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vee-bees-blog · 8 months ago

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Me when Joel Miller: 🤰🏻

Honey-Do [joel miller]

It’s Sunday, chore day, and Joel has a honey-do list item of his own: get his girl pregnant.

my masterlist!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings: pre-outbreak joel, married!joel, pure fluff and smut, slight au, body worship, some cock worship, handyman!joel, malewife!joel, joel “my wife doesn’t lift a finger in this home” miller, vague daddy undertones, overstimulation, joel miller is a munch, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected PIV (wrap it up unless you’re joel), creampie, breeding kink, actual breeding, talks of pregnancy, pregnancy kink, domestic bliss, joel’s love language being acts of service and by that i mean putting a baby in his wife, competence kink

word count: ~ 10k (someone stop me)

read on ao3!

a/n: hello, lovelies!! i received this ask ages ago and the idea inevitably snowballed because who is self-control?? does she go to a different school? anyway, this fic is pure plotless domestic fluff and domestic smut (is that a thing? yes!), so i really hope you all enjoy! pre-outbreak joel is very special to me xoxo

HONEY-DO

Your shared bedroom looks out over the eastern sunrise. A mutually-assured vigil, keeping one another safe—and timely.

In the mornings, the golden light spills through the break in the curtains. It will peek slowly inside and gently warm your body awake, testing the limits of its power. When you roll over and make a soft groan of protest in your sleep, seeking more warmth, the little strip of sunlight will widen, directing you. You will find the body next to yours, nuzzling close, your nose bumping his bare chest, and settle happily against it. In return, his body will seek yours, symbiotic exchange, a greedy arm pulling you closer.

In frustration, the sun grumbles it way higher in the sky, shining brighter and spreading wider.

It takes a couple tries to get it right: to shine in just the right way to make you blink rapidly awake, squinting in the glow. You gradually come to life, your lungs sucking in the first deep breath of morning air, your naked body stretching like a cat in the sunspot. Dust hovers lazily in the air, heralding a Sunday occupied by chores. The room is still, silent, and kissed by morning rays. Peaceful.

You examine him in the light: tanned skin sparkling gold, plush lips slightly parted, broad chest rising and falling. His hair is pleasantly tousled from sleep. There are patches of silver beginning to thread through his dark brown beard, and in your self-sustaining state of affection, you gently put your lips to one of the patches of skin where hair does not grow.

Your persistence grows with every second he refuses to wake. It may be a bit petulant, your lips smattering soft kisses across his jaw, beneath his ear, down to his neck and all its veins, but it begins to work. He stirs, groaning softly, turning onto his side and wrapping both arms around your waist. He does all of this without opening his eyes, resting his head on your belly and nuzzling against you as if he could get any closer—sated, for now, his body knowing nothing but the pull toward you.

You comb your fingers through his messy hair and listen to him breathe while he listens to your heartbeat.

“It’s ten,” you whisper.

“Hmph,” he says against your belly. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet; if you didn’t know his breathing patterns like they were mapped out in the lines of your palms, you would think he’s still sleeping.

“We slept in,” you point out.

Joel gently bumps his forehead into your stomach as if he were banging his head against a wall. “Shit,” he grumbles.

You laugh as his moustache tickles your skin. “Do you want to get up now?”

Another grunt, accompanied by a shake of his head. Big, strong arms pull you closer.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” you coo, stroking his hair away from his face. “Eggs… bacon… coffee…”

Joel presses his lips to your belly. “Don’t go takin’ my job, now,” he says, his voice groggy with disuse. “No girl of mine’s gonna run around gettin’ her own damn coffee.”

“Hmm. Means you have to move, Romeo.”

This earns a playful smack to the side of your thigh, his big, callused hand kneading your flesh while he wakes himself up with mouthfuls of your scent—linen and vanilla—and gulps down the sunlight glowing on your skin.

“Never mind,” you sigh, dreamy and complacent under his attention.

His eyes finally crack open, peering up at you, honey-brown pools touched by the golden light. He rests his chin on your belly and keeps his arms wrapped around your hips. His fingers trace shapes up and down your lower back. “You got a honey-do list?” he asks with a crooked grin.

Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “That depends. Can I get you to mow the lawn without a shirt on?”

“What do I get if I do?” he teases, his hand moving to your hip, contouring his hand to the shape of you.

You lift a brow, easing your legs apart underneath his body, letting him feel the warmth between your thighs. Like a moth to the goddamn flame, his eyes wide and eager, Joel crawls down your body with his mouth on your belly. Pausing just above your naked cunt, he blows cool air onto your clit and watches you squirm.

“After,” you gasp. “After chores, honey. We’ll never get up if we start now.”

“Don’t think I can make my woman come in good time?” he challenges, his palms keeping your thighs spread. Your pretty pussy glistens before his eyes, better than any fuckin’ breakfast. He begins to salivate.

Your head falls back into the pillows. “I never said that.”

Joel isn’t listening anymore. He kneads your thighs as he peers at you above your belly, your tits, to the curve of your jaw as you lie comfortably. Good. His baby ain’t about to get herself worked up on a Sunday morning.

He lowers his face just enough to let you feel his lashes tickling your lower belly, and you giggle his name, the sound pure adrenaline to his blood. You're so soft and supple under his fingers, moulding to his touch, letting him take care of you. You may be in charge of him, but this is where he takes control.

He presses a soft kiss to your clit and you sigh, your head turning toward the direction of the sun. It warms your face while your husband slides his tongue through your wet slit, lazily and sleepily, as though he's operating on instinct alone. Gathering up your wetness on his tongue, he groans, his fingers dimpling your thighs.

“Taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Oh, God,” you whisper, your eyes fluttering. “Baby…”

That sweet little whine is poison. He cannot do anything but continue to drink you down, flicking his tongue against your clit. He's a sucker and he's always been. Your pretty fuckin’ smile from across the bar that first night; your tight black dress and the too-sweet cocktail you smooth-talked him into ordering that had his adenoids prickling; your instinct for sensing others’ troubles and your uncanny ability to make them feel like they have none at all. He never stood a chance.

He knows for a goddamn fact every man in the bar that night wanted to do to you what Joel is doing now: lapping up your juices with his tongue, spit mingling with arousal, warming his body between your thighs under the watch of the mid-morning sun. But he got you. Joel. He bought you a drink and he took you on a date. He got to taste your pretty pussy and he got to sit you on his dick—after the second date, that is.

He's the one who gets to wake up with you, share matching gold bands around your fingers, kiss you freely. As far as he's concerned, he's the luckiest guy on the fuckin’ planet.

He feels particularly green when your back arches, your lips parting around his name, relishing in the feeling of his mouth on your clit. You're unashamed to take pleasure, never shy about telling him Oh, fuck, yes! Right there, honey! Joel, yes, that feels so good, baby.

Joel preens with pride. His hot tongue glides over your clit, smooth and wet, easily coaxing you to a languid high. The golden spotlight through the curtains shines on you. You're the starlet and he's the adoring fan. From the first day, he knew he'd do anything to make you notice him.

“This wasn’t your first bar fight, was it?”

Plucking pieces of glass out of his bloodied knuckles, you looked up through your lashes at Joel, who had been staring at you since you sat him down in the bathroom. Okay—a little longer than that.

He shook his head.

You just smiled at him and gently shook your head. About as much reproach as he would get. “This might sting. Just hold on tight if you need to.”

“Like the sound of that,” he said quietly, and if you heard, you didn't comment. You guided his hand under the warm water and washed the rest of the blood from his knuckles, gently smoothing the pads of your fingers over his rough worker’s hands. Capable, you thought, idly watching the blood swirl into the drain. He barely winced when you put his hand under.

“Wanna tell me why you did it?” you asked him, your tone soothing and sweet.

Joel shrugged. Big, broad shoulders. Humbly strong, until someone made him show it. “Ain't manly to touch a woman like that.”

You lifted your brows. “But it's manly to beat the shit out of the guy who touched her?”

Joel studied your face. Cherry-red lip gloss. Gently flushed cheeks from a healthy couple drinks. The instinctual rise and fall of your chest as you breathed, the lighting shifting gently over your collarbones. It was fascinating just to watch you breathe. Even cleaning his bloody knuckles, you slowly circled the pad of your thumb over the back of his hand, like an innate urge to comfort. Your eyes had an old wisdom to them; a particular gleam a person gained when they were familiar with the hardships life had to offer.

He wanted to ask you. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to do more than beat up some asshole who thought he could get away with pinching your ass.

But he would earn it. A real man earned what he got.

“Didn’t beat the shit out of him. Just roughed him up,” he says.

He watched you bite down on a smile. “You're a little twisted, Joel.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, eyes flicking to your dewy lips, coated with that gloss. “Think so?”

“Yeah.” You licked your bottom lip and he wondered if you tasted like cherries. “But I'm going to ask you on a date anyway.”

Your fingers curl in Joel’s messy hair, making him groan into your pussy. “Oh, baby,” you gasp, cracking your heavy eyes open to watch him lap at you, practically petting his hair away from his face as his big brown eyes remain fixed to yours.

He purrs, suckling your clit between his lips, his eyes eagerly drinking in the sight of your flushed, tightening body. Making you come is one thing. Watching it is another. Your back arches and your fingers pull on his hair. Scalp prickling, Joel grips your thighs tighter. He’d let you peel away pounds of his flesh if it made you happy. He’d go eagerly to the grave knowing he had put some good into the world, put some light in your eyes.

“Joel, I’m… I’m coming—ah!” you cry, your thighs squeezing his head, your sensitive clit pulsing under his tongue as your pussy contracts around itself, seeking something nice and big to grasp onto. His cock is aching, his hips grinding idly against the mattress for relief, his head fuzzy from the pleasure of making you feel good. Your body slowly melts into the bed, your limbs twitching as the tension in your muscles loosens, your lips parted permanently around his name.

Eyes drooping and teary, you try to find him between your thighs, gently stroking his hair away from his face as it begins to fall into his big brown eyes. “Need a haircut,” you croak.

Joel hums, his head listing to the side, using your soft thigh as a pillow. He nips you playfully, your skin a golden path he intends to follow to the end. His hands caress your hips, helping you come down to Earth. You admire the delectable convex slope of his nose, the way it curves deliciously against your skin when he kisses, bites, inhales. He’s freckled and indented with the signifiers of a lived-in life; a good life. His is a likeness you could trace with your eyes closed.

It’s eleven o’clock, and your stomach begins to grumble.

Joel chuckles, pressing a long kiss to your belly. “Gettin’ up now,” he says. “Promise.”

He pulls on a pair of sweatpants, tucking his hard cock away to be dealt with later. Padding down the stairs, Joel is quick to tend to your needs, putting on a fresh pot of coffee. After so long together, his mind operates on autopilot, steering him from the cupboard to the refrigerator and back to the steaming pot, occupied with the menial task of making a good cup. The gentle clinking scrape of the spoon as he stirs your milk into the cup wakes him up until he feels practically revitalised. He keeps his coffee black.

He hears the soft tread of your feet behind him, feels the warmth of your body as you crowd his space, smiles at the way you smooth your palms over the planes of his muscled back in unadulterated admiration. His shoulders are wide, tapering down to the soft belly you’ve nurtured through years of cooking. He’s sturdy and strong and all yours. The sight of him always makes you a bit giddy.

“So handsome,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your face between his shoulder blades. The buffed claws of his woodsy pine scent hook into the spaces between your ribs.

Joel lifts your hand to his mouth and kisses the wedding band on your finger, the engagement ring above it. “Sit down, baby. Coffee’s ready.”

You grin against his back, nudging your nose into his tanned skin. “Mmm. That sounds good. But I wanna stay here. ‘s nice and warm.”

“Girl of my dreams,” Joel murmurs, reaching around his back and patting your ass. “C’mon, I’ll keep you warm.”

You grumble your way to the little circular table in the kitchen, tucked into the alcove at the front window. It’s a souvenir from your parents' garage sale when they decided to sell their home and move to Austin. As a girl, you’d draw, scratch, and paint on that table, endlessly entertaining yourself by marking things up. Even now, there are remnants of your childhood in the worn grooves and chipped varnish. It fits nicely into your home, perfectly suited to two. It could even fit one more.

You ruminate as you watch Joel carry two mugs to the table. He knows which cup is your favourite: green ceramic decorated with tiny flowers, perfectly contoured to the shape and size of your hands, warming your palms just nicely between sips. Joel’s mug shows its age: white but slightly yellowed from years of use, bigger than yours. The steam of the coffee gently curls into the air, a dance of silvery ribbons in lock-step. They twist together as you purse your lips and blow. The rich, smooth caramel hue of your coffee contrasts the tar-black of Joel’s.

Since you dragged yourself out of bed on shaky legs, you shrugged on the navy T-shirt he tossed aside last night to give his greedy wife access to his chest. You'd carved some decent marks into his skin, now that you're properly looking: tiny bruises sharpening to purple, faint pinkish scratch marks that you don't remember making.

“Baby, I don’t mind,” he says, watching you scan his chest with a frown creasing your brow.

“But it looks painful, honey. You should let me—”

“You don’t gotta do anything,” says Joel, “‘cept come over here.”

Your brows lift coyly, your body sliding out of the chair and into his lap, legs bracketing his strong thighs. His hand finds a home on your lower back, bunching the hem of his shirt up to find your ass bare, your wet cunt sitting nice and pretty on his hard cock. You gasp when the generous length meets your puffy clit with heavy pressure. “Joel…”

Your voice is a mere whimper, a soft little plea for more, or for mercy. Joel’s always had better restraint than you.

“Warmer now?” he asks, like a real arrogant asshole, slipping his hand under the shirt on your body and splaying his fingers over your ribcage, thumb grazing the underside of your breast.

You do feel warmer, crushed up against him like this. You reach behind you and grab your coffee mug, taking a small sip. Your other hand winds around his neck and scratches the tousled hair at the nape of his neck. Joel hums, leaning close, nuzzling his face between your tits.

“Gimme the list,” he says, voice muffled.

You keep on stroking his hair and drinking your coffee between list items. “Mow the lawn. Clean out the eavestrough. Fix the sink.”

“Hmm, easy work,” he says, his other hand sliding up and down your back. It makes you melt into him even more, giving him the chance to tease a nipple between his teeth through the fabric of your shirt. You huff, wiggling your hips, but he's a brick wall. He does not budge. “Gimme yours, baby.”

You recall the items on your own list. “Vacuum the house. Go for groceries. Touch up the paint on the front door. Do the laundry. Cook dinner. Cut your hair,” you add with a playful smile.

Joel frowns against your chest, pulling back to look up into your eyes like a grumpy, needy dog. “You put all that down for yourself?”

You try to placate him with a kiss on his nose. “You work so hard, sweetie. I could use some hard labour once in a while.”

Joel shakes his head. “You aren’t doin’ all that by yourself.”

“No?” You lift your brows. “Wanna buy it off me, Mr. Miller?”

“I’ll win ‘em from you,” he says, tilting his head back to kiss your jaw. “Name the price.”

You bite your lip and chase his mouth, plush and soft under that dark moustache. “I’ll think on that. Meantime, you can get to work on that lawn while I watch from the comfort of the front porch. That sound fair?”

Joel’s old Southern values rear up every now and then, imparted by his mother and his father’s mother before. Putting in an honest day’s work will make his wife comfortable and happy. He doesn't want you lifting a finger around this home if he's perfectly capable of doing the job himself. He works with his hands all day, gets dirty and sweaty. You shouldn't have to—not when you work so damn hard every other day of the week.

Joel nips your chin. “Fine. But I ain’t gonna forget that I owe you.”

“Wouldn't dream of it, baby.”

Joel finishes his coffee, but you take your time with yours, changing into a short blue sundress while Joel, regrettably, puts a pair of jeans and a shirt on. Curling your legs up on the porch swing, you watch your man start the lawnmower, enthralled by the rippling of his back muscles with every pull. You know that some of it’s for show—knowing you're watching makes him want to impress you. Sometimes, he's still the man with the teenaged crush on the girl, doing everything he can and going out of his way to make you smile. It works.

He’s methodical: making lines up and down the lawn, shearing away the too-long blades of grass under the motor. As sweat begins to bloom under his collar and his brow, he wipes his forehead with his forearm and you lick your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of running your tongue all over his strong, naked body. Jesus. You finish off your coffee and force your eyes away from your husband for a moment. It isn't too hot from where you sit on the wraparound porch, but your chest feels sticky.

You rush inside to fill up a glass of water for him, hastily scrubbing your mug clean and putting it back in the cupboard. Maybe you should be occupying yourself with your chores today; you worry nothing will get done if you continue to watch him work in the Texas sun.

He’s just finishing when you shoulder your way back outside, his neck glistening with sweat and golden noon-hour light, warm and tempting. You set the glass on the railing and wait for him to come your way, squeezing your thighs together as your eyes trail up and down his body.

He's always been a capable man, broad and tall—so good at his job that he was offered a promotion after a few months. But it isn't just his strength or his doggedness when it comes to getting his work done. It's the way he’s so eager to finish things, to check off the items on your list, to please you. He frowns at the idea of you doing too much work. He parades you around town with a puffed-up chest, as if to announce, This is my wife. I’m her husband and I’m fucking proud. He takes your pleasure so seriously that it feels like a competitive sport—always outdoing himself, always striving for more. He loves selflessly, and yet he loves just selfishly enough to make sure the world knows you're his.

He’ll be a good daddy.

You glance down at your belly and let yourself picture it: swollen and round, ballooning big enough to fit a new life inside. You imagine smoothing your hand over a growing bump, Joel’s warm palms feeling the undulating kicks of a little baby inside, half of him and half of you. You picture back aches and swelling feet and insatiable cravings and expended energy. And not a part of it deters you. Not a speck of your willpower wavers, the way it would have mere months ago.

Something has changed. It may have been gradual and it may have been sudden. But it's new, all the same. It’s been this way since a week ago, when you looked in your nightstand at your little pink pill organiser labelled by weekday, and decided: No more.

Watching Joel make his way back to you, shielding his eyes from the light, you idly place your hand on your belly. Something new. A welcome change, you think, to have someone new sitting at our little table.

Joel climbs up the steps to the porch and gulps down the glass of water. “Thank you, baby,” he says, wiping his mouth. Your lips part as if to taste the air around him, to chew, to savour, relishing the richness.

Your pupils expand, taking in more of him, and Joel notices, placing a rough hand over yours where it rests on your belly. “You’re lost in thought, honey. Wanna tell me what's in that pretty head?”

“Just…” Your tongue wets your bottom lip. “Thank you for doing that. I know it's a big job.”

“Ain’t nothin’,” says Joel, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Got any idea how I can win those chores off you?”

Hands grasping your hips, sliding over your sweat-slick spine, saccharine noises slipping from your throat onto your tongue and out into the open air. Fingers imprinting permanent fixtures into your ribs. The heady weight of his big, fat cock wrenching you open, as it always does, slow until it isn't anymore. Desperation kicking in, a switch flipped, pummeling and brutal and unforgiving. Uncompromising. Hips pressed flush to your ass, nothing spilling out. Not a drop.

Everything sealed in tight as promises are exchanged as whispers in the dark.

“I want you to put a baby in me.”

All right. You could have been more delicate about it. Not precisely how you wanted to approach the topic, but it seems to get the job done.

Looking down at you, Joel slowly lowers the empty glass, mouth opening as he searches for words. “What?”

There’s no point in shyness or hesitation. You know your body, your mind, your heart. You thread your fingers through Joel’s and let them stay connected over your stomach. “I want you to give me a baby, Joel Miller,” you say softly, your gaze locked to his. “That's my price.”

Joel swallows thickly, his mouth still gaping. “I heard you,” he rasps. “Just… you… you mean it?”

You try not to melt over the tone of his voice: low, bordering on desperate, wanting. There’s hunger in the sound of it. “We’ve talked about it,” you offer, conciliatory. “Lots of times.”

“Yeah, we have.” Joel steps closer, his eyes dipping from your eyes to your mouth, your throat and collarbones, to your belly. His hand flexes. “You gotta be sure. You gotta know it's what you want.”

You cup his face and give him your best smile. It's the sort of smile he remembers from the very first night you met. The sort of person who is unashamed to show their joy on their face. “Honey, I want it all with you.” Your fingers squeeze his. “We’ve waited so long and I don’t want to wait anymore.”

His ears are ringing. All Joel can do is sweep you into his arms and grin into your throat, his hand firm on the back of your head, curling around a fistful of hair. “Girl of my fuckin’ dreams,” he mumbles against your skin. “I’ll make you a momma. Give you just what you want. Everything you want.”

As you close your eyes and open your ears to his ramblings, your erratic heartbeat settles. Serenity finds the pair of you, locked together on your front porch, and the next part of your life begins.

“Don’t think this gets us out of doing chores,” you tease.

“You aren’t gonna lift a goddamn finger,” says Joel fiercely, his lips still littering kisses all over your neck. “You’re havin’ a baby.”

“Honey, I’m not pregnant yet,” you laugh. “I don't need to get all lazy right away.”

“Yeah, you do, and you will. I’m gonna make you the laziest momma in Texas,” says Joel, smiling into your throat, the scratch of his moustache making you dizzy with laughter. “Gonna look so fuckin’ beautiful with a baby in you. Gonna glow like a goddamn firefly. Shit, we need to paint the spare room. I need to build a crib, get time off work—”

“Joel,” you coo, scratching your nails up and down the back of his neck. “We’ll have time to do all of that.”

He pulls back to look down at you, eyes so buttery-soft in the shade of the porch that you impulsively reach for his cheek and run your fingers through his patchy beard. “What’s next on my list?” he asks, holding you around the waist.

You tap your fingers gently against his cheek as you recite each item over again. Joel’s arms tighten, pulling you closer, pupils widening.

“And then what?” he says gruffly.

You beam, and he's so fucking in love that he may keel over, doubled by the intensity of his affection. “And then, you're going to take me to bed and put a baby in me.”

This phenomenon should be studied: how quickly Joel Miller speeds through his chores when he has enough incentive. The anticipation of bending you over on the mattress and wringing every drop of cum from his balls until your stomach swells drives each flick of his hand as he touches up the forest-green paint on the front door, weathered slightly by morning sunlight over the years. The image of his hips pressed flushed to you as he grinds deep, spilling his cum into your womb and forcing it to take, motivates every turn of the steering wheel as he drives you to the grocery store in his clunky Chevy.

He’ll need to drive to Benny’s, get the suspension fixed up; no way in hell he's going to let his pregnant wife sit on the old bench of a bumpy pickup truck, not with the speed bumps dotting the neighbourhood. At least there's a good preschool nearby. He pictures taking his baby to school and he preemptively feels the inevitable first swoop of dread into his gut knowing he'll have to watch his little girl disappear behind those doors. He knows, somehow, that it’ll be a girl. There's not a doubt in his mind.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” you ask him, playing with his fingers as he holds your thigh. Joel is a great driver; he steers so easily, one palm sliding smoothly over the wheel, his eyes alert and his speed under control. It’s a little sexy, and it makes you antsy from where you sit on the bench. Sure, there are chores to do and there’s dinner to make, but it’s getting harder to push your innate needs to the back of your mind. You don't know if you can wait all day to get him inside you.

“Names,” he says. “Got lots of ideas.”

“Yeah? Fire away.”

“Well, I like Eleanor. Good, strong, classic name, y’know? Little wordy, maybe. Then there's Mary, Marie, Hannah, and I can tell you don't like any of ‘em,” he finishes with a laugh, squeezing your thigh. Your silence has always been a tell.

“They're very sweet names,” you concede, “but they don't feel like my baby.”

Joel’s hand slides up to your belly and warms you beneath your dress. “Maybe we’ll feel it,” he says, “when we make her.”

“Think it’ll happen on the first try?” you wonder aloud, watching the scenery whiz by outside. It's a sunny, temperate day for Austin. You think about taking your baby for a walk, lounging lazily in a stroller while you say words that fall on deaf ears, but will resonate in due time nonetheless. You think about a little girl that will cling hard to her daddy’s leg when she gets scared of the storms outside, the way you did when you were little. You think about long nights shushing your sweet baby girl to sleep, about those same nights spent nestled into Joel’s body, the three of you dozing idly on the sofa. A unit.

“If it doesn’t, I’ll just have to try again.” You watch his fingers creep back down between your legs and snap the waistband of your panties.

You smack his hand. “If you keep playin’, Mr. Miller, you're gonna have to take me right here, in this truck. You want to give your wife a bad back?”

Joel grunts, patting your thigh. “Dirty play.”

