and you could hear the glee in it, the wanting.

‘For you, Joel,’ you clarified. ‘Not him.’

‘Nah, never for him, I reckon,’ Joel agreed, his fingers slipping further towards your slit. You felt totally exposed and wanton, whorish, as Mick had put it, and your cunt was pulsing, aching from the desire of it. You felt like a priceless piece of art admired in a big city museum, like a stripper opening up her legs for hoards of braying men, like a girlfriend letting her disappointing boyfriend know in no uncertain terms he would no longer neglect her. You felt power coursing through your veins and into your cunt, your slick pooling on the top of your thighs as the most beautiful man you had ever seen stood beside you and teased the pleasure from every nerve.

‘Fuck…’ you whimpered as Joel’s fingers landed light and dexterous on your clit, the little bundle of nerves sending the pleasure roaring through your core and into your chest. You bucked your hips, nearly slipping from the countertop, Joel coming forward again to brace you against his chest.

‘God, look how much she wants it,’ Joel said over your head to Mick. ‘Bet you’ve never made her jump like that.’ You opened your eyes, not even having realised they’d closed, to watch Mick swallow hard and heavy. You beamed back at Joel, letting the pride in his face radiate warmth down upon you.

‘So good f’me, so good t’me,’ he said, spreading your lips apart with his fingers and pushing a fingertip inside. You gasped, shock on your face at the intensity of the need for him burning where he touched.

‘Please…’ you whimpered, just wanting more and just wanting him to never stop, just wanting him to reach inside you, to wring the pleasure out of you, to make you come so hard you forgot your own name.

‘Sshh…’ he cooed to you, ‘your boyfriend needs to concentrate so he can learn.’

You emitted a squeal of frustration, bucking your hips on his hand to try and draw him in, earning you only a chuckle from Joel.

‘Ok baby, m’sorry. Just like teasin’ ya,’ he grinned at you, before sliding two fat, rough fingers hard into your cunt.

For a second you lost touch with reality, your head flying back to the ceiling as sensations strong enough to take your breath roared from your cunt. The stretch was delicious, the heel of Joel’s hand rubbing hard at your clit as his fingers reached deep inside you, opening you up for him, your slick gathering in his palm.

‘Look how wet she gets,’ Joel noted, over his shoulder to Mick. ‘Such a shiny little cunt when she’s drippin’ like this. You ever work her up like this?’

You heard Mick grunt, a pleading note of displeasure, and you sighed as Joel started pumping, stoking the fire in your cunt that threatened to eviscerate you and everyone within the vicinity.

‘Joel!’ you gasped, rolling your hips again, trying to shove him deeper into your greedy little cunt as it grasped at him.  

‘Could lick ‘er up, whatchyu reckon?’ Joel asked, already getting down on his knees as you groaned, certain now he was going to send you into the stratosphere. ‘Can I, baby?’ he asked, and you nodded, frantic, unable to form words.

‘Bet she tastes sweet,’ Joel said to Mick, who was inching closer in his chair, peering over Joel’s shoulder as your cunt swallowed his thick fingers. ‘Like watermelon on a hot summer day. You ever taste her, Mick?’ he asked. You watched as the shame bloomed over Mick’s face. Joel scoffed. ‘Course not, ya fuckin piss weak little prick,’ he spat before turning, diving in to lick a fat stripe at your folds, settling in to lap at your clit as his fingers worked you.

You screamed, sucking in huge lung-fulls of breath just to let them keen out of you, your hips slamming shut on Joel’s head as he sucked at you, every nerve ending screaming now as you felt the blooming heat of release.

‘Oh, he’s gonna make me…’ you said to Mick over Joel’s shoulder, watching you with owlish eyes.

‘Don’t talk to him,’ Joel admonished you, pulling your focus down to him as he perched between your legs, ‘you talk to me,’ he said.

‘Sorry, Mr Miller,’ you said, watching as his eyes rolled shut, a shiver passing over his shoulders.

‘Be the death of me…’ he muttered, returning his attentions to your pulsing cunt. You gripped his hair, rolling your hips on his face and rocking into him, chasing the release now gathering at the base of your spine.

‘Jesus…oh, fuck…’ you cried, trying desperately to warn him, your eyes slamming shut only to open in shock as he found new ways to wring the pleasure from you.

Joel worked you up, his tongue never fatiguing, setting up the perfect rhythm to hold you just on the edge. You could feel your sweat pooling on your skin, the heat in your cunt spreading down your legs, the pull of the knot in your belly.

To your utter dismay Joel stopped, lifting his face to address Mick at his shoulder. ‘You ever make her squirm like this?’ he asked, and you cried for him, then, scrabbling to grip his shoulders, his chin, to push him back to your desperate cunt. He laughed, nipping at your fingertips as they passed by. ‘Look at her graspin’ for me. You seein’ this? This is what real pleasure looks like.’

You cracked open an eye, the room spinning around you as you fought to regain control of your limbs. You saw the look of shame embedded deep into Mick’s face now, the sight of it somehow intensifying your pleasure, the building pressure in your cunt.

‘Fuck me,’ you gasped, turning your attention back to Joel, his eyebrows shooting up. ‘Show him how to fuck,’ you groaned, pushing off the countertop and spinning up onto your toes, laying chest down on the granite now hot to the touch from your writhing body on top of it. You spread your legs a little, knowing that your puffy little cunt lips would be revealed to them both, and you heard them both groan, Joel’s chesty moan full of grit, Mick’s high pitched and brimming with regret.

‘Don’t do this, man…’ he pleaded, and you heard Joel’s little scoff.

‘That’s the thing, buddy, the lady always gets what she wants.’

You felt him come to stand behind you, heard the rustle of his sweats as he pulled his cock over the waistband. It took everything in you not to turn and admire it, knowing in that moment you would have plenty of opportunity.

‘Fuck, she’s got me weepin’,’ Joel said, and you heard the unmistakable sound of skin on skin as he wrapped his hand around himself and tugged. ‘Got me harder than a railroad spike, this little cunt…’ he muttered. You whined, swivelling your hips to try and entice him, begging him to move faster as the walls of your cunt fluttered for him. You heard him sigh, a happy little sound. ‘Ok, baby, I’m here,’ he said, running a hand up your spine to hold you gentle and firm at the back of your neck, the head of his cock nudging at your cunt. ‘Gotta be gentle with my sweet little pussy,’ he said to you, leaning over you to place a chaste kiss in the cup of your shoulder blade.

‘Please, let him see it stretch me,’ you said, and you felt Joel shudder, notching himself at your entrance.

‘Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll chain him up in the basement, make him watch me fuck you every day,’ he muttered, pushing gently at first, the tip enough to make you gasp.

He was big, you realised. All of this time working you up he’d been leading to his moment, preparing to tease you open. ‘Oh, shit…’ you gasped as he pushed.

‘You ok, baby?’ he asked, pausing until you nodded, frantic, hands gripping at the edge of the counter for purchase as you pushed back into him, sliding in a few extra inches, as Joel moaned.

You were dimly aware that Mick was moving, coming to stand in front of you, a look of sorrow and unabashed heat on his face.

‘Please, can I?’ he asked, rubbing himself through his pants and you swatted him away.

‘No, fuck you,’ you said, emboldened by Joel’s desire for you, by his cock currently splitting your folds. ‘You never get this pussy again,’ you hissed at him, and you felt a bloom of pride at the look of hurt crossing his face just as Joel cheered from behind you.

‘That’s my beautiful girl!’ he gasped, bringing a finger to your clit and rubbing tight circles into it, making you gasp as you let your head fall, resting on the countertop. ‘So good f’me.’

The burn in your cunt from the way he stretched you abated, the pleasure Joel was giving you from your clit causing more slick to gather, your cunt grasping him again, your walls fluttering as you felt the ache turn to sweet pleasure, to a blooming rapture.

You lost touch with the ground, Joel’s harsh thrusts pushing you further up the counter, completely at his mercy as your legs hung useless beneath you, hands braced against the granite to give him purchase. In this moment, spread out on his cock, your cunt open and dripping for him, the pleasure ripping the words from your brain, gasps racking your throat, you felt completely under Joel’s spell, his touch, his heat. Mind-numb, thoroughly fucked out, gripped in this moment between the build up and the threshold of release.

‘Oh, you’re gonna make me…’ you warned but Joel had you, was there already with you.

‘I know, baby, I know,’ he grunted between thrusts. ‘Can feel it, can feel that sweet little cunt grippin’ me.’

You cried out, nodding your head furiously, entirely at his mercy now. ‘Yes, yes…Joel, it’s gonna…’

‘Let it go, baby,’ he moaned, and you felt none of the panic, none of the terror at your impending release, wrapped up safe in Joel’s body, in his groans of rapture, in the pull of the knot as it threatened to snap entirely.  

‘Watch me make her come,’ he spat out over your head, and you were only dimly aware of what he was saying as your release sped towards you.

You writhed, your breath stolen from you by the roar of the wildfire across your chest. The push of your orgasm slipping you under, crashing your body into the shore, rolling and quaking underneath it as indescribable lust coursed through your veins.

‘Oh, fuck, there she goes,’ Joel spluttered, his hips stuttering as he started to deepen his thrusts. ‘Gonna fill up ya girl,’ he grit out, his final movements sloppy and desperate as he approached the edge.

‘Do it, baby,’ you whimpered beneath him, words finally able to escape the cage of your throat. ‘Need you.’

He did, then, his come exploding into you and washing you clean, cleansing you of Mick, of all your disappointments, of all your fears. You looked back over your shoulder at him as he crested, his eyebrows saddled and his eyes trained on you, a look of reverence and hunger, of sweet shock, as though he couldn’t believe how good it felt either, as if everything for him was also slotting into place, as if he knew in this moment he would never let anyone separate you, would never let anyone take you from his side, that in his moment you were his just as much as he was yours, that this was a forging of something solid and essential, something vital and something precious, something that was just for you.

--

You didn’t remember Mick leaving. Didn’t care to say goodbye.

Joel had peeled you off the counter and carried you upstairs, drawn you a bath and lowered you gently into the water, sat beside you and washed your body as you lulled in and out of a light sleep.

Drying you off he wrapped you up in his clothes, swamping you in cotton and his scent, before promising to make you a fresh batch of pancakes. You hadn’t let him, whimpering when he tried to leave your side, pulling him down beside you on the bed and wrapping his arms around you.

Later you would figure out lunch, and then Sarah, and then the rest of your lives. For now, you had each other, and cool sheets, and the light patter of rain as a welcome cool breeze blew new life over the garden beneath Joel’s window.

[604to647]

Yeeee thank you for including my Modern Acacius 🥹🥹🥰🥰 (love that man in any era!)

New Writers added to The Pedro Library 🐼

Getting caught up after over a week with no wifi. Forgive the delay!

New Works Added ✨

Many fics aren’t appearing in the tags when searching. If I miss yours, please let me know 💗 Or add me to your taglist cuz I love being tagged 😊

As always, if you would like me to remove your work from the rec list, please let know and I’ll remove them asap 😊

@iknowisoundcrazy Javier Like Breathing

@novemberrain-writes Javier Let Me Die Quietly

@bergamote-catsandbooks Javier The Cigarette

@guiltyasdave Javier + Dave Poison Either Way / Joel Home

@schnarfer Dieter I Think Of You All Of The Time

@toomanystoriessolittletime Harry Wouldn’t It Be Nice

@absurdthirst Pero Stuck / @storiesofthefandomlovers Dieter High for the Holiday / Joel Finding Refuge + Shelter in the Storm

@daryltwdixon Joel Fix It

@ladamedusoif Joel Grey

@forever-rogue Joel Trouble

@stylesispunk Joel “What remains of us” + “I don’t want to look at anything else but you” + “A lot to live without”

@jolapeno Joel Healing

@sizzlingcloudmentality Joel Blessings

@mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal Joel Just a Dream

@mothandpidgeon Joel Well Worn

@penvisions Joel Bear My Weight + Black Hole Sun

@whocaresstillthelouvre Joel Healed

@theetherealbloom Joel It Only Falls Into Place When You’re Falling To Pieces

@littlepadika Joel Back to the Sky 

@yxtkiwiyxt Joel Peck on the Cheek

@604to647 Marcus A Little Showgirl

@missadangel Marcus A Amor Meus Aeternus

@milla-frenchy Tim Friend Zone

@tropes-and-tales Frankie For Good News, Read Front

@mandaloriankait Frankie Unnecessary Evil

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

[900 words of fluff, smut, and breeding kink]

Daydreaming about...

Husband!Joel Miller and the first time it slipped from your lips.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen. 

It was a sultry summer evening, the kind where the air still clung to you even after the sun dipped below the horizon. You’d both been a little buzzed, the walk home from the neighborhood block party filled with laughter and teasing touches. 

Joel had barely managed to close the front door before his lips were on yours, his hands greedy and warm as they wandered under your sundress.

It had been the kind of night where everything felt heightened—the taste of his tongue against yours, the way his calloused palms felt against your skin, and how his every touch seemed to unravel you. He’d taken you to bed with that intense, unfiltered adoration in his eyes, the kind that always left you weak in the knees. 

He was almost too much, murmuring worshipful praises into your ear, and against every inch of your skin. He had that sparkle in his eyes that made you melt. Everything was a pleasant blur, the way your bodies fit together, your giggles as he nearly growled, trying to pull you closer. 

The haze of his tender, overwhelming love, was more intoxicating than the warmth of the sun and the last hints of alcohol buzzing in your veins. He was pure devotion, attuned to every part of your body, every thought you might have, and coaxing you into a state of euphoria. 

You didn’t even realize you were talking, rambling softly between gasping breaths as he rocked into you, filling you to the brim until your eyes rolled back. But you’d been singing sweet praises right back to him. 

“So good,” you whispered. “Just like that, fuck.” 

And he did exactly as you said, hitting that perfect angle that had you floating away, lost in the bliss. 

And then it happened. 

Slipping free, soft and breathy between moans. “Oh, fuck,” your brows scrunching together in that way they always did when you were close. “Cum deep, baby, I need it.” Another moan rolled through you as he thrust his cock so deep it kissed the end of you. “That’s it. I want to carry it inside me, always. Fill me up until it takes, Joel.” 

Joel had frozen for a moment, his gaze locking on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. His cock twitched inside of you like he was somehow even harder than he’d ever been. Something primal flickered in his dark eyes, his jaw tightening before he let out a deep, guttural groan. 

Whatever switch you’d flipped in him sent him spiraling into something wild, feral. He’d pumped into you like it was his sole purpose, whispering filth and adoration in equal measure, his body relentless against yours until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began. A tangled vine of limbs. 

Now, a couple of years into your marriage, that same insatiable energy has returned. But this time it’s real. Tangible. The decision to start trying for a baby had been an exciting one, but you hadn’t anticipated how it would unleash a new, unstoppable side of your husband.

Joel’s been radiating pure, unadulterated want for weeks now. It’s in the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters in the entire universe. It’s in his hands, which can’t seem to stay off you, whether he’s tugging you into his lap on the couch, pressing against you in the kitchen, or pulling you into the shower under the guise of saving water.

You’re attempting to finish making dinner when you feel him behind you. His strong arms slide around your waist, his chest pressing firmly against your back. His hands find their way to your hips first, then drift upward, cupping your breasts as his thumbs tease over the sensitive peaks through the thin fabric of your shirt.

“Sweetheart,” he drawls, his voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine. “How am I s’posed to keep my hands off ya when you look like this?”

“Joel,” you protest weakly, though the way your breath catches betrays you. “I’m trying to cook.”

“Don’t care,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Need you, darlin’. Right here, right now.” His hands trail lower, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your leggings, and you’re gone, dinner long forgotten as he husks into your ear about how he’s gotta keep you filled up. Spouting off nonsense like how he can hear your pussy beggin’ for him, how she’s feelin’ empty and needs him too.

And somehow, no matter how filthy and feral he gets for you, it’s endearing. Wrapped in love and yearning for the idea of a family. Of more to love. 

The rest of your days—and nights—follow the same pattern. 

You find yourself pinned against the kitchen counter, bent over the couch, tangled in the sheets. He’s unstoppable, each touch, kiss, and thrust carrying a purpose that leaves you trembling and breathless.

Even at work, he’s insatiable. A quick trip to his job site to drop off his lunch turns into a heated, stolen moment in the back of your car. His kisses are ravenous, his hands rough but loving as he pulls you into his lap, his gruff voice murmuring, “Can’t wait, baby. Need you now.”

Every touch feels like a vow, every whispered word a promise. Joel loves you with his whole being, and now, with the thought of building a family together, that love has taken on an obsessive edge that leaves you dizzy and utterly devoted to him.

Late one night, as you lie together in the afterglow, his hand splayed possessively over your lower belly, he looks at you with those hearts in his eyes.

“This time,” he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. “I feel it.” 

And you believe him. 

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dividers

🍒 @lovely-vamp-princess 🍒 @mushgloomz 🍒 @untamedheart81

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Irreversible.

Gif credits

Pairing: Professor Reed Richards x f!reader Rating: +18, NSFW, MDNI Words count: 430 Summary: You get fucked against the blackboard by your hottest professor. Tags/Warning: implied legal but unspecified age gap, reader is a menace, cheating (Mr Richards is married), POV second person, no use of y/n, unprotected p in v, a dash of oral sex and nipples play, slurs, panties ripping, swearing, a reference to physics. (Look, I had terrible grades in physics in high school, I tried lol), it obviously has no connection to the plot of the film, in this one Reed Richards is a professor with a chair at Harvard and chalk is definitely more “poetic” than markers. I’m not a Marvel fan, I’m just trying to have some pwp, please don't come @ me 💀 A/N: We've all seen the pics and teasers and gifs, right? This is totally self indulgent, I wrote it because I couldn't get the image of him writing on the board out of my head. No proofreading, no beta, English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. Thanks to anyone who will read this!

Masterlist

You loved the way you broke him. Lured him into your web to do exactly what you wanted.

You loved it.

The way he yanked at your bra, exposing your boobs, the way his hands were still chalky and leaving white marks all over you, his scruffy beard pinching your skin, his voice vibrating over your tits as he swirled his tongue over your nipples.

“You wanted this huh?” “Yes.” you cried.

You wanted exactly that when you pretended you didn't understand anything about physics.

Your skirt rolled up over your hips, his face between your thighs, his tongue lapping incessantly between your folds, up to your clit.

He stood up, his forearms muscularly sticking out of the rolled-up sleeves, wrapping around your waist, pushing you against the blackboard.

He stopped to undo his pants and kick them off.

Back on you, he squeezed your ass, coming down on your thigh, pulling up your leg to get a better grip.

"You know I'm married" "Yes" you whined, looking at him honeyed. "And you still flirted like a bitch in heat" he angrily muttered.

Of course you did. You did it every day since you started his class, battling your eyelashes, biting your lower lip, asking for tutoring about everything like you were admitted at Harvard by a fortuitous twist of fate, wearing the sluttiest tops and skirts you owned, marveling at the grey in his hair, telling him it suited him so well, while he tried to explain physics to you maintaining a professional tone.

"You couldn't wait to drag me into this mess, could you?" he snarled on your neck, sucking on your pulse point.

He clutched your panties in his fist and teared them like paper tissues.

"I want you so bad" you purred, burying your fingers in his curls at the base of his neck, encircling his waist with your leg, rocking your naked pussy against his still-clothed cock.

"Fuck me, Mr Richards"

He pulled down his boxers just enough to free his cock, and entered you with one thrust.

"Fuck" he cursed "you're soaked, you hungry slut."

You didn't respond; your pussy clutched tightly on his cock, you moaned as he began to thrust deeper and deeper into you, in a frantic rhythm, making your whole body and the blackboard just on the wall behind you vibrate. Small drops of sweat beaded his forehead, his hair now completely disheveled under the work of your hands, the fabric of his pristine white shirt crumpled as it repeatedly banged against your hard nipples.

You came right there, whimpering and quivering in an empty university classroom where every day he lectured you.

Your lust for him was irreversible, as in the second law of thermodynamics that you had pretended not to understand that day.

tag list: @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @probablyreadinsmut @joelmillerisapunk @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @thundermartini @harriedandharassed

If you want to be added or removed just let me know, thanks for reading!

[604to647]

Wrong Number

3.4K / Detective Tim Rockford x fem!reader

Summary: Detective Tim Rockford receives an unexpected text after leaving for work.

Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls). Established relationship, nicknames (Shutterbug, baby, gorgeous), roleplay (sort of), possessive!Tim, bratty!reader (but not really, just loves to prank her man and gets exactly what she wants), PWP, oral (f receiving; Tim eats it from the back), unprotected PiV, spanking (ass and pussy), roughish sex, dirty talk, pussy pronouns.

A/N: Been feeling out of practice with writing smut lately so... I practiced 😂😁😇 As with all instalments of The Rockford Portfolio, can be read standalone, takes place anytime after their relationship has been established. Inspired by this TikTok prank/trend (a reminder that Tim does not have TikTok - as confirmed in Macarons).

Dividers by @saradika-graphics - tysm 🥰 / Series Masterlist

You couldn’t.  It’s too mean.

