Hey, how are ya? It snowed a lot yesterday where I live, and I was daydreaming about how Frank would already be halfway done shoveling reader’s driveway as they walked out the door to do it. Maybe he’d still be going by Pete, and noticed reader had a dog so he wanted to make sure their walks were safe. 🤍🩵🤍
oh FOR SURE. Frank, especially Neighbor!Frank, is doing stealth acts of service all the time. It's basically his whole deal.
His heart nearly dropped to his shoes when he saw the way your dog tugged you on the leash, barreling down the steps every morning. All it took was seeing you nearly slip and crack your head after a particularly icy sleeting rain a few weeks ago for Frank to add salting and shoveling to his personal chore list.
It's not like Frank needed an alarm to be up early, the man slept like shit anyway so a 6am shovel felt like a fine enough start to the day. If he's honest with himself, he likes those early morning shovels. The city feels silent, blanketed in the soft insulation of snow before the sun is even up. He's grateful for the solitude but he's also grateful for the hard labor. Sure, he was booked for a 10-hr shift of more hard labor at the construction site later today but when his muscles were screaming was the only time his brain was quiet.
He did your front stoop before he even did his own. That was the first thing you noticed when you opened your front door into a blast of cold air, your light cotton PJs still under your open puffy coat. You yelped at the site of him, assuming you wouldn't encounter another human as your dog took his early-morning piss at his favorite tree. But there he was, scattering the salt across the neatly shoveled front walk.
"Oh!" you shrieked, smacking your hand to your heart in surprise as your dog yelped and tugged at the leash.
"Just me, didn't mean to scare sweetheart. Just gettin' the salt down. Iced over last night," he explains like he's the groundskeeper and this is job. Frank manages a glance at you but seems bashful at being caught, not catching your eye for long.
"Oh thank you. God you must have been up so early. You didn't have to do all this," you say, hoping your hair wasn't too wild from sleep and suddenly acutely aware you weren't even sure if your boots were matching. You make a quick gesture to smooth your hair and a nearly imperceptible smile cracks Frank's face, like he was touched by the effort.
"Nah, don't worry 'bout it. Was up anyway," he explains, ignoring that his own walk was unshoveled and if you got close enough, you'd surely hear his stomach roaring in hunger.
Your dog tugs on the leash again, pulling you down another step "I know, I know," you mutter toward the dog and look back to Frank. "Well, thank you again. I-- you-- I really appreciate it," you say earnestly.
You wrap the leash once around your hand and nearly take another step but Frank holds up a hand, gesturing for you to stay in place. "Hang on doll," he says and he stoops to a knee in front of you, as if he's preparing to be knighted.
With deft fingers Frank ties the loose lace on your boot that you'd tugged on in the dark, saying quietly "Don't want you trippin' on this lace." He stands again, the action over in 10 quick seconds, as he dusts the snow off his knee.
You stand still for a moment, touched at the display of kindness before the sun is even up. He looks tired, as if he's been up a little too early, but there's color in cheeks from the exertion and white snow dots his dark hair. He's only wearing a cotton hoodie and your brows furrow a hair in worry that maybe he doesn't have a proper winter coat.
Frank makes to speak but seems to stop himself, running a hand down his face before he starts again. He gestures to you with one hand while the other squeezes into and out of a fist at his side. "You uh, you should zip up sweetheart. Cold as all hell out here," he manages, like not saying the words weren't an option for him.
"Oh! Yeah, no, you're right," you say, shaking your head out of your stupor and trying to fiddle with your zipper through puffy layers and a dog leash. Frank doesn't let it go on long, mumbling a soft, "Want me to, uh.." as he steps forward and latches the zipper for you and tugs. The motion pulls you forward just a fraction, and your body sways toward him. From your vantage point on a step above him, you see the top of his head for the first time and you watch as his hands land softly on your puffy coat-ed hips to steady you for just a moment. Instinctively, your hands land on his shoulders to steady yourself.
"Easy sweetheart," he murmurs before pulling his hands away and you drop yours to your side.
"Thank you," you say softly, now your turn to struggle to meet his eye.
"More snow tomorrow," he says as he nods and turns to walk away, "Lemme handle that too, yeah?"
i’ve been so depressed the past couple of days and all I can think about is Frank cuddling me while I cry, soothing me, letting me suck on his fingers and curl up into a ball.
No he so would. Like, it would make HIM feel better if you did because he'd finally feel like he was helping. He'd unzip his huge hoodie and hold it wide open, saying "c'mere. shirt off sweetheart. gotta feel your skin ok? s'gonna help," and you do what he says because anything seems like it'll feel better than how you currently feel. You cuddle into him, his broad chest warm against your bare chest, resting your head on his shoulders. You feel a rumble in his chest and he settles you into his nooks and crannies and the contact makes your eyes shut without trying. You let out small "mmmm" without realizing and Frank feels the way your deflate against him a little further and he says "see? there we go doll." He kicks his booted feet up onto the coffee table, a thing he only does when he intends to stay put for awhile, and flicks on the TV to an old sitcom.
"Better sleep too alright baby?" he says quietly, his huge paw landing on your back to start slow, mindless circles. You nod your head against his chest before he rests his chin on top of your head, the position locking your ear to his skin and giving you access to the low consistent thrum of his heartbeat.
After a moment you feel a slight nudge at your lips and you open instinctively and when you do, Frank pops a peanut M&M in your mouth, saying "Eat a little for me, yeah?" You had no clue where the M&Ms came from-- it was almost as though he had a stash on him for emergencies purposes-- but you obey and ask no questions, crunching slowly on the sweet and salty nugget. Frank continues this every few minutes, hand-feeding you peanut M&Ms while he watches Frasier on low volume.
You feel another nudge at your lips and open again, but this time Frank's thumb teases your bottom lip a little, running the length of it and tugging down a little before hesitantly pressing in. "Outta M&M's babygirl but want you to relax alright?" he murmurs, and you whimper at the relief of the heavy presence of his calloused thumb pressing firmly but gently on your tongue. You suck, gentle and slow, and your eyes roll back behind your lids. Frank can feel the way your limbs grow heavy and he reaches to pat your ass a few times, saying "Feels good, yeah sweetheart? Be a good girl and get some sleep baby."
Happy New Year!!! 🥳 Keeping with the Frank + holidays theme, I was wondering if you could write a lil something about spending NYE with Frank? Last night I was thinking about how nice it would be to just spend a cozy night in with him and feeling so so content that you doze off on the couch before midnight and Frankie wakes you up in time to see the ball drop and give you a kiss 🥺💜
FRIEND, we must be sharing brain-waves because i've been thinking about this exact same thing for the last couple of days. happy new year my dear!!
save for the springsteen record frank has on in the background, the apartment is quiet for the first time in about a week. there are no visitors to talk to, or phone calls to answer, or voicemail messages to listen to. even hells kitchen - which emits a frenzied thrum of energy at all times - feels blissfully muted. perhaps it's the light dusting of snow that began falling a little over an hour ago.
he had asked you a while ago if you'd wanted to go out tonight - curtis and his girl were throwing a party at their place, but the desire to leave the comfort and warmth of your home had been ridiculously low, and (unsurprisingly) he had understood completely.
he'd asked you what you wanted for dinner and you'd chosen his spaghetti bolognese, which you'd been craving on and off for the last month, and which he had executed flawlessly.
you watch him now, from your perch on the couch under a heated blanket, cheeks warm from being back in his presence again, and from the glass of wine consumed. he works diligently at the dishes in the sink, the muscles in his toned back ripple and flex with each movement.
he clears his throat. "it's awfully quiet in there, sweetheart. you think you can make it 'til midnight?"
you stifle a yawn before asking what time it is.
"it's a quarter after nine."
shit, there's no way.
"'course i'll make it to midnight frank, this ain't my first rodeo."
you end up dozing off to the sound of his gruff laughter.
when you stir again a while later, it's to the sensation of his whiskers against your cheek. though you've never outright admitted it, he knows how much you adore being kissed awake so he tries to do it for you whenever possible.
"mm, i thought i heard a rumour that this wasn't your first rodeo."
you can actually feel the shape of his smirk against your cheek.
"don't be mean to me frank, it's new years."
the rumble of his laughter against your skin causes a pleasant shiver to wrack you.
"'sit midnight?" you mumble.
"just about," he hums.
he flicks on the television, and the countdown has begun.
ten
nine
eight
seven
"2026," you muse.
he traces a calloused fingertip down the length of your cheek.
six
five
four
"what are ya looking forward to the most?" he asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer.
three
two
one
you meet his gaze and there's an intensity there that feels like home now. "more of this. more of us."
someone's yelling happy new year enthusiastically; if you opened any window in your apartment now, you'd hear the entire city celebrating in unison. all you care about is the weight of his lips on yours; the ornate push-and-pull of a rhythm that's entirely your own. it's a rhythm you both have worked hard to perfect.
"i think we can manage that," he murmurs. "happy new year, sweetheart."
he squeezes your hand thrice beneath the blanket.
i love you...
melancholia- a direct result of the inevitable passage of time, had succeeded in packing ice around your heart all evening, and now, a warmth gleaned from his words and from the tender way he's looking at you, helps to thaw it all out.
i just KNOWWW frank texts concerning asf. ominous father text message energy.
"Have a good day..."
IS IT MY LAST???
it doesn't help that knee-deep in a relationship, he'd probably call just to check up on you, remind you he loves you, and hangs up. doesn't even answer your concerned questions after. just... *click*, fully hung up, back to his business.
doesn't understand why his phone has blown up with 20 missed calls and a bajillion text messages from you when he checks it later.
Summary: You overhear Frank's phone conversation and offer your help.
PG13 || WC: 1.4k
CW: none, just something sweet
Dear @darlingshane, Happy Birthday!🧡
I thought I wouldn't be able to finish anything for today, but I was hit by a bout of inspiration yesterday and managed to write this little thing out. I wish there was more to it, but I hope that reading this soft Frank on your birthday is going to bring you as much joy as your content always brings me. Love you 🧡
Read on AO3
As soon as you were out of your apartment, you stashed the keys in your purse and took out your earphones. You unwound the cord from around the earpieces with the practiced motion of someone who did this several times a day, smirking to yourself as the cord hadn’t gotten tangled in your purse. No matter what your friend said about wired earphones being an absolute pain and that she would never go back to them, you wouldn’t give up yours for the world. Once you’d put them into your ears and plugged them into your phone, you began browsing through your playlists while heading to the elevator and pressing the call button with your other hand. As the doors slid open, you ended up choosing Chappell Roan. You’d listened to her album on repeat for weeks, but a banger was a banger, no matter how many times you put it on. The elevator started going down while “Femininomenon” began playing but quickly slowed again as you noticed that the floor beneath yours was lit up on the floor panel. The sound was set on a lower setting, which made you able to hear the deep voice coming from the other side of the elevator doors right before they slid open to reveal a broad-shouldered man talking on the phone.
“Can’t open the damn file, Lieberman,” he was saying irritably while walking into the elevator with a small but friendly nod sent in your direction. “Phone says—” he pulled the phone from his face to stare at the screen for a second before bringing it back to his ear. “—not enough storage space. The hell is that even possible? I barely use that thing.”
Clicking one of the buttons on the tiny control bar attached to the cord, you lowered the volume even more and glanced in his direction at what he was saying. His brown eyes met yours as he noticed your head moving to look at him, which had you snapping it back forward instantly and your face burning at being caught. You hadn’t even meant to stare, but this specific neighbor had your eyes drifting over to him on a regular basis. There wasn’t a whole lot that you knew about him, except that his name was Frank, he was a former marine—you'd found that out by chance as well—worked odd hours, and he lived in the apartment right under yours. You hadn’t interacted a lot, but he had helped you carry up a new lamp once as well as some larger grocery bags a couple of times. In any case, his smile was always genuine and warm when you greeted each other in the elevator or in front of the mailboxes, and the way his eyes had crinkled at the corners each time you’d thanked him for his help had had you fighting down a blush. He looked like he could chew nails, like he did right now, but he was actually a really nice guy.
“Clear my what? Lieberman, I—” Frank sighed and pinched his nose. “You know what? Never mind. It’ll just have to wait.” There was a brief pause. “Yeah, yeah, shut up… Yeah, later.”
With a huff, Frank lowered the phone and grumbled something underneath his breath.
“I could help you clear up some storage if you want?” you blurted out.
Frank's eyes rose from the phone to look at you with a surprised look. To be honest, you hadn’t even meant to say anything, but his half-dejected and half-exasperated expression had triggered your desire to help.
