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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

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God this was good 🩷

would you be willing to wire a joel miller fic based on the song ‘fuck me eyes’ ? anytime i listen to it i just think about joel wanting to show the reader they deserve to be taken care of and treated with nothing but love, something they’re not used to. he seems how other men use and discard them, and he will not let that slide…

Not Just One Night

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You’ve been a regular at Joel Miller’s bar for months—sharing drinks, teasing flirtations, and quiet glances that never quite cross the line. After one too many heartbreaks, you’ve learned not to expect much from men. Still, Joel sees more than you realize. He watched you walk away too many nights, and he’s done staying silent. This time, he’s asking—if you’ll let him, he’ll show you what it really means to be cared for.

Tags: Friends to lovers, mutual pining, soft Joel Miller, implied age difference, Joel Miller is a sweetheart and a gentleman, bar owner! Joel. No descriptions for Reader. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Sorry for the wait! I've been so so busy with my thesis defense preparations. I'm so stressed, I basically used writing this fic as a distraction from everything else lmao. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 4.8k

masterlist

The bar was quiet for a Wednesday, the low hum of conversation and the gentle clink of glass the only sounds filling the space. You were at your usual seat, elbows on the worn wood counter, eyes tracing the gold lettering on the bottle Joel had just set down in front of you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” Joel said, sliding a napkin under your drink. “Didn’t you say you had plans?”

“I did,” you murmured, twirling the glass between your fingers. “Didn’t pan out.”

Joel’s eyes lingered on you a moment too long before he nodded. “Figures.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Figures?”

“Nothin’.” He wiped at a nonexistent spot on the bar with the edge of a rag. “Just mean you always end up here anyway. Like clockwork.”

“Guess I just like the company,” you teased, your voice light.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, then leaned his arms on the counter to meet your gaze. “Uh huh. You come for the ambiance or for my good looks?”

You smirked. “Bit of both. You pouring drinks with those rolled-up sleeves? Can’t say it’s not working for you.”

He didn’t smile, not really—but there was a shift in his expression, something unreadable behind the warmth in his eyes. You liked making him react. Even if just a little.

“You always flirt this much with your bartender?”

“Only when he plays along,” you shot back, taking a sip.

Joel chuckled low under his breath and turned to grab a fresh bottle. But not before you caught that flicker in his expression—something restrained. Protective. Maybe even something else you didn’t dare name.

You weren’t sure if it was the liquor or the loneliness that kept bringing you back here. Maybe both. But Joel always kept your glass full and never asked too many questions.

He saw more than he let on. You knew that much.

And tonight, he wasn’t just watching you.

He was paying attention.

You were halfway through your second drink when a guy slid into the seat beside you. Tall, clean cut, reeking of expensive cologne and confidence.

“Hey,” he said, flashing a grin. “Did it hurt?”

You blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“When you fell from heaven.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Wow. Bold move.”

He shrugged, undeterred. “Just trying to make you laugh. And it worked.”

Joel was a few feet away, drying a glass a little too slowly. His jaw ticked when the guy leaned in closer to you, elbow nudging yours like he owned the space.

“You come here often?” the guy asked.

You didn’t even have to think about it. “Yeah. It’s kind of my spot.”

“Then maybe I’ve been missing out.” He tilted his head. “You wanna get out of here?”

It was fast. Too fast. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

You didn’t glance at Joel. You didn’t have to. You could feel his silence from here, the heavy weight of his eyes on your back.

You offered the stranger a smile—tight, performative, but enough. “Sure.”

You grabbed your jacket off the back of your stool, downed the last of your drink in one quick go. Joel was suddenly right there, as if he’d just appeared from the shadows, his voice low and gravel-rough.

“You good?”

You met his eyes. His face gave nothing away, but the look was all there—guarded, unreadable, maybe a little disappointed.

“Yeah,” you said, giving him a soft smile. “I’ll see you, Joel.”

He nodded, stepping back just enough to let you pass.

But he didn’t watch you leave.

He just turned back toward the bar, back to the glasses that didn’t need cleaning, hands clenched a little tighter than before.

You hadn’t been in for a week.

Joel noticed.

Didn’t say anything when you finally showed up, though—just nodded when you walked in, gave a short, almost too-neutral “Evenin’” before setting a glass down at your usual spot.

You didn't smile. Just slumped into the stool and leaned your head in your hand, the heel of your palm digging into your brow like you were trying to press a headache out of your skull.

Joel poured your usual without asking. Pushed it toward you gently.

“You look like shit,” he said after a long moment.

You huffed. “Thanks. Just what I needed.”

He didn’t take the bait. Just raised an eyebrow and leaned a hip against the counter, watching you quietly. The kind of silence that wasn’t empty—it was patient. Like he was waiting for you to say something real.

You picked at the edge of your napkin. “Remember that guy?”

Joel didn’t have to ask which one. He just nodded.

“Turns out,” you said, swirling your drink but not sipping it, “he has a girlfriend. Fiancée, actually.”

Joel’s jaw flexed. His voice stayed low. “Jesus.”

You laughed, but it came out all wrong—tight and bitter. “Yeah. She found my number. Sent me a photo of the two of them on vacation. Said she hoped I ‘enjoyed the leftovers.’”

Joel’s hands were gripping the edge of the bar now, knuckles pale.

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You kept your eyes on the drink, voice quiet. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t’ve gone home with him if I did, Joel. I swear to God—”

“Hey.” His voice cut in, firm. You looked up. He was already leaning in a little, close enough for just the two of you to hear.

“I know you didn’t.”

The way he said it—no hesitation, no judgment—hit harder than it should have. Your throat tightened.

Joel didn’t ask questions. Didn’t try to make you explain more than you needed to. He just grabbed the rag from the sink and started wiping down the bar again, like he needed something to do with his hands. Like he was keeping himself from saying what he really wanted to say.

“I keep doing this,” you muttered after a minute. “Meeting these guys who say the right things, smile the right way, and then just—leave.”

That silence hung thick between you.

And maybe it was just the dim lighting, or maybe it was the week you’d had, but something in his expression looked like he wasn’t just angry for you.

He was angry because of you.

Because someone had touched you with no intention of keeping you. And Joel—he didn’t say it—but he would have.

If you let him.

You cleared your throat, eyes darting back to the glass. Then, with a deep inhale, you straightened your shoulders and tossed back a sip like it might burn away the last seven days.

“Whatever,” you said, forcing a shrug. “I’m used to it.”

Joel didn’t say a word, but you could feel the tension shift in him.

You slapped your hand lightly on the bar. “Anyway. I’m not here to mope.” You flashed a smile—too bright, too rehearsed. “I’m here to have fun. Forget everything. Drink something strong. Flirt with a bartender. Same old, same old.”

He watched you closely, eyes narrowing like he was trying to read between the lines of your performance.

You stirred the ice in your glass with your finger. “So. You gonna tell me if you finally fixed that janky jukebox, or am I still stuck listening to the same eight classic rock songs from the 70s?”

Joel exhaled a short breath—more of a scoff than a laugh—and shook his head. “Still broken. You’re stuck with Skynyrd and Fleetwood Mac, sweetheart.”

You grinned, a little more real this time. “You say that like it’s a punishment.”

He finally smiled. Not a full one, but it reached his eyes.

“Pretty sure you could recite ‘Landslide’ by now.”

“I do recite it. Weekly,” you said, tapping your glass with a faint smirk. “Like a prayer.”

Joel chuckled under his breath and leaned in slightly, resting a forearm on the bar. “You sure you’re alright?”

You waved him off with a half-laugh, leaning back in your seat like it was all water under the bridge. “Joel. I’m always alright.”

But your eyes didn’t quite match the smile.

Joel noticed. Of course he did.

He didn’t press, though. Just nodded once and reached for the bottle, topping off your glass without asking.

And when his hand brushed yours, he let it linger. Just for a second.

A reminder.

You didn’t have to be fine if you weren’t.

The next time you came in, it was a Saturday night.

Busier than usual. Music a little louder. Lights a little dimmer. The hum of conversation and laughter bouncing off the walls like static.

You slipped onto your usual stool like you belonged there—which, at this point, you kind of did. Joel was already in front of you, pouring your drink before you asked.

“You’re early,” he said.

You offered a lazy smile. “Didn’t feel like waiting around tonight.”

He nodded, lips pressing into a line. His eyes flicked to the rest of the bar, then back to you. “You look nice.”

You did. He’d noticed the second you walked in—your makeup done just enough, neckline dipped just low enough. You looked like someone trying not to look like they were trying.

And he knew that look. Knew what it meant.

You were scanning the room.

Your eyes drifted past him and swept toward a table of guys in the corner, lingering just a second too long when one of them looked back and smiled.

Joel saw it.

You didn’t notice him watching.

You took a slow sip, adjusted the strap of your top like you wanted someone to be looking. Maybe not anyone specific—just someone. Someone who’d make you feel wanted, even if only for the night.

Joel’s jaw clenched. He wiped at the counter with a rag he didn’t need and forced himself to breathe.

He wasn’t a young guy. He didn’t play games. And he sure as hell wasn’t as smooth as half the guys eyeing you from across the room. But he also wasn’t stupid.

He saw the way you tried to laugh things off. The way your smile always faltered a second too late.

So before he could stop himself—before he could chicken out like he had the last dozen times—you felt his voice cut through the low buzz around you.

“You ever think about goin’ out with someone who doesn’t just want you for one night?”

You blinked, turning to face him. “What?”

Joel’s hand paused on the bottle. He wasn’t looking at you now. He was focused too hard on the liquor, on the glass in front of him. On anything but your eyes.

“I mean,” he said, voice rough, quiet, “you ever think about…someone different. Maybe older. Someone who’d stick around. Treat you right.”

You didn’t say anything.

So he filled the silence, his next words rushed—like he regretted saying any of it already.

“I’m not sayin’ it’s a good idea. You’d probably laugh in my face, anyway. Just—forget it.”

You set your glass down. “Joel.”

He finally looked up, and you swore—for just a second—he looked scared.

Like he already knew your answer.

Like he was bracing for it.

You tilted your head, studying him, that same drink going warm between your hands.

Then, after a beat, you leaned in slightly, voice low. Almost amused.

“Joel,” you said, with a tiny grin tugging at your lips, “just ask already.”

His brow creased. “What?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your heart hammered against your ribs. “You’re dancing around it like you think I’m gonna throw a drink in your face.”

Joel blinked, caught completely off guard. “I—”

“If you’re asking me out,” you said, voice quieter now, “then… yeah. I’d like that.”

He stared at you, stunned into silence.

You let out a small, nervous laugh and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’ve been waiting, actually.”

Joel’s mouth parted slightly, eyes narrowing—not in anger, just confusion. “Waitin’? You—what do you mean?”

You bit your lip, suddenly bashful. “Joel. What did you think I was doing? Coming here all the time. Flirting with you like it’s my second job.”

“I thought—” He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck like the words were caught somewhere between disbelief and self-doubt. “I dunno. I thought it was just for fun.”

You gave him a look.

“I mean—” he added quickly, “not that it didn’t mean anything. I just didn’t think you’d ever… y’know. Actually want me. I’m not exactly your age, darlin’. Thought maybe I was just—safe. Easy to tease.”

Your expression softened. “You really thought that?”

Joel nodded, eyes dropping to the counter. “Yeah. Kinda did.”

You exhaled, slow and steady. “You’re not just some guy behind a bar, Joel. Not to me.”

His gaze lifted to yours again, and this time—finally—he let you see it. All the things he’d been holding back in the tight lines of his mouth, the quiet glances, the protective silences.

You smiled, a little crooked now, a little uncertain. “So… is this where you tell me when and where, or do I gotta plan the whole thing?”

Joel let out a breathy laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time all night.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, voice warm. “You just say yes.”

“I already did.”

Joel picked a small Italian place off a side street you didn’t even know existed. It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t trendy. But it was charming—warm lighting, real candles on the tables, and a piano in the corner that looked like it hadn’t been played since the 90s.

You were smiling before you even sat down.

“This is… kinda adorable,” you said as Joel pulled out your chair.

He raised an eyebrow. “Adorable?”

You nodded, sliding into your seat. “Got me feeling like I'm in the 80s.”

Joel chuckled, settling across from you with a faint smile. “What? People don’t do this stuff no more?”

You grinned. “Not unless they’re trying to impress someone’s parents.”

“Maybe I am.”

That caught you off guard. You blinked, but before you could come up with a comeback, he was already scanning the wine list like he hadn’t just said something that made your heart thump harder than it should.

Dinner was good. Really good. The kind where you kept leaning in, forgetting your fork mid-air because you were too caught up in whatever Joel was saying. He was funny, sharp in that dry, understated way. Comfortable.

He listened. Like, actually listened. Didn’t check his phone once. Didn’t look over your shoulder. Just looked at you.

It was almost disarming.

And when he paid—without the awkward check-splitting shuffle, without making it a Thing—you teased, “You really are old-fashioned, huh?”

Joel just smirked. “Figured you deserved a real night. One without jukeboxes and drunk college kids screamin’ lyrics at each other.”

You laughed. “Careful, you keep raising the bar like this and I’ll start expecting flowers and love letters.”

“Shit,” Joel muttered, deadpan. “Forgot the quill and parchment in the truck.”

That earned a snort out of you.

But somewhere between dessert and the walk back to his truck, your words slipped out, quieter than before. “Usually… guys will do one nice thing. Maybe open a door. Pay the bill. And then expect a night in the bedroom.”

Joel looked over at you. He didn’t say anything, just walked a little closer, hands in his jacket pockets.