Biting your lip to stifle your own giggles, you practically skip back to your and Tim’s bedroom - pretty pink sheer nightgown flouncing as you contemplate going through with your prank.

Settling on top of your now cooled sheets, your mind flashes back to scenes from the previous night: Tim’s smoldering gaze washing down your body as he towered over you, playing you like his own personal instrument - three fingers strumming and curling until you sang the demanded melody for which only he had the sheet music.  You came twice before he finally fed you his cock - taking you pressed up against the window overlooking the friendly neighbourhood street in front of your building while growling anything but friendly filth in your ear about how anyone could look up and see how you were born to bounce on his dick.

Then there was this morning: Tim’s head between your legs as your thighs quaked, threatening to close over his ears as he pulled orgasm after orgasm from your cunt with his talented tongue; only letting you repay the favour after you had thoroughly soaked his facial scruff and the front of his sleeping shirt with your nectar.  You can still taste the salt of him on your tongue and feel the rawness in your throat from the scape of Tim’s thick length, now much soothed having been coated with the creamy balm of his cum.

You should be contented, fulfilled - but you’re not; the greedy ache between your legs growing by the second and making its presence known like a horny little devil.

As a matter of personal principal, you never say “I wish you didn’t have to go” or “Please don’t leave” to your detective when duty calls.  Though these thoughts are not unfamiliar to your heart, you have no desire to ever ask your man to choose between you and his work, nor do you think it would sit well with either of you if Tim were to shirk his law enforcement responsibilities at your request.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Detective Rockford’s thick trunk a little tighter, chase his lips a little bit longer like you did only five minutes ago when he left for the precinct this Saturday morning.  You and Tim recited your usual ritual, simple and familiar words dressing feelings of worry and longing that run deeper than either of you can ever articulate in these moments:

Come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.

Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.

This morning, however, these soft declarations don’t calm your heart or abate your want for your handsome detective as they usually would.  Your little devil clenches on nothing, demanding and egging you on – it’s Saturday and he’s only going in for a few hours of paperwork, what’s the harm in reminding Tim of what he has waiting at home?

The words, copied from a couples prank trending on TikTok, loaded with innuendo and implication is already typed out on your phone; your thumb hovers over the SEND button of the fake “wrong number” text: He just left, you can come over now 💋💋💋

You press SEND and wait - the read receipt indicates it’s seen right away; chewing your bottom lip, you watch as three little dots pop up to show that Tim’s typing a response.  Eagerly, you wait for his text - but it never comes; the dots vanish, reappearing a moment later only to disappear again without any message coming through.

Then you hear it.

A siren. 

At first a faint wail, the sound quickly crescendos to a blaring horn as the source approaches at an impressive speed.  You bound to the window and watch as Tim’s Crown Vic, cherry light flashing on the hood, roars down your street and parallel parks back into the spot he only just vacated with a precision that makes your mouth go dry.  Tim climbs out and slams the driver’s side door closed, long legs already taking him halfway to your building.  He looks pissed.

For a second you panic, he does know it’s a prank, right?  He must – Tim’s a brilliant detective after all; there’s no way he would actually believe the text is real and that you’re cheating on him – just as Tim never gives you any reason to doubt his devotion and fidelity, you’re sure Detective Rockford knows that he’s your one and only.  The message has done its job: Tim’s back and he’s definitely riled up - you race back onto the bed, positively giddy with anticipation of your detective’s return.

Faking interest in your phone, you pretend to be unaware of your front door being flung open, then ceremoniously slammed shut with a forceful bang.  Heavy footsteps echo through the apartment, growing in volume before coming to a stop in your bedroom’s open doorway.

“What have you been doing, Shutterbug?”

You look up, the perfect picture of innocence, as if only just noticing Tim’s return: he’s leaning against the doorframe, one flexed forearm braced above his head – you squeeze your thighs together at the sight.

“Just scrolling through Instagram.  You’re back already, Detective?”

“Got a text I couldn’t ignore,” he stalks towards the bed and holds up his phone, the prank text you just sent displayed on the screen, “what’s this all about, baby?”

“I don’t have the foggiest clue, but you’re the detective, not me,” you goad him, unable to keep your lips from curling into a smirk.

Tim studies the dancing mischief in your big doe eyes – he’s seen through this type of feigned confusion from plenty of perps in the interrogation room, but on you, it’s cute.  He begins to crawl over your body, grinning to himself when your breath hitches at the obsidian of his eyes, “I think you wanted me to see this text, wanted me to go nuts.”

You flutter your eye lashes, “Why would I want that, Detective?”

Tim advances, predatory and dangerous – with nowhere to go, you fall back onto your soft bedding with a sharp exhale, “Maybe my pretty baby needs a reminder on who she belongs to?  Or perhaps, you’re just being a greedy girl?”

Still relishing your role as the bright-eyed innocent, you say nothing – Tim’s hulking frame hovers and you happily breathe in his intoxicating scent, a mixture of his cologne, clean soap, and authority.  He’s so, so close but has yet to touch you since returning; it takes all of your self restraint not to reach up and grab Tim by the leather holster straps bracketing his thick arms and pull him down for a kiss.

“Is my little Shutterbug not satisfied? Didn’t I fill you with enough cum last night? You seemed plenty happy this morning when I was eating your hungry hole like a cream puff.”

Fuck.  Your only answer is a pathetic whine.

“You need more, gorgeous?”

Your vigorous nod is almost comical - Tim chuckles darkly and leans in.  You arch up, eager to meet his lips - but the sweet connection you’ve been craving never comes; Tim is stilled above you, teasing eyes fixed on your growing frustration.

“Maybe I’m not the man for the job since I was the one who left you sooooo needy?”

You could cry, “You are! I want you, Detective!”

Tim pulls his handsome face away, escaping the reach of your clawing hands, “You sure you don’t need someone else, baby?  Maybe the lucky man who was supposed to receive this text?”

Fisting his crisp white dress shirt so hard it might rip, you beg, “I’m sure, Tim! You, I only need you!”

No match for Tim’s strength, you watch helplessly as Tim easily breaks free from your grip and moves backwards off the bed, “I don’t know, Shutterbug.  Just a couple minutes ago you were inviting someone over to give you what I couldn’t – you can’t be that sure. Maybe I need to convince you?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Tim grabs you by the ankles and pulls you down the bed towards him, flipping you onto your stomach with a blinding speed that knocks the breath out of your lungs.  His hands travel up your thighs, thick fingers digging into the meat of your hips and yanking up so you’re now on your knees, face still smothered into your bedspread, moaning.

Smack.

You yelp, dizzy from the pleasure of the sting left behind on your ass cheek from Tim’s generous palm.

“Love the way this ass bounces for me.”  Smack, smack. “She dances like this for anyone else?”

Turning your head to press your cheek on the soft covers, you look back to admire the dominating stance Tim takes at the foot of the bed, whimpering, “No, Detective.”

He smiles at you indulgently, but his eyes remain hunter-like; flipping up the thin skirt of your night gown and roughly pulling down your panties before dropping to his knees.

“Hello again, beautiful.” A puff of cool hair hits your glistening pussy and you clench from the syrupy sweetness of Tim’s baritone.

Two thick fingers part your sticky folds and massage your slit, collecting and spreading the slick that continues to drip from you.  You curve the slope of your back further, pressing your chest into the mattress and wiggling your ass for more.  At the two sharp slaps to your pussy, you lurch, moaning heady and unabashed as Tim soothes his reprimand with gentle butterfly kisses all over your cunt.

A smile is pressed to your heat, “Hmmmm, she said she didn’t have anything to do with the text, baby - that it was all you. She’s my good girl.”

“Traitor,” you mutter into the sheets, but beam as Tim nuzzles and strokes his nose over your core, you feel rather than hear his barely audible purring:

Such a good, good girl.  So perfect.  You know who you belong to, don’t you?

“Timmmmmmmm…” you whine, reminding him that you’re the one who needs tending to, you’re the one who called him back.

Tim ignores you and continues to lay soft, sweet kisses to your pussy, singing her praises, “You know you don’t need anyone else - isn’t that right, beautiful?  Doesn’t matter who she texts; no boy is ever going to give it to you like I can.”

A completely irrational, hot surge of jealousy nearly snaps your head around when your body jumps and shudders, words of protest stuck in your throat as Tim dives face first into your blooming cunt and starts to devour you.

There’s no gentleness, no build-up, Detective Rockford simply feasts – guided by hunger, determination, instinct.  Every lick and slurp of Tim’s tongue substantiates the claims of his earlier words, there’s no inch of your pussy that’s safe from the resolve of his mouth.  He power strokes your wet folds and torments your hole with his tongue, his lips, his nose; every switch up, change in direction or pattern is purposeful, meant to disorient you – and it’s working: you think you’re going to lose you goddamn mind.  Arousal flooding down your inner thighs, there’s nowhere for you to find reprieve - Tim’s rough hands grip bruises into your ass cheeks, spreading them wide and keeping you at his mercy.  By now, you’re mewling and clawing at the sheets above your head, the only coherent sound that escapes your drooling mouth is the repetition of your detective’s name.  Tim’s own growls and the wet smacking of his continued raid on your cunt echo off the walls in your other otherwise silent and serene bedroom; impossibly, your detective doubles down with a snarl, sucking and gnawing a practiced path from your clit to your ass and back, over and over and over.  He’s barely breeched your opening and you’re already about to come.

“Fuck, fu- Tim, I’m so close, so close, I’m gon-, gonna… fuck, baby, please!!”

Detective Rockford comes off your cunt with the loudest pop you’ve ever heard, and continues to conspire against you in a playful yet domineering tone, “Should we let her come, beautiful?  Let her be a good girl, too?”

Throwing your head back in a howl, you tighten, empty and desperate – this answer apparently placating Tim enough for him dive back in, he latches directly onto your pulsing clit and starts sucking.

Your orgasm slams into you like a freight train and you scream and pound your fists into the mattress.  Tim’s soothing palm rubbing your ass as you ride out the aftershocks of one of the most explosive highs you’ve ever experienced distracts you enough that you don’t hear the clinking of his belt buckle and the undoing of his work trousers.

Jaw slack and eyes still partially unfocused, you remain faced down and ass up, unmoving, when out of the corner of your eye, you see Tim lift and press one of his knees on the bed for leverage.  He wicks his swollen head through the honey of your release and you shiver in anticipation; later, you would look back on the last thing you hear before Tim pushes in as a clear warning:

“I’m not going to make the same mistake of leaving you needy again, Shutterbug.”

He pounds into you.

Every one of Tim’s thrusts is unrelenting on your sopping hole; she does her best to hug and console his cock with her warm embrace, but Tim’s drive is unforgiving – this is about proving a point.  Panting and grunting with the intensity of his exertion, Detective Rockford ruts into you animalistic, feral and with his vice grip on your waist, he bounces you to meet each punishing jab.  Bottoming out every push, Tim’s balls slap against your clit like the crop against a racehorse’s hind and you neigh and whinny in response - high and wild, trying to run.  He grabs your wrists and pins them behind your back, then lifts his knee to place his foot down in its place; with you pinned to the bed and trapped, the steepness of this new angle is delicious.

Tim repeatedly sheaths himself into your warmth, withdrawing wholly and waiting to witness the cry of your gushing cunt before slamming himself back in again.  You whine and plead, for what you don’t even know – the pleasure that Tim’s giving you is so intense, so merciless, you’re feeling like you might actually float away when your man’s dirty mouth brings you crashing back to Earth.

“Your pussy looks so good like this, Shutterbug – stretched wide and taking dick.”

“Knew exactly what you were doing sending me that text, didn’t you?  Knew even the idea of another man touching you would send me racing home…”

You think you might pass out.

“… to give you this cock.”

“This what you wanted, baby?”

You mumble something incoherently into the pool of drool that’s collecting on the bedspread.

“Yeah?  You wanted to be fucked hard and dumb?”

“Just a little plaything for me to tear apart and put back wet and bare before leaving for work?”

“Omigod, Tim!!  Yes, yes!”  Lightheaded and unable to take a full breath with the way your chest is being driven into the mattress, your pussy throbs - pleasure blossoming from Tim’s possessive and dominant tone.

“Could the little boy toy you text make you feel this way?”

You shake your head into the wet sheets, the welcomed hurt from your arms being pulled back only amplifying just how good Tim is making the rest of your body feel.

“Who is it you need, Shutterbug?”

You want to reply that it’s him, only ever him, but your eyes are too busy rolling to the back of your head and your body is being jolted too violently by the force of Tim’s thrusts for you to collect your thoughts, nevermind form words.

Known for doggedly getting to the truth of any matter, Detective Rockford pulls you up and holds you flush against his chest, strong forearm banding below your tits while his other hand comes to a rest at the base of your neck.  You loll your head back against Tim’s shoulder, sighing at the coolness of his holster leather against the heat of your skin.  Tim fucks up into you from below and you both gasp from the electric shock of this new position, “Fuck, you’re so deep, Detective.”

Your detective bounces you on his cock and with every punch, reaching those part of you that only he’s ever explored and marked.  An alarmingly low growl ghosts the shell of your ear, “I asked, who is it you need, baby?”

 “You, oh god, only you, Tim!!”

“And who do you belong to?”

“You!”

“That’s right.  You’re mine, gorgeous.”

“Gonna make you come so hard, your pretty head will never forget.”

“That you belong to me.”

“This pussy belongs to me.”

“The way it comes belongs to me.”

“You ONLY come for me.”

He’s ramming into you so hard, you can only attempt a pathetic nod against his shoulder, whispering against Tim’s lips, “Yours.”

“Fuck.”

Tim’s lips crash against yours in the first kiss you’ve shared since he left this morning; you both moan loudly at the much-missed contact, mouths unable to conceal the affection and love you hold for one another despite the way Tim continues to destroy your needy cunt.

He tastes of you and when your tang transfers from his tongue to yours, you shudder and clamp down on his cock; sinfully, you lick behind Tim’s teeth and suck on his lips, returning your essence back to its rightful owner - See?  Yours, all of me is yours. 

Grabbing fists full of your tits, Tim squeezes the soft flesh and pulls on your aching peaks, causing you to cry out and break the kiss; he gives it to you so rough and punishing everywhere, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.  The stranglehold of your pussy is sucking him so tight and deep, Tim knows he won’t last much longer, he continues to twist and roll your diamond hard nipples while snipping at your earlobes, “I’m close, baby.  Give me one more and I’ll stuff my pretty cocksleeve to the brim with cum.”

It's the dirtiest, filthiest, hottest thing Tim has ever called you, and wailing something catastrophic, you come instantly at his words.  Tim follows soon after, painting your velvet walls with ropes of white as promised.

While you wait for your heartbeat to return to normal, Tim holds you tender and protective, fluttering sweet kisses all over your face, across your neck, along your shoulders - murmuring with genuine concern, “You okay, Shutterbug?  Was that okay?”

You nod, spent and pliant, “It was perfect, Detective.  Better than anything I could have imagined.”

He lays you down gently and you melt into the bed as Tim goes to fetch a cloth for cleanup.  As he gently wipes the mess that’s begun trickling out of your sore and satiated cunt, you think you hear him whisper to himself, amused, “Stuffed to the brim”.  Sitting next to you on the bed, Tim brushes the hair out of your face and rubs your limp body with his now gentle hands until he’s comfortable with the condition he’s leaving you in.

Grabbing a blanket, he presses soft kisses down your exposed back and at your quiet exhale of contentment, smiles before covering you with the cozy fabric.  He sneaks one last loving kiss to your hair and stands, admiring the angelic serenity that’s taken over your dozing face.

“Tim?” you murmur into your pillow, barely audible.

“Shutterbug?”

“You know that text wasn’t real, right?  There isn’t anyone but you,” somewhere halfway between consciousness and dreamland, you crack open your sleepy eyes, voice vulnerable and small.

Tim kneels next to the bed so you can see the affection in his eyes, “I know, baby.  Just as there isn’t anyone but you for me.”  Lightly stroking your pretty face with the back of two of his thick fingers, Detective Rockford continues, good humour on display, “Besides, what kind of detective would I be if I believed that text at face value when I already have all the evidence in the world that the woman I love is beyond loyal and trustworthy?  She’s perfect and true.”

You give his fingers a sweet peck, too exhausted at the moment to express the depth of your gratitude for Tim’s faith in your love - you’ll have to show him later.  “Ok, good.  Just making sure,” your eyes close again, smile dopey, “come back to me safe, Detective Rockford.”

“Nothing could keep me from you, Shutterbug.  I love you.”

“Love you,” you coo, already drifting off into a deep slumber.

Leaving you to your rest, Detective Rockford departs with a silent promise that he’ll return home as soon as he can - walking to his car for the second time this morning with a little extra spring in his step.

[lieutenantsluvr]

Death Trapped, Clad Happily | Masterlist

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

synopsis:

Meeting Joel was an accident—though one that kept you alive. It was a whirlwind of events: one moment, Tess ushers you into a room, and the next, you're escorting a fourteen-year-old immune girl across the country.

With a man that won't look at you—let alone ask for your name or history.

Is surviving this trek worth it? Whose hands do you move to console at night? And why is it his?

series warnings / tags: description of infected. gore. mentions of violence. description of mental health (anxiety, depression). small age gap. mature language. grumpy x sunshine. no use of y/n. canon divergence. slow burn. eventual smut. occasional joel perspective. lacking established relationship.

Chapter 1 - ❝ know that I would gladly be, the Icarus to your certainty ❞

Chapter 2 - ❝ lately of my wasteland, baby. Be still, my indelible friend. you are unbreaking❞

Chapter 3 - ❝ though I've handled the wood, I still worship the flame long as amber of ember glows, all the 'would that I'd loved' is long ago ❞

Chapter 4 -

Chapter 5 -

Chapter 6 -

Chapter 7 -

tag list 0/50 : comment below or on any chapter to be tagged for updates

[baronessvonglitter]

Daddy Can Fix It

handyman!Joel Miller x fem!plus size!Reader | wc: 5.4K

Summary: All the housewives in your neighborhood rave about the local handyman. And with very good reason.

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is plus-size, wears dress and lingerie, has hair and body hair, and manicure. Reader's age not mentioned so there is only as much or as little of an age gap as you'd like. TW - fat shaming, food shaming, infidelity (by reader, and it's technically warranted) Pet names (daddy for Joel; sugar, darlin', baby, sweetheart for reader). Housewife/trad-wife vibes. Totally a bored housewife fantasy. Mention of female masturbation. Breast/nipple play, oral (f & m receiving). Fingering. Body worship. Pussy pronouns. Unprotected piv (Joel is snipped, but still.. this is fiction). Light spanking. Rough sex. Creampie. Joel's kind of a big ol' slut for the lonely housewives but is also really useful around the house, so you're definitely getting a good deal 🛠️

Author's note: it's been a hot minute since I've written a one-shot for Joel but it was impossible to resist. It all started because of this pic:

so yeah, Pinterest strikes again. How could I not write a Joel fic based on this? I hope y'all enjoy 💖

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

"He can come clean my pipes anytime."

Raucous laughter erupts from the group of ladies huddled near the cupcakes at the latest book club meeting. You listen from the other side of the room where one of the older members is asking you to help her with her Kindle. "I never know how to keep up with all this fancy technology," Marion huffs, adjusting her bifocals.

You're trying to be patient with her, but the conversation across the room is far more intriguing. "It just needs to be charged. Your battery is low," you say three times before Marion can even hear you.

When you've managed to extricate yourself from her, you go up to the ladies and, with a friendly smile, join in. "I couldn't help overhearing."

Some of the women exchange glances, as if deciding to let you in on their convo or not. "Becky's just showing us that she got her kitchen cabinets redone," someone finally pipes up.

"That's not all she got," another starts to crack up.

You look at Becky's phone screen. The before and after shots of her cabinets are nothing short of miraculous. "That's great, Becky! I know you've been asking Gerald for a renovation for awhile," you tell her, hoping she'll be pleased you remember the plight she droned on about for weeks.

"It is great," she says, eyeing you with something like suspicion. "I have a very good handyman."

"He does everything," a nicer girl, Isabelle, chimes in.

"Boy does he," another mutters, hiding her smirk behind her cup of lemonade while the others giggle behind their hands.

Amirah adds, "He varnished my dining room table, power washed my driveway, helped organize my garage," she counts on her fingers. "He's good for little things around the house, and his prices are decent."

"It's like he's just giving it away," Becky says with a smirk and this gets the group laughing again.

"Maybe you can give me his information later," you say politely. "I have a laundry list of things that I need help with now that Wesley's working so much overtime."

The women eye one another, and it's Amirah, the leader of the group, who gives the definite nod. "Of course, sweetie. After the meeting."

"Great!" Smiling, you try to make your way through the group, saliva pooling in your mouth at the tower of red velvet cupcakes on the table spread. You reach for a couple more.

"You've already had three," Becky reminds you, casting a not-so-subtle glance at your body. Her voice sweet as honey but her words carry poison. You know you're not as thin or as glamorous as the other women in this room. You dress the same as them, wear your hair perfectly coiffed and your nails are always manicured, but just because you're not a size zero they deem you unworthy to truly be one of them.