“That's what I thought.”

Back at home, Joel vacuums the house while you manage, some-fuckin’-how, to convince him to let you do the laundry. He fishes debris and runoff out of the eavestrough, then gets down on his bad knees to tighten the plumbing underneath the sink.

“Let me help, sweetie. At least hand you a wrench or something. You'll hurt your back again.”

“I got it,” he grunts from under the sink. “Just a loose pipe. I’m peachy.”

You just sigh and let him carry on, the stubborn bastard. When he stands, the job done, he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, and you get a generous glimpse of his belly, the trail of dark hair directing your gaze down, down—

“Joel?” you squeak, wringing your hands together.

He drops the shirt back over his abdomen and steps closer. “Yeah, baby?”

“Are you, um… Are you hungry?”

He understands the particular glint in your eye, the telltale widening of your pupils, the hollow of your throat dipping as you swallow, your lashes fluttering gently. Blood surges down to his cock and it begins to fill out his jeans at the thought of taking what he's waited for all day. “No,” he says, licking his bottom lip. You eye every minute movement with meticulous precision. “Think dinner can wait.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” you say, crowding him and tugging at the hem of his shirt. He watches you prowl slowly toward him, gaze locked to the heady pull of your eyes. His cock twitches with a vested interest in the body now pressed up against him. Joel cannot look away from the siren now calling him to sea.

“That so?” he rasps, bunching the fabric of your dress so it rides up your hip and gives him a good look at your panties. “You dressed up all pretty today. For me?”

You're as coy as a flirtatious schoolgirl, trailing your fingers up and down his muscled bicep. “Always for you.”

“That’s right, baby. You like me lots, don't you?”

“Mmm, I do,” you purr, your hand sliding up his abdomen to his chest, admiring the hard planes of his strong body. “So handsome, strong, generous…” You get lost in your exploration, eyes dipping to his throat, your lips instinctively seeking the delectable vein that pulses with every beat of his heart. “Such a good man. Gonna be such a good daddy.”

Joel’s breath shudders out of him when he feels your soft, warm mouth on his neck, indulging in the taste of him. “Jesus,” he croaks, gripping your hips hard. “Jesus, honey, you gotta go easy on me. Lemme take it slow—”

—or I swear to God, I’ll blow a load in my jeans.

“You wanna undress me?” you say, like a real fucking tease, pulling away and tugging playfully at the straps of your dress. Joel’s nostrils flare, and he’s walking you back into the wall, cupping the back of your head to protect it, and slanting his mouth over yours.

He’s salty with the sweat that drips from his temples and he still smells of fresh-cut grass. He’s all Joel, all yours, the first gulp of air you breathe in when you wake and the last sigh you exhale before you sleep.

You moan into his mouth as he parts your lips and dips his tongue between them to taste yours. You taste like mint and coffee and he clutches you tighter, wrinkling the fabric of your pretty little dress in his fist. The sunlight filters through the windows, intrusive, bleeding into the moment as if taking a snapshot. Joel kisses you so deeply that your throat feels stained with the gasps of breath you exchange.

You're sweet enough that it makes him ache, bending your back to fit you to him, craving more. Closeness is not enough—he needs possession.

Joel’s kisses are bruising, unforgiving, merciless, but they are also slow, careful. He isn't sloppy; he does precisely what must be done to get you riled. And when he breaks away, his forehead resting against yours, you tug his hair with a pitiful whine.

“I wasn't done,” you tell him.

Joel pouts, mocking. Fingers pull at the straps of your dress until you're watching it pool at your feet. His big hands find your tits immediately, squeezing out all his frustrations, tweaking your nipples and lowering his mouth to your throat.

Your fingers curl into his hair, glueing him to you while he marks your throat, sucking blood to the surface, retribution for the hickeys all over his chest. His warm palms explore your tits the way he likes, and you curve into him, giving him all the access he wants. “Joel, honey—”

Your voice is nectar, warmth from a fire on the Fourth of July, the stomach-cramping laughter around the flame. Joel groans, blindly searching for your hand with his face still nuzzled in your throat, sucking a particularly aggressive bruise that you’ll scold him for later. But he threads his fingers through yours and feels the cool kiss of your twin wedding bands, and your sweet, wispy sighs have him grinding absently against your thigh. You don't have half the mind to get mad at him for a goddamn thing.

He pulls away with a great yank of his self-restraint, still holding your hand. “C’mon, baby.”

You follow dutifully, staring up at your husband with the same moony eyes you gave him on your wedding day. The third stair creaks a bit, the way it always does. The bedroom door is first on the left, and it's a good fucking thing, because Joel can't wait any longer.

He walks you to the edge of the bed, stalking, a predator on prey, focused solely on his task. “Goddamn beautiful,” he says to himself, scanning your mostly-naked body and feeling his eyes droop in arousal.

“Think so?” Your hand drops between your bodies and palms his erection over his jeans. “Yeah, you really think so.”

His nostrils flare. “Sit.”

You lower yourself onto the mattress, primly placing your hands on your thighs and straightening your spine. Joel hums appreciatively, approaching you and slotting himself between your legs. There's a dark wet spot pooling in your panties. “Sweet thing. So needy all fuckin’ day.”

“So were you” is your retort, packing little punch due to the way you push your tits toward him like a fucking whore.

Joel presses his big, warm hand to your sternum. “Remember what you said to me the first time I got you in bed?”

“‘Let’s go again’?”

“The other thing.”

“'Let me suck your dick’?”

“Try again, baby.”

“‘Wrong hole’?”

Joel snorts, shaking his head. “Goddamn smartass,” he mutters. “Told me you wanted me from that first night. Told me you woulda let me fuck you against that bathroom mirror.”

His hand begins to move, rolling your nipple between his fingers like a cigarette, playing with you the way he likes. “Said you’d let me do whatever I wanted,” Joel says quietly, not meeting your eyes, transfixed by the way your body seeks the touch he gives you. “That still true?”

“I meant it then, and I mean it now,” you tell him, pulling your lip between your teeth. “I’m yours, Joel Miller.”

He tilts his head slightly, satisfied. “You got somethin’ you wanna ask me?”

You hook a finger in his belt loop. “Can you get naked now?”

He laughs, guiding your hand to the buckle on his belt. “Go on. Do what you wanna do, baby.”

He belongs to you. He’s yours to mould the way you want.

Your fingers do away with his belt, whipping it out of the loops and hanging it around your neck. Joel’s hands flex at his sides as you toy with the hem of his shirt, bringing it slowly up his torso with your palms flat to his tanned skin.

You imagine you're sculpting him like clay, bringing your hands over the contours and admiring the work when all is done. It’s the artist’s pride of finishing the work and none of the self-reproach when something comes out wrong, because it’s Joel, and wrong becomes negligible.

You bring the shirt over his head with his assistance, lifting his arms for you, tossing the thing aside with little care. His eyes haven't once wavered from you. Next are his jeans, the scrape of his zipper and the delectable anticipation of hooking your fingers in the waistband and guiding them slowly down his hips.

His cock springs forward, thick and heavy and so hard it must ache, as you shuck his jeans down with his boxers. He grunts above you, his cock bobbing at the sight of your pretty lips parting. But you don’t take him into your mouth. You grasp the base of his cock and gently nuzzle your cheek against his length. Something like a strangled whimper leaves his throat.

“Baby,” he chokes.

“Yes, honey?” you say sweetly, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Jesus,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fuckin' sexy. Fuck.”

You hum, slowly stroking your hand up and down as your tongue darts out to lick his balls. Joel’s hips stutter, his hand flying out to catch himself on the bedpost. “Goddamn. Jesus—”

Your coy smile knocks him askew, your lips pursing as you spit on the head of his cock, spreading your own saliva around the tip with your thumb. “I just wanna thank you”—a soft kiss to the tip has a rumbling groan crawling out of his throat—“for everything you do for me. I just want you to know how much I love you.”

Joel exhales hard, struggling to remember how breathing works when he's got his wife playing with his cock like it's your favourite toy. “How much do you love me?” he demands.

You wrap your fingers around the head of his cock and twist your hand up and down his shaft in a couple slow strokes. You're driving him fucking crazy. His vision is whiting out.

“I love you,” you purr, licking a broad stripe up the underside of his length. Joel’s chest is heaving with the effort of holding back. “Love you so much. Love you enough to make you a daddy.”

Joel caves, threading his fingers through your hair at the nape of your neck and stroking his thumb along your jaw. “Fuck, baby. Please…”

“Do you love me?” Batting your lashes, you scatter measured kisses from his tip to the base, teasingly licking his balls.

“Christ, I—” His hips jut forward instinctively. “I love you. Fuckin’ love you, baby.”

You flick your tongue against his slit and relish his groan, revelling in the sight of his flushed chest, his pink cheeks, the sweat on his brow. His jaw is tense, his nostrils flaring. He’s trying not to take control.

You slap his cock twice on your tongue and finally take it past your lips, sealing your mouth over the head. Joel moans, white-knuckling the bedpost, his other hand now stroking your hair. You fondle his balls in your free hand while the other grips him at the base, and he’s going to come embarrassingly soon if you keep looking up at him this way.

Your tongue swirls around the head of his cock while your lips seal tight, greedily suckling at his tip. Oversensitive, skin prickling with salty sweat, Joel practically breathes through his teeth. “Gonna kill me,” he manages. “You’re gonna kill me, honey.”

“Mmmm,” you reply, happily taking him deeper, his length sliding along the warm wetness of your tongue. Joel’s fingers tighten in your hair.

“Fuuuuck. You love this cock.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Love takin' me into your mouth like a little slut.”

“Mmmmph,” you agree, pushing your tits out.

His hand drifts down to the belt hanging around your neck and he wraps his fist around both ends, tugging so you’re forced to take him deeper. You splutter, breathing hard through your nose, your arousal dripping onto the mattress.

The sloppy sounds of your mouth working his cock send his head spinning. Drool dribbles from the corners of your lips, your eyes squeezing black tears from dewy lashes. And when you take him down your throat, the sound of your choked moan leaves Joel with little choice but to pull out before he comes.

You whine, squeezing your thighs together. He swipes his thumb underneath your eye and shows you the black smudge from your mascara. “Doesn't take much to get you cryin’. You like me that much?”

You bite your bottom lip and beam up at him. “Did I do okay?”

Your faux-innocence makes his dick twitch in your face, and you flick your tongue out to lick at the tip once more. Joel grunts, grasping his belt and tossing it away.

“‘Did I do okay,’” he murmurs, tweaking your nipple between his fingers. “Got no idea after all these years. No idea what you do to me.”

“I just wanna take care of my man. He works so hard, you know, keeping me safe and happy.” You run your hand over his soft belly, the trail of hair that leads down to his cock. “He’s always liked to give me things.”

Joel backs you farther up the bed and crawls over your body, lowering his head to bury his face in your throat. You smell fresh and sweet as vanilla, and when he playfully bites into your skin, your saplike laugh has him grinding helplessly against your thigh.

He loves to give—always has. It’s all he knows. It took a long while for you to get him to unlearn some of his blind selflessness, to let you take control sometimes and care for him instead. Your Joel provides; he does not take. And the prospect of getting to give his wife a baby is turning him to putty in your hands. By the time he gets to work, he’ll be dead-set on his task, hard-pressed to pull out of you. He’ll want to get the job done on his first try, refusing to see you upset if the test comes back negative, but the id will still scratch and claw for another chance to fill you up.

Joel sucks a hickey into your neck and soothes the mark with his tongue, the slow, soft pleasure compounded by the way his warm body covers you, your fingers carding through his locks.

Your voice oozes, honeyed, down his spine. “I love you, Joel.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and crushes his nose in your throat, his hand smoothing down your hair. “I love you.”

“You want to make a baby?”

He rears back slightly, his nose bumping against yours. “Yeah. I really fuckin’ do.”

You grin, lacing your fingers together at the back of his neck. “Will you fuck me? Please?”

Joel brushes his thumb across your chin. “Use your words.”

“I want to be a mom, Joel.” You give him a long, gooey stare, eyes warm and soft as running water. A look like that will make a man give you the goddamn galaxy.

He nods, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. “I know, baby. I’ll help you. Hands and knees, now.”

The gentle direction moulds your body to the shape of the words. You go easily, your back arching as you rest your weight on your forearms and spread your thighs. The bed dips behind you as Joel settles in, his hands grasping your ass and making you jump.

Your body trembles with excitement. You’re going to be a mom. He's going to get you pregnant. You feel dizzy, bending deeper at the hips and shaking your ass at him, deluded with your own arousal.

But Joel doesn't fuck you right away. No, he bumps up against the backs of your thighs, warm hands branding your skin, and rubs two fingers over the wet spot darkening your panties.

“I do this to you?” he says smugly.

“You know damn well—”

“Wanna hear you say it.” The no-nonsense command triggers a submissive response. “Who did this to you?”

Your body melts against him, presenting your pussy to him like a needy whore. “You, Joel. It’s you, baby. Only you.”

Your babbling makes him squeeze handfuls of your ass, spreading your asscheeks apart to get a good glimpse of the way your pussy drools into your panties. Shuffling backward and lowering himself to his knees on the floor, Joel’s tongue darts out and licks you through your underwear.

“Ohh, fuck!” you gasp. “Joel…”

He hums, tasting your tang through the fabric and finding your puffy clit, sucking gently. You cry out, your fingers grasping the sheets, and Joel moves your panties aside to slather his spit all over your dripping pussy. The languorous movements of his tongue are indulgent, achingly slow; he loves the taste of you as much as you enjoy having his mouth on your cunt.

“Oh my God, Joel… fuck, honey, please—!”

Your thighs are trembling as you struggle to hold yourself up, the strokes of his tongue turning your muscles to soup. He stops to take your panties off, guiding them off your legs, and by now, you're so wet that your juices glisten halfway down your thighs. Joel dives back in and licks up the rivulets of arousal from your skin, all the way back up to your weeping hole.

“So goddamn sweet,” he grumbles, kneading your ass in his hands as he flicks his tongue over your clit a few more times.

“Joel, I’m…” You’re drooling, grinding pathetically into his face, already close to an orgasm, and he isn't fucking letting up.

He wants you as wet and needy as possible, his own cock leaking onto the bedsheets at the prospect of sliding into your creamy pussy.

Your cheeks burn and your muscles lock as Joel makes out with your pussy, his tongue laving over your pearl in slow, aching circles. He drowns in the pleasure of making you feel good. He soaks himself in kerosene and lights the match.

“Oh, fuck!” Your thighs shake around his head and your toes curl, ears ringing with the force of your high. Grasping feebly at the bedsheets, you try not to list, but Joel isn’t fucking stopping, cleaning you up with his tongue like you're a piece of goddamn pie.

His fingers dig into your ass, rapacious as his mouth, and you climb high to a space that transcends the sky, feeling nothing but the linen underneath and the man above, softly kissing your poor, used clit.

He doesn’t let up until you reach back and gently shove his head away, grasping his damp curls. “Baby, let me rest,” you gasp, “just for a second.”

Regretfully, he pulls away, pressing a kiss to each knob of your spine, dragging his nose up your back. “‘m so fuckin’ lucky,” he murmurs against your skin.

“Lucky you didn’t kill me.” You laugh breathlessly, your hips already sore from keeping your ass in the air.

“Makin’ sure you’re ready,” he says innocently, sliding his thick fingers through your slit. You gasp, trying to escape his grasp despite yourself. He just clicks his tongue in reproach. “Nuh-uh, baby. You're gonna stay right here, let me make it good for you. Hmm? Wanna feel good?”

You nod your head frantically. “Yeah, yeah, I do. Wanna be good.”

“Mmm, now, you know that ain't your job tonight,” he says in a mock scold. In the meantime, his fingers soak themselves in your wetness. “Don't think you're ready for me yet.”

“No! No, I’m ready,” you pant, grinding against his erection. Joel grunts, holding your hip in place. “Baby, please, I’m ready for you. Need you so badly.”

“Shhh, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need. Just be patient.” Hands smooth over your ass, between your thighs, and then two fingers are teasing your hole. Joel tilts his head to watch the way he spreads your folds wide. “Gonna fill this up.”

A strangled noise spills from your mouth, your cheeks burning hot at the way he exposes you so tenderly. “Please,” you croak, hiding your face in the crook of your elbow.

He grasps himself and teases the already-wet head of his cock over your pussy, spurting precum onto your hole. “You want a baby?” he asks, low and dark. You luxuriate in the velvet-soft tone. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want a baby,” you whisper, “please. Please give me a baby.”

He readies himself at your tight cunt and the excitement briefly overcomes him, forcing his hips forward and pushing past the wet, gummy seal of your pussy. You gasp, held in place by his hand on your hip.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“I want to make you a daddy!” you sob. “I want to have your baby and make you a daddy.”

“You want to be a momma?” he says through his teeth, tunnel vision narrowing his focus to the way he slowly guides himself into you, wrenching you open. At this angle, with how wet you are, the glide is delicious, white-hot, his balls heavy with the need to empty inside you. “That it? Want everyone to know who put a fuckin’ baby in you?”

Your husband is so fucking big, so strong, and the way he pins your body down feels close to primal. “Yes! Yes, Daddy, yes! I want to be a momma. Please give me a baby.”

The words put a chisel to his self-restraint and crack down. He’s gone, baring his teeth, pulling your hips toward him and impaling you on his cock, relishing the give of your tight walls and the way he sits snug against your cervix. You mewl, reaching back to find a purchase on his hip. “Joel, fuck…”

He establishes a punishing pace, driving your body farther up the bed with every thrust. “That’s it,” he groans, sliding his palm up your spine. “Gonna look so goddamn beautiful with a baby in you. You were fuckin’ made to take this cock.”

Your moan is syrupy and pitched low, your cheek buried in the mattress, letting him fill you up again, again, again—

“I’ll get you fuckin’ pregnant,” continues Joel, panting through his words, sweat beading on his brow as he runs his hands over your skin. “Stuff you so goddamn full you'll always feel me.”

“Uhhh!” you moan, fisting the sheets, your body practically folded in half to accommodate your husband’s huge body, his thick cock.

Joel wants this, too—has for a long time. It’s hard not to notice the little details. He places his hand on your belly when he isn't even paying attention, his lips finding the soft skin there when he first wakes in the morning. You knew he would have dropped everything to give you a baby the second you demanded it, but you realise you may have underestimated his need.

Joel is growling like a dog, sweat dripping from his temples and back pinching with effort as he holds your body close, glueing you to him, his cock reaching deep, deliberate, mind going numb, intent the only tangible feeling he can grasp onto. Intent and the white-hot drag of his cock against your walls.

You’re going to grow swollen and round with his baby. He will watch your tits grow heavy, your belly bulge, your cheeks take on a ruddy, dewy glow, the telltale mark of his success, his devotion. He’ll wake up every morning wrapped in the scent of your body, your hormones, his palm finding sanctuary on your soft, warm belly. He’ll bury his face in your throat and you’ll smile and the sun will warm the golden spot where a new life grows.

Fuck, he’ll never let you do laundry again. You could hurt your back.

Your head spins at the wet slap of his balls against your clit, the obscene squelch of your pussy around his impressive length, the way he grabs at you. He’s greedy, hands mapping each rib, each vertebrae, every curve and contour that makes you.

Your pussy sucks him in, just as needy, breathless moans and squeals punching out of your throat as you croak out pleas: Joel, baby, please. I want a baby so badly. Wanna have your baby. Please, please, fill me up! And Joel listens, his palm sliding around your waist and down your belly, rubbing your sensitive clit with two fingers.

A real man gives his wife everything she wants.

He moans at the feeling of your cunt squeezing him, his fingers wet and insistent against your little clit, coaxing you toward your climax. “C’mon,” he grunts, “come for me, baby. Fuckin’ choke me. Wanna feel it. Come and I’ll give you the baby you want so goddamn bad. C’mon, baby.”

His words seep into your bloodstream, an uncontrollable tremor racking your body, your arms giving out as he bends over you and sinks his teeth into your shoulder. “Ohhhh, God! Oh my—!”

Joel’s hands squeeze your tits, his entire body covering yours, a warm, protective blanket, slick with sweat and heart thundering against your back. His lips are on your skin, feverishly kissing and nipping. You can’t breathe, can’t move, and it feels so fucking good. You soak his cock, muscles seizing, pinned down by his strong body.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s it, baby. Goddamn, keep on squeezin’ me like that. Not gonna leave this tight pussy until you're fuckin’ pregnant.”

“Joelllll,” you whine, your orgasm prolonged by his words, his unrelenting thrusts, the jolt of his balls slapping your clit. “Want it so bad. Wanna give you a baby. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, God—”

The broken sound of your voice, weak and raspy, goes straight to his dick, and his balls are pulling up, his head bombarded with the smell of sex, perfume, linen, you. He rests his forehead between your shoulder blades as you milk his cock, turning his thrusts sloppy and desperate. He needs to come. He needs to make it real.

Your orgasm leaves you pliant and loose in his arms, and he fondles your tits, squeezing them hard in his hands as he pictures them growing, swelling heavy with milk he’ll feed your baby. His baby. Idly, you moan, letting him use your body to get off, his teeth grazing your neck.

“Gonna come. Gonna fuckin’ fill you up, give you a baby. Gonna—Jesus, goddamn—”

Maybe it's the pent-up frustration of not having come all day. Maybe it's a renewed sense of purpose, knowing he's got a job to do, keeping every drop safe inside you. Maybe it's the sheer fucking excitement of getting to give his wife what he's wanted to put in you for so long. But when he comes, hips flush to your ass, he comes so much, for so long, that the rapid rush of blood from his cock back up to his head has him nearly keeling.

Kissing your cervix, the head of his cock spurts rope after rope of hot cum inside you, and you mewl, your back arching to deepen the angle, luxuriate in the liquid warmth. Joel isn’t so loud now, not so cocky. He’s reduced to strained groans and whimpers as your body depletes him, greedily taking every drop of cum he has to offer.

It feels like minutes before it finally stops, but with your ass up in the air, none of his cum spills out. Your hips are sore, your ass bruises from his hands, your tits still sitting warmly in his hands. The cool kiss of his wedding band soothes the too-hot press of his body on top of yours, your doubly-slick skin meeting indecently. His lips are on the back of your neck and he thrusts shallowly, wringing the last of his cum from the tip until he's wholly empty and bordering on oversensitive.

You're the first to speak, your throat clogged with drool and some of your own tears.

“Thank fuck I was at the bar that night.”

Joel’s laugh scrapes down your spine along with his beard as he drags himself upright, knowing he’s crushing you. “Never would've had to patch me up”

“Mmm, you're sexy when you're mad,” you point out, your thighs twitching as he carefully guides you onto your side, back to his chest, his cock still acting as a plug for his cum. You’re deliciously full, and you hum happily at the feeling of his warm belly against you, his big arms cradling you close.

“Shouldn't enable violence,” he grumbles. His lashes flutter against your shoulder.

You roll your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He chuckles. “You feel okay?”

“I feel good,” you muse, running your fingers along his forearm, the prominent veins under his skin. “I feel excited.”

His grin curves against your skin, the scratch of his moustache sending a shiver up your spine. Outside, the sun begins to dip, and your twin golden rings glimmer in the fiery light.

“Me, too,” he whispers, and you lace your fingers through his, squeezing, both of you practically giddy.

There’s a lull, and for a moment, you think he’s fallen asleep. The sun creeps behind a home across the street, and its watch ends for another day.

“Hey, Joel?”

His mouth meets your throat in a sleepy kiss. “Yeah, baby?”

“I like the name Sarah.”

THE END.

tags: @cavillscurls @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @cupofjoel @northernbluess @tieronecrush @joelmillers-whore @bastardmandennis - thank you all so so much for showing excitement for this fic!! kisses for you all 🫶

#vee's reading club

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vee-bees-blog · 8 months ago

Text

This is my comeback to Tumblr and holy shit, Joel Miller, you'll always be famous 😩🩷

summary: after a night out dancing and a lift home turns into something more, you learn something about your dad's buddy. joel miller fucks.

pairing: young!joel miller x f!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. it's smut, y'all. everything you've come to expect. respectable age gap (10 years ish), tiny bit of spanking, one (1) gentle pussy slap, lil bit of daddy kink, joel miller eats it from the back (oral (f&m)), edging, unprotected piv (do better), creampie, feelings, joel miller's whore mouth.

reader has hair and wears dresses, no other descriptions or name.

wc: 7.2k

an: for @schnarfer. my favourite hot priest, i worship in your church <3

Joel went out looking for trouble that night.