“I mean, I’m always the one my family and friends ask when it comes to stuff like that, and, um, if you’re in a hurry, I could, well, I could… check it out?” you rambled on quickly before trailing off uncomfortably when you realized that you offering your help meant that you’d been listening to his conversation. “Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You’d do that?” Frank cut it with an obvious look of relief as the elevator came to a jerking stop when it reached the first floor. He didn’t even seem to have picked up on your babbling.
“Uh, yeah, sure. It’s no problem at all.”
The doors slid open, but neither of you moved to get out as you stared at each other.
“Don’ wanna make you late for work, though. But if-”
“No, no, you’re fine. I’m always out the door super early anyway, so…” You shrugged with a shy smile.
“Appreciate it.” The small, grateful smile that Frank sent you had warmth pooling in your belly and heat creeping up your neck.
He nodded his head toward the lobby, motioning for you to follow him, before he stopped near the mailboxes and handed you the phone. Taking it with a smile, the first thing you noticed was that he didn’t have any kind of password set up to access his phone, but looking at Frank, you sincerely doubted that anyone wanted to try to steal it from him. Tapping on the overview button, you tried to hide your grimace at realizing that he had at least a dozen apps open. You quickly closed them all at once and almost laughed at the amount of storage it freed up. Clearly, Frank wasn’t big on phones. As you methodically worked your magic on the phone, you tried to ignore Frank’s attentive gaze on you as well as his large presence in front of you.
“Okay, think you’re all set.” You handed him the phone with a satisfied grin, which he returned with an awed expression that you found incredibly endearing.
“Shit, that was fast. I really need to pick up my game with this. It’s embarrassin’.” He tapped around on the screen, probably opening the file the person on the phone had sent him earlier.
You couldn’t help your little laugh at his sheepish look. “Don’t be. I just spend a lot of time with phones and computers, so I know my way around them.”
Frank smiled at you and nodded before he frowned in thought and threw you a considering look.
“Hope it’s not too much to ask, but… You, uh… You think you could take a look at my laptop? It’s an older model, and it’s worked fine, but it’s been actin’ up recently. I’d pay for it, of course.”
You bit your lip on a smile at his tentative question. How could this big, intimidating-looking man be so cute?
“Yeah, no problem at all, but you don’t have to pay me anything. I’m glad to help. Just lemme know when you want me to come over.”
He chuckled with an audible sigh of relief and ducked his head. “Thanks, that’s… yeah, really appreciate it. Uh… Tomorrow evenin’ work for you… Say, I dunno, 7?”
“Works for me.”
“‘Kay… but I really feel like I should pay you for it… I mean, I dunno how long it’s gonna take.” He licked his lips while his eyebrows pulled together.
“Tell you what… Buy me a pizza and we’re even, yeah?”
Frank’s mouth moved into an amused smile. “Deal.”
“I have one condition, though.”
Frank tilted his head and arched one eyebrow at your lifted finger.
“The pizza better be from Lombardi’s.”
For a second, Frank didn’t move but then began laughing softly, a grin lighting up his face as he nodded approvingly.
“You got it, sweetheart. You got it. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Your stomach flipped around in your belly, and another wave of heat suffused your face at the endearment. And you were going to spend an evening sitting next to Frank while having pizza and repairing his laptop?
Then Frank’s phone began ringing, which helped bring you out of your thoughts about tomorrow.
“Yeah?” Frank drawled after picking up. There was a small pause in which you almost turned and left him to it, but Frank caught your eye as he smirked. “Yeah, no need for that. Opened the file already, so I’m good.” Another pause and a small laugh from Frank. “Might have found your replacement… Yup… Seems good at what she does, and she’s much nicer than you.”
You snorted at the obvious back-and-forth going on with Frank and his friend, to which Frank grinned at you as he finished talking and hung up.
“Okay, don’t wanna hold you up any longer,” he said and lifted the phone as the two of you began walking towards the exit. “Thanks for that. You really did me a solid with this.”
“Any time.”
His smile was warm, knowing that you meant it. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
With one last smile, Frank wished you a good day and walked down the street while you headed the other way.
Pizza and Frank. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.
frank castle is so necessary for winter time. the gruff, yet sweet reminders to bundle yourself up, despite him braving the brisk outdoors with nothing but a hoodie on. the warm, solid body to cuddle into when the heat in your apartment breaks, paired with a perfectly made tea that you can’t seem to replicate on your own. which is strange—because why does a coffee drinker know how to steep tea better than you? but none of that matters when frank always welcomes your cold fingertips beneath yet another one of his black zip-ups.
°˖✧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚✧˖° FRANK CASTLE WITH A BISEXUAL GIRLFRIEND HEADCANONS
words: 762
warnings: brief mention of sex, that’s all i think!
author’s note: happy pride month from this bisexual girlie <3
⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆
♥︎ his reaction to finding out depends on whether you’re already out or not. if you come out to him and you’re visibly nervous about it, he’ll pull you into a hug and thank you for sharing with him. he’s incredibly honored that you trust him with this information and feel safe enough to tell him.
♥︎ still, he doesn’t make a huge deal out of it because honestly, he doesn’t care. well, he cares in the sense that it’s important to you and therefore it’s also important to him, but it doesn’t really change anything, least of all how he feels about you. so maybe he’s almost too casual when he finds out.
♥︎ however, if you’ve already done the whole coming out thing and happen to just mention a past crush or girlfriend in passing, he’ll do that little pout he does and nod approvingly. ’that right, sweetheart? aight, that’s wassup. didn’t you had game like that.’ earning a shove in the shoulder from you.
♥︎ he knows not to be an asshole, but there is still quite a lot he’s not too educated on. so, he takes it upon himself to do some reading — he gets a book on bisexuality from the local library and reads it half in secret, not wanting to be all embarrassing about having to study up on it. he’s lowkey about it, and he also doesn’t want you to praise him; to him, it’s just basic decency and not something to get credit for.
♥︎ he learns a lot about different ways bisexuality is discriminated against and it makes him huff and puff. he makes mental notes of things not to say, to you or to anyone else. he takes it incredibly seriously.
♥︎ if lieberman or someone else says something questionable, frank is quick to shut it down. ’hey, asshole, you ain’t supposed to say that shit. apologize to the lady, huh?’
♥︎ one thing that he doesn’t need to be told is that threesomes are a cliché. he would never suggest it to you, not before or after finding out about your sexuality. you’d have to be the one to bring it up if it was in fact something you wanted, and even then, he’d decline. he doesn’t want to share you with anyone, regardless of gender.
♥︎ he does, however, inevitably wonder if you’d rather be with someone else. it’s not because he doesn’t trust you — it’s because it’s a fear he has regardless of your sexuality. he always believes you deserve better, that he’s not good enough for you, so it exacerbates that fear. there’s even more options out there for you! but when he tries to bring it up, scratching his neck and nervously wondering if you’re really happy with just him, you make things abundantly clear for him. you’re in love with him, and you don’t want anyone else.
♥︎ if you want to go to a pride parade/event, he’s hesitant. he wants to support you, but he considers it a massive safety hazard. all those people in a massive crowd where anything could happen? he knows hate crimes occur far too often and the last thing he wants is something happening to you.
♥︎ but he knows it’s important to you. so he asks, just once, if you’re sure. and if you say yes, it’s settled. he’s coming with you, holding your hand the whole time, scanning the crowd nonstop. he’s like a bodyguard; a scary dog by your side. it’s difficult for him to see people coming up to you with hugs, because every time he thinks a threat is approaching, but eventually, he figures that you’re in a safe space together.
♥︎ that said, he’s still frank. when a man with a free hugs sign comes up to him, he doesn’t budge.
♥︎ when someone in the crowd starts throwing out free bracelets, frank is watching like a hawk. his tall and broad build allows him to effortlessly snatch one of the bisexual-themed ones, holding it closely to his chest like it’s the most precious treasure. only when you’re somewhere more quiet together, he slides it over your wrist, a little bashfully.
♥︎ he’s not loud about his support, but it shows in little ways. he’s always trying to learn more, and while books help, he’d rather hear things directly from you. he wants to hear your story, your experiences, the good and the bad. he’s always all ears and he never sees you any differently.
Summary: Stuck in a depressive episode, you can’t get out of bed and Frank is right there to cuddle you through it.
Warnings: Depression, brief mention of suicide ideation, hurt/comfort, cuddles <3
Word count: 849
Author’s note: I’m back! I’ve been feeling really guilty for not posting for a few weeks and the reason why I haven’t is exactly what I wrote about here,, I’m just depressed and trying my best to stay alive instead of throwing in the towel. Could realllllly use some Frank cuddles rn. I promise to try and get to your requests soon! <3
A sigh escaped your mouth as you rolled onto your right side and felt the mattress flex under your movements. Through the crack in the curtains you had kept closed all day, you could see the sun was beginning to descend and welcome night into the city, and an ember of guilt for having spent the whole day in bed burned in the pit of your stomach.
You held yourself to the highest standard when it came to being a functioning part of society. It was even easier to be hard on yourself when you shared a life with the Punisher — while your boyfriend was out getting justice for innocent people, cleaning up the streets of the worst scum imaginable, you were doing what exactly? Laying in bed, neglecting the work that had been piling up on you all week, not to even mention seeing friends, taking a shower or eating. You couldn’t even bring yourself to do that.
In fact, you couldn’t even cry about it. The urge made you choke, but the tears wouldn’t come. You were both overwhelmed and numb all at once and it was a terrible, rotten feeling that you wished would leave you alone with all the little might you had left in you.
”Hey”, Frank’s gruff voice emerged from the doorway, and lifting your disheveled head from the pillows, you looked over to where your beloved was standing and tried to give him a smile. It was far from convincing, but he still mirrored the expression and stepped closer to the bed. ”Okay if I lay down with you, sweetheart?”
As soon as you had nodded, Frank was moving over to his side of the bed, with the mattress taking a dip as he gently laid down next to you. He opened his arms wide for you and you didn’t hesitate to crawl up against him, your head on his chest as he wrapped you in a warm embrace and left a kiss on the top of your head.
You were both silent for a while, but eventually, you spoke up in a meek tone. ”Thank you”, you squeaked, and with a quiet tut, Frank disagreed with your words.
”Don’t gotta thank me, sweet girl. ’M just here to do what I can”, he spoke with a gravelly promise, and squeezing him tighter, you nodded. ”You’ll lemme know if there’s anythin’ you need, yeah?” Frank added, and repeating your nod, you tilted your head so you could kiss his jawline.
”Just cuddles for now, please”, you whispered, and with a low chuckle, Frank ran his hand up and down your arm.
”Think I can do that.”
Peace and quiet ensued again, and you nearly dozed off in Frank’s arms while he drew gentle patterns on your skin, his calloused fingertips feeling like home. For a brief, fleeting moment, you didn’t want to die, you didn’t feel like you were being consumed by the darkness. He, as ironic as it was, was your guiding light and something to hold onto on your toughest days.
”You told me once… yeah, you, uh… you told me you feel guilty when you have a rough day”, Frank piped up eventually, and swallowing at the accurate statement, you waited for him to continue. ”I need ya to know that it’s bullshit. Not that you feel that way, it’s… it’s real, I know. But the part where you think you’re doin’ somethin’ wrong. You hear me? You’re doin’ what you can and there ain’t a single thing wrong with that”, he explained, his usual stern tone mixed with genuine affection and care for you. He may have sounded almost angry, but you knew he wasn’t. He was just… passionate. Yes, about you.
”A part of me knows that. And another, bigger part thinks I’m the worst person in the world for—for not showering, for not cooking, for not doing more”, you sighed. You knew that if there was anyone you could talk to about how you really felt, it was Frank. He never judged, but always made you feel safe and understood.
”Hey, listen to me. You’re survivin’. That’s what matters. Whatever it takes to make it through the day, that’s the most important thing you could be doin'”, he reminded, his voice gruff and low in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. ”Sometimes you gotta take it day by day. Sometimes minute by minute. Whatever it takes, got that? You’re fuckin’ brave. And strong. I adore the hell out of you”, Frank went on, and you tried so damn hard not to cry. He may not have been a big talker most of the time, but when he was, he knew exactly what to say.
”I adore you”, you murmured in return, and chuckling, Frank left a kiss on your temple.
”And ’m one lucky asshole for that”, he rumbled. ”Maybe tomorrow will be better, yeah? For now… just be with me, huh?”
You nodded and lifted his hand up to your mouth so you could kiss his knuckles. ”I would love nothing more.”
this is inspired by the lovely Tuna Team and also because I realized I’ve never seen a fic of reader taking care of sick Frank. No established relationship in this one but LOOOOOTS of tension they’re just both too stupid to realize it :D
Content Warnings: p*king (not too descriptive), brief mention of injuries, veeeeery sick Frank, reader who matches Frank’s stubbornness <3
Word Count: 1.3k
It was your day off, and you were making the most of it. You slept in until 10am, cooked your favorite breakfast, wore your softest pajamas, and grabbed your comfort book. The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The world was at ease.