You tried to laugh it off. “But if that’s your plan, you must be asking a lot tonight.”

It was meant to be a joke. Light, deflecting.

But it kind of just… hung there.

Joel slowed his step, then stopped completely. You did too, a beat later, suddenly unsure if you’d misread something.

He looked at you—really looked—and when he spoke, his voice was soft. Honest.

“I ain’t expectin’ anything, darlin’. Except maybe another night like this.”

Your chest ached, just a little.

“…Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper.

Joel nodded once, then offered his arm like he was someone out of a damn novel. “C’mon. Let’s get you home.”

You looped your arm through his.

And for the first time in a long time, walking home didn’t feel like the end of the night.

It felt like a beginning.

After that night, things… kept going.

A few dates turned into more.

You and Joel didn’t rush anything—he picked you up for late dinners, brought you to a cozy movie night at his place, even introduced you to the grumpy old dog he swore wasn’t *his* but followed him everywhere anyway.

It was easy.

Warm.

Safe, in a way you weren’t used to.

At the bar, things stayed mostly the same. You still had your stool, your usual drink, your banter. Except now Joel’s hand would brush your lower back when you passed behind the bar. You’d linger a little longer at closing. And he’d walk you home more often than not.

You hadn’t really told anyone, not outright. But the looks said enough. The softness between you two wasn’t exactly subtle.

It was good. He was good.

Which was probably why it started to scare you.

It was just another evening—warm, comfortable, full of laughter—until she walked in.

Tall. Confident. Lipstick sharp. She leaned on the bar, gave Joel a once-over like she knew exactly what she wanted.

You were just heading back from the bathroom when you saw it.

Her fingers brushing the counter. Her laugh. Her eyes locked onto his like a target.

Joel didn’t flirt back. Didn’t even give her much more than a polite nod before walking away to grab a glass.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you’d seen that look before—on other women. Women who didn’t have to try. Who didn’t second-guess every word, every outfit, every glance.

You slipped back into your seat and swirled your drink, suddenly very aware of the weight in your chest. Joel returned like nothing happened, setting a water in front of you like he always did.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded. Too fast. “Yeah. Fine.”

But the smile didn’t come easy.

Because the truth was—you were easy to leave.

Guys had done it before. Said the right things, touched your skin like it meant something, then ghosted like you never mattered. Like you were just a waystation before the real thing came along.

And maybe Joel was different.

But you weren’t.

You weren’t enough to make someone stay.

You took a sip to hide the sudden tightness in your throat.

He didn’t even look at her, your mind whispered. But he could have. One day, he might.

You hated that thought. Hated that it felt like armor you’d worn too long to take off.

Joel reached across the table, fingers brushing yours. “You sure?”

You gave him a smile.

One that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah,” you lied. “I’m sure.”

Joel walked you to your door like he always did.

Hands in his jacket pockets, pace slow, the sound of your footsteps soft on the concrete. The night air was cool, the kind that made you breathe a little deeper, like it might settle the noise in your head.

You hadn’t said much since leaving the bar.

Joel hadn’t pushed.

But when you stopped at your doorstep, fumbling with your keys, he reached out—fingers wrapping gently around your wrist to still you.

You looked up, startled by the touch. He wasn’t smiling.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Look at me.”

You did.

Slowly.

Joel took your hands in his, his calloused thumbs brushing over your knuckles like he was grounding himself in the moment—like he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing.

“I ain’t stupid,” he said, voice low and steady. “Something shifted tonight.”

Your breath caught, but you didn’t pull away.

Joel tilted his head, searching your face.

“And I think I know what it is.”

You opened your mouth to deflect, maybe make a joke—but he squeezed your hands, just enough to stop the words.

“I saw her,” he said. “I saw the way she looked at me. And I saw the way you looked after.”

You stared down at your hands in his. “It’s nothing. I’m just—tired.”

But Joel shook his head. “No. It ain’t nothin’. You got quiet. Pulled back. Like maybe you remembered every time someone made you feel like you were just there until somethin’ better came along.”

His voice cracked a little on that last part. Like it physically hurt him to say it out loud.

You swallowed.

Joel took a breath. “I’m not those guys. I’m not here just to fill a seat or pass the time or see how far I can get before walkin’ out the door.”

He reached up, brushed a strand of hair away from your face like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m serious about you,” he said. “Been serious since the first damn night you walked in and tried to flirt your way into a free drink.”

That earned a soft laugh from you, quiet and fragile.

Joel’s thumb traced your cheekbone.

“I saw what they did to you,” he added. “All of ’em. Front row seat, week after week. You’d come in lookin’ like you’d been told you were too much or not enough. And I hated it.”

You blinked hard.

“I wanna do right by you,” he said. “However long you’ll let me.”

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to unlearn the instinct to smile and brush things off.

But Joel wasn’t asking you for anything.

He was just offering.

The thing no one else had.

Staying.

You didn’t answer right away.

You couldn’t.

Joel’s words sat heavy in the air between you, wrapping around your ribs like something warm and solid. Something that scared you because it felt real.

He was still holding your hands. Still looking at you like he meant every goddamn word. Like he’d stand there all night if that’s what it took for you to believe him.

And maybe that was why your voice came out so small.

“I don’t really know how to do this,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper.

Joel stepped closer. “Don’t need to do anything.”

You looked up at him, searching for doubt. There was none. Just the steady set of his jaw, the softness in his eyes.

And then his hand moved—slow, careful—rising to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed beneath your eye, over the faint smudge of tired makeup, like it didn’t matter if you were perfect or put-together or even sure of yourself.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice low. Rough around the edges.

That was what undid you.

Not the gesture, not the closeness—but the asking.

You nodded, just once. “Yeah.”

Joel leaned in gently, like he didn’t want to startle you. His nose brushed yours, breath warm between you, and then—

Soft.

His lips met yours like he had all the time in the world. No rush. No pressure. Just the weight of a man who’d waited long enough and wanted to mean it.

Your hands curled into the front of his jacket, grounding yourself in him as he deepened the kiss just slightly—slow and deliberate. He tasted like whiskey and warmth, and something steadier than anything you’d ever known.

When you finally broke apart, your forehead lingered against his, eyes still closed.

Joel exhaled a quiet breath.

“You okay?”

You smiled, breathless.

“Yeah,” you said. “Better than okay.”

And for the first time in a long, long while, you actually meant it.

It was a Thursday night. Slow, mellow, the kind of evening where Joel let you play whatever you wanted on the jukebox and poured you a drink before you even sat down.

You were perched on your usual stool, flipping through your phone, when someone slid into the seat beside you.

He gave you a slow once-over. “Hey there. You here alone?”

You blinked. “No.”

He glanced around. “You with someone?”

Your eyes flicked across the room—immediately, instinctively—toward Joel.

He was behind the bar, pouring a drink, but he caught your gaze in an instant. Paused. Watched.

You turned back to the guy and gave a tight, polite smile. “Yeah. I already have someone.”

He raised an eyebrow, like he hadn’t heard you right. “Oh, come on. Just one drink. I’m not asking you to marry me.”

You leaned away slightly. “I said I’m with someone.”

“But I don’t see anyone.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but you didn’t have to.

Because Joel was already there.

He’d crossed the room so quietly, you hadn’t even heard him until he was beside you, calm and steady, one hand braced casually on the bar behind you.

“She said no,” Joel said evenly, voice low but hard enough to cut through the noise.

The guy looked up at him—slightly confused, slightly amused. “Who the hell are you?”

Joel didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t puff his chest. He didn’t have to.

“Someone who won’t ask again.”

There was a beat. A shift in the air.

The guy scoffed, muttered something under his breath, and got up, walking off with a frustrated shake of his head.

You leaned in, chin resting on your hand as you looked up at him with a glint in your eye.

“Gotta say,” you said, voice light, “that was kinda hot.”

Joel blinked. “What was?”

“You. Getting all protective.” You gestured to his chest with your glass. “Stepping in all calm and gravelly. Like some Clint Eastwood scene.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was a flush rising on his neck. “Wasn’t tryin’ to be hot.”

“Well,” you said with a grin, “bonus points anyway.”

“Are you makin’ fun of me?”

“Maybe a little,” you teased, sipping your drink like it was no big deal. “But you can’t blame me. My man just went all John Wayne for me in front of a whole bar.”

Joel’s head turned slowly, brow raised. “Your man?”

You blinked, realizing what you said a second too late. “I mean—yeah. I guess. Unless you wanna fight me on that?”

He stared at you, expression unreadable for a second… then that slow, crooked smile crept onto his face. The kind that started in his eyes before it ever touched his mouth.

“No,” he said quietly. “Ain’t fightin’ you on it.”

Your heart did a small, dumb somersault behind your ribs. You tried to keep your cool, but your grin gave you away.

“Well,” you said, leaning an elbow on the bar, “then I stand by my statement. My man’s kinda hot.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head as he walked back behind the bar—though you caught the way his ears flushed pink on the way.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The morning light spilled in slow, golden streaks across the bed, warm against your skin and filtering softly through the curtains. You blinked awake to the scent of cotton and him—Joel’s cologne, faint from the day before, still clinging to the sheets.

He was still asleep beside you.

Flat on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting gently against your hip like his body couldn’t quite relax unless it was touching yours.

You smiled.

Then shifted just a little—enough to scoot closer, pressing your face into the curve of his shoulder, your leg hooking around his without thinking.

He stirred.

A low, raspy sound rumbled in his chest as he exhaled, and a moment later, his arm curled tighter around you, pulling you in like instinct.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Sorry,” you whispered, nuzzling into him. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’fine,” he said, eyes still closed, lips brushing the top of your hair. “Wakin’ up next to you’s not exactly a bad thing.”

Your chest warmed at that.

You stayed there a while, tangled in quiet, feeling the weight of his body beside you, solid and steady. No rush. No awkward goodbyes or disappearing acts. Just warmth and breath and Joel.

Eventually, he shifted slightly beneath you. “You want coffee?”

You peeked up at him, barely lifting your head. “Always.”

He kissed your temple. “Alright. Stay here. I got it.”

And just like that, he peeled himself away, sliding out of bed with a quiet groan as he grabbed the T-shirt he’d tossed onto a chair the night before. He shot you a lazy smile before padding out toward the kitchen, barefoot and rumpled.

You stayed in bed, eyes drifting over the doorway where he’d just gone.

And without warning, a quiet smile pulled at your lips.

Because he stayed.

Not just for a night. Not for the rush or the thrill or some empty promise.

He stayed every time.

And for the first time in longer than you could remember… you believed he always would.

#joel miller x reader

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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

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#Chapter four now out #salt air fic #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader

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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

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#life right now #javier peña

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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

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[ Me every time I see Pedro ] 😯 🤭😯

#pedro pascal #100%

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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

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🤣

#too good not to share #pedro pascal

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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

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I would give up everything for this man.

What You Mean To Me

Pairing: Harry Castillo x F!Reader

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Harry thought he was incapable of love before you, but one morning with you in his shirt, taking you on the dining table and seeing the way you looked at him, has him confessing exactly how he feels about you.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, *NO SPOILERS FOR THE MOVIE*, the middle photo is just for the vibes. Swearing, smut: brief dirty talk, dry humping, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people), sex on the dining table, hair pulling, biting, I think that's it. Lots of fluff. Reader described with female anatomy, no use of y/n. Just the smallest hint of plot here, but it's mostly just smutty, fluffy (smuffy?) times.

A/N: I'm jumping on the Harry Castillo train and honestly I don't wanna get off (unless he's getting me off *clears throat* what?) This was just something I thought of when I was thinking back on the film, so I hope you enjoy it! Happy reading everyone! <3

Main Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Characters Masterlist

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was how comfortable you were.

As you cracked an eye open and looked around the room from your position on the bed, you almost didn’t want to leave it. You had practically sunk into the mattress, the sheets were silky soft compared to the ones you had at your own apartment, and the pillows were as light as air as you snuggled further into them. You turned onto your back and stared up at the ceiling, your hands running over the smooth fabric as you frowned, missing the person who had been there all night next to you. You sat up slowly, bringing your legs up as you held the sheet close to your body, a smile instantly spreading across your face when you saw a light blue shirt your boyfriend had left on the chair across from his bed for you. It had become more and more rare for him not to wake up next to you, a feeling you had gotten used to and which added to that comfort you had always craved, something that neither of you had really had before you started seeing each other.

Clearly there was something important to do with work that he had to take care of, but you also knew he could never resist you in his clothes.

Stretching your limbs, you dropped the sheet and got up from the bed, crossing the room and picking up the shirt. You brought the material up to your nose, humming softly as you could still smell a hint of his cologne under the detergent. You placed your arms through the sleeves and slipped your panties on underneath, buttoning the shirt as you walked out of the bedroom. The warm morning light greeted you as you walked down the hallway, blinking against the brightness as you reached the open plan living area. You heard Harry’s voice echo from the kitchen and through the hall, before he was behind you at the dining table, already set with breakfast for you. It was a sight you had gotten used to, but you did wish there was another place set next to yours which had become more of a regular occurrence in your relationship.

You bit your lip as he winked at you while on the phone, the steel coffee pot in hand as he poured some out in a glass mug for you. He placed the pot down and slowly made his way to you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. Your hands slid up the front of his perfectly tailored navy blue suit, tugging at his tie as you stared up into his brown eyes. You gave him a pointed look, one that made him raise an eyebrow in question as he muttered something about some new partnership with a company. You slowly pushed yourself into him, lightly nipping along his jaw with a mischievous grin spreading across your lips as you saw his eyes flutter slightly.

