tupelomiss

[tupelomiss]

[tupelomiss]

[tupelomiss]

Joel Dealing with Wife: How I met your Mother

notes: i've had a few requests for how Joel and wifey met and must say I have been working on this for quite some time.

Warnings: protected sex (ikr what a shocker from me!!!), oral f!receiving, anxious reader during sex, multiple orgasms, reader has hair, brief descriptions of body change post pregnancy

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel forgot to make the reservation to Tommy’s number one favorite steakhouse for his birthday. The damn idiot. He had been so busy this year, what with launching their own company, and Joel taking the lead, he’d been swamped with workworkwork. And of course, the place he was meaning to dine at was no longer taking reservations or walkups.

Which left Joel to scrounge for a high-top bar-area table in Tommy’s third favorite steakhouse, some ritzy fancy place that wasn’t in either Miller’s ball park. What should have been an evening indulging in one 70 year old man throwing down on the grill in a family run steakhouse that had massive 27 oz steaks for $32, they were instead having to settle for a corporate run, posh place that had abstract art on the walls on sale for thousands of dollars, a menu with foreign sounding wines, and tiny steaks on big plates, topped with random greens for decoration, and pulling a whopping, ridiculous price tag for some pinky sized meat.

That being said, even after Joel had forwarded the correct address, it’s been 15 minutes, and no Tommy. He anxiously glances at the wall clock. Joel wasn’t looking forward to sitting here, what with his scrounged hair and unkept beard. The best wardrobe he could put together included a lesser-stained pair of boots and a flannel shirt tucked in his jeans, with a belt he had forgotten about, collecting dust in the closet until tonight. 

He didn’t belong. He just wanted to eat, clink a beer or two with Tommy, and call it a night.

 He swears, if Tommy doesn’t show up in the next 5, 4, 3, 2,—

“Oh my god this place is a maze.” you say, shaking your head and setting down at Tommy’s vacant chair. 

Right in front of Joel.

He blinks a few times. Who the hell is this chick? 

This chick, evidently oblivious, hadn’t even glanced up to his presence, proceeding to dig through your purse you just tossed to the ground as you go on…

 “And then…wait where did I leave off— Oh fuck, so then Kelly asked him if he was going to get her flowers, and he said ‘oh only if you want’ and then I was like ‘Kel, you shouldn’t have to ask on your birthday to get flowers from your fiancee.’”

And you still haven’t looked up, busy now applying some honey vanilla scented, nice smelling lip balm. Even as Joel opens his mouth to say something, you close your eyes and shake your head again with a chuckle, proceeding: “…like that’s shit you argue with your teenage boyfriend over, not the guy you’re gonna be having kids with! And then she said this was the third time she brought it up, plus—“

Joel puts his hands down softly on the table, frowning. Holy shit, does this woman ever stop yapping?

“—oh didn’t she have to drop hints like an atom bomb that she wanted to get married? After what, 4 years? I swear, this is why I’m staying single even if the hottest, sexiest, sweatiest fucker were right in front of—“

You finally look up, to see…some guy?

Instead of fear, or embarrassment, or… any reasonable expression, your face instead sours to that of a confused defensiveness.

“Who the hell are you?” You ask offensively.

Joel is taken aback. “Wh—I’m … Joel?”

“Okay ‘Joel’ but I meant what are you doing sitting here?”

Joel tilts his head, too astounded. “This is my table,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Uh— no it’s not,” you almost cackle, like what an idiot he is. “And I need you to get out of that chair, because my friend Maria will be back any—“

You glance around, only to see your very friend Maria, waving wildly at you from across the room, sitting at a table that very much was the one you were at prior to leaving for the rest room. 

“Oh!—that’s odd…”

Ok finally, she’s gonna —

“Why the hell is Maria sitting at the wrong table??”

He lets out an incredulous sight. “Lady, I think you’re at the wrong table.”

You turn back to him, tilting your head like a curious dog. He feels like he’s hanging on the edge of his chair, just trying to piece together what could possibly be going through your too-busy mind.

You take a look over to her again, then to the current table. Then again to her.

Which leaves you… sitting here…. With....

“Oh fuck… I’m so sorry!” You whisper, and now you’re full of embarrassment, face flush warm. 

You tumble out of the chair and rush over to Maria, who’s giggling and looking back at Joel while you slam your face into your hands onto the correct table.

Joel just watches you for a moment, still stunned. A little flustered. Strangely… entertained?  

You kept peeking your eye through your fingers, before trying to burry yourself into the menu. All while your friend Maria howled at your utter mis-founded confidence.

Joel grins slightly to himself, not really sure why he’s also finding it a bit funny. You were kinda—

“Why’d you pick this place again?”

Joel jumps a little, his glass of water nearly tumbling over as Tommy slinks down into the seat in front of him.

“What?”

“Was Jackie’s full again? You forgot to make a reservation there, didn’t you?” He asks nonchalantly, tucking his napkin into his lap with a casual slouched posture. None the wiser that Joel’s mind is completely sidetracked by his strange encounter with this peculiar woman just moments earlier. 

Joel tries to keep his focus on Tommy for the night, but he keeps stealing glances your way. Unfortunately, a whole host of bodies had been sat at the tables between you, leaving it impossible to see whether you were still over there or not. 

By the end of the night, when Joel stood up, he lets out a disappointed grunt: Your table had already been cleared, and you were gone.

Joel grasped his jacket, letting Tommy out to his truck first. “Sorry it wasn’t Jackie’s,” he groans, closing the door for his little brother, all buckled in and hanging his arm out the window.

“S’alright. Was a good night to pretend to be rich bitches.” He nods with his cap and a honk honk. “Drive safe, brother.”

“Happy birthday, fucker,” Joel retorts just as Tommy pulls out and disappears into the night.

The place is about to close up, only few stragglers at the bar left. He jingles his keys in his hands, pausing at his the junction between the restaurant entrance and his truck.

He looks back at the window table that you were seated in.

“S’cuse me,” he interrupts the host, who’s wiping down menus.

“Is it possible to make another reservation?”

“Sure. How far in advance?”

“1 year from now, exactly this date and time?”

She peers up to him with a raised brow.

-

1 year later

“What the fuck do you mean you forgot to Make a reservation to Jackie’s… again?” Tommy asks, walking in fancy rich bitch restaurant with Joel.

“I kinda liked our meal here last time…” he starts, trying to reason that he didn’t … intentionally forgoe his own little brother’s birthday for his own means. Tommy hasn’t even noticed that Joel’s attention is entirely on scanning the restaurant  

“That’s great… but save this shit for your birthday.”

As the two wait for the hostess to seat them, Tommy leans closer to Joel’s shoulder, giving a slight inhale.

“Did you … shower before you came here?”

“Yeah?”

Tommy raises his brow. Joel’s the type to usually grunt the entire day in one go before showering to bed. “And your hairs combed.”

“So? That a crime?” Joel brushes him off, looking around the restaurant again as casual as he can fake it.

Tommy sways on his heels, glancing down from his side eyes. “Shirt’s ironed in too.”

“Tommy, we gotta look the part here…”

“No we don’t. We eat. We pay. We leave. Who you tryin’ to impress other than my stomach?”

Joel shakes his head with a hearty laugh.

Was Joel staking his brother’s birthday on the hope that you would be here again? Cmon, that’s ridicul—

Maybe. 

But as the two of them are escorted to their table, Joel did another lap of eye scan around the room before sitting down, all the doubts flooded.

You weren’t here.

What if you were just here randomly that one day? What if you were just visiting from out of town? What if you came once and never came again? He bet this entire night on an assumption that you were celebrating something on this specific date, but there was absolutely no indication that you were doing anything but having a night out with a friend.

Oh shit, what if that was your girlfriend??? Oh shitshitshit.

Wait, no, you said that M chick (he doesn’t even remember her name) was your friend.

Oh--what if you had a boyfriend by now?

What if you did walk in that door right now, but you were  holding hands with some rich pompous skinny ass college educated schmuck, all smiling and clinging to him like he’s the world, and Joel’s here desperately searching for you when you don’t even know him—

—“Who the fuck are you looking at?” Tommy asks, waving his hand in front of Joel after trying to look around the room in vain for whatever’s got his big brother’s attention.

— and then there’s the fact that Joel hasn’t been on a date in six… seven? Years? His last serious relationship ended because he wanted to settle down and she wanted to keep exploring options. I mean, he got it. They were really young at the time. He didn’t really know anything else. Instead, he spent all this time buried in trainings and apprenticeships and certification courses to be able to get to where he is now…and that left no room for even looking at women.

So why the fuck is he here trying to look for you ??

“Joel!” Tommy shouts, kicking him under the table.

“Shit, sorry.” He shakes his head and takes a long swig of beer.

“Sorry. Just—feeling off today.”

“I bet.” Tommy leans forward, putting his hand on Joel’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re alright?”

He nods. Fuck. He’s here for Tommy’s birthday. A birthday he wasted on this shitty place, banking on a girl he doesn’t even know the name of, and pretending to be a brother. God. He’s terrible. Joel downs the rest of his alcohol in one go, clearing his mind of you once and for all. 

“I’m good Tommy. Let’s celebrate tonight.”

Tommy holds up his beer bottle. “To one year of Millers Co.”

“Fuckin cheers to that.” They clinks bottles with a grin.

Joel looks to his right, by chance, and his entire body freezes, blood draining and then revitalizing itself over his veins in a nanosecond.

You’re putting your hair up in a pony tail, smiling and chatting enthusiastically at the same table you were at exactly a year ago. It’s like not a day has passed. You have that same confident aura, like the world is circling you, without really trying. Maybe its just Joel, because aside from your friend you’re seated with, he’s the only one who’s entire world is focused on you.

He should stop staring. Fuck this is weird. Is it weird? But he can’t. He’s worried he’s dreaming, and if he takes his eyes off you again, you’ll disappear for another year. Wait, he’s imagining this right? He didn’t wish you into existence again? There’s no way you’re seated at the exact same table again. But your outfit is different. So maybe this is real?

Joel could feel Tommy trying to talk to him again, but his brain was utter mush. Instead of scanning the room, his focus was directed in a single spot this time, and Tommy could finally make contact with what exact has got his big brother so distracted.

He didn’t really get it, but Joel wasn’t giving any answers in this state.

Joel shakes himself from his trance, worried Tommy is gonna finally pinpoint and—where’s Tommy?

His seat is completely empty, and Joel panics momentarily that Tommy just straight up left him after being ignored for ten minutes.

Worse than that, Joel finally spots Tommy—heading over to talk to you and your friend.

“Heeeeyyy, ladies, I’m Tommy.” He smiles warmly.

“Um, Hi,” you nod with a polite smile. 

“’m sorry to bother your dinner, but my brother, god bless him, has been starin’ at ya from across the room—“ he points to Joel’s direction momentarily—“ and you either cut him off in traffic this mornin’, or he thinks you’re cute and is too shy to come over here to tell ya.”

SHITSHITSHIT SHUTthefuckupTOMMYOHMYFUCKINGGOD.

Joel’s feet kick straight down on their own accord, knocking the table hard as he stands and causing people around him to stare.

He speed walks over there, not sure what his next move is: kiss you or strangle Tommy or some weird dance combination of both. 

He doesn’t have time to think it over because now he’s here, standing there, like a baboon, as you, Tommy, and your friend blink directly at him, awaiting him to say something. 

 He needs to say something.

Something…

Anything…

Why isn’t he speaking

Your smile falters a little, eyes narrowed in. He feels himself shrink inside.

“Holy shit,” you whisper, pointing at him. “You’re that guy—“

Oh fuck she does remember me—!

“—that sat at my table last year!”

She doesn’t remember jack shit.

“I—lady, you sat at my table,” he argues defensively. Holy shit wait why is he getting defensive? Maybe because, holy fuck, how could you get that mixed up… Again???

You purse your lips and let out a little laugh. “Um. No. You came and sat at my table. I’m pretty sure I would remember something like that.”

You’re just as cocksure as yourself as you were last time.

He could get used to that.

“What was it—“ you tap your lower lip with your fingers, eyes drifting in though. “Oh! Joel!”

Oh … the way you say his name… he could definitely get used to that.

There’s a brief pause before you begin:

“So… you’re here again?”

“I take my brother here every year… for his birthday,” Joel blurts out.

“More like accidentally take me here—“ Tommy falls short, looking back at you… now realizing this time maybe wasn’t an accident on Joel’s part. 

He’ll remember to kick Joel in the nuts later. But right now, his brother’s cartoonishly obvious heart shaped eyes are still locked on you, so he rolls with it.

“Yeah we’re celebrating… our own thing too,” Maria muses, nodding towards you. You roll your eyes playfully, knowing she’s too bashful to admit it.