…for about twenty minutes.
You were just about to brew your second cup of mocha when you heard the faint sound of groaning. Halting your reach for your coffee mug, the edges of your lips started to turn down as the noise continued. It seemed far away and muted. It seemed like it was…coming from next door.
You stared at the wall for a second before shaking your head. No. No! It was your day off. Frank had your number. He’d call you if he’d need you…right?
When has that ridiculous man ever asked for help?
But he only ever did his…job in the dark. And you had heard him come home last night, even checked out the door to ensure no trail of blood followed him. Surely he hadn’t gone out again. Surely he was fine.
A loud crash erupted from the wall, so hard you could almost feel it shake in the floorboards.
Goddamnit.
You ran to the door immediately, snatching Frank’s spare key and not bothering with shoes. Stupid, stupid man. Couldn’t he stay out of trouble for one day? It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend time with him, but you had to admit you’d much prefer spending time with him when it wasn’t stitching his wounds up.
The moment you stepped through the door you were calling out his name, looking for signs of a break-in or injury. There wasn’t any blood or weapons, but his kitchen table vase lay shattered on the floor. The sight made your stomach turn, along with the fact that he hadn’t seemed to notice you had come inside. Frank was nothing if not alert.
“Frank? Frank!” You swore under your breath, wishing you had brought your taser. “If you’re--if you’re fucking with me right now I swear to god…”
There was another groan from down the hallway and without thinking you ran down to the end of the hall and pushed open the bathroom door.
“Frank—“
You immediately turned away at the sight of Frank kneeling over the toilet, a hand pressed over your mouth as you smelled puke. As a nurse, you unfortunately dealt with this a lot, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t gross.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Frank sounded mad, and you couldn’t quite blame him. However, you weren’t about to let your own anger go so easily.
“I thought you were fucking dying! God, did you hook a boombox up to your intestines?”
“Leave,” he mumbled around a groan that lacked any sort of strength, and not just because his throat was hoarse. He sounded exhausted. More exhausted than you’ve ever heard him, including when he had bullet holes in his torso. He was clearly in no state to be alone.
You blinked. “You do know there’s a broken vase on your kitchen floor right?”
He breathed your name, exhaling roughly through his nose. He closed the toilet and collapsed against it, letting his head hang backward.
“I’m fine. You see I’m not dying, yeah? Now go.”
“Well you’re not far from it.” you crossed your arms. His grouchy mood would likely have turned most people away, but you knew him. Christ, you could see how much pain he was in. Sweat coated his temples, his face pale, his nose red. You knew he needed help, and a little arguing from him wasn’t going to scare you off. “Frank, you’re not fine. I don’t even think you can walk back to your bed. I’m not leaving you. Not like this.”
“I can take care of myself,” he grumbles, trying to stand up. Keyword: trying. He immediately stumbled, and you were right there to catch him.
You grunted as his weight fell into yours, the two of you working to get him back upright.
“Jesus—fucking—yeah. Yep, you can totally take care of yourself. Can totally stand on your own.” you shook your head, grabbing one of his arms and slinging it over your shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s just get you to bed, okay?”
He mumbled something under his breath as he began to walk out of the bathroom with your support.
“That better have been a thank you.”
Once you got him into bed, with heavy groans from the both of you, you stared at him with your hands on your hips.
“Alright. I’m gonna…well. Do you have food in this house that I can make into soup? Or just tubs of spam?”
He pressed a pillow over his head, and that’s when you realized how badly he was sweating. And shaking. You swore under your breath and knelt down at this side, gently removing the pillow from his face and placing a hand on his forehead.
“You’re burning up.” you murmured. “Where do you keep the towels?”
“No.” he responded immediately, flinching away from your touch. “I’m not getting you sick. It’s your day off, for fuck’s sake.”
“You’re not going to g--how did you know that?”
“You told me,” he said nonchalantly, swallowing around a sore throat with a wince.
You blinked, recalling that you mentioned how you finally got a day off…but you could have sworn you told him that a week ago. Did he really remember that?
“I’m not going to sit here and give you whatever the hell I have.” he said roughly. “Just leave.”
“Did you hear me the first time?” you placed your hands on your hips. “I said no. You’re in no condition to be by yourself. I’m a nurse. I know when someone needs help. If I have to force you to accept that help, then so be it. Where do you keep your towels?”
There was a long bout of silence where you both stared at each other, the tension of your conjoined stubbornness almost tangible in the air. When he realized you weren’t going to give in, almost at the same time you realized he was finally too tired to fight you back on this, he sighed loudly.
“Bathroom. Third drawer to the left.”
You huffed and started walking past him. “Thank you. Was that so difficult?”
“You’re a real pain in my ass, you know that?”
“Another weird way of saying thank you…” you trailed off as you grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with lukewarm water.
“You never listen to anything I…say…” Frank’s arguing ceased as you pressed the washcloth to his forehead, and he just about melted in your hands. “Fuck…”
“Feels nice, huh?” you smiled a little, feeling that familiar warmth you always got when you got to take care of people. Or Frank, specifically. You weren’t sure when that feeling had tailored to him exclusively.
“Yeah, yeah…” his eyes drooped shut and he leaned against the towel, the edge of his cheek sinking into your palm. With your other hand, you brushed some of his sweaty hair away from his forehead. He hummed lowly, shamelessly reaching for your hand and pressing it back to his face. Your eyebrows shot up at the show of affection, a thing he rarely gave out.
It must be the fever.
“I’m gonna make you some soup, okay?”
“No,” he groaned. “Head hurts. Just…just stay here. Need the towel.”
“You also need to eat.”
“Will you just listen to me?”
You rolled your eyes, using your index finger to tuck some hair behind his ear. “For a few more minutes.”
In the end, it didn’t matter. He fell asleep within moments.
warnings: nothing i can think of, barely a mention of frank’s occupation, some smooching, literally just fluff
synopsis: the cat distribution system has chosen you…and your live-in boyfriend, frank. it’s safe to say he never thought of himself as a pet-having guy.
a/n: hello!! what with ddba and the fact that i’ve been rewatching the punisher, frank has taken up residence in my brain and made himself quite comfortable. i hope i’ve done him justice! writing a new character and then posting is always a little scary lol. enjoy, my loves!! <3
————
It’s not quite dark out yet, but Frank is silhouetted in the warm light from the front porch. The moths haven’t even begun to flutter out, circling until the yellow bulbs embrace them. The man slips his house key in the lock and turns; the motion is fluid despite only having lived here for a few months.
Frank had told you he would handle getting you whatever kind of house you wanted, but you never cared about living in a castle. All you asked was that there be a spare room you could turn into a shared library for the both of you. Now, it has big, comfy chairs and a set of antique lamps that Frank hauled into the bed of his truck before you’d even admitted to wanting them. He built you a ladder for the top shelf of books after a conversation with your mother one evening and wouldn’t let you cry when he showed it to you.
He’s got a fistful of grocery bags in his right hand. You’d been watching some show on the Food Network earlier in the day and gotten fixated on this pasta they were making. All they had to do was say “four-cheese blend,” and you were sold.
A few moments spent rummaging in your little pantry revealed that you had noodles. Macaroni noodles precariously close to expiring. So, in that gruff tone that makes you weak in the knees, Frank asked—no, he set down a pad and pencil in front of you and waited—what you needed. He grabbed his keys, said he might stop and pick up some oil for your car too, and that was that. He was out for maybe an hour and a half.
Stepping inside, Frank uses his elbow to knock the porch light switch down. You always cut it on, just in case. He toes off his boots and turns the deadbolt before surveying his surroundings, looking for you as he walks into the kitchen. You’re not on the couch, though there’s an ass-shaped indent in the blanket thrown across the cushions.
“Hey, babydoll, where you at?” he asks, projecting his voice to the other rooms in the house. No answer.
He listens a little harder as he quickly tosses the cold stuff in the fridge and leaves the rest on the counter. He doesn’t hear the shower. He knows you better than to feel unsettled, knows the atmosphere of his home well enough to know nothing terrible is afoot. He’s just afraid of what you might be up to.
Frank makes his way to your bedroom. The light in the en-suite is on.
“There you go, sweetie. Take it easy.” A vein in Frank’s throat jumps at your voice. His thumb and forefinger slide against each other.
“That feels nice? Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff, huh?”
Frank pauses in the doorway. Who the hell are you talking to like that? He crosses the threshold to the bathroom in two strides, courtesy of his long, long legs. The sight before him is not at all what he expected. But what was he even expecting?
The porcelain side of the tub has gone warm from where you’ve been sitting up against it for so long, keeping watch over the little thing tottering around your bathroom, over your lap and back again. The pressure in your bladder is reaching its peak—you’ve been holding in the urge to go for at least forty minutes.
You were so focused on the task at hand that you didn’t hear Frank come in, but you aren’t surprised to see him staring down at you. Relief washes over you.
“Oh, thank God, Frankie.” He watches as you push off the wall and stand, your gait a little wobbly, probably because your legs are asleep. “Hold ‘em for me, I’ve never had to pee so bad in my entire life.” You don’t give your boyfriend any time to process things. Suddenly there’s just a teeny ball of fluff in his huge hands.
As you sit down on the toilet, you briefly think about the fact that you never imagined you’d be at the level of comfortable with a man so as to pee while he’s in the same room as you, but here you are. You’re quick, only taking in the expression on Frank’s face once you’ve washed your hands.
You can’t read him. This is, without a doubt, a look you’ve never seen on him before. You have no idea what it means.
“Frankie, baby? Are you with me?”
He meets your gaze. “What is this?” You blink up at him. “I-I mean, I know what it is, but what is this?”
You giggle and take the kitten out of Frank’s hands, setting it back down on the small pallet you’d made out of some older beach towels. Your heart flutters at the triangular tail and teeny little paws padding across the floor.
“Well, I heard this noise out back while you were gone, and I couldn’t figure out what it was so I went to look and—”
“You went investigating while I wasn’t here?”
“—anyway, I saw this little baby kitty pawing at the siding. You know that loose vent cover you keep meaning to fix? They were trying to pull themselves up and under there. I think they were looking for a safe hideout, Frankie, and I couldn’t just leave him out there, so I checked for Mama kitty and any other babies, but I didn’t see anything and this one’s so small…I think it’s the runt. Mama might’ve left ‘em behind. Or they could’ve been dumped, I’m really not sure.”
You look up at Frank, track the crease between his brows, the slight downturn to his full lips. But his eyes tell a different story. They’re soft, lashes kissing at the corners. His eyes have never lied to you.
“…Comments? Questions? Concerns?” you quip, keeping your eyes on his. If this were anyone else, Frank’s stance would be guarded. He’d become a human blockade, standing his ground, making sure you knew nothing was getting past him. That he made the rules. But you’re his girl.
He slumps up against the bathroom vanity, looking over the kitten. It’s a pale orange color, striped and its paws tipped in white. Its front two legs are in the food bowl as he messily eats the teeny bit of sustenance you’ve provided. It almost looks like you’ve taken a pestle to last night's pot roast. Frank knows you grew up with pets. You’ve told him about every last one, dug up pictures, said you’d love to get a cat or a dog or even a damn fish with him one day. And even though he loves the way your eyes turn into cartoon hearts when you talk about pets, it’s just never happened.
Finally, Frank speaks. “You know how to take care of this thing?”
You beam at him. “Yeah! I mean, it’s too late now except for an emergency place, but I’m hoping to find a vet tomorrow because you never know what the baby might have or need, y’know? And we’ll need a litter box and a scratching pad and some toys. And I have no clue how old they are, I just hoped this food was okay. They might need a milk replacement.” You lean down and scoop up the kitten, causing him to look around madly for a few seconds. Frank catches the moment you realize you’ve probably gotten ahead of yourself. He senses the change in your breathing.
“But that can all be temporary, too. Some vets will put animals up for adoption, and I can call around at work or ask my mom if she knows anyone who might want a—”
Frank takes the cat from you, successfully leaving you speechless. He lowers his head until he finds your eyes, wordlessly making you look at him when you talk. “Hey, no. Nah, don’t do that.” He lifts the kitten up so he’s level with it. “I know you wanna keep this thing, so just say that, sweetheart.”
“I wanna keep it so bad, Frank. Honestly, I was tempted to just keep him in the closet and take care of him in secret. I had a book like that when I was a kid, and it worked pretty well for them, so. But I don’t want you to be unhappy.”
“Hush. If you’re happy, I’m happy—you know damn well that’s the case.”
You push up on your tiptoes, your arms going around Frank’s neck. “You’re sure? We get to have a cat?”