He tried to give you his best stern look, a hint of annoyance behind his arousal as he shook his head in warning but he couldn’t hold it for long as you pecked his lips once, twice. Your fingers played with the knot of his tie, giving him a suggestive nod as you moved back towards the opposite end of the table, pushing yourself up onto it. You pulled him in by his tie, your other hand roaming down and unbuttoning his suit, going straight for his crisp, white shirt before you saw him close his eyes, throwing his head back in frustration.

“Let me call you back,” he groaned, hanging up on whoever he was talking to. He dropped the phone on the table, pulling your thighs around him and making you squeal as your arms wrapped around his neck. “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

“You just look really sexy when you’re all serious,” you replied, pushing his suit jacket off his shoulders and untucking his shirt, an urgency to your actions now that he was so close to you.

“And you…” he breathed, cupping your face in his large hands, his plump lips hovering over yours. “Look far too tempting like this, right before I have to leave.”

“I guess you’ll just have to stay,” you muttered before pulling him in for a searing kiss.

He growled into your mouth as you moaned softly, both of you slowly grinding against each other and feeling the bulge of his pants shift over your covered mound. You made quick work of pulling his tie free, opening the buttons of his shirt and pushing it off to join his jacket on the floor. You felt the familiar tug in your core, one that wrapped around your spine and radiated through your whole body as he pulled you close, his hips rocking against yours and making you gasp as you felt how hard he already was. He flicked open the first few buttons of the shirt you were wearing, his head instantly dipping down to kiss along the exposed skin of your chest. His touch ignited a fire through every cell of your being, your hand combing into his dark but greying curls and softly tugging him further into you. You moaned softly as his plush lips sealed around your nipple, licking and gently sucking before releasing with a wet pop.

“You’re going to have to explain to my mother why I’m late,” he stated, as he lifted each of your calves around his hips.

“Well, if we move this along then maybe I won’t have to,” you jested, wiggling your eyebrows.

You squealed with a giggle as he bit a little harder into your neck, a deep chuckle escaping him before he shifted closer and pressed up against you, thrusting down as your own hips lifted up to meet his. You could feel your wetness growing along the seam of your sex, with no doubt in your mind that it would seep through your panties and onto his slacks. Neither of you seemed to care however as you continued to grind against each other, your lips fused together in a fervent kiss.

“Harry, please,” you pleaded as you pulled away, your breathy timbre close to his ear.

“I know, gorgeous, I know,” he reassured you, kissing you once more.

His hands slid up your smooth thighs as he reached for your black, lace panties and pulled them aside to expose your glistening heat. He wasted no time with the belt, unbuckling it before unzipping his pants and freeing his hard shaft from the confines of his boxers. He took hold of it and tapped the head against your swollen nub a few times, eliciting a breathy whimper from you as you gripped his shoulders tight and waited for that inevitable, pleasurable breach. He lined himself to your entrance, your mouth falling open in a choked moan as he pressed into you, completely sheathed by your walls. A husky groan left him as he felt you stretch around him, almost as if you had become accustomed to the girth of him, like he was always meant to be there. He rolled his hips back and forth slowly, knowing that you were still getting used to his size, however, but you had to admit you enjoyed the slight twinge that came with taking all of him. With a press of your foot into the back of his thigh and a whine into his mouth, it spurred him on to pick up the pace. His pelvis undulated in long, hard thrusts which were enough to satisfy how deep you wanted him, while still keeping you on the edge from the leisured rhythm.

You moaned wantonly, your fingernails biting into his skin as you shifted up to meet his hips, but as one hand landed on your left and the other wrapped around your back to hold you close, you gave into him. He kissed along your jaw, your neck, your exposed shoulder from where his shirt had drooped down, before coming back up to your lips, kissing you roughly. The table shook beneath you, the part of your mind that wasn’t being clouded by him took in the sound of rattling cutlery, and you hoped that nothing was about to fly off the surface, but you couldn’t even really care, either. Not when this man, this man who you were head over heels for, was making you feel things no other man ever had.

“Fuck, you feel so perfect,” he husked against your mouth. “Taking me so deep, fuck…”

“Harry, oh god you-” you whimpered, fingers slipping into his hair once again and pulling him even closer. “You feel so good inside me, shit…”

You threw your head back, offering him the column of your neck and letting out a loud, almost guttural moan as he bit down on your throat. Between the sounds pouring out of both of you and the slap of his skin against yours with each thrust, he invaded every one of your senses as your eyes futtered closed, relishing in the feel of him and the pleasure he was giving you. Before you could completely lose yourself, however, his hand cupped the back of your head and pulled at the strands of your hair, lifting your gaze up to meet his.

“Look at me,” he groaned, staring deep into your eyes. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

He rested his forehead against yours, keeping the same rhythm of his hips pounding into you, wanting you to be teetering on the edge of bliss. You couldn’t form words, your mouth hanging open as a string of breathless whimpers escaped you. His brown eyes peered into yours, but as you stayed pressed tight into each other, it was as if he was looking deeper, reaching the furthest depths of your soul in a way no one ever had before.

“You have no fucking idea what you do to me,” he grunted, his lips ghosting against yours.

A hard thrust had you humming, shaking your head frantically. “I-I t-think I have a feeling.”

“No,” his forehead creased as he pulled back slightly, wanting to see every one of your features. “No, you have no clue what you do to me, what you mean to me…”

“Then tell me,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his curls, staring back at him. “Tell me, Harry.”

You knew that opening up and exposing parts of himself was difficult for a man like him. Someone who was so used to being closed off because of his lifestyle, committing himself to his work and unable to give himself to someone completely because of it. His vulnerabilities and insecurities had kept him from living a life he truly desired, his inability to see past them and let people in without the fear of judgement was something he couldn’t do… before you. Before you, he had thought love to be the hardest thing in the world, finding that treating a relationship or the prospect of marriage as a business deal was much easier. Before you, he had believed himself to be incapable of love, incapable of feeling it because that meant he was letting something unfamiliar into his life and that was terrifying. Before you, he was so sure he knew who he was and how the world worked, but he didn’t.

He had never been more glad to be so wrong.

He had learnt everything he needed to know about investments, joined his family in business and made a whole career out of it. It wasn’t until meeting you at a random charity dinner, asking you out and spending every spare moment with you since, that he realized love was the greatest investment of all. And luckily, he had found the courage to trade in it with you, rather than against you.

If everything in his Tribeca apartment disappeared tomorrow, he wouldn’t care. Now with you in his arms looking back at him with a flicker of something new and thrilling in your eye, something that could only be described as love, that was all that mattered to him.

“You changed me… you changed everything,” he whispered back, his gaze unwavering. “You’re my world now.”

“Harry,” you gasped, completely overwhelmed by not only how he was making you feel, but his words too.

He uttered your name in a hushed breath, following with the three words you had heard so many times by many lovers, but never from someone who truly understood the weight of them.

“I love you.”

A raspy giggle fell from your lips as your eyes blurred from the tears collecting at your waterline, your arms wrapping around him as you buried your face into the crook of his neck and breathed him in, consumed by him completely. He pulled you flush against his body as his lips rested against your temple, whispering the words over and over as his hips slammed into you faster, taking everything from you that you would happily give to him for as long as you could. A loud moan from you muffled against the skin of his neck as you clenched tight around him, the familiar sign that told him how close you were to that blissful release.

His lips captured yours once more as he felt your walls grip around his length like a vice, the last few harsh thrusts being both your undoing as well as his. WIth a shuddered groan from him and a sharp cry from you, you contracted around him and felt waves of the euphoria only he could bring crashing over you. His cock throbbed deep inside you before spurts of his seed spilled into you, mingling with your arousal as it coated his shaft.

You both breathed heavily as you came down from the rapturous high you had just experienced, a shiver running down your spine as he found your lips and pressed a passionate, searing kiss against them. You blinked away the tears that were on the brink of rolling down your cheeks, pulling away to look up at him.

“All that before I even took a sip of coffee,” you beamed, giving his hair a playful tug.

“You started it,” he teased, chuckling.

“I know,” you shrugged, fine with taking the blame.

With another peck to your lips, Harry separated himself from you, a hiss leaving you at the loss of him inside you. You smiled softly as you could see a hint of pride in his eye from your reaction as he pulled his boxers and pants back into place. You fixed your panties and buttoned your shirt, well his shirt, back up. He had disappeared into the bedroom with his clothes, coming back a few minutes later in a fresh shirt and suit, still navy blue but with his collar popped up. He fiddled around with his tie, rolling his eyes as he was about to step up to the mirror in the hallway before you approached him.

You took both sides in your hands, twisting it around and briefly looking up into his eyes as they met yours. You couldn’t help but think that putting a man’s tie on was sexier than taking it off, as you created the perfect knot and tightened it, turning his collar down.

“Perfect,” you breathed, beaming up at him.

He shook his head, leaning down and running his curved nose along yours. “That’s you, baby.”

“I love you,” you whispered against his mouth, peering up at him through your lashes.

“You really can’t just let me leave for work, can you?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Nope,” you replied, popping the ‘p’ playfully.

He sighed dramatically as he dropped his head to your shoulder. “I guess they’ll just have to handle things without me.”

You cackled as he pulled you close and dragged you towards the bedroom, his plump lips kissing along the length of your neck, your laughter echoing down the halls where your breakfast grew cold, but neither of you cared.

You could eat later.

Together.

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#harry castillo x reader

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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

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So much love for this 🩷

a beautiful little lie. [chapter 10] l Harry Castillo

Summary: you are the personal assistant of Harry Castillo, a wealthy entrepreneur who asks you to go with him to his friend's wedding. there you meet your ex-boyfriend and things get out of hand

Warnings: we have fluff, we have kissing, we have Diane, we have alcohol, we have cold, we have ending

A/N: last chapter. if you got here - thank you. thank you for every comment, for every word. sorry for the mistakes, thank you for the time you dedicated to me. i hope you enjoyed this story. because i did.

your feedback is very important to me and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. I secretly hope you like this story.🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

[my masterlist] [Harry Castillo masterlist] [a beautiful little lie- series masterlist]

Harry Castillo had thought for years that he was incapable of love. Several failed relationships, Lucy and his age had convinced him more and more of it. His younger brother was already married, his parents had lived happily for so many years, and only Harry was still single. And when he was slowly starting to accept it, which was hard because he really dreamed of a relationship full of love, understanding and support, you appeared.

Loving you came naturally to him, like breathing. The friendship that had developed between you was a solid foundation on which you had built what you had now. And Harry loved every single element of it.

Your clothes next to his. Cosmetics on a separate shelf. Another bathrobe in the bathroom, trinkets scattered throughout the apartment, subtle traces of someone's existence that he had stumbled upon in the apartment that had finally become a real home. When Harry came home from a meeting and found that you had made dinner and even baked cookies, he completely lost his mind.

Loving you was so easy.

After all, he held someone in his arms when he fell asleep and woke up next to them in the morning. After all, someone was waiting for him. Someone wrote him sweet and funny messages, or at least "Milk's out, can you buy some when you get back?". Harry accepted it all and was grateful for every day. You were completely on his side, at work and in life. He couldn't have wished for anything more.

This party was really important because it was connected to the annual awards ceremony. The invitation came a month ago, but it was only recently that Harry finally convinced you to let him buy you a decent dress.

You didn't want any gifts from him, even though he kept saying it was his pleasure. So far, he had bought you a few books you had talked about and a lipstick you had once looked at while shopping. But the dress and the lingerie were something he really wanted to give you.

“You look stunning.”

You smiled, applying lipstick and looking at him in the mirror. “Are you hitting on me, Castillo?”

“Maybe.” He walked over to you and kissed your exposed shoulder tenderly, then your neck. He looked ridiculously good in his well-tailored suit and combed hair. “I think something’s missing here.”

“What?” You frowned. You really tried to look good tonight. The party was really important, even though Harry was downplaying it again.

Harry left the bathroom for a moment and came back, holding a velvet, oblong box in his hands. You guessed what he was planning, and your legs almost buckled.

“You need a subtle accessory.” he said. “Close your eyes and turn around.”

You did as he asked. Something soft brushed against your neck, then landed on your skin. It took your breath away. A sweet kiss followed, and Harry quietly whispered, “Open your eyes, love.”

A delicate necklace appeared around your neck, simple and elegant, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from it. Harry must have noticed, because he was staring at your reflection in awe.

“Do you like it?”

“This is…” you ran your fingertips over the necklace, feeling how delicate it was. “You shouldn’t, Harry… It’s stunning. But this dress… And this…”

Strong arms wrapped around your waist as Harry rested his chin on your shoulder, “Let me spoil my girl. I know you don’t want to, but I love making you happy.”

“You do that with other things, they don’t have to be gifts.”

He smiled, sensing the other side of your statement. “And I know you’re not with me for the money, but for my charming personality.”

You turned in his arms, placing yours on his shoulders, leaning against the marble counter of the sink.

“And to your ass. You look so good in those pants.”

“Really?” Harry raised an eyebrow, barely holding back a chuckle.

“And for your broad shoulders. I think I could find a few more useful pieces.”

He shook his head in amusement before leaning down, brushing the corner of his lips against yours, careful not to smudge your lipstick. “You know I love you?”

You pouted. “You’ve mentioned it once or twice.”

“So I’ll keep reminding you of it for the rest of my life.”

The conference room of one of the most expensive hotels was filled with elegantly dressed guests. You and Harry sat at one of the tables covered in a crisp white tablecloth, surrounded by other businessmen and their partners. Conversations flowed freely, champagne was poured regularly into crystal glasses, and a band played pleasant music.