“She graduated law a couple years ago,” you gloat, beaming at your impressive friend, who’s shrinking under the weight of her embarrassment. “So we’ve made it our little tradition.”

Joel opens his mouth and wishes he used his brain: “We can make it all our tradition from now on.”

The four of you go awkwardly silent, and it almost feels like the whole restaurant went quiet too and is staring at Joel.

Oh God, he should just tuck his tail and walk right out the door right now and leave town and—

You’re the first to let out a giggle, covering your mouth and scrunching your eyes and nose as you try to hide your cute laugh.

Oh fuck. He can definitely get used to that.

Tommy’s gonna give himself a massive pat on the back for this next move.

“Maria, was it?” He asks your friend. “Would you like to join me to get a drink?” He motions towards the bar.

Maria glances at you, now seeing you and Joel are staring at one another, uninterrupted, completely enamored. Shits not on pause. You two are just fuckin’…frozen at each other like little smiling elf statues.

“Yes I would. Tommy, right?”

“Yes Ma’am.”

She links arms with him and the two of them begin: “so you come to this dump to celebrate?” “It’s my favorite?” “Oh mine too!” Leaving you and Joel alone.

“Uhh…” 

“Do you want—sit?” You ask awkwardly.

Joel takes Maria’s seat. 

“Looks like you’re coming to sit at my table instead,” you snicker.

“So you admit it then: you sat at mine last year.”

You smile, readjusting your napkin on your lap. “I have a hard time admitting when I’m wrong. It’s a stubborn thing.”

“Mmm. Picked up on that.”

You both laugh. You bite your lip before smoothing the tablecloth. 

“Joel,” you whisper, and god it feels really good all over his spine when you say his name.

“Yeah?”

“Nothing. I just… like saying your name. It fits you really well. Joel.”

He grins broadly, licking his lower lip and staring at you again with those big, gorgeous brown orbs. Even his voice feels…right. You have no idea how or why. He just feels so…right. 

You tilt your head to the side, studying him. “You look … a little different.”

Joel clears his throat, unsure if that is a good thing or bad thing.

“Wait let me just—“ 

But you don’t wait, instead you’re already reaching your delicate fingers over the table and sifting them through his hair, ruffling his curls out of their perfectly combed place, watching as they tumble messily over one another until they’re bouncing all brown and natural under the low light.

“That’s better. Yeah, I remember that for sure.” You nod to yourself with a little grin that has him blushing harder than Santa on Christmas.

It’s radiant, it’s contagious, it’s sincere.

You offer him your name, and he repeats it with that low timbre that gives you goosebumps.

Oh, you could get used to him for sure.

-

Four Dates Later...

The puss puss is screaming his name already.

You had always told yourself you would never surrender the flower to man in no less than 6 dates first. But fuck… Joel’s… really something.

You’re seated at his bar stool in his house, swaying your feet with your arms crossed, watching him work like a wizard. He’s making something really really good, and as far as you can tell, something really close to home. you had both shared half a bottle of wine on his couch while he talked about his brother, how he plays guitar sometimes, his company. He listened intently as you shared your movie taste, how oh so different you are from your mom he’d yet to meet, and the best food spots in town.

You also promised you wouldn’t spend an evening like this at a guy’s house so quickly either but… Joel’s really something. 

He makes you feel warm and fuzzy, in that gooey icky way you used to make fun of your friends for. He makes you feel safe and protected, and you almost want to start shit with him just to get him to tackle you down and put a baby in you right here—oh my god what is happening to you??

“Remember that time you sat at my table—“

He pauses to face you, eyes peering from his brows with a growl. “Don’t start with me, girl.”

Mmmmm girl. The way he says it is like hot sugar and sprinkles. Yes. Yes you wanted to get used to this ASAP.

Three homemade empanadas later, and you were sold.

-

As you tumble onto his bed, Joel and your lips can’t break up enough for you to get through a sentence before he’s sucking you back in. The alcohol swims in your system just as hot as the lust that had been dampening your legs all night—or the last few weeks for that matter.

“Just—just so you know… I know first time sex isn’t always great—scratch that. Its never great—“

He stops, his shirt halfway up his head. “You’ve never had sex before?” He asks softly, almost fearfully, like he’s done a horrible thing and not taken you to a hotel and bought you a car and—

“No! I meant first time with a new partner,” you clarify, helping him hoist the rest of that shirt over because you couldn’t be tortured to wait any longer for this view.

My oh my… what a view.

His chest is smooth, clearly undisturbed by any hair, and his belly is soft. But with each movement, you can see the flex of muscle ripping underneath. He has a worker’s body, true to his craft, not some jacked up gymbro bod that gloats his benchpress PR but couldn’t carry a bag of sand on one shoulder. His belly ends in a gorgeously light trail of hair, leading down like the Hairy Brick Road to disappear underneath his belt line, right to your long awaited prize…

He’s staring down at you as you lick your lips greedily, seemingly unaware that you had paused your conversation.

“You hungry for something?” He asks sincerely under a chuckle. “Can make ya more empanadas right now if ya too distracted—“

“Shut up and take these off.” you start undoing his button and zipper of his jeans.

He grins, leaning over to capture your lips as you do work to shimmy his pants off. You feel him push you down gently on your back, expecting him to crawl up and grasp you as he positions his dick between your legs.

 Instead, he hooks the bend of your back knee over his shoulders, crawling down—

You freeze, holding his arm so he doesn’t slip any further. “Woah—don’t think I expect you to go down on me.”

“But I—“

“Because I know … all the guys before don’t do that the first time with a new partner, or even second or third, and like… Listen I…” you start rambling, eyes searching everywhere but his own. “I already like you…so I don’t want you…pretending for me… going out of your way for…if its not a given—especially on the first—“ 

He pulls up, grasps your face in his clutch and kisses you, drawing out all of your thoughts. 

“You talk a lot when ya nervous,” he hums against your nose before pressing another kiss there. You both stare at one another. he could see your eyes were vulnerable, like it’s the first time your guard is being torn down by someone without your permission. Like you’re genuinely caught naked in your underwear.

He slithers closer to you, making you lie further back on the bed again until your bodies glide together. His breath ghosts over your lips, and you can feel your heart already palpitating from the sheer sense of control he’s grasped from you naturally. “S’okay. I like listening to you. Keep going.”

He descends lower, lips trailing kisses, hooded eyes never leaving yours.

What happened to that shy, awkward lump of a cutie who was too afraid to approach your table to say hi? He’s certainly not the strong, capable, confident wolf in front of you about to devour you whole…

“R-really,” you mumble, wanting to bring your mind back to why you’re nervous—shit are you nervous here? “You don’t… have to do it…to impress me. I’m already impressed—“

 He huffs into your mound. “I ain’t doin it to impress ya, I’m doinnit because I wanna eat your pussy. Been dyin’ to for weeks now. Do men not normally go down on you on the first chance they get?” He asks, genuinely curious. As if it’s a shock to him that you don’t get your pussy ate every single waking minute of the day.

You stare at him slack jawed. He says it as if… as if… he does this every time….because he actually does it every time….

You feel a gush of slick ooze out of your cunt. “Get your fucking head down there and start eating,” you command.

He smirks, “There she is—that’s the one I like—“ before biting your thighs gently and nuzzling his nose between your folds. 

Okay, shit, it’s happening. At the very least, even if he’s had practice, it may not even be good. He can’t tick all boxes, right? Yeah, this one thing, he’s probably terrible at. Shit, bet he’s just bluffing just to—

“Do me this once, baby.” His teeth softly sink into the fat of your inner thigh.

You’re already jittery and hazy, anxious and aroused, heavy lidded as your ears perk enough to try to listen.

“Let yourself have this one,” he whispers, eyes trained on you as he kisses the bite mark he left.

“Oh? You…seem cocksure of yourself…” you tease. Even if he’s good, he’d make a fine boyfriend for sure—

Your bravado quickly disappears as he flattens his hot tongue through your slit, sliding the tip against your entrance before pursing his lips, sucking in your sensitive clit with a kiss—

Holy fucking shit he wasn’t bluffing.

He pulls away with a suckle, and you just barely can focus your eyesight on him: the audacity of his baby brown eyes staring up at you with raised, curious, innocent gleam as his lips and nose shine with your arousal.

“S’that okay with you?”

You open your mouth, unable to form words. in fact, it’s the first time in your life that you have effectively been shut up, let alone by a man. He turned your brain into mush, your body floating between space and heaven, but your soul plated right here, underneath his gaze, his hands, his lips, his tongue—

He waits for your answer, warm steady air blowing from his nose to your quivering cunt.

You only gulp, mouth closing in submission.

A wide smirk creeps over his face. Now that’s what she’s like when she’s quiet. He seems to like that he’s shut you up; especially the way your brows knit close together as he drags his tongue through your petals again, over and over like a giddy boy enjoying his melting ice cream. 

When he disappears again between your legs, you grasp your mouth with your hand, eyeballs rolling back as you already feel your core shake.

I’m gonna marry him I’m gonna marry him I’m gonna marry him, you chant like a mantra in your head.

And for 40 more minutes, Joel Miller ate you out like a fucking Goddess.

You were spasming randomly, letting out desperate chokes and groans. After the first orgasm, you gave up on the silent treatment. Letting him hear your praises as you came again, and then again, and three more times.

You had never had so many orgasms in a 40 minute span like that in your life.

He’d inhale deeply through his nostrils, burying himself in your mound before increasing the pace of his tongue. Flicking your clit then diving inside, thrusting and twisting. Suckling out your juices and then coaxing you with his fingers deep inside when you started to quiver. He’d lock eyes on you every so often, making sure you were comfortable for the ride. 

He knew he would be addicted when he first watched you cum. It only got more insatiable with each one after that.

“Holy f-fuck—“you whine as he sucks your folds in one final time before releasing with a loud smack. “I—I could get used to that.”

He grins, falling down next to you. He takes deep breaths with you, as if having swam across the ocean alongside your marathon run. 

The two of you just sat there. Calming your breaths. Your eyes to the ceiling. 

His on you.

He strokes your arm with his fingertips. Up and down, soothingly and gentle. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking, and it kinda scares him. Maybe you were done. Maybe you had that post orgasmic bliss, and were ready to kick him out. Maybe—

“So … how do you want me?” You ask, biting your lips. Your hand is already on his chest, itching for more.

His eye dart to your lips one last time, his tongue swiping out. He leans forward and begins kissing you again. The two of you roll over, with him above you. You can feel the press of his hard length against your inner thigh, making you squeak. 

He pulls out, his nose nudging yours. “Where I can see you,” he pants.

Joel shreds his last remaining article of clothing.

Yeah, this is it, you think. He makes up for bad sex by eating you out five times. There’s no way. Not that dick size matters of course. You weren’t gonna mention anything by it. That’s just…. Rude. No, it really matters how you use it. So even if he’s moderately big, which you’re sure he isn’t—

His throbbing, girthy member slaps wetly against his belly button.

“Fucking Christ, Joel Miller,” you gasp, eyes a little too wide. It pulses deliciously, veiny and mushroomed. “What the fuck do you feed that thing?”

Oh shit, what was that about not saying anything?

“I mean, its’ like—you look—it’s--“ you shut your trap and just give him two thumbs up.

He pauses, blinking at you before chuckling.

Oh my god, please kill me.

“Okay. That’s — I’ll take that.” He tears open the condom and spread it over his head. 

There’s a tiny bit of you that feels a bit of disappointment as he rolls it down his length; the part of you that wants to take a massive leap with this man right now and do it raw. 

Hell no. fuck, that’s definitely not a 4th date move. Though, coming to his house and having sex right after dinner was also not a date 4 move either… 

He crawls back over you, his forearms planted by your head. Joel reaches down to grasp his cock. At the same time, you instinctively lift your legs, your thighs resting over his hips.

“We fit so beautifully together, huh?” He whispers, kissing your cheek.

You nod. 

“You tell me if anything feels off, okay? Even if ya—“

You had snatched the base of his length, causing him to gasp and swallow his words. Effortlessly, you drag his head through your folds, slicking it up with your arousal before notching it at your entrance.

Joel grasps your face with both hands and seals his lips over you as the two of you work his cock inside your hole. 

Even with his tongue tracing over yours, he doesn’t let you go. You moan deliciously into his mouth as he forces himself inside, inch by inch, slowly. Your pussy had been stretched and worn perfectly from his eating moments ago, making the stretch to accomodate his girth only pleasurable. 

There’s no words. No snarky remark. Just the shared breath between you two. The blurred background except the vision of one another so close. The sounds of your synced, pounding hearts bursting through your chests. 

He was so quiet. Tense. Still.

He looked so deep in concentration, like something was hurting him, like he was straining himself. He was so chatty a minute ago...had you done something wrong?