He rolls his eyes, wrapping his free arm around your back and slowly rubbing up and down your spine. He hums his response. When you go to pull away, he holds onto you tighter.
“Hey, hey, not gonna gimme a kiss? Didn’t when I came home, like usual.” He scrunches his brows together. The pout.
You place your hands on his cheeks, feeling the start of stubble, and kiss him firmly on the lips. He tastes like those cinnamon mints he keeps in the truck. You kiss him three more times in quick succession, pulling out a smile. It’s the one he reserves just for you. His gaze darts away from you and his hands pull at your shirt. You’ve made him shy.
The kitten mews between the two of you. “Oh, come here, little baby,” you say, taking the cat and holding it to your chest. “Too much PDA, huh? We’ll do better, I promise.”
Frank finds it hard to comprehend the flea-like size of the thing. They have a silent staring contest. “Is he gonna shit all over the bathroom tonight?”
You laugh. “I’ll go get some newspaper.”
————
It’s always the big, scary looking men that end up having teeny pets that they’re total suckers for. Frank is no exception. And right now, you’re pretty damn jealous of your cat. Mercutio (he let you have control over naming the little guy) is draped over Frank’s bare chest where he sits in your oversized, well-loved chair. He’s been there for hours. Frank hadn’t intended to sit there either, only pausing for a moment's time to cut the tv on, that is until Mercutio curled up on top of your boyfriend, exactly where you wanted to be.
When Frank’s home, you try to spend as much time glued to his side as possible, which is why you’d asked to watch a movie with him, thinking you’d get to cuddle for the whole duration. You sit on the couch, legs stretched out in front of you, arms crossed over your chest. You’re watching the movie, sure, but you’re undoubtedly pouting. That cat was supposed to be yours—for one. For another, what ever happened to sharing?
You wiggle your toes in between the couch cushions like you would do to Frank’s thighs if he were sitting next to you, like he’s meant to be. Every few minutes you glance in his direction, hoping Mercutio will get up to go use the litter box or get something to eat, or even that Frank will be so desperate to be near you that he’ll move the cat himself if it means he can touch you.
You tuck yourself more firmly into your little mountain of blankets and try to focus your attention on the film. A glare out of the corner of your eye distracts you almost immediately. Mercutio has swiveled his head in your direction, the light from the television reflecting on his eyes in the dim living room. He’s looking at you.
And he looks proud. Like he’s caught the damn canary. Traitor, you think. That’s my man, you little shit. You roll your eyes, turn back to the tv.
Frank hears the sound your skin makes against the leather as you shuffle down the length of the couch. He glances over at you, your chin tucked into your chest, your brows practically hugging with the frown on your lips. He drags a hand down Mercutio’s back and the cat chirps, stretching his legs and hopping down. Frank sits up and stretches in a similar way. “What’s with the pout, sweetheart?”
You keep your eyes glued to the tv, despite your gaze being unfocused so that you’re not watching anything at all, just staring at a moving blur of color. “‘M not pouting.”
Frank knows exactly what your problem is. He has since he sat down and Mercutio hopped into his lap. He just wants to tease you until the words leave your mouth. My jealous girl.
He stands, socked feet padding across the hardwoods toward you. Frank lifts your extended legs and slides onto the couch beneath them. He sets them on top of his own before dragging his fingers up and down your calves, occasionally massaging your skin with impossibly slow, firm strokes. You try to ignore the tingle that climbs up your spine. He’s giving you the attention you’ve wanted all evening, but you’re too far into your mood to let up that easily.
You fight the urge to shut your eyes, to climb into Frank’s lap and curl into his chest, into that spot you swear was made for your body to slot against his like pieces of a puzzle. He resorts to grabbing for your hand. His thumbs pressing into the meat of your palms, sweeping out rivers of the tension you hadn’t even realized were there has always been it for you. The moment you’ll cave. You want so badly to keep up the stubborn act, but your body is already softening. Your heart flutters for him.
“You were supposed to be sitting with me…” you mumble, your voice a timid thing. Frank turns his head to look at you. His left arm extends, the backs of his fingers grazing your cheek and giving the gentlest of pushes, making you look back at him.
He raises his brows. “You poutin’ ‘cause the cat was taking up your spot, sweetheart?”
You nod, trying to sink further into the couch cushions. “He knew what he was doing. He fuckin’ gave me the hairy eyeball.”
Frank’s head falls against the back of the couch, the thick cords of his neck bared to you and only you. He’s stubbly. Without meaning to you’ve taken one of his big hands in both of yours, holding it to your belly. “You’re something else, y’know that?” he says.
You stick your bottom lip out. Frank stretches his body over yours, kissing the pout away. He kisses you with purpose, telling the jealousy to quit while it’s ahead. Butterflies wiggle in your stomach at the way his brows knit together while he kisses you; he’s so intent on making it better. He kisses you twice more.
“Not my fault that the cat I found and cared for is trying to steal my man. He’s so unappreciative.”
Frank laughs, breathy and sweet. “There’s plenty of me to go around, babydoll.”
You scrunch your nose. “Ew, Castle.” Frank keeps laughing, laughing until he’s settled fully on top of you, his arms circling your back and his cheek flat against your chest.
Mercutio appears a while later, licking his lips. He’s clearly been helping himself to that late night snack. He appraises the situation on the couch and raises himself up on white-dipped paws, peering over the edge of the cushions. Frank’s half asleep on you, but there’s no missing the feeling of Mercutio’s feet on his bare back as the cat settles himself there, leveling his gaze with yours. The cat blinks slowly at you and begins to purr.
“Jesus,” Frank mumbles. But he hears you giggle. You’ve got both your boys right where you want them.
————
note: none of the gifs or images i use are mine! i get most of my images from pinterest or here, and gifs from about the same. please let me know if i ever don’t credit someone properly!
Full Content Warnings under the cut to avoid spoilers if you don't want them!
read from the beginning | series masterlist | almostfoxglove masterlist
SUMMARY: Joel calls you late at night after Sarah gives you the third degree.
CHAPTER PREVIEW:
“Ellie,” Joel says when he answers, play-acting the stoic slant of his mouth and a curt nod that makes her giggle.
Then Sarah’s voice calls from some corner of the house and your niece rips off in a cartoon dust cloud to find her, leaving you and Joel once more not quite alone. Divided by the open door frame, staring at each other. A look in his eyes that makes you want to crawl out of your skin and into his. It’d be nice, you think. It’d be warm. He’d take care of you.
What a horrible, harrowing thought.
continue reading chapter 13 on ao3.
dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals below the cut!
CW: Belligerent sexual tension, yearning, mild fooling around, mild discussion / implication of smut.
you hide an injury from joel after your patrol shift | hurt/comfort, slight angst
i had two versions for this and they will be split with a —— so please enjoy either or both!
five runners. five bullets. the run down store’s only light came from broken windows and missing roof tiles, and you’ve backed yourself into a corner so that nothing can sneak up on you. your torch casts shadows behind them and they approach in a line. you send a bullet through a head, a kneecap and its head, a neck. you duck one clawing at you and shoot up once from the floor. the screeching doesn’t end, and you pull the trigger again to hear an empty click. your heart stutters, your breath hitches, and you kick at the runner’s leg to send it to the floor, and aim another at its head as you scramble to your feet. you holster your gun and reach for your flipknife. but your pocket is empty. you dig into it a bit more, stepping backwards as the runner recovers, but it’s not there.
you want to scream. not in fear, in fury. a glint catches your eye and your torch has caught the blade of your knife on the floor. the runner charges, and you launch yourself next to your knife, slamming into the floor at full force. you grab it, roll onto your back and catch the incoming infected as it jumps on top of you. gripping it at its shoulder, you stab the knife into its chest, its neck, its temple, until it ceases its movements. its blood seeps through your fingers, dripping onto your chest. with a cry of relief you shove it off of you and wipe your knife on your jeans before pocketing it. its only when you try to sit up that you feel it. a sharp, hot pain in your side, forcing you to lie back again. you glance at the lifeless runner next to you, a distant pang entering your heart at the person they used to be.
you wince as you try to sit up again, inhaling sharply as you peel your shirt away from your side. and there it was, a neat shard of glass wedged into your skin.
—————— track 1 starts here ———————
“oh, fuck.” you sniff, blinking up at the sky. deep breath. removing it might make you bleed out, and you know maria could help you. not tommy; he’d blab to joel, who’s already not keen about you going on patrol on your own. but he has things to do in jackson, you couldn’t let him risk his life out here. it only takes one wrong move.
you lie back, and gently roll over until you’re on your knees, trying to keep your torso as straight as possible. using a nearby shelf, you pull yourself up. it’s fine. it’s not bleeding too much, just leaking here and there. you check again and swipe it up with your thumb. you’re not too far from jackson, you think as you reach your horse. riding on horseback would definitely fuck up your insides, so you decided on a gentle walk. you don’t have much daylight left though, so you try to get a move on.
the sun is kissing the horizon by the time you see jackson again, and the doors open as you approach, as if they had been waiting for you. your feet feel numb, and you’re trying to stand up as straight as you can without wincing. the intruder in your side causing a deep, aching throb. you let go of the reins and let your horse run off towards the stables, right before you hear your name echoing across the courtyard. tommy slips down the ladder from the watchtower like it’s slick with grease, his boots barely touching one rung before it’s met the other.
he bounds towards you, forehead glistening, and slams into your good side with his arms around you. you bite your tongue at the force, feeling the glass slicing into you more. but you mustve let some sound out, becaus tommy pulls away and holds you at arms length.
he breathes your name, eyes assessing you. “jesus. you look— joel’s been about to send a search party for you.”
“it’s not my blood,” you lie. then you sniff, briefly breaking eye contact. “not all of it. where’s maria?”
tommy freezes for a nanosecond, eyes boring into yours. he knows, but he doesn’t ask, using two fingers against your forearm to nudge you into following him. he doesn’t pay any extra attention, as you walk past jesse, dina, and ellie, he probably doesn’t want any sort of rumour to find its way back to joel. and for that, you’re grateful. you smile at ellie on your way past, hand hovering over your wound to hide the bloodstain that was yours. she smiles back, you think. you’ve turned the corner before you and tommy are alone.
“you can’t tell joel.” you say. just then, your foot lands in a hole of land a lot deeper than you’re expecting, sending a painful jolt through your right side, exploding into the wound. you catch yourself on a nearby porch as your knees respond poorly to the shockwave through your body.
“woah,” tommy grips your arms carefully, avoiding your wound. “you’re kidding. he’ll find out when you tell him.” he helps you walk the little bit further to his house.
“no way. he’ll never let me patrol solo again!” tommy looks at you, eyebrows raised.
“is that such a bad thing?” he pushes the door open and shouts for maria to clear the table for an emergency. you hear a clattering and tommy shifts beside you. “sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, swooping beneath your knees to pick you up and place you on the table. you wince and swallow your cries of pain, hearing his whispers of “i know, i know. shh.” in your ear.
you feel a soft towel beneath you and maria’s supplies are spread on a small table nearby. she’s quick to business, slowly pulling up your shirt just enough to reveal the glass, which to your horror has dug itself deeper into you.
“it’s not that big, right?” you breathe lightly. but you eye tommy in the doorway, whose hand is covering his mouth, raking through his scruff.
“christ.” he says into his palm.
“i need your shirt off,” maria says calmly, and with that tommy spins on his heel and leaves, the door closing quietly behind him. you hold your arms up and allow maria to pull your bloodsoaked shirt off of you, before you hear a flannel being wrung into a bowl of water. it’s warm against your skin, the blood and dirt disappearing. but she’s delaying the inevitable.
she has a pillow under your head, and passes you a dry flannel.
“put it in your mouth,” she says. “i don’t have painkillers.” you do as she says as she readies two pairs of medium tweezers, a lot of gauze and some thread. you feel sick at the sight of it and prefer not to look. so you watch the ceiling as maria counts down, and on two, your skin feels as if it’s being ripped through by a chainsaw. you have to bite your scream into the cloth in your mouth, slapping a hand on top to muffle the sound even more. you’re gripping your own face with such force that you know you’ve left marks behind when maria pauses. she wipes at your forehead with the wet flannel and says she’s giving you a break. you shake your head as a tear slides down your temple and dissolves into your hairline.
“just do it, don’t care. hurts enough,” you mumble, head feeling as if it’s floating away.
“you could pass out. i am not having joel at my ankles for that,” she says, with care. she strokes your head lovingly, and purses her lips. she asks you if you’re ready and you nod.
“the whole thing,” you say, not daring to glance down. maria doesn’t reply, but she readies the tweezers. she takes a breath. and the pain returns. your body shakes as maria tries her best to steadily extract the glass, and you feel something dislodge. maria swears, and somewhere far away, you hear an argument.
the door slams open. the jolt in the room sends a searing pain through to your head, and your throat feels shredded.