You hold your head high with what little courage you have in the face of Becky's bitchiness, your sinful little cupcake in your hand. "I actually had three. And right now I'm about to make it five," you say sweetly, licking a swipe of cream cheese icing before putting two cupcakes on a china plate and going back to your seat.

That night, Wesley doesn't ask about your book club. He doesn't ask how your day was. He doesn't do much except pour himself a drink when he gets home and sit in front of the TV to watch the news.

You're dressed for bed, a modest robe over a red silk babydoll chemise, a purchase you'd made on a whim in the hopes that you could spice up your sex life with him which, truth be told, has never been more than lukewarm from the start.

"Do you think we should.. go to bed?" you suggest, a naughty tone to your whisper.

"It's early," he grunts, barely giving you a glance.

"I just thought we could spend some time together.." you brush your hand across his knee but he impatiently swipes it away.

"Please, darling, it's a weeknight," he looks at you as if you'd just suggested a threesome with him and the milk man. As he leaves the room he looks back at you, but the hope that rises in your chest is soon shattered when he shakes his head upon seeing your lingerie. "Red is for streetwalkers," he tells you before he goes into his study.

Daddy Can Fix It

You run your finger over the business card Amirah gave you, with all the handy man's information. The card shows his white company van with the logo emblazoned on the side: Joel Miller, Handyman At Your Service so it says in black lettering. There's a phone number and a website as well.

You dial the number, expecting to hear a secretary's voice, but you're greeted with a rich, baritone "Good mornin', thanks for callin' Daddy, what can I fix for ya today?"

Jesus, the voice alone is enough to get you flustered. And Daddy? You weren't expecting that. "Um, hi, I got your number through a friend and I'd like to see if you're available to come mow the lawn today." You peek out your curtains, seeing how the grass has grown taller than you'd like since the last time Wesley has cared enough to cut it.

"You got a lawn mower, sugar?"

"Yes, I do, um.. daddy.."

You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. "You can call me Joel."

"Joel. Yes, I do. Is there anything else you'll need?" New to the housewife lifestyle, you're still unsure of how to make such appointments. Before you met and married Wesley, you just mowed the lawn yourself, but your husband refuses to hear of his good and proper wife performing a menial act.

"Got any bushes that need trimmin'?"

You aren't sure why that particular sentence makes you feel the blood rush to your face. "I typically keep up with it on my own, when I'm tending to my garden."

Joel gives a small chuckle and it warms your insides. "That ain't no problem. Today around eleven good for ya?"

"Eleven sounds perfect."

"Pricing'll be about fifty, but we can come to an agreement once the job is done."

"Wonderful. I look forward to seeing you." You give him your name and address, hanging up with a sense of accomplishment.

His van appears in your driveway just a minute before eleven. You're impressed with his timeliness. What you don't expect is the gorgeous stranger on your doorstep.

Joel Miller is tall, broad-shouldered, skin bronze from working out in the sun, and his dark brown hair is greying handsomely. If you had to guess his age you'd say fifties. He's in a grey tee shirt and work jeans. What stand out to you the most are his eyes: almost black in color, appraising you as you wait in the doorway, prim and proper housewife, lips parted, eyes wide.

He asks for you by name and you nod, chuckling slightly.

"If you can show me where the lawn mower is I'd be happy to get started," he offers, and the voice you recognize from the phone makes you melt.

You lead him outside to the garage and he takes out the mower, filling it up with some gasoline first. "Is there anything else you need?" you ask politely.

"No ma'am," he looks over his shoulder at you as he pushes the machine to the front yard. "Get inside and get outta this sun. I'll handle it from here," he smiles and it makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl.

From inside you watch him through the window, deftly maneuvering the lawn mower over, trimming the grass to a neat, short length. It's not yet the hottest hour of the day, but you see him sweating, and when he stops a moment to remove his shirt, you suddenly feel your pulse in the deepest part of your cunt. You wonder what it would be like to lick up every drop of sweat off his chest.

Like a slow motion scene from a movie, you watch the motion of his arms, the rippling of his back as he guides the machine over the lawn. Biting your lip you take in the sight of him, the determination on his face redirecting your thoughts to how he would look above you: hot, sweaty, hard, plunging into your drenched pussy.

How long has it been since you've had a man? Wesley prefers his Saturday nights like clockwork. But you want more. Stupidly thinking marriage was the best way to be treated right and fucked properly, you realized it was not the title but the man, and the particular man you chose was lacking in all area which mattered.

You aren't even sure you love him anymore.

But right now, watching Joel is a treat, and fantasizing about him is a little secret you'll harbor for later in the day when you'll inevitably find yourself using the showerhead attachment.

He finishes the front and back yards, and through the blinds you peep him putting his shirt back on, running a hand through his wavy curls before putting the mower away and coming to your door.

You answer it before he knocks. "Thank you!" is the first thing that comes out of your mouth. "Please come in and we can settle payment."

He cleans the bottoms of his boots on the welcome mat before stepping inside your home and following you to the kitchen. "You have a very nice home, ma'am."

"You're too kind," you're modest about his compliment, but it's thrilling to have someone say something nice about the hard work you put into keeping house. "Would you care for some iced tea? I've just made it fresh."

"I won't say no to that," he chuckles lightly, and you're happy to fill a glass with some of the fresh-brewed tea over ice.

Joel leans back against the sink, pouty pink lips pressed to the glass as he tips it back, opening just enough to take a sweet sip. You watch his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows, and you wish you could lick a stripe up along his the length of his delicious-looking neck to collect all the sweat that's beaded there.

"Is there anythin' else you need help with today?" he asks, his question carrying a hint of something more.

You blank for a moment, getting lost in the depth of his obsidian eyes, still caught up in your little fantasy. "No.. no, I don't think so." Taking a look around your eyes dart to every corner, taking mental stock of the upstairs rooms as well. "No," you finalize with a smile.

"If you're sure.." he says in that same low tone.

You give him fifty dollars and chat a little while he finishes his drink.

"If there's nothin' else I'll get goin'. Feel free to call me again if you need somethin' done, or looked at. Ain't nothin' I can't fix," he winks at you on your doorstep and you feel a waterfall in your panties.

Isabelle calls later in the day. "So? You had Joel over today, right? How'd it go?"

Dinner is in the oven and there's about an hour before your husband gets home. Phone on speaker, you start peeling potatoes. "It was fine. He did a great job. I'm sure I'll use him again."

Over the line you hear Isabelle sigh. "Isn't his dick beautiful? I swear, just thinking about it gets me so wet!"

You nearly slice a finger off, shocked by her words. Even though you're alone in the house, you pick up the phone and take it off speaker. "What are you talking about?"

"I think it's at least eight inches, and the way it curves at the end," Isabelle sounds like she's moaning.

"Okay, I'm lost. I hired the handyman that you and the others referred. That's who came over today."

"Exactly, dear! Did he fuck you? You don't have to give details of course."

Your brain is put on pause as only silence fills your throat.

"Oh dear," Isabelle continues. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?"

She sighs, possibly settling herself on her chaise longue out by her pool she's so proud of. "Joel Miller is a handyman, yes. But we also pay him a little extra for other services."

"Oh." You sink onto the living room settee, the closest thing to you.

"Mm-hmm. Mind you, it's not an all-the-time thing. But we've all had him. It's just something fun. You get some help around the house with your honey-do list, and then a good fucking after. Or whatever pleases you."

"And you.. you've.. slept with him?"

"I wouldn't call it sleeping, honey, but yeah I've been with him. It's all for fun. Nobody really takes it seriously."

"And everyone else at the book club?"

"Pretty much. Do you really think any of our husbands could compare to that god of a man Joel Miller?"

No, no you doubt any man could hold up to the stud who'd just helped you with the lawn.

He's on your mind constantly, but as tightly as Wesley keeps his wallet to himself, you can't validate having Joel's help every day. You make the choice to wait until the following week.

And what a long wait it is. Jealously you wonder whose house he's going to. Jackie down the street? Bitchy Becky with her face like a rat, no tits and no ass?

You consider calling Isabelle to beg for the details (which she'll probably give you without a fuss anyway). But a sordid part of you wants to find out for yourself. You already know he's well-endowed. He's at least twice as big as Wesley, who wouldn't know what to do with a big cock if he was blessed with one overnight.

A week to the day since he made his last visit, Joel comes back to replace the batteries in your smoke alarms. It's a job you've done yourself, perching on a stepladder, but it'll be more fun to have Daddy fix it.

The phone call to schedule him was practically foreplay. That smooth-as-chocolate voice had your panties drenched. When he's finally here, inside your home, inside your needy little cunt.

Your eyes rove over his form as he uses your stepladder, only needing the first rung. It doesn't stop you from staying right there with him, holding it steady on the other side. You hear his little grunts as he gets to work, watch his thick, strong fingers handle the batteries with a delicacy you can imagine he uses in other things.

Licking your lips, you realize you're face-to-face with the faded blue denim crotch of his jeans, those Levis hugging him tight in all the right places.

"I'm 'bout done here," he says, putting the smoke detector back in its place. "Anythin' else you need help with, lil' darlin'?"

Your hand presses to the bulge in his jeans, and you're delighted when you feel him twitch in response. "As a matter of fact, I do need your help with something else.."

"That right?" he murmurs, pressing your hand against him, letting you feel him grow hard under his palm. "Been waitin' to see if you'd ask.."

He steps down, keeps his dark eyes on you. "Pretty lil' thing like yourself don't get enough attention, huh?" he whispers, brushing his thumb across your cheek.

Softly you sigh, unashamed at how needy you've been for a simple touch. "No.. but I'd like you to help with that."

"That's what I'm here for, darlin'," he smiles, his thumb tracing your soft plump lips. "What do you want me to do, baby?"

"Everything," you answer quickly. "I'm not.. really sure what the usual is.."

His smile is kind as his hand traces down your neck, leaving goosebumps to rise on your skin. "You want me to fuck ya, give ya somethin' nobody else is doin'.. that it?" He places your hand back on his bulge and you respond by rubbing him, your own cunt pulsing around nothing in excited expectation.

"Yes.. I need to get fucked," you agree emphatically, pulling him into your bedroom.

Now he's here, in your room, and you think you're dreaming. He's letting you take the lead, completely at your service. All the women in your book club were probably more open with their desires, knowing immediately what they wanted and how to get it. All the fantasies about Joel you've created and harbored in the deepest part of your heart are now as impalpable as gossamer.

"You tell me what you want, honey," he drawls in that molasses-rich voice of his. His hands gently trace your waist, smoothing down your dress as he moves towards your curvaceous hips. "God damn, I bet you look fuckin' gorgeous outta this dress. Wanna show me?"

Biting your lip, you nod, tugging off your apron and dropping it to the floor. Not gonna be a damn housewife while he's with me..

A tiny smirk on your face, you gently push Joel back onto your bed, and he rights himself with an equally mischievous smile as he watches you. He palms his hard cock through his jeans as you do a little striptease, tantalizing him as you slip your prim flower-print dress off your shoulders.

"There we go, baby," he growls as the dress falls down to your hips, your scarlet satin bra revealed, your breasts practically spilling over the cups, making Joel's mouth water. You turn around for his help in unzipping the bottom part of your dress, finally feeling free as it falls away, pooling at your feet.

Joel lets out a wolf whistle as he takes in the sight of you in your ruby undergarments, the same you'd tried to seduce your husband in. Now they're finally being put to good use. "Red's your color, gorgeous," he mutters, his hands on your hips, mapping out your generous curves and the soft rolls of your belly.

You've almost forgotten what it was like, this power to entrance a man and make him see you as the only woman in the world. Marriage to an uncaring and unfeeling idiot had left you cut off from your sexuality. Now you're reclaiming it.

Joel's hands travel back up to your waist, fingers deftly unclasping your bra. He unwraps you like you're the goddamn Christmas gift he's been begging for for months. His tongue wets his lips as your plump breasts are revealed. With one hand on your lower back, the other palms your tit with a rough hand. Your nipple rises to his touch and he dips down to swirl his tongue around it, gently coaxing it further with his teeth. Your head falls back as the sensation zings straight to your cunt. "Fuck, Joel.."

He smiles against the softness of your skin. "Sensitive here, huh? Bet these ain't been properly played with in awhile. Gonna change that right now." And with that he gives another hard suck, his dick already leaking when he hears your needy moan. He treats the other breast with the same attention. You take one of his hands and lead it to the drenched front side of your panties, but he stops you.

"Not yet, baby. Want you to see yourself before I fuckin' ruin ya."

You lay on your side on the bed as you watch Joel undress. It's a sight you won't soon forget: skin tan from working outdoors, with a smattering of chest hair that's also showing some grey, chiseled arms, and a happy trail that leads from his navel to the front of his boxers, which are tented. He wears a little smirk as he pulls them off and your reaction is priceless.

Joel is fucking hung.

You've taken big cocks before, but his is formed of pure fantasy, like a dildo from your favorite sex shop. Isabelle wasn't exaggerating about his size. And his cock is so beautiful you want to cry. Watching as he gives it a couple strokes, all eight thick uncut inches, the rosy pink tip glistens with precum, the veins and ridges prominent. Even the curve Isabelle mentioned is sexy, bound to hit all the right places inside you. His balls, rounded and heavy, move with his motions.

Thank God I did my yoga this week.

You beckon him to you, pulling the boxers away completely and dipping your head to taste him. Your tongue laves across the salty slit of his tip, and you relish the hitch of his breath. He's not here for you to please him, but it gets you wet wrapping your lips around his cock, suctioning your mouth and stroking upward from his base. When you start to massage his balls he stops you. "Don't wanna shoot too soon, baby," he says breathlessly.

He pulls you up off the bed and into a kiss, his hands playing along the edges of your panties as his tongue tastes yours. His cock, still wet from your mouth, nudges against your soft belly. "You deserve to feel good," he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his tongue tracing the outline. At last he pulls your panties down, a rumble in his throat when he sees the sweet glaze between your thighs, glistening in your triangle of hair.

"Sit on my lap, baby. With your back to me," he orders in a soft growl.

His flesh is warm beneath yours, and god it feels good just to be touched again, to feel desired by someone. You haven't known it in so long. He sits back against the headboard, moving the pillows on either side. His arm instinctively wraps around your waist as he leaves soft, feathery kisses across your shoulder.

"So soft," he murmurs. "C'mon, baby, look at yourself," he nods to the mirror in front of you.

When you catch your reflection you're exhilarated at the sight: you, naked, with Joel behind you, kissing your neck, fondling your tits, thumb brushing over them and lightly pinching them to hardened peaks. "Spread your legs for me, baby," he whispers, getting started by brushing his hand from your knee to your petal-soft inner thigh.

It's lascivious, watching all this unfurl before you in the mirror. You're spread open, on full display. Your pussy is gushing over with need, and you trace your folds with your fingers.

Behind you, Joel's cock twitches, and he rubs himself lightly against your back. "Lemme do that.." he whispers, gently pulling your hand away, bringing your fingers to his mouth and sucking your juice off them. "So sweet," he murmurs, and your belly is hot with lust.

His touch is soft and careful at first, exploring you and figuring out what you like, what you need. It feels like he's memorizing every inch of you. His thick fingers glide over your lips, circling, teasing you so you'll beg him for more.

"Joel," you whine, lifting yourself to him, trying to get his hand to position itself where you need it most. But he evades you, a dark chuckle emanating from deep in his throat. "You're payin' me to do a job and I wanna do it right. Not fair to rush me."

Your eyes close in frustration. "Joel, please.."

"Nuh-uh. Daddy."

"Fuck," you whimper. "Please, daddy."

"That's more like it." His touch finds your clit, throbbing and needy, and you nearly see stars at the feeling. He presses once again before sliding two fingers into your warm, welcoming cunt. "Christ, she's really suckin' me in there," he grunts, shifting behind you as his dick becomes nearly impossible to ignore.

"Yes," you moan at the sweet intrusion, the easy glide of his fingers in your drenched pussy. "Just like that."

"So fuckin' tight," he says through gritted teeth. And Jesus, his fingers are thick, the calloused thumb swiping over your clit, making you twitch and your hips arch up for more. "She's pulsin' around me," he mutters, his rich voice in your ear, lips brushing against your lobe. His fingers glide in, stretching you as you coat him.

"Ah, she's gettin' all creamy for me," he coos as he pulls them out a moment, licking off one finger and giving the other to you. You taste yourself, salty and sweet, humming in appreciation as you release his digit from your mouth with a pop.

He returns to his work, his hand pistoning against your folds, the squishy sounds of your soaked cunt beautifully obscene to your ears. Your voice trembles as you cry out, a sweet vibrato that resounds throughout the room as Joel's fingers curl in on your g-spot. He adds a bit more pressure to your clit as he tries to get you there. Moaning, he nuzzles his face into your neck.

It feels like you break open under his touch, hips arching up, swallowing his delving fingers deeper inside you as you spasm uncontrollably around him, a string of curses falling from your lips.

You barely have time to recover before he's on you again, moving in front of you as you lay against the pillows, like Venus in a Titian painting. His hands lift your thighs, softly kneading their thickness as he plants kisses on either side, trailing up to your cunt, your scent all around him.

"My husband never goes down on me," you whisper, heart racing as quick as a hummingbird's wings.

"Ain't he a waste of fuckin' space," Joel grunts, a wicked gleam in his eye as he dives in, flattening his tongue to lick a stripe upwards to your needy, throbbing clit. Your hands grab at his hair, pushing him forward as his groan is muffled by your sweet, saturated pussy.

"God.. damn!" you gasp at the delicious feeling of his tongue on you, lapping up every drop, tracing your lips and tickling your clit. He's relentless in his pursuit of making you come, switching up the tempo, adding a finger and then another, praising you when you cry out again. "Squeezin' so hard on me.. she's just about ready, ain't she?" Before he finally suctions his lips around your puffy clit and sucks, humming around it.

It's as if your soul leaves your body for a precious few moments, muttering monosyllables in sweet relief. You've never come so hard before, ever. And when you look up at Joel you wish you could worship him.

"Like the sweetest tea I ever drank," he says, licking his lips.

"Fuck me, Joel," you whine, still not fully come down from your climax.

"C'mere," he growls, putting you on all fours so you're facing the mirror again. You look at your reflection: hair mussed, eyes shining bright, skin glowing from your orgasm. Joel lines himself up behind you, smiling as you watch yourself. "Got every right to look at yourself, darlin'.. someone as fuckin' hot as you, with these hips, this ass?" He grabs one cheek and gives it a slap. You gasp, jolting forward, then wiggle your ass at him, wanting more.

"You a naughty lil' thing," Joel smirks, teasing your folds with his tip. "Wanna get this pretty lil' pussy ruined?"

"Yes, daddy," you moan, pushing back on him.

"Fuck me, I like the way you say that." He bites his lip as he continues teasing you. "Once I fuck you, you'll never let that limp dick husband of yours touch you ever again, I promise you that."

Your reply is cut off when you feel him nudge inside, your walls breached by his thick cock. "Oh god... yes!" you exclaim, clutching the bedsheets. "Fuck.. your cock is so huge.." You can feel the tip just kissing your cervix.

"Yeah, you like it? Like gettin' fucked by this big cock? Gettin' stretched out? Gonna leave a big ol' gapin' hole for your husband to come home to."

He bottoms out, grabbing your ass cheeks with both big hands, watching the smoothness of your skin as your cunt clenches onto him. "God damn what a pretty sight.. you oughta see this. Pussy's barely fittin' me as it is. Only tighter thing would be your little ass.." and he pulls out all the way to slam back in, glorying in the way you scream his name.

"There she goes, gotta get 'er used to me," he grunts, eyes on your swollen pussy lips wrapping his cock in a vise with each steady thrust. "Jesus, sweetheart. So tight I gotta try not to blow my load."

The sound of his name on your lips, the way your body reacts to him, is like gasoline on an already raging fire. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Say my name, baby. I wanna hear it." He quickens the pace, pressing deeper inside you.

"Daddy! Daddy!" you shout in time with each delicious snap of his hips. "My god, you're so fucking deep.." you moan.

"That's it, take all of me. You like the way I fill you?"

"Yes daddy!" Your fingers clutch the sheets as the bed rocks with your movements. "So full of you.."

He presses a hand to your abdomen. "Feel me there, baby? All up in your guts. No one else is ever gonna fill you the way I do. No one's ever gonna come close. This needy lil' cunt's gonna be cryin' for me every day until I come back and give her what she needs."

His dirty talk is getting you wetter, your juices running down between your thighs, making his cock all sloppy, the sound of it making you feral for more. "Fuck me, Joel.. fuck me fuck me fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme.." you mumble, face down, ass up, slack jawed as you drool on the sheets.

He speeds up, hips slamming against yours, balls thwacking under you. "Yeah? Want me to fill ya up, blow all this fuckin' load inside ya? Got snipped years ago, baby, 's up to you."

"Fill me up, make me dirty and messy," you groan.