Harry's hand rested on your knee, occasionally moving to your thigh, which he squeezed lightly, and then he smiled at you like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I hope you get an award this year, Harry." Mr. Novak sounded, and the whole table burst into laughter. "I'm not kidding! You're great at what you do, lots of innovative approaches."

Harry smiled politely. "Thank you, but I didn't do anything by myself. I have just as hardworking people around me."

You smiled, feeling a significant squeeze in your thigh. The respect Harry had from others was always a source of pride. The hard work he had put in over the years was noticeable, and now he was reaping the rewards.

"However, I heard that your last contract was taken over by Ms. Kruger-Waltz." The older woman with beautiful silver hair smiled politely at Harry. "I like her, I've always been inspired by strong women."

"Mrs. Waltz is very good at what she does, we have to admit that. I lost, but Mr. Williams will definitely be pleased, and that's the most important thing."

The entire table agreed with him, and after a moment, as if on cue, everyone looked towards the podium, where a beautiful woman stood with the host of the event.

The awards ceremony began. The guests politely applauded the winners, who treated them to short and funny speeches. You sipped your champagne, feeling Harry's warm hand on your thigh, and when no one was looking, he brushed his lips against your arm, gently tickling you. He wanted to say something, wanted to suggest that you leave the party with him, and go home where you could be alone, when suddenly someone called his name and everyone at the table started clapping vigorously.

"Congratulations!" the man sitting next to him patted him on the shoulder, showing snow-white teeth.

Harry stood up uncertainly, because everyone was looking at him. It was still a bit embarrassing for him. But he felt something. You squeezed his hand, giving him the "I'm with you" signal, and he immediately felt stronger.

He smiled at the guests, and then, instead of going straight to the podium where his award awaited him, he leaned towards you and kissed you. The room filled with cheers, but you were in your little bubble for that brief moment. And when Harry walked between the tables, you could still feel his warm kiss on your lips.

“We should get out of here.”

“You should stay here a little longer.”

“Don’t tell me you like this food.”

“I won’t, but I like your suit.”

Harry kissed your neck and smiled, hugging you tighter. A dozen or so other couples danced next to you to some old song. Your fingers played with Harry’s hair at the nape of his neck as you swayed like everyone else. It was late, but many people were still having fun. Every now and then someone would pat Harry on the shoulder and congratulate him, and he would smile politely.

“You know I’m proud of you?” you asked quietly.

“Really? Why?” he looked at you with interest.

He saw your gaze shift to the guests in the room, then back to him. “You’re the same as you were when I first met you. You’re successful, you sign contracts, you manage money that most people never even saw, and you’re still the same Harry that hired me. I’m proud that in this crazy world, you’re still you.”

He smiled as he felt your words sink in. You were his greatest prize, and the way you supported him made him feel almost invincible. All of these people around him, this whole world, didn’t matter when he held you in his arms. He only needed you.

The night was pleasantly cool as you stepped outside to wait for your car. Harry’s jacket rested on your shoulders as you stood among the lonely guests who were also waiting. In your mind, you were planning a lazy weekend for the two of you, maybe to visit the new bakery that opened nearby, maybe go to the movies…

“Harry? Congratulations. You definitely deserve this award.” a familiar voice rang out behind you.

Diane appeared in a gorgeous black dress with beautifully highlighted red lipstick. Despite the late hour, she looked phenomenal.

"Thank you," Harry replied politely, and his hand that was around your waist squeezed you lightly. A familiar signal. "It's nice to see you. You look wonderful."

Diane lit a cigarette and took a drag, looking at you carefully. "I don't think you should compliment another woman when your lady is right next to you, Harry. It's a bit tactless."

"Don't worry. My lady knows she's the most important." he smiled at you. "I'm glad you found the time to show up here. You must have a lot of work with Mr. Williams."

Diane glanced at the car that had stopped in front of her. “That’s mine,” she muttered, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray against the wall and giving you another look. “I think we’ll meet again. Maybe you’ll win next time.”

“I’ll try. Have a nice evening, Diane.”

She got into the car and the driver closed the door behind her and a moment later they drove off.

For a moment you both stared at the place where she had disappeared until Harry finally spoke. “You know, I feel sorry for her. And even more for you, because Diane attacked you.”

“I thought about that too. She must have been really hurt.” you replied. “She was driven by emotions, and emotions are not always good advisors.”

Harry nodded, hugging you tighter as your car pulled up onto the sidewalk. The driver got out and politely opened the door for you. You thought about Diane for a moment longer, grateful that the encounter hadn’t turned unpleasant. Harry was level-headed and calm, even though you knew the situation had upset him greatly. But maybe, if it weren’t for Diane and that rumor, you would still have tried to keep your relationship a secret? Maybe something good would have come of it?

3 months later.

A cold had confined you to bed for over a week. Harry had asked the doctor to make a house call, and he had immediately prescribed you antibiotics and told you to stay home. It took you a while to convince Harry to sleep separately.

“I don’t want you to get sick too.” You said with difficulty, because your throat was aching. “I’ll go to the guest room and turn on the air purifier.”

But he refused. He took the guest room, although he spent as much time with you as his work allowed. When the situation allowed, he tried to work from home, exchanging messages with you if you needed anything. It took you two days to take a shower, and in the meantime, he quickly changed your sheets.

Harry Castillo was the perfect caregiver, and you couldn’t remember anyone ever taking such good care of you. And when he mentioned you were sick during a conversation with his mother, she asked her cook to prepare broth for you, which was quickly delivered to her son’s apartment.

“If I hadn’t stopped her, she would have come here to take care of you.” Harry said with a smile, placing a tray of steaming soup on your bed.

"She's wonderful." You replied, your voice slightly hoarse. "But I wouldn't want her to end up like me. You're different."

"Yeah, I'm a volunteer." Harry burst out laughing.

His mother liked you from the first time you met, even though you were totally scared and tense at the time. The Castillos' house was impressive, surrounded by a beautiful garden and a tennis court, but his parents turned out to be really warm and wonderful people. They immediately invited you to visit more often, even without Harry, to which you only responded with a polite smile.

Your relationship was blossoming and it didn't interfere with your work at all, which you were a little afraid of. You were still sitting at your desk, still doing what you were doing, only in the office next door was a man you really loved and with whom you went home.

"I'm back! Dr. Phillips said I can go back to work now, so you can't keep me at home anymore." You threw your bag on the console by the wall and took off your shoes. "Harry?"

You entered the living room and stopped dead in your tracks. There were two suitcases in the middle, which confused you a little.

"Harry?" you repeated in a slightly surprised voice, he came out of the kitchen wiping his hands with a towel. "Are you going somewhere?"

"No, we're going together" he replied smiling.

You frowned. "No. Mr. McMurphy clearly invited us to his place next month. I read his email" you replied, pulling your phone out of your pocket and quickly scrolling through it. "Yes, that's exactly what he wrote".

"We're not going to Los Angeles, honey. I'm taking you somewhere else".

The confusion and disorientation on your face were so adorable that Harry wanted to kiss you. "We're going to Italy, baby, Rome to be exact".

Even more surprise. Now you were looking at him as if he had completely lost his mind. "Why?" you finally blurted out.

“Remember when we were at our favorite Italian restaurant a few weeks ago, you said it would be great to eat real pizza in Rome while watching the sunset and the Colosseum?”

"Harry... People say things like that, but that doesn't mean you have to do it right away..."

He walked past the suitcases and approached you, smiling like he thought it was a lot of fun.

"But we can. And we will. I've already taken care of everything, with Susan's help. Now you should relax somewhere warm and beautiful. Rome is perfect for that."

"But Harry..."

“No buts. We’re leaving the day after tomorrow.” He said, placing his hands on your hips and kissing your forehead. The decision had already been made, you had no say in the matter. “We have to stay until Saturday because my mom absolutely wants to see us for dinner tomorrow. She said you must look really hungry after being sick and that she’ll make your favorite dessert.”

You rolled your eyes because you knew you couldn't win with him. "Sometimes you can be insufferable, you know? You're lucky I love you."

“Yes, I’m lucky.” He mumbled, leaning down and kissing you.

You didn't know what you had done to deserve what happened to you with this guy. Harry made you want to be a better person, while knowing that who you were was enough. He brought out the best in you, and you loved him for how warm and caring he was, and how safe you felt with him.

Harry felt like he had finally found what he had been looking for for so long - he felt complete. You gave him a sense of peace and stability. You loved him the way he always wanted to be loved by a woman, and when he showed you his vulnerability, you accepted him completely, just the way he was. He couldn't have been happier.

But you didn't know that when Harry was packing that evening, a small velvet box was hidden in his suitcase, between his shirts. And what neither of you knew was that you wouldn't be coming back from this trip alone...

☆☆☆☆

If you're reading this, thank you for taking this journey with me.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

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#harry castillo x reader

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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

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Delicious…

Soft Reins — Day Four

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Pairings: Groudskeeper/Rancher ! Joel miller x City girl ! Reader

Summary: Joel tries very hard to pull away, you won’t let him.

Tags: 18+, yearning, tension, a teensy bit of angst, reader frustrated with joel lol, crass language, p in v, creampie, mutual masturbation, cunningulus, absolute FILTH

Word count: 8,9k

a/n i’m so nervous to post this piece of cliterature lmao but…enjoy

Joel barely had time to exhale after you walked away, lips still tingling, head spinning, before he heard Tommy’s boots crunching hard against the gravel behind him.

“You outta your goddamn mind?” Tommy snapped, voice low and sharp.

Joel turned just enough to look at him. “Don’t start.”

“I will start, Joel,” Tommy said, stepping closer, eyes flashing. “I saw that. I saw you leanin’ in. What the hell were you thinkin’, huh?”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “She asked me to come with into town. I went. That’s it.”

“Oh, that’s it?” Tommy let out a humorless laugh. “Looked a hell of a lot like more than just errands. You almost kissed her outside the staff entrance.”

Joel didn’t answer. He looked away, jaw tight.

Tommy shook his head. “You think nobody else is gonna notice that? You think you can get away with sneakin’ around with one of them?”

“She’s not like them,” Joel muttered.

Tommy’s voice snapped. “She’s exactly like them. Rich, bored, here for a week of cowboy fantasy before she gets bored and flies back to wherever the hell she came from. And you? You’re just the help, Joel. That’s all we are.”

Joel’s fists curled at his sides.

Tommy pressed on. “You know who isn’t gonna be so forgiving? The company that owns this place. We’re already on thin ice with them. You remember the last email? They flagged your fuel receipts. Your overtime hours. They’re watching us.”

Joel shifted his weight like the truth of it physically weighed him down.

“All it takes is one mistake and they’ll gut this place,” Tommy continued, quieter now, more furious than loud. “Replace us with cheaper labor, roll us out like some damn theme park. You think they’ll keep you on if they find out you’re messin’ around with a guest? That I’ll keep my job?”

“You gonna risk all this for a fling?” Tommy sighed, his hands on his hips.

“I ain’t messin’ around,” Joel muttered.

Tommy threw his hands up. “Oh, that makes it better. Christ, Joel. You know better than that, hell- you taught me better than that.”

Joel didn’t speak. He couldn’t. Because it wasn’t just about the kiss, or the girl, or the ranch. It was about how he looked at her. And how much he already knew it wasn’t going away.

Tommy shook his head like he was too tired to keep fighting. “You need to end it. Before someone else sees.”

Then he turned and walked off toward the main building, boots loud against the quiet.

“And get those damn groceries to the kitchen, they waitin’ on you,” Tommy said before he closed the staff door with a loud slam.

Joel stayed where he was.

Heart thudding. Mind racing.

Hands still curled in fists, aching from holding back more than just a kiss

“Joel? Joel—”

Maria’s voice cut sharply through his thoughts. He blinked, eyes snapping back into focus.

“Yeah? Sorry, I was uh—”

“Yeah, yeah, focus up,” she said, waving a dismissive hand as she turned toward the gathered staff. A dozen or so stood in a loose semi-circle near the barn, coffee cups in hand, squinting against the morning sun.

“Alright, folks, today’s the big day,” Maria continued, voice carrying clear and firm. “The grandparents’ wedding anniversary celebration—fifty years married, if you can believe it.” A couple of the staff gave soft chuckles or murmured impressed sounds.

“Tommy and I will be manning the main festivities up by the lodge,” she went on. “We’ve got lawn games, a live band coming in at five, and a photo booth being set up near the pergola.”

Joel shifted his weight, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight. His eyes flicked toward the lodge involuntarily.

Maria caught the glance but didn’t comment, just pressed on. “Joel, you’re on standby today. Float between spots, make sure everything’s running smooth, supplies, crowd flow. If anything needs fixin’, I’m expectin’ you to be two steps ahead of it.”

He gave a tight nod. “Got it.”

Her gaze lingered on him for half a second longer, as if she wanted to say more, then let it go.

“Alright, let’s make it a good one. We want them talkin’ about this for years—no slip-ups, no surprises.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. No surprises.

Joel gave Maria a stiff nod and watched the rest of the staff scatter, voices already fading as they moved toward the event setup near the main lawn. He stood still for a moment longer, rubbing his hands together like he could work the tension out through his palms.

Standby.

Right.

That meant stay outta trouble. Stay visible, but not too visible. Be helpful, but don’t get in the way.

Mostly, don’t get caught staring at her.

He exhaled hard through his nose and turned, heading toward the barn. From where he stood, he could already see the cluster of white tents going up on the front lawn, tables being rolled out, folding chairs carried by two and threes.

He caught a glimpse of her. Just for a second.

She was standing at the edge of the setup, not far from her family. Dress light and summery, hair tied back. She looked like she belonged there—comfortable, confident, laughing at something her cousin said.