Hair curling at the nape of his neck, a beer sweltering in his hand as beads of sweat carved their way down the strong line of his back. T-shirt sticking to his skin, tension wound tight in his shoulders, thick in every muscle, every strand of sinew after work.

Revelling in the feeling of how the weight of the day lifted the more he drank, the more he relaxed, feeling his smile get wider the more he loosened up in the crowded bar. Freshly thirty five, another year in hand. Tommy buying the shots, introducing him to every new face that walked into the steaming, heavy swell of wood and linoleum, every stranger who leant against the tacky bar, every pretty girl who flicked their hair and batted their eyelashes.

He’s laughing - held flung back, chest heaving - harder than he has in a long time. Dancing in a way so unlike how he dances with Sarah in the kitchen, welcoming the heavy, slow grind of hips against his own, breathless against a sweet smelling neck. It’s hot and it’s loud on this Friday night in Austin, and he loves it.

Not quite basking in the attention of being the birthday boy, but shouldering the stream of conversation that Tommy directs his way nonetheless. Cheeks flushed pink as he’s hauled up on to the bar top, clumsy, unsure where to look as the bartender encourages him to stand in full view of the crowd. The whole bar, oscillating with colour and light and sound, roaring into a raucous chorus of happy birthday, beckoned by the chime of the bell by the till.

The spectacle of it all makes him look to the ceiling before dropping his chin to his chest, makes him laugh again, watching these people, many strangers, cheer and sing for him.

He holds his beer to his chest through the first part of the song, cheeks tight with a smile. His eyes swivel to the corner of the dancefloor on the downturn of Joel… catching the flicker and flare of a pair he recognises, scanning your face on the refrain - happy birthday - heart dropping confusingly low in his chest, the world taking a sticky beat as his blood halts and begins to rush again - to you.

He’s not seen you here before. Much more used to seeing you coming and going from your father’s house - bright smile, wicked eyes. Moved back home after spending some time out west when you’d finished your Masters program, always happy to chat for a little longer if you were where he was. Interesting and interested - he’s been regaled by tales of you from your father - the man who’s been overseeing safety on Joel’s latest job site - and listened to more directly from you, lip caught between his teeth as he bit back amusement at the things you didn’t want your dad to know.

Your father is a good man. Kind, supportive. So proud of you in the way he talks that Joel’s taking blueprints for raising Sarah. And you - you. Joel tries to think of you in ways he thinks of other colleagues or acquaintances. Smart, creative, perceptive. Patient, generous with your time and energy when entertaining neighbours at cookouts. Any other thoughts creep in in the dead of night, and he’s quick to try and forget them by morning.

But this - you here, now - is entirely different. It could be the buzz of the tequila in his system, could be the hot blood in his veins, could be the giddy little flash of that smile you shoot him as you clap and whoop with the rest of the crowd, but his feet are itching to find you once he half hops, half clambers down off the bar, accepting claps on the back and other sentiments as he searches for you again.

But you’re gone.

Disappeared, into thin air. Like he imagined you in the first place.

He cranes his neck a little, twisting his head from side to side as if trying to loosen another tight muscle, trying to tamp down the damp disappointment he feels.

Trying to remember how he tries to forget.

‘Happy birthday, cowboy,’ the words are breathless, squeezed through a smile.

The grin that creeps across his face is slow and wide, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he turns to face you.

‘Evenin’, darlin’,’ is his reply. Deep, coy, any idea of hiding his thoughts gone, buried. It’s his birthday, and you’re here. You and your sparkling eyes.

‘You gonna let me buy you a drink, or have you got a queue of ladies lining up to do that already?’

He laughs, and you feel the sound glimmer down your body, lighting every synapse, every receptor. You track his gaze as it drifts down your body and back up, spine straightening at his appraisal.

Delicious thighs beneath the hem of your skirt, soft swell of your breasts above your neckline.

‘Your daddy know you’re here?’ He asks, delighting in the way you scoff.

‘My daddy knows I’m out tonight,’ you say, licking your teeth, eyes dropping to his mouth, ‘And he don’t care much about it. I’m a big girl, Joel. I can handle myself.’

They’re big words for someone around ten years his junior, but he doesn’t doubt it. He’s heard your bartending stories, about your debates with fratboys. Something about your confidence, your self-assuredness licks a tongue of flame up his back. He bites his cheek.

‘Best buy me that drink, then.’

He went looking for trouble that night.

And Jesus, he found it.

Found it on the dancefloor, your soft body grinding against his. The heat and the sweat, how you moved your hips with his, how you’d giggled when he’d turned you around, pulling you flush against him. Your hands grasping for him, clutching at his thigh as you pressed firmly against the bulge growing at your backside, head tipped back, bliss etched across your face as you felt each other.

Found it in his truck when he dragged you outside under the pretence of giving you a lift home, found it when he rucked your skirt up on the backseat, when he pulled the top of your dress down. Inches of skin he had banished fantasies about to the back of his mind, revealed to him in the dim light of the parking lot. The sweat gleaming on your sternum, shining on your clavicles, your neck. He wishes, now, that he had taken more time to tell you how beautiful you looked, how smart you are, how funny, that first time, but the two of you had been too caught up in seeing, feeling, as much as possible.

His knees had protested as he crammed himself onto the floor, wanting to be between those thighs, wanting to taste you. Pressing, gliding his fingers against your pussy over your underwear, watching you keen and beg, hands twisting tight in the material of your dress, then his shirt collar, then his hair.

And that first swipe of his tongue when he’d pulled your underwear to the side, that first, most base knowledge of you. The sweet and sour, your smell, the way you became pliant, willing to have your thighs pushed up towards your chest. Quickly obsessed with the way you looked down at him, jaw slack, pupils blown, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Quickly obsessed with the way your pussy looked, puffy, needy, the way it leaked and clenched before him as he leant back to spit on it, how your head hit the headrest with a soft thump.

Too obsessed, everything about that night feeling too good as he lowered you down onto him, as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder to stop himself from coming too early, watching you bounce on his cock, listening to the way you moaned and panted and whimpered his name. The wet sounds of you fucking, the way he held you still, big hands on your waist as he bucked up into you. The way your noises, your breathing stuttered as he thrusted harder, as he dropped you lower. The fogged windows, low bass from the bar, how you clenched and fluttered around him as he wrung two orgasms from your pretty body before spilling himself inside you.

He’s been finding trouble ever since.

Finding reasons to help you grab drinks, bring out nibbles at your dad’s Halloween party. Finding excuses to have you backed up against the tool bench in the garage instead, his hips between yours, soft lips against chapped or your hand tight against your mouth to make sure nobody would find you. Heading back out into the garden with his cock still swollen, tucked into his black slacks, feeling your slick around its base still, your fake blood smeared on his dog collar, watching as you pressed your thighs together in your seat, knowing you could still feel him trickling out of you. He could hear your teasing through the glint in your eye - some priest you are, father.

Driving you home from the bar after a night of dancing around each other, after glances were snuck whenever they could be - over his brother’s shoulder, between your friends’ laughter. The crackle of electricity in the truck cab as the warm air threaded itself between you, your sparkling eyes, devious little laugh.

Walking you to your door, keeping you safe, don't wanna disappoint your old man.

Jamming his foot between the wood and the frame to come in when you told him he wasn’t home.

The mornings when Sarah’s waking up, still sugar-high after a sleepover, in a house the other side of town. The mornings he’s awake first, drinking coffee at his kitchen table when you hop down the stairs in his t-shirt from the night before, sleep-stained and perfect. The mornings that start with you in his lap, with kisses pressed to temples, lips, necks, his wide palms snaking under the material, fiending warm skin, finding it, cradling it. The firm weight of your breasts in his palms, the pebbling of your nipples beneath his thumbs. The soft rock of your hips against his hardening length, his fingers reaching to pull your panties to the side, finding you soaked like that first night. How you whine and huff against his shoulder as he sinks one, two, three digits into you, as he twists them, pumps them, as he uses his thumb to toy with your clit. The wet patch you leave, darkening the grey tenting below you, the outline of him something you want to press your face against, nuzzle, mouth at until he’s begging this time.

Mornings when he takes you apart deftly, until you hover above him, pulling his hard, leaking cock over the top of his sweatpants, savouring that delicious stretch around him, the way he thickens out at the base, the way the wiry hair there catches on your clit. When you can enjoy the way he holds you there afterwards, talking about your days ahead, nibbling at your ear as his cum slips from you along with his softening cock.

All these moments, and they’re never enough.

Because despite how often they happen, how often he might be able to hold you, kiss you - you make Joel Miller feel like a fucking teenager.

It’s been years since he’s woken up to the cooling evidence of a wet dream in his boxers. He’s having them nightly now in his thirties; sick and tired of waking up wet and aching and sticky, sick and tired of wishing it was you, not his hand, helping to solve the problem.

He wants you here so much more often than he does. The tip of his tongue on the evenings you call, sunlight fading through the window, orange on his sheets. He wonders, as you talk, what it would look like painted onto your skin.

He wants Sarah to actually know how he feels about the woman who babysits her every so often, wants Tommy to understand the reason why he turns up smiling to the site every day. And he wants your father to know his daughter has found someone who’ll treat her right, who’ll hold her hand through the bad days and give her all he can to make her smile.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders whether you have, too.

Whether you’d confess to your father the crush you have on the contractor, ask if he could put in a good word for you. There isn’t much between you - it would only take some careful wording, an evening where he can present the flowers he’s been dying to give you at your door.

He’s sure your father wouldn’t mind.

But this secret, the sneaking around - he can’t deny the thrill of it. Stolen touches, kisses, whispers in the moonlight. Quiet jokes between the two of you, the looks exchanged around others, the show of you putting your hand on his shoulder - can I get you anything else, Mr Miller?

You’ve only come close to being found out once. Just the once. By Tommy - who else could it have been?

Tommy, who couldn't hide his delight when he found the underwear you’d left behind in Joel's truck one morning, wheezing with laughter as Joel stuffed your soft, cotton panties into his back pocket. His cheeks aflame, he swore under his breath that he’d kill his little brother if he ever flicked a woman’s underwear at him like that again instead of doing the right thing - kicking them under the seat and pretending he hadn’t seen anything.

Between gasping breaths, Tommy had managed to make a good point. At least it wasn't Sarah who’d found them.

You gonna tell me who the lucky lady is, big brother?

He didn’t. Not yet.

It’s been so unbearably hot all day.

Too hot to work in the open air, and though Joel’s not grateful for the heat, he is grateful for the chance to stay at home. A chance to catch up on chores while Sarah basks in the AC at school, a chance to work his way through bills and invoices, fighting to keep his head clear of any thought of you and what you might be up to in weather like this.

He keeps his eyes carefully trained on numbers, figures, dates, unaware of the clock, unaware of the calls he’s missing. Only catches himself daydreaming when the lines start to blur.

He makes it to just past lunchtime when he hears a car pull up in the driveway. He knows the rattle of that engine, the heave of noise it makes as it turns off.

He stands from the table, blood racing in his chest.

‘God- motherfuckin’ shit,'

Joel lets the front door hang open behind him, folding his arms across his heart as you try and jam your wing mirror back in place.

‘You kiss your grandma with that mouth?’

You grin, flipping him off as you slam the door closed. The mirror sticks.

‘Yeah. Suck your dick with it, too,’

His lips quirk, watching as you stand with your hip against the front of your car, a box in one hand, the other shielding your eyes from the sun. Staring at each other, a little game you play. You watch his smirk grow, feeling the trickle of sweat down your spine.

‘There a reason why you’re here?’

You roll your eyes, like it should be obvious. And it is obvious, but -

‘Freezer’s fucked,’ you huff, and Joel raises an eyebrow. ‘Can I put them in yours?’

You hold the box up to him.

‘Popsicles?’ Joel frowns. You roll your eyes at him.

‘Please, Joel. They’re literally the only thing keeping me sane,’

He scratches at his jaw, pretending to contemplate.

‘I dunno, darlin’,’ he says, ‘The only thing? Surely that AC of yours is doin’ a fine job,'

You scoff at him, folding your own arms.

‘That old piece a’ shit ain’t doin’ nothin’ and you know it,’

He chuckles, letting his arms drift to his sides.

‘Guess I can take care of ‘em for ya. Anythin’ else?’

You bite your lip, eyes glinting in the sun.

‘Can I come in?’ you ask. A slow, smug smile grows across Joel’s lips.

‘'N do what, exactly?’

You pout at him, fluttering your eyelashes. His cock twitches.

‘Just wanna swim in the pool. Promise I won’t do nothin’ else, Mr Miller,’

‘Nothin’ else, baby?’ He says, lowly.

You shake your head, eyes wide. Picture of false innocence.

‘Nothin’ else,'

If there are two things Joel has come to know about you in the last year, it’s that you’re a great fuck, and a bad liar.

He steps back into the open door behind him, grinning as you skip past him into the hallway. He watches, snicking the catch and lock as you make your way into the kitchen, swinging open the refrigerator door, finding a spot for your iced treats. He follows, leaning against the doorframe, watching as you stand in the cold air flowing from the appliance for a moment, your eyes closed.

He’s looking at your legs when you turn to speak to him, snapping to meet your gaze as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. That ship sailed long ago. You grin at him.

‘Whatcha been doin’?’

He exhales, stepping closer.

‘Workin’,’

You hum, meeting him beside the kitchen table, surveying the stacks of paper.

‘Not too hard?’

‘Hard to, when I'm thinkin’ ‘bout you,’

You grin, twisting to look at him.

‘You sweet on me, Miller?’

He shrugs.

‘Bout time you noticed,’

His hands find your waist as yours make their way up his chest, his shoulders, winding around his neck.

‘I had my suspicions,’ you whisper, before pressing your lips to his. He smiles into it, parting his lips to invite you in, rocking you back and forth in his arms.

‘Missed you,’ you breathe, and he hums in response.

‘Missed you too, baby,’

You’re salty sweet; warm scent of your skin, your sun lotion, your perfume, your sweat. When he’s satisfied, done licking lazily into your mouth, exploring the taste of your lips, he moves to your neck. Laving kisses there, biting, sucking, nibbling as you sigh against him. He bites harder, earning a particularly needy whimper, hands moving to knead the flesh of your ass through your dress.

‘Joel,’ you murmur, ‘You’ll leave a mark,’

He hums, trailing kisses up your neck to the space behind your ear, along your jaw, before finally meeting your lips again.

‘Don’t care.’

He’s grasping your hips to turn you so you’re pressed against the table, your back to his firm chest. You can’t help the gasp, the giggle that floats from you as he tugs you closer, as you feel the heft of him pressed into the small of your back. You shift your hips, brushing against him, slow and purposeful.

Joel groans - a long, drawn out, hungry sound. He pulls your hips tighter to him, moving against you just the same before his hands slide up to your breasts, holding the weight of each in his palms, squeezing and rolling a nipple between his thumb and finger. You tip your head back against his shoulder, and he hums approvingly as you begin to grind against him in earnest. He pauses only for a moment to pull your straps from your shoulders and work your dress down to expose your tits, and then he’s on you again. Teasing and stroking and pinching, your hand gripping his forearms as you huff and whimper, caged between him and the table. You moan his name, bleeding every once of want you feel into it, hoping he can hear just by the sound of your voice how wet you are for him.

‘Dreamt about ya last night,’ he rasps in your ear, and you flash him a dazzling, breathless smile.

‘Oh yeah? ‘N what’d ya dream about, cowboy?’

You whine as he crowds you, leaning down to suck another bruise into the junction between your neck and shoulders, whiskers bristling against your skin, hands hot and heavy everywhere they can find purchase.

‘Much rather show you,’ he rumbles.

You nip your bottom lip between your teeth, shooting him a wicked look over your shoulder. His eyes crinkle, and as he spins you to face him again, he moves to pinch your jaw, just rough enough to curb your inevitable wise ass response. He watches as your eyes glaze a little, soft slump of your shoulders as he gives your head a little shake. His cock is achingly hard.

‘Upstairs. Now,’

As soon as he backs away from you, you’re sprinting towards the stairs with a shriek. Joel is close behind, and you can feel the heat of him, enough to set your heart galloping in your chest. Something primal urging space between you, something base wishing there was none.

You clatter through his bedroom door, whirling to face him - bare chest heaving, lips curled. He pauses in the doorway - so tall and broad, so imposing - shoulders straining against his t-shirt, curls frayed from your hands. He steps in, swings the door shut behind him, and then he’s closing the space easily - one, two, three - gathering you in his arms until you’re on tiptoes, pawing at the flesh of your ass through your sundress. Obsessed with it. You on him, him on you.

He needs this like air.

His breath is hot against your lips, mouth needy and wet as you open yourself to him. He licks into your mouth, kissing you like it’s something you need to take from him, like there’s something you need to understand through the action alone. He fiddles with the flimsy material of your half-removed sundress, pulling at it a little.

‘Take this off,’ he growls, nipping at your lips.

You step back from him as you push it past your hips, the fabric pooling to the floor in seconds, leaving you in your panties. He bites his lip, murmuring a fuck before stripping himself of his t-shirt. Glorious tan chest, slightly lighter than his strong arms, shoulders seeming even broader, smattering of hair that leads down past his navel, his smooth belly, the constellations of freckles that join beneath your fingertips.

You busy your fingers with his belt as he cups your face once more, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your cheekbones. You’re giggling, trying to see what you’re doing through the blur of his face and hands, but then his palms are moving lower, groping at your breasts again, swiping his thumbs against your taught nipples, groaning against your mouth as you dip your hand past his unfastened belt and fly, into his boxers to cup his silken skin.

‘How’d that dream go again?’

Joel smiles against your mouth, giving a harsh twist to each peaked bud before beginning to push his jeans further down.

‘Kneel,’ he commands.

You drop to your knees in one swift motion, biting your lip at him as he whips his belt from its loops and throws it to the corner of the room. Your eager fingers curl under the waistband of his jeans, inching them and his underwear down.

‘Don’t know how you’re wearing jeans in this weather -’

‘Cos I knew you’d be here some point to take ‘em off me,’

You smirk, blinking up at him through your eyelashes.

‘Who, me? I don’t know what kind of girl you take me for, daddy, but…’ You’re chewing your cheek to try and temper your look of amusement, but Joel gives in immediately. Goofy smile, all teeth, eyes crinkling at the edges. He cups your jaw as you wrap your hand around his base, pulling him out of his underwear, soft black material barely holding him in.

His body moves with the first pump of your tight fist, the swirl of your thumb when you reach the head, spreading the pearl of precum beading there as he hisses. Thick and pulsing in your hand, velvety smooth, you trace its lines, veins with a delicate finger, press a kiss to his tip. Joel’s nostrils flare.

‘So pretty,’ you murmur, and that smirk tugs at his lips again.

‘I say you could touch it?’

You roll your eyes, quirking your head at him.

‘Didn’t think you had to,’ you shrug, ‘Kinda comes with the territory of tellin’ me to get on my knees -’

He scoffs.

‘Alright, smart ass,’ tangling his fingers in your hair, ‘Make me proud.’

You smile broadly, before inching closer, moving your mouth with your hand to chase down his length. You always know how to shut him up, and right now, the sight, the sound, the feel of you taking him all on the first try makes him fucking dizzy.

Hot and wet, the ridges of the roof of your mouth like satin around his cock, jumping as it hits the back of your throat and further, twitching again as you hum around him, opening your eyes - doe-like, watering already, the pinch in your brows telling him what you need to hear.

‘Good girl,’ he groans, ‘Good fucking girl,’

It’s the encouragement you need, moaning again as you pull back to the tip, taking him back in again as you bring one hand up to scratch at his thigh, the other moving from his length to his balls, cupping them softly, squeezing, rolling, and he’s on fucking fire. If there was ever a chance he was going to hell before, he’s sure the way you make him feel will send him there regardless.

You’re taking it slow, steady, making him feel every inch of your mouth as you moan and breathe, so intense that he can feel his tip heating - a kind of overstimulation - as he lets little moans slip more freely from his lips. Sighs and mutterings, breathless praise, wrecked groans as you start to move faster, jaw falling open. A steady stream of salt on your tongue, the taste making you keen for him, press your nose to the skin above his cock, making you forget anything outside the taste of him in your mouth. The hand on his thigh moving to work his length as you pay special attention to his head, your hips bucking unconsciously. His stomach jumps, lungs heaving as he massages your crown, as you kitten lick and swirl your tongue down the vein on the underside, rewarded with a sharp, wanton gasp as you pull back to slap him against your tongue.

You watch as his pink tip flushes a darker shade, as it dribbles even more, feeling him jerk in your hand. Spellbound, slack-jawed at the way you take him, at the way you want him, like the taste and the pressure is never enough. How you always need more, more, more, and he’s getting closer, closer, closer -

He pulls you off with a deep, guttural groan - missing your mouth the minute it’s gone, resisting the temptation to shove himself back past your lips and come down your throat.

You gaze up at him, pouting, straining against the hand in your hair.

‘What? Didn’t I make you proud, cowboy?’

He tightens his grip, tips your head further to meet his gaze.

‘Bed,’ he commands, relinquishing his hold, ridding himself of his remaining clothes as you do yours, clambering up onto his bed, settling yourself on your knees again, wiggling side to side, your wide eyes rapt, wired. Chin wet, chest heaving, fingers twitching in your lap, he makes his decision almost instantly. Steps forwards, fingers brushing against the inside of your knee. Your legs part automatically, and he follows the contour of soft skin in the inside of your thighs right to the very top, no grace in the way he swipes his fingers through your folds, collecting the wetness there. And there’s so much of it, so much you feel proud of the way his eyes darken when he feels it.

‘What’s this, baby?’ He coos, repeating the motion as you whimper, as your shoulders hunch and your chin tips down. He lifts it with a finger and thumb, before cupping your face. You nuzzle into the touch, eyes hungry. ‘Oh, pretty girl,’ he murmurs, smiling again, ‘This happen while you were down on your knees sucking daddy’s cock?’

You snort softly, forehead knocking against his as he crowds closer.

‘Fucker-’ you start, but it’s cut off by your gasp as he easily slips in two thick fingers. He tuts.

‘Try again,’

‘Yes,’ you whisper, ‘Fuck yes, it did,’

He kisses your nose, pumping the digits slowly.

‘Gonna have to do something about that then, aren’t we?’

‘Please,’ you breathe, and he removes his fingers, slipping them into his mouth with another groan, tasting you - fuck.

‘Hands and knees, baby,’ he says roughly, and you obey.

He pushes you forward so your chest is pressed into the sheets, nipples catching on the fabric, sweat soaking, cooling against the bed. Your breath catches in your throat - good girl, like this - and he’s pulling your hips up towards him, gripping the flesh at the backs of your thighs to spread you. Your knees slide, pliant with the need that scorches through you, and you press your cheek into the duvet, trying to angle your head so you can watch him watching you.

And fuck, is he watching you. Eyes blown, lips bitten, a depraved intensity settling in the way his jaw flexes. You bunch your hands into fists on the cotton, shuddering as his palms run over your curves - hips, waist, hips, ass, thighs - before they stop, parting you for him again. You can’t help the way you present yourself to him, the way your hips tilt when air meets your bare cunt.

‘Atta girl,’ he mumbles, ‘Look at all that. You makin’ a mess f’me, baby? This pretty little pussy achin’ for what I wanna give her?’

You muffle your response, so fucking desperate, against his sheets, clutching the material tighter. He swipes both his thumbs through your folds, tracing the seam of your cunt, spreading the slick there to shine against your skin, teasing one digit at the entrance of your hole, the other inching its way - agonisingly - towards your clit. You throb, and he watches a bead of slick dribble down your folds, grinding himself against the bed as his cock jumps.

‘Is she, baby?’

You gasp, turning your head to him again. His eyes meet yours, dark, burning.

‘Yes,’ you half-moan, half-sob.

He hums in response, before turning back to your spread cunt. The thumb making its way towards your clit disappears, and you scrunch your brows together in disapproval, mouth working around a strangled please- before the sensation is replaced by his warm breath, then his firm tongue as he licks you from your clit to your hole.

The cry that forces its way past your lips is strangled, choked, stuck in your throat as you clench around nothing at the contact.

‘Oh, fuck -’

And he chuckles against you, at the way your legs almost give out, wrapping his strong arms around your thighs in an effort to hold you upright. You squeeze your eyes closed as he licks further - Joel, fuck - seeking your clit again, pulling it between his lips, dragging his face against you, like he needs it, like he can’t be apart from you.