You open your mouth to speak, but Joel beats you to it.

“I’m —I’m gonna cum already—fuck—gimme a minute,” he finally rasps, closing his eyes tightly. His ears are flushed red as he remains completely still inside, the vein in his neck ready to burst from concentration. The poor man was so embarrassed that he might cum immediately, totally ruining any chance to impress you—

“I’m already cumming,” you whine, shifting your hips to get him to gently tap that spot inside that has you clenching around him. “With me?”

The motion sets him over the edge.

Both your jaws drop open in o’s as you orgasm together, pulsing, a mere 3 seconds into motionless sex. 

His sweaty forehead falls to your chest. “Shit—shit—I—I’ve—I swear—“

“That—was so hot,” you whisper with a big smile on your face. Joel looks up at you: your eyes dark, biting your lips with a wicked grin as you look over his face, your hand playing with his ear. “More?” You ask softly with big curious eyes.

He fell a little more in love with you, if it were even possible. 

You had sex again, this time a little more paced out. Joel was determined to focus on you this time, though you doubted he had considered his even once at this point. All he knew was that he wanted to feel you squeeze around his cock forever.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hums. “So beautiful when you cum.”

You moan desperately, coming back down from your umpteenth climax of the night. he sucked his thumb clean after having rubbed your swollen numb to get you there. You had one ankle hooked around his lower back, pulling him back in with each thrust.

“You—you’re right,” you swallow. “We do fit so well together.” 

The both of you laugh, eyes crinkled. 

You sigh, winding your arms around his neck. “I can’t wait to do this without a condom.”

He grips your thighs tightly, stuttering for a moment. “Fuck—don’t say that—don’t get me thinking’ bout how good you’re gonna feel raw—shit no can’t—can’t think—no fuck now Im thinkin it—its too good—“

“Yeah? You think about filling me up already? On our first time?”

“I’m warnin’ you, lady. Don’t get me started.”

You let out a loud moan as he started pounding you harder, your skin slapping one another. 

“Fuck—thank you Tommy—“ you start.

“Don’t moan my brother’s name when I’m inside you.”

You tighten your lips and nod.

“Want ya spread out on my pillow like this every night.” He sifts his fingers through your hair, watching the way it parts for him. “Want you sayin’ my name like a prayer. Need your cum on my tongue and my fingers and cock to keep me warm. I don’t think I can go back to—fuck—I need more of you--“

He keeps thrusting into your sopping heat with such precision. Neither too fast nor slow. Enough that the two of you could enjoy, savor, explore. 

“I want it,” you whisper softly, only for him to hear. You wrap yourself around him closer as he fucks you slow, deep, calculated, passionately.

Maybe both of you were thinking it then: You knew you would have the rest of your lives for it all.

By the time you had finished, and third condom wrapped and tossed in the bin, you were exhausted. You couldn’t even raise your head for the first few minutes. Joel too was whipped. He laid in bed with your head spread atop his chest, leg hooked over his stomach. Your sweaty body sticking to one another with the  fan blasting down on your back. You could feel him tracing patterns on your naked back. Like he was telling your body to accept his touch because it wouldn’t be leaving you any time soon.

You were so close to drifting to sleep. Letting out little hums here and there as he rubbed your head with occasional kisses. 

“Mbesr empapamda,” you mumbled into the pillow.

“What?”

You sat up slightly, hair messy already from his ministrations. Your eyes were half asleep already as you mumbled with a smirk: “Would you make me more empanadas some day again, Joel?’

He chuckled. “I’d make em everyday if you asked.”

You nuzzled your nose into his neck before finally closing your eyes.

-

You both slept the best night of your lives. 

Joel initially woke up around 6am. When his vision settled, the low light of the morning sun just barely filtering in, his eyes settled on your sleeping form. Your hand rested on the pillow in front of you.

He knew it then. The sight of you right here, warming his bed, his soul, his kitchen, his heart, his body… Joel Miller knew he was going to marry you. 

Obviously not something he’ll be mentioning for a while, but something that morning clicked. He was already tracing the empty space on your ring finger. How nice a ring would look there. How nice it would be to wake up like this every morning. To see you. The first thing to greet him each day just like this.

In that moment, Joel felt like he had to give you something of his. It was an urge he’d never experienced before, and he couldn’t quite place exactly why or what it is. But it forced him out of the bed silently and away to his work bench without a second thought.

-

“Hey, you,” he whispers.

“Nmmmm,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes again. You wipe your face with both palms. your voice sounds like gravel stuck in your throat as you mutter a very unsexy, “Heyyy.”

“I uh—“ he clears his throat. “This is for you.”

You eyes flutter open as he presents a tiny wooden carving of a butterfly. The details were rough but smoothed and you could immediately tell it was hand crafted. Upon closer inspection, you could see it had your initials carved into the body.

You sat up, blinking rapidly. “Did...did you just… make that?”

“Yeah.” the tips of his cheeks instantly reddened. “Woke up a couple hours ago and thought…well you looked…it seemed…It’s not super good I’m still—anyway, wanted to gift ya something…”

“Just now?”

“An hour ago. I came back to bed. But saw your hair falling a bit when you were resting so—“ He had just started getting the knack of crafting wood so it really looked amateurish. He felt stupid now, after spending two hours on it hunched at his desk while you slept upstairs in his bed. 

He takes it gently into his hand and flips it, revealing a metal hairclip that had been glued on. 

“May I?”

You nod, eyes sparkling with joy. Maybe you didn’t know any better, but it definitely looked like you thought it was the most beautifully carved piece of art you’d ever seen.

Joel gently fastens it into your hair before cupping along your cheek.

“Does it look good?” You ask.

“Amazin’.”

You smile again. Fuck, he wanted to see that smile every day from now on. He was officially smitten. “I can make ya all kinds of things. Well, eventually. I’m still workin’ on it, just started getting into carving so they’re not perfect yet but--“

“Can you show me?”

It was his turn to blink at you.

“Now?”

“Yeah! Unless you had something else you needed to do this morning…I can totally get out of your hair if—“

“Nope, you stay right here, I’m gonna—“

He stumbles out of bed and quickly closes the door behind him.

His workbench was a fucking mess and definitely not date-show ready. You could hear him banging things, scraping counters of knickknacks and bolts into drawers and doing his best to clean.

Biting your lip, you whip out your phone and called Maria on face time.

She answered, eye mask pulled up her face. “What? Oh bitch, I know you ain’t already sleep at J—“

“LOOK AT WHAT MY JOEL MADE ME!!” You squeal, showing off the hair pendant. You kicked your feet in the air excitedly, all the calm bravado you had kept at bay finally spewing over to show off what a man he was.

Joel sat on the other side of the door, listening. He had almost collapsed against from internally swooning so hard at your ‘my Joel’ comment.

He was going to make you so much shit if it meant you could call him “mine” again.

And he did. After a hot cup of tea and some avocado toast, you sat at his stool next to his work bench as he quietly did his work. You were wearing one of his t shirts, hair still a little messy, but ever so cute. Sometimes he’d tell you a little bit about the wood, the technique he’s testing, how many times he’s cut a finger. He’d worry he was boring you, but when he’d look up, all he saw were your shining, eager, attentive eyes on him, and it made his heart flutter faster than the mind blowing sex from last night.

He didn’t know he was doing it but the embarrassment on his face when he realized he had carved an o—a fucking wooden ring—and was holding it out to you.

You quickly pulled your necklace and strung it on the metal chain, clasping it back around your neck. “I love it,” you beam, holding it in your palm as you inspected it on your chest.

You were both thinking it:

I could get used to this.

-

Ten Years Later…

Something stinks.

So heinous, it forces him awake rather abruptly. His eyes adjust, the dull pain in his back reminding him he’s still alive. The blankets are hot and heavy over his body. 

Joel blinks, rubbing his tired, baggy eyes. 

The first thing that comes into focus are two fat pudgy baby feet stuck right up his nose. He looks down to see its connected to his little Ellie, who had somehow managed to fall asleep upside down, her bum up in the air like a downward dog.  Next to her was Sarah, this one rightside up, and face smashed into the pillow. Her crazy hair is scattered everywhere. Below her was the new pup, Rutabaga, snoring on his back and kicking his paws in the air as if chasing through the clouds. His tail occasionally smacked Ellie in the head, though it didn’t stir her at all. Joel followed down the bed: Spoon sat with her head perched agains a set of legs. Her eyelids twitched as she utters a sleepy sigh.

Those lets went all the way back up the bed, on the far end, connected to the one who made all this extra space on the bed go to good use. Joel’s lips stretch into a wide grin when he finally falls on you. 

You were sleeping so peacefully. It was like no time had changed. 

The bed may be different. The room, the covers and sheets. His body was thicker, more worn. Hands more calloused. Eyes heavier, voice deeper. And you. Your hair was different now. So was your own body, in so many ways that continued to amaze him. You had grown some bags too under those pretty eyes, new muscle in new places, and some pudge in others. 

But you were still you. The girl he fell in love with so many years ago.

He still hadn’t gotten used to any of it at all. And he’s happy. 

“Hey you,” you whisper, smiling at him across the bed. You sputter out Sarah’s hair that had been tickling your nose, patting it down to get a good look at your husband.

“Busy night?” He teases, gesturing to the very crowded bed that wasn’t there before he shut his eyes.

You giggle, tossing an arm over all of them and hugging them tight. “I love it.”

The wooden butterfly clip would sometimes be the pendant on your suit. Sometimes the clip to hold your hair, other times to hold Sarah’s or Ellies. Shit, you’d even put it in Joel’s whenever you would give him a curled blow out during his forced spa days with you.

Right now, it sat on your bedside table, right on the lamp’s base. 

The wooden ring? 

He kept taking it back. Tinkering. Adding a design for each year you’d spent together. What started as a crude, plain, smooth band now had the tinniest etches of details, including hearts, the initials of each family member, butterflies and flowers, even a dog paw. It had become the one thing as old as the relationship itself, and the most sacred of items.

Joel had eventually built you a chair, desk, table, shit even the headboard was custom made. He built your house, the girls’ cribs, rocking horses, duck barn, dog hammocks, kitchen stools, you name it. If it was wood, it was Joel’s. And each and every one crafted with love, for you, for always.

Yeah. This was it. This was his life. And that made his heart warm brighter and swell bigger every day for the last ten years.

The two of you stared at one another with faint smiles. The rest of your family was heavily sleeping between you. But even now, He could see it in your eyes. Always so pensive, always so expressive. He’s gotten quite good at understanding you through them. 

This morning, they say, “Thank you for giving me this gift.”

Our Family.

- - - -

Taglist

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[tupelomiss]

Hi there! I’m looking for a fic about Bucky Barnes x Reader. It’s an AU fic - I think Bucky is a lawyer in this fic, something got to do with him prosecute the bad guy? In the story, they’re happily married, but one day Bucky suddenly asks for a divorce. I think he tells Reader it’s because he found someone else (though I might be wrong). Reader is heartbroken and leaves. Later, Bucky receives a photo of Reader and realizes she has a baby bump, she’s actually pregnant with his child. That’s when he tries to find her again. It turns out Bucky has been receiving reader’s photos before he asked for the divorce. Reader is understandably upset, but Bucky eventually reveals the real reason he asked for the divorce: he was working on a dangerous case, and the villain had threatened Reader’s life, so he left her to protect her. Does anyone know this fic? Thank you! Xx

Please help find this fic!!

[tupelomiss]

Tumblr Code.

[tupelomiss]

Your Ride, Best Trip

Summary: You sleep with your boyfriend Marcus for the first time Word Count: 9,001 Pairing: Marcus Pike x f! afab! reader Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, first time, vaginal fingering, oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected PIV, squirting, creampie, dirty talk, so much fluff, so much kissing Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar as ALWAYS. Love you homies I'm kissing u both <3 A/N: I have nothing to say for myself this time

Marcus Pike is perfect. 

He’s your dream man. 

He’s sweet. He brings you flowers just because, and he’s remembered your go-to coffee order, and he never goes to bed without texting you goodnight.

He’s effortlessly kind. He offers to walk your dog for you when you aren’t feeling well enough to get out of bed, and he always does the dishes when you cook for him, and he makes sure his bathroom is stocked with all the personal products you use at your own place. 

He’s fucking handsome. His smile is straight and pearly white, and his big brown eyes warm you up, and the way his broad shoulders fill out those suits he wears to work never fails to make you weak in the knees. 

He’s so smart, and he’s so funny, and he’s all yours… finally. 

See, when he hadn’t so much as kissed you by your third date, you wigged out a bit. 

How could you not? He’d been so thoughtful and caring and all you wanted was to feel those pillowy, soft lips against your own. 

So you asked him what was up, and he told you.