If Joel had any sense at all, he’d take that image and walk away.

But his eyes lingered.

God, she looked good when she smiled. And he knew, he knew what she tasted like when she whispered his name. He could still feel her hands in his shirt, still hear that breathless sound she made when he kissed her like it was the only way to stop himself from falling apart.

“You gonna risk all this for a fling?”

Tommy’s words from last night snapped through his mind like a whip. The pressure from corporate had been ramping up—calls, emails, reminders about “professional boundaries” and “guest satisfaction metrics.” The kind of stuff that made Joel’s stomach turn.

They didn’t care about this place. Not like he and Tommy did.

And if anyone caught wind of Joel getting too close to one of the vacationers—especially someone from that family?

They’d lose more than their pride.

He muttered a curse under his breath and turned his back to the main lawn. There was work to do. Things to fix. A dozen ways to keep busy, keep useful, keep away.

But even as he grabbed a toolbox and made for the far fence line, he couldn’t stop his thoughts from drifting.

To her.

To last night.

To what might’ve happened if he didn’t stop himself.

And to what might still happen, if he didn’t find a way to shut this down soon.

You were dressed in a soft pastel sundress, pale yellow with fluttery straps — color-coordinated with the rest of your family, of course. Your mother had laid it out the night before and made a big deal about how “fresh” and “youthful” it looked on you. You smiled, nodded, played the part. Because that’s what today was about: showing up, smiling for pictures, and making sure the grandparents’ anniversary looked like a spread out of a lifestyle magazine.

You stuck close to Amy when you could, let her little ones distract you, let her husband make you laugh. But your parents — and most of the extended family — seemed weirdly unwilling to let you out of their sight. Maybe it was because you vanished yesterday. Maybe it was the lie you gave this morning over coffee, something about allergies and heat exhaustion. Amy backed it up without hesitation. But still, they hovered. Like something was off.

And they were right. You were off.

Because he was here. You had seen him.

Joel.

Not a ghost or a memory — not a maybe — but here. In the crowd. Just far enough to keep his distance, just close enough that it hurt.

You spotted him midmorning during the lawn games — off to the side helping Maria set up canopies and tables. Later again near the stables, talking to a wrangler. Then during the first round of speeches, when he walked right behind your group to move something, eyes fixed anywhere but on you.

It was maddening. He was right there. Always there. But not once did he meet your eyes. Not once did he even acknowledge you.

And after everything that happened in that barn — after that kiss, after the way he held you like he never wanted to let go — it felt like being gutted.

You wanted to scream. Or grab him by the collar and shake him. Or kiss him again until he stopped pretending it didn’t matter.

You tried not to let it show. You smiled when your aunt asked if you were feeling better. You clinked your champagne glass when your grandparents gave a speech. You let your little cousins drag you into a three-legged race that ended with grass stains and polite applause.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Every time you caught a glimpse of him — the shape of his shoulders, the familiar way he moved — your chest ached. It wasn’t the distance that killed you.

It was the fact that he was close.

So damn close.

And still choosing to stay far.

The whole day had been a carefully orchestrated performance. You were paraded around the anniversary festivities like a show pony, smiling through group photos, politely declining seconds of cake, and trying to laugh at your uncle’s jokes.

And through it all, Joel had been right there.

Not gone. Not out of reach. Just maddeningly near—crossing the lawn with chairs slung over his shoulder, fixing up the microphone setup with those steady hands, talking to guests with that low voice that made your chest ache.

But not once, not once, did he look your way.

By midafternoon, it was getting pathetic.

You weren’t even being subtle anymore. First, you hung around the drink table while he was checking the ice buckets—stood there like an idiot with your empty glass, waiting for him to maybe glance your way. He didn’t.

Then you tried passing by the barn on your way to “nowhere in particular,” slowing your steps when you spotted him talking to another staff member outside. He looked up… but not at you. Right past you, like you were part of the scenery.

Each time it happened, your stomach sank deeper.

At lunch, you’d even dared to linger a little too long behind your family’s table as he walked past. You swore you saw him hesitate, like he’d felt you there. But he never turned around.

It was driving you crazy.

And the worst part was that he was everywhere. Helping with the sound system, adjusting the decorations, talking to Maria and Tommy near the games tent—always just close enough to make you feel like a ghost.

You weren’t sure what pissed you off more: that he wouldn’t talk to you, or that no one else seemed to notice your unraveling. Amy had given you one long side-eye after the third time you sighed too hard during croquet, but even she hadn’t pressed.

You ended up sitting beside your grandmother on a shaded bench near the flower arrangements, your aperol spritz sweating in your hand as you watched the party unfold across the lawn. And you watched him lean over the fences with that infuriating, effortless focus—while you were stuck pretending you weren’t waiting for something. Anything

You couldn’t take much more of this. You took another sip, eyes narrowing over the rim of your glass. Your stomach had been twisting all day and you weren’t sure if it was from frustration, nerves, or last night’s kiss still echoing in your body like a secret.

“You’re fidgeting,” your grandmother said beside you, her voice soft and amused.

You stilled, startled. “Sorry.”

She smiled faintly. “Don’t apologize. Just makes me think something’s eating at you.”

You shrugged, setting your drink down beside you. “It’s nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart. That’s the tone of someone lying through their teeth.”

You sighed, staring out at the party. “I guess I’m just a little… off today.”

“Off how?” she asked, not pressing but still watching you closely.

You hesitated. “Yesterday I wasn’t feeling well. Allergies or something.”

“I know,” she said gently. “But that’s not what I meant.”

There was a pause. The music from the band drifted through the warm air, cheerful and at odds with the knot in your chest.

“I saw the way you’ve been looking over there,” she murmured, like she was talking about the weather. “At the man in the work shirt.”

Your head snapped toward her. “Gams—”

“I’m old, not blind,” she said, chuckling. “I’ve been around enough young people to know a look when I see one.”

You flushed, heart stumbling. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” she said lightly, lifting her glass of lemonade. “Then why does your face look like it’s on fire?”

You pressed your lips together, trying to swallow the heat rising up your neck. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh, honey.” She patted your knee. “If it wasn’t, it probably wouldn’t be worth it.”

You looked down at your lap. “He’s just… ignoring me. Pretending nothing happened.”

“But something did,” she said gently.

Your throat tightened. You didn’t answer.

Your grandmother leaned back, watching the crowd. “He looks like the type who takes a while to make up his mind. But once he does…” She gave a small smile. “Well. Men like that don’t do things halfway.”

You glanced over, unable to help yourself. Joel was standing near the band now, arms crossed, listening to Maria talk. He still wouldn’t look your way.

You clenched your hands in your lap.

“You can’t chase a man like that, sweetheart,” your grandmother said softly. “But you don’t have to sit here letting him think you’ve given up either.”

You turned to her, surprised.

She winked. “I won’t tell your mama. Now go take a walk or something before you combust.”

You grinned and murmured “Thanks gams,” as you rose up from your seat.

You walked off without telling anyone, weaving through the crowd until you spotted him at the edge of it all. Joel stood by the fence, arms crossed over his chest, watching the festivities like he was somewhere else entirely.

You stepped up beside him, just a few feet away, careful not to touch.

“Joel,” you said, quiet and even.

He didn’t look at you, just replied your name in that same low, unreadable tone.

You shifted your weight, watching the rolling hills beyond the ranch, trying to act like your heart wasn’t pounding.

“So—”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, cutting you off.

You glanced at him, brows drawing together. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m just talking to you.”

His jaw worked. “Doesn’t matter.”

You turned fully now, facing him. “Can’t we just talk, Joel?”

He finally looked at you—and that was all it took. One glance. His eyes flicked to yours, and something in him faltered.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, turning away slightly like he needed to shield himself from you.

“Why can’t I look at you?” you asked.

“Because I don’t trust myself when you do.”

You swallowed. “Then say something that makes this easier.”

He shook his head, fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “There’s no way to make this easy. For either of us.”

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you said, voice steadier now.

“I’ve been keepin’ my distance,” he corrected gruffly.

“Same difference.”

His eyes finally found yours again, and this time he didn’t look away. “You want me to pretend like that kiss didn’t mess me up?” he said lowly. “Like I haven’t been thinkin’ about it every damn minute since?”

Your breath caught, hope flaring too fast, too hot.

“But that don’t change the fact that this is wrong.”

“Then tell me to leave,” you challenged, voice trembling. “Say it and I’ll walk away.”

He didn’t say it.

He just stared at you, jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked. And for a second, you swore he was going to close the distance between you again.

But he didn’t. He stepped back.

“I can’t do this here,” he said, voice strained. “Not now. Not with all of them watchin’.”

You watched his back as he turned and walked off, leaving you by the fence—burning with everything you didn’t get to say.

“Then where?” you asked, folding your arms tight against your chest, trying to steady your breath. “If I shouldn’t be here, then tell me where.”

Joel’s eyes flicked toward you, jaw working. “Don’t do this here,” he muttered, glancing around like someone might catch you just standing too close.

“I’m not trying to start anything,” you said, voice low. “I just want to talk.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, then dragged a hand over his mouth. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. You could see the war in him clear as day—shoulders tense, gaze darting anywhere but your face.

You softened. “Joel…”

He finally looked at you, like he couldn’t help it anymore. And it made your stomach twist, the way he did. Like you were gravity and he was just tired of fighting it.

He hesitated, then said gruffly, “Later. After dark. Back of the stables.”

Your heart jumped, but you kept your voice even. “Okay.”

His eyes lingered a second longer—more than he should’ve allowed—before he turned, muttering, “Don’t be late.”

And just like that, he was gone again.

By sunset, you sat quietly at the long outdoor dining table, your half-empty glass of wine cradled between your hands. The golden hour stretched lazily over the lawn, turning everything syrupy warm—soft light, long shadows, and the low hum of cicadas joining the smooth sway of the band the family had hired.

From your seat, you watched the couples—your aunts, uncles, even your parents—moving slowly together on the grass. Arms around waists, heads leaned on shoulders, the occasional kiss on a cheek. Everyone looked perfectly content in their little matched sets, like a catalog shoot for love and stability.

You let out a small sigh and glanced to your left, then to your right. Your cousins were either off dancing with their partners or had migrated inside to tuck their kids into bed. All that was left at your end of the table was a crumpled napkin, your untouched slice of cake, and a few younger teens still absorbed in their phones.

Great. You were officially at the kiddie table.

You fiddled with your fork, pretending not to notice how alone you felt. Not lonely, exactly—just… extra. Like a place setting someone forgot to clear. You’d smiled and chatted and laughed through dinner, but now that the music had started and the stars were coming out, the ache set in a little deeper. Everyone had someone.

Except you.

You picked at the edge of your dessert plate, dragging your fork through the icing like it might offer some kind of distraction. The music shifted to a slower tune—something older, probably chosen by your grandparents—and the band’s singer let her voice fall into a smoky hum. It floated across the lawn like something delicate and private, made just for the couples still swaying out there in the twilight.

You rested your chin in your hand, watching your uncle dip your aunt dramatically, both of them laughing like teenagers. You didn’t even realize you were smiling a little until it faded.

It wasn’t about needing a dance partner. You weren’t aching for someone to grab your hand and spin you under the stars.

But it still stung.

Because you used to have that—someone who made you feel chosen, even in a crowd. And then he cheated, and the memory of it left a bruise that hadn’t quite faded.

Now, just as you’d started to feel something new tug at your heart, and you let it do. Just when you thought you found something that felt real, he pulled away.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe love just didn’t run in your blood the same way it did for the rest of your family.

Your eyes drifted to the edge of the lawn—toward the darker part of the path leading out to the barns and stables, past the halo of lights strung up in the trees. You squinted, unsure what you were hoping to see.

Nothing moved.

You looked back down at your plate and pushed it away.

Maybe you’d just go for a walk. Clear your head. Maybe circle by the stables, totally casually. No big reason. Just some air.

You told yourself it wasn’t about anyone. It was just a long day. You were restless. That was all.

You stood quietly and slipped away from the table before anyone could ask where you were going.

You found yourself wandering toward the stables. It was quiet—emptier than usual. The hush was almost comforting.

You made your way to Dolly’s pen.

“Hey, Dolly,” you murmured.

She huffed softly, poking her head over the gate. You smiled and ran your hand gently along the side of her face.

“You get lonely too?” you asked with a quiet chuckle.

Dolly blinked slowly, like she understood.

“Yeah…” you sighed. “I’m talking to a horse,” you added, half-laughing at yourself.

Then came the sound—heavy footsteps on gravel.

You turned your head and saw Joel in the doorway, pausing like he hadn’t expected to see you just yet.

“Oh… you’re here already,” he said, surprised.

“Oh. Right… that,” you murmured. “Sorry, I was just wandering around…and now I'm here.”

He stepped in a little closer, eyes landing on you, then Dolly.

“You were talkin’ to her?”

You let out a breath and nodded. “She’s good company,” you said softly.

Joel leaned against the wall beside you, close but not touching. You didn’t look at him when you asked,

“You done avoiding me now?”

He didn’t answer right away.

“It’s not that simple, sugar,” he said eventually.

You huffed. “Figured you’d say something like that.”

“Because it’s the truth.”

He paused, eyes still on Dolly, like it was easier than looking at you.

“Something like this…” he started, voice low, “it doesn’t end good.”

“And you’re so sure about that?” you asked, not hiding the sting in your voice.

“Yes, I’m sure.” His voice was firmer now. “You’re one of them. The guests. I work here. That’s not somethin’ I can just pretend don’t matter.”