"You want daddy to give you everything he's got, baby?" he repeats. "You want me to fill you til you're all messy and drippin' with me?"

"Yes.. yes please," you're barely able to get out.

"Fuck," he growls, grabbing hold of your hips as he pounds into you ferociously. Once he has control he places one hand on your back, keeping you pressed down as he angles himself to hit that delicious little spot inside and he knows he's hit it when you cry out, cursing and shivering, clamping down on him like a damn vise right before he lets go, streaming jet after jet of his hot come inside you. There's so much it's already leaking out while he's still inside you.

The rest of the week you make a list of things for Joel to do next time: perhaps check out what's going on with the washing machine, or maybe he could regrout your bathroom, or help you rearrange your living room furniture right before he rearranges your guts again.

Even Wesley notices the bright and cheery mood you're in, and how attractive you've become since taking on some of the home improvements. That weekend he does you a huge favor, and sits back in his armchair as he waits for you to discover it.

"Wesley? What were you doing in the garage for so long? I heard a lot of noise," you tell him, arms crossed, a look of suspicion on your face.

He looks pleased with himself. "Well honey, you've been so agreeable these past few days that I thought I'd cross off some little projects on your to-do list."

"Like what?" you ask slowly.

He lists off everything you've had planned for Joel to do in the coming weeks. Small things, of course, but Wesley has done all of them, leaving you with nothing for daddy to fix.

"I thought you'd be happy," he says, his face cloudy now that you're unhappy again.

"Happy? Not quite." You leave a moment and return with a hammer, heading towards your husband.

He cowers, ducking as you completely pass him by and swing the hammer into the drywall of the living room wall, over and over again. When you've let your anger out and Wesley is rightfully afraid of your next move, you simply smile sweetly, holding the hammer pressed to your apron with your well-manicured hands. "Looks like I'll have to call the handyman after all!"

dividers by @thecutestgrotto 👑

tagging those who showed interest when this baby was still just a wip: @itwasntimethatdidit40 @milla-frenchy @604to647 @inept-the-magnificent @clawdeewritesfanfic @manuymesut @bitccchmood @everybodylovedcontractors

[naughtyneganjdm]

Christmas in Jackson - Chapter 8

Summary: Joel wakes up in the morning happy that he didn't take off on Y/N after their night together. Addicted to the way that she makes him feel, Joel decides that he wants to spend the rest of the day in bed with her before taking her somewhere special during the night.

Characters: Joel Miller, the reader (OC), etc.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61159651/chapters/160909797

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, Naked Cuddling, Smut, Unprotected P in V, Rough Sex, Dominant Joel, Dirty Talking Joel, Romantic Joel, etc.

Notes: Most of this chapter is really just smutty. Thanks to those that read this story and for putting up with me! Especially since real life has made it rough to update this like I would like to. If you'd like to read previous chapters, check them out here.

Soft strokes over the back of Joel’s hand gradually pulled him from his sleep. His eyes tiredly fluttered to an open with an instinctive smile tugging at his lips when he realized where he was. Considering how his brain had been playing games with him last night, this morning could have turned out completely different if he didn’t make the right decision. But? He was glad he made the decision that he did. Leaving would have been a horrible choice. Both for him and her.

The way he felt right now was indescribable. There was a warmth inside of him that felt good. A happiness that he never expected to feel again. What had been a dark and burning thought of not being good enough for Y/N was something he was able to overcome with how much he cared for this woman.

What felt good was knowing that she appeared to feel the same way about him. By the way she was tracing her fingertips over his hand, it felt like she was in awe of him. Cherishing the touch, Joel nuzzled his nose in against the back of her neck. Placing a delicate kiss there had her inhaling sharply and he smiled.

“Good mornin’ beautiful,” Joel slurred, cuddling in closer to her. Hooking his fingers with hers, he gave them a firm squeeze. Hearing her breathing was a gift in itself for him. Everything felt right in the world in that moment and he was happy. He’d felt happiness in his life, but he questioned if he’d ever felt it this strongly towards someone in a romantic way. “You feeling okay?”

“Better than okay,” she announced, bringing his hand up to place a delicate kiss over the back of it. Humming out, Joel lifted enough to kiss at the side of her face causing her to smile. The sight of that took his breath away. How his body reacted to just the sight of her smile blew him away. “How about you?”

“I feel good,” he was honest, closing his eyes again when he got comfortable behind her. Right now? He had no interest in getting up because he liked the way that this felt way too much. Getting to cuddle her was something he had no interest in missing out on. In the past, he would have thought this kind of feeling was unrealistic. Now that he was feeling it, he was addicted to it. Never had he experienced such a need to hold and touch someone. To be near them.

“So does that mean you liked things last night?” she wondered, her curiosity getting the best of her when she looked over her shoulder. A smirk tugged at Joel’s lips with his eyes fluttering to a slow open. Arching his eyebrow at her had a chill flooding throughout her body.

“Yes, very much so,” he assured her, pulling her in closer to him so that way they were pressed up against one another. Truthfully? He was surprised she even had to ask him that. Throughout their interactions she had been pretty confident that she was good at sex. Now she seemed anxious with him, but he found it charming. “It was me that I was worried about. I worried things wouldn’t be good enough for you. I didn’t know if I would last long enough.”

“Everything was perfect for me,” she assured him, getting the most delicious moan from him when she rubbed her bottom in against his groin. Closing her eyes, she liked the warmth that pressed in over the side of her neck with Joel burying his nose there. Unhurriedly, she rolled her hips with the sensation of Joel’s body growing rigid against her. Knowing that she could have this kind of effect on his body drove her crazy with desire. Small, muted moans were vibrating against the side of her neck with one of Joel’s hands lowering to grasp firmly at her hips. With how hard he was holding onto her, she felt like she was his and she liked it. “I think I missed having you inside of me.”

“Well, we should fix that problem then,” Joel grunted, adjusting her body the way he needed it, pushing at her hip to angle her forward. Caressing down over her thigh with his rough fingertips, she looked back over her shoulder with her eyes connecting with his. Leaning in just enough to steal a quick kiss from her had her panting against his mouth. This was so good that sometimes he didn’t know whether to believe it was real or not. Dragging his mouth away from hers, Joel licked his lips and tipped his head to look down between them. Pushing his hand beneath the blanket, he curled his fingers around the shaft of his erection. Stroking at his body, he made sure that he was fully prepared for her before pressing his hips forward. Teasing the tip of his cock through her sensitive folds had her purring out and it made him smile. A slow drag up and then down had her hips rocking back toward his eager for him to enter her. Repeating the motion several times provoked her breathing to grow louder. Just from this alone had her incredibly wet which turned him on even more. She yearned for him just as much as he did her. Keeping his eyes locked on their bodies, he led the swollen tip to her entrance and unhurriedly sank into her. Together they moaned out in unison causing a fire to flood throughout his veins. Having the tight walls of her body enveloping his cock felt incredible and he knew he could easily lose himself inside of her if he didn’t focus. It felt that good. Bottoming out had her crying out, her hand dropping down to grasp at his thigh drawing out a raspy moan from him that she loved to hear. In that moment, he stayed stagnant wanting her to feel all of him. Lifting his hand, he grasped at her chin keeping a firm hold of it which elicited a moan from her that drove him wild. “Is this what your pussy wanted? My big cock filling it?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, her eyes slamming shut and her hips shaking with the way things felt. Releasing her chin, Joel palmed at her breast. Teasing the flesh, he stroked the tip of his index finger in circular motions around her nipple causing it to harden into a tight bud. Sucking in a sharp breath of air, he allowed his touch to continue down over her abdomen until his hand reached between her thighs. As soon as his rough fingertips connected with her sensitive clit, it had her crying out. The lack of movement ached, but in the best of ways. Joel’s thick cock was stretching her and filling her in ways that made her feel on top of the world “You feel so fucking good.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” Joel slurred against the side of her neck, the roughness of his short beard scratching at her flesh sending chills throughout her body. The circular motion of his fingers over her sensitive bundle of nerves had her arching up toward his caress drawing only a tiny bit of his cock to pull from her. “Is it bad I want to be like this forever? Have you full of my cock?”

“No,” she whined, her hand reaching down to curl her fingers around Joel’s wrist while he continued to touch her. “I love the way this feels too.”

“Do you like the way my big cock fills you right up?” Joel growled against her ear having her trembling back against him. Hearing him talking dirty to her had chills flooding throughout her body. There was a darkness to his tone when he said it and she liked it. She liked it a lot. Another whimper escaped her with him nibbling at her earlobe. “Your tight little pussy feels so good around me.”

God, she was a fucking mess. He had her in the palm of his hand and he knew it. By the amused rumble of a sound she released, she knew she was wrapped around his finger. By now she was a panting mess. Releasing his wrist, she instead grasped firmly at his hip causing him to snicker against the side of her neck, “Please.”

“Please what?” Joel’s palm slid up from between her thighs, up over her abdomen and between the valley of her breasts. Grasping faintly at her face, Joel started leaving wet kisses over her jawline with her crying out again. He knew what she was asking from him, but he was drawing things out. Enjoying the way she longed for this.

“Please move,” she begged of him, cooing out when he gave her what she wanted. Unhurriedly pulling his hips back, Joel growled against her flesh when he pushed forward. Taking his time rolling his hips behind her had soft smacking sounds filling the air with every thrust he made. Tiny winces escaped her with every deep plunge his manhood made inside of her warmth. Digging her fingertips into his thigh, she sucked in a sharp breath of air and closed her eyes tightly. Everything felt amazing. Each thrust was drawn out, and, in this position? She could feel every ridge of Joel’s cock inside of her. With his movements, he was hitting just the right spots having her a shaking mess. “Joel.”

“I want you to be mine,” he claimed, nipping at her jaw. The grasp he had on her face grew stronger and she licked her lips. Hearing that was thrilling. Gradually, his thrusts started to grow both in strength and speed drawing out the most delicious sounds from her. Moaning against her flesh had her purring out and he found himself lost inside of her. “And more than anything I want to be yours.”

“I want that too,” she admitted, doing her best to rock her hips back against him meeting his thrusts. That was true. Being with Joel was a feeling she was not used to, but she yearned for it. No one had this kind of effect on her. And she wanted more of it. Having him holding onto her like he was made her feel like she was his. And he was having his way with her in the best way possible. Honestly? She didn’t want this to end. Purring out, she tipped her head back when Joel’s hand returned between her thighs. The contact his fingers made with her clitoris drew out a cry that had him growling once more against the side of her neck. Putting a decent amount of pressure into his caress over her sensitive bundle of nerves had her breathing growing broken. They weren’t being quiet. For a short amount of time he tried to remember if any of the guests they had at the inn were near her room, but after a while he realized that he didn’t care. Being inside of her and having her reacting to things the way she was felt way too good. And more than anything he loved getting her to cry and pant out his name. “Please don’t stop.”

“Yes ma’am,” Joel continued his thrusts from behind her, the sounds of his hips smacking up against her bottom getting louder. The sounds of her pleasure grew more desperate. Bucking harder up against her, he took notice of the way her body was shaking. How her hips eagerly rocked between his thrusts and his fingertips circling at her clit. How her body was reacting, he knew that she was close to an orgasm. Keeping up with the pace that he had set, Joel hummed when her tight walls started to contract around his cock. And there was the best gift he could have asked for. Hearing her crying out his name over and over when he brought her to that moment of euphoria. There she was, a trembling mess in his arms and she was entirely his. Thrusting forward once more, Joel buried himself deeply into her and stayed still wanting to experience the way her walls flexed around his erection throughout her orgasm. Giving her time, Joel smiled and nuzzled his nose in against the side of her neck. “Roll onto your stomach.”

Doing as she was instructed, she shakily rolled onto her stomach and whined with the way Joel’s manhood pulled from her body. Getting into position, she cuddled her head in against the pillows. Everything felt like it was spinning. She could feel her heart hammering away inside of her chest. There was an ache at her core and her hips were still somewhat tremoring. The empty feeling she was left with had her yearning for more. Purring out, she was happy when Joel started to crawl in over her. Tender kisses covered her right shoulder with him lowering down in over her. Chills flooded her with the warmth of his body over hers. Arching her hips, she desperately wanted him back inside of her and it had an amused rumble escaping Joel’s throat. Reaching between them, Joel placed the tip of his cock at her entrance and sank back into her. Burying his nose in against the side of her neck, he let out a deep raspy moan with how good it felt. Adjusting his body, his hands covered hers with their fingers hooking together.

Setting a steady pace with his thrusts, Joel covered the side of her neck and shoulders with kisses. Closing her eyes, she loved having the weight of him over her. It was easy to feel every part of him with him thrusting inside of her this way. And she rewarded him with the sounds of her crying out his name.

“You feel so good,” Joel’s deep southern drawl was raspy, his words vibrating against her cheek. Turning just enough, she managed to bring their lips together in a longing kiss that had Joel humming out.

“Harder,” she begged against his lips whimpering when he delivered what she requested. The smacking sounds increased with his hips bucking up against her bottom. The power of his movements had the bed slightly smacking up against the wall. Winces were escaping his throat and his fingers squeezed tighter around hers. “Yes, that’s it.”

Taking that as encouragement, Joel’s movements grew stronger with her body trembling beneath him. Squeezing tightly to Joel’s fingers, she felt a fire growing in the pit of her stomach and she whined, “Joel...”

There was a rushing flooding to her head. Squeezing her eyes shut, she knew that she was a mess. The areas that the tip of his cock were repeatedly hitting felt amazing but at the same time had her nervous. Trying to pull her hips up and away only had Joel following her movements. Burying her head further into the pillow, she pulled her hips up and away from Joel with a pitiful sound. How hard she was shaking and the way that her heartbeat was so loud inside of her head shocked her. Joel was smiling against the side of her neck, his groans loud as he pampered her flesh with tiny kisses. Looking down between them Joel let out a pleased sound with her body trembling beneath him.

“Fuck, I am so sorry,” she panted with Joel snickering against the side of her neck. Reaching down, his fingers teased through her sensitive folds, caressing at her already shaking body.

“For squirting? Please don’t apologize for that,” Joel hummed, rolling her onto her back. With a half smirk, Joel shook his head when their eyes connected. “I reckon I’m the furthest thing from offended.”

“You’re arrogant,” she huffed out, whimpering with Joel caressing his thumb in over the inside of her thigh. “But it looks good on you.”

“By the way you just apologized to me, you’re not used to squirting,” Joel concluded, licking his lips. His loud breathing had his chest rising and falling heavily. A wicked smirk tugged at his features and it had her heart skipping a beat. God, he was so hot. And with the way his messy hair was wet, she couldn’t get enough of him. “Of course that would make me arrogant. I like that I can make you feel good.”

Adjusting her body, Joel pushed her legs up so they were resting over his arms when he balanced his hands on the bed. Nodding between them, he licked his lips once more and sighed, “Put me back inside of you.”

Following his instructions, she gave him a nod. Reaching down, she curled her fingers around Joel’s girthy cock and let out a pant. The sound that Joel made when she touched him was so attractive. Leading the swollen tip back between her folds had him firmly smacking up against her when he filled her completely. The thrust had her breasts bouncing upward with the movement and her cry filled the room. Right now, his movements were rough and harder causing her to drop her hands down to grasp at his wrists. Eager to hold onto something. Every thrust felt incredible and she knew this was dirty, but she liked it. Last night, things were more about the two of them connecting. Right now? This was about sex. But? She wasn’t complaining. In fact, this felt incredible. For so long, she was used to men that wanted her to be in charge of things. It was nice having Joel take control. This felt amazing and it was nice the things that Joel was capable of making her feel.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you were big,” she lifted her head to watch the deep plunges his cock made inside of her repeatedly. Again, how couldn’t he be arrogant with the things that she was saying and the way her body was reacting to him? Pressing his forehead to hers, Joel snickered with how tightly she was clinging to him. “God.”

“I’m going to come,” he announced with a deep, raspy moan. Tipping his head back, his jaw flexed and the veins in his neck became more prominent. Lifting up just enough, she brought their lips together in a hungry kiss that took both of their breaths away. Keeping up with his thrusts, Joel groaned out with his testicles tightening up. Pumping her full of his cum, he continued to pound into her throughout his orgasm. Allowing her legs to drop down, Joel nipped at her bottom lip with her right arm hooking around his shoulders to keep him close. With his hips coming to a falter, Joel gave one final thrust before lowering in over her. Cuddling in over her, he loved the way she still stroked at his shoulders and wanted him near. “I don’t want to leave your tight little pussy.”

“Then don’t,” she panted against his flesh, clinging tightly to him. They were both shaking with their breathing broken. Whimpering out, she liked the way it felt with Joel’s cock throbbing and twitching inside of her. Instead of moving, he did what she said allowing himself to grow soft inside of her. Kissing at her jawline, he hummed with how amazing everything felt.

“I have to call into work. I’ll tell them the snow made it impossible for me to leave,” Joel slurred, his head lifting enough to lock eyes with her. “If you’re okay with it, I’d like to spend all day with you today. In bed…”

“Having sex?” she inquired with Joel smirking as she palmed in over the side of his face. Brushing his damp hair out of his eyes drew forth a smile from him that took her breath away. “I’m not going to tell you no.”

“Sex is part of it, but I want us to be together right now,” he whispered, kissing in over the center of her palm. “I just want to be with you as much as I possibly can. I want to take advantage of the way you make me feel.”

“How do I make you feel?” she wondered, desperate to hear his thoughts since he was originally so hell bent on hiding himself from her. Everything about this man drove her wild with desire for him.

“Happy. Warm,” he gave short answers at first, considering what he wanted to tell her. Knowing that she brought him happiness was a good thing. Especially since she knew Joel was not the kind of person he was displaying himself to be with her right now normally. “You make me feel like I’m still meant to be here and I haven’t felt that way in a very long time. I don’t feel like an emotionless robot with you. As I said before, you feel like home. And being with you? It just feels right.”

“Careful Joel Miller,” she whispered, brushing his hair back over his ear. Lifting up, she teased her lips in against his making him smile. “You might make me believe that there is more to you than you want me to see.”

“I want you to see it,” Joel countered, shaking his head and peppering tender kisses against her lips. “I know this is fast and I reckon people would think we were crazy, but I really like you. More than I should. And I don’t want to picture a life where I don’t have you near. Now that I have you, I don’t wanna let you go.”

“I feel the same way,” she assured him, her thumb tracing over his jawline through his facial hair having his brown eyes growing hopeful. “I don’t care what other people think though. And I think it’s safe to say that you don’t either.”

“Yeah,” Joel snickered, his nose wrinkling with him leaning into her touch. Suddenly, he thought about last night and what he had almost done. Leaving would have been the biggest mistake he could have ever made right now. “I need to tell you something.”

Giving him her full attention, she continued to stroke her fingers through his hair and he liked it, “After you fell asleep last night, I thought about leaving,” Joel was honest, his face scrunching up in disappointment with his actions, “But before you think it has anything to do with you, it doesn’t. I just don’t think I’m good enough for you. And I’m worried I’m going to ruin things for you.”

“That’s something we’re going to have to work on,” she hushed him realizing that he was very upset with himself. “Because you are good enough for me. And you’re not going to ruin things for me because for the first time in a long time, I’m happy. You bring out something in me that hasn’t been there in a very long time.”

“That sounds familiar,” Joel noted, nuzzling his nose in against hers wincing when he pulled his hips away from her and laid down in beside her. Staying close to her, Joel hooked his fingers with hers and kissed at her shoulder. “I bet you didn’t think the first time you saw me that we’d be like this after a few days, huh?”

“The first time I saw you I thought you were incredibly hot,” she admitted provoking a snort from Joel with him tipping his head to stare out at her. That wasn’t a lie. “I was attracted to you immediately. I thought it was just me being crazy after getting off that plane. When I saw you, I didn’t immediately regret coming here because at least you were nice to look at. And then when I was still attracted to you even after you turned out to be such a dick that night? Well, I thought I completely lost it.”

“I’m sorry,” Joel apologized nuzzling his nose in against the side of her neck getting her to giggle and turn in closer to him. “I’m not very good with new people and I know that.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she hushed him, her fingers reaching out to brush against the side of his face. “Am I the first guest you’ve slept with?”

“You’re the first person I’ve slept with since I moved into town,” Joel confessed, sucking in a sharp breath of air. The expression she gave him made him nod and he shrugged his shoulders. That was probably bad to admit, but he didn’t lie to her when he told her that it had been a very long time since he had been with someone. “Don’t get me wrong, in my past I was wild, but here…?”

“Wow,” she was shocked to hear that and by the way Joel’s face was red she knew that he was embarrassed. Just from the two times that they had slept together, she would have never pictured that. “You don’t have sex like someone who hasn’t had it in years.”

“Well, I mean I jerk off,” Joel reasoned with her getting her to laugh before pressing a kiss against the center of his chest. “So I guess I built up a good endurance for things?”

“That’s good to know,” she teased him, patting the center of his chest playfully.

“How long have you been broken up from your boyfriend?” he questioned, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat when he thought about her life outside of Jackson.