Divorced. Broken engagement. A whole year of therapy to pinpoint what went wrong, what he could change, and how he could do better, how he could feel better. And then, he said, he found you— like fate— when he wasn’t even looking, when he least expected it. 

You had no problem taking it slow. You’re still convinced you’d wait forever for him, as perfect as he is.

After too many little dates to count, he told you he wanted to be your boyfriend, if you’d have him.

You told him you’d love for him to be your boyfriend, of course. You’d be crazy not too. 

And then he finally kissed you.

It was slow and hesitant, but it still made your heart race, made your stomach do flips. He cut it off before it could become anything more than chaste, and left your front door with a sheepish goodnight. 

You’ve kissed a lot since then. You never really enjoyed kissing that much, before. It always just seemed like a means to and end, a formality before moving on to other things. 

But now it’s one of your favorite ways to pass the time with him. Waiting for an Uber to take you downtown, finally getting to his place on Friday after a long work week, cuddling in bed together with an old movie playing.

You haven’t made out with anyone this much since high school. And you enjoy it, you do, but Jesus Christ, he’s been your boyfriend for three weeks now and you need him. 

It doesn’t help that he touches you like you’re the last person on earth. His hands are so big and they’re gentle and electric when they find the bit of skin just under the hem of your shirt. 

You think it’s going to happen, this time. Friday night takeout has long been abandoned in the living room. You’re in his bed, in his clothes, and his pinky is teasing at the waistband of his sweats that you’re wearing. 

His tongue in your mouth is making you dizzy, and there’s no more blood in your brain with all of it rushing between your legs. You whimper, and you arch against him, and you want him so bad but you can’t say it. You’d feel bad, making him rush when he’s made it clear he wants to take things slow. 

When his lips leave yours, you open your eyes, and find his pupils obstructing all the deep, dark brown you adore. 

You have to squeeze your thighs together for a miniscule amount of relief. He notices. Of course he does. Damn that Quantico training. 

“Sweetheart—”

His eyes flicker down to your lips. You’re sure they look obscene, red and slick from nearly an hour of him sucking and nibbling on them. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

You don’t know why you say it, but you are sorry. You feel so bad for wanting him like this, desperate and aching in his bed, over eager. 

“Don’t be,” he shakes his head and gives you a reluctant smile, a smile that tells you you’re going to fall asleep extremely sexually frustrated. 

But it’s fine. He’s so worth it. 

You give him a soft smile back, and lean in to peck his lips. But he pulls away with his brow furrowed. 

“What do you want?” 

His voice is gentle when he asks. So is his hand on your back, under his shirt you’ve claimed. But it doesn’t stop that fight or flight response from kicking in. 

“Nothing! Nothing, Marcus, I’m okay— I’m great. Just wanna cuddle.” 

But the creases in his forehead don’t smooth out, and his hand ceases the soothing circles across your spine. 

“You’re lying.” 

You sigh and close your eyes. 

“I’m not lying, I’m just— I don’t want to push you to move too fast.” 

You expect him to be angry. But when you open your eyes again, his own have taken on that puppy-like quality you usually love. Right now, it just makes you feel guilty. 

“I’ve been lying, too,” Marcus whispers. 

It’s your turn to scrunch your face up. Your blood runs cold, waiting for him to elaborate. A million scenarios run through your head at lighting speed— all worse and worse until your breathing picks up and you beg him with your eyes to just get on with it—

“I have a small dick.” 

His face is so flushed. He can’t meet your gaze.

He’s staring at the bedsheets between you, and you’re both just silent for a long, awkward moment. 

“I mean— the divorce and all that, it’s all true. And I did want to keep from moving too fast. But— the last few weeks I guess I’ve just been… stalling?” 

He finally looks up from the threads to gauge your reaction. 

“Marcus…”

“I get it, okay? If you wanna go. I know I lied, and you didn’t sign up for—���

“Marcus.”

You watch his shoulders raise and his mouth snap shut, and he looks terrified.

“I don’t want to leave. You didn’t lie. It’s just— you really think that would bother me?” 

He lets out a big breath, and the tension in his body eases up a little. 

“I don’t know. Most people were… bothered. I guess,” he shrugs. 

You cradle his jaw in your hand, let the day-old stubble tickle the pad of your thumb as you think about how to best navigate this conversation. 

Because saying ‘I don’t care’ seems too dismissive. But you don’t. You couldn’t possibly care less about what’s in his pants, when everything else about him has made you fall so, so deep already. But you don’t want to make it sound like it’s something you have to even bargain with, like the pros outweigh the cons, like it even is a con. Because it’s not. 

“I’m not bothered,” you finally tell him. 

He still doesn’t meet your eyes, in fact, he rolls his. 

“You don’t have to lie to me. It’s okay, I’ve heard it all. I know I’ve lead you on—”

“Jesus,” you cut him off, “what did— who made you feel this way?” 

He finally looks at you. His eyes are wide and he looks vulnerable and hesitant. You swipe away some hair that’s fallen flat across his scrunched forehead. 

“Everyone?” 

You sigh his name, and you’re tentative when you lean forward to kiss him, softly, when he lets you. 

He looks less terrified when you pull back. You try to smile, but this whole interaction has left such a bad taste in your mouth that it feels more like a grimace when your lips turn up. 

“That’s— Fucking awful, to be frank. Pardon my French.”

He chuckles, but his gaze falls away from your face again. His sheets are not that interesting to look at. 

“Really, Marcus. I mean— maybe if someone’s just looking for a hookup, then I get it. You want something specific, whatever. But why would you ever think you were leading me on?

All you’ve done is be sweet to me, and shown interest in me, and taken care of me. Unless you’re like, secretly an ax murderer, or committing some kind of major tax fraud, you haven’t led me on at all.”

He’s still not looking at you. Why won’t he look at you, and believe you? 

“I don’t want to sound dismissive. I understand you’re insecure about it. I’m insecure about some things too. I don’t want to invalidate that. But I need you to know that the last thing I care about is how big your dick is.” 

There. He’s looking at you. He looks a little mortified, but he’s finally meeting your gaze. 

“Really?”

You scoff. 

“Really really.”

A reluctant smile tugs on the corner of his pretty mouth. 

“Why?”

“Because— now, don’t go getting a big head about this— you’re perfect. Like, everything about you. You’re sweet and you make me laugh and you’re gorgeous.”

His face flushes, but he lets you continue.

“And I’m in this, with you. I want this to go somewhere. And I think we’re super compatible.”

“Me too,” he whispers.

“Good, so… we’re on the same page then.”

You watch him lick his lips, and his hand that’s been loosely draped over your waist finally starts back up, drawing little circles across the base of your spine. 

“And… There’s other reasons,” you mumble, voice low with a hint of mischief.

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah… For one, your hands.”

“My hands?”

He emphasizes his question with a squeeze of your hip, and you giggle at the way it tickles, and also with a bit of embarrassment. 

“Yeah… They’re uh… big. I look at them a lot. Honestly surprised you haven’t noticed.”

He huffs, lets his big hand travel further up the shirt on your back. 

“Your nails are always trimmed, and— your fingers are long and thick. I’ve thought about them a lot.”

He breathes your name, and now you realize you’re the one avoiding eye contact. When you look back, his pupils are all blown out again, and it spurs you on.

“And I love to give head.”

“Jesus.”

“And the bigger it is, the quicker I get tired. I could stay down there all night, if my jaw didn’t get sore.” 

“Sweetheart—”

“Really, it’s one of my favorite things, making someone fall apart under my mouth. But I hate gagging and choking my way through it. It’s tedious.”

He says your name again, this time with a warning tone. 

You bite your lip to keep anything from tumbling from your mouth unwarranted. 

“You’re not lying.”

His eyes dart back and forth across your face, and you shake your head in lieu of opening your mouth again. 

“Fuck.”

It’s the first time Marcus has cursed in front of you. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and your clit throbs. 

“I’ve thought about you so much. Your lips, you have to know, right? How plump and full they are… I think about them at night, when I’m touching myself.” 

That’s convincing enough, apparently. Before you can embarrass yourself any further with your confessions, he surges forward to press those plush lips against yours and groans into your mouth. 

His hand flattens against your back and pulls, manhandling you closer to him. Your fingers find his silky hair and tangle in the strands, holding on for dear life at this shift between the two of you. 

You can’t muster up an ounce of shame. Finally, you have Marcus where you want him, pressed against you. You hike a leg over one of his, getting it between your thighs for even the smallest amount of friction. 

You feel him gasp, chest inflating to press even closer against yours. It’s a rush, finally getting this after waiting so long. 

Your hands scramble to get under his white t-shirt. His skin is hot, even against your sweaty palms. There’s so much to feel, the slight swell of his stomach, and the muscle of his flank, the soft but firm pecs. 

You whine when he pulls away from your lips. He shushes you gently, and you open your eyes to watch his slick lips and his hooded eyes and flushed face disappear briefly, just quick enough to shed his shirt. 

Smooth, is the first thing that comes to mind. His tan skin has no hair above his belly button, just the errant freckle here and there. His nipples are peaked, and you reach out to press your thumb against one before your mind catches up to the action, before you realize you’re gawking. 

But when your hand stutters against his skin and you look up at him, he’s smirking, amused and turned on. You falter a bit, mouth open while you search for something to say, some sort of excuse as to why you’re devouring him like you’re starved. 

He saves you though, with his low, grumbled voice. 

“I think about you, too. All the time.” 

You dig your nails into his soft skin at his admission, scraping against his chest. 

“You know that? You think I haven’t had you a million different ways in my head?” 

Your heart stops beating, and you stop breathing, and the heat between your legs only gets heavier and wetter. 

“You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your heartbeat comes back as a rush in your ears, and you squeeze the meat of his pec as you nod. 

He kisses you again, licks at your lips until you suck his tongue into your mouth, and now it’s just filthy. No more pretense, it’s been months of pretense, and neither of you have any more patience. 

His fingers seek out your own nipple, a tight bud protruding through cloth, and he rolls it between his fingers gently over the material of his shirt. 

“You come over and wear my clothes like this, and you think you don’t drive me crazy?” 

The words are grumbled into your mouth, against your cheek, then your jaw and your neck as he seeks out more of you to kiss. 

“I don’t wash them when you leave. I wear them and I smell you all day and it makes me feel insane.”

You mewl at his admission. Everything he says now is so fucking raw, now that you’ve broken down his walls. He shushes you again, grabs the hem of his shirt to help you pull it over your head. 

He curses when he sees you. It’s the first time. You’ve both been toeing this line of modesty, and maybe you’d be more nervous if you weren’t careening toward the pleasure he’s promised you. 

He coaxes you to lie on your back beside him, and his mouth works a slow trail down the side of your neck, nipping and suckling until he finally gets your nipple in his mouth. You arch into it, encouraging him with a hand tangled in his thick hair. You feel his groan reverberating around your rib cage when you scrape your nails back and forth across his scalp. You need him, like nothing you’ve ever craved before. 

“Marcus—”

“I know, I know.”

His syrupy voice isn’t as soothing as his lips, though, when he cranes his neck back up to kiss you again. He nips there, a sneaky distraction from the way his fingers trail down to circle your navel, and then even farther, teasing the hem of his sweatpants you’re wearing. His featherlight touch makes you jolt when it finally registers, your stomach jumping under his fingers. 

“Can I?”

You’re nodding against his lips, into the kiss, and then whining when his hand breaches the waistband. Those thick, long fingers flutter across your mound. Your breath catches on every wiggle. But when his fingers splay out, half on one side of your slit and half on the other, teasing your lips, you exhale hard and press up into his touch. 

“Oh, are you that sensitive?”

His voice is half-teasing, half-shocked, as he mumbles into the tingling skin of your neck. 

“It’s just you.” 

And it’s true. There’s no ego-stroking here. You’ve waited too long to get this and now you’re fiending, any touch is a relief. 

And he’s huffing into that skin under your ear, like you’re playing it up too much, but he bites down on the skin anyway and groans. 

“So sweet, huh?”

You make a disgruntled noise but there’s not enough blood in your brain to get your point across. Instead, you wrap your hand around his meaty forearm and force his fingers lower, where you know your underwear is a soaking, sticky mess. 

He curses and pulls away from his assault on your neck to look at you. You’re certain you know what he sees, blown out pupils and sweat-slick forehead and bitten, shiny lips. 

“That’s all for me?” 

There’s a sly smile tugging at one side of his mouth, just barely there, but you see it in the way one dimple grows more than the other. You nod in answer, scrape your nails up the hair on his arm and watch him shudder.

But he retreats from between your legs, and chuckles when you squeeze his forearm tighter in protest. The sound makes you shiver, all low and gruff and teasing. But he softens the blow with another one of his kisses, heated and sloppy and needy. His hands, always so gentle and careful and big, find the creases between your hips and thighs. It makes you arch up into the touch and whimper again, and you wonder briefly if you’ll ever not be desperate for him again. 