You stared at him. He kept going.

“I’m too old for this kind of risk,” he muttered. “Too old for you,” he added.

You turned your head to him, finally really looking at him. He was staring at the ground like he was counting every stray piece of hay, doing anything not to meet your eyes.

“That doesn’t matter to me,” you said softly.

“Joel, I’m not asking you to quit your job or run away with me. I’m not asking you to marry me.” You let out a quiet breath. “It’s just… what I felt with you…this connection…it’s real. And I haven’t felt something real in a long time.”

”Maybe it’s stupid, selfish even,” you looked down, voice even smaller now. “But I just wanted to feel again.”

Joel didn’t say anything, but you could feel the silence shift—charged, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying. You could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he stood still, battling himself.

Then, finally, he stepped closer. Slow, deliberate. Until he was right in front of you, his presence blocking out everything else.

His hand, rough and warm, tilted your chin up. You met his eyes, and this time, he didn’t look away. He studied you, quiet and searching, like he was trying to see through the layers, to make sure this wasn’t some fleeting whim. And whatever he saw in you—it was enough.

“You sure about this, sugar?” he asked, voice low and hoarse.

“Yes,” you breathed.

He exhaled, thumb brushing gently along your bottom lip. “No one can know,” he murmured.

You nodded.

Then finally, finally, he leaned in. And when his lips found yours, it was soft, careful at first. Like a secret. Like something sacred. And it made you feel real, in the most aching, beautiful way.

You kissed him back—slow at first, but aching, hungry beneath the surface. Your hands slid around the back of his neck, pulling him closer like you couldn’t get enough, and you couldn’t

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose, then suddenly pressed you back against the stable wall, his mouth claiming yours in a deeper, needier kiss. His hands were on you—one at your waist, the other cupping the side of your face with a surprising gentleness that contrasted the urgency of his lips.

You let out a soft, involuntary moan, fingers tangling in his hair. And as your lips parted on that breath, he didn’t hesitate—his tongue swept into your mouth, slow but sure, coaxing yours to meet him in a rhythm that made your knees weak.

When the two of you finally pulled apart, your breaths came shallow and uneven, lips still tingling. You looked up at him, your gaze meeting eyes that had gone darker—stormy with something unspoken, something barely restrained.

“Fuck, sugar…” he breathed, his forehead resting against yours like he needed the contact just to steady himself. His voice was rough, low, wrecked. “You make it damn hard to be a gentleman.”

His hands, still holding you like you might slip away, slid slowly from your waist down to your hips—fingers splaying, grounding himself in the feel of you. The touch made your breath catch, your stomach flutter.

You didn’t say anything—couldn’t. Not with the way he was looking at you. Not with the way your whole body was already leaning back in, ready for more.

Then you grew bold and whispered, “I don’t want you to be.”

He let out a deep, rumbling groan from his chest, a sound of pure, unchecked desire. Before you could even process it, his lips were back on yours, devouring you with a hunger that stole your breath. "You're fucking trouble," he muttered against your mouth, his voice a low, strained rasp. You could only moan in response, your body melting under his touch, your core clenching with need.

His calloused hand slid down to grip your thigh, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. In one swift, decisive move, he hitched your leg up to wrap around his lean hip, pulling you impossibly closer. You gasped as you felt the thick, hard length of him pressing against your stomach, a promise of what was to come. "Joel," you sighed, your voice a needy whimper, drunk on the feeling of him.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, a tortured sound filled with lust and longing. "Fuck, baby, you can’t keep making noises like that," he panted, his breath hot against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured “tell me to stop before i drag you to my cabin and fuck you propper.”

“Fuck,” you panted then bit your lip, “Don’t stop.”

With a sense of urgency, he took your hand in his, practically dragging you out of the stables. He paused at the door, peeking left and right like a man on a mission, ensuring the coast was clear. Then, with a tug of your hand, he led you quickly down the narrow path towards his staff cabin, nestled at the edge of the property.

You had to jog to keep up with his long strides, your heart pounding in your chest as anticipation coiled tight in your belly. The cool evening air rushed past you, but it only seemed to fuel the fire burning under your skin, the fire he had ignited with his touch.

He rushed you inside his cabin, locking the door behind you with a decisive click. You barely had a second to register your surroundings before his mouth was back on yours, hungry and insistent. His hands found your waist, guiding you backward with practiced ease, step by step, until the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed. You tumbled gently onto the soft mattress, breath catching, heart racing.

Joel stood over you for a beat, gaze sweeping over the sight of you spread out before him, as if committing it to memory.

“You have no idea how many nights I’ve thought about this, sugar,” he murmured, voice rough as gravel.

He climbed onto the bed, his broad frame caging you in, a question lingering in his eyes. “Last chance to back out,” he said lowly. “You sure about this?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered. “Please.”

A deep groan escaped him, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing skin, then teeth—trailing kisses and teasing nips that sent a shiver straight down your spine.

“If we’re doin’ this,” he murmured against your throat, “I’m doin’ it right.”

“Right?” you breathed.

“Mm,” he hummed, mouth sliding lower to your collarbone. “Means I’m gonna take my time. Gonna make you cum at least twice before I even think about slippin’ inside you.”

The way he said it—those dirty words wrapped in that low Southern drawl—made your whole body tense with need. You felt your breath catch as he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes searching yours, serious even through the heat.

“You gonna let me do that, baby?”

You bit your lip and nodded quickly.

He raised an eyebrow. “Use your words.”

Your thighs pressed together instinctively at his tone, but you obeyed.

“Yes, Joel.”

A slow, wicked smile curled on his lips. “Atta girl,” he murmured.

He shifted lower, slow and deliberate, placing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, trailing down to the edge of your dress’s neckline. His breath was warm against your skin, his voice rough when he murmured, “You looked beautiful in this today.”

Your chest tightened at the confession.

“Had to will myself to look away,” he added, lips brushing the dip between your collarbones.

“I didn’t think you were looking,” you breathed.

That earned a low, rumbling chuckle from him, his stubble grazing your skin as he tilted his head.

“Only when you weren’t lookin’ at me,” he muttered, his hands gliding down your sides, mapping every curve like they were something sacred. He let out a long, almost exasperated breath. “Where the hell’s the zipper on this thing…”

You giggled softly, biting your lip, then reached down to help him find it at your side. He huffed out a quiet laugh, amused, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

And then he stilled.

For a moment, he just looked at you, searching your face for any hint of hesitation, his gaze slow and steady, like he needed to be sure that there wasn’t the smallest flicker of doubt in your eyes.

All he found was hunger. Trust. And pure need.

That was all the permission he needed.

With a gentle hand, he eased the straps of your dress down your shoulders, watching the fabric slide like water down your skin. Inch by inch, he took in every new bit of you revealed to him, reverent in his touch, like you were something rare he never thought he’d be allowed to hold. And he savored it. Like he wanted this moment burned into memory.

The dress pooled silently to the hardwood floor, and Joel’s breath hitched the moment his eyes landed on you—on the soft curves of your body, the delicate lace of your bra, the shape of you that had haunted his thoughts all damn day.

“Fuck…” he murmured, almost to himself. “Look at you, sugar.”

His hands came to rest on your waist, wide and warm as they smoothed up your sides, his thumbs brushing along your skin with a reverence that made your heart skip. You felt his gaze drinking you in—like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You bit your lip, trying not to smile, but failing. Because the way he looked at you… it made you feel like the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And maybe you didn’t always believe that about yourself. Maybe there were parts of you you’d been taught to second-guess.

But right now you chose to believe his view of you, you let yourself feel perfect.

His thumb brushed along the edge of your bra, just where the lace met your skin, slow and reverent. “Can I take this off too, baby?” he asked, voice low and a little rough.

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips—almost a laugh, really—because for all the urgency in the way he kissed you earlier, for how quickly he led you here, now he was being so careful. So gentle.

“You don’t have to ask,” you murmured, nodding, voice soft with affection.

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, deep and warm. “Tryin’ to be a gentleman here.”

You gave him a teasing look. “I thought I told you not to be.”

That did it.

He leaned in, kissing the corner of your mouth, and then his hands moved behind your back, steady and sure. The clasp came undone with ease—too easily, you thought, and he must’ve caught your expression because he smirked, just a little. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Not my first time with tricky hooks, sugar,” he murmured against your skin as he eased the straps from your shoulders, his touch as careful as it was possessive.

And when the lace slipped away and hit the floor, the look in his eyes made your whole body burn.

"Mmh," he murmured, his teeth gently tugging on his lower lip as his large hands moved up to cup your naked breasts, kneading the soft flesh with his rough fingertips. "Perfect fucking tits," he whispered, his thumb pressing and tracing deliberate circles on your sensitive nipples. You exhaled a small, breathy moan, and he noticed your vulnerability, compelling him to carefully pinch and roll your nipples between his thumb and index finger. "Hahngh," you gasped, feeling the heat rise in your chest as he let out a deep growl from his throat.

"The noises you make..." he murmured, taking a moment to look into your eyes before leaning in to flick his tongue over your hardened peaks, while his free hand alternated between feather-light caresses and firmer squeezes on the other breast.

He was patient but deliberate in his actions, teasing you until you couldn't help but ask for more. You felt the dampness of your panties become unbearable, your hips shifting restlessly on the bed. "Joel, please," you whimpered softly. His eyes locked onto yours as he hummed in response, acknowledging your unspoken request as his hot kisses traveled down the valley between your breasts and across your quivering stomach.

This time, he didn't hesitate or ask for permission; instead, he hooked two fingers around the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs before tossing them carelessly to the floor. "Let me see you, baby," he murmured as he gently nudged your knees apart with his firm hands.

His warm breath wafted over your exposed skin, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on every inch of you―possessive, adoring, hungry for all that you were offering. The bristles of his stubble grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses closer and closer to your dripping wet cunt. Every lingering caress you felt, every teasing pause he took, seemed to unravel another knot in your belly.

Finally, he settled himself between your legs, his large hands gripping the curve of your hips to hold you steady against the mattress. “Pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice raw and thick with desire. And then, without warning, his tongue slipped between your folds―sweeping a languorous path through the slick arousal that had pooled there. The sensation nearly caused you to buck into his mouth; but he held you firm, relishing the way your body begged for more while he took his time learning what makes you gasp and whimper.

Joel alternated between slow, torturous strokes of his tongue and quick, insistent flicks that targeted your sensitive clit―never allowing you to predict what came next. Your entire body quivered beneath him as you gasped out his name, your fingers twisting into the dark strands of his hair while your hips ground against his face in search of more friction, unashamed.

He didn’t stop, just kept giving and giving. Until breaths turned shallow and heavy, “Joel, ahng fuck baby i’m gonna cum,” you whined and shift your hips. He groaned and pinned your hips harder to the mattress and doubled his efforts, making your breath catch and you let out a lewd mewl. “Joel! Ahngh- baby- nnghh!” you moaned and finally your legs trembled, your legs instinctively clamped his head. A wave of pure ecstasy hit you and you came. Hard. You were left trembling and boneless beneath his mouth.

He licked a last, lazy stripe, then pressed a soft kiss to your inner thigh before drawing himself up over you, his face flushed and wet with your release, smile crooked and wolfish. "There she is," he murmured, thumb stroking your cheek, proud of how undone you were, how loose-limbed and ruined by his touch. You tried to muster a clever retort, but all that came out was a shaky laugh.

He kissed you, his beard rough and his tongue tasting of you, kissing you with an urgency that reminded you he still wanted—wanted badly. "You tasted so fucking sweet," he murmured as he pulled away, his voice a low rumble. His hand drifted downward, his rough fingers tracing a deliberate path over your slick skin. "Are you going to give me one more, baby?" he whispered, his words like a gentle command. Your hips instinctively bucked to meet his touch, and he chuckled, a dark, knowing sound. "Hmm, that's what I thought."

He slowly urged one finger inside, and you gasped, a soft moan escaping your lips. "Yeah, baby, there we go... Does that feel good?" he cooed, his tone both teasing and tender. You nodded, biting back a whimper, "Nghh—yes," you managed to reply, your voice a breathless admission of pleasure. His lips curled to a smirk, “good girl.”

"You're so fuckin' tight," he groaned, easing you open with his thick finger, then a second. "Goddamn." His pace was patient, careful, like he was intent on learning everything about how your body wanted to be touched—when to keep it slow and when to curl his fingers just right. You buried your face in his neck, breath hot and uneven.

"Don't hide from me, sweetheart," Joel said, and guided your chin up so he could see your eyes, so he could watch you fall apart for him. "I want to see every fuckin' thing you feel." It was almost too much—his gaze, his hands, the attention, the resurrection of something wild and alive inside you.

You thought of protesting, making some half-joking complaint about being watched, but all that would come out was a needy, embarrassingly desperate whine as his fingers curled and pressed perfectly on your g-spot, His rough palms grinding on your already extra sensitive clit.

He grinned at the sound, hungry and a little smug, and leaned in to catch your helpless little noises with his mouth—kissing you through it, swallowing every gasp, giving you something to hold onto as the pleasure built.

His fingers moved in and out agonizingly slowly, making you dizzy with your need for more. "Joel, please," you begged, desperation lacing your voice as your hips bucked uncontrollably. "Patience, baby," he murmured, his voice gruff yet gentle. "Gotta get you ready and stretched for me," he insisted, maintaining his maddening pace. "Hahngh—Joel... Ngghh," you whined again, defiant and yearning. "Shhhh, I know, sugar, I know," he whispered soothingly.