“It’s been a few months,” she answered him cuddling in closer to him while they rest together at the center of the bed. “I don’t really know what I saw in him to be honest with you. I think I was just sick of being lonely so I accepted the first person that gave me attention when he was really just abusing his power at the hospital. We had to keep our relationship hidden even though we were together a lot. I think I just liked the attention I got from him because it made me feel special.”

“Just because he was a dickhead doesn’t mean you weren’t special,” Joel reminded her, wrapping her up in his arms and getting comfortable again beneath her. Thinking about something for a moment, Joel licked his lips and hummed. “Do I have a bigger dick than he did?”

“You have a bigger dick than most of the people I’ve been with,” she responded with a laugh getting a kick out of the fact Joel seemed proud of that. The expression over his face gave it away that he liked hearing her say that. “It’s interesting how some of the most reserved men have the biggest dicks, while some of the most arrogant aren’t that impressive.”

They both laughed and took a moment of silence for them to enjoy each other just for a little while. By the time that he spoke up again they were both pretty comfortable in bed.

“I was surprised that you weren’t lying about the whole blowjob thing you know,” Joel blurt out, stroking his fingers down over her shoulders. It made her laugh out loud, not expecting that to be the first thing he said again to start their conversation back up. “I made you stop last night because I knew if I didn’t I was gonna erupt and then this whole interaction would be cut short.”

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed things,” she responded with a small yawn, growing more relaxed in his arms. “Tell me facts about you that won’t make you uncomfortable. Like what are some of your favorite things? What do you dislike?”

“Uhm,” Joel thought for a moment about what to tell her, looking down and finding himself in awe of her with the way she was laying in over his chest. “Well, food wise I’m not the biggest fan of pancakes. Nor do I really like orange juice. But I really like coffee. And usually I like it black. The stronger the better.”

“I picked up on the coffee love,” she traced her fingertips over the lengths of his chest drawing tiny shapes over his flesh. “The black coffee love I do have to question because I prefer having lots of flavor to drown out the taste of it.”

“That ruins it,” Joel grumbled under his breath, amused with the expression that she gave him. Thinking again, Joel tried to come up with something to say when he shrugged his shoulders. “I like really cheesy action flicks. The cheesier the better.”

“Oh?” her eyebrow arched up as she lifted her head slightly to meet his eyes in a stare. “You see, that surprises me because you had on the Christmas movie channel when we were at your home.”

“Eh, I put that on in the background sometimes when I’m working around the house,” he stated with a scoff, waving his free hand about. “Christmas movies used to be a big thing when I was younger in my family. It’s hard to let go of that.”

Getting him to talk about things he liked in terms of music and random things was her way of getting to know Joel better. Halfway through them talking, Joel did grab his cell phone to call in to work to say he wouldn’t be able to make it. After a while she found herself laying in his arms thinking about things.

“What happens if Tommy realizes that you are not at home?” she pushed getting Joel to smile when she palmed across the lengths of his chest.

“I’m just here to be here sometimes,” Joel informed her, his breathing growing louder when she placed a kiss over the center of his chest. “I’m good at fixing things, but everyone else is better at the other stuff. I have an endless knowledge about construction. Not running an inn.”

“Fair enough,” she huffed, pressing in closer to him when she felt somewhat cold. Joel’s arm dropped further down her body squeezing firmly around her and it made her smile. Thinking about this morning and last night made her swallow down hard. “Just so you know, I don’t usually do this whole thing.”

“What?” Joel didn’t know what she was referring to.

“Unprotected sex with a stranger,” she blurt out with Joel nodding his head about. “I mean, you’re not a stranger, but…”

“I get it,” Joel hushed her, tapping his fingers against her hip. Using his other hand, he curled his fingers in underneath her chin to get her to tip her head back to stare up at him. “I haven’t had sex in years. I already told you that. And you already told me that you were healthy. I reckon its mostly my fault for not having condoms, but I haven’t had condoms in a very long time because I didn’t expect to have sex with someone. I guess I assumed that you were on birth control since you wanted me to…”

“I am,” she interrupted him, looking up at him with big eyes when he considered the idea that he had come inside of her twice already. “Thinking back on it, I don’t think I’ve had unprotected sex with anyone. I’ve done things differently with you. I trust you.”

“Oh,” Joel was surprised to hear that, taking in a sharp breath of air when a sense of arrogance flooded through him. Instead of being uncomfortable with the discussion, he seemed to actually like the idea of what she was saying. “So did you like me pumping you full of my come?”

“Very much,” she didn’t even take time to consider it, her face growing hot with her confession. “It makes me feel like I’m yours. Like I belong to you and feeling your cock throbbing inside of me…it feels phenomenal. I liked it a lot.”

“You want some more?” he growled with his palm extending down over her bottom to give it a firm squeeze. “I think he’s ready for another round if you are.”

“Hmmm…” she bit down on her bottom lip and then took her time to crawl in over Joel again getting a wicked smirk to tug at his features. “I’ll take as much as I can get of it today.”

----

Giggling, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh with Joel playfully teasing kisses over the side of her neck. They were underneath the covers with Joel laying over her and their legs tangled together. It felt nice with the way things were. Joel wasn’t kidding when he told her that he wanted to spend all day in bed with her. They mostly just spend their time either talking, cuddling or having sex. More than they probably should have, but both of them were addicted to the way that it felt.

“I like your hands,” she announced, lifting Joel’s hand to gaze upon it with Joel kissing down over her jawline and toward her neck. “Then again? I think I like everything about you.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Joel snickered against her flesh, drawing his head back enough to look down upon her with a longing stare. “You’re easy to like.”

“You may be the first person to tell me that,” she smiled when Joel kissed at the back of her hand and nestled his cheek in against it.

“And you may be the only person ever in my life to tell me that you like everything about me. Because if you haven’t noticed, I can be an intimidating asshole,” Joel pointed out with a smirk, adjusting his body weight with her tracing over his face. “I’ve mastered the resting bitch face look.”

“I think it’s part of your charm,” she dragged her thumb out across his full bottom lip, sucking in a sharp breath of air with Joel pressing a tender kiss against the pad of her thumb. “I do enjoy your laughter and your smile though. You have the cutest dimples.”

“It’s always the dimples that warm people up to me,” Joel shook his head, dropping down to press kisses over her lips again. Hearing the sound of a knock on the door, Joel pulled back the covers and looked toward the other room where the knock came from. “That’s probably the pizza.”

Cautiously moving from over her, Joel stood up from the bed and headed for the other room, stopping when she called out to him. Turning to face her, she pointed down and it made him laugh, “Joel, you’re naked.”

“And?” Joel breathed out, with her face flushing over.

“You’re going to give someone a heart attack if they see you naked. Especially since the person works in the same place as you since you ordered it from the bar here,” she reminded him getting him to roll his eyes and reach for one of the pillows. “Joel!”

“The stuff is covered,” Joel kept his hand firmly over the pillow that was hiding his naked body. Heading for the door, Joel was quick to pull it open seeing the eyes of the person before him growing wide when they realized his state of undress. Pointing toward the pizza, Joel held his hand out and waited for them. “I’ll take the pizza now.”

“Of course Mr. Miller, I’m sorry,” the man was quick to hand Joel over the pizza box, dropping his head down with color flooding into his face. “They just charged the card you have on record, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

“Thank you,” Joel went to step back, letting out a surprised sound when Y/N moved in beside him. Instead of being naked like him, she had grabbed his plaid shirt and had only buttoned up a few of the buttons. Handing out some money, Joel tipped his head to the side with his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?”

“You forgot the tip,” she held out the money and the man nervously shook his head at the idea of getting a tip. “Trust me, you deserve this.”

“Thank you ma’am,” the man accepted the tip and was quick to walk away leaving the two of them alone.

Closing the door, she gave Joel a small glare and grabbed the pizza from him as she headed back toward the bedroom. Throwing his hands up in the air, Joel tossed the pillow back onto the bed when he entered the room.

“I don’t see what the big deal was, it’s not like I was flashing anyone,” Joel teased, taking a seat in the bed beside her. Grabbing one of the sheets, Joel pulled it in over his lap and got comfortable by resting his back against the headboard.

“That’s how that person is going to picture you from here on out and he’s probably going to gossip. Since that’s a big thing here in this town,” she insisted, throwing open the lid of the pizza box when she set it in the middle of the bed. Swiftly, Joel leaned in to grab a piece for himself and tipped his head back to dramatically take the piece into his mouth. With a smirk, she grabbed one for herself with Joel shrugging his shoulders.

“Let them,” Joel spoke with a mouthful, visibly not worried about what anyone would think. “I already told that one guy at the bar that you were mine. This just proves that we have sex and we get hungry after having sex. No big deal really.”

“Right,” she was amused that he was so nonchalant about things because when she first met him, Joel seemed like a very private person that wouldn’t be okay with that kind of stuff. Joel finished off his first piece of pizza pretty fast before reaching for another. “I feel like someone could easily live here for a while. You have so much in one place.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Joel agreed with her dropping his head back while he chewed. “We do well. People seem to like it here. It’s an easy job and I don’t have to drive far for work. So I can’t complain really. This pizza isn’t the best pizza in town, but it’s convenient.”

“Do you know what time it is?” she looked around, her eyes falling to a clock. When she realized it was the evening already, she let out an amused sound. “We really did spend all day in bed.”

“Well, not all day,” Joel countered, reaching for the tissues that were on her nightstand to pull out one to wipe his hands off. “I was actually thinking about that. While the idea of spending all day in bed with you sounds nice, I was wondering if you would like to take a journey with me. There’s something they do here at night that I think you would really like.”

“My body could use the break,” she admitted knowing that she was worn out after all they had done. Really, she was surprised she didn’t get a nap in there somewhere because she was tired after everything. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s a surprise,” he insisted, folding his arms out in front of his bare chest. “I figure we’ll finish up with the pizza, get a shower in and then I can drive you over there. So you don’t have to walk.”

“Such a gentleman,” she snickered getting him to chuckle at her response before leaning in to pepper a few more kisses against her lips. “I just look forward to any time that I get to spend with you.”

“Then we should take advantage of that,” he hummed against her lips, nuzzling his nose tenderly in against hers.

“I think we’ve taken advantage of a lot of things already today,” she noted, her words vibrating against his bottom lip eliciting a groan to fall from him with the way it felt. Motioning her to wait a second, Joel raised his finger and lifted up just enough to push aside one of the blinds to look down below at the town. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure that they eventually got to the streets,” he answered with a grunt, lowering back down in the bed beside her. After the storm last night, he knew that most of the time they were quick to plow the snow, but sometimes people got lazy. Thankfully? Since he had something planned, he was happy to see that they actually eventually plowed the snow. “My plans wouldn’t be very successful if we weren’t able to use my truck to drive where I need us to go.”

“About that,” she spoke up, closing up the box of pizza after they were done. Setting it beside the bed, she turned onto her arm and placed her hand in over the center of Joel’s chest. “Are you going to get in trouble with people finding out you were here this whole time?”

“I’m the owner,” Joel reminded her with a wrinkle of his nose, his hand reaching up to cover hers. “Tommy is kinda used to me showing up whenever I want anyways. Plus? If he knew that we had sex, I would get away with it. He’d be excited.”

“Your brother is a very confusing person,” she chuckled at the thought of what he said about Tommy realizing that he was right. “I thought he was this very sweet, innocent man and he’s got a mouth on him”

“I told you that people are biased because he is nice to them. If you would have known Tommy when he was younger, he was a smoking, foul mouthed little boy,” Joel informed her, shaking his head when he thought back on their past together. “He was always smoking in places he shouldn’t have been so I was constantly yelling at him to put it out. Tommy has these people believing that he is the good boy when he was always the chaotic one. It wasn’t until Maria that he calmed the hell down.”

“No kidding,” she was starting to learn that Tommy was surprising her more than Joel in terms of the people that they were.

“Oh yeah. Do you know how often I was bailing his ass out of jail in Texas? The boy was always in trouble. Getting into bar fights and calling me early in the AM to bail him out so he didn’t get stuck all weekend. Tommy was a mess,” Joel recalled what his little brother was like, grunting something under his breath. “I was really worried about him when we separated.”

“Why did he go one way and you went the other?” she inquired, noticing that was a question where Joel was uncomfortable again. “It seems like you felt responsible for him, so when you said you went to Boston and he continued to travel, I was surprised to hear that.”

“Something happened that put some tension between us,” Joel swallowed down hard, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat as he spoke. It looked like he was deeply considering what to say next as he shook his head. “Something big happened in our lives. We both tried to deal with it for a year or so. I was miserable, he was trying to help me, but he was failing. I got us in some trouble that we were both lucky to get out of and I think he was mad at me for letting it happen. So he ran away from me and I let him.”

“You two seem okay now,” she only mentioned what she knew because she had promised not to push Joel too far when it came to his past.

“We do our best. There are some days where we want to kill one another, but we had a talk about the past,” he explained with a nervousness in the way that he spoke, “Just once though. But we had an understanding about things. We just try to avoid bringing it up because it’s something neither one of us wanted to approach. We don’t want to live in the past and talk about it all the time.”

“And here I was spilling my guts out to you and your family,” she felt silly that she had opened up so much to Joel and his family about her past. “It probably made both you and Tommy very uncomfortable with me just unloading all of my past woes on you both.”

“Now, I wouldn’t go that far,” Joel hushed her trying to get her to stop thinking that way. “We handled that perfectly fine because it didn’t have anything to do with us. You needed someone to talk to. We understood that. We just want to forget our pasts. What you needed and what I need are two different things. In terms of our pasts.”

“Fair enough,” she sighed, depositing another loving kiss over the center of Joel’s chest. After a moment of silence, she exhaled loudly and let out an extended breath. “How about we take that shower now? And then we can head out to wherever you want to go?”

“Sounds good,” he agreed, getting up from the bed and following her into the bathroom while she started up the shower.

Sharing a shower with Joel reminded her of what it was like when they were at his home together doing this the last time. There was a lot of touching and affectionate moments between the two of them. There was no sex, but there was a fair amount of intimacy. They just wanted to take care of one another and be near each other. That was probably the best thing about the two of them. How quickly they grew comfortable enough with one another. Nothing was awkward between them. Everything felt right.

They took their time getting ready since the sun wasn’t down just yet, but by the time it was dark Joel led them out of the inn to his truck. At first he let her see where he was driving, but the closer they got to wherever his destination was, he asked her to keep her eyes closed. It was a pretty big deal for him because he wanted it to be a surprise.

Originally, she gave him a hard time about him making her cover her eyes, but she actually thought it was pretty cute. She just didn’t want to embarrass him about how much this actually touched her. Joel didn’t seem like the big surprise type, so this was very charming of him.

Even when they got wherever they were headed, Joel had instructed her to keep her hands where they were. He didn’t want her to cheat. Getting out of the truck first, Joel had come around to help her get out. It was hard moving around with her doing as he asked in keeping her eyes covered. When she was out, he covered her eyes with his hands and helped lead her wherever they were going by walking behind her.

“You are taking this very seriously,” she realized noticing that Joel wasn’t talking much while they walked through the snow. “You should know that I trust you by the way because I wouldn’t normally be okay with this whole scenario. You could be walking me to my death.”

“Obviously you have trust in me after everything today,” Joel whispered in her ear, the warmth of his breath drawing chills down her spine. Kissing at the side of her face made her smile when they came to a stop. Listening carefully, she heard the sound of bells jangling and it wasn’t what she expected. “I’m going to move my hands, okay?”

Staying quiet, she finally opened her eyes when Joel’s hands pulled from over her face allowing her to drop her hands down. Moving in beside her, Joel was watching her with an amused expression seeing the awe that filled her when she saw the horses and the sleigh that was covered in Christmas lights that was before them.

“I thought this was the kind of thing you might like,” he claimed waving his hand about in the direction of the sleigh. “I always thought these kind of things were cheesy, but with how much you like Christmas? I thought you might appreciate it. During the day they do a ride through one of the parks and at night, they do rides through the city.”

“How have I not seen this yet?” she stepped aside to get a look at the horses, getting permission to be able to pet one of them from the person who ran this whole thing. “I would have seen something like this in my time out.”

“They start doing them tomorrow. It’s a special thing they only do closer to Christmas,” Joel explained to her, joining her to pet the horse carefully. “I pulled some strings in order to do this a day early and my friend here agreed.”

“This is beautiful,” she declared, surprised that Joel would even come up with something like this in the first place.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Joel commented having more color flood to her face even beyond what was already there from it being cold out. Extending his hand, Joel motioned her toward the back of the sleigh. “My lady.”

“Oh, kind sir,” she played into it and allowed him to help her onto the sleigh. Getting comfortable in the seat, Joel was quick to follow her in. Wrapping his arm around her, Joel had her cuddling in closer to him to keep her warm while his friend got prepared for the ride. “This is cute. The sleigh? The lights? I don’t think I’ve seen anything like this. They have carriage rides in the city, but nothing like this.”

“You’re cute,” Joel slurred, leaning in to nuzzle his nose in against the side of her face pulling forth a big smile from her. “I thought you might like this. People seem to go pretty crazy for them when they are running.”

As the horses started to move, Joel squeezed his arms tightly around her bringing her closer, “Just sit back and relax as this will be a while.”

“I look forward to it,” she leaned further into Joel, one of her hands hooking with his. What was crazy was how fast all of this happened. Joel went from being someone she could barely stand to someone she never wanted to be away from. Jackson, Wyoming was a mistake. Somewhere she didn’t want to end up, yet here she was. In the arms of the grumpy inn keeper and feeling happier than she had in years. “So tell me Joel, are you usually this romantic?”

“Never,” he grunted, pressing a kiss at her temple when they finally reached town. What was cute was that this was made to feel magical. The glowing of the Christmas lights, the sounds of the bells and how slow the ride was made this feel enchanting. Almost dream like. And she was very thankful to be able to experience it. In her past relationships, no one had worked as hard to do something this nice for her and she was falling even harder for the man who had her wrapped up in his arms. “But you’re special and you deserve it.”

----

Tags: @jdmorganz @carolineesnell @ayumi-wolf @dilfsandmartinis @christinamadsen

@brittmb115 @thegirlwiththemostcake3

[mountainsandmayhem]

BDSMaid - Chapter 5 Part Two

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You and Joel go to a Shibari class together; an innocent date, or is it?

TW: age gap (Joel 45/reader 22), reader does have some descriptors so more of an OC. Reader has longer hair and Joel can lift her. Mutual pining, kissing. Spoiler triggers below the cut in red.

WC: 8.2k

AN: Ok fiiiiiinnnneeeeee I couldn't wait any longer and I left you all on kind of a cliffhanger. As always, thank you to my lovely @lotusbxtch for reading and encouraging and helping me grow. Thanks @mermaidgirl30 , @littlevenicebitch69 and @joelmillerisapunk for being my lil cheerleaders. @for-a-longlongtime thanks for stoping me from working on that bull rider series LOL. Ok, enjoy this slowly because I haven't even STARTED chapter 6 yet, so I doubt it will be out until late October. Dividers and banners by the oh so talented @saradika-graphics

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

TW: complete sensory deprivation (tied down, blind folded and has hearing blocked), multiple orgasms, denial

Joel

Joel has tried to keep his distance since referring to tonight as a date. He left another large tip for your clean this week and then made sure he was as busy as possible to stop himself from going home to see you. As he coaxed you into drinking the orange juice and the water he kept hearing “it’s a date” over and over again in his mind, and he’d cringe internally. He wouldn’t have blamed you if you had leaped out of that bed and ran home. The thought of you wanting him in that way is ridiculous. Not only because he’s over twice your age, but you came to him for help with building self confidence and for an escape, and then he went and said something so fucking stupid. 

He shakes his head and pulls up his emails, trying to distract himself for what feels like the one hundredth time. Of course he wants to date you, he’d be crazy not to, but he can’t blur those lines. Furthermore, even if there was the slightest chance that you felt the same way he can’t risk breaking your heart the way he’s broken so many others.

She’s going to break yours, old man. Not the other way around.

Wednesday has been absolutely crawling. Time almost mocking him with how slow it’s ticking by. As he goes over the list of tonight's guests, Tess knocks on his small office door at the club.

“Hey,” she says, plopping down in the arm chair across from the desk. “You coming tonight?”

“Of course. Looks like a good turn out. Did the instructor make it in ok?”

“Cap picked her up from the airport yesterday and got her all settled at the hotel. Do you think you’re going to need me tonight?”

Joel cocks an eyebrow at her. He’s known Tess since she was ten. Her and Tommy are the same age, Joel being two years their senior. Aside from a few months when Tess and Tommy were sixteen, the three of them have been inseparable ever since. Tess was usually the undeclared leader of the group due to her bossy nature, but she kept the Miller brothers out of trouble most of the time. 

“What’s wrong, Tess?”

“Nothin’,” she crosses her arms across her chest. “I am the planner, you and Tommy are the personality. I’m fine to stay behind the scenes for this one.”

“You’ve been acting strange since the poker night.”

She rolls her eyes at him. She’s probably the only person ballsy enough to do that to Joel besides Tommy, but Joel’s almost convinced his little brother is more dumb than ballsy. “I’m fine, Joel. The staff is all in good morale, and that’s my department. Remember?”