“shit, joel!” maria shouts. he’d heard your screams due to the open kitchen window, and fought tommy while he was standing guard at the door.
“what the fuck happened?” joel shouts, stalking towards the table. tommy slips in front of him, hands on his chest shoving him back.
“wait; let her finish. you don’t want this to be worse. trust me.” there’s something serious in his tone that would even make you shut up. joel freezes, and watches maria dump the shard onto the table before starting on plugging the gushing of blood that’s just left your body.
with a deep throbbing ache remaining, you’re too tired to keep your arm up, dropping the cloth away from your mouth as you try to catch your breath. you consciousness is floating away, your eyes unfocused, breaths fractured. joel bats tommy’s arm away and he’s on his knees next to your head, smoothing the hairs away from your sticky forehead. you hold your breath as maria increases pressure on your wound, and joel takes your hand in his.
“that’s it, sweetheart, take it out on me,” joel mumbles into your temple. you squeeze his hand and groan in pain, feeling nausea creep into your throat.
maria’s recruited tommy. he opens a bottle of alcohol and douses a clean rag in it, muttering an apology as he sets your wound alight. joel watches in horror as your body convulses, sees the oozing wound and hoping the blood is only making it seem worse. your forehead is slick with sweat, and you’re only half conscious, murmuring his name while existing on a different planet.
“oh, baby,” he whispers, shoulders hitched high. you’ve started breathing heavily, and he doesn’t relax until maria begins stitching, then eventually wrapping your body. joel helps to hold you up enough, cradling your head and keeping your shoulders up. when maria cleans you up as much as she can, joel whisks you from the table to the couch, pulling up a blanket to your chin to protect your dignity.
when you come to, he’s on the floor, back to the coffee table. he’s kept his head up with his arm braced on his knees as he dozes. you stir, and he snaps to attention. your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t stop yourself blabbing, “joel, it was an accident, ‘m fine, please don’t worry.”
he wants to be mad, he really does. he wants to hit you with a “what were you thinkin’?” but you’re so tired, and your voice is all pebbly, and he doesn’t have it in him. he’s soft on you.
so all he says is, “i know. but i will. and we gotta talk about this soon.” you swallow the rocks in your throat, but you nod. maybe it’s time to stop being a lone wolf. an extra gun could save your life, after all.
———————— track 2 starts here ————————
you stare at it for a few moments in disbelief. heat pools behind your eyes and you take a sharp inhale. the runner twitches next to you and your heart flies into your mouth. you think your wound isn’t hurting as much as it should do, but you’re putting it down to adrenaline.
“fuck me, i guess,” you mutter to yourself shakily, pulling yourself onto your knees and hauling yourself up. should you pull it out? maybe it will fall out itself, it doesn’t seem lodged too deep. you wince with each step you take, and consider using your walkie talkie to call for backup. but you want to deal with this yourself.
the route back has a noticeable lack of infected, which you’re grateful for. your horse, gale, nudges at your shoulder when you seem to slow down, but the pins and needles in your feet can’t be reasoned with.
“‘s fine, gale. we’re almost there,” you say blearily, watching jackson appear dead ahead.
your feet drag against the ground, and your hand is slick holding onto gale’s reins. there’s a strange smell in your nose. pain. it’s metallic and stale, and your eyes feel too heavy for midday.
you don’t know how you find the strength to shout for the gate to open, but you do, and you slide in — they only open it a crack for patrols. you jolt slightly, thinking you’ve nicked the shard on the side of the gate, and with your next step you realise you have. your smile turns wonky, and instead of greeting tommy as usual, you settle on a wave.
you leave gale with the rest of the horses and stumble towards your house, where joel is working in the front yard. his muscles flex underneath his flannel as he moves a bucket of something to one side. he catches a glimpse of you approaching as he sets it down, and you try straightening up. heat rushes from the wound to your face, and you sniff away any cry of pain.
“hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with honey. he pulls off some heavy gloves and turns around with a smile, wiping his forearm across his forehead. it drops as soon as he sees you. his eyebrows set and his eyes narrow.
“what happened?” he asks, the words stale. you shuffle forwards, aming to dodge him.
“a successful patrol, if you must know. ganked a bunch of infected. i want a shower though,” you say, a little too fast. joel chucks the gloves to one side and doesn’t break eye contact.
“you’re standin’ funny,” he says. you try to play it off.
“you think i stand funny?” you feign hurt.
“knock it off. are you hurt? i need to know, baby,” his mask cracks. there’s a stab in your heart, and your side.
“i’ll get back to you on that,” you begin, sliding past him and climbing the stairs of the porch, using your arm more than your legs to pull you up. but you’ve crunched your side too hard, and you feel the shard begin to pop out. you’re glad you’re facing away from joel as your face crumples in agony, the electric hot wound sending prickles through your entire body. “but right now—“ you wince halfway, “i need a shower.”
the toe of your shoe catches the tip of the last step and you fly forwards, onto your hands and knees. you hear your name behind you and then you feel him. hands. on your shoulders, on your hips. you’ve frozen as the pain rockets through you, stealing your breath and your composure.
“fuck. jesus, fuck.” he’s turned you over and has spotted an angry red patch on your shirt. and it’s growing. he’s so mad. but your eyes are drooping and your eyebrows are all creased. so he bites the inside of his cheek in panic. he taps your cheek with his fingers. “stay with me, now. hold on sweetheart,” he says. you’re whimpering because you need to bite your tongue in case you scream. “you gotta—“ he sniffs harshly through his nose, “you gotta let me help you.”
his hand grasps your shirt and pulls it up. with wide eyes, he whips his head around to scan the immediate area, spotting ellie and jesse emerging nearby. he shouts for help even though his tongue feels numb. he can’t put pressure on the wound — for obvious reasons — but blood’s pooling onto the porch and he feels sick because if you don’t pull through, and the wood is stained forever…
footsteps thunder through your head, and there’s a murmuring that buzzes through your consciousness and you’re falling from joel, further and further.
you wake up in your bed. the sheets are soft and you feel clean. even though joel sleeps next to you routinely, he’s now slumped in a chair, arms folded tightly across his chest and chin falling into his neck. you lift up the sheet covering your body and eye the neat bandage around you, with only a faint patch of red seeping through. your throat is dry, and you feel so tired; a dry crackling at the back of your throat sends you into a coughing fit. the action jerks your wound which in turn remixes your coughs into cries of pain.
joel stirs, then, and his head snaps up. his eyes are bleary until he realises that you’re awake, so he reaches for a glass of water on the side and stumbles over to you. he slowly tips it into your mouth and the cool liquid tastes like gold. you tap his wrist twice so that he doesn’t accidentally waterboard you, and he listens. your coughs die down and you put pressure on your wound in case it makes it hurt less. and then he settles next to you.
“how’re ya feeling?” he says. you nod.
“‘M alive.” you aren’t sure what to say. there’s an elephant in the room, and you’re too scared to address it. joel isn’t, though.
“i don’t know why you’re so reckless. why you try to hide it from me.” he averts his gaze, but it’s clearly planets away. “i’m not putting you on patrol again,” he says. your jaw falls.
“what? but it’s the only job i’m good at!” you insist. “i didn’t say anything because i knew you’d say that.”
joel runs his hand down his scruff. “you could’ve died. hell, you almost did and it wasn’t even a fuckin’ infected.” you know he’s reliving something that you can’t remember.
“exactly, it was an accident. c’mon joel. next time—“
“there won’t be a next time. don’t you get it? next time, a clicker eats your throat. next time, runners take you down. next time, a bloater rips your jaw open—“
“joel, stop—“ you cringe at his graphic monologue.
“no, i won’t stop. you’re a smart girl; why aren’t you acting like it? i’m not letting you out of my sight,” his voice cracks imperceptibly, “m not gonna lose you.”
oh. that’s why he’s lashing out.
“you won’t. okay? you won’t. can we please work this out later? i’m very good at compromising,” you say, your hand finding his jaw and pushing him to look at you. he does, and there’s care in his eyes. he squeezes your hand and inhales steadily, blinking back something.
“okay, fine,” he says. “do you need anything?”
you shake your head, biting back a smile, “just you.” you pat the bed next to you and wait patiently for joel — now suppressing a smile — to stalk around the bed, toe of his boots, and lie next to you. you lean up against him as much as possible, already drifting again into sleep. there’s a soft kiss to your head, and you’re smiling in your sleep.
masterlist | joel masterlist | kofi | ao3 | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates
pairing: joel miller x babysitter!fem!reader
rating: 18+ explicit
word count: 9.3k
summary: joel really loves doing favours for you. like hiring you as a babysitter and teaching you how to suck dick.
warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is 21), joel is aged up from canon in relation to sarah, porn with the suggestion of plot, smut, mutual pining kinda, power imbalance (employer/employee), oral (m receiving), masturbation, mentions of literal porn, vaginal fingering, dry humping, soft!joel but he's also a dirty pervy dog, inexperienced!reader, some innocence kink, praise kink, dirty talk, pet names (baby, sweetheart, darlin', kiddo), ball sucking, finger sucking, cum eating, reader is described as wearing a skirt, reader has hair, pov swapping. no use of y/n.
a/n: this will have a part two. maybe more. idk yet. ok love you bye!
Joel knows perfectly well what he’s doing.
Five years ago, no one would have bat an eye at him hiring you on to babysit Sarah for the summer. An easy arrangement, two neighbours helping each other out. You were still a kid yourself then, the whole thing mostly your mother’s idea–two facts that make his current situation even more deplorable than it already is.
Because you are not a kid anymore. And by all accounts, neither is his fucking daughter, who’s made it clear on several occasions she no longer feels she needs a babysitter. Truthfully, Joel’s inclined to agree. Sarah’s well past twelve now, and more independent than she has any right to be. She’d be fine on her own, and Joel’d do well to save some goddamn money instead of needlessly giving it away to you.
‘Course, you’d seen to it that he never stood a chance, showing up on his doorstep that first weekend in June, looking all expectant and giddy, apparently ready to pick up exactly where you’d left off last summer.
“Hi, Mr. Miller,” you smiled. You were wearing this thin, cotton t-shirt that cut off at your midriff, a sliver of skin poking out above your denim shorts. Was he wrong to notice?
“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted you politely, but he was staring at your collarbones.
“I’m home now.”
But were you? You looked so different. Nothing like the girl he remembered from the summer before you went away to college.
“Great,” he nodded, clinging to the doorframe like maybe that could tether him.
“Are you busy? I thought…I mean, if you’re still interested…maybe we could talk about an arrangement for this summer?”
You leaned across the threshold, cleavage spilling out from the edges of your v-neck. Were you doing it on purpose?
Actually, he should have said, Sarah’s a bit too old for a sitter now, kiddo. I’m really sorry, but it’s not gonna work out this summer.
“C’mon in,” he said instead, guiding you into his living room with a hand at your lower back.
He told himself then what he tells himself now: he’s just doing you a favour. Emptying his pockets to give you a summer job. Who is he to leave you out on your ass? Hell, in some indirect way, he figures he’s helping fund your tuition. And what could possibly be wrong with that?
-
A month a half later and he’s harbouring a full-blown obsession. He wouldn’t quite call it a crush. It’s more like a perverted fantasy, he guesses, filthy images that cross his mind only when he’s got a fist wrapped around his cock in the shower.
You, with your panties pulled aside and his fingers in your cunt.
You, bent over the arm of his couch and his hands gripping your hips.
You, pressing a toy to your clit and moaning his name, like if he thinks about it hard enough, he can will it into reality that you might feel the same way about him as he does about you.
It’s not just that he wants to fuck you. It’s mostly that, but Joel does genuinely like you. Likes coming home to a clean house and a home cooked meal, likes knowing Sarah’s got someone looking after her, even if she thinks she doesn’t need it. So what if he also likes the little skirts you wear, the ones that let him catch fleeting glimpses of the place your ass meets your thighs when you reach up to grab something out of his cupboards? It’s not like he’s actively pursuing you or anything, he just likes having you around.
He knows what he’s doing. But he thinks you see through him sometimes.
“You, um, you twenty-one yet?” he asks one night, after he’s already handed you a wad of cash and you’ve declined his offer to drive you home. He’s got the fridge open, fingers curled around a glassy bottle neck. You stay late sometimes and chat; it’s not wildly out of the ordinary for him to offer. Maybe he could keep you here a little longer, just for a drink. To be polite.
You giggle and bite your lip, looking sort of shy. You look shy a lot, Joel’s noticed.
“Yes, I turned twenty-one in May,” you tell him. “But I don’t really drink.”
Joel nods, grabbing you a beer anyway. “S’alright. Just one. You’ve earned it.”