He watches your face twist up when he pulls away from you, watches the way your breasts move with every heave of your lungs. His dark eyes travel lower, where his thumbs sear circles into your hips, and his tongue swipes across his lower lip. 

“Can I take these off, sweetheart?” 

The tenderness in his voice fills you with a completely different warmth, white hot flames simmering into a blaze of feelings you aren’t sure you’ve ever truly experienced before. You let it consume you. 

“Yes, please.”

He hums a satisfied little noise as his fingers hook under the waistband. He takes his time, making sure to catch your underwear as well. It’s a sight, his huge hands working your only remaining cover down, down, until you’re bare to him and he’s gently cradling each of your calves to fully remove the last of your clothes. 

Those hands work their way back up, attentive, memorizing the valleys and peaks of your flesh, the nuances of your skin, the way it bends over your joints. Before you know it, he’s propped himself up beside you once again, one arm supporting his weight so his other hand can work its way between your thighs. 

You drag your eyes away from his fingers to look at him, only to find him focused on your face. 

It’s a few long moments before either of you move or speak or breathe. It’s you who breaks the spell, only because you know you’re at the very edge of control. 

“You sure you’re ready?”

You reach up to cradle his neck in your hand. It’s hot to the touch, and so are his ears, the tips of them burning a cute pink where your thumb grazes them. His eyes get softer and crinkle even more around the edges.

“I’m positive… can’t believe I psyched myself out for so long.”

He huffs and shakes his head at himself. You’re ready to kiss that apprehension away again, but his hand on your thigh pulls, as gentle as everything else he’s done, to spread yourself open for him. 

The cool air makes your breath catch in your throat. Or maybe it’s the anticipation. So close to what you’ve thought about every single night for weeks. Months– since the day you first met, if you’re being honest. 

He keeps his eyes on you, and you hold his gaze even though it burns. But only until his fingers brush you. Your eyelids flutter shut at the feeling, mouth open wide in shock at how electric just one simple touch feels. 

His finger glides so easily around your opening, and you hear him gasp as he explores all the slick.

“You’re soaked.” 

His voice is thick with awe, as another finger joins in on the fun, gathering up your arousal. But they don’t breach, and you feel like he’s teasing, readying a whine in protest. 

The noise gets stuck in your throat when they trail up, gliding through your swollen folds. They find your clit, full and begging for attention, and circle with hardly any pressure. 

Oh, he’s fucking good at this. 

There’s no apprehension in his movements. It’s like he’s read a fucking manual on how to press all your buttons. The light, slick touches are building up that heat in your gut quicker than you can ever remember with anyone else. 

You’re stunned silent, eyes pinched shut and your head tilted back into the mattress, digging in for even an ounce of grounding. 

“That feel good, sweetheart?”

Your vocal chords come back to life, finally, as you whimper from the gentle drag of his fingers. 

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and you open your eyes to see his own still trained on your face. 

“I think I do,” he mumbles.

He shifts, presses his hips into you, and the hard line of him digs into your side. 

You clench around nothing, and your clit pulses under the pads of his fingers. He curses and responds to the needy little bud, applying more pressure and speeding up those little circles. 

All the while he grinds his hips into you, soft little movements that sync up with his hand, and you want him so bad. You’re losing patience by the second, the only thing keeping you from pouncing is the way his fingers work you over so perfectly it’s like you’re touching yourself. 

You’re not, though, and that becomes perfectly clear when one thick, long finger presses lower and slips into you. It slides so easily, despite how much girth it has on one of your own. You both make stuttered noises at the feeling, and Marcus’ lips capture your own to let them mingle together. 

Your hips egg him on, lifting and shifting, but he is teasing now. It’s a slow drag in and out, his finger pin straight, and if he hadn’t been so diligent this entire time you’d think he didn’t know what he was doing. 

But you whine, a soft plea of his name into his mouth, and he obliges. That thick finger crooks up, just as the heel of his hand flattens against your clit, and stars bloom behind your eyelids. 

You groan, and he laps it up before his lips leave yours. 

“That’s it. This what you needed?”

A pathetic whimper comes out in response as you nod your head. His finger presses harder into that perfect spot, and his palm slides over your wet clit. You’re clenching around him, savoring the feeling of being filled by him, working your hips down and back to meet his motions. It grows and grows, that feeling in your gut, so close that you can’t be bothered to worry about what needy noises you’re making.

He mutters another frantic curse, and his hips jump to press his cock into you harder. 

“I gotta taste you, sweetheart. Can I? Will you let me?” 

You nod so fast you’re surprised your head doesn’t detach from your neck. He soothes that frenzied part of your brain with another kiss, slips his finger out of you, and moves to get between your legs. 

You thread your fingers through his hair to keep him still, even if it’s just for a moment. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and the drag of his sweatpants across your sensitive center makes you arch up into him for more, to seek out more friction. 

He just huffs a laugh against your lips and angles his hips away, denying you the simple pleasure of grinding against the tent in his pants. 

“Not yet. Let me take my time with you. You’ve waited so long, right? I’ll make it up to you, you just gotta let me.” 

You huff. 

You should’ve known Marcus would be just as much of an infuriating tease in the bedroom as he is outside of it. The trivia dates and the cocky smirk he always sported when he won, the little bets he’d make on how a movie’s plot was going to twist, the refusal to ever let you pay for dinner— it’s all adding up now, and you can’t believe you didn’t expect it. 

Marcus Pike is a smug little prick underneath the humble, sheepish grins, and it’s hot and it’s yours. 

“Put your money where your mouth is,” you breathe. 

He chuckles and trails said mouth down the length of your naked body. You watch his plump lips explore your skin and leave wet patches littered in their wake, shiny little stakes claiming you. His five o’clock shadow is just long enough to abrade your skin a bit, delightful little pricks that make your muscles jump involuntarily.

He makes it to your mound before looking up at you. His brown eyes are mostly obstructed by his pupils, but they shine all glassy in the dim lamplight of his bedroom. His shitty grin has faded and he looks determined, and it steals the breath from your lungs. 

He teases some more, of course he does. His lips peck and tickle the creases of your thighs, the skin of your outer lips, and the very tip of your hood before you finally see his pink tongue slip out. 

All of a sudden you can’t watch, can only let your head fall back and close your eyes and drown in the anticipation. 

The pointed tip of his tongue just barely grazes you, tracing a razor-thin line from your dripping hole all the way to your mound. It tickles, and your breath comes in faster as he does it again, and again, and again. 

Just before you can beg for more, he flattens his tongue and drags it up your slit. He laps at your folds, slow and calculated, and the satisfied noises tumble out of you as you feel his taste buds glide against you. 

All you can think to do is find his hair and use it to hang on. Your legs spread wider, and he takes the encouragement. His tongue finds your clit, so swollen and sensitive with need by now. He circles it, then wiggles his tongue back and forth, playing with it, playing with you. He shakes his head from side to side to give you more, presses even more firmly, and the heavy feeling in your gut tightens tenfold. 

Your hips start to move on their own, rocking up into his face, helping his motions along. He groans with it, muffled and wet between your legs. 

A delirious thought gets stuck in your horny brain. You don’t know how you’ll ever let him leave this spot between your legs now that you’ve finally got him here. It’s so wet and warm and incredible, and your nails dig into his scalp to drive the point home, to try and lock him here forever. 

His voice snaps you from your reverent thoughts, thick and deep. 

“Fuck, sweetheart. You taste so good, looks so fucking pretty.” 

You brave a glance down at him, his red soaked mouth and his dark eyes that are boring holes into your pussy. One of his hands releases its grip on your thigh to glide across the dripping mess of your center. He toys with you, spreading you open with splayed fingers, watching the way your folds bend to his whim. With it exposed and protruding and aching for his touch, he leans down to wrap his plush lips around your clit and suckle. Curses fly from your lips at the concentrated attention, and it’s so so so fucking good you’re sure you’re going combust. 

His hand slips lower, and his mouth doesn’t stop, and you’re dangerously close to tipping over the edge. And then two thick fingers slip easily into you, immediately seeking out that spot inside you and tapping there. 

It’s blinding pressure overwhelming the two places you need him most. He drums up a rhythm that would remind you of a dance, maybe, if your brain were cognitive enough to form a coherent thought. Down with his head, engulfing your clit, and up with his fingers, squeezing that spongy spot inside you. Over and over, he works you with soft grunts against your cunt until your fingers lock up in his hair and your hips start to shake. 

“Please don’t stop,” you pant, “I’m so close.” 

To his credit, and this is more than you can say for the majority of men you’ve been with, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t slow down, nor does he speed up. He keeps at you exactly how you need it, moaning strung-out little noises into your center until you’re dropping. 

All the wind is knocked out of you. Your hips jolt into his face and he takes it in stride, lapping at your clit when the seal of his lips is broken from your erratic movements. You tremble through it, clench around his fingers, and squeeze his head between your thighs as you ride it out on his tongue. 

As the shivers roll through you, Marcus’ fingers slow, and though he can’t remove his tongue from you because of how your legs have him in a headlock, he stills his tongue so you can take the last bit of what you need from him. 

His breathing is just as heavy as yours, wheezing out moans and muffled words of encouragement. When you feel yourself slipping down from your peak, you let go of the death grip on his hair, and open your legs, and grant yourself a few deep breaths before you dare to look down at him. 

He carefully, cautiously pulls his fingers out of you. A comforting ‘shhh’ is cooed into the sweaty skin of your thigh when you make a strangled sound. Both of his hands splay out on either hip, a light and grounding touch accompanied by the kisses he’s dropping all over the skin he can reach. 

Finally, you grant yourself a peek down at him. The first thing you notice is how his broad shoulders are, heaving with baited breath. Then, his normally pristine hair, sticking out every which way and then some from your frantic fingers. 

His face is red, you guess from exertion. Or maybe you really did restrict some blood flow. Christ. That’s what he gets, being so goddamn good at that. 

And then his lips. His lips. Those lips that up until now you’ve only ever kissed or dreamed of. They’re even more plump, swollen and slick with you, shining just like his chin is. 

You don’t know what to say. You know you want to kiss him. Funny, considering that’s how all this started, but you’re dying to see what you taste like on him. 

Luckily, he breaks the silence, after licking those delectable lips and clearing his throat. 

“So… How’d it compare?” 

Your face contorts on its own, surprised at the sudden and intrusive question. 

“Pardon?”

But then he laughs, pressing those wet dimples into your heated skin to hide them. 

“To all those thoughts you told me about. How’d I do?” 

You laugh too then, a weary huff of breath as you sit up. 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments,” you tease, though there’s not much heat behind it with how out of breath you still are. 

He goes to respond, but you get a hand in his hair again and coax him up. You meet him halfway, swallowing his surprised noise when you finally get those pillowy lips against yours and lick at them, his tongue, his teeth, until you aren’t sure what taste is you and what is him. Until you realize you’re flat on your back again as he hovers over you, still between your thighs. 

You both hum when the kiss breaks, and you rest your forehead against his, nuzzle his nose and sigh at the floaty feeling in your limbs. 

“Better,” you whisper. 

You feel his grin bump into your own. You nip at it, playful and languid as you finally begin to get some of your bearings back. 

And then you’re shocked back into the realization that there’s all this smooth skin right in front of you, this hunk of a man hovering above, the one who just melted your brain into a fuzzy little mold of itself. You grab his hips as he licks into your mouth and scrape your nails up his flanks, unhurried, while the touch makes him shiver. 

You feel out the strength in his pecs, those broad shoulders you often daydream about, and then you push. Catching him off guard, he gasps as he loses his balance and tumbles to the side, and then laughs when you press him into the mattress and straddle his hips. 

You laugh along with him, but it slowly tapers off as his hands find your naked skin— your stomach and hips and back and then your ass, where it hovers just above that bulge in his sweatpants. 

He’s looking up at you with what you can only describe as horny apprehension. 

His eyelids droop over his dilated pupils, but his brow is all pinched up in the middle. His mouth hangs open, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out. 

So you kiss him, soft and gentle, as gentle as he’s been with you all night. His sigh washes heat across your cheeks, and you feel him relax under you just a little. 

But then you shift in his grasp, lower your ass, and press your soaking center to his crotch. You whimper at the feeling of his sweatpants dragging across your sensitive, wet cunt. He moans and bites at your bottom lip maybe a little too hard. 

But it’s okay. He pulls away and pants your name and you settle there, your weight pressed down on his cock. Your lips find that smooth patch in his stubble, biting that chiseled jaw, licking down the curve of his neck, his shoulder, up to his ear. You delight in every goosebump you draw, and breathe in his scent before you speak up. 