Joel just stares as she continues, lowering her voice to mock his. “I need you to be the people person. Hire them, train them. I’m not patient enough because I’m a big scary dom who will just want to spank them for not listening. I also can’t plan anything because I have a man brain.”

“Hilarious,” Joel deadpans as Tess laughs at her own jokes. “I’m being serious though, are you sure you're ok?”

“Yes, you don’t need to be concerned about me. I’m actually a little gutted I’m gonna miss it. Tommy told me there’s been a very pretty young lady hanging around you lately.”

Joel puts his reading glasses on with one hand and pointing to his door with the other. “Out.”

You

Joel referring to tonight as a date has been on loop for the last few days. He has this amazing way of shutting off your brain and then leaving you with so many new questions. Either way, when a few more college letters came over the last few days you convinced yourself that right before leaving for the shibari-demonstration-slash-date was the best time to open them. 

Odette and Jamie sit on the couch across from you as you slide open the first letter. The thick eggshell parchment stamped with the Yale logo pops open easily. You close your eyes as you open the paper, the only sound in the room is the thundering of your heart behind your ribs. 

You peel your eyes open and read out loud. “We regret to inform you that you have not…” your voice falls off, fingers shaking as you put it back in the envelope.

“Hey, we expected a few no’s,” Jamie says gently, always the optimist.

Odette takes the other approach, “Their fucking loss, bunch of stuffy old cunts! Next!”

You laugh at the juxtaposition of your friends' responses and reach for the Harvard letter. “We regret to inform you…”

“Keep going babe,” Jamie says softly.

You pick up the bright white Columbia letter. “We regret to inform you…fuck.” You feel the defeat start to creep in, like thick morning fog. It’s suffocating, choking all the happiness and excitement you had for tonight. 

“What the fuck is wrong with these schools!” Odette says, snatching the letters up so she can check for herself. “Do the Toronto one, Canadians are supposed to be nice.”

“I can’t open anymore,” you say as your head falls back into the sofa. The fog starts to spread through your body, shutting you down inch by inch. You know you have to open the rest. You’ll spend the rest of the night wondering what they say if you don’t finish them. “You do it, Jamie.”

She shuffles in her seat uncomfortably. She’s not the kind of girl who likes to disappoint others; she's bright and happy but at this moment she’s the only person that you can take bad news from. As if she can read your thoughts, she grabs the University of Toronto letter. The sound of the envelope popping open slices through you. She clears her throat as she opens the paper and then reads aloud the same sentence you did. The letters from Duke and Notre Dame follow the same painful routine. With each rejection your stomach swirls, nausea building on top of self doubt and anxiety. 

Six out of the eight universities you applied to have turned you down; Berkeley and the University of Austin are your only chances left at reaching your dreams. The silence in the small rental unit has you on edge, so much so that when your phone vibrates beside you you jump. A sunset beach photo from your last trip to California is the background from a text from Cap telling you he’ll be at your doorstep in about twenty minutes. 

“I gotta finish getting ready,” you say, dragging yourself to the bathroom to touch up any makeup and brush your teeth.

“Babe?” Jamie says, following you down the hall. “You wanna stay here instead of going to that mixer?”

The reminder of the lie sends a new wave of nausea through you. Tonight you became a law school reject and an even bigger liar. Don’t forget that you’re also falling in love with an unattainable man, says the glittery pink box. You mentally lift a single finger in its direction, it usually doesn’t turn on you like that. 

“I need the distraction.” You say, deciding that that’s not really a lie.

Your friends look at you with sadness in their eyes and even though you’re sad too, you wish you could tell them about Mister Miller and the club. You know they’d be excited about whatever this thing is and it would really help to have someone to decipher all the moments that live in your mind.

“It’s a date”.

When you walk through the large door from the lobby and into the club, you’re welcomed by a completely different atmosphere. It’s not all dim lights and sexy music like it normally is; instead the overhead lights are on and all the people are dressed in regular clothing or athletic wear and not the sexy outfits they’d normally pick to come here. Joel is no exception, dressed in dark wash jeans and a fitted black t-shirt. You catch the glint of his gold ring while he’s engrossed in deep conversation with a blue and purple haired woman along the edge of the dance floor. As if you’re his due north or the other side of his magnet, after just seconds of being in the same room as him, his eyes collide with yours. He mouths an ‘excuse me’ at the woman without looking away from and his long legs eat up the distance between the two of you. He meets you just before the bar and immediately wraps his arms around you, one hand coming to the nape of your neck, silently guiding your forehead to his strong chest.

“What’s wrong, sweet girl?” You love how easily he can read you, but you hate that this is the second time this week that he’s seeing you like this. You know you have moments of weakness, but you don’t let anyone see that and you DEFINITELY don’t inconvenience others with your weakness. 

“Hasn’t been my best day, but I really don’t want to talk about it.” You don’t want to dump all of this on him now, not when he looked so excited when you said you’d attend tonight. 

“Ok, I’m here for you if you want to talk about it though. You don’t have to deal with this on your own.” His lips come to the crown of your head and you breathe him in letting his ash and leather scent break down your walls. 

“I didn’t get in,” you mumble and he holds you tighter for a brief second before his hand moves to your chin and tilts up to meet your gaze.

“All of them?” he asks gently but something akin to anger flares in eyes for just a second. 

“Six of them. I haven’t heard from two.” His thumb feels like heaven as it runs along your jaw.

From across the club the blue and purple haired woman, who is now on the stage, claps her hands. “Good evening, everyone! I’m Starr. If you and your brave partners could start making your way to the floor, we can get started right away!”

“Do you want to leave?” Joel says, his warm coffee and chocolate eyes dancing around yours. No one looks at you like that; no one ever asks what you want. This is one of those looks that you wish you could talk to your friends about.

“No,” you say truthfully. “I want to be here with you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you leave without me. Do you want to go somewhere else together?”

You step back and grab his hand, his fingers thread through yours as if you do this everyday, as if this is normal, and you pull him towards the floor. He stands behind you, an arm wrapped protectively around your middle, similar to how he did the first time you went through the voyeur room. Starr introduces herself and her wife and then begins explaining rope safety and terminology like rigger and rope bunny, before launching into a step by step on tying a beautiful star harness across her wifes clothed chest. The two women hand ropes to the person who will be doing the rigging and as the rope lands in Joel’s hand your pussy flutters at the realization that you’re about to become Mister Miller’s rope bunny. You knew that coming here tonight, even if it did include lying to your friends, would help you feel better. The disappointment of being rejected is slowly replaced with an excited anticipation of learning something new with a man who has done nothing but choose you since laid your eyes on each other.

Starr projects step by step instructions up on the back wall of the stage and Joel clears his throat behind you as he begins. The sound of the rope running through his hands as he folds it in half sends a shiver up your spine. You try to distract yourself by clipping your hair up and out of the way. 

“Arms up,” he rasps, and places a light kiss on the soft curve of your neck as he wraps the rope around your ribcage, just below your breasts. You purposely wore a tight t-shirt and leggings tonight. If anyone asks, you’ll say you just assumed it would be easier to be in something form fitting rather than loose, but the truth is that you did some research on Shibari classes and it was recommended to wear clothing that was tight to the body. As he walks around you to make the first diagonal cross of your chest he says, “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

You lock your eyes with his as he loops back up, crossing the rope over your other shoulder and walks behind you. “Yes, at least not yet.” 

“Alright,” he says softly, pulling the rope back through the first band he made. “What do you want to talk about then?”

Your daughter. Your wife. The guitars and books of lyrics. Where do you see yourself in 5 years? Do you like me or do you like like me? How do you feel about an age gap romance? Your brain races with a million things you could ask, and maybe would ask on a date. However, this is anything but a date, right? A dom and sub don’t date, there are strict rules. He tells you what to do, you do it. You don’t date.

The silence between you two feels like it’s lasted forever, you flinch as you ask the first thing you can think of. “How old are you?”

“Almost forty five. It says that on my profile, sweet girl. For someone who likes research…” His voice trails off. Is he flirting?

“I refuse to look at it in case you try to pawn me off to Tommy again,” you tease. You bite your cheek to hold in all the questions you want to ask as he chuckles behind you. You lift your arms as per the next slide and he brings the rope up towards your armpit as you settle on a neutral topic. “Baseball,” you say flatly.

Joel laughs silently as he walks around your body, the rope coming across to your other armpit and he’s behind you again. “Baseball?”

“Ya, it’s America’s favourite pastime.” Joel's fingers feel warm through the fabric of your shirt as he continues to work the ropes. 

“Ok, so what do you want to discuss about baseball?” He wanders in front of you again, following the instructions perfectly.

You shrug a little, lifting your arms again as you follow along with the slides. “Did you ever play?”

Starr circles around the two of you, “Great job, Joel. You ok, honey? Not too tight anywhere?”

You shake your head no and then you and Joel get lost in each other again. “Yes, I played for most of my childhood. I was pretty good too.”

You chuckle, “Why am I not surprised.”

“What?” he says, half laughing.

“Seems like Joel Miller is good at everything,” you say lightly, almost in admiration. He’s behind you again, feeding the ropes through themselves. The back looks beautifully intricate, and you can see other couples getting frustrated before either Starr or her wife comes and helps them. You continue, “Let me guess, you were like a big all-star pitcher or something?”

“No,” he answers.

“What position did you play then?” You glance down at your chest at the star shape across your chest, the rope scrapes gently on the exposed skin of your neck with the movement. It’s stunning, exactly as the demonstration and the picture. Yep, Joel Miller is good at everything. 

A new voice joins your conversation, “Best first baseman the school has ever seen.”

You crane your neck over your right shoulder towards the source; Tommy. You clench your molars when you see him with Jade; the beautiful icy blonde woman that Joel had tied to his desk the first time you met him. Joel shifts uncomfortably as she flutters her lashes at him. “As I was saying,” Joel huffs in his brother's direction before turning his attention back to you. “I played first base and Tommy was the back catcher. Our mom pretty much put us in any sport she could afford to keep us out of trouble.” 

“That’s kind of fascinating,” you say, looking back towards the stage and trying to get back into the safe little bubble you and Joel have created. 

“I dunno about that, sweet girl.”

The combination of him using that nickname and the feeling of his fingers on your body cause another shiver to roll up your spine, and suddenly it’s just the two of you again. It’s so easy to get lost with Joel, every ounce of that fog from earlier has dissipated. He’s like the warm morning sun, chasing away all the thick haze that coated you in the darkness. “I think this is a safe nickname space only, Sweet Cheeks.”

He swats your bum gently eliciting a giggle to pass your lips before getting back to weaving the rope in and out along your spine. “Careful. Now why is it kind of fascinating?”

“I mean, Tommy played at home plate, you played at first base.”

“I don’t know where you’re going here, Freckles.”

You smile over your shoulder at Joel. “Well, don’t you see the connection? You don’t have sex with your subs, Tommy does. He goes to home plate, you stay at first base.”

Joel arches an eyebrow at you as you flash him a cheeky smile and then he lets out a laugh. A real laugh that sounds like it’s coming straight from his stomach. His big beautiful smile draws up his cheeks causing the skin around his eyes to crinkle. The sound is almost enough to make you weak at the knees. “I swear to god, Freckles, I love the way your brain works.”

The rest of the group finishes off their harnesses and Starr begins the next part, explaining now how to tie the arms around the biceps and secure them to the harness. They hand out the ropes again and you reach behind yourself to criss cross your arms and grasp your opposite elbows. Just as Joel begins folding the rope over in his hands, Jade speaks.

“She sort of hit the nail on the head with that one, Mister Miller.” Envy flares in your eyes as she steps towards Joel, leaning into him. “I can’t wait for tomorrow. I’ve missed you.”

You glance towards Joel, expecting to see him looking angry but his soft eyes meet you with guilt written all over his face. You watch his throat as he swallows hard and the happy, sparkly bubble you built bursts and the fog returns. Your heart drops to your feet, it was too good to be true, you knew it was too good to be true and he almost had you fooled. You don’t think, you just act, you need to get away from this space and all these people as bile rises in your throat.

Your feet feel heavy as you walk quickly toward the voyeur room, slipping past the closed sign that's propped up outside the curtain that conceals it. Darkness surrounds you, the rope harness feels like it’s smothering you as you try to take deep calming breaths. A flash of light from the otherside of the curtain fills the room as someone follows.

“Go away, Joel.” You say quietly, trying to force air past the lump growing in your throat. 

“It’s Tommy.” He says, flicking on a dim light and noting the way you’re pulling at the rope closest to your throat. “Let me untie you so you don’t hurt yourself.”

You step back, a wall slamming down around you. Tommy raises his hands, “Please, just let me untie you so you can breathe.”

You spin slowly, giving your back to him and he approaches. His fingers pulling and working the ropes and the irony of him removing knots as you start to mentally tie yourself up in them is enough to make you nauseous. You retreat into your mind, looking for that stupid box. I fucking told you! You practically scream at the shadow you know it’s hiding in.

“Try to slow your breathing for me,” Tommy says softly as the rope begins to loosen and fall away from your body. Tonight felt too normal, too comfortable. You started to feel like maybe Joel was feeling the same way you do, but now you feel like you’ve been slapped across the face with yet another reminder that you are not enough. Six out eight universities and the man you completely misread. 

“I’m so fucking stupid.” It doesn’t come out self deprecating or angrily. Just as if you’re stating a fact, similar to how you’d say you like the colour green. 

“No, this is on me.” The rope falls away from your body and you step away, spinning to face Tommy. “I shouldn’t have said yes when she asked me to bring her here tonight. I assumed Joel had ended it before they were in Europe.”

“What?” You breathe out in disbelief. Even though you can see the rope in Tommy’s hands, it still feels like it’s around your throat.

You wander towards the nearest couch. All those pictures, all those flirty texts and she was there the entire time? You hear your mothers voice again, ‘You might be the smartest one in this town but the real world is going to eat you up and spit you out.’ Nothing has felt more true, especially today. Six schools rejected you, selecting smarter shinier applicants and now the same thing is happening with Joel. You knew you didn’t hold a candle to her, he wanted you to go with Tommy so he could keep her, didn’t he?

‘It’s only you.’ His desperate voice from the day in his office comes out of the shadows of your mind. But it’s not only you. If he didn’t end it with her then it’s her too. You’re constantly in competitions that you have no business being in. 

“No, not ‘they’. Not like that. They were there for different things, not together,” Tommy’s voice has a hint of panic. “...I’m really fucking this night up, aren’t I?”

Just then, Joel and Jade come through the curtain. “Sweet girl….”

“No,” you say, cutting him off with a wave of your hand. You want to yell and scream and ask him what was with all that “it’s only you” bullshit.

“Baby, please, just listen to me.” Joel kneels in front of you and you stand up. His hands come to either side of the couch, keeping you there. “Please?”

You can feel his eyes on you but you keep staring straight ahead, the curtains of all the rental rooms are drawn shut. “Please just go, Joel.”

Jade steps into your line of vision and you can feel the jealousy twisting at your stomach. She’s fucking beautiful. Long icy blonde hair that looks silky to touch, slender limbs and a perfectly symmetrical face. Her make up is done to perfection, and to top it all off she was kissed by an angel in the breast department. 

“I’m sorry. I left the country a few days after I saw you for your birthday celebration. I went to Germany to get married and I wasn’t coming back.” Her eyes go soft for a second as she looks down at her bare left ring finger and then back to you. “Clearly I didn’t do either of those things. I haven’t spoken to Joel and I just assumed our regular time slots still stood.”

Even without looking down, you know Joel hasn’t looked away. From the moment you met him, you’ve been able to feel his gaze on you. It’s one of the things you like so much about him, the way he looks at you. You feel warm and seen, and most importantly, safe in his gaze.

Tommy clears his throat gently and you glance his way. “Ending things with a sub is tricky. It has to be done in person. I know Joel better than anyone else, he ended things with everyone else. He’s gonna beat the shit out of me for this, but he’s crazy about you and he’s only ever looked at one other person the way he looks at you.”

“Tommy,” Jade's voice cracks as she says his name. “I think you should untie me so I can leave. I really am sorry, to all of you.”

You watch the two of them disappear back into the main area of the club before you finally allow yourself to look down at Joel. His eyes are big and soft, he looks so vulnerable. Is this real though? When you think about how easily he can slide on his dominant mask you aren’t sure what you can and can’t trust, and that’s really fucking horrible considering trust is the most important thing between a sub and dom. He could be lying, he gains blow jobs and doing whatever else he wants to your body by keeping this up. 

But what does Tommy gain from telling you what he just did? Tommy has no skin in the game here.

Joel  

His heart is flying wildly behind his chest, blood coursing through his ears. He never thought he was going to see Jade again. Neither of them talked about it really, but after that session that you walked in on she canceled the next one and told him she was moving to be with her fiance in Germany and was getting married. He continues to look up at you; the ever growing pinch in his neck be damned, he’s not looking away. Even at this angle you manage to take his breath away. It feels like hours have gone by when you finally speak.

“I thought it was only me,” it comes out as a whisper and immediately shatters the little bits that were left of his composure. 

“It is, sweet girl. I promise you it is.”

“I want to believe you,” your voice is so calm. He doesn’t deserve you being calm right now. Or does he? You came into this very methodical. Maybe these are just sub-dom transactions to you.

“What can I do?” He says hopefully. “I’ll do anything you need, sweet girl.”

You let out a shaky breath and he can see the wall building behind your eyes, that fun goofy girl who isn’t afraid to crack a joke is slowly locking herself away. He prepares himself for you to tell him this is over, or that you need time. He reminds himself that this was always going to end in heartbreak for him, so may as well get it over with now instead of when he’s fully in love with you, before he’s learned how those warm walls of your pussy feel against his cock. Because there really will be no coming back from that if that happens.

As he tightens the muscles in his core, physically preparing for the metaphorical blow to the gut he watches your long lashes flutter shut and when you open your eyes again the wall is gone. The shimmering pools of the eyes he’s enamored by are back and relief washes over him. 

“Nothing, Mister Miller,” your voice is saccharine sweet. “Trust is the most important thing between a sub and their dom. I can’t let my own anxiety ruin this, but I might just be a bit guarded until I’ve calmed all those thoughts.”

He whispers your name, biting back a groan as your hands meet his hair. “I’m so sorry that happened, baby girl.”

“I know. So am I. I shouldn’t have gotten jealous. It’s just…”

“No, you can be jealous. I told you one thing and -.”

You tug at the strands of his hair and shush him. “I’m not done,” your voice is stern. Joel isn’t used to hearing your tone like that and he suddenly feels his chest swelling with pride. This sweet bubbly person in front of him is morphing into a confident badass. That’s probably the exact tone you’ll use in boardrooms or courtrooms when other lawyers try to talk over you and he can only hope that one day he’ll get to witness that. “I shouldn’t have gotten jealous, but I really like the way I feel around you. It’s selfish of me, but I’d like to keep feeling like this for the few months I have left here before I leave for law school.”

Selfish. He lets that word wash over him. The most selfless person he’s ever known is worried about being selfish? No, he thinks, she deserves this. Hearing you say that you’re leaving makes him feel like his chest is caving in on itself. He’ll deal with the inevitable heartbreak when you leave him. He knows those rejection letters were hard on you, but he helped you to feel better and he’s going to hold on to that and give you that for as long as he possibly can. 

Your fingers release his hair and he watches you walk the few steps to where the rope Tommy untied for you lays on the floor. He licks his lips as you bend to pick it up, eyes trailing over the delicious curves of your ass. “It would be my pleasure, sweetheart.”

You turn, walking back towards where he’s kneeling and holding the ropes out to him you say, “Is the workshop over?”

He stands up, his fingers grazing yours as he takes the rope. Electricity tingles up his forearms at the feel of your soft skin. Your body is so close to his that he can feel your soft warmth radiating against him. You being at this proximity immediately put him at ease.

“No, there’s a bodysuit tutorial right now,” he says. You nod, stepping around him. Suddenly, Joel grabs your elbow to stop you, lowering his lips to your ear, and lowering his voice to that gravelly tone he knows you love, he rasps, “I should punish you for letting another dom untie what’s mine.”

You smirk up at him, “I’d like to see you try, Sweet Cheeks.”

You

Joel works silently around you and you lose yourself for a bit in the events that unfolded tonight. Joel has knelt in front of you before, but never like that. The sad, helpless look in his eyes, the slight slump of the shoulders. He was submitting to you, and when your fingers met his scalp, he leaned into your touch. The way his body melted at your touch was intoxicating. He wasn’t Mister Miller in that room tonight, he was Joel, and the dichotomy of this man is astounding. 

After about thirty minutes of Joel twisting, turning and pulling he has your upper half tied into a zigzagged bodysuit of rope. Joel steps in front of you and bends slightly to reach between your legs. When he brings the rope between your thighs and as he feeds it through the bottom of the chest piece, the seam of your leggings brushes against your clit. You jolt at the contact, your cheeks flushing crimson as Joel's eyes meet yours in a flash of onyx and honey. He begins shaping the bottom part of the bodysuit, bent in front of you the entire time and locking eyes with yours every time he tugs the ropes into place. 