He sucks a little harsher, and at the very same time, you feel the tip of his nose edge against your cunt. You moan, a fractured sound, and he pulls you towards him again, pressing the curve of it further inside, moving his tongue in circles. You’re seeing fucking stars.

Breath shuddering out of you in high pitched gasps, toes curling against the pressure that builds so quickly already in your gut, unable to move, to find any relief as he mouths at you - ravenous, cramming his face, his fucking nose, as far into you as he can, slurping and sucking, letting his teeth graze you gently when you try to protest - too much, close Joel, ‘m close, fuck -

He pulls back just as suddenly as he came near, swatting your ass quickly, once, twice, before leaning back in. You barely have time to register the sting, how it flares goosebumps up your back, what it means, drunk on the feel of his mouth on you. He begins the same onslaught, sucking, licking, groaning at your taste before the knot tightens again.

‘Yes, please, Joel, please -’

But he’s gone again, that same firm hand landing on your backside as he pushes himself up, loosening his arms from their vice grip on your thighs.

‘Not yet,’ he rasps, ‘Not yet, gonna come on my cock, yeah? Get it nice and wet, show me how much you like it?’

You rock your forehead against his mattress, waves of pleasure rolling through you, cunt fluttering, still so exposed to him. You take too long to answer, moaning loudly as he taps his palm against your soaked folds. You jolt, hips moving instinctively, finding nothing. You shudder a breath.

‘Yes, wanna come on your cock, I need it daddy. Need you inside me, need you to fuck me, need to come, Joel, please -’

He pulls you by the hips to the edge of the bed again, one palm kneading the flesh there, the other sliding three fingers through your arousal, bringing the wetness to his cock, slicking himself up. You raise yourself up on your elbows, looking back at him, and Joel's heart almost gives out. That perfect little pout, the sweat dripping down your forehead, the bead of it that travels down the valley of your spine, shining against your skin. Every inch of you so perfect, glossy in the heat, his. The patch he loves so much at the bottom of your back, just before the swell of your ass, even better, impossibly, from this angle.

He holds you still with the grip on your hip as he nudges the tip of his cock against your entrance, and your breath stills in your lungs. That first press, the pressure, the beginning of the stretch, the way you contract around the promise of it, waiting, waiting -

Waiting.

Joel smiles, though you can’t see it. His body pulled taught, barely resisting the urge to push himself further into you.

‘Go on, pretty girl,’ he says, ‘Wanna see you fuck yourself on it. Show me how bad you need it,’

You hear his breath catch the moment you begin to slide down, and then the room is silent, save for the buzzing of his fans and the sticky sound of you pulling him inside. When you reach his base, nestling against the hair there, you both let out an honest, drawn out groan of relief. You’re so full of him, the stretch welcome, pressing against a sweet spot deep inside you, just enough to leave you breathless. You can feel him pulse in time with your heartbeat, feel yourself grow wetter, begin to drip down your thighs as you breathe heavily, as his grip grows firmer, as his fingers slide to the crease between your thighs and your stomach.

‘Move, baby,’ he pleads, sounding just as wrecked as you feel.

So you do. Slow, methodical, so you can feel all of him. Every inch, every vein that makes you clench around him, that makes him groan low in his throat. You know he wants it faster, that this time he wants more, but you’re too busy indulging yourself, focused on the drag of him against your walls, showing him how he takes care of you, making sure he watches how he fills you, how well you take him.

When the pressure begins to grow, when he coos at you a little more, you move with more force, fucking yourself back, your noises coming louder, higher pitched, while his grow lower, as he babbles to you more and more.

‘Fuck, look at you, baby. Look at you. Take me so good, take me so deep. Perfect pussy, made f’me, ain’t she? So pretty baby, so pretty the way you stretch, feel so good, so good, darlin’, fuck -’

He’s almost too caught up in the way your ass recoils against his thighs, the way your pussy moulds itself to him, that he misses the tell tale signs of you about to come. The way you gasp, the way you tighten and throb, the way you fist the sheets around you, the way your body begins to lock up -

‘No. Not yet,’ he grits out, pulling his hips back, pulse pounding in his ears as he watches your body try to chase his before he grips you again, turning you onto your back.

You’re sobbing around your plea - please Joel, been so good, just wanna come around you, please baby - but he’s steadfast.

He wants to see your face when you let go. Wants to watch your eyes roll, wants to watch you arch, wants to see the way your stomach lurches -

You scrabble for him, slurring your words, so fucked out - please Joel please, please baby, god, I just need - as he arranges your legs so your knees are bent, so your pretty little pussy is exposed completely to him - need you, please fuck me - before he swipes his thumb against your clit again, just to hear your broken whine, the hiccuped sigh, the way your body twitches, so close.

He pauses, holds your thighs wide open before him, towering above you. You reach to skate a hand up his tan belly, fingers scraping through the hair there, the muscled lines leading down to his cock, enjoying the thrum of his heart beating through his skin before he knocks it aside, pursing his lips and spitting straight onto where you are connected.

It turns you half-feral, rearing up towards him as he speaks.

‘There we go, baby. This what we need,’

The first thrust in takes your breath away.

And he doesn’t give you any chance to get it back.

He sets a punishing pace, feeding you his cock with dogged precision, consumed by how you look spread beneath him, with how puffy and slick and shiny your pussy is, how it splits around him.

Thick heft of him sawing in and out, the way you clutch at him, sucking him back in, tighter and tighter each time, like your body is already missing him. So wet slick is smeared around your thighs, soaking Joel’s lap, leaking down into the cleft of your ass. He kisses you, slow and deep, gasping and panting against your lips. Guttural moans from him, needy little whimpers from you, the sloppy sound of pleasure.

He breaks away from you when the kisses are splintered by gasps of air, fixing his mouth to your neck, inhaling deeply there, pressing his lips to your shoulder, lower, the top of your breast, your sternum, before closing them around your nipple. You keen as he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive bud, hands flying from his flexing forearms to his hair, scratching his scalp, moaning his name, chanting it - Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel.

He sucks harder, tongue working around the flesh before he does the same to your other breast, fingers slipping down over the damp skin of your belly towards your sex, seeking that last nudge you need to send you flying over the edge.

Tighter, wetter, arching to meet his mouth as you gasp and plead - gonna come Joel, gonna come, please can I come, please, please -

You barely register his nod against your chest, barely hear him gasp ‘Give it to me baby, good girl, that’s it,’ before the flood overwhelms you, clawing through your body, ripping through you like flame. Your body tenses, jerks, hips stuttering against him, pussy throbbing as you cry out, pleasure flushing through you all the way to the top of your head. Aftershocks flare like fireworks behind your eyelids, hips moving frantically with his to chase the very end of your orgasm.

Joel watches, chest hot, stomach tightening with that tell tale taughtness - oh, shit baby, yeah, s'that good? - before his own eyes squeeze shut, his body faltering, pushing all the way up against your cervix as he pulses inside you, filling you with warmth, spilling himself until it begins to leak between your thighs.

He gives a couple of softer thrusts before he groans again, hearing you whimper, ears ringing, pulling out just to watch himself drip out of you. The sight makes him greedy, makes him press it back into you even as you hiss in protest, too sensitive. He looks up just as you crack an eye open, an arm swinging across your forehead.

‘Jesus fucking Christ,’ you mumble, a smile growing before he breathes a shy laugh at the ceiling. He loves the sound of your giggle as you watch him.

He crawls back up your body, ignoring how the heat begins to creep back in, become formidable again. He presses kisses to your collarbones, your neck, your cheeks, and you thread your spare hand back through his hair, enjoying the way it looks, mussed by you.

His sweaty forehead presses against your sternum, laving affectionate, wet kisses there as you come down from your highs, panting in the warm air of the room.

You continue to card your fingers through his damp curls, staring up at the ceiling fan as it whirs and spins above you. Your eyes flutter closed, content.

‘You’ll have to get Sarah from school soon,’

He grunts in acknowledgement, nuzzling into your ribcage, licking at the salty skin before nipping it between his teeth. You giggle, body lurching away slightly before it’s fixed in place by his wide palms at your hips. ‘And I have to be home before four,’

He groans, pressing a kiss to the underside of your breast.

‘Come over for dinner,’ he murmurs, ‘Tell your dad we're hangin’ out, gettin’ to know each other. I’ll grill some stuff. You bring some more of those popsicles,’

You snort at him, huffing something about how nothing will get grilled if you’re watchin’ me suck on a popsicle, even as your chest and cheeks heat, before he slumps on top of you, plush lips crushing against yours in a searing kiss, tongue licking into your mouth, setting you ablaze again beneath him. You moan as he moves to your neck, sucking and biting and bruising.

‘Come,’ he groans into your skin, ‘Promise you’ll come. I'll make it worth your while,’

You offer him a breathy laugh, a sure at the double entendre with sparkling eyes. Your back arches, hands gripping his biceps as he languidly moves lower, taking your nipple in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the raw bud, grazing it with his teeth before sucking gently.

‘Joel -’ you gasp, clenching your thighs together as you wriggle beneath him, meeting his warm brown eyes as he looks up at you through his eyelashes. ‘We need to -’

He cuts you off with a sharp nip at the puckered flesh. He turns his head to the side, checks the watch he’s still wearing, and fixes you with a dark, hungry look.

‘Reckon there’s time to go again.’

#vee's reading club

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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Just a visual representation of me:

Sweetest Taste

Pairing: Javier Peña x female reader

Word Count: 406

Summary: You love Javi's face...I love Javi's face- we all love it.

Author's Note: Just because I'm obsessed with this man's sexiness and the mustache and all of it. Just a little drabble to get me through my daydreams. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-in-darkness thank you Daisy!🥰

Warnings: Javi...his face...his tongue...you sitting on his face. Oral (f rec) a curse or two.

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Javi, Javi, Javi. Oh my god.”

Your breathless chants are in rhythm with every knock of the headboard against the wall and every roll of your hips makes your grip tighten along the wood.

He slows the roll of his tongue with gentle licks, his nose bumping your clit and his low growls of satisfaction vibrating right through you. His large hands knead the soft skin of your ass before he pulls you down harder onto his face.

The feel of his mustache is enough to drive you wild, the ticklish burn the perfect contrast to your sensitive skin.

“Fuck Javi,” you pant. “More.”

He lands a hard smack on your ass and your thighs squeeze together, closing around his head.

Your hand drops to his hair, fingers raking through the silky strands and gripping tightly at the ends. He sucks your clit between his lips then slowly slides his tongue through your dripping folds, savoring every drop before he does it again.

You can feel your stomach start to tighten up, your legs trembling and your lips parted. He frees one hand from your ass and traces the lush curve of your waist, inching slowly up your stomach and then closing it around your breast.

The movement of your hips intensifies, your desperation apparent in every moan of his name and pull of his hair.

He draws out your pleasure, slowly, deliberately, until you’re whimpering and slumped over the headboard. He carefully lifts you off his face and you fall onto your stomach, sated and pliant as he covers your body with his.

His wet lips meet the shell of your ear, his breath warm but still making you shiver.

“Fucking delicious.”

With soft kisses he trails his lips along the slope of your spine and spreads your legs with his knee. The head of his cock slides through your wetness as his mouth reaches your shoulder with a tender bite.

“Javi. I want you inside me. Please…now.”

His hum of pleasure is against your neck as he nuzzles your skin and reaches under you to lift your hips slightly.

“I love to hear you beg for me angel.”

“Please,” you whine, trying to move under him. “I need it.”

When he finally slides inside you it’s slow enough that you can feel him stretch you with every inch until he’s buried deep.

“Fuck angel. You taste like heaven and you feel like it too.”

#vee's reading club

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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You could not get me out of that house if he did that to me 😩🩷

Take a Little Ride

Pairing: Joel Miller x female reader

Word Count: 752

Summary: Joel gives you a little somethin' before you go out.

Author's Note: I have no idea what timeline this would be set in- but who really cares- because there isn't much plot. It's all about sitting in this man's lap and riding that deliciousness that's always popping out between his legs. My sweet friend @weekendgothgirl sparked this inspo with a little post she sent my way and I needed to write this because I can't stop thinking about it. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️ Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: sexy and sweet, dry humping, a curse or two, Joel knows exactly what he's up to...

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

“Leavin’ already?” Joel asks quietly when he hears your shoes click along the floor.

“I have a few minutes,” you answer as you place your phone in your bag and set it by the door.

“Good,” he hums and calls you over with a pat to his thigh.

You sashay around the couch and stop in between his spread legs. His causal position on the couch doesn’t change, one arm draped over the back and the other resting along his leg, but his eyes instantly blaze with heat as they sweep over you from head to toe.

“You look incredible,” he murmurs. “I shouldn’t let you leave the house.”

“As if you could stop me,” you shoot back, lip caught between your teeth.

The corner of his mouth twitches with a smirk and he slowly sits forward to curl his hands into the skin just below the hem of your dress. His thumbs draw lazily circles on your inner thighs as his fingers move higher in a teasing manner. When he has your ass in his hands he drags you closer and pulls you down onto his lap.

His eyes are bright with challenge as his grip tightens.

“Is this your attempt to keep me home?”

Your question is whispered against his lips and when one large hand glides higher, splayed fingers tracing the curve of your spine, your body melts along with your reserved efforts.

His mouth covers yours, his tongue skating across your lips, parting them, and pulling a soft whimper from the back of your throat.

The kiss is claiming, leaving no room for protest. Then, he brings you down to meet the bulge between his legs, his hips working in a steady rhythm to grind against your panties.

You place both hands on his broad shoulders and rock yourself over him again. He bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes with a pained expression.

“Fuckin’ hell sweetheart,” he grates along your lips, his breathing heavy.

Your mouth brushes his with a whispered plea and you relish the feel of his beard scratching along your delicate softness.

“Joel,” you whine.

You lift your hands and dig them into his thick, tousled mane of brown curls. His hands slide down the curve of your body to your thighs, rough calloused fingers stroking your soft skin as he rolls his hips with a choked curse.

The rigid fly of his jeans drags along the center of your dampening panties and he buries his face in your neck, dragging his teeth along your throat until he finds your bottom lip and bites down.

Your gasp of pleasure is swallowed by his mouth but you continue to squirm in his lap, searching for the friction you need.

“Do it again Joel.”

Jaw tight, he holds you down and rocks his hips repeatedly until your panties are clinging to damp flesh and you’re chanting his name through parted lips.

The rush starts and you can feel your stomach tighten. He works you harder, his eyes locked on your face.

“Oh my god, Joel. Don’t stop. Please.”

Your body trembles with your release and he continues moving his hips, dragging out the pleasure until you’re wrapped around him, holding tightly to his neck as you catch your breath.

“Joel,” you pant before laying your head to his shoulder.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

He cradles you against his chest until your breathing evens out.

Your hand slides through the open buttons of his shirt and down to his belt buckle but he grabs your wrist before you can get it open.

You sit back with a pout.

“You’re goin’ to be late angel.”

“But…” you whine and wiggle in his hold.

When the strap of your dress falls loosely from your shoulder he glides his fingers up your arm, slow and delicate, to grab the thin fabric and slide it back up. Goosebumps erupt along your skin and you shiver in his arms.

“Tonight,” he murmurs before pressing a soft kiss to your collarbone, then your neck.

He helps you stand from his lap, your dress still hiked up over your hips, and leans closer to wedge his hand between your thighs and push them open. The wetness on your panties is clearly visible and he licks his lips.

“I’m goin’ to be thinkin’ about this until you get back home to me angel. Then I’m going to have you every way I want you.”

@hiddles-rose @kmc1989 @lorilane33 @littleseasiren @blackwidownat2814 @lizette50

#vee's reading club

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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AHHHH JOEL MILLER THE MAN THAT YOU ARE 😩🫶

Honey | Joel Miller x f!reader | part 2

Summary: After Joel came to your rescue on that horrific night, you and Joel’s relationship started to shift. You started to visit home more often, and you seemed to get closer to Joel. The sexual tension between you two becomes a little dangerous… Is it so bad that you’re slowly falling for your Dad’s best friend?

Rating: 18+!! MDNI

Tags: dbf! Joel Miller, age gap (you’re 21, Joel is 35), no outbreak au, loss of virginity, inexperienced reader, reader’s first time, Joel is a soft!dom, submissive reader, Joel is a GENTLEMAN, oral sex (Joel eats you OUT, well yes!), p in v intercourse, protected sex (Joel uses a condom), Joel talks you through it, some praising, sexual tension, a smidge of angst, and some fluff

Songs inspo: Can't Pretend by Tom Odell, Million Dollar Man by Lana Del Rey, Too Sweet by Hoizer, Wicked Game by Chris Isaak

Taglist: @nabiiturner , @sarahhxx03 , @zelena89 , @beccerjune , @himesuedi , @pedropascalsbbg <33 (I hope I didn't miss anyone!)

A/n: Hello beautiful people!! Ahhhhh!! It’s here! So sorry for the delay I’ve been a little busy. Thank you for all the support on part 1. Make sure to read part 1 before you read this. I hope you all enjoy!! :-)

Part 1

“You’ve had dirty thoughts about me?” Joel asked with a smug grin on his face.

Your cheeks immediately flushed as you started to feel shy and embarrassed. You bite your lip and nod your head while burying your head further into his chest. Joel tuts at you.

“Oh, you naughty little thing…”

Since that night, it felt like something in the universe had shifted. Your knight in shining armor has appeared in your life, but why did it have to be your Dad's best friend?

It’s so wrong on so many levels. He’s your Dad’s best friend, but he makes you feel safe and comfortable. It’s like you can finally be free to be yourself around him. You just want him to take you off your feet and take care of you and kiss you and well… fuck you.

It’s so dirty. You felt dirty, but you wanted him more than anything. Why did this have to be so forbidden?

When you woke up that very morning, you noticed you were on Joel’s bed. His bed was infused with his scent. You didn’t even realize you fell asleep during the movie. You rolled over to your side and felt a warm spot on the bed as if someone was lying there. You wondered if Joel stayed with you that night on his bed, but that would be insane, right?

You had an atrocious hangover. Honestly, all of last night was a blur, but you remembered Joel being kind and gentle with you, and overall, making you feel safe. Joel is exactly the type of man you need, but it would ruin everything. Also, you weren't even sure how he felt. Is that a risk you would be willing to take?

Days have passed now since that night. The day after the party, Joel took you back to your dorm, and you thanked him for everything. After he left, you wanted to see him again. You already missed him

You go on about your days as a college student with Joel in the back of your mind. You eventually had to confront Henry about what happened at the party. As much as you want to avoid it, you can't have Henry in your subconscious. The both of you had a long talk and argument, and in conclusion, the both of you broke up.

Good riddance.

But now you can move forward with your life. You started to visit home more often to see your parents and of course, Joel. Joel was always a friendly face to see. You've always made every little excuse to invite him over. You and Joel seemed to get closer, and then one night, it hit the both of you.

One weekend when you came to visit home, your mom and dad decided to have a date night leaving you alone. You wanted to see Joel more than anything.

Since Joel's house was right across the street, you walked to his house and knocked on his front door. Joel answers the door with just a T-shirt and sweatpants. Joel's face immediately brightens at the sight of you.

"Honey, what are you doing here?" Joel asked.

"Well, my parents are on a date night, and I was wondering if we could just... hang out. If you're not doing anything of course."

Joel clears his throat and seems to be flustered by your request.

"Yeah, yeah of course. Come in," Joel said.

You walk in through the front door.

"Is Sarah here?" you asked.

"Yeah, but she’s asleep upstairs. I tucked her into bed," Joel said.

You nod your head and looked around you

"So, you want a drink?" Joel asked.

You smiled and responded, "I would love one."

As the night progressed, one drink became 2, then 3... then 4. The both of you were very tipsy while having deep talks and listening to music. Time didn’t even feel like it existed when you were with him.

Some oldies were playing in the background and the both of you were talking and laughing.

“So, if you had millions and trillions of dollars, what would be the first thing you’d buy?” you asked.

Joel takes a sip of his whiskey and looks up to the ceiling thinking.

“Hmm, I would probably get an electric scooter.”

You bursted out laughing at his answer.

“If you had a trillion dollars, the first thing your would get is an electric scooter?” you said while still laughing.

“And what’s so funny about that?” Joel chuckled.

“You’ll eat the floor and fall on your ass,” you laughed.

Joel started bursting out laughing too.

“Heyyy that’s mean.”

The both of you laughed so hard that it became silent laughter. The joke wasn’t even that funny, but the alcohol is definitely hitting.

“Okay, okay, then what about you?” Joel asked.

You didn’t even hesitate for your answer.

“I would probably buy Antarctica,” you said.

The both of you started bursting out laughing again. Soon after, one of your favorite 80s songs started to play. You gasped and smiled at Joel.

“I love this song!” you said with glee.

You got up from the couch and started dancing in the middle of the living room. Joel admires you dancing and smiles.

“You’re such a dork,” Joel said.

You looked at him and grabbed his arms.

“Come dance with me!” you said.

Joel refused to get up.

“No, no I don’t dance,” he chuckled.

“C’monnnnn. Let’s dance,” you said trying to pull him up and failing miserably at it.

Eventually, Joel gave in and stood up. You started to dance with him, and he started to dance with you. The both of you were laughing and smiling. Joel makes you twirl with his hand. He grabs your waist with one arm and holds your hand with the other. You placed your unoccupied hand on his shoulder, and the both of you were swinging around very fast to match the upbeat of the song.

The both of you were out of breath with all of the dancing and the both of you paused to look at each other. You were laughing and so was he, and eventually, it got silent. Another song started to play, but it was much slower. You could cut the sexual tension with a knife. You look deep into his eyes, and you feel possessed for what you’re about to do next.

You kissed him, but you immediately stopped as reality started crumbling onto you. Joel was startled at your sudden move, and you immediately backed away from him unable to meet his eyes feeling ashamed of yourself.

“Oh my God… I’m so sorry. I- I didn’t mean to do that,” you rambled.

You started to collect your things together to leave immediately. Joel was silent unable to speak.

“I should go…” you said completely embarrassed of your actions. You couldn’t do this with your Dad’s best friend.

Before you could let Joel speak, you were already heading towards the door. You left and walked back to your house. As you were walking, tears built up in your eyes. You felt so stupid. Now you weren’t sure how you and Joel’s relationship would progress from now.