“Oh, I–”
Joel ignores your protests, popping the bottle cap off with his belt buckle and handing it to you across the kitchen island.
“You’re doin’ a great job,” he says, tipping his own bottle to yours. You clink it somewhat cautiously, not quite meeting his eyes. “Just wanna say thank you for all your hard work.”
You eye him skeptically as he sips his beer.
“Well, thank you for the job, Mr. Miller,” you say with a small smile. “Sarah’s always telling me she doesn’t think she needs a babysitter anymore.”
Damnit.
“That right?” Joel asks through gritted teeth.
“Yeah,” you shrug. “I guess it’s nice to know at least you want me. Right?”
Jesus Christ.
Joel takes another swig of his beer, fighting for his life not to succumb to that wide, doleful stare you’re fixing him with. Buying his time to avoid saying what he knows he shouldn’t say.
He swallows hard and clears his throat.
“Joel,” he says finally. “Y’can just call me, Joel.”
You smile, a timid little twitch of your lips. “Okay, Joel. Joel. Feels kinda wrong somehow.”
You have no idea.
“Well, I want you to feel at home here,” Joel explains. Which is mostly true. He also really fucking likes how his name sounds coming out of your mouth. “And, you know, you’re a grown-up now, so…”
“So?” you press him. You still haven’t touched your beer.
“So…I want you to just…think of me as a friend, I guess.”
“A friend?”
Something like that.
Joel nods and sips his beer and you watch him with curious eyes.
“Aren’t you kind of my boss?” you ask.
“Don’t mean we can’t be friends.”
Sometimes–like right now–Joel sees how easy it would be. If he ever did choose to pursue you, that is. He likes to think you know better but it’s just…any time he starts to suspect you know how he feels, you find some way to remind him just how naive you really are. At his offer–his deeply unprofessional offer–your face splits into a real, genuine smile, spine and shoulders straightening out like he’s just pierced you with a shot of confidence. Finally, finally, you take a sip of beer, grimacing as it hits your tongue, and something about it feels like a sign of trust. An undeserved one, maybe, but one that makes his chest swell all the same.
“Okay, friend,” you say. “Joel. If we’re friends, can I be honest?”
“Oh–uh, yeah. Sure, okay.”
His mouth goes dry, muscles warming under his skin. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears, blood rushing in his veins, tensing so hard he forgets to breathe. Maybe you do know how he feels. Maybe you’ll call him out for it. Maybe you want him too and if you do, then what the fuck is he supposed to do–?
“I really don’t like beer,” you laugh simply.
Joel exhales in a rush, but the tension doesn’t quite leave his body.
“Shit, sorry, that’s fine,” he rasps, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. “I’ll finish it.”
“Thanks, sorry. I should probably head home anyway.”
That’s for the best, he thinks. He’s pretty sure he’s sporting a semi by now and you don’t need to stick around to watch him deal with that.
Although the thought does make him harder. Goddamnit.
“Right. You sure you don’t need a ride?”
“That’s okay,” you assure him, already halfway to the door. “See you Monday?”
“See you Monday.”
He’ll see you in his dreams long before then, he’s sure.
-
You have a crush on your boss.
You’re not really sure what to do about it.
Joel is so…kind. You’ve always known that. He’s been kind enough to let you have this job for the last five years, kind enough to keep you on now even though you’re pretty sure he doesn’t have to. You’ve always felt safe with him, never used to feel your skin get so hot when he walked into a room or asked you how your day was. He’s always just been Joel. Sweet, kind Joel. But something about this summer, something about his presence…everything feels different now.
You’re noticing things you never noticed before. Like how thick his arms are, how wide his chest is, how soft his hair looks. Sometimes, you imagine what it would be like if Joel was not sweet to you at all. If he touched you like the men you’ve seen in videos, the ones you watch late at night on your phone under the covers. If he was forceful and strong, moulding your body into the positions he liked, demanding and hard instead of gentle and soft.
It’s never felt like this before. The ache. The need. Never this fiery, never this painful. Something’s changed in you over this past year. It’s harder now–harder than ever–to keep denying this part of you. This girl who craves to touch and be touched.
Is it normal to want it so much? You touch yourself every day.
It doesn’t help that the memory of the last time you’d been with a boy is slowly fading into a mirage as the years go by. Not that it’s something you’d want to remember anyway. It was your junior year, and while your highschool boyfriend hadn’t necessarily done anything wrong, he certainly hadn’t done anything right, either. All you remember now is the dissatisfaction and how quickly it had ended, the unresolved tension and the longing longing longing for a release he never gave you. That, and the heartbreak. Because once he got what he wanted, he’d dumped you the next day.
So you don’t think about him anymore. Instead, you think about Joel.
Joel, who works all day with his hands. Joel, who you know would never leave you unsated. Joel, who looks at you sometimes with this dark, hungry gaze that makes your insides turn, makes you wonder if maybe, maybe–
But he wouldn’t. And you can’t. You need this job too much. So you keep him locked away your fantasies and instead, you make a Tinder account.
You’re getting laid this summer if it kills you.
-
It’s a Friday night in late July when everything finally comes to a head.
Joel works late, rolling in well after 10 p.m. You’re still there when he comes in the door, smiling at him as you busy yourself with some book at his kitchen table. You linger there while he runs upstairs to check on Sarah, only to find her already passed out in bed.
“Shit. Sorry, baby,” he whispers, laying a kiss against her temple. “G’night.”
She doesn’t stir and Joel tries not to let the guilt consume him. One night without a goodnight kiss isn’t the end of the world. He’s probably more torn up about it than she is. With a sigh, he closes her door behind him and meets you back in the kitchen.
“There’s some mac and cheese on the stove,” you tell him. You sound a bit sleepy and Joel’s guilt creeps back in again, this time for keeping you here well past your scheduled end time.
“Thanks,” he grumbles. “Sorry I’m so late.”
“That’s okay,” you say easily.
You’re silent as he readies himself a bowl, your presence quietly all around him, tidying up the leftovers and leaving his casserole dish to soak in the sink. He should help, at the very least ask how your day went. The second the microwave dings, though, it’s you who breaks the silence.
“Hey, Joel?”
He whirls around to find you sitting on the kitchen island, bare legs dangling off the edge of the counter. You’re wearing a white tennis skirt today, paired with a matching tank top. It’s almost frustratingly sexy. Your socked feet hook and unhook beneath you, hands in your lap, thighs squished against the granite. It catches him off guard, how comfortable you look there combined with how…timid your voice sounds.
“What’s up, darlin’?”
“Um, I’m sorry it’s such short notice but…I can’t watch Sarah this weekend,” you admit, picking at your nails. “I’m really sorry if that puts you in a tough spot or something–”
“S’alright,” he assures you quickly. And it is. “I’ll talk to Tommy, we’ll figure it out.”
“Okay.”
He probably doesn’t actually have to talk to Tommy, but he doesn’t need to tell you that.
You’re quiet again as he wolfs down a few mouthfuls of your mac and cheese. It’s fucking amazing, of course–and he’s prepared to tell you as much–but something about your demeanor makes him say something else instead.
“Everythin’ alright?”
You look all…small. Shy. Not totally unusual for you but there’s something more pronounced about it right now.
All you offer him in response is a shrug, looking anywhere but at him.
“Y’can tell me,” he insists, worry flaring suddenly. He doesn’t know what your home life is like, if you have any friends you could talk to–maybe you need him, maybe you need a confidant, a friend–
“I have a date,” you admit after a moment. You peek up at him then avert your eyes back to your hands, fingers twisting nervously in your lap. “That’s why I can’t watch Sarah.”
“A date?” Joel grins, attempting to lighten the mood. It’s not really like you, he thinks, as he turns to leave his dishes in the sink. He’s never once heard you mention a boyfriend or anything before. Which is fine. It’s none of his business.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” he asks, very much making it his business.
“Just…this guy,” you reply noncommittally. “We went on one date already. He’s a little older.”
Joel’s eyes narrow. “How much older?”
He can’t contain the threatening edge his voice takes on–as if he has any right to be wary of the idea of you with an older man. You catch the change in his tone, though, your breath hitching slightly as you meet his gaze for another fleeting moment.
“Just a couple years,” you say with a little shake of your head.
“Hm,” Joel nods. There’s something more you’re not telling him. And for some stupid fucking reasons, Joel decides he needs to find out what. “You don’t seem…too excited.”
“Just nervous.”
“Why’s’at?” he presses. Pries.
“It’s–”
You cut yourself off with a shaky sigh. You’re wringing your hands together so fast now Joel wouldn’t be surprised if he saw sparks ignite between your palms.
He’s reaching out to you, stepping closer without really meaning to. Goosebumps sprout on your bare thighs and Joel tries his very hardest not to notice the fact you’re not wearing a bra. He fails spectacularly when your nipples harden, stiff nubs winking at him through the thin fabric of your shirt.
“What?” he whispers. You shiver and it makes him feel so fucking big.
“I just–I don’t think it’s…appropriate.”
Well now he has to know.
He covers both of your hands with one of his, and you freeze. “Don’t worry about that,” he says.
It’s too cavalier.
Your eyes widen, mouth falling open in a surprised little o. Shit. Has he ever actually touched you before? Beyond an arm graze or a shoulder squeeze? He figures he hasn’t, since your gaze keeps flitting from his hand on yours to his face, back and forth, up and down.
“Or–you don’t have to say,” he amends, letting his hand fall. You visibly deflate, and he’s not exactly sure what to make of that. “But you can, if you want to. Maybe I can help.”
He leans back into the countertop across from you, pressing his hands firmly between his lower back and the edge of the granite.
“I don’t know if you can…” you sigh, thinking it through with another shake of your head before you appear to make some internal decision. You straighten your shoulders and set your jaw, whisper a little Okay to yourself, and it’s possibly the cutest fucking thing Joel’s ever watched in his entire life. “So we haven’t…done anything yet. But we talked on our last date. You know, about stuff we like.”
Joel smiles.
“Alright.”
“A-and he said he really likes it when girls, um…when they use their mouths to–”
“He likes havin’ his dick sucked?” Joel provides, only a little bitterly.
You nod. “Y-yeah.”
“That makes you nervous?”
“Yeah, ‘cause–”
“You don’t like it?” he asks, too bold. It’s just that now another cloying concern is rising to the surface and he needs to make sure someone tells you– “You don’t gotta do nothin’ you don’t wanna do.”
But you just shake your head, insistent. “It’s not that.”
Joel frowns as you appear to steel yourself, waiting.
“I’ve never done it before,” you admit softly.
Shit. Fucking. Shit. He’d figured maybe you were inexperienced but this–
He should stop this. He should tell you goodnight and drive you home. He’s teetering on the edge of something dangerous and he knows it.
You just look so fucking sad.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Joel sighs. Like a magnet, he’s drawn into you, inching closer until he’s bracing both his hands on either side of your legs against the kitchen counter. You don’t look up from your lap. “That’s okay.”
“I know,” you insist. He’s never been this close to you before. He can smell your perfume from here. “I know it’s okay. I’ve had sex. I just haven’t done…this. What if I do it wrong? What if he doesn’t like it?”
The opportunist in him growls at the way you open up, screams at him to keep you talking like this, maybe already sensing where this is going before he’s consciously realized it himself. Joel, meanwhile, takes a twisted sort of comfort in knowing you’re not a virgin. Like that makes any of this better.
“Any man’d be lucky to get that pretty mouth on him,” he says. And in another universe, maybe he could play it off as nothing more than a harmless, throwaway compliment. Except in this universe, he’s tilting your face up with a finger under your chin, adding, “Trust me,” just to seal his fate.
You stare back at him with these round, nervous eyes and all he sees is this lost, scared, innocent girl–pleading for guidance.
It would be so easy.
“I can teach you,” he offers gently.
“You can?”
Goddamnit. Your gaze goes all fucking…glittery, a smile breaking across your features for the first time since you’d started talking. You sit up a little straighter, eagerness rolling off you in waves and Joel is one-hundred percent going to hell for this.
“Sure,” he grins in spite of himself.
“How?”
“We can…I don’t know, practice,” he suggests, flying by the seat of his pants. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flash down to his crotch, confirming you know exactly what he means by practice.
It’s too goddamn easy. Christ, he’s fucked.
“I’ll tell you what to do, show you how to make it real good for him–and for you. Would you…want that?”
You give him more than he deserves, gnawing on your lip as you actually consider it. And Joel just waits, curiously wrapping his fingers around your upper thigh, grinning to himself when those goosebumps rise for him again.
In a flash, you grab his wrist.
“Wait, Joel. Are-are you making fun of me?” you demand. You already sound so breathless. “Is this a joke?”
Joel’s brows knit together at the very notion.
“‘Course not,” he says, fingers flexing around your thigh. He wishes this was a joke. “I just wanna help.”