You glance nervously around the room to see if anyone else is having the same reaction. You expected this night to be fun and silly, the way a date should be. And it was for a while, but now it’s taken a very erotic turn. The blush of your cheeks warms down your chest and neck as you hold off on what could be a very vocal orgasm in front of a room of people who you don’t necessarily want to witness it.

Joel finally finishes the body suit and moves to stand behind you, his patchy facial hair brushes the shell of your ear as he whispers, his voice full of gravel, “Hands behind your back, my sweet girl. We aren’t done.”

A shiver races up your spine and your arms fly back. “So eager,” Joel says softly, grazing his teeth along the lobe of your ear, adding gasoline to the small fire that’s been building between your thighs.  

You’re sure the arm restraints only take about three minutes to complete, but it feels like hours. The three knots that lay around your wrists, forearms, and biceps keep your posture nice and tall, and your breasts pushed up through the body suit. Once he’s finished, Joel spins you to face him, and that rope works its way in between the lips of your now absolutely soaked pussy. You squeeze your thighs together, the soft expression on his face only intensifying the growing ache. He’s such a fucking tease, you think, and now he’s looking at you as if you put the stars in the sky. Finally, his dark brown eyes settle on yours and he gives you a closed lip smile.

“What?” You ask breathlessly.

“I jus’ thought that I’d go all caveman seein’ you like this,” he steps into you, one hand cupping your cheek, the other tugging on the rope near your waist, which jiggles the rope that has you on edge. Joel’s voice lowers, this next part just for you to hear. “But you just look so beautiful.”

He tugs up on the rope and pleasure courses through you as you gasp quietly. He gives you that sexy smirk that makes that dimple carve into his cheek. 

Yep, he’s a fucking tease. The little box says, confirming your thoughts. 

“You like that, sweet girl?”

He tugs again and your forehead falls to his chest. “Please, Mister Miller,” you whisper into his expensive cotton t-shirt. 

Starr interrupts the two of you, but you can’t peel yourself away from Joel right now. The slightest move of that rope might make you explode. “Well, based on that reaction I’d say you tied it just right, Joel.”

“Thank you for coming, Starr. I’m sure we’ll host one of these again soon. Tommy is by the bar, he can help you kick everyone out.”

“Joel,” she says, a slight hint of amusement in her now hushed voice. “Your rope bunny is on the verge of having an orgasm, go.”

With that he hoists you over his shoulder and walks towards the door that leads to the private rooms. “Fuckfuck, I’m gonna -” you whisper into his broad back and squeeze your thighs tighter as Joel walks. 

The second the door shuts, separating you from the others Joel puts you on your feet and jiggles the rope around your waist. “Come, baby.”

You fall into him for support, his other arm wrapping around you to hold you up as stars blur your vision. “That feel good, my little rope bunny?” 

“Yes - oh god, yes.” Your arms pull at the ropes restraining them behind your back and you can’t hold it anymore. Your orgasm practically slams through you as you gasp and moan into Joel's broad chest. “Fuck, Mister Miller.”

 “You’re so beautiful when you let go for me. I’ll never get sick of watching you like this.” He continues to work the rope as your high crests and your legs start to go weak and boneless below you.

“I can’t…p-please Mis - Fuck.” Joel lifts your lax and quivering body over his shoulder again and makes his way to his room, placing you at the foot of the bed, spinning you and pushing between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the mattress.

“Spread your legs,” he commands and you listen, moving your feet to be shoulder width apart. He wraps two cuffs around your ankles, and attaches them to the bottom of the bed posts before doing the same to the ropes around your arms. You’re trapped, stuck bent over the end of the bed and even though you’re fully clothed under all of these ropes, this is easily the hottest thing you’ve ever done. “Fuck me. How are you so goddamn sexy even when you’re fully clothed.”

You hear Joel’s footsteps around the room, gathering whatever he has decided to use on you tonight before you can feel him behind you. “Sweet girl, I do believe I read that you would be interested in sensory deprivation. Is that correct?” 

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you hum.

“Do I have your consent to blindfold you and then have you listen to music in noise canceling headphones?”

Fire erupts in your stomach, your core pulsing at the thought of him doing whatever he wants to you. “Yes, Mister Miller.”

A silky black blind fold slips over your head, Joel's large body covering your back. “What’s your safeword?” he growls, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. 

“Stegosaurus.” Just once you’d like that to not leave your lips in the whiny, desperate tone it does when he asks you that question. 

“Good girl,” he praises before the plush headphones cover your ears. All you see is black, all you hear is soft decorative piano music, and all you feel is the warmth of Joel over your buzzing skin. There’s not a single thought in your mind, everything is silent. This is what you need and you start to worry that you’ll become addicted to the way Joel makes you feel everything while thinking nothing. 

The warmth of his body disappears from you and you whimper at the loss. Your eyes clench closed as if that will help you be able to find him. A thin, pulsing vibrator hits the back of your thigh and you jump. Joel's large hands rubs your opposite hip and every muscle relaxes under his touch. The vibrator pulses softly as he moves it up your thigh, tickling along your hip, and then down the other leg. You can’t hear the sounds that you’re making but you’re sure they’re desperate, needy gasps.

After teasing your arms Joel slips something small and hard between your body and the rope that’s been torturously teasing at your clit before you feel him pull away. You adjust so your forehead is resting on the mattress before it dips with the weight of him sitting beside your head. His warm fingers wrap around your neck and he kneads the muscles.

“Mmmm, thank you Mister Miller,” you hum. 

Whatever Joel slipped against your clit comes to life, a dull vibration that is sure to be your undoing has you attempting to arch your back, but you can’t move. Your breathing quickens, short little puffs of air passing your lips. 

“I’m gonna come,” you murmur quietly, or at least you think it’s quiet since you can’t hear yourself or anything else. Joel’s strong fingers continue the delicious swirling patterns up and down the sides of your neck as you begin to shake. “Oh god - I’m so close!”

Just as you’re about to slam head first into another orgasm the vibrating stops and Joel’s fingers disappear from your skin. “No,” and this time you know it wasn’t a whisper or a whimper.

The mattress jostles and then you feel Joel behind you again. A hand comes to one of yours, coaxing it out of the fist you’ve apparently clenched before doing the same to the other. The vibrating starts stronger this time and both his hands come to yours, his thumbs massaging at your palms. It doesn’t take long this time before you’re right on that edge again.

“Fuck, Mister Miller. Puh-please don’t stop!” Your legs start the familiar shake that happens right when you’re about to tip over the edge and he doesn’t follow your wishes. The hand massage stops, quickly followed by the vibrator being switched off. You groan in frustration and he lays a quick, sharp spank over your legging clad right ass cheek. “Hnnng - sorry.”

You can’t be certain, but based on the warm puffs hitting your core you’re pretty sure he’s knelt down behind you. The vibrator comes to life again, stronger than the last two times and his hands work at massaging the muscles along the back of your thighs. This is torture; wonderful euphoric torture and as much as you want it end, you also don’t ever want him to stop making you feel this way. 

You let your eyes flutter open behind the blindfold, it’s still just as dark but you see that little pink sparkly box. The one that’s overflowing with emotion for Joel. You should push it back into the shadows or light it on fire, but instead you let it come out of the shadows completely. You see your hands reaching for the lid just as the white hot pleasure in your core gets close to the breaking point.

“Please please…Mister Miller - fuck!” You whimper and whine as it begins to burn hotter and then it’s gone and it feels like the air is being sucked forcefully out of your lungs. 

“Nonono, I can’t. Please, I need you..” Joel's large body is across your back in a second. The hard bulge in pants pressing against your ass and the memory of how good he felt and tasted in your mouth the last time has saliva pooling under your tongue. You swallow hard as one of the padded ear pieces is lifted from your ear.

Joel’s voice is deep and gruff as he says, “What do you need, my sweet girl?”

The little box of feelings vibrates at him calling you his and you kick it back into the shadows. “I need to come, Mister Miller.”

“That right? How bad?” He says teasingly before placing a feather light kiss on that sensitive spot right below your ear.

“So bad. Please, it hurts, Mister Miller.” You are pouting into the fluffy sheets, a completely whiny mess, and you realize that you’re always a mess for him. Be it a horny or depraved one, a whiny or a pouty one, he doesn’t care and if anything you think he likes it that way, likes you that way. “I want to hear you. I miss your dirty talk, please, baby!”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I should spank you until you can’t sit tomorrow for calling me anything but Mister Miller. You know that, right?” 

“I can’t think straight. I’m sorry, just please. Please!”

He whips the headphones off of you and the vibrator hits at an intensity you have never felt before. Your pornographic scream fills the room. His large body above yours intensifies everything that was already killing you.

“That what you need, huh?”

You cry out and try to say yes but you’re sure it’s all just an incoherent mix of sounds at this point. 

“God damn, baby girl. You should see yourself right now. All tied up in knots that I made. The way your leggings hug the curves of your hips and soft, creamy thighs. You’re going to be the death of me one day.”

Tears start to flow behind your blindfold as the pleasure almost becomes too much, you haven’t come yet, and at this point you aren’t sure if you’ll survive it if you do. You have half a mind to ask Joel if an orgasm can physically split you in two because that is how you feel right now. 

“I’m - oh god - I’m…” You try to form the words but you can’t. 

One of Joel’s hands slips between his front and your tied up arms, his hand wrapping tightly around yours. His lips come to your ear as whispers. “I got you, sweet girl, just let go for me.”

“Need to see you,” you say between gasps of air and the pleasure begins to burn in your. 

Joel peels the blind fold off. You blink him into focus, his warm eyes searching your face. “Let go, you’re ok.”

As per usual, it’s his words that seem to be that final push and you let your orgasm consume you. It starts as a cold spark, a shiver up your spine and then heat flushes through every since cell in your body. You moan and writhe beneath Joel who whispers your praises like a prayer. Talking you through the intensity of the feeling. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you’re sure your panties, leggings and the rope are ruined.

“I can’t!” You gasp and Joel slows the vibration to help you ride out the decresendo of your orgasm. As the jolts of your body slow, he follows suit; the vibrator going to a dull blip and eventually nothing. Joel's thumb traces soothing patterns on the hand he’s still holding between your bodies. You take a deep and shaky breath, trying to calm your racing heart. 

“Are you ok, angel?” he asks quietly and goosebumps somehow spread along your too hot body.

“Better than ok,” you say with a small smile.

Joel’s lips meet yours, soft and pliant and so full of passion. Your eyes shut as you part your lips for him and when your tongue strokes gently against his he lets out a small whimper that causes your pulse to leap. Mentally, you grab a bigger box, stuffing it with the realization that you’re falling for this man. But you will deal with that later, right now you just need to let yourself have something that is for, well… yourself.

Joel 

He breaks the kiss, even though he doesn’t want to. Even though he knows that by breaking this kiss it’s only going to mean you going home sooner.  “I need to get you out of these ropes and get some sugar into you.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence as his nimble fingers work to undo your restraints, then the intricate knots that bind your arms, and lastly the bodysuit. He really did think you looked stunning all tied up. He didn’t plan for this night to go the way it did, but when he saw the slight flush of your cheeks and the way your eyes glazed over he couldn’t resist giving you what he knew you needed. He stays close, one hand protectively on your hip as you crawl onto the bed. Once he has you seated, he pulls a fuzzy grey blanket out from a basket beside the night stand and then opens the small fridge to grab you an orange juice and water.

He cracks the top of the orange juice. “Drink this for me, please.”

He watches your eyes do a quick half roll but you don’t fight him, fingers just barely grazing his as you take the juice from him. “I had fun tonight,” you say between sips as he walks to grab the coconut oil. 

Joel stands beside you. “So did I, sweetheart. Arm, please.”

You take the orange juice in your left hand and give him your right. Both of you watch as he puts oil on the few pink marks the ropes left behind. “Do you think I should change my safeword?”

He lifts one eyebrow at you and as he tends to your other arm says, “Why do you ask that.”

“I don’t know. It’s just…well, originally that little dinosaur on your coffee maker seemed so out of place. It intrigued me. Your home is beautiful, but the parts you let people see don’t give away any hints about you, except for that little dinosaur. But now that I know the whole story, it just seems too special of an item to be tied to what we do.”

“I don’t think we need to change it. You’re right, that little stegosaurus is special to me.” He sits sideways on the bed, grabbing the empty orange juice container and handing you the water. His jaw flexes once before he continues, “But so are you. I love that you felt a connection to that part of me. Ultimately, it’s your safe word, sweet girl, so you can make it anything you want, but I think it’s perfect for us.”

The soft look in your eyes as he speaks is almost enough to kill him, and when your lips twitch up ever so slightly at his words he knows he’s done for. He shouldn’t fall for you, especially since he’s sure there’s no way you’d ever feel the same way, but he can’t not fall for you.

Your name passes his lips with a nervous tremble, because he knows that what he’s about to say next is going to be his undoing. If you say yes to this next thing, if he continues spending actual time with you, he’s done.

“Ya?” you say before sucking your bottom lip through your teeth.

“Friday night is the five year anniversary party for the club. It’s a black tie event for all the VIP guests. Would you like to accompany me?”

He watches as your eyes land on your lap, your lips pressing together as if to suppress a smile. When your gaze floats back up to his, your eyes give you away. Try as you might to hide your expressions with him; he'll always know when you’re happy based on the glitter of your eyes.

“I’d really like that, Mister Miller.”

His forehead meets yours. “This might be a Sweet Cheeks moment.”

Thank you soooo much for reading! Remember to follow @mountainsandmayhem-updates for future chapters xo.

Next Chapter

[punkshort]

Don't Give Up On Me

Pairing: Harry Castillo x f!reader (materialists)

Summary: Should you give up on the man you love when he disappoints you, or do you give him another chance?

Warnings: language, tons of angst, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, hurt/comfort, making men beg and cry

WC: idk I wrote it on my phone - maybe 2K?

A/N: sorry if this is premature. I can't help it. If we got his name wrong I'll just go back and fix it later okay byeeee

Tears that have been burning the backs of your eyes for the last two hours finally threaten to spill down your cheeks now that you're in the privacy of his town car.

Harry sits next to you, still talking on his phone like he has been all night while his driver takes you back to his penthouse. It's nestled in the heart of the city with a breathtaking view, but it's the very last place you want to be right now because you know what you'll have to do once you get there.

You're going to end things, once and for all.

It's been on your mind for a while, but you always talk yourself out of it. You make excuses for him, cover for him, and lie to him when you say it doesn't matter, but it does. It really fucking does.

You know he's a busy man. You've always known this. But foolishly, some part of you believed he would change. That after countless fights, he would eventually understand what's important to you, and it wasn't his money or his things — it was him.

All you ever want is for him to just be there when it counts, and he almost always lets you down. But tonight? Tonight was special. He knew it, too. You told him for weeks how excited you were to receive this award for all the hard work at your firm.

When it came time to accept it and give your speech in front of three hundred people, you excitedly climbed to the stage to take your prize. Your eyes swept around the room, searching for the only person you wanted to see, and your heart sunk when you realized he had stepped out of the room to take a work call.

Again.

It was in that moment you decided you wouldn't put up with it again.

The car stops in the usual spot outside his building. The driver opens your door and you slip out with a tight smile. Harry's right behind you, wrapping up his call, but you ignore him. You charge into the lobby and stab at the call button for the elevator. If he notices your anger, he doesn't let on. He laughs to whoever is on the other end while you adjust the strap of your dress with a huff.

Once the elevator arrives, he finally hangs up. You step inside and he presses in the code for the penthouse on the keypad, then the car smoothly lifts. You stare at the screen above the door while Harry scrolls on his phone, still completely unaware when he asks, "What's your boss's name again?"

You clench your jaw and fight back tears before you answer him. He grunts.

"Thought so. Went to Yale with him. Never liked the guy."

Your award feels so much heavier in your hand now. Like it's trying to pull you back down to the lobby and stop you from doing what you need to do. But you adjust it and lift your chin a little higher — you need to do this.

The doors slide open to Harry's massive, extravagant living room. You step out and walk right past it all — past the ornate kitchen, the priceless art, the expensive marble — through the long, perfectly decorated hallway to his bedroom.

You go right to the closet and grab an empty gym bag, tossing your award inside. You hear him somewhere in the room removing his watch, cufflinks and ring while you stuff your bag with whatever clothes you can think of. It's only when you exit the closet and storm into the bathroom that he notices something is wrong.

"What are you doing?"

You sniffle and sweep your toiletries off the counter, tossing them directly into your bag.

"I'm leaving."

Your voice is a little shaky but it sounds better than you expect. He watches you from the doorway as you move erratically around the room collecting your belongings.

"Wh— why?" he finally asks. You're grabbing your things from the shower when you hear it. He sounds sad, and maybe if it were any other day, you would have felt bad. But that day? That day, it just pisses you off.

You whirl back around and drop your bag on the floor to pin him with a glare. He's in the doorway still wearing the clothes from tonight: pressed black pants and a crisp white shirt, although now the collar is undone and his tie is abandoned somewhere in his bedroom.

"Why?" you repeat. Your tone is so icy, you hardly recognize it. "You — weren't — fucking — there!"

On the last word, you step forward and shove him. He stumbles backwards a bit, but only from shock.

"Baby—"

You shake your head and lean down grab your bag.

"Don't," is all you say when you brush past him. You throw the bag on your bed, half the contents spilling out, but you don't care. You're shaking like a leaf when you round the bed to your side and begin to grab your things from the nightstand.

"I'm sorry," he says softly from the other side of the room. You ignore him and keep working. "It was important. I told you—"

"And this was important to me!"

You snap your head up to yell at him with tears streaming down your face. His expression falls and he reaches out, but you take a step back.

"You're right. I'm — I'm sorry. I'll do better, I prom—"

"No! I'm done! I'm tired of having the same fights with you. I was so fucking stupid to think you'd ever choose me over... over all this."

You gesture broadly around his room but you mean his penthouse in general. He gets it. It's not the first time you've fought over this.

He watches you quietly while you continue to pack with shaky hands. When you're nearly done, he speaks again.

"I do want you," he says, "more than all this. I just — I want to make sure we're comfortable. I want to make sure we have enough so you never have to work again—"

"But I like working! I love what I do! I've never wanted to quit, I've never wanted anything from you... not your money or your cars or your clothes. I just..."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

"I only ever wanted you," you mumble.

You bury your face in your hands as he crosses the room. You feel him standing in front of you and you know deep down, you're done for.

But still, you try.

"You have me," he says. His hands gently slide up and down your arms, but you keep your face hidden in your palms. "It won't always be like this. It's the busy season, that's all. It's... it's temporary. And then we can do whatever you want. We can go to Paris or Italy or Bora Bora... anywhere. It's up to you."

He takes another step closer and carefully plants a kiss to the top of your head. And you fucking let him.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he breathes. Your hands drop to your sides. "I should've been there, you're absolutely right. I'll never do something like that again, you have my word."

You sigh and finally tip your chin up to look him in the eye. It's kind of not fair how handsome he is on top of everything else: a thick head of wavy dark hair, gorgeous brown eyes, a greying beard he's self-conscious about but you find absolutely endearing. If there was one man on the planet who had it all, it's Harry Castillo.

He gives you a small smile and pinches your chin between his fingers when he sees your resolve crumbling.

"Can I make it up to you?" he asks.

You take a deep breath and try to scrape together what dignity you have left.

"No," you reply. His smile falters but otherwise he doesn't move. You take a step back but it's not far enough.

"I told you. I'm done."

Right when you go to turn and pick up your bag, he drops to his knees and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Please," he begs, gazing up at you from the floor. Your eyes widen with shock at this man who is quite literally worth billions falling to his knees, pleading with you to stay. "Don't go. I'll do anything. Please, I-I can't — I won't be —"

"Harry—"

"Please," he says again, urgently. You see his throat bob and his eyes fill with tears. "I'll do whatever you want. I-I just— I don't think I can do this—"

He swallows and presses his face against your stomach. His eyes slide closed and he breathes in deep while you're still struggling to catch up.

"I'll do anything," he whispers, but this time, his hands tighten around your waist. His jaw falls open and he mouths at your middle while a tear sneaks down his cheek.

It shouldn't affect you. You should push him away, take your bag, and go. Instead, you find yourself leaning forward into his hold.

"Harry..."

Your voice holds no conviction. His hands begin to move. They slide down your legs and push up the hem of your dress. He leaves feverish open mouthed kisses across your clothed stomach and over your hips. Your eyes fall shut and you gasp when his palms slide up your bare legs, pushing up the fabric of your dress until his fingers grab hold of your ass and he gives you a rough squeeze.

"Please," he's murmuring, over and over. Your jaw is slack and you give in. You just fucking give in when he pulls down on your panties until they drop to the floor. With shaky legs, you step out of them and crack open an eye when he tosses the lace over his shoulder.

You're weak. You know that. But you really thought this time was the last straw. Instead, he somehow has you underneath him once again. Your dress is in a sad little pile on the floor, along with his pants. His tongue is dancing hungrily with yours as you push his shirt over his shoulders.