You arrived at your house and immediately went straight to your room. You flopped onto your bed and cried yourself asleep terrified that you might have lost Joel.

~~~

The next few weeks have definitely been different. You still visited home often, but Joel would never stop by.

There was only this one time Joel came in to pick up something from your Dad. You looked at him, but he didn’t look at you. He completely ignored your existence. Your heart was crushed as he left the house without looking at you or even saying hello.

This went on for a while, and of course, there was a huge elephant in the room. You didn’t want Joel to feel uncomfortable around you, so you took matters into your own hands as you knocked on his front door at the brink of dusk.

Joel opened the door, and his face was clearly conflicted at the sight of you.

“Oh, hey. Um, what are you doing here?” Joel asked with discomfort behind his voice.

“Is Sarah home?”

The last thing you would want is for Sarah to witness this taboo conversation of you kissing her Dad.

“Uh, no. She’s at a sleepov-,” That was enough you needed to hear. You completely cut him off by walking inside his house.

You were dreading to have this conversation, but it was killing you that Joel wasn’t talking to you.

“Can we talk? Please,” you said practically begging him.

“Yeah, sure honey,” Joel replied.

You sighed.

“Look, I know I kissed you, and I didn’t mean to. I was drunk and stupid, but I need to ask you…” you hesitated to continue.

“Do you have the same feelings for me…?” you asked. You knew something was there between you two. It was so clear, but it was ignored by the both of you. Now you needed the truth.

Joel scratches the back of his head wanting to avoid your question.

“Honey… you’re a beautiful girl inside and out, but I can’t. You’re my best friend’s daughter, and it’s wrong,” Joel said.

You walked closer to him.

“But you do feel these feelings?” you asked wanting him to clarify if he felt the same.

“I… I can’t,” Joel replied completely conflicted with his feelings. He does feel the same about you. In fact, when you kissed him, he wanted to kiss you back and please you in every way he could, but he was afraid of the way he felt which is why he ran away.

You felt daring, and you brushed his arm lightly with just your fingertips. You look up at him.

“Does this feel wrong?” you asked with a hint of innocence behind your voice.

Joel tries resisting you by shaking his head and looking away from you fighting the urge to pick you up and take you to heaven.

“Honey…” he protested.

You then brush your fingers down to his hand, and you held onto it. You then took his hand up to your face letting him feel you.

“Does this feel wrong?” you asked once more. You wanted to make him feel what he refuses to feel.

You both look at each other deeply. You were drowning in his brown chocolate eyes. His pupils were fully dilated. You continued looking at him, and behind your eyes, you were giving him permission to do whatever he wanted with you.

Joel is hesitant to make his move, and everything in the room falls silent and stuck in place.

The frozen moment soon vanishes quickly as Joel grabs your face with both of his calloused hands and smashes his lips onto yours. He was devouring your mouth desperately wanting to taste you. You whimpered against his lips feeling his facial hair rub against your lips and skin. He kissed you in such full force that he was slowly pushing you towards the nearest wall. You kissed him back and eventually felt your back up against the wall.

Joel stops kissing you, not only to let you catch your breath but also his. Your lips were already puffy and swollen.

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I wanted to do that…” Joel whispered against your lips. You smile softly, and go up against his ear.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered.

You look back at Joel and his eyes were dark and filled with lust. Without him speaking, he wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up effortlessly. You giggle as he carries you right into his bedroom. When he carried you, he kissed your neck and jawline which made you giggle more.

As soon as you both arrive, he gently places you down on his bed and continues kissing your lips. You felt his tongue dip into your mouth. He kisses down into your chin then your neck. He sucks into your skin and lightly bites it right after, claiming you. You groan.

You take your hands and grab the bottom of his shirt trying to get it off over his head. He assists you by grabbing his shirt with one of his hands and takes it off. Joel was then about to take off your shirt and hesitated.

“Is this okay?” Joel asked. Even though he was hungry for you, he was also such a gentleman. You nod your head "yes," but that wasn’t enough for Joel to continue.

“Use your words, baby,” Joel said. You nod your head more frantically.

“Yes. This is okay,” you said in a rush.

And with your permission, Joel lifts your shirt over your head revealing your black bra. Joel admires you and starts kissing your chest and belly. He whispers between each kiss, “God honey, you’re beautiful.”

You felt so turned on and wet in your pussy it started to hurt and ache.

“Joel…” you whined.

Joel slowly takes off your shorts.

“I know baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of ya, don’t worry.”

And before he takes off your panties, you stop him. Your insecurities filled up in your head.

“Wait, wait. I… I didn’t have time to really, you know… shave down… there,” you said completely embarrassed. Henry, your ex, would always be disgusted with you and make you feel bad if you didn’t shave down there. It made you assume that every man expects that.

Joel’s eyes completely softened, and he chuckled.

“Honey… that don’t matter. It's natural. You’re a woman.”

You felt shocked by his reaction and that instantly made you feel better. Your insecurities fell off your shoulders. Joel take his fingers on the rim of your panties.

“Is this okay darlin’?” Joel asked.

You shook your head up and down so desperate and impatient for him to touch you.

Joel gives you a disapproving look and lifts his eyebrows waiting for a verbal answer from you.

“Yes, yes, yes please,” you said. You kind of felt pathetic for how much you needed him.

And with that, Joel pulls off your panties and tuts.

“Oh honey… she’s soakin’… poor thing,” Joel taunted as he observes your drenching pussy. You whine.

“Please Joel…” you begged.

Joel starts kissing the insides of your thighs and around your vagina, teasing you and taking his time with you.

“Joel I need you,” you whined.

Joel grins against your skin, and he starts kissing your pussy. He then drags his tongue against your clit making you moan loudly it was almost pathetic.

“So’sweet. So’perfect,” Joel rasped out of breath as he licked and sucked on your clit. You continued moaning and whimpering. You put your hands into his hair. You already felt like you were close to climaxing.

“Joel… I’m so close I’m gonna- I’m gonna-,” you couldn’t complete your sentence. Your mind felt clouded with pleasure.

“I know baby. I know. I can feel it. Let it go,” Joel said as he continued his movements with his mouth on your pussy. Your orgasm climaxed. You felt yourself releasing as you came, and you moaned. Joel licks all of your remaining juices. You were breathless and so was he.

“Good girl… you did so good,” he praised.

He comes up to your face and kisses you letting you taste yourself on your lips.

“How was that honey?” Joel asked breathlessly while looking into your eyes. You smiled.

“That was fucking incredible.”

Joel smiled and kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your chin, your jawline, and your lips. Filling you with so much care and love. You giggle softly as he does this and then he stops to look down at you. He brushes a strand of hair out of your face and tucks it behind your ear. He looks at you in awe like you are the most precious thing in the world.

“You’re gorgeous honey,” Joel said softly.

You smiled while blushing and looked away from him feeling flustered. It’s funny how you felt flustered over that rather than him just eating you out a minute ago. Joel chuckles at you finding you adorable all flustered. Joel gently takes your chin guiding you to look up at him again.

“You are,” Joel implied again. You just smiled at him. This is probably the most intimate moment of your entire life. Yes, you had a boyfriend, but this was soft. It felt so safe. It was completely opposite from when you were with Henry.

The both of you looked at each other longingly. You wanted him more, and he wanted you. You slowly started to unbuckle his belt from his jeans. You’ve never done the real thing before, but if you could have any man to take your virginity, you would want it to be him.

“I want all of you Joel…” you whispered. Joel looked down at you with lustful eyes and fully dilated pupils. He didn’t stop you from unbuckling him, so you continued. You unzip his jeans, and he does the rest. He pulls down his pants leaving him with his underwear. You saw his cock through his boxers, and he was rock hard… also very big. Your eyes widen at the sight. You then pull down his underwear, and his cock springs out. He was ginormous, and you couldn’t process him even fitting inside.

“You’re… you’re so big. How is that gonna fit inside me?” you said, genuinely trying to figuring out how this is going to work.

Joel chuckles, “We’ll make it fit honey, don’t worry.”

Joel went through his nightstand beside him and took out a condom. He ripped it open with his teeth and slid the condom onto him. Before Joel enters inside you, you want to tell him this was your first time. You were thinking of not telling him because you kind of felt embarrassed about it, but you needed to let him know.

“Wait… Joel,” you interrupted.

Joel immediately freezes and looks down at you with concern.

“What is it? You want me to stop?” Joel asked.

“No no! I- I want this. It’s just…” you fell silent looking away from him. You felt your cheeks heating up with embarrassment. Joel grabs your chin making you look at him just like he did before.

“Tell me, honey,” Joel said gently.

You hesitated, but you finally spilled it out.

“I’ve never done this before…” you said with your cheeks flushed and warm.

Joel’s eyes softens.

“Even…” his eyes lurked down below you implying when he ate you out wondering if that was your first time as well.

“No no. I’ve done that before. Just… this,” you said.

Joel looks at you with the softest eyes.

“Honey… that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Really?”

Joel chuckles at you.

“Yes really, but are you sure you want this sweetheart?”

In response, you grab onto the back of his head with your fingers tangled in his hair and kiss him softly.

“Yes. I want this with you,” you said.

Joel gives you a crooked smile.

“Okay. I’ll be gentle, and if you want me to stop, you tell me, okay?”

You nodded your head and whispered, “Okay.”

Joel begins to enter his length inside you making you gasp.

“This okay, honey? I’m only halfway in.”

You were shocked that he was only halfway in. How the hell is he gonna fit?

“I’m- I’m okay. Keep going,” you said, already breathless.

Joel continues entering himself inside you. He observes your face for any signs of discomfort. You continued gasping, and you were breathless. Joel was breathing heavily cursing “fuck” under his breath.

“You okay, honey?” Joel asked again. Joel was so careful with you and made sure you didn’t feel any pain. He wanted to make sure you felt good and comfortable especially since this is your first time.

“Yes, yes I’m okay.”

Joel then began to thrust making you whimper.

“Fuck baby, are- fuck- are you okay?”

“I’m okay. Keep going p-please,” you whimpered. You found it sweet how Joel kept making sure you were okay.

Joel continues to thrust inside you. His cock started to hit your g-spot making you moan louder. Your hands were on his back digging your fingernails inside his skin which Joel didn’t mind.

“Oh, baby. You feel fucking amazing,” Joel said as he gives you a sloppy kiss on your neck and sucking onto your skin.

“You’re doing so well, honey. Such a good girl for me,” Joel growled.

You moan his name as he praises you. He continued thrusting, but this time it became a little faster. Joel started to rub your clit with one of his fingers which made you gasp loudly and scratch his back.

“Does that feel good baby?” Joel asked with a smug grin on his face.

“Yes yes yes yes,” you said desperately.

The euphoria of pleasure was overwhelming you. Your mind went so foggy for how much pleasure you were feeling. You even felt yourself drooling at one point. Henry has NEVER made you feel this good before. Joel knew what he was doing. He knew all the right places to make you feel good.

“Joel please please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for.

“Aw, look at you,” Joel taunted at you as he is literally destroying you. You whimpered more loudly. His thrusts were at a steady pace.

“Do you like how I’m fucking you, honey?”

“Yes!!” you screamed out loud. Joel smiles at your satisfaction. You feel yourself about to climax as you reach your orgasm.

“J-Joel… I’m- I’m close,” you whimpered.

“I know honey. Don’t cum yet,” Joel replied. Joel bites your jawline gently making you groan.

You eventually felt his thrusts becoming sloppy. He was so close to coming too.

“Okay baby. You can cum. Let go,” Joel said breathlessly. You were digging your nails deeply into his skin. You wouldn’t be surprised if you were making him bleed. You moaned loudly as you reached your orgasm and so did Joel. You released all the juices inside you and Joel came inside the condom. The both of you were catching your breath. He had sweat on the rim of his hairline and so did you. That was by far the most intense experience for you.

Joel then gently kisses all of your face making you lightly giggle. Joel stops and looks down at you. His dark eyes vanished.

“You feel okay, honey? Did I hurt you?” Joel asked with a hint of concern.

“I feel perfect,” you said out of breath and with a tired smile. Joel smiles back and kisses your lips. He gets off you and disposes of his used condom. Joel then lays next to you kissing you so tenderly. Joel then grabs you and puts you on his chest. You listened to his rapid heartbeat.

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Joel said while tracing invisible patterns on your back.

“Me too,” you mumbled against his chest.

“You’ve had dirty thoughts about me?” Joel asked with a smug grin on his face.

Your cheeks immediately flushed as you started to feel shy and embarrassed. You bite your lip and nod your head while burying your head further into his chest. Joel tuts at you.

“Oh, you naughty little thing…”

You giggled softly. Joel continues tracing patterns with his finger on your back. You felt so safe with him and so loved. There was a comfortable silence between you two, and you eventually broke it.

“My dad is going to kill you,” you said.

Joel chuckles.

“Not if he finds out,” Joel replied.

You then lift your head to look at him. You give him a playful grin.

“So, I’ll be your little secret?”

Joel takes your head putting you closer to his face.

“Yeah. You’ll be my secret,” he replied and he placed one of his fingers up against your mouth making a shushing gesture. You laughed.

“I like being your secret…” you whispered.

Joel kisses you and smiles against your lips. He flips you over on your back for another round, and you screaming his name continued all night.

~~~

Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope y’all enjoyed! 💋

Checkout my masterlist !!

#vee's reading club

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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Oh this was heartbreaking but so heartwarming at the same time, I'm excited to read the next part! 🫶🩷

Honey | Joel Miller x f!reader | part 1

Summary: A party is supposed to be the time of your life, but this party quickly turns into a nightmare. You called your Dad’s best friend Joel Miller. He comes to your rescue, and he is not too happy with your boyfriend…

Paring: dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

Tags: dbf! Joel Miller, protective Joel Miller (he would literally burn the world and not let a flame touch you), you have an asshole boyfriend (OC bf: Henry, OC best friend: Maya), age gap (you’re 21, Joel is 35), no outbreak au, hurt/ comfort, no smut in this part but part 2 will, just fluff, Joel Miller is a softie, Joel is a GENTLEMAN

Warnings: SA attempt- not by Joel (it’s very brief. I won’t get into too much detail), and vomiting. If any of this triggers you in any way, please don’t read!

A/n: Hello beautiful people!! Ahhhhh!! I’ve been wanting to do a dbf! Joel Miller fic for so long, and I’m so excited to write this! I will separate this story into 2 parts. Maybe I will add more, we shall see. Here is part 1. I hope y’all enjoy! <3

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

“You remembered,” you said. Joel tilts his head.

“With what?”

“You remembered I liked honey in my tea,” you said with a soft smile. Joel smiles back.

“Of course I remembered. I remember everything.”

College is all about discovering who are, learning new subjects, trying drugs and alcohol, and being wild and free, right?

You go to a university near your hometown, and you love it. It was a party school and parties were thrown left and right, and you don’t even need to be invited. You absolutely loved it. As you were a teenager, you didn’t have much experience with alcohol, drugs, parties, and even sex. You have very strict parents. They wouldn’t even let you have a sleepover. So college was the perfect opportunity for you to do all the things you missed as a teenager.

You went to a bunch of parties and met a lot of people. You even met your first-ever boyfriend, Henry. He was very much a playboy, but you felt like he was different with you. You were so wrong…

You both have been dating for just a few months. Your parents met him, and even your Dad’s best friend Joel Miller met him too. You might as well make him part of the family now.

Henry got invited to one of the biggest parties that was being thrown at your college. It was an end-of-the-year type of party, and Henry of course invited you along.

The party was on a Friday night at a frat house, and there were so many lights and music blaring through the speakers. You and Henry entered inside, and you saw him dab up some of his buddies. You stand there awkwardly. Without any warning, Henry then yanks your hand to come closer to him and his friends.

“So this is my girl. Babe, meet the boys,” Henry said.

His friends look at you up and down like you’re a piece of meat and one of them even whistles at you.

“Damn, so she is real,” one of his friends sneers.

Henry playfully punches his shoulder.

“Yeah she is, and she’s sexy,” Henry bragged.

You felt disgusted. You didn’t even feel valued or even flattered. You did not feel like a girlfriend. You just felt like a trophy that is being shown off to a bunch of assholes.

“She is hot. You did good bro,” his other friend chimed in.

You internally rolled your eyes, and you immediately needed a drink. Henry can be so sweet and kind to you, but then there are times when he’s like… well this.

“I’m gonna get a drink,” you said to Henry. You started to walk away from him and his friends.

“Alright, go get me one!” Henry yelled back.

You give him a quick nod and walk to the drink station. As you were making yourself a drink, a girl gives you a big hug almost making you spill your drink everywhere. It was your best friend, Maya.

“Hey girl!! You’re here!!” Maya squealed while hugging you tightly. You laughed and hugged her back.

“Oh my God! I didn’t know you were coming to this party.”

“Of course I’m gonna be here. I’m here to get fucked up,” Maya laughed. You laughed too.

“Who are you with?” Maya asked.

“Oh, just my boyfriend. You?”

“My boyfriend too, also some of my friends. We’ll actually be by the pool outside. We’re gonna… you know,” Maya then makes a smoking signal with her hand referring to weed.

You chuckle and nod your head, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Maya gives you one last hug and starts to leave you.

“Well, I’ll be outside. See you around!”

Maya skips away, and you smile at her. You finish making your drink and start heading back to Henry. Henry doesn’t even hesitate to take your drink and chug it down tossing the empty cup to the side.

Shit. You realized you forgot to make him a drink, and he was thinking your drink was his.

“Where the fuck were you? You took forever I was finally growing a beard,” Henry teased.

You weren’t even that amused by him. He’s just rude, especially when intoxicated. You were still not over how he let his friends treat you that way. You honestly would rather hang with Maya than with him, but you hope for the night to go better.

“Sorry, I was talking to Maya,” you replied.

Henry looks at you with a puzzled face.

“Who the fuck is Maya?” he asked.

Now you’re really annoyed. Maya is your best friend, and you’ve told him about her so many times. He’s even met her, yet he still can’t remember anything you tell him.

“My best friend…” you said with a tint of annoyance behind your voice.

“Ohhhh right right,” Henry said while slapping his forehead. Henry then takes a vodka bottle and hands it to you.

“Here drink,” Henry said. You take a swig of the vodka bottle, and you gag.

“Fuck, I forgot how nasty vodka is,” you said. Henry laughed.

“Now let’s have some fun babe,” Henry said while grabbing your hand and leading you to the dance floor.

The night goes on, and the party does not seem to die whatsoever. Maya did leave eventually, and now it’s just you and Henry. You and Henry are absolutely drunk and wasted. You both have been dancing, playing beer pong, and even at one point you both jumped in the pool. You forgot that you were even annoyed with Henry. You were having so much fun.

Your memory is now becoming bits and pieces. You were so drunk, you didn’t even know where you were, but you somehow ended up in someone’s room and Henry was with you. You were both making out on the bed.

You never had sex before. You’ve done oral sex, and you’ve received oral sex. And you’ve been fingered, all by Henry, but you’ve never done the real deal. However, tonight feels like it’s leading up to it.

Henry is on top of you kissing you and your body. He started to take off your clothes, and he was so rough with it that he ripped a fabric on your top. He then starts taking off his shirt. He holds you down roughly and hard. Your shoulder started to hurt because of how hard he was holding you.

You were drunk, and it was hard for you to piece everything together. But you were able to realize what was going on. You didn’t want your first time to be like this. You didn’t want this at all. You begin to push Henry away from you.

“H-Hen… stop,” you mumbled. You kept trying to push him away, but he wouldn’t budge. You were incapable of pushing him away. Henry continues kissing you and slurs his words.

“Come on baby… I know you want this,” Henry slurred. You try pushing him away again. Nothing. He kept kissing you and touching you.

“P-please stop,” you said again except this time your voice was a little louder. Henry pretended to not hear you and kept kissing you. He started to unbuckle his pants which made you snap. You pushed him with all your might, and he fell backward.

“I said stop!!” you yelled and curled up into a ball covering yourself feeling small and vulnerable. Henry pulls up his pants, clearly angry at you.

“What the fuck!!” Henry yelled furiously. You started to scramble looking for your clothes and quickly putting them on. Henry walks towards you, and you immediately back away from him.

“G-get the fuck away from me!” you yelled and before you can even hear Henry’s reaction, you were already running down the stairs and going outside to the front yard. You were holding back tears still trying to process what just happened.

You took out your phone and looked through your contacts. You were thinking of calling your parents to come pick you up, but you couldn’t. Your parents would kill you if they even found out you were drinking and partying.

Say bye-bye to university, and say hello to community college while living with your parents. You kept looking through your contacts, and you couldn’t call anyone. All your high school friends are in different colleges, and your other family members don’t live in your town.

Then you thought of Maya. You clicked on her contact picture, and your phone barely even rang. It just went straight to voicemail. You tried calling again, and it was the same thing. It went straight to voicemail.

Shit, her phone must have died. You wanted to cry now that you have no one to contact. You look through your contacts again, and you see his name. Joel Miller.

Joel Miller, your Dad’s best friend. You’ve always had a little crush on him since you were 18. You always texted your friends that the Joel Miller was at your house hanging with your dad. He always gave you butterflies. He didn’t even have to say anything. He could just look at you with his deep brown eyes and your stomach would flutter.

His broad shoulders, scruffy beard, big hands, his rough voice, his muscles, his natural musk, everything about this man made you feel things you never felt before.

You wish he would want you in that way, but you were probably too young in his eyes, and on top of that, he’s your dad’s best friend. It could never happen. It’s absolutely forbidden. It was just a harmless crush, so what’s wrong with that?

But he was always kind to you. He was always there to give you advice. He always listens and never invalidates you. He understands you. You love your parents with all your heart, but you feel like they don’t get you. But Joel does.

And he’s funny. His jokes are always corny, but you can’t help to always laugh. You both had stupid inside jokes with each other. You both had a bond that felt like it could never break, but when you met Henry, you and Joel’s relationship started to fade. You didn’t talk to him much, and you didn’t see him that much either. This may also be because you never visit home. You wanted to be free and do all the things you were never allowed to do, but tonight made you realize you should go home more often.

You look at Joel’s contact longingly and you finally click his contact. He was the only one nearby that you knew since your university was close to your hometown. You crossed your fingers that he would answer. You were scared he wouldn’t pick up. It was close to three in the morning, so you wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t. Your phone kept ringing, and finally, it stopped.

“Hello?” Joel asked in a groggy voice. He clearly was waking up from his sleep, which made you feel bad, but you needed him.

“J-Joel?” you said with some distress in your voice.

Joel sits up and his voice quickly becomes concerned.

“What happened?”

Now he’s awake. You tried to hold back tears as you tried explaining to Joel what happened.

“I- I was at a party w-with my boyfriend and he…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence. You started to cry softly.

“Did he hurt you?” Joel asked. This time his voice became gruff. It was almost unrecognizable. Joel was always a calm man, but this time it was different.

“Can you please just pick me up?” you whimpered as tears fell down your face. You couldn’t even answer Joel’s question. You just wanted to leave this party.

On the other end of the line, you can hear Joel standing up, and grabbing his keys.

“I’m on my way. Send me the address.”

Your fingers were shaky as you typed the address to Joel. You can hear Joel start his truck.

“Do you have a friend at the party that you can stay with in the meantime?”

“N-no she left already,” you said while choking on your tears.

“Okay, just stay put. I’ll be there in 20 minutes. Okay?” Joel said. His voice was gentle and reassuring. He’s going to pick you up, and it’s going to be okay.

“O-okay.”

You hang up the phone and sit on the ground hugging onto your knees. You felt so cold and dirty. You cried even harder as you waited for Joel.

It wasn’t even 15 minutes, and Joel was already pulling up with his truck. He must have been speeding to get here that fast. You stood up at the sight of his truck. Joel stops the truck and gets out immediately walking towards you. There was concern and worry written all over his face.

Joel studies your face and looks all over your body as if he was searching for any injuries you may have.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Joel asked frantically. He touches your face softly, and before you can even answer him, his eyes travel to your shoulder. He freezes. He sees the fabric of your top torn. He looks at you then back at your shoulder. He takes his hand and unfolds the ripped part of your top. He sees the bruise that was forming on your shoulder. Joel looks at you again. His eyes weren’t soft anymore. They were filled with rage.

“Did he hurt you?” Joel asked coldly. You stuttered. You didn’t want this to be a bigger issue. You just wanted to go home.

“Joel I- it’s nothing I swear,” you replied.

Joel ignored you. He knew Henry hurt you, and he was furious. He never liked Henry from the very beginning. He always knew he was a douchebag.

“I’m gonna kill him.”

In the blink of an eye, Joel was already heading towards the frat house. He was gonna find him, and he was gonna make him regret for ever laying a finger on you. Joel saw pure red.

You immediately grabbed his arm trying to hold him back. You then hold onto the front of his shirt with your hands. Joel didn’t look at you. He only looked at the house with the only intention to go in there and beat the shit out of Henry.

“Joel please don’t. H-he’s not worth it, please. I- I just want to go home, p-please,” you begged as your voice cracked and tears ran down your cheeks.

Joel then looks at you and the rage behind his eyes vanishes. His eyes softened at the sight of you. You were so broken and scared, and he just wanted to keep you safe and make you feel safe. He would never want to upset you more. He wanted to kill Henry. That didn’t change, but you didn’t need that right now. You needed someone by your side, and he was going to do that for you.

You kept begging Joel to not do anything, and he eventually calmed you down by surrendering all of his anger. He nods his head and holds onto your hands that were grabbing his shirt.

“Okay… okay,” Joel softly said. You sighed in relief.

“Thank you…” you whispered. Joel looks at you with the most gentle eyes while holding your hands.

“You want me to take you to your parents?”

You immediately panic at the idea of being at your parents. They would kill you if they ever found out about any of this.

“No, no, please. Not my parents,” you said quickly.

You were thinking of him just dropping you off at your dorm, but you didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight.

“You want to stay at my place?” Joel asked.

The amount of relief you felt that he suggested that. You would love that. To be with him, to feel safe.

You nod your head, and with that, Joel gives you a soft "okay" and wipes your excess tears with his thumb. His gentle touch made you melt. You never wanted him to stop touching you.

Joel then grabs one of your hands and walks towards his truck. His hand was so much bigger than yours, and it made your stomach flutter.

Joel opens the passenger door and leads you inside. He takes off his jacket and puts it over you. It smells just like him. It made you feel so safe. Joel then puts on your seatbelt and closes the door. He walked to the other side getting on his seat and was about to start the truck, but he hesitated. He still wanted to go inside and punch Henry right in the face. You notice his hesitation, troubled face, and the way he was gripping the wheel tightly. You knew he wanted to fight Henry. He didn’t even have to say anything.

"...Joel?"