You loosen your grip around his wrist, and Joel can physically feel you go pliant for him, your lips parting as he cups your face in his other hand.
“Promise?” you ask.
Joel smiles, effortlessly spreading your legs to make room for himself between them. You gasp, arching your spine until his lips are mere centimetres from yours and the scent of sunscreen and chapstick and daisies overtakes his nostrils.
“Promise,” he hums, and then he kisses you.
He tries to be soft but you’ve got other plans. The moment he presses his lips to yours, you’re throwing your arms around his neck, moaning softly as you pour your tongue out to him without an ounce of hesitation. It’s infectious, and Joel is quick to cave, something guttural catching his throat as he buries his hands beneath your skirt, finding purchase at your lower back. He pulls you in closer and you slant your mouth to his, licking secret messages behind his lips for only him to decode.
He’s already hard, but then you press your warm, covered core into his belly, your legs hooking eagerly around his hips–and he’s a goner.
He groans, and with some effort, manages to pry your face away from his.
“You’ve done that before, huh?” he asks. You bite your wet bottom lip and nod.
“Mhm.”
Your legs and arms are still wrapped around him, clinging to him for dear life for whatever comes next. What comes next? This is what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? You hadn’t said no. You need this. What could possibly be wrong about it? Nothing, he thinks, as long as he ignores the very simple, obvious answer.
Joel sighs, his forehead colliding with yours.
This is for you, he tells himself, Just another favour.
“Come with me,” he murmurs decidedly.
-
It takes everything in you not to trip over your own feet as Joel leads you to his bedroom.
“Wait right here a sec,” he tells you, leaving you alone in the middle of his space while he presumably goes to check if Sarah is still sleeping. You don’t get to take it in for long, barely registering the posters on his walls and the unwashed laundry hanging off a desk chair before Joel creeps back into the room, closing the door behind him.
He approaches you carefully, like he’s afraid you might run if he gets too close too fast. Calloused fingers brush up the sides of your arms and your heartbeat pounds in your ears.
“What now?” you ask quietly. His eyes keep trailing up and down your body and you want so badly to kiss him again.
This is a win-win, surely. You get to practice for your date and, even better, Joel will be your teacher.
Sweet Joel. You want him to ruin you.
“Why don’t you start by gettin’ on your knees for me?” he suggests.
The air leaves your lungs in a rush, his tone almost clinical in a way that makes you ache. You obey without question, sinking down before him till your knees hit the soft plush of his carpet. This is always how the girls look in the videos you’ve seen, folded up on the floor while big men with big cocks thrust mercilessly into their waiting mouths.
You think Joel will be nicer than those men.
“Like this?” you ask, focusing intently on fanning out the hem of your skirt, struck by a sudden wave of crippling vulnerability.
“Yeah, sweetheart, just like that,” Joel says. His big palm pets a soothing pattern across your hair as he adds, “Now look up at me.”
Your face feels hot–everything feels hot–as you tilt your head back and blink up at him wordlessly. Joel Miller towers over you, dark jeans concealing a prominent bulge, dark t-shirt straining over a burgeoning belly.
You don’t notice your lips have parted until Joel is tracing them with this thumb.
“Attagirl,” he smiles. “He’ll be losin’ his goddamn mind f’he sees you sittin’ all pretty like that, givin’ him those eyes.”
You feel yourself beam at the praise. And it makes you bold.
You sit up straighter, until your eyes are in line with that inviting bulge in his jeans. Still gazing up at him, your fingers hover over his belt buckle.
“Can I–?”
You’re not sure how to ask for what you want. You’ve never wanted so much in your life.
“You wanna take it out?” Joel offers.
You nod.
“Alright,” he decides. You watch with hungry eyes as he loosens his belt, sparing you the trouble of undoing his button-fly while he’s at it. A pair of worn, grey boxer-briefs poke out from behind the denim, the hard line of his dick clearly visible through the thin, woven cotton.
“Go on,” Joel hums, “Go on and take my cock out.”
A sharp pang of need twists in your tummy as you reach out to hook your fingers under the waistband of his boxers. He’s done most of the work for you, but your hands still shake as you tug tug tug down the layers of fabric. A dark patch of hair is the first thing that greets you, more of it than you’ve ever seen on a man before. You suppose that shouldn’t surprise you; you’ve never really been with a man before. Certainly no one as old as Joel.
You tug a little lower, Joel encouraging you with a soft, “Yeah…” until at last, his cock springs free.
You have to lean back just to avoid it slapping you in the face.
Joel grants you a moment to ogle, but you’re not even sure where to look. Your gaze flickers between the veins that line his thick shaft and the drops of wetness that bead at his slit, the leaking, ruddy tip of him poking out at you from under a silky-soft foreskin. His balls hang heavy over the edge of his boxers, and those dark curls that had first greeted you now are everywhere, wild and unruly and especially dense around his base.
“You like it?” Joel asks.
You do but–
“It’s…big.”
“Put it in your hand,” he instructs you. When you just stare up at him dazedly, Joel helps you out, reaching for your wrist and maneuvering your fingers into a fist near the head of his cock. “Just like that, wrap your fingers around it–right there.”
You try, but you can’t even fit him all in your grasp.
Joel doesn’t seem to mind, just squeezes your fingers once and then lets them go. For the first time, you feel the full heft of his cock for yourself and you tighten your grip experimentally.
“H-here?” you stammer, since you’ve apparently forgotten how to think.
“Yeah, there you go. Y’can stroke it a bit, get a feel for it.”
“I’ve done that part before.” A reminder you need just as much as him right now.
“Show me,” Joel says.
Slowly, you begin to move your fist up and down, feeling him stiffen fully in your grasp. His length itself is smooth, you find, the skin there intoxicatingly soft beneath your fingers. You want to feel more.
So you grip him with your other hand, pumping him with both fists in a somewhat uneven rhythm, but one that makes Joel groan all the same.
“Oh, good girl,” he sighs.
Even with two hands, there’s still so much of him you can’t reach.
“You’re so hard,” you note.
“I am,” Joel grins. “Why do you think that is?”
His thumb traces lightly over your cheekbone and you smile.
“Me?”
“Good guess,” Joel chuckles. His smile fades as you stroke him, though, his head falling back behind him and his eyes slipping closed. He likes it when you touch him like this, you think.
It doesn’t take long before another drop of wetness sprouts from his tip. Some foreign instinct drives you–curiosity maybe–as you daringly lean forward and catch it on your tongue.
“Oh–shit,” Joel groans. You peer up to find him staring down at you in…shock maybe?
“Sorry,” you say, pulling back hastily. “I wanted…was that okay?”
But Joel is quick to put your doubts to rest.
“Fuck, yeah, it’s okay,” he insists, already drawing you back in with an encouraging hand on the back of your head. “Do that again. Swirl your tongue around the tip again, just like that.”
You dart your tongue out at once, eyelids fluttering as you breathe in his musk. You do just as he asks, circling the wet head of his cock with your tongue, trying out a few kitten licks while you’re at it. Joel makes breathy little noises when you do that, more liquid beading for you from his slit. You lap it up eagerly, humming at the flavour.
“How’s’it taste?” Joel grits.
“Salty,” you tell him, licking at him again just to be sure. “Good.”
Joel growls, and then you can only watch as he takes his cock in his own hand, leaving yours to fall into your lap.
“Okay–now,” he starts, stroking himself as he speaks. “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna put just this part in your mouth–” He focuses his fist to the head of his cock, the very thickest part of him, “–like you’re givin’ it a kiss. And you’re gonna do just what you did before with your tongue. Okay?”
You nod, not even bothering to conceal your excitement. Joel’s cock is about to be in your mouth.
“Open up,” he instructs you, guiding himself to your lips. Eyes fixed on your target, you eagerly drop your jaw.
“Good–look at me,” Joel says.
You tear your eyes from his length to look up at his face, watching his gaze darken as he slowly begins to feed you his cock. You wait until you feel the bulbous head of him pass your lips, and then you focus on his orders. Gently closing your mouth, you hold him there, warm between your gums as you dance your tongue around his tip. It’s dizzying and delicious, how he fills so much of your mouth already. How your jaw already strains around his girth. You lick at him faster, moaning around him at the very thought of more.
“Yeah, good job, sweetheart,” Joel groans. He reaches for one of your wrists, guiding it back to his length. You wrap your hand around him instinctively, squeezing gently. “Feel how hard I am now? All around the head there is real sensitive. You tease him like that and you’ll drive him fuckin’ crazy.”
You pop him out of your mouth, breathless as you ask,
“Am I driving you crazy?”
Joel’s lips twitch, and he looks a bit disbelieving for a moment until he’s shaking his head and tearing his t-shirt off.
“Let’s try somethin’ else,” he says while you gawk at his bare belly. “Put your hands in your lap. Come a little closer.”
You shuffle towards him in a daze, the length of him brushing against your cheek as your nostrils are filled with the heady scent of man that only grows stronger the closer you get to his balls.
“Want you to try lickin’ it, all over,” Joel whispers. “Up and down, wherever you want. Okay?”
You do not need to be told twice.
Joel keeps a gentle hand in your hair as you stick out your tongue and get to work. You lick his cock from his base to his tip, up each side and along the underside. You feel every vein and wrinkle beneath your tongue, lathe patterns over them with neatly defined lines and sweeping, wet stripes. You kiss it too, open-mouthed and sloppy, and Joel loves that, praises you gravelly as you get to know every inch of his cock.
You only stop when you feel your own saliva starting to spill down your chin. Embarrassed, you pull away, wiping at your face and praying Joel didn’t see.
“Sorry,” you mutter.
“Don’t you be sorry.” Joel angles your face up before you can finish cleaning yourself, like he wants a better look at the mess you’ve made actually. “You got no idea how fuckin’ sexy that is.”
“It’s sexy when I drool?” you ask.
“When you’re suckin’ cock, messy is always sexy. ‘Fact–do somethin’ for me.”
“What?”
“Spit on it.”
He–oh. Your eyes practically bug right out of your skull, taken aback at both the request and how casually he asks for it.
“Spit?” you repeat, dumbstruck.
“S’right,” he smirks. “Don’t be shy, it’s okay.”
It feels…filthy. Like something you’ve seen in your videos. A kind of debauchery you’ve only ever dreamed about. Joel watches, an encouraging glint in his eyes as you do as he asks, gathering saliva under your tongue and spitting it onto his hardened length.
“Like that?” you ask when he groans.
“Yeah, just like that, baby,” he grunts. “Rub it all in with your hands now. Do it again.”
His response spurs you on, and you quickly follow his orders, spitting on his cock two more times before taking him in your hands and wetting his length beneath your palms.
He lets you pump him like that until the ache between your thighs has grown to a full-blown throb, and your lips have parted of their own accord as you stare at his thick, shiny length.
“You want it in your mouth, huh?” Joel breathes, like he can read your mind. Or maybe it’s just that obvious on your face.
You nod, a tiny whimper catching in your throat.
Joel looks about ready to give it to you, but he catches you by surprise once again. He crouches down before you, making you gasp when he reaches for the hem of your top.
“Alright–first. Can I take this off?” he asks. You nod and he lifts your shirt up over your head, tossing it aside.
“Pretty,” you hear him murmur as he takes in your bare chest for only the briefest of moments. “Goddamn.”
Then he refocuses.
“Right–okay,” he hums, bringing two fingers up to your mouth. “Show me what you’re gonna do.”
Oh. Okay. His fingertips brush your lips and you part them for him easily, granting him entrance as he slides them onto your tongue.
“That’s right, close your lips,” he tells you, and you do. “Suck.”
You shiver at the dark command, tingling with the sudden instinct to impress. You think about your videos, how those women move on those men’s cocks, and try your best to mimic them. You wrap your hands around his wrist and hold him steady in your grasp as you glide your lips up and down his digits, suckling at them as you hollow your cheeks and sigh through your nose.
“Eyes here,” Joel reminds you. You dart your gaze up to his face, still sucking wetly on his fingers, trying to imagine his cock filling your mouth instead. “Yeah, there you go. You’re a natural, baby.”
You preen as he finally pulls his fingers free, dragging them over your chin and leaving a wet smear in their wake. You don’t wipe it away, now that you know he likes that.
He rises up off the floor, taking his cock in his hand again.
“His turn now,” he says, nodding towards his stiff length. “Ready?”
For a moment, you’re gripped by fear; his cock is much bigger than his fingers. You swallow tightly, inching closer.
“Don’t be scared, I got you,” Joel hums, sensing your hesitation. His big palm cradles the side of your face, gently coaxing your jaw open. You nod, and Joel takes it as his cue to slowly press his hips forward, feeding you his cock one painstaking inch at a time. “Little wider for me, sweetheart, I know.”