“Will you let me suck it?” 

All his breath rushes out in a big gust. His fingertips dig into your naked sides, and he nods. 

“Please.” 

It’s a barely-there whisper. You pull away from that silky soft skin where his pulse is hammering to check his reaction. 

He’s begging with his eyes. It makes you smirk, sitting up straighter, trailing your fingers down the front of his body until you reach the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

You’re still sitting on his groin, though. You give a little playful wiggle, and his hips rock up to grind harder. But you don’t want to tease any more. Every moment spent teasing him, you’re also denying yourself, and you’ve been patient for long enough. 

So you shift down the bed, nestled between his legs, and get to work on the tie of his pants. Every time your fingertips brush the hair below his belly button, he sucks in a breath. You finally get the thing untied, and look up one last time for permission before you start to drag the material down, grabbing his boxers as you go. 

Your eyes stay trained on his face instead of staring at his crotch, especially as he wiggles a bit and lifts his legs to remove his pants. You don’t want to stare, and you also don’t want to not look, you don’t want him to be uncomfortable at all with you. 

You want it to be perfect. You want to make him feel the way he makes you feel. 

He nods his head, and you cease averting your eyes to trail down his body, the bushy happy trail and the neatly trimmed hair above his cock and his cock. 

His little cock. 

It is, indeed, on the smaller side. Probably one of the smallest you’ve seen in real life. Three and half or four inches long, if you had to guess. 

And it’s so pretty, cut and on the thicker side, the slightest upward curve that makes your pussy tighten around nothing. 

You dive right in, press your nose to all the hair while you kiss at the base of him, humming when his cock twitches against the side of your face. He smells so good and clean, like always, but down here there’s even more of that Marcus smell that always lingers beneath his soap and cologne, salty and warm.

When you drag your eyes up to him, his head’s thrown back against the pillows, not looking at you. You want him to look, you want him to see how much you’re going to enjoy this. 

You’ll make him look, one way or another. 

For now, you just lathe your tongue up the underside of him, then back down to tickle his balls, all the while enjoying how his prick jerks under the attention. 

He’s making little noises, mostly puffs of breath and gasps, and his hands twist up in the sheets beside you. You grab one of them, slow and steady, and lead it to the back of your head. 

And then, you finally get your lips wrapped around the head of his dick, and you slowly sink down until he’s entirely in your mouth. 

It’s not until your nose presses against the flatness above his cock do you hear him release a strangled groan. That’s when you look back up at him and find him staring down, mouth agape, locked on your mouthful of him. 

You pull back up, wiggling your tongue as you go, memorizing the ridges and hairs and veins. Your eyes are locked on his, and his are locked on your lips, so you try to give him a show. 

You open your mouth and stick out your tongue, nod your head up and down to let his cockhead tickle your tastebuds. A gruff noise leaves him, hearty and hoarse, and you want to smile but you’re not in a position to. 

Instead, you flick your tongue against that little band of tissue just under his slit, and his hips stutter as his grip on the back of your head tightens. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.”

Now you do smile, your lips upturned against the head of his cock, and it jerks against your mouth while you kiss it, until you envelop it once more. 

You hum around him, at the weighted feeling of him occupying your mouth, how smooth it feels against your tongue and how nice it is to take him all the way in and not gag or choke or drool. 

It makes your cunt ache, makes you crave him even more, makes you want to be full of him everywhere. 

You reach a hand down to touch yourself. You’re still dripping, can feel it all slipping from your entrance and cooling your skin in the air conditioning. You’ve had just enough time to recover from the mess Marcus made of you. You’re sensitive but not too sensitive, when you trace your clit with your fingertips and moan around the mouthful of cock. 

“Oh fuck, are you touching yourself?”

Your eyes flicker open and look up to him. He’s clenching his jaw, grinding his teeth as his nostrils flare. You hum and nod your head to answer, his cock slipping back and forth through the ring of your lips. He whimpers, and his head tips back against the mattress again, and it makes you speed up the efforts on both him and yourself. 

He curses, soft little chants, kneading the back of your neck in his big hand as you suck him in over and over. You close your eyes and lose yourself in it for a bit, the way he slips so easily in and out, the way his hips move just a little, like he’s trying not to but he can’t help it. The sounds, his grunts and your sloppy mouth and your fingers working over your slick folds. 

He says your name. 

You hum, use your free hand to play with the fuzzy skin of his balls. 

He says your name again, and this time it’s urgent, almost panicked. 

“Sweetheart, stop, please.”

You do, immediately. You open your mouth wide and let him fall from your lips and unhand him while you look at his exerted face. 

“Are you okay?”

He huffs, and his cock bobs beside your face. 

“I’m so okay. I just— did you want me to…? It’s okay if you don’t, I just didn’t want it to be over—”

“Marcus.” 

His heated babbling stops as he clamps his mouth shut. His broad shoulders lift and drop with his heading breath.

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

You smooth your hands across the scattered hair on his thighs when you ask. His prick twitches again at your question. 

“I— Yeah. Yes. I do.”

He looks almost guilty about it, with his wide eyes and the bashful expression spreading across his face. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad,” you tell him, “I’ve wanted it for way too long.”

His breath leaves him in a shuddery exhale, something like relief or awe. 

“Yeah? You still want it?” 

His hand skates from the back of your neck to your jaw, his thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. 

“Please, Marcus. Give it to me.” 

You turn your head to kiss his thumb, a sloppy little peck before you take it into your mouth. You smile around it when he groans, and bite it before it slips away. 

“Can you get on the edge of the bed for me?” 

You can, but not without throwing a cheeky ‘yes sir’ his way. You’re not sure if the noise he makes is from arousal or a lack of  amusement, but there will be plenty of time to explore that later. 

For now, you do as he says. You scoot so your ass is just about to fall off the side of his bed. The wooden bed frame is the perfect height to rest your heels on, and as Marcus slips a pillow under your head, you’re as comfortable as ever.

The mattress dips when he gets up to stand in front of you. The lamplight from the nightstand is really doing things for him. The slight sheen of sweat on his chest glistens, as does the wetness at his temples where his hair is starting to curl up. All those lean muscles have never been more apparent than they are now, the golden glow creating beautiful shadows across his naked body. 

He’s so hot. 

It doesn’t help that his big, warm hands snake up your bare thighs as he gets between them. His small dick stands at attention, pointing toward the ceiling, and you feel your pussy spasm with anticipation. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He nods, steps closer as you spread your legs wider and wiggle even further off the bed. 

“Perfect, sweetheart.”

He leans over you with one hand on the bed to brace himself. The other is wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, and he looks down to watch it as he glides it through your slit. 

“Are you ready?”

You nod and hum your affirmative. He takes the go-ahead and his cockhead slides across your clit, down, so slowly, until it catches on the rim of your hole and you both gasp at the feeling. 

You look down to watch too, lifting up on your elbows to see the moment your pussy lets him sink inside, fluttering around him, engulfing his prick one inch at a time. 

You knew it. You fucking knew his cock was perfect but still you’re shocked at the way the curve makes him drag across your upper wall. And when his hips are flush with yours, all that pressure is concentrated at that bundle of nerve endings inside of you, and you’re going to lose your mind if he doesn’t move.

“Oh fuck.”

You let yourself flop back in the bed, but reach for his hand that’s supporting his weight. Your nails scrabble for purchase against the skin of his wrist as you curse again, your walls contracting around him as you tense. 

“Fuck, Marcus, please.”

You’re so far past caring about how desperate you sound. You need him, the textbook definition of it; it’s an absolute necessity that he fucks you. 

He curses, and you realize you’ve closed your eyes. When you open them, his jaw is hanging and he’s looking at you, your face, like it’s something he’s never seen before. Like he’s shocked you’re here in front of him. 

But his hips are still, and you’re helpless to the way your own cant up to urge him, and finally he’s pulling back out. The slow drag against the most tender spot inside you rips a noise from your throat, involuntary. He pulls almost all the way out, until the head of his dick is kissing your opening and you can feel how he stretches the tight ring of muscles. 

And then in again, almost as slowly, and you’re already out of breath. The feeling steals all the wind from your lungs. It’s setting you on fire, perfect friction against just the right spot, the one that’s still tender and alight from your previous orgasm. 

“It’s so fucking good,” you manage to choke out. 

Marcus moans above you, and his hips snap into you, and his free hand finds your waist so he can dig his nails into your flesh. 

“It is, fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking good.”

A bead of sweat drips from his nose and lands on your belly, and that seems to make you snap out of it. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me hard, please, make me come.”

You watch his mouth quirk up into a pretty smirk, dimples on full display. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Your giggles only last for a moment, dissolving into a high whine when he slides out of you and back in, a harsh thrust of his hips that doesn’t let up. 

He fucks you. You try to watch; it’s too hot not to. His biceps flex respectively, one with his effort to hold himself above you, and the other where he holds you in place by your waist. 

His neck, the one vein there that’s protruding as he bares his teeth. The way his chest is rapidly rising and falling as he drives into you. His big brown eyes, even darker now as he succumbs to the feeling of you. 

But you just can’t keep your eyes open for long. It feels too good, you’re too close to the edge. Your insides are so tender and alight from the first time you came. Every single thrust inside you is taking you apart and building your second so quickly. Your eyelids droop closed and there’s already stars blooming behind them. 

His little noises are louder, like this. Grunts and gasps and moans, falling over you, all for you. 

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you warn him.

Your back arches to encourage his pace. His skin slaps into yours faster as he groans.

“Thank god, me too. What do you need, sweetheart?” 

Without a verbal answer to his strained question, you slip your hand down to press against your throbbing clit. 

“Shit, yeah, play with your pussy for me. I wanna— fuck— let me see you come. Looks so gorgeous.”

His voice is thick in his throat, and you work your fingers over yourself faster. You’re clenching wildly around him, you can’t help it. Every thrust in sets your nerves on fire, almost too much, but not quite. His grunts are turning into growls, uninhibited and primal. You feel the mattress shift and open your eyes to find him standing up straight. 

Both hands grab your hips now, and that little angle change makes him grind even harder into your g-spot, and you’re tumbling over the edge. It’s been building under the surface for so long that when it hits, it’s blinding. There’s static in your toes that washes over you, up, up, dragging a fiery heat with it that consumes your center and makes your head fuzzy. 

There’s screaming. 

You’re screaming. Your eyes are clenched so tight, as are your fingers, all your joints, your pussy, around Marcus as he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts. 

“That’s it, oh my god, sweetheart, you— fuck. I’m gonna come, I’m— where?”

“In me.”

Your throat is scratchy when you answer, and you don’t have any time to elaborate on why that’s not a bad idea. You’re still coming, wave after wave of warmth rolling across your body, and you’re vaguely aware of how wet everything is, the sound of him fucking you even more obscene. 

His shout doesn’t quite rival yours, but you feel it when he empties inside of you. His cock jerks and and twitches, wringing out every little bit of pleasure from you, and you think you’re still coming, the pinpricks of pleasure are still too intense to be aftershocks. 

He stays pressed as deep as he can be as his stomach convulses and his thighs shake, just like yours do where they’ve somehow wrapped around him. Your eyes open again, and the lamplight is so bright now, his breathing is so loud. He grunts and pulls out a bit, then presses back in, and again, until it falters and his whole body slumps. 

His top half collapses onto you, his little breaths huff and tickle the tingling skin of your belly. Your own breath comes out in a weak moan, and it takes all the strength you can muster just to run your fingers through his sweaty hair. 

“Jesus,” he says.

Your name cascading off his lips in such a strung out voice that it makes you clench around him again. 

“Huh?” 

God, how are you ever going to move again? 

“You uh… Is that a common occurrence?”

Christ, why is he using such big words? 

“What are you talking about?” 

He clears his throat. 

“You like— You squirted?”

You laugh, one delirious huff. It makes his head rock on your jiggling belly. 

“I what?”

You gather the will to look down at him. His mouth is open, surprised and amused, and his eyes are shiny and bright. 

“Yeah, like, a lot.”

He’s still inside you but softening, and his own chuckles make him slip out. 

You lift up on your elbows as he stands up straight and the evidence is clear. The hair above his dick and high on his thighs is all dark and soaked. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

The sheets on the edge of the bed are absolutely ruined, and you pray he’s one of those men that has a mattress protector. You’re more than a little mortified, and the way he’s staring at you, silent, is beginning to make you squirmy.

“What?” 

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

His fingertips are feather-light across your thighs, and you shiver. 

“I’ve never actually… done that? I would have warned you.”

He makes a pained sound, and those fingertips turn into a tight grip just above your knees. 

He doesn’t speak up. Instead, he lies on the bed beside you. He holds himself by his elbow, but that hand strokes your scalp while the other traces up and down your thigh, your hips, your breasts, anything he can reach. You avoid the topic at hand to relax into it, and you think you’re finally coming down as that boneless feeling washes over you. 