You put your hand on his arm to break him out of this trance and reassure him, and he immediately looks at you. All the features on his face soften. You both said nothing to each other. There was no need for words. Joel sees you, and you’re safe. He wants to keep it that way, so he breaks eye contact as you let go of his arm. He starts the truck and drives away from that nightmarish party.

Joel drove, and the both of you were silent. You didn’t say a word and neither did he. Joel was itching to know what happened to you, but he knew it was bad. He didn’t want to push you to say anything that you’re not comfortable with. He kept his hands on the wheel and occasionally would look at you just to make sure you were there. He felt silly that he would even think you would disappear from him, but he physically needed to make sure you were there, safe.

You stopped crying, and you felt the dried tears crusting all over your cheeks. You kept your face forward not looking at Joel. You did feel him look at you from time to time, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to look at him right now.

Finally, Joel pulls up to his driveway. His house was the same as always. He still had flowers in his front yard, which you always teased him about, but he takes very good care of them by the looks of it. You saw the same two plastic flamingo statues in his front yard. Sarah, his daughter, picked them out and added her own designs onto them which included stickers and glitter. You find it very wholesome that Joel never took the flamingos down.

Sarah was only 7 now. Joel and his ex-girlfriend had an unexpected pregnancy hence Sarah was born. They broke up and never got married, but they made a mutual agreement to co-parent. Sarah will stay at Joel’s for a couple of weeks then she will stay at her Mom’s for a couple of weeks.

It always crushes Joel when she has to go. Sarah is his whole world, and he is such a good Dad. You saw how good of a Dad he is.

Joel stops the truck and the both of you get out. Joel gets out his keys and unlocks his front door.

“Is Sarah here?” you asked meekly.

“No, no she’s not here. She’s with her Mom right now,” Joel replied. You nod your head. Joel leads you inside into the living room letting you sit down on the couch.

The inside of his house was the same. Nothing has changed. It was so manly, yet it was sprinkled with girly stuff all around because of Sarah.

“I’m gonna make you some tea, okay?” Joel said.

And before he could leave, your stomach dropped at the idea of being alone. You didn’t want to be alone, not now. You instantly held his arm.

“W-Will you be back?”

Joel noticed your panic and bent down at your level.

“Of course I’ll be back. I’ll be right over there, okay?” Joel reassured you with a soft smile. You nod your head, and he leaves the living room going into the kitchen to make tea.

You sat on the couch waiting for him. You slowly started to feel anxious being alone, but then you would hear a little noise in the kitchen which gave you comfort that he was still here. He never left you, and it’s going to be okay. You look around the living room trying to distract yourself from your thoughts. You look at the pictures around you. Some had just Joel and Tommy, his brother, being goofy with each other. There were also some with Joel and your Dad. There were others with just Joel and Sarah. There was one picture in particular of Sarah sitting on his shoulders with the biggest smile on her face, and Joel’s smile was even bigger. It made you smile. It was so sweet seeing this. Joel and Sarah against the world.

You picked up the picture taking a closer look. You looked at the picture longingly, and you got interrupted by the sound of Joel's footsteps. You looked up, and Joel was there with your tea in his hand. Your cheeks flushed feeling flustered, and you immediately put the picture down.

“Sorry,” you said.

“No, it’s okay honey. You know, Sarah kept begging me to get on my shoulders. I kept saying no, but I learned that day, I can never say no to that face,” Joel chuckled. You chuckled as well. You can perfectly envision it. Seeing Sarah begging for something, and Joel eventually giving in after saying no multiple times.

“Well, it made a good picture.”

“Yeah it sure did,” Joel said while sitting down on the couch. You sit down next to him, and he gives you your tea.

“Thank you,” you said as you take your tea.

“Of course darlin’,” Joel replied.

You blew on the top of your tea and took a sip. You recognized there was honey in it as there was a kick of sweetness. You loved honey in your tea. He remembered. He remembered you liked honey in your tea.

You look at Joel, and he is already looking at you finding approval if you liked the tea or not.

“You remembered,” you said. Joel tilts his head.

“With what?”

“You remembered I liked honey in my tea,” you said with a soft smile. Joel smiles back.

“Of course I remembered. I remember everything.”

You look at him in awe. This man cannot be more perfect. Henry couldn’t even remember your best friend, but Joel remembered you liked honey in your tea. It made your heart flutter, and your cheeks become warm. You eventually broke eye contact and kept drinking your tea.

“So, I don’t see you much anymore,” Joel said breaking the silence.

You felt him looking at you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You kept looking at your tea almost feeling a little ashamed you don’t visit home often.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I know I should be visiting home more often,” you replied.

“No, it’s okay. I mean you’re an adult. You should be able to make your own decisions, but… it would be nice to see you more often.”

You look up at him and give him a playful smirk, “Do you miss me?”

Joel chuckles as if that was a foolish question.

“Of course I missed you.”

His face became serious. He means it. He misses you so much. After your freshman year of college, you stopped going home. He understood that you’re probably having fun in college with friends and with boys, but he wanted to see you so bad. He would often visit your Dad not even to see him, but to see if you visited home. Each time, it was a disappointment.

“Well, I’ll visit more often,” you said.

Joel gives you a smile.

“Good.”

You kept sipping on your tea, and it was a comfortable silence between you two.

“Are you okay honey? After… tonight?” Joel asked.

You freeze and become tense. You grip harder onto your tea. You wished this never happened at the party. It happened so fast, you’re still trying to process everything. You felt so naive and stupid.

“I… I don’t know. Henry’s a dick.”

“Yeah, he is. And if I ever see him, I’ll beat his ass,” Joel said. You give a humorless laugh. It was supposed to be a joke, but Joel was also very serious.

“I know you will.” You take another sip of your tea, and Joel puts his hand on your unharmed shoulder.

“Look, I don’t know what happened tonight, and I’m not gonna force you to say anything. But I’m here for you always, and you’re safe. I would never do anything to hurt you or make you afraid, okay? I’ll always be here if you need to talk.”

Tears started to build up in your eyes. Joel cared for you so much, and you knew he would never hurt you like the way Henry did. You start to cry, and Joel without hesitation puts your tea to the side and puts you on his lap.

“Oh honey, c’mere. C’mere. It’s okay. You’re okay,” Joel mumbled into your hair.

You sit in his lap crying onto his chest. Joel rubs his fingers through your hair so tenderly. He whispered comforting words to you over and over again. You felt so safe, so protected. Nothing can harm you now being with him.

Joel continues holding you. You both sit that way for a few minutes, but your stomach starts to turn. You felt nauseated as you felt your body slowly start rejecting the alcohol in your stomach.

“Joel I’m gonna throw up.”

Before Joel could say anything, you got off his lap and ran to the nearest bathroom. You opened the toilet and vomit immediately escaped your mouth. You kept throwing up, and you eventually felt Joel by your side. He held up your hair and rubbed your back.

Between throwing up, you kept apologizing. You felt embarrassed being this vulnerable with Joel, but Joel was so gentle with you.

“I’m so s-sorry Joel,” you sobbed.

“Shhh, don’t apologize honey. Just let it out.”

You throw up more, and Joel continues rubbing your back and holding up your hair.

“Attagirl, let it out.”

This went on for a few minutes, and you felt so much better. You caught up with your breath and leaned against the wall. Joel gets a towel and runs it in water. He tilts your chin up so that you’re looking at him.

“Look at me.”

Your stomach did a whole backflip as he said this to you. He takes the wet towel and starts wiping the excess throw up on your lips and your chin. His touch was so gentle and precise as he wiped away the remainder of your throw up. You felt your cheeks become warm as you felt embarrassed again.

“I’m sorry…” you mumbled.

“Honey, stop apologizing.”

You nod your head, and Joel finishes cleaning you. He observes your face.

“Hm, we should get your makeup off,” Joel suggested.

You don’t even know what your makeup looks like. It probably looked horrendous. Your cheeks became warm again.

“Follow me,” Joel said. The both of you get off the floor, and you flush the toilet. Joel led you to the master bathroom, and he started searching for something in his cabinets. He finally stops and pulls out makeup wipes. You looked at him confused because why would he out of all people have makeup wipes.

“Makeup wipes?” you asked curiously.

Joel chuckles. “It’s Sarah’s. She likes it when I do her makeup and sometimes she likes doing mine.”

You giggle softly. You found that very cute that he does her makeup, and that he allowed her to do his for fun.

Joel pulls out a makeup wipe and gently wipes the messy makeup off your face. He wasn’t aggressive or rough when wiping away your makeup. You just look at him unable to really say anything. He was so kind.

“There. All done.”

You felt so much fresher now that your makeup was off thanks to Joel.

“Thank you,” you said.

“Of course darlin’. You want uh… to change clothes?” Joel asked with a bit of hesitation in his voice.

You nod your head yes. Joel heads to his closet and pulls out one of his shirts and sweatpants. He then hands them to you.

“They might be a little too big, but it should work for tonight.”

“Thank you, Joel,” you respond with a smile.

Joel smiles back, “Of course honey. I’ll be downstairs on the couch.”

You hear Joel’s heavy footsteps walk down the stairs. You take off your ruined clothes and slip on his shirt and sweatpants. It looked huge on you. His clothes smelled just like him, and it was comforting.

You walk down the stairs meeting Joel on the couch. Joel looks at you and his eyes widen slightly. He clears his throat as he sees you. Secretly, he liked seeing you in his clothes.

You sit next to Joel on the couch. You wanted to get your mind off of everything that happened tonight. A movie would be a perfect solution for that.

“Can we watch a movie?” you asked.

Joel clears his throat again, “Yeah, yeah. What do you want to watch?”

“Jurassic Park.”

Joel smiles. “Ah, that’s a classic.”

“It’s a great movie,” you replied.

Joel turns on the TV and searches for Jurassic Park. It was on none of his streaming services, so he rented it for 4 dollars. You and Joel only sat next to each other. As much as you wanted to, you didn’t cuddle with him. You kept your distance and so did he.

As the movie kept playing, your eyes became extremely heavy, and you started to fall asleep. You didn’t realize, but you leaned closer to Joel and your head was on his shoulder. You fell asleep not even halfway through the movie. It was like your body and mind telling you that you were safe. No one is going to hurt you, and it’s safe to sleep. Joel is safe. Safe.

Joel noticed you slumped over on his shoulder. He didn’t dare to move. He found it endearing watching you sleep on his shoulder. He wasn't even watching the movie anymore.

The movie ends, and Joel turns off the TV. He carefully gets up and picks you up in his big arms. You groaned as he moved you into his arms, but you were fast asleep. Joel walks upstairs and goes straight to his bedroom. He gently sets you down on his bed and puts you under the covers. He wanted you to be comfy in his bed while he slept downstairs on the couch.

Joel tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, and as he pulls away from you, you subconsciously reach for him. Even though you were asleep, it felt so empty without him being there. You whimpered and desperately searched for him in your sleep. You felt his arm, and you put his arm near your chest holding it like you were holding a stuffed animal. You stopped whimpering, and you felt safe again in your sleep.

Joel sighed. He didn’t want to leave you alone. You clearly didn’t want to be alone, so Joel decided to stay with you. He pulls himself into the covers with you, and he holds you from behind. You fit like a glove in his arms.

This felt so intimate for Joel. It almost scared him. He never wanted to be intimate with anyone after his ex, but he can’t help it for you. You were perfect. So perfect. What were these feelings he was feeling? You were like a delicate flower, and he didn’t want to wilt or crush you. He can’t feel this way, not with you. You’re his best friend’s daughter. It's wrong. So wrong, but Joel feels so warm and light when he’s with you. He never felt this before, but he brushed his thoughts to the side and pulled you in closer. This will be tomorrow’s problem, but now, he’s going to give you the support and comfort you need even in your sleep.

And the both of you fall into a deep, deep sleep.

-----------

Thank you all for reading!!! I hope y'all enjoyed! Stay tuned for part 2... it's gonna get spicy ;)

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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Elks

Elk are connected with love and music for many Native Americans, and a well-known tribe legend credits elk with the creation of the first flute: a boy is too shy to speak to the girl he has fallen in love with. But two elk-men visit him in a dream and give him a flute, which he masters, giving him the means to communicate his feelings to the girl through music.

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Life in Jackson is quite comfortable and simple for you. You love teaching your students and running your library, you love the comforts of living here, perfectly complacent with the company of your two cats, guitar, tattered CD book, and a few friends. You like comfortable and simple, though the feelings you feel whenever you see Joel Miller are quite the opposite. Once you meet him, it seems like he needs you in his life as much as you need him.

Reader Background: Reader is in her 30's and comes from Colorado. No other physical descriptors besides her having long enough hair to put up.

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)

Warnings: Soft, Joel is super sweet, eventual smut, timeline and canon editing, friends turn into lovers, age gap, Joel’s canon age, no use of y/n. Each chapter will have further individual warnings.

A/N: This is my first multi chapter fan fic, I hope you like it! I got really into my feelings of wanting Joel Miller to have a happy ending, so I'm giving him one. I hope to have new chapters every few days at the start. Every chapter will have a relevant song listed at the top, some will even have lyrics. I posted a link to the playlist I'm currently curating for the story, filled with songs about love and songs I think reader would've loved. I really adore these two and I can't wait to share more!

Chapter 1 See The Road You're On

Chapter 2 No One Here Is Alone

Chapter 3 The Middle & What's In Between

Chapter 4 Enigma

Chapter 5 Stay Awhile & Listen

Chapter 6 Hear It In The Silence

Chapter 7 Promised Land

Golden Walkway - Smut filled introduction (of sorts) to prove to you things end up very well for Joel and reader.

Green - 4/20 smut entry where reader gets a little dom with Joel.

Playlist

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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This is me right now with school 😭

If only I had a Joel by my side to comfort me 🫶

kisses and kisses - Joel Miller

Summary: You're crying because you are stressed with grad school, but Joel makes it all better.

Pairing: f!reader x Joel Miller

Tags: One-shot, FLUFF, hurt/ comfort, Joel is the best husband/ boyfriend, lots of kisses, soft Joel Miller, age gap (you're 24, Joel is 36), you're a grad student, no-outbreak au

A/N: Hello beautiful people! I understand school and college can be extremely stressful. I hope this fic gives comfort to those who need it. This is all pure fluff. I hope you all enjoy!! <3

You sat on your and Joel's bed clinging onto your pillow for comfort as you cried. Everything feels like it is collapsing onto you. Grad school is overwhelming you. You feel lost and stressed, and you are on the urge to give up college. It was just you, your thoughts, and your pillow, that was until you heard a knock at the door.

Knock. Knock.

"Baby?... you okay in there? Can I come in?"

It was Joel. He must have been home early from work. You sniffle and wipe your tears quickly, and you were unable to respond.

The door opens slightly, and you see Joel peep through the door. He immediately sees you and his face softens. He opens the door fully and walks into the room rushing towards you.

"Hey, hey... darlin' what happened?"

His voice was so soft and gentle, and he sat on the bed next to you and held your hand. His thumb gently caresses your hand. You continue wiping your tears with your free hand unable to look up.

"I... I can't do this anymore Joel," you sobbed.

"With what baby?" he asked with concern written all over his face.

"School. College. I just don't get anything and I- I feel so stupid. I'm so stupid-," Joel cuts you off and puts his hands on your face wiping away your tears with his thumbs. Joel's heart crushes hearing your words.

"Hey hey... Honey, you're so smart. You're my smart girl, and you've worked so hard," he reassured you. Joel continues wiping away your tears. Joel was so sweet and patient, but it's so hard for you to believe him right now. Everything keeps piling up onto you, and you are so stressed and tired.

"No no, I'm not. Everyone is getting it, but me. And I'm- I'm so stressed and I feel like- I just- I- I-," you couldn't even finish your sentence. Joel then wraps his arms around you putting you on his lap and holding onto you. You sob onto his chest, and he caresses your hair.

"Oh, baby. Shhhh. It's okay. It's okay," Joel whispered into your hair.

"No. No, it's not," you sobbed while grabbing onto his shirt.

Joel softly rocks you back and forth.

"Shhhh. Darlin' it's going to be okay," Joel whispered again, and he kissed your temple.

You whimper, and Joel holds you closer. He continues holding you while rocking you back and forth. Joel always made you feel so safe and being in his arms felt like nothing could ever hurt you.

Joel then looks down at you and wipes your tears while brushing your hair out of your face. His big rough hands held your face, and he looked into your glossy eyes.

“Baby… you’re so smart.” Joel then gives you a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re so beautiful.” He gives you a kiss on your nose.

“So compassionate.” Another kiss on your cheek.

“So kind.” Another kiss.

“So talented.” Kiss.

“You’re so perfect.” Kiss. “My perfect girl.” Kiss. Kiss.

You started to giggle softly as you felt him kiss all over your face while praising you.

“You’re so precious.” Kiss.

“And funny.” Kiss.

You started to giggle more as you felt his lips and beard tickle your face. Joel continues kissing all over your face while whispering, “I love you,” “so pretty,” and “so perfect” between each kiss.

You giggle more and smile big as Joel continues to do this. Joel’s job has succeeded. He wanted you to smile and laugh. He hates to see you cry and be upset. He would do anything to take away your pain.

Joel stops kissing your face and looks at you in the eyes. He wipes any excess tears you have on your cheeks.

“It’s going to be okay baby. I promise,” Joel whispered, and with that, he gave you a gentle kiss on your nose. You nod your head in response. You feel so much more relaxed, and you feel so much lighter than you did before. Joel always had that impact on you.

“Let me make you your favorite dinner, and we can watch a movie,” Joel suggested. You look at him still unsure. You still had so much to study and so much to do. You didn’t have time.

“But Joel-,” you squeaked, but Joel cut you off.

“No. My lady needs to rest,” Joel said.

“But… but-” Joel cuts you off once again.

“No buts. I’m taking care of you tonight,” Joel said.

You were defeated, but you accepted it. You would much rather spend time with Joel than spend any more time on homework and studying. You nod your head, and Joel gives you a soft smile. He effortlessly picks you up in his arms, and you hold onto his neck. You buried your head into his chest smelling his signature scent, sandalwood and mint. Joel takes you downstairs and sets you on the couch. He brings you a blanket and pillow and kisses your forehead.

“I’m gonna make your favorite, and we’ll watch a movie,” Joel said.