You know you should have stood your ground, but you also know he's hurt. He's so broken and you want to fix him. You want to be the one who shows him what it's like — what it could be like. You want to prove that love can heal old wounds and can be beautiful, if you let it.

He groans when he first enters you. It's low and deep and it makes you gasp. His teeth graze your jaw and he whispers everything you want to hear: that he loves you, that he would do anything for you, that he's sorry. You let those words fill you up and mend the wounds he caused, just like all the other times before.

"Never again, okay?"

You nod and wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders. You say his name with a breathy moan and his hips flex faster, deeper.

"I can be good for you. I— I — fuck—"

He pushes your knees to your chest and you cry out. The angle is so much more intense. It has you clawing at the sheets and mumbling unintelligible curses under your breath as he splits you open, reminding you just how good it can be.

"I won't hurt you ever again," he babbles. Your chest aches. Your eyes water. He keeps fucking you so deep that it has you making noises you never heard yourself make before.

"I don't think — don't think I can d-do this without — you," he groans into your neck. Your nails scrape down his back. You throw your head backwards into the sheets and let him do what he does best: make you feel good and forget all the pain.

His mouth finds your jaw, then your cheek, and finally your lips. You moan and his tongue slips inside, licking past your teeth. He's so close. Your bodies practically melt together as one with each steady rock of his hips.

"Feels good, right?" he groans into your mouth. You nod and gasp when the muscles in your stomach begin to pull.

"Yes," you whine, all earlier anger forgotten.

"Yeah, I know," he coos. His hips snap faster, cock plunging deeper until the room is filled with your helpless moans and the sounds of your soaked pussy gushing all around him. He makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat when you clench tightly around his thick cock.

"Gonna come for me?" he asks. You whimper, cheeks blazing hot and body slick with sweat. He chuckles breathlessly and continues to drive himself into you, over and over. "Yeah, c'mon, it's alright. I wanna feel it — I need to feel it. C'mon, baby, just—"

Before he can finish his sentence, your muscles spasm and you scream out his name. A litany of curses falls from your lips as you pulse around his painfully hard length. He grinds his teeth and keeps fucking you through it until your body goes limp and you melt into the silk sheets.

His arms circle around you and he really begins to fuck you — hard. Each thrust is paired with a deep grunt until his cock swells and he comes inside you with a loud, strangled groan.

He collapses on top of you in relief. He occasionally jolts forward, giving you more of his release with each weak roll of his hips until he's spent. His head falls to your chest and he closes his eyes to catch his breath. Your fingers come up to gently rake through his hair and you lay just like that, silent and panting for air while his cock softens inside of you.

"I mean it," he rasps. You peel your eyes open and stare at the ceiling. He presses a soft kiss in the spot between your breasts when he says, "I'll be better. I won't fuck up again. Please, just — just don't give up on me."

Your arms coil around his neck and you hold him close as tears fill your eyes, now for an entirely different reason. You know he's been hurt before. Know what he went through and how badly she broke his heart.

But to his credit, he didn't give up. He kept searching for love, despite it all.

Nobody's perfect. You're far from it. But you know Harry has a good heart. He just needs a little extra care to heal it.

"Okay," you whisper.

You feel his grateful, hot tears pool silently against your chest and you hold him a little tighter.

Everyone makes mistakes, you think. Even the ones who love you the most.

It'll take time. It might hurt. But you'll keep trying. Because what happened wasn't his fault, and you both deserve to have a happy ending.

Some people just have to work a little harder for it.

[millers-girl]

all that matters

chapter 1 of willow & whiskey

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: two strangers are tasked with smuggling you and Ellie to the old state house – things don't go exactly as planned...

warnings/tags: age gap, adult language, blood and violence, mentions of loss/trauma

word count: 3.1k

series masterlist

You were seven years old when the world ended.

Thirteen when you lost your mom.

And now, at the ripe age of twenty-seven, you were dealing with the post-apocalyptic world the only way you knew how – by taking care of the one person whose sole survival depended on you.

Every moment of Ellie's life had been etched into your memory, from the day she was born. She was, decidedly, the most important thing in your life. She was why you kept going. Because at the end of the day, when she was born, you were all she had – and she was all you had.

And, sure, Marlene was around—whenever it was convenient for her—, but you were the one who took care of Ellie; you were her family. There was a weight in that responsibility, one that sometimes left you wondering if you were doing enough.

Life in the Boston QZ was tough. You'd traded as much as you could within the QZ. So, sometimes taking care of Ellie sneaking out to trade with nomads or other groups from other QZs nearby. 

You were lucky you had your "shining personality" in your arsenal – people often found it refreshing in the cold world you currently lived in. Seeing how warm and welcoming you were made you pleasant to trade with; made others want to trade with you.

More importantly, it reminded you that kindness still had value in this cold, new world.

Because you were gone so often, you had made the executive decision (much to Ellie's chagrin) that she'd be better off attending FEDRA school. It wasn't an ideal scenario but they could look after her when you weren't there; it was how you two survived.

And then, three weeks ago, everything changed.

You'd snuck Ellie out of school for a night at your apartment when she showed you the bite mark. She said it was four days old. You'd never heard of anyone surviving that long after being bitten.

Still, you had your theories. You were old enough to remember Ellie's birth. Remember her mother being bitten moments before giving birth. Remember how, with her dying breath, she begged you to promise to take care of Ellie. And, now that you were older, you thought maybe something about that could've been the cause of Ellie's supposed "immunity."

But there was only one way to prove it: this was a waiting game.

So, that'd what you did. For an entire week, you huddled with Ellie in the cramped safety of your apartment, watching over her. And, nothing happened. Hell, if anything, the broken skin at the site of the mark started to scab over and heal.

By the end of the week, when you'd run out of food, you took Ellie and followed the graffitied signs in the city straight to the Fireflies. To Marlene.

Standing before you, you found yourself more tired than angry as you said, "I've never asked you for anything." The words tasted bitter on your tongue. "And you've been great at delivering, but I need you to step up now. Ellie, show her your arm."

And so, you explained everything to Marlene. Not shockingly, the Firefly leader believed you immediately. Of course she did. The Fireflies were fanatics for a cure. That's how you knew it'd be smart to bring Ellie here, to place her at the center for their desperate hope. Because now that a supposed cure was staring her in the face, how could Marlene possibly deny you anything?

For good measure, she kept you and Ellie in a room for the next few days, just to confirm the theory. She saw it for herself, the skin healing more and more by the day. No behavioral or physical changes in Ellie. She really was immune.

By the end of the second week, Marlene told you about a Firefly base out west, in Colorado, where scientists were working on a cure. She'd gotten in contact with them, over the radio, and from the little information they received, they were sure a few vials of Ellie's blood would do the trick.

The confidence in her voice was contagious, even if a part of you trembled at the thought of the leap of faith. You and Ellie were about to step into unknown territory.

Waiting in a dim room for a group of Fireflies to escort you and Ellie out west, you barely had time to contemplate the quiet before the storm – until you heard shouting in the hall, followed by Ellie's distinct voice.

Instinct kicked in.

Muscles tensing, you quickly grabbed your gun and cocked it. Throwing open the door, you saw Ellie on the ground with a man towering over her, his back to you. Ellie tried to reach for her switchblade, but his boot nailed it to the ground. He stood tall and tense, his grip on his gun unyielding, the barrel pointed directly at her.

A surge of protective anger flooded you as you rushed out of the room and pressed your own gun to the back of his head. "Drop it," you commanded in a low, threatening tone. Your voice shocked even you but you were damned if someone was about to hurt Ellie.

In an instant, another figure—this time a woman—was hurling herself at you. The impact sent you crashing against the ground, your gun clattering a few feet away. Lying there, breath stolen by the blow, you stared up at the ceiling, exhaustion catching up to you.

As you sat up, rubbing your bruised side, you caught sight of Marlene calmly breaking up the fight. Her steady gaze met yours, informing you that the two strangers were not foes.

Would've been good to know before I attacked them, you thought.

You visibly relaxed your shoulders but scoffed, "What the fuck, lady? You just go around tackling people like this is a game of college football?" Even as you cursed, the full throb in your side remind you of your own vulnerability – you would most definitely be bruised tomorrow.

From a few yards away, Marlene conversed with the man, her tone pragmatic. "Look, Joel, we were gonna move Ellie out of the zone tonight. But we won't make it anywhere like this. Not for a while anyway. So now I'm thinking, you and Tess are gonna do it."

At the mention, your body instinctively moved between Ellie and the newcomers. Over your shoulder, Ellie declared, "I'm not going with him!"

Simultaneously, the man, Joel, scoffed, "The hell we are." His tone was curt.

"What happened to the plan?" You demanded, eyes locked with Marlene's. "You were going to take us." 

Marlene's hand dropped from her abdomen, and you could see blood seeping through her tank. She'd been hit.

"Shit, forget I asked," you muttered, the resignation in your voice mingling with a simmering frustration. You exhaled slowly, taking in your options. "You two planning on rugby-tackling anyone else to the ground? Or pointing your gun at the people you're supposed to be smuggling – "

"She attacked me first," Joel defended with a low growl.

"She's a kid," you shot back, before turning back to Marlene with a shake of your head. "This is really the best option?" 

Marlene silently nodded. 

The woman – Tess – spoke up, surprising you with how calm she sounded. "We'll take her. We'll take them." Joel's eyes flickered with disbelief. "We need the battery," she tried.

"We'll find another one," he responded coldly.

Marlene cut in. "Take them to the old State House and my team there will give you all of it. Not just the battery – a fueled-up truck, guns, supplies. I swear." 

A nudge from Tess and a defeated sigh from Joel sealed the deal. "Okay, here's the deal. We'll get them to your crew at the State House. But before we hand them over, your people give us everything that we want. If not, we kill her, there and then."

Marlene nodded once more. "Deal."

Your stomach twisted, a knot of anxiety forming within you. "Really? That fast?" you mused bitterly.

Marlene's tone softened, almost gently, as she said, "You two are all that matter. Ellie is all that matters." It was a reassurance you'd heard before, yet it never failed to convince you. "My team will not jeopardize that. I promise."

After a moment of weighted silence, you finally nodded. It wasn't like you had many options. Turning to Ellie, you said, "Go get your pack." Ellie looked up at you, disbelief etched on her face. "Now, Ellie." She stomped off into the room to do as you asked. Meanwhile, you grabbed your own, lost in thought of the worry that was likely to come from this arrangement.

You snatched Ellie's switchblade off the ground, handing it over to her when she came to stand beside you. 

"Are we seriously going to stroll out of here with two people we met five minutes ago? One who had a gun in my face and the other who attacked you?" she asked, her tone half-accusing, half-resistant.

Gently, you squeezed her shoulders. "It's just to the State House," you reassured her. "Then, we'll never have to see their faces again. And, in the meantime, keep your blade close. Don't let them try anything." 

Ellie nodded sharply, determination in her eyes that made you wish you could shield her even more fiercely from the world outside.

"Let's go," Tess instructed, leading the way.

As you followed behind Ellie, you couldn't help but glance back at Marlene. The older woman gave you a soft nod, a silent promise that somehow, everything would be okay. You weren't so sure.

As you made your way through back alleys and darkened corridors, you made sure to keep your body between Ellie and the strangers in front of you. Every step was measured, every glance filled with protective vigilance. Marlene may have trusted them, but that wasn't a luxury you could afford right now.

At Joel's apartment—a brief, safe haven before the next leg of your journey—you and Ellie walked in first, leaving Joel and Tess to exchange a few private words in the hall. When Joel finally entered and closed the door behind him, Ellie had already gone snooping.

She found an old, thick book titled Number 1 Music Hits, and was rifling through it to stave off boredom. A piece of paper slipped out, with some sort of cryptic code scrawled on it.

Bill/Frank 60 — NOTHING IN 70 — NEW STOCK 80 — X

Meanwhile, you sank into the large chair in the corner of the living room, pulling a worn book out of your pack.

As Joel set his pack beside the couch, Ellie broke the silence. "So, who's Bill and Frank?" Her voice was light and curious, cutting through the quiet.

You hummed softly, glancing up. "What's that, bub?" you asked, tone affectionate.

It took Joel by surprise. It'd been a long time since he last heard someone speak with such tenderness, let alone publicly.

Ellie shook her head. "I'm asking Joel. The radio's a smuggling code, right? 60s song, they don't have anything new. 70s, they got new stuff. What's 80s?"

Joel stood up from the couch, snatching the book out of Ellie's hands and tossing it on the table with a decisive thud. He then sprawled out on the couch, stretching across its length and closing his eyes.

Ellie frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Killin' time," he replied curtly.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?" Ellie snapped back.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," Joel responded, tossing an arm over his eyes to shield out the light.

You rolled your eyes, easing the tension with a suggestion and a warm smile. "Come here, trouble. I stole a board game from the Firefly camp for us to play. Might as well break it out."

As Ellie moved toward you, she muttered, "Your watch is broken," to Joel, who only ignored her and turned away to catch some shuteye.

While he slept, you and Ellie played a board game called Pandemic, a grimly appropriate choice that somehow lightened the mood. The sound of Joel mumbling in his sleep broke your quiet, light conversation a few times. Eventually, even Ellie settled down and rested her head in your lap as you leaned back against the old chair. You absentmindedly ran your fingers through her hair, humming a lullaby your mother used to sing to you.

When the rain pounded on the window and the room darkened, Ellie's voice broke through the silence. "I'm scared to go past the wall," she confessed, her words barely audible.

"Why?" you gently asked, the worry in her tone striking a chord deep within you.

She shrugged, picking at the lint on her jacket sleeve. "Do you think Joel and Tess go out there a lot? Like, more than you? When do you think they last went out?"

From the couch came Joel's gruff reply, "Maybe a year." Both you and Ellie looked up to see him awake now, sitting up on the sofa. "What's it matter?" he added.

Ellie sat up as well. "But you know where to go? So we're gonna be okay?"

You noticed how Joel took in Ellie's nervous demeanor. "Yeah," he said, sounding surprisingly comforting. "We'll be fine."

Still, you squeezed Ellie's arm in reassurance. "And if we aren't, at least we're faster than them two. We'll just outrun them." Your words were meant to comfort—and they did, Ellie was giggling—but you only found a familiar knot forming in your stomach at the unknown ahead of you.

In truth, you usually traveled south of the QZ; trips east to the State House were rare and always fraught with uncertainty. It scared you not being sure about what to expect, but you wouldn't let Ellie see that. And, maybe something about the confident in Joel's voice made you believe him, too.

"So, what's the deal with you two anyway?" Joel asked when Ellie left to go to the bathroom, leaving you alone for a moment. "You some bigwig's daughters or somethin'?"

You shrugged lightly. "Something like that."

You returned to your spot in the large, comfy chair in the corner, flipping your book open again.

Joel glanced at the title. "What are you readin'?" he inquired.

"Just some book about hobbits and a ring," you answered nonchalantly, a small smile playing at your lips.

Joel rolled his eyes, unimpressed. You were sure that was as much of a reaction as you were going to get out of him, at least for now.

When Ellie returned, she squished beside you on the seat, and said to Joel, "Oh, by the way, the radio came on while you were sleeping."

Joel instantly sat up straighter. "What? What was the song?" he demanded.

Ellie shrugged, playing it cool while you struggled to suppress your grin. "He kept saying something like 'wake me up before you go-go'?"

Joel groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Shit."

Ellie's smile widened mischievously. "Gotcha." Joel immediately looked up at her. "80s means trouble. Code broken," she teased.

Before he could respond, Tess entered the apartment. "The spot under Lancaster looks good. You got jackets in your packs?" You nodded. "Okay, get them. It's time to go."

With you following right behind Ellie, Tess led the way into the underground tunnel system. When the four of you emerged above ground again, you found yourselves outside the QZ.

You managed to take the left edge around the buffer zone with relative ease, keeping Ellie close. That is, until you happened upon a FEDRA guard. It seemed that even though he knew Joel and Tess, he wasn't cutting them any slack this time.

"Turn around. Get on your fuckin' knees," he barked.

Joel tried to calm the situation. "Now, hold on — "

But the guard was relentless. "What'd I fuckin' tell you, man? Get on your knees!"

Tess groaned and stepped forward to try a different approach as the four of you sank to your knees. "Look, you let us do this run, and we'll split the cards with you."

The guard ignored her, his focus on compliance. "Hands on your head. Eyes forward."

From the corner of your eye, you watched the guard methodically place a virus detector against Tess's neck. "Really, man?" she muttered.

"Yup, we're doing this by the book."

"Jesus Christ."

You didn't have to look over at Ellie to notice how her demeanor completely changed then. You could feel her anxiety radiating. Even your heart was pounding faster with each passing second as you thought of what would happen when the guard got to scan Ellie. You had to think fast.

The moment he passed by you and made it to the youngest member of your group, you drew the knife you kept in your side pocket and forcefully thrust it into his thigh, dragging it sharply to create a wide, searing wound.

The guard staggered back, groaning loudly as he yanked the knife out. "Fuckin' bitch," he snarled, pulling his gun up to point it right at you. You shoved Ellie behind you and, to your surprise, found Joel's broad shoulders in front of you as he shielded your body from the raised gun.

"Hey, hey. Stop!" he tried to reason.

"Get out of the fuckin' way!" The guard demanded.

"We can fix this," Joel tried again, tone desperate yet resolute.

"Move."

Without hesitating, Joel lunged forward, knocking the guard down and climbing on top of him on the ground, beating him with his bare hands until blood seeped from his knuckles.

Meanwhile, Ellie was frantically tugging at your sleeve, her eyes wide as she pleaded with Tess. "Tell her I'm not sick! I'm not! I am not sick!" She cried, the fear in her voice pulling you out of the trance of watching Joel.

"Joel!" Tess called out, holding the virus detector up to him. The red screen glowed vibrantly against the dark of the night.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you stepped sharply in front of Ellie, snatching your gun from where you'd dropped it. With shaking hands and a fierce determination, you pointed it toward Joel and Tess. Ellie stood behind you, hand clutching the back of your jacket.

"She's not sick," you insisted, voice unsteady despite the resolve in your chest.

Joel's gaze was fixed on the guard, as if he were in a trance, but Tess met your eyes, unconvinced.

"I'm not!" Ellie repeated, pulling up her sleeve to show Tess the healing bite. "Look! This is three weeks old! Nobody lasts more than a day. Does this look a day old to you?"

Tess reached out to grasp Ellie's forearm, inspecting the mark with precision. "When did it happen?" she asked, her voice tight.

"Is right now really the best time to talk about this?" You snapped, eyes darting around the area. "They're gonna catch us if we don't run!"

As if on queue, a siren wailed in the distance, the sound slicing through the heavy rain. "We gotta go – fucking now!"

Without a second thought, you tugged Ellie along, breaking Tess's grip on her arm, and darted towards the open city.

Behind you, Tess's voice chased, "Shit, she's right. Joel, we gotta move. Joel!"

Neither you nor Ellie dared to look back as you plunged into the biological contamination area – downtown Boston's chaotic heart.

[milla-frenchy]

Owned

354 words | Joel Miller x fem reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni. age gap, infidelity, daddy kink, possessiveness, piv, creampie

a/n: Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing 💕 and @saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

series masterlist | Masterlist | ao3

“Fuck…spread your legs for me. Yeah, just like that. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

Joel was holding your knees on either side of your head, hands resting on the back of your thighs, as he was thrusting in hard and fast. His gaze was down at your pussy taking his big cock, splitting you in two, and sometimes your mouth could barely make any sounds other than moans.

“Daddy…”

“Yeah, baby girl? Talk to me. Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to ruin my cunt, daddy…”

“Fuck…I'm already holding back from sending my load baby…this little pussy is squeezing me so tight.”

He sped up slightly, to give you what you wanted and gritted his teeth, frowning.

“That’s what you wanted, baby girl? Gettin’ your little cunt fucked like a good little slut?”

“Yes, daddy…just like that.”

“Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“You, daddy. It’s yours.”

“And when he fucks you, whose pussy is that?”

“Still yours. Only yours. Always.”

He growled, as if it was turning him on even more, as he was still thrusting, even deeper and harder than 10 seconds before.

“Fuck, fuck. Touch yourself, baby girl. Not gonna last. Come on my cock.”

You slipped your finger into his mouth for him to lick it. He looked like a wreck. His curls falling to the side of his face and his sweat was sliding down them.

Your finger twirled over your clit, your mouth parted in pleasure.

“He fucks you like that?”

“No, daddy. Not even close.”

“Good. Come on, baby, come for me.”

And you did as he asked. Like you always did. Responding to his every whim as he responded to yours. Your pussy squeezing his cock even tighter, pulsing on him.

“Oooooh…baby girl…fuck yeah, just like that…Damn I’m gonna come, baby…Gonna fill this pussy. My pussy…Oh god….” He didn’t stop talking even when his cum covered your walls, and you grabbed his cheeks to kiss him.

Your tongue slipped into his mouth, and you wondered when you would finally dare to break up with his son.

Same "couple": Owned collection

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