Your desperation transformed into audacity, your free hand embarking on a daring journey between his legs. It slid against the rough fabric of his jeans, palming the hardened bulge that strained beneath. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, hips instinctively rocking towards your touch. "Fuck, sugar," he muttered, voice thick with need. Your hand continued its exploration, tracing the length of him through denim, eyes wide and glazed, shimmering with pure, unadulterated want.

He groaned when he met your gaze, your eyes reflecting a storm of desire. His fingers quickened their pace, just a touch, "You want my cock that bad, huh, baby?" he muttered, voice hoarse with lust. You bit your lip, nodding, a silent plea. "Take it out then," he commanded, chin gesturing downwards.

Eager, you didn't need to be told twice. Your hands worked at his pants, deftly unbuttoning, unzipping, just enough to free him. You nearly gasped as his cock sprang free from its confines, thick and veiny, the angry red tip glistening with beads of pre-cum. "Fuck," you cursed under your breath, the sight of him sending a jolt of heat through you.

"Yeah, you like that, sugar?" he whispered, fingers moving faster, drawing out a gasped moan from you. "See why I gotta stretch this tight little pussy out?" His words were crude, raw, dripping with need and promise.

You whimpered, a ragged breath caught in your throat, and wrapped your hand around his length with trembling fingers. The skin was soft, heated, so alive, and you reveled in his sharp intake of air and the way he twitched in your grip. “Christ,” he rasped, head tipping back, his fingers stuttering inside you for just a split second as your thumb traced a slow, teasing circle over the head of him.

For a few breaths, you found a new equilibrium—your hand pumping him, his fingers plunging inside you. It was a game of escalation, of mutually assured destruction, of who would break first.

And of course it was you.

He withdrew his dripping fingers only to thumb over your clit, hard and insistent, and that was all it took. You shattered, hips jerking, vision going white at the edges, your whole self squeezing down on this sharp, sweet ache. He watched, greedily, taking the sweet sounds of your loud moans when you came once more.

“Look at you, baby,” Joel crooned, voice melting into roughest honey. He slowed his hand, coaxing you through the tremors, head bent to watch every twitch and quake as you spilled over his fingers and soaked his palm. He licked his lips, then brought his hand to your mouth, offering you the taste of yourself. “Open.” You did, dazed and eager, sucking his fingers clean. He grinned at the hungry way you took them, at the gleam in your heavy-lidded eyes. “Good girl.”

You whimpered when he drew his hand away, already empty and greedy for more, a pulse that throbbed everywhere at once. He kissed you again, messy and desperate, all-consuming as the heat surged between your bodies.

"Wait here," he murmured, rising from the bed with a sense of urgency, striding over to his nightstand. He yanked open the drawer, rummaging through the clutter with a growing sense of frustration. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "What's wrong?" you asked, propping yourself up on your elbows. "It's been so long since I've been with anyone," he confessed, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "I, uh... I don't have a condom," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. You grinned, a chuckle escaping your lips, "That's okay."

"What do you mean that's okay?" he asked, his brows knitting together in confusion. "It means I'm on the pill," you smirked, a mischievous glint in your eyes. You watched as his gaze darkened, a primal intensity taking over. "You mean you'll let me fuck you raw?" he muttered, disbelief mingling with desire. You bit your lip, nodding slowly, your heart racing as he made his way back to you, unbuttoning his shirt and let it fall to the ground. You take in the view of him fully bare, for you and only for you.

He trapped your body beneath his, murmuring in a hushed, fervent tone, "You sure about this, baby? 'Cause once I start, I'm not sure I can stop." You nodded, breathless, and whispered back, "I'm sure," followed by a moment of charged silence before you implored, "fuck me, Joel."

A deep, primal groan escaped him as he pried your legs apart, pressing them firmly against your chest. His ravenous eyes devoured every inch of you—your flushed cheeks, lips swollen from passionate kisses, your chest rising and falling heavily—and finally, the sight of your yearning, glistening depths. He urged you to grip your legs, commanding with an authoritative growl, "Hold them there."

With a hunger that could no longer be contained, he stroked his rigid length, a few deliberate pumps, before guiding himself into you.

He slid inside you in one long, slow push, and the stretch was immense—it made you see stars, made you claw at his arms and bite down on a wanton sob. “Fuuuck—baby, you’re so tight—” he groaned, the words shuddering out of him like a prayer that hurt to say. He paused, breath shaking, and leaned in to press his forehead to yours.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you did, and the eye contact made the sensation a thousand times more raw. He kissed you, slow and deep, swallowing every wanton moans and whimpers that left your lips. Then he pulled out, inch by inch, and slid back in again, and the friction from the mere movement had you gasping, your head spinning.

He set a rhythm that started out careful, like he was memorizing the way your pussy felt around him, but soon enough the urgency took over. He pistoned his hips with a hunger you felt in your bones, the pressure building with every relentless thrust. Your hands keeping your knees to your chest like he asked you to, until he yanked your legs to rest against his broad shoulders, making his cock hit the blinding spot inside you.

"Ahnngh! There! Joel-fuck hhnnghh," you cried out, your voice dripping with desperation and raw desire. "Yeah? There, baby?" he taunted, his movements relentless, pounding into you with that perfect angle that obliterated everything else from your mind.

"Fuck, you sound so good, baby," he panted, his hips driving with fierce determination, his arms wrapped tightly around your legs, pulling you closer to him. "C’mon, sing for me, sugar," he grunted, a command that sent shivers through your spine. And you did, your moans and whimpers pouring out uninhibited, echoing loudly in the room, though you barely noticed the volume, lost in the overwhelming intensity of the moment.

Your body convulsed as his thumb bore down, grinding tight, relentless circles on your clit. It was your undoing. Every muscle tensed, snapping like a live wire, your spine arching as a raw, primal scream tore from your throat. He didn't just ride you through it; he fucking powered through, pinning you helplessly against him, his cock buried to the hilt as shockwaves of pleasure ripped through you. He was feral, sweat dripping from his hair, jaw locked, eyes feasting on the carnage of your orgasm.

He tore out of you, leaving you gasping, clenching around nothing. Before you could beg for more, he manhandled you, flipping you onto your stomach, yanking your hips up, presenting your ass to him. "I’m not fucking done with you," he growled. Without warning, he impaled you, his cock slamming deep, forcing another desperate cry from your lips. "FUCK! Oh god! JOEL!" He was merciless, the room echoing with the brutal sound of his hips crashing against your ass, his balls swinging, slapping against your throbbing, oversensitive clit with each vicious thrust.

He reached beneath you, snaked an arm around your waist, crushing you back onto him in hard, punishing snaps that had your face pressed to the mattress. Dirty words spilled from him, choked and shaky: "Perfect fucking pussy—taking me so good—goddamn—gonna fill you up, fuck—" Your mind blanked, every thought burned away by the pulsing sensation between your legs and the thick, searing pressure of him inside you.

"You fucking love this, don't you?" he rasped, pulling your hair until your back bowed and your mouth fell open in a wrecked sob. His free hand shot around your throat, not quite choking, just holding—possessive, anchoring, and it made you melt. You nodded frantically, unable to form a word, only a hungry, whimpering "please—please—" as his cock split you, heat pooling low in your belly for another intense orgasm.

With a primal urgency, Joel drove into you with two forceful thrusts, finally surrendering to the overwhelming sensation. He erupted inside you, painting your insides white with his release. "FUCK! Yes, baby—take every drop of my cum," he roared, his voice a guttural growl as he plunged even deeper, determined to ensure his seed reached the farthest depths. You were lost in a haze of ecstasy, so overwhelmed that you barely realized your own climax had crashed over you in tandem.

It flashed by in a blur, a rush of sensations that left you dazed. It wasn't until Joel's voice, filled with admiration and awe, reverberated in your mind that you became aware of what happened. A warm, liquid sensation trickled down your thighs, a testament to the intensity of your climax. The release had been so powerful that it left a noticeable splash against him, seeping into the fabric beneath, creating a dark, damp stain on his navy blue sheets.

Joel paused, pulling out with a slick, wet sound, and for half a second, there was just the sound of you both panting—chests heaving, your knees trembling. He looked at the mess you made, at the way his cock glistened, at the liquid pooling down your thighs, pride and hunger warring in his expression.

"Jesus Christ, sugar," he breathed, his thumb tracing the curve of your ass. "You’re fucking perfect." He slapped your ass—hard, a sting that radiated delight across your skin, then leaned down and pressed his tongue to your still-aching cunt, licking you up, swallow and all. "Made such a mess for me," he mumbled, between greedy, deep sucks.

Your limbs twitched with aftershocks, overstimulation so acute it bordered on pain, and you tried to squirm away—but his hands gripped your ass, holding you open and steady, and he tongued your clit until your thighs clamped on his bearded jaw and you half-sobbed, half-laughed into the pillow.

"Stop, stop," you gasped, wriggling free, but he only smiled—wolfish, proud—and pressed a final, searing kiss to your swollen cunt before letting you collapse, boneless, onto the messy sheets. Joel rolled beside you, his chest still heaving, and flung an arm heavy over your waist, pulling you back against him.

After a moment of ragged breathing, you both gradually settled into a calm. "You okay, sugar?" he murmured softly, his voice tender and gentle, a stark contrast to the intense passion he had shown just moments before. You nodded, releasing a weak, breathy chuckle. "You ruined me," you admitted with a playful grin. He chuckled in response, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "Yeah, sorry about that," he murmured, gently stroking your arm before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, a reassuring smile on your lips. "Just gonna be sore tomorrow," you replied, feeling the pleasant ache. He smiled and chuckled warmly. "Damn right you are."

Joel, ever the considerate gentleman, slipped out of bed, then you heard the soft sound of running water. He returned with a warm wet cloth and a glass of water, crouching beside the bed like it was the most natural thing in the world. He didn’t say anything, just tended to you with such gentle care it made your chest tighten.

He wiped you down slowly, his touch unhurried. “You okay?” he asked softly, brushing his knuckles along your thigh once he was done.

You nodded, a soft smile curling on your lips “Yeah.”

Joel climbed back into bed and opened his arms without a word, gathering you back in his arms, your face tucked against his chest. You knew you should probably leave before anyone noticed you were gone, but the thought of moving felt impossible. Wrong, even—his body was warm, his arms felt safe, and your legs still trembled slightly from what he’d just done to you.

“I should probably go,” you murmured, though you didn’t move.

His hand on your back didn’t budge. “Stay.”

You looked up at him. “You sure?”

He nodded and pulled you closer until your legs tangled beneath the sheets. “Yeah,” he said. “Just… stay.” He kissed the top of your head, then your temple. His voice dropped into a whisper. “I’ll wake you before the sun’s up. Promise.”

You smiled into his chest, your fingers resting lightly over his heart. “Okay.”

Joel tilted your chin up with two fingers and kissed you once more — soft, slow, nothing like the hunger from before.

“Goodnight, sugar,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you whispered, eyes finally fluttering closed.

a/n don't look at me....i felt filthy after writing this one lmao. but i hope you guys enjoyed this one! they finally fucked!! yippieee!! your comments and reblogs have really helped me stay motivated to continue this fic so thank you guys so much! let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist ily all!

Taglist: @bau-muffin, @javierpenaismyhusband , @dilf-docs , @heavydirtygirll, @somedayheaven , @loveisacowboyyy , @lyssaspengler, @buckyinluv, @sadgirlcait, @anoverwhelmingdin, @wencontre

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vie-is-punk · 2 months ago

Text

This was cute 🥰

Welcome to the Neighbourhood

marcus pike masterlist | A03 link | Mature | 3k words

Pairing: Marcus Pike x OFC Fern

Summary: Marcus's new neighbour has caught his attention.

Themes/warnings: I'm leaning heavily into the romcom here with a few mishaps and misunderstandings along the way. Burnt cookies. British spellings (you'll prize the letter U from my cold dead hands). Parks and Recreation references throughout. Big snogs on the sofa guest starring some spicy wandering hands.

A/N: This was written for @burntheedges Summer Tunes Writing Challenge . Thanks for hosting, Kate! My song prompt for Marcus was Romanticism by Retrofile and I used these lyrics as my inspiration:

I wanna catch you at the right time

Not a weekday or a work night

But you're always busy, and never home.

Underneath the moonlight, I could turn it on

Driving back to your house, to your favourite song

A generation of romantics

Getting caught up in semantics

Foolish love comes off too strong

Think you're afraid of really trying

To show the feelings that you're hiding

Why do I waste my time at all?

Moving day

It had taken Marcus a few days to realise that someone new had moved into the townhouse next door to his. He was working such long hours, and his only interactions with his previous neighbour would be him banging on their shared wall when the sounds of action movies blared through the plasterboard and shook the pictures from their nails.

Day 1

He’d come home that particular evening, with a sweaty plastic bag of take-out Chinese food hanging from his fingers, and couldn’t quite work out what felt different. It was quiet, he eventually realised. He could only hear the low hum of the cars outside and the buzz of his empty refrigerator. He’d eaten his chow mein perched on the edge of his couch. Spooned straight from the carton, not even the dignity of a fork let alone chopsticks, his tie loosened but not removed like he wasn’t planning on staying.

The TV next door had turned on an hour later, and he’d braced himself for the screeching of tyres and firing of guns, but it hadn’t come. What he’d heard instead was the upbeat theme tune of Parks and Recreation, and he’d thought approvingly that perhaps the guy next door had finally got some taste.

Day 2

He’d come home in a bad mood. He was tired of pulling out all the stops on cases that felt increasingly soulless. The job that had once felt vibrant and fulfilling was sliding ever quicker into grey sludge.

There was a yellow post-it note stuck to the weathered wooden panel about his doorbell, the breeze making it blink like the light on a life jacket.