You nod your head and quietly whispered “okay.”

~~~

Joel finishes making dinner and brings you your plate. It smelled delectable. Joel sits on the couch next to you and immediately puts you on his lap. He gives you a soft kiss on the side of your neck and rests his head on your shoulder.

“What does my angel want to watch tonight?” Joel asked.

“Tangled!” you said with glee. Joel groaned.

“Again?”

“Yes again,” you said. Joel chuckles.

“Well, I guess we are watching Tangled for the one-thousandth time.”

You hit his arm playfully.

“It’s a good movie, admit it,” you said. Joel laughs.

“It’s an excellenttttt movie,” Joel sarcastically said.

You give him a glare, and Joel gives you a smug grin in return. Joel turns on the tv and searches Tangled. Even though you both have watched Tangled many times, Joel always struggled to pull it up.

“Why are TVs so fucking difficult?” Joel said while struggling with the remote. You laughed.

“You are such an old man,” you teased. Joel chuckles and lightly spanks your butt.

“Shut up,” Joel said playfully. You giggle and take the remote from him searching up Tangled. You click play and the movie starts. You lean more towards Joel, and Joel wraps his arms around you. Everything about this moment was so wholesome and peaceful. The stress you felt before has completely vanished. You're not even thinking about school anymore. You’re just thinking about this moment between you and Joel, and you wish this would last forever.

You would eat your food, laugh at the jokes, and sing the songs. Joel admired you and looked at you in awe. He wasn’t even watching the movie. He was only watching you. He found you so adorable and precious. He loved seeing you happy, and he always wanted to make his girl happy even if that meant he had to endure watching Tangled for the millionth time.

It was halfway through the movie, and he noticed you weren’t singing anymore or laughing. You were oddly quiet. He looks at your face and notices you are fast asleep. Joel softly smiles and kisses your temple. He knows how tired were these past few weeks, and he wants you to get the best rest. He takes your plate off your lap and turns off the TV. He gently picks you up in his arms and walks up to the bedroom. He lays you down in bed and puts the covers over you. Joel then climbs into bed with you, and he wraps his arms around you. He kisses the back of your head and whispers, “Goodnight baby.”

And the both of you drift into a long deep sleep.

————————-

Thank you all for reading!!!! I hope y’all enjoyed!! 💋

More Joel Miller comfort:

"Breathe" - Joel Miller

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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😭🫶

✨Comfort in His Arms✨

A/N: This is really just a little Drabble about being comforted in Joel’s arms and being deeply loved by him. It’s so soft, and I really needed this lately, and I hope it will bring comfort to all my lovely friends on here 🥹

Summary: A little Drabble about enjoying the sunrise while you’re being comforted and held by Joel. Soft, gentle, warm. He’s your forever.

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word Count: 767

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Your eyes peel open, marble sun bursts fading through the sheer curtains. Shades of gold and orange painting the tan walls as wafts of fresh brewed coffee and clean soap surround you. You rock gently in the wooden rocking chair, the one you always found so comforting in this house. Except you’re not alone, not even in your own house. No. You’re with Joel. In his arms, in his house, in his chair. Your favorite place is all three of those wrapped up into one. Anything that’s his is.

Still. It’s so still outside, quiet as you slowly rock back and forth in the wooden rocking chair. His chair. Art he made with his own strong hands. He was always so crafty, so talented, so good at everything he made. But that wasn’t all he was good at. He was also good at comforting you, enveloping you in his entire broad being as he made every day a comfort day for you.

It’s like you’re in your own little bubble. The outside world completely nonexistent when you’re in his house, in his arms, in his lap, in his chair. It’s your own little heaven, a forever paradise where you want to continue to stay for the rest of your days.

Warm. He’s so warm, as warm as the sun’s blazing rays. Fiery, intense, blinding, just like his passion for you is.

Safe. Dispelling all forms of worry, stress, or fears. He’s a safe haven, a towering fortress that blankets you in his strong arms. Safe. That’s where you feel it most. In his arms.

Soft. He’s so soft as his calloused fingers trail down your sun kissed arms, his fingers running slowly through your thick hair like silk on the tip of your skin.

Gentle. The way he kisses you gently on the forehead, trailing his salt and pepper scruff carefully over your jawline as you breathe him in. Coffee and mahogany dancing over your senses as you breathe him deep. And then it’s only him in your system, always just him. Dwindling down to connect with every fiber of your being, tugging on your heart strings as it beats only for him.

It’s only him. It’s always just been him. Joel, Joel, Joel. Your infinite sunlight that continues to surround you and bathe you in glistening warmth. And all you see is him, those deep brown eyes that sink through you like raindrops pounding on the lake, pulling you under as you drown in him again and again and again. Infinite. He is infinite, forever.

You slowly rock in the chair, your body wrapped around his as he holds you close in his lap, his calloused fingers running slowly through your hair, down your arms, trailing over your silky lips. He’s everywhere, a complete blanket of warmth, your comfort, exactly what you need now.

“There’s my girl,” he whispers as he kisses the top of your head and pulls you tighter against his broad chest. “Such a sweet girl, darlin’. You’re so beautiful,” he slurs, sleep coating over his deep drawl as you breathe him in deep and slow.

You hug your arms around him, hooking your fingers into his soft blue flannel as his large hand rubs slow circles down your back. “Ain’t nobody gonna harm you, angel. I’ve got you. I’ve got you, baby girl.”

His words carry around the room, a promise he’ll never let anything hurt you again. This is the place you can release all your worries, your stress, your problems. It’s in this room, in his chair, in his lap, in Joel’s home. And you’re finally safe. Finally able to breathe as long as you're in his arms. This is where you belong. With him.

He sinks his lips against yours. Soft, plush lips that coat you in love. You fall into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as your fingers tangle through his tousled curls. He cups the back of your head, lips parting so he can slot his tongue between your teeth, dancing his tongue against yours as they seem to meld and form into one. And then it’s fire. Simmering, hot warmth that burns through your soul, leaving you completely breathless in the moment. It’s love, it’s always been love. And you stay like that for the entire morning as the sun slowly rises in the violet sky.

Joel is your home, your peace, your happiness, everything you have to live for. It’s Joel. And you finally feel that you’re home because you are.

Joel is home. Your safe, happily ever after. Joel.

#vee's reading club

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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I love it when fics are like: yeah they fuck but they haven't said I love you even though they do, and in the end they will be in love. My favorite kinda fic🩷

hi hello mi amor 🥹 i'm in my feelings tonight thinking about mi bebe marcus pike 🥴 mostly like... being really good friends and hooking up and kind of gradually becoming fwb but he falls in love like instantly bc of course he does and-

Hey, honey! So sorry this took so long! I kept it short and sweet. Hope you like it! ❤

Pairing: fwb!Marcus Pike x f!reader

W/C: 840

Summary: Can you really just be "friends"?

Rating: Explicit

Toeing the Line

“M-Marcus,” you whimper, back arching as he forces his cock deep inside of you. “Please.”

You don’t know what you’re begging for at this point. For him to slow down, because you’ve come on his tongue and fingers and cock so many times tonight that you have tears streaming down your cheeks, or more, because you’re so close to falling apart yet again.

He just huffs a laugh and nuzzles his face to the side of yours. His hips keep thrusting, tauntingly dragging his dick in and out of your soaked pussy as he uses your pinned wrists for leverage.

“I know, baby,” he coos into your ear. “You’re doing so good, you can take it.”

Even as your body trembles in exhaustion, you nod for him. You only register your eyes have been closed when you’re surprised as his plush lips cover yours, his tongue prying at your own for entry. You can taste yourself on him as he makes out with you, softly, sensually. It makes you wish he didn’t have you pinned so that you could thread your fingers through his soft hair and hold him closer to you, grant him permission to devour you whole.

It’s toeing the line of what the two of you claim to be—friends.

Friends since you met six months ago. Friends who started to hang out outside of work on the weekends. Who started to kiss hello and goodbye. Who started to fuck like rabbits every spare second you had. Neither of you have bothered to define what it is you’re doing, so you touch each other, consume each other as friends.

But god if your best friend doesn’t fuck you good. Better than you’ve ever had. And you refuse to let your mind wander, to let it ask if it’s because it’s him.

Marcus doesn’t break the kiss as he uses his free hand to trail down to your clit, rubbing tight and slow circles as your hips buck and your whine into his mouth from overstimulation. You feel him smirk against you. It’s no secret that he enjoys seeing you like this. So fucked out and overstimulated, but refusing to stop. He knows you’re addicted.

He just wishes he knew if you were addicted to him, or the way he makes you feel.

What you haven’t realized is that he’s fallen for you. Hard.

You haven’t seen the way his gaze lingers on you for as long as he can get away with, the way he wears an uncontainable smile when he greets you, and has to hide his frown when you leave. Haven’t noticed how deeply he fucks you recently, how he holds you close and slides into you so slowly, savoring your touch, your scent.

He’s fallen fast and he’s fallen hard. How could he not? You're so kind and funny, not to mention gorgeous. You look out for him in the office and are always there for him when he needs you. You hold him so gently and give him exactly what he needs without him having to ask. You know him inside and out, just as he knows you.

He can feel you start to squeeze around him, your tight cunt convulsing as you’re pushed closer to the edge. Heat begins to circle in your abdomen, then spread throughout your body, making you weak and limp and consumed with pure euphoria from your head to your toes. You have to focus more heavily on Marcus’s lips against yours in order to continue.

It’s dizzying—the haze he manages to put you in. Your head seems to go completely empty every time, only focused on him and how good he’s making you feel.

He deepens the pressure on your clit, and you dissolve into bliss. You moan deeply into his mouth as your body shakes and your pussy convulses around his cock. He must have freed your hands, because you can suddenly feel flesh beneath your nails, and hear Marcus’s groan as the pain sets him off. He twitches inside of you, his cum painting your walls in thick ropes—finally.

He slows his thrusts to prolong his pleasure and you crack your eyes open to watch the way his jaw goes slack and his eyelids flutter shut. Heat prickles up into his cheeks and chest, pinking his skin. He clutches your hip with one hand, the other fisting the bedsheets as he lays his forehead between your heaving breasts.

Your trembling hand comes up to pet his hair, holding him close to you as you both try to cool down despite still being interlocked. You close your eyes, knowing good and well that you’re both going to want to relish in the tender silence for a while. As friends, of course.

He’s going to confess his feelings tonight. You have no way of knowing that, and he has no way of knowing that you’ve been wishing to hear those words since the day you met him. He doesn’t know that you’re painfully in love with him, too.

******

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vee-bees-blog · 1 year ago

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This chapter was so perfect, I was scared for a moment, cause I thought Tommy was gonna be dumb but nono, he did not disappoint. And just them being clever to get out safely was amazing.

And the reunion with him and his was was so heart wrenching cause you could feel how much love they hold for each other and it brought me to tears. I hope they can get through this and everything together, they deserve it. 🫶🩷

helen ; chapter five

be seeing you

Si vis pacem, para bellum. Or, the choice.

series masterlist | my masterlist pairing: joel miller x f!reader tags/warnings: 18+ (MDNI), john wick AU, hitman!joel, husband!joel, established relationship, artist!reader, love as worship, sacrilege in the name of romance, flashbacks, graphic violence, guns, blood + injuries, tess cameo, childhood/religious trauma, criminal underworld, secrecy/lies, betrayal, ANGST, bamf miller bros, smut, fingering, joel is an emotional munch, shower sex, unprotected PIV, handjob, male whimpering, conflicting emotions, orgasms aplenty, Big Angst and Big Sad but also Big Epiphanies, ambiguous ending, i'm getting emotional writing these tags, it feels so final, the typical alcohol/smoking/profanity, dividers by @/saradika word count: ~ 9.3k a/n: hi, friends. i can't believe we're already at the end of the main story, and tbh if i think about it too much i'll probably cry. i want to thank @cavillscurls for beta reading this chapter as always and giving me the guidance and support i need. we'll have an epilogue after this chapter, so there's still more to look forward to, but nonetheless, i hope you enjoy and thank you so so much for reading. xoxo prev | next

Her eyes are so sad, you think, stepping back to take in the full scope of the canvas. It’s doused in paint from corner to corner, still wet to the touch, the woman and her lover intertwined so thoroughly that it’s difficult to tell where they both end. It’s in shades of glum blue and flecks of angry red and brown where his eye watches you. But it’s her eyes that cannot lift to meet yours. It’s her lashes that fan across her cheeks as she casts her gaze toward the bottom edge where the canvas is wrapped taut around the wood.

The sun will soon rise, but you haven’t slept. The contours of the sky are washed in a haze of greys and pale blues and light pink and the air smells warm, heavy—a storm about to roll in. The clouds on the horizon are thick with a blackening rage. You sit in the alcove by the window and put your temple to the cool glass. You yawn. Joel does not come back.

“Do you think it's true,” you asked him one night, your head on his chest, hand on his heart, “that art makes nothing happen?”

Joel, drawing shapes on your back, dozing off in the golden light of the sunrise, frowned. “Someone tell you that?”

“It's something my art teacher used to say,” you told him. “No matter how much it moves people, it doesn't do anything.”

“Your art teacher sounds like a fuckin’ downer.”

You laughed, hiking your thigh up over his hip and playfully biting his jaw. “So it's bullshit?”

“I think,” said Joel, tucking his chin to kiss the top of your head, “that your art makes people feel. It brings ‘em together. It's important because it's yours.”

You propped your head up on his chest and threaded your fingers through his too-long hair, overdue for a trim. A curl draped over his forehead, his beard patchy and soft under the pads of your fingers. “Sometimes I wonder why you chose me,” you said. “I wonder why the universe brought you to me.”

Joel shook his head, guiding his rough, callused fingers up your arm, curling them around your wrist, gently prodding your veins. “Wasn't the universe,” he said quietly. “Wasn’t a choice. I was yours the second I saw you. So, I guess it's your fault.”

You just rolled your eyes and kissed him, mouth to smiling mouth.

Your paintings may be yours, made with life and energy and colour, but when they are finished, they don’t move. They are stagnant as a heavy rock beneath a cliffside, washed over and over again by the cresting waves, its salt stolen for the water, eternal damnation to a fate of non-movement. And sometimes an artist will walk under the cliff, shove their easel into the fleshy ground the way a man erects his country’s flag in the earth he has stolen, and paint the rock. The artist is moved by the breathtaking colours of the shore and the way the wind flutters through the grass. But the rock does not budge. It never will.

Your art will never erupt from the boundaries of the canvas and tell you what it means. The lovers in your painting will not tear open their mouths like the seams holding a wound together. They will not tell you what they want, need, crave. They are you, and that is what you hate—because dimpled flesh and lustful fingers and the press of his mouth to her throat cannot tell you what you’re supposed to do.

You had become complacent in his love for you. You had let him press his worn hands to your body and pull your soul out through his mouth and you had been a wife, while all the time there was a stranger who occupied his heart, a spirit in an abandoned body. All the time, he'd been haunted. And although you had loved him, your love had not been enough to exorcise the guilt and trauma, pecking at him, an eagle at his liver.

Crossing the room and sitting back down in front of the easel, you press your fingers to the corner of the canvas. The paint is cool to the touch, and you leave behind fingerprints where your signature should be. Pulling your hand back, you examine the accumulation of colour, the blues and reds swirling into the deep purple of a bruise, the bodies on a canvas that may only ever mean something to you, and you wonder, Is this all I am? A cautionary tale, a love lost? A fucking footnote at the end of a clause that reads: “See, for example, the one who never loved deeply enough to make it count”?

You bring your hand to your face to wipe away the tears beneath your eyes and blink hard at the sting, realising you’ve smeared paint across your cheekbones.

In the bathroom, you scrub furiously, the cloying scent of it clinging to your throat and your tear ducts, washing away the evidence of their entwined bodies, their love, your pain.

Once, you tried to get Joel to paint. You sat behind him on your bench, your legs bracketing his hips, your paintbrush in his hand.

“I don’t know where to start,” he said.

Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. “There’s no rulebook.”

He tried to turn his head and kiss you, but you nipped his ear in reproach. “Remember when you took me out driving at the airstrip because you wanted me to feel the road? Think of this like feeling the canvas. Go on, cowboy. Make nothing happen.”

Joel’s painting still hangs over your shared bed. The intruders never found it, or never cared enough to destroy it. It’s a candle, just a candle, its lines imprecise, the paint unevenly applied in places, the shine of the flame more orange than yellow. But it’s a painting, so the candle always burns. He titled it Love.

The pain still sits low in your chest, pulling down your heart as if tied to it by a string. But Joel is still out there, fighting his way back to you, the way he always has, always will. You look down at your left hand, clutching the edge of the marble vanity, and decide to clean your wedding ring.

“I’m sorry, brother,” says Tommy, turning the gun on Joel.

“What the fuck are you doing?” growls Joel, struggling against his bonds. The clip rattles faintly in his brother’s hand as a tremor courses through him.

“He’s following my orders,” says Cabrera, clapping his hand down on Tommy’s shoulder. “Fascinating what a man will do when he must consider his family’s well-being.”

Joel sucks on his teeth, his eyes not once leaving his brother.

“It's my son,” Tommy says through his teeth. “It's Maria. If I don't do this—”

“Yeah? You gonna kill me, Tommy? Is that why your hand’s shakin’?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth,” his brother snaps. “You think I want to do this? I gotta save my family, Joel. You know what that's like.”

“All I’ve done for you,” says Joel, his hands curling into fists behind his back, “and you put a bullet in my head?”

“Not just your head, Joel,” says Cabrera. “When we're done with you, we’ll take your pretty girl as payment for my son’s life.”

Joel growls like a dog, blood roaring in his ears. “Kill me yourself, you goddamned coward. Kill me yourself and don’t you mention my wife again, or I swear to Christ—”

“You take His name in vain a lot for a nonbeliever,” says Cabrera, pulling his sleeves through his coat and setting his teeth as he looks toward Tommy once more. “Do it.”

“Yeah, brother,” Joel says darkly, “do it.”

Tommy nods once, planting his foot and pivoting. Five distinct sounds of handguns cocking echo throughout the warehouse as Tommy points the barrel between Manuel Cabrera’s eyes.

“Now that I’ve got a gun to your head,” he says evenly, “you can go ahead and pull that contract.”

Joel at last twists his wrists free of the ropes that bind them and shucks down the sleeves of his jacket to rub the raw skin. Not one soul does a goddamn thing to stop him as he rises to his feet. His chest heaves, his open lungs coarse and wet with a brittle rage, his exposed heart throbbing red, transparent as the stained glass windows of the church.

God does not tolerate anger, said the Sisters, again and again, bringing down the whip across his back. Sinew and bone and skin peeling back to lay bare some tender part of him they sought to rot out. Put your energy into His worship.

Slowly, Cabrera lifts his hands, sneering. “Your wife,” he warns, “and your unborn son—”

“Are family,” says Tommy. “Just like my brother. Now tell your guys to put down their guns and I won't kill you where you stand.”

Joel joins Tommy at his side. “Took you long enough,” he says under his breath.

“Got held up,” he says. “Your wife’s a good artist.”

“Yeah, whatever. You bring me a gun?”

“I’m sure you can find one yourself.”

“Jesus, Tommy. I’m too old for this.” Joel turns to Cabrera and glares at the same stubborn arrogance that once gleamed in his son’s eye. “You pull the contract, and I’ll leave for good.”

Cabrera’s laugh weans out in the air like rings of smoke. “You think you can really leave, Joel? You think that there won't be consequences for what you've done to my son?”

“Yeah,” says Joel, “I think I’ll take my chances.”

“And you?” Cabrera’s lip curls up at Tommy, whose gun no longer wavers in his grasp. “I promised your wife and child security. You’re willing to throw that away?”

“My wife and child are safe because I don’t take deals from men like you,” says Tommy. “You trusted a Miller to turn on his own blood, Manuel. That was stupid. Now pull the contract.”

“So this is your great suicide mission.” Cabrera smiles, a man who knows he has lost or a man who still expects not to. “A man who has seen Hell does not willingly descend back into its depths—not unless he likes the taste.”

Joel feels the corner of his mouth twitch, a wound on his cheek reopening. “Maybe I do,” he says plainly. “Maybe it’ll taste even better when I take you down with me.”

The gleam in Cabrera’s eye shifts as his gaze flickers behind Tommy. Night has since descended, and yet the predator’s eye glints in anticipation of the hunt. Joel turns and shoves his brother out of the way—just as the shot rings out.

He hears Tommy’s breath punch out of him as they both hit the concrete hard. Joel tears the handgun from his brother’s grasp and puts a bullet between each of the two men behind them. He rolls behind one of the hulking bodies and holds up his weight as a shield against the incoming bullets. Tommy takes the dead man’s gun and fires at the remaining three assailants. Only one shot misses, but Joel sends his brother a look anyway and finishes the job.

“Rusty,” grunts Tommy, pushing himself to his feet.

Joel grimaces as he accepts his brother’s outstretched hand, his wrists bleeding from the relentless rub of the ropes. “He ran,” he says, grinding his teeth. “Goddamn coward. Just like his son.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome, by the way,” says Tommy, giving Joel the dead man’s gun and snatching back his own. “Saved your ass.”

“And he got away.” Joel kicks his chair, and the clattering echo of metal reverberates like a choir off the cavernous walls. His hands flex, open, closed, open, closed, until they make tight fists and he can see nothing but red and the silver moon mocking him through the broken windows high above.

“Joel…”

For a moment, he hears the young boy his brother once was, whispering across their shared bedroom to him in the middle of the night when they were both meant to be asleep.

Joel… Are we going to be okay?

“I gotta finish it, Tommy,” he says quietly, his hands shaking loose. Parts of him bite and sting, touched by new and old wounds alike, and he wants to come crawling home to you. He wants to curl into your side and wash away the blood in your cleansing pool, daisy and honeysuckle, some faraway field where you are the warden, where he knocks on the door to be let in, to be gathered, covered in white, buried, unearthed.

“Was he right?” asks Tommy. “Do you… enjoy this?”

Joel casts his eyes toward the ground, his trembling hand, the gleaming band on his ring finger, his skin speckled with blood but the metal pristine. “I don’t know,” he says.

This is who you are, Cabrera would tell him. The Sisters: Your place is here, under God, under His word. And God Himself, silent as the air, the ringing in his ears only ever quieted by the soft brush of your knuckle across his cheek, the whisper of My Joel in his ear.

“Think hard on it,” says Tommy, “because you may like it, but you’ve gotta consider if your revenge is worth more than what you’ve already got. And if you choose wrong, Joel, you’re gonna lose no matter what.”

A figure leans stone-still against the wall by the hotel room door, the gleam of a blade in the soft light the only indication that it is not a mere shadow.

“Hey, kid,” says the apparition.

Joel nods in greeting. “Tess. Could get in trouble with that knife out in the open.”

“You expect me to keep your girl safe with just my fists?”

“You make it sound like you couldn’t.” Tess snorts, and Joel places fifteen gold coins in her waiting palm. “I appreciate you doing this.”

Tess peels away from the wall. “You and your brother are paying me good money to babysit a door. I think I can live without the thanks.”

“Still,” he says, “you did us a solid.”

Tess, who itches at the prospect of gratitude as much as any other gun-for-hire, shrugs. “Everyone’s saying you’re coming back. That true?”

“Just visiting,” says Joel. “On my way out soon.”

Tess flips one of the coins and turns it over and over across her knuckles, evidence of a restless energy that’s always made Joel’s eye twitch. “One way or another, huh?” she says.

“One way or another.” He shakes her hand and watches her retreat down the hall, still twirling the godforsaken coin, before he turns toward the door. Joel presses his forehead briefly to the cool wood and turns the key to seek the field that awaits him.

A key rustles in the door and Joel steps through, closing it gently behind him. Judging by the quiet click of the lock, he expects you to be asleep, but you jolt upright from your seat in the alcove and cross the room toward him.

He meets you halfway, his right hand flexing at his side. You inspect him: the gash on his cheek, the bruise on his jaw, the blood splattered on his white shirt. He makes no footfalls as he walks but you can hear every stride like thunder between your ears. You feel his hand at the back of your neck, cool from the night air, rough as the underside of a shark’s belly.

The moment coils taut between you as your hand reaches up to grab the lapel of his jacket, and he smells of iron, cologne, Joel, some paint. Maybe that smell is you, stuck underneath your fingernails, embedded in your blood. Maybe this is a mistake, maybe you could never help but fall, maybe it never mattered anyway, and you’re already snipping the final thread, unwinding the spool, and kissing Joel Miller like it’s the first time.

He let out a small groan, tasting the first drop of water in a drought, steadying you with his arm around your waist, his hand cradling your head. He’s gentle, exploratory, careful not to jostle, to shock you out of it. You feel his heartbeat thud, strong, calm, steady behind his clothing and skin and muscle, and your body caves.

It’s coming home, you realise, your arms snaking around his neck, fingers tousling the messy curls on his head. It's the warm press of his hand to your spine where it begins to curve inward. It's a soft mouth, a plush lower lip, made for slow mornings and black coffee, for the aching release of a thumb pressing deep into a muscle knot, a wound. Old aches soothed in the space where bodies meet, beginning to colour the slate-grey world.

It’s the exchange of gasping breaths when you pull apart, his mouth still vaguely chasing yours, opposite charge.

You hold him tighter, swallowing the lump in your throat, your hands squeezing his shoulders. "Are you…"

Joel inclines his head. "Yeah."

"Did he..."

"Yeah."

Need pulses. Supernova. Bright as the moment of obliteration. "Can you—"

He nods vigorously. "Yeah."

Joel’s kisses are like raindrops: velvet-soft to the touch—his hands bringing the hem of your shirt up over your head, his fingertips scorching, branding, grazing the supple swells of your breasts—before the crescendo roars in your ears and he loses himself to the storm. He always does.

There is nothing reserved about the way he shows his love. Lightning crackles across your skin where he touches you, baring you to him, his lips making a map of you, mouthing at your jaw, your throat. You hear yourself hum at the press of his lips to the spot beneath your ear, detaching from your own body, absconding with the pleasure of being close to him and leaving the fucking world behind.

Joel staggers forward so he can press you to the wall and begins to sink to his knees. Your breath catches as he pulls down your ratty bottoms, your cotton panties, his mouth burning into your hips and your belly and the ring on your finger.

“Joel,” you say brokenly as he clutches your fingers. Tears prickle, pressure building behind your nose, and he shakes his head, unfurling your palm like a bud in bloom and kissing its heel. Wordlessly, you watch him, your eyes shuttering, blood singing.

Don't hurt me again.

He understands even though the words cannot come alive on your tongue. He squeezes your hips, his thumbs dumpling your flesh, his forehead falling to your belly.

“I’m yours,” he says. “I’m whatever you want.”

Your legs haven't forgotten the way they part so easily for him, one thigh on his shoulder, opening the core of you to his waiting mouth. His lips part, his tongue wetting them, glistening, and your stomach tightens at the sight of his eyes so black.

You could easily cower. His hands are stained with blood. His knuckles are split. But your terror has become an arid thing, no kindling to burn, no oil to ignite. Watching him now, as eager to please as he always has been or maybe more so, on his knees like a supplicant, the hairs on your arms do not rise in apprehension. Your body does not squirm in fear. You see a broad horizon, the sun outside spilling its golden blood over the city, and you see all of him in a way you never did before.

He’s Joel, who grew up in darkness, lashed and beaten for not believing in a false god. He’s a man who has lied and killed and yet he is no liar, no killer. He holds you as he always has, your body liquid in his hands, your mouth proclaiming the word he will follow. You're the truth he's always told.