You’re vaguely aware of his cum dripping out of you, but the sheets are a lost cause anyway. You just watch his lax face, the way the wrinkles in his brow are all smoothed out, the way his eyes follow the patterns he’s drawing on your body. 

He catches you staring. His gaze meets yours and he smiles and it’s sunny. It warms you through, despite all the sweat that’s cooling on your body. 

“Hi,” he whispers. 

You giggle, and he does too. He tries to hold it in by biting his lip, but it’s no use. You will your exhausted bones to shift and face him, and he presses his lips to yours and they meld together.

It’s languid, unhurried, just reacquainting after too long apart. It feels a little goofy, with how you’re both smiling so wide, but it calms you into settling down after such a high. 

Both of your breathing seems even, when you part. 

“That was—”

“It’s never—”

You both chuckle. 

“Ladies first.”

You feel shy now. You can’t imagine why, but a fluttery feeling overtakes your stomach. 

“I was just gonna say… That was better than all those times I imagined it.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but his smile grows even wider. His eyes flicker from yours to the sheets between you, and you think maybe he feels as bashful as you do. 

“It’s never been that good.”

A sigh escapes him when he speaks, and his nervous gaze lands on you when his face falls into something more earnest. 

It takes your breath away. Because it’s never been that good for you either, and isn’t that such a perfect coincidence?

You tug him to you by the back of his neck, eat up the surprised little sound he makes against your mouth. 

“When can we go again?”

[tupelomiss]

HOPEFULLY GRANDPA JOEL IS COMING (on me)

[tupelomiss]

Stubborn

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel sees your baby bump for the first time.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Breeding/Impreg Kink. Hurt/Comfort (mostly comfort). Mention of insecurities related to changes in Reader’s body from pregnancy (!!) Praise kink. Creampie. Girthy but unspecified age gap. Nothing bad happens to Joel Miller. He lives to 103 :)

Word count: 4.9k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

It had been a long week.

The one before that had seemed even longer. Joel Miller spent every night of it curled up on too-cold hardwood floors in remote cabins or in guard towers, on duty. He would’ve given anything to be someplace else, but as it stood, Jackson was on high alert for hordes of Infected. That meant he had had to contribute his fair share and go on extended patrol, no matter how loudly every last ligament, muscle, and bone in his old body protested.

Evidently, there was a dearth of strong and gun-savvy folks in town. No exceptions could be carved out for anyone among them—not even expecting fathers.

Today, Joel stood in a greenhouse, running off two hours of sleep. He’d made it back home that morning, but before he’d even slid off his boots you’d told him you were headed to the farmer’s market and you wouldn’t be gone more than twenty minutes at most, just stay here and get some sleep while I’m out, OK? Joel had refused.

“Already spent too much damn time away from you two,” he’d said grumpily, pressing a kiss to your temple before ushering you out the door. He caught you smile at that.

By ‘you two,’ Joel hadn’t needed to gesture to your belly and the life growing within it to explain what he meant. You both knew it—had been aware of this little world-altering development for weeks now—but no matter how much time had passed, neither one of you seemed quite capable of saying the words without a glance or a grin.

“Me and baby did just fine on our own these last nights,” you’d assured him teasingly as you walked along then. “In fact, I think he was glad not to hear all your snoring.”

Joel had almost chuckled through his latest yawn.

“Yeah? She tell you that herself while I was gone?”

He was convinced the baby was a girl.

You swore you were having a boy.

As Joel leaned against a display of sun-dried tomatoes and yawned extra big again, he decided it didn’t matter one bit what the gender was going to be. He just wanted to meet the kid. He hated that he would have to wait another six months to see their face and pinch their pudgy cheeks between his fingers, but that was a minuscule price to pay for what was to come in time.

Tiny feet. Bright eyes. Beaming, toothless smiles. Greedy hands that would no doubt be yanking at his silver hairs all hours of the day. He just hoped they’d take after y—

“Joel?”

Your eyes flickered to him in question. He hadn’t heard it.

“What’s’at, sweetheart?”

You furrowed your brows.

“I’m blanking on what Maria asked us to buy. Zucchini?”

Joel had no fucking idea.

A sea of fruits and vegetables lay out before him like a technicolor dream; he was so sleep-deprived it almost seemed surreal to see so much vibrancy at once, and he had to blink a couple of times to get his vision to adjust.

Then he was looking back at you. You were frowning.

“Baby, we can go home. You’re about to pass out.”

And Joel knew you meant it—despite only being at the market in town a grand total of five minutes, he knew you’d be willing to leave in a heartbeat if it meant giving him a moment’s worth of rest. It had been his own doing in bringing his drained, deadened, stubborn body here.

“I’m fine. Really, I’m good. You said, uh…cucumbers?”

“Zucchini.” You fended off his taut forced smile with a warning look of you own, as if to say: ‘You suck at lying.’

That look remained on him for a while and was only marginally diminished by a kiss he dropped on your forehead, followed by a promise to sleep the rest of the day. He didn’t like seeing you put off in the slightest, but if it meant getting to spend an extra half hour with you and Junior, Joel decided he was willing to bend the rules.

Fortunately, your scowl was even more short-lived than expected. The next second had you turning and, seeing something in a small wooden crate across the way, glowing with a bright, eager look. You walked over.

“Look—our baby!” you cried, peering into the box.

Joel was puzzled, but then you turned again and were suddenly holding a lemon up to your stomach, grinning.

“At thirteen weeks, the baby’s about the size of this.”

You balanced the thing proudly in your palm, just over your navel, and flashed him an irresistibly sweet smile. Joel smiled back, and was right about to squeeze the little fruit and tell you he couldn’t believe this kid was growing so fast, when a new voice cut in. It was some neighbor of yours. You turned to greet her, scarcely had a second to get through ‘hello’ before talks of an upcoming potluck were entered into, and before Joel knew it, he’d lost the opportunity to marvel your fruit fetus. He felt unusually dismayed at that but blamed it on burnout.

Why did he feel like he’d missed so much already?

It wasn’t like he could change the fact that this world you inhabited was overrun with the living undead, and he had to help defend this community against them, but still.

Joel was just about to yawn again and rub his bleary eyes when his gaze meandered somewhere else.

His yawn caught in his throat as soon as he saw it, and like before, he had to blink several times to clear the sight in front of him. This time, though, it wasn’t total exhaustion which clouded his vision—it was something more, snagged in his periphery at first, only to gain his full attention an instant later. Joel’s chest tightened.

Surely it wasn’t fatigue alone making him see this.

You’d tilted your body from him a little more while talking to your friend, and in your profile, Joel could make out an unfamiliar shape in your ensemble that he hadn’t noticed when you were holding the lemon: just under the swell of your breasts, beneath the apricot-colored material of your dress, he could see the faintest outline of a bump.

Joel stared harder, half-expecting that picture to fade like a mirage. He couldn’t believe the sight before him.

He’d seen you in fits and bursts over the last two weeks—he worked double shifts on patrol, so you were often asleep when he was home, and there were all the times he was forced to sleep at one of the far outposts, but no.

No.

Joel wouldn’t have missed something like that.

He couldn’t have missed the first glimpse of your growing belly when he’d gotten so…fixated on you, this baby, the thoughts of your future together as a family.

No, he shouldn’t have missed that. A good dad wouldn’t.

Hell, even a halfway decent father-to-be wouldn’t have not noticed the growth of his own child inside you. That seemed so rudimentary—how the fuck had he missed it?

Suddenly, a coil was forming in his stomach. Unlike the one in yours, it wasn’t a child but a pit of guilt growing there. He felt his legs weaken underneath him, and he swallowed dryly. He cleared his throat. He tried to cast a sideways look at you, maybe try and urge you to get on with this neighborly conversation and be done with it, but who was he to say anything now? Joel slumped against a table full of leafy greens and tried not to sulk.

He blinked and five minutes had passed, at least. His head was swimming with thoughts of shame and remorse, wanting to kick himself for agreeing to pick up shifts for his brother last week, and feeling like he’d failed you and your baby already—and they weren’t even born.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a hand on his shoulder again. Two bloodshot eyes darted to the left.

“Joel,” you said, softly. Your voice was full of sympathy.

The man couldn’t bear to hear it. He didn’t deserve it.

In fact, he felt so down on himself and dead tired now that he couldn’t muster up the strength to speak when you nudged him back onto his feet. You walked beside him with a basket that now contained three zucchini, two bulbs of garlic, a lemon, and a dozen other food items that he couldn’t place at the moment. Joel had no idea what you’d be cooking tonight, but he couldn’t help but wince at the sight of that tiny yellow fruit in front of him.

You knew this would be a long day.

Joel never slept well after those week-long stints going back and forth between patrol and home, and ever since taking Tommy’s as well while he was out sick, the man before you was drained of all his energy. Dead, almost.

Okay, maybe ‘dead’ was an overstatement.

Joel was very much alive; his body just sagged, his head lolled forward where he stood, and he refused to sleep.

It made no sense to you. It was like the longer he’d been awake, away from you, the more adamant he became that he couldn’t spare a minute while he was home dozing off. When you’d dragged his hulking body up the stairs to your bedroom, he shook his head in protest.

“I— I missed seeing her,” he mumbled dejectedly. Resisting your efforts to push him onto the bed.

“I know. You can talk as much as you’d like after you get some rest, OK? We’ll be right downstairs in the kitchen.”

That didn’t seem to appease Joel at all. If anything, he made an effort to shake his head harder and seemed ready to follow you back downstairs to help you cook.

You weren’t having any of that, so you nudged him back.

“Joel—”

“No, I missed it, honey. I missed it.”

He was talking nonsense now, surely.

“What do you mean? Missed what, Joel?”

With a deflated sort of sound, he collapsed on the bed behind him. Joel steadied himself wearily, blinking more.

Seeming as if he wanted to meet your gaze but couldn’t.

Then, to your surprise, he slid off of the bed and sank to the floor, on his knees. He shuffled closer to where you stood, and then slowly, sheepishly, peered up at you.

“I missed seeing this,” he clarified quietly.

And two hard, muscly arms wrapped around your lower half from where he kneeled. Joel’s face was mere inches from the fabric of your dress—where it flared the slightest bit out front and almost prodded at his nose.

Your little bump was protruding under your clothes now. It couldn’t be helped, no matter how loose of winter attire you wore, and you felt guilty that, at first, you hadn’t liked how it looked. Wasn’t motherhood supposed to be some exquisite, transcendent experience wherein every waking moment had you cherishing what your body did for you, like sustaining a brand new life? You’d felt awful.

So terrible, in fact, that you hadn’t even thought to mention the development to Joel, which somehow made things even worse. You just wanted to wrap up and hide, for no other reason than that you felt so self-conscious.

Now here Joel was, pressing his face to the little bulge in your frame and peering up at you with the widest, most glass-like pair of eyes you’d seen in a long time. He was watching you like he was riddled with guilt himself, oddly

You couldn’t imagine what the shame might be for.

“What are you talking about? You didn’t miss anything,” you said softly, lowering your voice to just a murmur.

Joel winced as if you’d just reared back and struck him.

“I did,” he whispered back, tone hoarse. Then, somehow, his next words came out even more broken. “I was gone so long I— I didn’t even notice you had a bump already.”

He sounded so despondent as he said it—like he’d missed some great milestone in your pregnancy and not an event that you’d actually wanted to keep out of sight.

Your heart ached in your chest. You hated seeing this.

You wanted to join him on the floor and hold him tight, tell him he hadn’t missed one single thing, but Joel’s grip around your hips was far too much to move an inch. So you remained standing instead and stroked his hair.

“What, this?” you said, gesturing toward the swell of your belly against his face. Forcing a smile when you felt guilt flood your insides. “It’s…it’s just a little bump, Joel, it’s—”

Joel drew back momentarily to meet you, eyes serious.

“It’s our baby,” he resumed, tone all soft solemnity.

That made the shame balloon in your chest.

You should’ve told him. Shown him.

But no, you’d been too afraid of what he might think of your changing body. You’d kept the news to yourself and let things go on as if nothing had happened at all. At the time, you told yourself you were doing it in Joel’s best interest—letting him rest and not spend too much time off-duty worrying about you. You’d played tougher than you really were and ended up causing the man pain over missing a moment like this. Your bottom lip trembled as you pulled him in closer to you. You hugged him to you.

“I— I’m sorry,” you croaked. You touched his head gently.

You’d just threaded your fingers through the soft, grey hair at the back of Joel’s head when he tilted his whole face back up to you. His chin hovered above your bump, and his eyes were shining up at you. Shortly, he frowned.