‘Hey neighbour! Just moved in and came by to say Hi. If I’m not here I’ll be at the animal hospital - staff, not a patient (mostly). Catch you again sometime! Fern & Morris.’

Fern and Morris, they certainly sounded a little more wholesome than the last tenant.

Day 3

Their paths crossed on their shared driveway when Marcus got home from the office at an hour so late that he didn’t know whether to have dinner or just skip straight to breakfast. Her: an orange VW Bug, Marcus: a black BMW. He preferred her car, if he was honest. Didn’t think a daisy on top of his car antenna would quite work.

Exhausted as he was, he couldn’t help noticing a kind of brightness coming from her. It lit up a foolish part of his brain like a switchboard. How someone could look that good in paint splattered overalls and flip-flops, he had no idea, but as soon as she looked up and her face cracked into a crooked grin he felt like he was being blinded.

She’d looked embarrassed when he’d introduced himself and shaken her hand. “Are you always this formal?” She’d teased.

“Actually, yes.” He’d laughed, self-consciously rubbing the back of his neck.

“Nice suit.” She looked him up and down approvingly “You work for the FBI?”

“Thanks. Yeah, how did you-?”

“This was a dead giveaway.” She’d smiled, lifting up the end of his work lanyard with her fingertips. “That and the fact that half the neighbourhood do. I’m never planning on locking my doors.”

“You got me.” He’d shrugged. “So have you settled in OK?”

“I think so, Morris might take a little more time. He’s a crotchety sort.”

Ah, yes, Morris. That threw ice water over that prickle of excitement that had stirred in his head.

“Well, if you need anything…”

“Yep, I know where to find you. I’ll knock three times. Oh, and Marcus?” She’d called as he turned to leave. “You might wanna get some oil on your bed frame, I can hear it squeaking from my room. Could get…awkward.”

Marcus’s neck had flushed pink. “I could pretend I’m living the wild bachelor dream, but it’s actually just work induced insomnia. Lotta tossing.”

“Lots indeed.” She’d snorted.

Day 4

Marcus was watching a Netflix documentary on elephants when he heard a hurried knock on his door. He’d opened it to find a plate of misshapen and mostly burnt cookies and another yellow post-it on his door mat.

‘Do NOT judge me on these, the oven in this place is possessed. Nearly burnt Morris’s face off. It’s the thought that counts! Fern.’

He’d pinned the post-it to the refrigerator, on top of the first one, with a hideous coconut shaped magnet his sister had brought him back from Hawaii, then flopped onto the couch and unpaused the TV. Twenty minutes later, 3 knocks rapped against the wall behind him. Amused, he’d stretched his arm up and knocked back.

Day 5

He was disappointed not to see her car on the drive when he left for work. He’d written three different iterations of a thank you note from a stack of index cards he’d found in his desk drawer to return with her plate. The first two were crumpled in the trash — too formal and businesslike — the third he’d relaxed into a bit more, been more Marcus and less Agent Pike.

‘Truly the WORST cookies I’ve ever had, and yet I ate them all. I have a sweet tooth and no shame. M.’

He’d spent his whole drive to work chewing over whether he should have included ‘say Hi to Morris, be good to meet him too.’ He’d have a chance to rectify that soon enough he supposed.

Day 6

That day’s post-it was blue and rectangular.

‘I work a 12 hour shift and come home to find an empty plate on my doorstep? I have been the victim of a drive-by bakery theft, surely? I’ll alert the HOA.’

Another note was scribbled on the back. He’d almost missed it but spotted it as he stuck it under the magnet.

‘Could I hear you crying through the wall the other night? Elephants, right? They get me every time, too. Do NOT let me watch Dumbo.’

He’d plucked up the courage to knock on her front door this time, but the curtains were drawn, and the house had the quiet atmosphere of shift worker sleep that he didn’t want to disturb.

Day 7

He heard Ron Swanson’s voice booming through their shared wall asking for “All the bacon and eggs that you have” as he made himself a suddenly lacklustre looking piece of toast. He checked his watch and saw he was running uncharacteristically late after he’d actually started sleeping better again. He grabbed another card before he headed out.

‘I wasn’t crying. I was having an allergic reaction to your cookies.’ Then, a brainwave just as he bounced to the door to stick his note to her door. ‘You should both come by later - Burt Macklin.’

Day 8 & 9

Her car didn’t move, but there were no notes and no knocks. He felt oddly deflated.

Day 10

Marcus was up a ladder, clearing leaves from his overflowing gutters when Fern’s voice almost startled him into a heap on the ground.

“Hey Macklin, there’s a set of five Spiderman underpants on the communal washing line, I assume they’re yours?”

He hopped back onto solid ground, a smirk on his lips.

“That’s classified information.” He said.

“Mm. Thought so.” She craned her head to peek at his ass in his joggers. “Can’t see any seams there, I’m guessing you’re going commando. Either that or you’re wearing a thong.”

“I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He’d shot back before he could stop himself. He needed to stop himself. This was veering dangerously towards flirting, and quite frankly, once he started that he didn’t tend to put the brakes on until it was too late.

“So, laundry day?” He’s asked, steering them back to safer territory.

She’d nodded towards the basket under her arm. “Yup. I’m wrangling a litter of foster kittens so I’m going through blankets quicker than I can turn them around. Morris is not happy at all. Doesn’t like his routine being out of whack.”

“Is he one of those ‘dinner on the table at 6 PM’ guys?” Marcus had asked, as casually as possible. Hunting for reasons to dislike this man he’d never met.

“Something like that. Though if I can get him not to eat on the couch and make a damn mess, I class that as a win.”

“I’ll let you get on, then.” Marcus said, wiping his leaf-grubby hands on his t-shirt. He could have sworn her saw her shoulders sag a little.

Day 11

Sunday stretched out before him, long and empty. He should call his Mom, maybe catch up on some paperwork, and iron a shirt for tomorrow. This was not the kind of domesticity that he enjoyed. It was all so solitary.

He was draining his third coffee of the day and swirling the gounds at the bottom of the cup that hadn’t been caught by the filter when he heard a crash and a raised exasperated voice through the wall.

“Oh, Morris! Not my grandmother’s vase!”

Marcus had leapt off the couch and was striding out of the door before he really knew what he was doing. He aimed for a knock on her door that was assertive but polite.

Fern answered looking harassed, and looking…wait, why was her top wriggling like that?

“I heard something and I wanted to check if - are you OK?” Marcus couldn’t keep his eyes of what was happening under her t-shirt.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I’m just keeping some orphaned squirrels warm.” She lifted her shirt and flashed him both her bra and a bundle of small furry bodies.

“Right, of course you are.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“I’d invite you in, but Morris is sulking upstairs and not really in a visitors mood, and I’ve got to feed my lingerie litter in another 10 minutes.” She’d grimaced and nodded to her chest.

“Not to worry. I just wanted to check if you were alright.” He had to strain to keep his tone breezy.

There was a level of chaos about Fern that was as compelling as it was confusing. It was safe to say that he had never met anymore like her before, and maybe that was why she’d gotten under his skin in the way she had.

Day 12

Fern had been crouched down on the scrubby patch of lawn in front of her window, wrist deep in some window box planters, so Marcus hadn’t spotted her as he rushed out of the house. He had one hand already on the car door handle when her sing-song voice calling out to him made him look up.

“Nice jeans, agent! Where are you off to?”

“Dinner.” The word curdled in his stomach. He’d been putting of being set up with one of his sister’s work colleagues for weeks now, but had figured he might as well give it a chance seeing as his radar seemed all off of late.

There was that look again. That sort of dimming behind her eyes.

“Have a good night.” She’d smiled as he raised his hand in salute.

His date had been… not a disaster necessarily, but Marcus couldn’t remember the last time an evening with a beautiful woman had left him that cold. She was perfectly nice, ticked all of his boxes in all honestly, but he’d felt like he was going through the motions and was relieved when she’d declined dessert and he could ask for the bill. He knew something was off when he found himself swerving her Merlot scented kiss on the lips in favour of a polite peck on the cheek.

It wasn’t until he pulled onto his street and felt the corners of his mouth lift into a smile at the sight of an extremely badly parked orange car that he realised what had been missing. He decided then that he needed to snuff out this flame that was licking under his skin. He wasn’t a man who shared, and he certainly wasn’t one who'd cheat. He’d go over there tomorrow, meet this Morris, and turn this fictional obstacle into a real man. Who knew, they might even become friends eventually.

Day 13

Marcus had to knock on Fern’s door with the heel of his shoe as his arms were so laden with a six pack of beers, a large container of chocolate brownies that he’d had to leave work early to snag from the bakery, and an edible fruit arrangement perched precariously on top.

“Did you reverse into my car or something?” Fern said, smiling as she took the exotic bouquet from the pile and ushered him inside.

“Belated housewarming gifts.” Marcus said, dropping the other items onto her kitchen counter. “I figured flowers were a no-go, seeing as your vase got broken. You’ve been pretty clear that I owe you baked goods, and I thought perhaps Morris and I could share a beer or something.”

Fern’s eyebrows rose as she called out. “Morris, can you come here buddy?”

A frankly enormous Newfoundland dog came padding into the room and took a tentative sniff at Marcus’s shoes.

“He’s more of a rum drinker, but thank you for the gesture.” Fern smiled.

“This is Morris?” Marcus laughed, running a hand over his jaw. “I thought he was-”

“What?”

“Well, human.” Marcus said. “And your partner.”

“Nope, and nope.” She scratched Morris behind his greying ears. “Although he has set the bar pretty high in terms of companionship.”

Fern’s eyes were flashing wickedly at Marcus now.

“Do you want to stay for a brownie?” She asked. “I was just about to watch some TV, but you can tell me all about how your date went last night. I didn’t hear any creaking through the wall, so I’m guessing not great?”

“Right, yeah, it was a bit of a flop.” Marcus shrugged, kicking off his shoes and lining them up by the door. “Wouldn’t even fill a commercial break with the details, but I’ll join you for a bite.”

The two of them sat on opposite ends of her couch with the food between them, the unopened beers abandoned in favour of two glasses of iced tea. Fern sat cross-legged, and Marcus noticed how bright pink nail polish on her toes matched her shirt.

“Do you have any live animals on your person today?” He asked.

Fern glanced down at her chest. “Nope. Nothing underneath here except the best tits in the neighbourhood.”

Marcus’s drink had almost come out of his nose. “Bold claim.” He’d choked.

“I know what I’ve got.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Know what you’ve got, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Best little ass on the street, from what I’ve seen so far. And believe me I’ve been looking.”

“I’ll take that.” Marcus said, moving closer to her on the couch.

She scooted up from her end, too. “Good. Glad we got that all straightened out.”

“So what are we watching?”

Fern grabbed the remote and flicked through the channels, the tip of her tongue poking out in concentration. “Ooo, I can’t scroll past a re-run of Parks and Recs. You in?”

“Yep. Love it.”

It was the episode with the Snake Juice, but Marcus wouldn’t have cared which it was. He only wanted to hear her wheezy laugh over and over again.

“Commercial break! Time for you to spill the details on last night.” Fern reminded him with an elbow jab.

“It was fine. She was nice.” He said, keeping his eyes fixed on the TV, his mouth suddenly a little dry.

“But…?” Fern did a rolling gesture with her hands.

Marcus shifted on the couch and took one of her hands in his, stroking his thumb over the knuckle of hers. “But she wasn’t you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Fern beamed. “I thought you’d given me the brush off.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were available.”

“I’m curious,” she said with a lift of her chin, “if I'd had some 6ft boyfriend hiding in the back, what would you have done?”

“Befriended him.” Marcus scratched his chin in thought. “Then had him killed.”

“Wow.” Fern snorted. “Didn’t know the bureau sanctioned that kind of thing.”

“Well we only get one now. Damn budget cuts.”

“Mm.” She nodded, her gaze slipping towards the TV. “Would you look at that, break’s over.”

She’d slid under his arm by the time the next episode had finished. He could smell her minty shampoo and feel the heat of her cheek burning against his chest as she raked her nails lazily along the indigo denim on his thighs.

“Hey.” He squeezed her hand, and she turned to look up at him, all light and sparkle. “Come here.”

No jokes that time, no quirked eyebrows. Just her spinning around so that he could take her face in his hands and pull her up on top of him until his lips were on hers and her fingers were twined in his hair. He heard her breath hitch, felt his hips lift in response as their tongues found one another.

Hemlines were toyed with by eager fingertips until he snaked his hand under her shirt to unhook her bra. Hers were faster, fumbling, and as she undid his belt with a clink, he thought ‘I really love this neighbourhood.’

Thank you to my cheer squad on this one @schnarfer @whocaresstillthelouvre and @maggiemayhemnj

Tagging some folks who usually enjoy a bit of El's Marcus (hope you don't mind):

@the-blind-assassin-12 @mothandpidgeon @pascalssbabyy @toomanytookas

@harriedandharassed @imdrinkingpedro @inept-the-magnificent

@chujo-hime @ishabull @laughing-in-th3-purple-rain @sin-djarin

@sawymredfox @trulybetty @jennaispunk @katareyoudrilling @bitchesuntitled

@sunnytuliptime @theravenreads @insomniamamma @yopossum @thundermartini

@5oh5 @msjarvis @oliveksmoked @axshadows @casa-boiardi

@tuquoquebrute @kirsteng42 @almostfoxglove @guiltyasdave @purplerain04

@medellintangerine @enchantingchildkitten @iknowisoundcrazy @bergamote-catsandbooks @milla-frenchy

#marcus pike x reader

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