It still unsettles you to see the dark eclipse that warm brown, to watch his desire consume the hypnotic shapes in his irises, and wonder if that cavernous black was the last thing so many men saw before he snuffed out their lives. But there's nothing of the death shudder in the way you guide your fingers through his hair and beg him—

“Please.”

He brings his mouth to your core and parts your folds with his thumbs, slowly gliding his warm, wet tongue through your slit. You die a hundred little deaths in the split-second of that first touch, that first agony.

You sigh, your head thudding against the wall as he licks through you, his hands holding your hips in place, keeping you from writhing. Joel flicks his tongue over the sensitive pearl of your clit, the pleasure searing, and you tug at his curls to push him away even as you cry out, More, please, please. God, I need more.

He obeys you as easily as breathing, though you suspect he can barely hear your pleas, opening his mouth and flattening his hot tongue to your clit. You gasp, your core pulling taut, your eyes locking with his as the muscle undulates over, over, and over again.

“Oh,” you whimper, your hips bucking to meet his face. He groans, his mouth working your clit, closing his lips over it and sucking. You cry out, your leg kicking, the sounds of the world muffled in his stifling closeness. Your thighs begin to ache, tensing and relaxing a hundred times over in the throes of his attention.

And his fingers are gliding across your hip, seeking the warmth between your legs. You gasp his name, your hips flexing, as he collects your wetness on two fingers.

“Let me in, baby,” he says softly, pressing a kiss to your puffy clit. It relaxes you enough to welcome the press of his fingers inside you, sinking to the knuckle, curling up against the spot he would know in his sleep.

You whine, your body keening toward him, tugging his face back toward your pussy. He obliges with a quiet moan, and you think he needs this just as badly.

The obscene squelch of his fingers inside you rings in your ears as he licks and sucks at your clit, his free hand grabbing desperately at your ass to keep you fixed to him. You’re crying, “Yesyesyes, Joel, please—fuck, that's it,” the pleasure stuck in the grooves of your brain. Absentmindedly, you reach for his hand and clasp it tight, your engagement ring digging into his palm. He holds you with the same fervour as he coaxes you higher, his face buried in your pussy. He grunts and groans like it's his own pleasure he seeks, his battered knuckles stinging.

“Joel… Joel, oh, I’m…”

He knows, of course, from the telltale squeeze of your thighs around his head, the relentless crushing of his fingers in your own, your body tightening for him, cavitating, unwinding—

You come with a shout, your throat raw, writhing in his grasp as he keeps sucking, keeps licking, rubbing, pressing. You're dizzy by the time your head lolls to the side, your muscles twitching, eyes glazed, and Joel is there, pulling his fingers out just to place them on his tongue and swallow you down.

Your breath rattles through your lungs. Joel presses his lips to your inner thigh, beard soaked in your arousal, moustache glistening. His mouth soothes your sore muscles and your eyes begin to droop.

“You need a shower,” you say, your tongue like lead in your mouth. You gently pass your thumb over a cut on his cheek and frown. “You're all bloody.”

He nuzzles his face against your thigh, inhaling you. “I know.”

“You were gone so long.” Your voice quivers, pressure prickling behind the bridge of your nose. “I thought…”

Joel rises to his feet, his hands cradling your face. “I’m all right,” he says. “I’m here, and I’m safe, and I’m so goddamn sorry.”

You shake your head, pressing your lips together so the sob will not escape. Tracing his face with your fingers, broken in places, healing in others, you see the echo of a boy who didn't know his place in the world. You see the haunt of days gone by. A ghost still occupies the cage of his ribs.

“I think you should tell the little boy that still lives here,” you say, putting your hand on his chest. “Tell him he’s alive. Tell him that he made it.”

Joel lowers his head, watching the way your fingers splay over his heart. He puts his hand on yours and pushes, and you feel the strong thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat.

“He knows.”

You lean forward and put your mouth to his temple. “Shower, Joel,” comes your whisper in his ear.

He nods, wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you into the bathroom. The water hits you both true, scalding, the drain circled with red. He’s naked, his back to you as he sets his hair and lets his wounds bleed what they need to.

You lift your hands and trail them down his broad shoulders, your forehead dropping between his shoulder blades where your name is inked into his back. Joel’s muscles idly flex, his palm flat against the shower wall. His body shudders when you press your lips to the name on his back.

Wordlessly, you bring your arms around him, caressing his side, careful of the new bruises. Your other hand drops to his steel-hard cock and you begin to slowly stroke him. The noise that wrenches free from his throat is half pleasure, half agony, his hips bucking into your fist. You bump your nose against his back, your years-old sign to Just relax, and Joel hides his face in his bicep as you work your hand over him.

“G—fuck,” he grunts. “Goddamn… honey, I—”

You squeeze him at the base and twist your hand up and down the length of him, the weight warm and heavy, your thumb coaxing out a bead of precum. Your cheek is warm on his back, your arm struggling to reach around the width of him, your chest humming at the sound of his gruff moans.

“Let me…” He cuts himself off as you speed up your strokes, and you can feel his abdomen tense. “Fuck, let me make you feel good. Shit… let me…”

“Joel,” you say, “for once, stop trying to be my hero.”

His head falls back and you press your lips to his throat, nibbling the sensitive spot behind his ear: the old scar, that tiny circle, that hairless patch. He groans your name, and you’re smiling despite yourself, your mouth curling against his warm, tender skin.

“Inside me,” you whisper, the pace of your fingers over his length slowing to a crawl. “Remind me how it feels.”

He turns his head to look into your eyes, his lashes dewy, blinking hard to flick away the water, brow furrowed. His moustache bristles as his lips part in a question he does not (or maybe cannot) articulate, and you’re fractured into pieces by the intricate curve of his nose, the freckles on his jaw, the silver strands in his beard. A rough hand cups the back of your neck and another takes you by the waist, and you’re flattened to the wall, your hand braced on the glass next to you as he kisses you deeply.

Consuming, heady, warm—you give in, your hands avoiding the delicate skin of his wrists where he’s been bound, helpless. Sighing softly into his mouth, you let his kiss humble the part of you that still needs the walls you’ve built from the marrow of your anger. It circles the drain, lead-filled paint, as you remember under his hands how it feels to live.

You reach between your bodies, your leg wrapping around his waist, and slide the head of his cock through your weeping slit. Joel sucks in air through his teeth, the water lashing his back like a whip, and he surges forward, grasping you by the waist and sinking his cock into your tight hole.

You cry out his name, burying your face in his throat and baring your teeth. Your name leaves his mouth in kind, an apparition, sounds you barely recognise anymore. As you take him inside you, the memory of who you were with him pounds at your ribcage, begging to be let out. And you covet them, selfish as you are now for fucking him this way, needy and impatient, your fingers tugging his wet locks.

You see no point in scooping out the marrow; there is still sweetness stuck to the bones of your old life with him. Instead, you coat your teeth in this, the slow drag of his cock, the depths he reaches so easily, so knowingly. His fingers prod the bruised flesh of your hurt and yet you still guide him inside. You still pull his hair and kiss his throat where his Adam’s apple bobs and you still let him hold you close enough to splinter.

He’s grabbing fistfuls of your ass and sucking on your throat, his thrusts sloppy as he tries to hold back, to make you come first, but you tighten, clenching down on him, making his groans pitch up into whines.

“Joel,” you gasp, your needy fingers prickling his scalp where you pull his hair. His teeth graze your throat and you want him to bite, you want him to sink in deep, you want his jaws to latch onto your skin. You want him never to leave again.

He comes hard. His hips buck, pushing so deep he disappears into your body, and you see the blues, browns, reds of your painting as he empties all he has left inside you.

Panting, he drops his head to your breast, his open mouth still scattering weak, worn kisses over your skin. Your lungs expand under his palms, fingers stuck in the grooves between your ribs, his body an offshoot of yours, not the other way around. In the ringing afterlife of your pleasure, you vaguely feel him mouthing words you cannot hear. You run your fingers through his hair and enjoy the battering of the scorching water as it melts you both into one.

Later, in the sticky, humid silence of the bathroom, steam still swirling around your heads, fogging the glass, you trim Joel’s hair.

"Do you ever get scared?" you ask him, the shhhick of the scissors gliding across a chunk of his hair. "Do you ever go out on a job and think to yourself, What if I slip? What if this is it?"

Joel huffs. "It's not so much about myself as making sure the other guy goes down first."

“I think I’d be scared.” You twirl a lock of hair around your finger and let it fall over his forehead. “I don’t think I’d be able to look into someone’s eyes and take their life.”

He casts his eyes to his lap, flicking off some hair from his thigh. “One time, I thought it was over. I wasn’t quite seventeen yet, runnin’ drugs for some gangster. He sent me to El Sauzal to discreetly transport a couple kilos out of the city; someone had snitched and he didn’t want any rival gangs to find his stash. But the people there, they… They didn’t know any better. There were mothers, kids. Innocent people, y’know? Just strays. I decided I’d come back for ‘em.”

Your stomach twists. “What happened?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks. “I was too late. By the time I got back, the whole goddamn city was on fire. The people were either dead in the streets or close to it. They didn’t do anythin’ wrong. They didn’t ask for any of it. But they were weaker, slower. I couldn’t walk ten feet without seein’ some kid wrapped up his mother’s arms, burned to a fucking crisp. So, I came back with weapons, marched into the gang’s territory, and I killed ‘em all.”

Days ago, you’d be afraid of the man whose back warms your belly where you stand just behind him. You would hesitate to reach out and put your hand on his shoulder the way you do now. But you curl your fingers over the muscled curve of his arm and his head falls back against you, spidering open, his gooey molten centre bared for you.

Joel. Just Joel.

“Did you see the painting?” you ask him quietly.

“I see everything you do,” he says. “It's beautiful, baby.”

You drop your gaze from his face in the mirror and set down the scissors on the vanity. “I can't pretend to understand what you've been through, Joel, and that makes things even harder. All I've ever wanted is to love you, to take your pain, and all this time there's been so much I never even knew about. And I’m sorry.”

Joel’s hand comes to cover yours, clasping your fingers. They’re warm, rough, but you do not sense the phantom blood. “If I’d told you from the beginning,” he says, “maybe I never would've hurt you in the first place. All those years I thought I was protecting you from myself, I was hurting you—the one thing I swore I would never fuckin’ do.”

“Joel…”

“Baby, don't apologise to me,” he says firmly, putting his lips to your knuckles. “Never apologise to me. And don't you let me off easy.”

“Have I ever?” you say with a halfhearted smile.

“Yeah,” he says, “the day you let me marry you.”

You scoff. “Oh, please. Wedding planning was hell on earth for you.”

“Just because I didn't like the photographer—”

“You didn't not like the photographer, Joel. You wanted to draw and quarter the photographer.”

He huffs like an angry dog, frowning at you in the mirror. “He kept puttin’ his goddamn hands on you.”

You laugh, brushing your thumb over the patch in his beard to indicate you're finished. “He was posing us, cowboy.”

Joel rises to his feet and closes the scissors away inside the drawer. “Posin’ you, sure.”

“He was afraid to touch you. Probably thought you’d take off his hand. And the pictures turned out great.”

“Yeah,” he says, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Way the sunlight caught in your hair, your eyes… I don't know. Beautiful.”

He was so shy the first time you kissed him. Cheeks flushed, eyes cast toward the ground, the wind ruffling his curls where it blew over the water. He was made in an artist’s image, you thought that night, the details pored over like paperwork, the sparkle in his eyes something the painter covets. But the portrait has never wilted in the years you've known him. It's grown older, sure, but it is not old. He's still shy sometimes; he still looks down when he smiles, and he still turns his cheek when you tell him he's beautiful.

“Do you…” He rubs his palms over his thighs, looking up at you through his lashes. “Do you wish you could go back?”

It's your turn to sit. You drop into his chair, your arms curling over the back of the seat, and watch him on his journey to his knees. “I don't know, Joel,” you tell him. “I think about that day and part of me wants the magic of it back. I want the breeze and the sun and the white canopy and I want you sliding this ring on my finger. But knowing what I know now…”

“You wouldn't have married me,” he says like it's the only answer. His eyes are wet and sad and they sparkle so bright in the day.

“I wish I’d known,” you say plainly, bringing his hand to your cheek and resting it over the cool wedding band. “I wish you would have told me everything. I wish you didn't make me question your love, even for a second. I wish you could have spared me all this anger I have—all this pain.”

He’s stone-still, a figure in a portrait, and you brush your fingers across his cheek. “But killing isn't what you are, Joel. It’s what you do. And I’m so tired of being angry.”

You say it fiercely, your tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth, your throat tightening. You swipe your thumbs under your eyes and meet your husband’s eye. “I love you more than my anger and my hurt have room for. And if I can love you this hard, if I can feel all this pain and still be that same girl who fell for the guy from the restaurant, then I can let myself get hurt all over again.”

Joel shakes his head, cupping your face in his hands as his eyes brim with tears. “Oh, baby…”

“I know it's never been an easy marriage,” you say, your voice breaking, “and I’m always travelling, and I know that I can get snippy and we bicker, but I wouldn't go back to that day, Joel, because I wouldn't change anything. Even if I have to feel all of this again, I wouldn't take it all back.”

His inhale shudders through him and your heart lurches out of your chest. “I don’t deserve that,” he whispers, his thumb stroking your cheek, catching a tear that falls. “I’ve hurt you too much to ever be worthy of what you've given me, sweetheart. I ain't a good man, or even a decent one. But fuck, if I can be good for you, I’ll pray to whatever God they want me to. I’ll scrape my knees and put my hands together and fake it ‘til I’m someone you want. I swear it, baby.”

“Joel.” You gently pry his hands away. “The life you've lived, the things you've been through… I can't change any of it. I can't be what you need all the time, and fuck, I want to be. I do, Joel. But this life is something you have to figure out yourself. Nobody should force you to believe in something that's only ever caused you pain.”

He never told you about the tattoo; you had to find it yourself. Shucking the hem of his shirt up over his head, two weeks separating the last time you’d been able to indulge in his body, you trailed your fingers up his back and paused at the sound of him hissing through his teeth.

“Easy, cowboy,” you cooed. “Are you all right?”

Wordlessly, he turned, taking your hand and lifting it to the reddish skin around the black ink. You gasped, your fingers jolting backward as if struck by a feeler of lightning.

“Joel,” you said tremulously, “please don't tell me you were drunk and this was an impulse decision.”

“Guys in the Marines would get tattoos that meant somethin’ to them. Easier to carry around with you when you're away.” Joel met your gaze again, your tearful eyes, and brought your knuckles to his mouth. “Tell me you want it gone, and it's gone.”

You shook your head, a laugh snaking past the lump in your throat. “Selfishly, I think it’s very sexy.”

He chuckled, kissing the breath from your lungs.

The memory is heavy in your stomach. It's something you'll have to roll around in your mouth a thousand times before the taste begins to dissolve.

“I need time, Joel,” you tell him. “I need to wrap my head around things. I… I can't be the girl you want right now.”

Joel brushes his thumb over your chin. “You have always been the girl I want,” he says. “If you need time, you have it. If you need a warm body, you have it. I’m whoever you want me to be. And if it ain't a husband, then… then that's okay. But I can’t promise you that I won't stop tryin’ to get my wife back. That’s not who I am.”

You sniffle, twirling the ring on his finger. “You’ll get sick of it. The waiting.”

He smiles so softly that you can feel a bud begin to bloom in the core of you, nourished by the way he keeps his hand on your thigh, absently rubbing the sore muscles there. “I waited my whole life for someone like you to come along—someone who could give me the purpose I’d been lookin’ for. I can wait another lifetime. I can wait a thousand.”

“You’ll resent me. You’ll start to hate me.” You don't know why it comes pouring out of you, but the gates are brittle wood and they snapped in the torrent. “I’m an angry drunk. I smell like paint half the time. I travel for work.”

Joel just studies your face, some inexplicable calm etching out the agony. “You take your coffee with milk and sugar and you can't stand it black, but you make it that way for me anyway. You sleep until noon when you're jet lagged and I sit up in bed just to watch you dream. You lie in my arms on the couch at home and ask me about my day even when you're noddin’ off. You dreamed about love when you were a little girl, the way it happens in books. You told me in your wedding vows that you'd found it with me. You think I could resent a girl like that?”

He smiles like it hurts and heals all at once, like it's a foregone conclusion, like you were meant to be loved by him.

“Time doesn't mean a goddamn thing. I know the girl I see in front of me now. Time won't change how much I love her.”

Flipping through the list of potential venues, Joel tucked into your side, you said, “We’ll have an outdoor ceremony. No churches.”

“Baby, I won't burst into flames if I step inside a church.” Joel playfully flicked his tongue over your nipple, obscured by his T-shirt. “Tommy, on the other hand… things he's done…”

You laughed, gently pushing at his head. “No churches,” you said again. “I don't care how much more we’ll have to pay or travel to get around it. You're my husband. You're my comfort, and I want to be what's comfortable for you. Understood?”

He looked up at you, his lips parted as if on the precipice of speech. You beamed, bringing his face to yours and kissing him deeply.

“But if the wind knocks over the gazebo, you're not getting your dick inside me on our wedding night,” you said against his mouth. Joel shook his head, yanking you on top of him and tearing the shirt from your body. Your binder landed with a flutter of loose pages to the floor.

“You didn't kill Cabrera.”

Joel lowers his eyes. “No. He got away.”

“So there's still a contract on your head.”

“For now.”

“So,” you say with a sigh, crossing the room and digging through your bag, “you have to go.”

“I have to go,” he echoes, following you like a shadow. “No matter what… I’m finishing it. Tonight.”

You pull the switchblade from your bag, open Joel’s fist, and place the cool wood hilt in his palm.

“Goddammit, Tommy,” he says under his breath. “He shouldn't have…”

“But he did,” you say. “He said I should be the one to have it. I think it should be yours.”

He curls his fingers over the hilt and flicks open the blade. It's light, but it seems to weigh him down. You rest your hand over his.

“Do what you need to do.”

He drops his forehead to yours and closes his eyes, soaking in this final breath exchanged between your silent bodies, dipping his fingers in the sanctified waters and coming out unscalded.

Bill calls Joel not a moment after he steps onto the street outside the Continental.

“That's a heavy price on your head.”

“Yeah, Bill, I know.” He breathes in the cool air, like cigarette smoke, his nostrils stinging. Trash and a new, fresh breeze carried into the city. Nothing that stays here ever thrives. “Stayed alive so far.”

“So I hear,” grunts the Manager, “and leaving behind a hell of a lot of cleanup.”

“I won't stick you with the check,” says Joel. “It's my business.”

“I don't conduct business inside this hotel,” says Bill, “which is why I won't tell you that a certain helicopter at a certain helipad is refuelling as we speak.”

Joel smirks, flicking out his cuff to check the time. “Any reason why you aren't tellin’ me this?”

“I like you, Joel. Despite myself.”

Silent, he waits for more.

“Besides,” Bill continues, “we live and die by honour. And you've saved my ass more than once.”

Joel snorts. “Which time are you thankin’ me for?”

“Just take my goddamn advice and leave this world. For good this time.”

“I will,” says Joel. “One way or another. Thanks, Bill.”

High above the ground, sitting in the alcove by the window, you watch storm clouds gather over the city, darkening the sky, the sun, and your Joel, so far away, slouching calmly toward whatever end he will choose.

It's raining.

The first time you kissed him, a downpour suddenly swept up the both of you and you'd scrambled underneath a bridge by the water. You both laughed until your ribs were sore, holding hands as you ran, a soaking wet playbill above each of your heads for cover.

“At least the show was good,” you shouted over the roar of the rainfall.

Joel was mesmerised into stillness by the colours of the traffic lights in your eyes, how they shifted over the planes of your face. Starting to think like an artist, you'd tease, and he'd lean into it, a planet circling its sun.

“It was all right,” he said, taking the playbill from your hand. “You could catch a cold. We should get a cab.”

“Always my hero.” You grinned up at him, your eyes scanning his face in that particular way they did, as if ingesting the sight of him to later put the lines to a canvas. “Did you have a good time, Joel? I mean, really. You won't offend me.”

He grimaced. “I, uh… well, see, I’m not the best judge, and… I guess—”

“Joel.”

There was a gleam in your eyes that could have been amusement or could have been hunger. He doesn't remember. He only saw you tilt your chin and lower your eyes to his mouth, to that one place the Sisters always called vulgar, obscene, a place meant only for His word—

“Can I kiss you, Joel Miller, or will you keep being all heroic?”

It was soft, gentle, exploratory. Your mouth opened his like a wound, setting the scorching blade of your lips to the gash, staunching the blood. You healed and burned him, one hand on his back beneath his jacket, the other cupping his face. It reminded him of the statue that lived in the theatre underneath the church where all the boys and girls trained. An angel cast in white marble, cradling the face of Saint Eustace. The statue was chipped where his eye was meant to be.

He remembers the way he shuddered when you touched him like that. He remembers the chill that started in his feet and crept up his spine. Something like coming alive, settling back into his own body—no longer a spirit haunting the shell of a home but a man.

You pulled back, but Joel curled his hand around the back of your neck and kissed you again, deeper, maybe a little too eager, too inexperienced—but you gasped, fingers curling in his hair, your body curving into his. Your noses bumped when you separated, and he remembers laughing.

The rain is nothing like that night. It's the lash of a whip across his face, seeping colour from the world instead of infusing it with light and movement. The water by the docks slaps against the concrete and boats rock and groan against their mooring. The lights of the city are distant now.

Joel steps out of the car.

He marches toward his target, cocking the pistol in his hand, and calls out a name. It gets lost in the roll of thunder across the sky and lodges in his chest.

Cabrera waits on the landing pad, looking wraithlike in a long black coat and a pair of leather gloves. His pilot fuels the helicopter nearby. Neither of them hear Joel’s voice in the air. The rising sun is what gives him away—or maybe the gunshot, as he lifts his arm and pulls the trigger.

It does not pierce flesh. It ricochets off one of the rotor blades. He had aimed slightly to the left.

The pilot scampers off into hiding, but the slash of the bullet through the rainfall is enough to get the attention Joel wants. Cabrera reaches inside the lining of his jacket and fires a single shot. Joel can feel it tear through skin and muscle, but it doesn't hurt.

“Joel,” greets Cabrera.

“Manuel.”

His chest heaves, his jacket soaked through, the cold sinking bone-deep.

“Let's finish this.”

The glimmer in those depthless black eyes is the panther at the hunt, relentless in its hunger, licking its chops at the sight of a challenge. For all the coward’s blood in his veins, it still pulses at the prospect of winning.

“Like men,” says Cabrera, tossing his gun aside at the same time Joel does. “With honour. No more guns.”

And it's laughable: the thought that there is any honour left in a world like this. A world where children are beaten and lashed and trained to hold a weapon too big for their hands. A world that burns villages, butchers families, and still claims that without rules, we live with the animals.

A world as unruly as this cannot be ruled. He never truly considered it until he saw the sad gleam in your eye, felt the empathetic touch of your hand on his face, and began to realise that maybe he should be furious.

But because he already knows he's going to win, Joel lets his opponent land the first blow.

The blood is tangy, near-sweet, as he swipes his forearm over his mouth and smears crimson on his shirtsleeve. It tingles faintly on his lips and crackles, warm as the melt from a late-winter snow. He feels it settle in the grooves of his palms, the hairs of his beard. He’s drowning in it.

Cabrera hits hard, but he’s slow. He’ll take five punches in the time it takes to wind up for one. Joel brings his arm up to block the next and delivers a blow to the sternum with his knee as his opponent’s guard drops. Wide open, Cabrera stumbles a few steps back, choking down the telltale wheeze of being winded. Joel marches forward, relentless in his crusade, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, teeth bared like a mad wild dog, and bears his skull down on the side of the railing. Around them, the wind howls and lashes at his clothes, but he still hears the pained scream as if it were poured into his ears.

Cabrera drops to his knees, and Joel grabs him again, bashing his head repeatedly against the steel bar, the lapel of an Italian leather coat bunching between his fingers, tainted by rainwater and the fist of the man who's come to take his life.

And fuck, Joel wants to make it last.

But there's a knife in his opponent’s hand, conjured from the darkness of his coat pocket, and Joel must release him to avoid the lethal slash of the blade. Blinking blood and lashing rain from his eyes, the man lunges with a snarl, and Joel recovers from his lost victory, stopping him with his fingers curled around his opponent’s wrist. He brings his hand to the crook of Cabrera’s elbow and uses his leverage to snap the bone.

Yowling, Cabrera drops to his haunches, the knife clattering to the ground. Joel, chest heaving, stands over him, flexing his fingers as he readies his fist for the killing blow.

His name leaves Cabrera’s bloodied mouth, accompanied by a mouthful of crimson-tainted saliva spat on the ground at Joel’s feet.

“Joel…” He lifts his head, cradling his broken arm, and sneers. There’s a chilling glow of satisfaction in it. “Did you get your perfect life, Joel? Do you really think you’ve won? It won’t ever stop. Not after you’ve killed me, not after you’ve killed all of them. Is that what you’re going to do? Kill them all?”

He could. He has done far worse. He has spilled blood for gold coins and superficial alliances and someone else's revenge. He has stalked, stolen, lied, killed, and he could finish this now, so easily, with the flick of a blade.

But the song of death does not call to him now.

For so long he had trudged, unmoored, through heavy crimson blood. Like pulling at the seams of velvet, he'd sewn more lives into the sea of red and he never looked behind him to see the souls trying to pull him down at the ankles. He didn't know purpose until he saw the way the candlelight flickered in your eyes, until he tilted his head to the side and realised your smile was a new kind of beautiful from each angle.

The rain sticks to his lashes and he thinks of an old song of prayer the Sisters used to chant. He remembers curling his fingers around one of the rosaries that hung from the large cross in the cathedral and wincing in anticipation. He thought he would burn—that the metal would leave a red stain on his palm. It never did.

Maybe that's why he never believed. Surely, if there was a God, Joel Miller would have burned by now.

He thinks of shopping for furniture and date nights and lazy mornings, tangled in bedsheets. Your mouth, smiling against his, whispering I love you across the breakfast table. Dancing—or swaying, more like—under the kitchen light. Loving easily, never feeling as if he must grab hold of the cross and burn himself upon it just to feel.

Joel turns the switchblade in his hand, lurches forward, and plunges the knife into Cabrera’s chest.

There is no noise but a faint gurgle from his mouth, his hand weakly rising to grasp the hilt. Joel drops to his knees and fishes Cabrera’s cell phone from his pocket.

“The blade is stuck in your aorta,” he says. “If you pull it out, you’ll bleed out and die.” He puts the rain-slick screen in front of Cabrera’s face. “Pull the contract.”

A few feeble taps are all it takes, and Joel Miller is no longer a target. His name glares back at him on the screen, from two million to nothing, not the boogeyman any longer but something akin to a civilian. Joel tosses the phone into the water and turns to leave.

“See you in hell, Joel,” Cabrera chokes, still grasping the shiny wooden hilt of the blade.

He barely hauls himself into the car, which chokes to a rumbling start. There's blood seeping through his shirt where Cabrera shot him, and his fingers shake as they pull away from the wound, the red so bright, so alive. Joel grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.

If there’s a God, he thinks, I hope you fucking hear me now.

Tell me that we don’t get what we deserve. Because there is nothing I deserve in this world if I cannot keep what I’ve found.

His fingers trembling, smearing blood across the screen, he makes a call.

And your voice on the line, soft, sticky with sleep, whispering his name—just his name: Joel?—is what wrenches the first sob from his throat.

Joel, you say, like it means something, like it's precious. A jewel pressed from dusty black coal. Come back to me. Come home.

So he does.

#vee's reading club

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