“Sorry for what, sweetheart? You didn’t—”

“I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to see.”

You blurted it out before you could think.

Joel was watching you so intently—tenderly—with his face so close to that spot you’d been trying to hide away. His look was open and sincere, and you felt like shit, so you just kept rambling on to clear your conscience of it.

“Ever since I saw the bump myself, I…I just…” you trailed off, feeling dumb as soon as the words started tumbling. “I didn’t like the way I looked. I wanted to keep it from you, because I was…scared of what you might think.”

And here he was, on his knees from how bad he felt.

His grip loosened, like he was processing things.

You found yourself lowering to the floor, too. You couldn’t help it. Your eyes began filling with hot, wet, hormone-induced tears like you’d been experiencing a lot of these last few weeks, and you hugged Joel again. You winced.

“I didn’t think it would mean so much to you, Joel. If I had known…If I knew it would hurt you not to know…”

Your wince became a full grimace—an ugly kind of cry that you’d long chastised yourself for doing—and you pulled back. You placed your palms over your eyes to hide your shame, but a couple stray tears leaked out.

Before you knew it, there were arms around you again. Big and muscly and warm, not hugging, but lifting you.

“Joel,” you sobbed into his neck. “I’m so sorry.”

You expected the father of your child to respond in words, but instead, at first, he just sat down on the bed with you in his hold. He let you rest your head on his chest, and for several long moments, he rocked you.

He held you, and you cried, and one of your hands came to fist the warm flannel of his shirt for sometime before you realized that Joel’s own palm was stroking your hair. Caressing it. Then, slowly, moving so he could thumb at the tears sliding down your cheeks, and holding you as close to his body as possible. Because of this, your ear was pressed flush against his chest, and you heard him.

Joel’s heart was hammering, and his breaths were quick.

You lifted your head, and as soon as you did, you were greeted with the sight of Joel peering down, face no more than a few inches away. Eyes soft and glossy.

“Joel, I’m so sorr—”

“You don’t,” Joel cut in, words still impossibly tender. “Don’t gotta apologize for nothin’, baby. Not one thing.”

You searched his face and saw exhaustion in every feature—there was no hiding that. Not just in the weeks but in the years he’d spent living in this world, fighting to survive and having all the scars and striations and thick, shining grays to prove it. You took stock of every sunspot and wrinkle, seeing a softness there that no pain had stolen, and found yourself all the more in love with this man. Your old man, the one who’d put this baby in you.

Without thinking, you reached for the hem of your dress.

You couldn’t get to it, as the skirt was long, and the material was splayed out all over Joel and the bed, but you were still able to bunch the fabric in your hands.

Tug it gently, but resolutely, up your legs. Near your hips.

Then over them. Suddenly sitting at your ribs, while your eyes stayed locked on Joel’s. The air felt a bit cooler now.

The house that you shared was always warm in winter. Now, with your stomach bared and your hand sliding at a snail’s pace up your front with Joel’s fingers clasped in it, you’d never felt a chill so biting in your life. Or frightening

Joel’s touch brushed the little bump above your pantyline, and instantly, you wanted to squirm. You hated how you felt that way, but it also couldn’t be helped. Your belly never protruded like this before, and you were still getting used to it—it would take time.

Joel hadn’t seen it even once before today.

Although he touched your body nonstop, with his focus centering a lot more on your tummy these days, he’d never actually gotten to feel the proof of his child growing inside you until now. You were showing.

Your belly was swollen beneath his hand and heaving lightly with every breath you took. You looked up at Joel.

And for once, he wasn’t looking back. He was looking at you, but his gaze this time was plastered to your lower half, where his palm was gradually moving to rest atop that tiny bump. He splayed his fingers. Yours sat timidly above his, and you wondered if you might not move back

Then you felt wetness on your hand. It was an odd, foreign feeling at first; you had no idea where those little droplets came from, but in a second, it dawned on you.

Joel’s head was bowed, and he was blinking hard.

The moisture was from his tears dripping down.

Your body almost caved with the realization. Your fingers tightened around the back of Joel’s hand, and presently, your voice was as hoarse as it had ever been as you shifted to sit up. Trying not to cry anymore yourself.

“Joel, don’t—don’t, no. This is my fault.”

“It’s my fault. I haven’t been here.”

And just hearing those words leave Joel’s mouth seemed ludicrous to you. He’d been there every step of the way to date, rubbing your back through the worst bouts of your morning sickness, spoon-feeding you on days you found it difficult to move a muscle, stroking your cheek and speaking soft words of consolation—he was there.

And here he was, meeting your gaze with bleary, bloodshot eyes as he blinked through his tears.

You couldn’t bear to see it.

You scrambled up from Joel’s lap and hugged him—no, attacked him with an embrace that knocked him flat on his back on the bed. Your arms wound around his neck, and your stomach brushed against his softer one. If it weren’t several weeks premature, you might’ve thought you felt some movement inside you. You squeezed your old man even tighter then and started shaking your head

“Oh, Joel…”

You pressed your body to his, hoping he’d feel your sincerity, if not the heat and the swell of your belly, thanks to what he’d done inside you. Now, more than anything else, you wanted to show him what he’d made happen—what you were so happy to feel every day, despite your insecurities and fears about some parts.

You wanted him to know how much you loved him.

“You’ve been here,” you assured him softly. Lifting slightly so you could lie on top with your front to his. “You always have and you always will. You hear me?”

Joel swallowed as soon as your lips attached to his neck and started peppering kisses to tufts of black and silver.

Gently, he reached around your back to hold you to him. His arms had just constricted in a protective grip around the base of your spine when you wriggled out. You sat up

You unzipped your dress and shifted on your knees to pull it off you completely. You tossed it and took a breath.

Now you were naked, save for your pale cotton panties, and sitting there. Straddling him. Soft rays of morning light filtered in through the window, and for a beat, you hoped the shadows it cast on your body didn’t make you look…odd, or undesirable to the man lying beneath you.

Fortunately, that fear was dispelled as soon as it arrived.

Joel’s gaze melted at the sight, and he swallowed again.

Wiping his eyes with one hand and beckoning with the other, he said, soft as anything: “Sweet pea, I love you.”

“I love you more.” You were fumbling to get your panties off—not even with sex in mind, but just so that Joel could see more of you. All of you. You wanted him to be able to drink in every inch now, like he couldn’t before.

You wanted to be naked with him, like you’d been when you made this baby together. It didn’t have to be anything more than pure and simple appreciation.

Though when you fumbled with the bottom buttons of Joel’s flannel and murmured, ‘Take yours off, too, please,’ you couldn’t deny that it had an edge of something else, as well. That was only natural.

Within seconds, Joel was stripped of his clothes, and his body was on display, the same as yours. You could stare at him, he could stare at you, and together, you could cherish the knowledge that these bodies made a third. There was a new one growing inside of you, day by day, and now you could see the proof as well as you’d felt it.

For once, Joel hardened, and it didn’t feel like just lust or love or arousal at the sight of your nude body, but a primal urge. When your folds dripped and glistened in turn, it wasn’t merely a product of wanting but of acknowledging what had already been done here.

This big man, this stiff and graying man, this kind man had put his seed inside you more times than you could count, and one of those moments had made him stick.

Stuck as he was, claimed as you felt, you were happy.

At last, one of your hands came to rest over your belly in a sweet, appreciative, and loving way, and you rubbed it.

It might’ve been the first time you’d done it.

That was definitely a first for Joel.

His hand immediately joined.

“You put a baby in me.” You said it gently.

“I put a baby in you,” Joel repeated.

In a breath, it was affectionate. In the next, it was protective. In the one after that, you felt his cock pushing inside you, but it hardly felt that way at all sitting on him.

It was sex, though. You rolled your hips and took him to the base. Joel’s hand stayed on your belly, trailing each movement with a look of awe. And strain. His smooth, bulbous tip grazed somewhere deep within your body, and your walls contracted around him. Sucked him in.

“Right there.” His fingers flexed over where his cock was currently stretching you out from the inside, and you whimpered softly. ��Ain’t that where I stuffed you full?”

“Yes,” you breathed, free hand anchoring on his chest.

Joel fucked up into you gently, and damn, this was even better in the second trimester than the first. Your body was more responsive. Your slick warmth drew him in.

Every nerve-ending in your system seemed attuned to the one man who’d made himself a part of you, like he was made to be exactly where he was, and no place else.

“My sweet girl let daddy make her a mama, huh?”

It didn’t feel like fucking and still, you were a minute from coming. Joel’s words, paired with a hand on your swollen belly and the soft, pleasuring cadence of his thrusts made you helpless to the sensation. You looked down.

And for once, you relished the sight below. You loved it—Joel’s hand over your belly, his cock splitting you in two.

“Y’like how it looks? Me in you?” Joel chuckled. Behind it, you could sense that he was getting close too, though.

His thrusts sped up, and you bounced to meet them, a smile spreading across your lips once you found his gaze.

“Yes, daddy.”

“Know how goddamn pretty ya look swole up with me?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Your voice was sweet. Supplicating. Sincere.

It wasn’t as if your fears and insecurities all vanished the moment Joel told you you were pretty, or when he said that you had no need to be sorry. That would have to come with time—but the praise certainly helped. His words spoken so tenderly to you then had an effect.

You wanted to believe all these things, and the closer you got to climax, the more readily you shed your inhibitions. Your hips started gyrating with more force, and you no longer gave a shit whether your body looked so different.

For now, at least, you’d just have to accept that growing Joel Miller’s child inside you meant many things would change. There was no escaping it. What mattered now was your health, being together with Joel, and knowing how much he loved you, no matter what might happen.

And that much was clear from the way he eyed you suddenly—needily—and how the fingers splayed across your front migrated down your stomach, over your bump, and between where your body and his were joined. He always made sure you were taken care of, and of course, that concern extended virtually everywhere.

A series of quick, deliberate circles on your clit and his cock hitting you repeatedly in your most sensitive spot made you see stars. Your eyes were tempted to roll back in pure bliss, preparing for your orgasm to hit, when Joel snagged your attention back. He pulled you in until your chest was practically parallel with his, and then he drilled you from below. His mouth moved dangerously close to your ear, and from there, it was apparent he had plans.

Pushing you closer and closer to the edge with every thrust, he spoke gently. He made sure you heard, though

“Y’like the way this feels now, don’t ya, sweet pea?”

In response, your words were more like a babble.

Still, you somehow managed to whine a ‘yes.’

And that was all Joel needed, apparently.

He leaned in even nearer, murmuring:

“Good.”

Good?

You were seconds from release. One hand was fisting the sheets now, your body moving in frantic tandem with Joel’s, and all at once, he was lifting your head. Tilting it sideways to meet his own while he fucked you relentlessly from below. He was beaming.

“Better get used to how it feels, ‘cause I’m keepin’ this belly full as long as you’ll let me keep on givin’ it babies.”

Fucking hell.

Your stomach clenched as if to say yes again, your brain went blank, and all you could think while you came on his cock was how much you loved him back—no matter how wary you were about these changes, how unwise making a man change diapers all throughout his sixties might seem, you’d give him as many babies as he wanted.

You might change your mind.

You might not.

But by the look on Joel’s face as he finished and flooded your insides with all his hot, sticky seed, you wanted to believe you would. One baby or a hundred, you’d give just about any number a shot with your old man, Joel Miller. You let him fuck you and fill you to the brim, and when it felt like he couldn’t go any deeper, or give you any more of this release, Joel pulled you in for a kiss.

Against his lips, muted between soft, sloppy movements, you managed to get out quietly:

“Whatever daddy wants.”

And when you’d finally pulled apart and were eye-to-eye again—after everything you’d been through today and these last couple weeks, these past few months—you couldn’t help it. A grin broke out on Joel’s face at the same moment it did yours. You both breathed heavily and felt your belly pressed against his. You were reminded, once more, of what brought you here and all you had to look forward to in the next months and years.

It would be hard, but well worth it with Joel by your side.

Gently, you nudged his nose with yours.

“I love you so much, Joel,” you whispered.

“I love you more, sweet pea,” he whispered back. Smiling

[tupelomiss]

pedro singing future days. i need this to be memorialized on my blog forever

[tupelomiss]

Final chapter of MMITB is up on ao3 :) I won't be posting to tumblr, but I did unlock this chapter so anyone can read it <3

Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive of me and these two losers <3

Fic here :)

[tupelomiss]

[tupelomiss]

You have been visited by the twocumber. May you receive twofold luck in the coming days

[tupelomiss]

🏃💨

[tupelomiss]

[tupelomiss]

REBLOG IF ITS OKAY IF I PUT SOMETHING FUCKING WEIRD AS FUCK IN YOUR INBOX

[tupelomiss]

Ep.6 Baby Yoda doesn’t like that big stinky rude bully