You try–widening your jaw until it aches, only for him to push inside just that much further. You manage to get him about halfway down before he lets you start to move, testing out the up and down movements you’d demonstrated on his fingers. Joel moans, watching you work with furrowed brows. You like it, you find, the heavy weight of him on your tongue, the way his foreskin moves between your lips, how strong the taste of him is when you have him this close.
You bob on him faster and Joel’s fingers tighten at the side of your head.
“Oh–just like that, doin’ so good,” he sighs. You can’t help but smile around him. He’s so generous with his praise.
“Why don’t you try takin’ it a little deeper?” he suggests then. “F’you can.”
You probably should have anticipated that. There’s still much of him you’re leaving untouched. In your videos, you’ve seen how the men fill those women’s throats, stuffing them so deeply you can see their necks bulge from the outside. What must that feel like?
Joel takes both sides of your face in his hands, gently corralling you as you press forward, deeper and deeper and deeper until–
Stars burst violently behind your eyes, your vision quickly blurred by sharp, hot tears. You’re coughing, spluttering, heaving to get a decent breath in, so momentarily stunned you don’t notice Joel has pulled you off his length altogether, kneeling down to stroke your hair while you struggle to catch up with whatever the fuck’s just happened.
“Oh god, I’m sorry–” you’re saying, but Joel isn’t having it.
“Hey, sh, it’s okay, it’s alright,” he chants, over and over until you’ve caught your breath and your gag reflex settles. “You okay?”
You nod. Joel smiles, wiping away your unwitting tears with his thumbs.
“It’s a lot to take, huh?”
You nod again, only mildly placated. You’re clearly going to need more practice before your date.
“Let’s try somethin’ else for a sec,” Joel suggests, unperturbed. “You ever played with a man’s balls before?”
That easily perks you out of your dread spiral. Joel has the biggest balls you’ve ever seen–bigger than any of the men you’ve seen in your videos.
You shake your head.
“Want to learn?” he asks.
“Will he like that, do you think?”
If you can’t impress your date with your deep-throating skills, maybe you could impress him with this. And maybe you also really want to play with Joel’s balls. Win-win.
“He’d be fuckin’ stupid not to,” Joel grins.
“Okay,” you nod resolutely, mirroring his smile. “Teach me.”
Your chest aches then as Joel lays a fleeting kiss to your forehead before he stands, like he knows just what to do to make you feel safe, to keep reminding you he’s still Sweet Joel–even if his cock’s just been ravaging your throat.
“Alright, now gimme your hands,” Joel instructs you. You cautiously reach up with both arms, just for Joel to collect your wrists between his palms and maneuver them towards his crotch.
“Cup ‘em for me,” he murmurs, and you do, making a little bowl at his command. “There you go.”
A small gasp escapes you as Joel then positions your cupped hands directly under his balls, not quite letting them touch, but close enough that the hairs there tickle your fingertips.
“Be real gentle…” Joel warns you, and you nod. At last, he presses your palms up into his sack, letting the full weight of his balls land in your hands before he finally drops your wrists.
“Feel that?” he smirks.
“Yeah.”
“How do they feel?”
Just like when you’d first held his cock, your brain seems to stop working with his balls in your hands. You’re frozen, holding them like precious gems, trying to find the words.
“Soft,” you whisper. It’s true. His skin is soft under the thin layer of coarse hair, almost delicate somehow. And yet, “Heavy,” you add.
Joel smiles.
“You know what’s in there?” he asks.
Your breath catches.
“Yeah,” you nod, voice small. You do know.
“What?” Joel presses. Oh god. “Tell me.”
“C-cum. Right?” you stammer shyly. Under the circumstances, you know it shouldn’t make you shy to say it. But you can’t help it. No one’s ever talked to you so frankly about these things before.
“Smart girl,” Joel praises you, burying your diffidence with a swift press of his finger to the tip of your nose. “Now move ‘em around a bit. Nice and easy.”
You giggle, more confident now as you twiddle your fingers under his balls. Softly, you alternate giving each one more attention, letting the weight of him switch from palm to palm. You fondle them, gently run your thumbs over the thin, stretchy flesh, curiously noting the sounds Joel makes in response and the way his cock twitches in your face when you touch him in certain places.
“I like them,” you muse, more to yourself than anyone else.
“Yeah?” he chuckles. “Come here.”
You’re putty in his hands as he pulls your face in close, all but pressing your cheek into the crease between his thigh and his hip. Instinctively, you drop your hands and wait for further instruction.
“Give ‘em a kiss,” Joel says.
Easy enough, they’re right there, your lips already brushing against his sack. You close the space between your bodies, offering a soft kiss to his balls, then another.
“Such a good girl,” Joel breathes. “Open your mouth.”
You feel almost dizzy as you obey, angling your face lower and parting your lips, eyelids fluttering as Joel guides one of his balls onto your tongue.
“Suck on it,” he grits. “Gentle.”
You sigh, suckling softly at him, wetting his skin and breathing in the masculine musk of him. It’s almost surreal, like floating in one of your dirtiest dreams.
“Fuck, that’s good, baby,” Joel groans. “Use your tongue.”
There’s a strain in his voice–a chink in the armour–and you get the feeling this might be his favourite thing. You wonder if it might be yours too, as you lave your tongue over his balls and drink down the heady taste of him. Is this what being drunk feels like? It must be.
“Alright, now the other one.”
Joel’s voice calls out to you through a thick fog of arousal, and you hum your agreement as you move to take his other ball in your mouth, offering it the same treatment you’d offered the first.
“Christ, you like that, don’t you?” Joel growls. “You like suckin’ on these balls?”
You nod, whimpering softly. His cock knocks against your cheek and your mouth waters around him.
“That fucker’s not gonna know what hit him,” Joel rasps under his breath.
You free his balls from your mouth, hunger burning for something else as you wrap your fingers around his cock and peer up at him eagerly.
“I want…can I put your cock in my mouth again?”
Joel exhales, chest heaving slightly as he runs a hand through his curls.
“I’m, uh…I’m real close, baby,” he admits. “Not gonna last if you do that.”
You smile. “Promise?”
Joel’s mouth falls open, and you watch his resolve shatter in real time.
“Jesus,” he breathes. “Alright, let’s try again. Just open real wide, and I want you to think about relaxin’, okay? Keep that throat nice and open for me. Take it one little bit at a time. You rush it n’ you’ll just gag again. Y’understand?”
You nod. “Got it.”
“Alright,” Joel nods, positioning both his hands on his hips and offering you an encouraging half-smile. “Go on.”
You take a deep breath and then you close your lips around him.
You think about his instructions, focusing on widening your jaw and opening your throat as you slowly press forward. It helps, and you make it further than you did last time, almost managing to swallow him entirely before you reach your limit. You take it slow, determined not to gag again–at least not if you can help it.
So instead of pushing deeper, you bob on him in long, greedy strokes, waiting each time for the moment you feel him hit the back of your throat before you glide your lips back upwards. You remember to use your tongue, running it along his veined underside as you go, over and over, up and down, all the while clutching him firmly at his base with your fist–the one place your mouth can’t reach.
Joel’s gone quiet above you, reduced to nothing more than short, laboured breaths, his belly flexing above you as he throws his head back in unrestrained pleasure. There’s a strange sort of power in this, you think, in watching a man fall apart from just your mouth. You feel high on it.
“Is it good?” you ask hoarsely, pulling off him to pump his length with your hand, feeling him pulse in your grasp.
“Good,” Joel nods hurriedly. “I’m gonna fuckin’ come.”
Yes.
“What should I do?” you implore him.
“Fuck–your hand–yeah,” Joel huffs in a rush, nodding down at you. He’s got a hand on your head again, nudging you closer. “Stroke it, just like that. And your mouth–just, stay right near the tip. Faster.”
Your mouth is around him before he even gets the words out, sucking at the head of his cock and pumping at the same time in quick, firm strokes–just as he’d asked.
“Yeah, you got it, that’s right, that’s good,” Joel rambles above you.
Anticipation pools in your tummy, and you suddenly feel like you might die if you don’t make him come. You take a chance, certain it will have its desired effect, as you reach up with your free hand and gently roll his balls between your fingers. A growl rips from Joel’s chest in response and then he’s abruptly tugging his cock free from your mouth, casting your fist aside as he begins to jerk himself over your face.
“Where?” he asks, an almost frenzied look in his eyes.
The question makes you panic; you hadn’t thought he’d ask. Mouth? No, what if you don’t like the taste? What if you throw up? Tits? You’re much too shy to say that. Fuck fuck–
“Face–” you tell him. “My face.”
Joel groans, fisting his cock harder and aiming his tip at your cheek as he babbles away,
“Fuck–yeah, all over that pretty fuckin’ face. Dirty girl, that’s so fuckin’ sexy, gonna make a filthy little mess of you, huh?–ahh.”
He’s cut off by his own strangled moan just as streaks of white spurt from his cock. You moan with him as he paints your skin with spend, hot, sticky globs of it spilling onto your eyebrow, your cheeks, and your nose. You can tell there’s a lot of it, the warm mess of him dripping down your features until he’s milked himself completely and his haggard grunting levels off into weak, tired sighs.
You have no idea what you must look like, but you feel sexy. You peer up at Joel with a wide, toothy smile, which he returns with a lop-sided grin of his own.
“Shit,” Joel whispers as he assesses your face. “Lemme get you a towel.”
“No, wait,” you stop him, as an idea comes to you. “I–I want to taste it.”
Joel seems a bit miffed–maybe still in a daze from his orgasm. He shakes his head, looking down at you with confusion.
“You never–?”
“I’m sorry, I know I’m supposed to swallow it but I wasn’t sure I was gonna like it and I just kinda freaked out–”
“You are not supposed to do anythin’,” Joel cuts you off, sounding offended at the very notion. He crouches down to your level again, gingerly taking your face in his hands. “Here, you wanna try a little?”
You nod, cautiously curious. Joel sighs, running his thumb across your cheek and catching his own cum, watching you carefully as he pushes it between your lips. You suck and then you swallow, and despite how hard you try not to, you grimace at the new, foreign flavour.
“Not so good, is it?” Joel says.
Honestly, you think you just need to get used to it.
“Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” you shrug.
“Maybe.”
He disappears then, pulling his jeans back on with another quick kiss to your forehead and a whispered, “Wait right here.”
In the absence of him, you finally take note of your body, the arousal coursing through you, the ache between your thighs. Your panties feel soaked, uncomfortably sticky, pussy aching with need. You think of all your fantasies, all your dreams of Joel, the man who’d never leave you wanting. Surely he won’t make you go home like this, surely he’ll make you feel good.
He returns just as the urge begins to consume you. You feel unfocused as he kneels to wipe your face clean, your eyes fixed on his hands as he works. You could cry with how badly you want to feel him touch you.
Is it normal to feel this way just from sucking cock?
“Come on, up you get,” he murmurs, helping you to your feet and taking you in his arms. You cling to him as he walks you both backwards, propping himself on the edge of his bed and situating you in his lap.
Your clothed pussy bumps against his softening cock and you whine.
“You alright?” he whispers.
“I’m…”
Oh god. Joel pulls you in tighter and the zipper of his jeans nudges your clit, the minimal contact enough to make you gasp. You don’t know how to ask for what you need. No one’s ever given you the chance. You just throw your arms around his neck and shudder, burying your face in his collarbone.
“What, baby?” Joel presses.
Say it. Just say it.
“I’m really turned on, Joel, ” you confess softly.
“That’s okay,” Joel soothes. His hands move along your spine, settling on your hips, under the fabric of your skirt. “What do you need?”
“I-I need–”
“Look at me,” Joel says.
You sniffle and put on a brave face, prying yourself away from his shoulder to meet his sweet, brown eyes. You open your mouth to speak, but then Joel rocks you against him, strong hands guiding your hips as he rolls you over his bulge.
Whatever words you’d been about to say die on your tongue, choking off into a squeaked sound of pleasure.
“Yeah?” Joel rasps, grinding his own hips upwards in time to meet yours. “That feel good?”
You can only nod, the sweetest relief setting in as Joel moves you in his lap. This would be enough, you think, just grinding on him like this. Already you feel a familiar heat building in your lower belly, a coil threatening to burst. But then Joel is reaching a hand between your bodies, sinking his fingers below the hem of your panties to cup your soaking pussy in his hand.
“How ‘bout this?” he rasps. “This okay?”
Mouth agape, you nod, frantic now as you take over the ministrations of your hips to rub your aching heat into his big, warm hand. The heel of his palm bumps at your clit while the tips of his fingers prod at your core, making you arch when he slips two inside, just to the first knuckle. You fuck yourself on them, shameless and desperate, Joel encouraging you softly through it.
“Keep goin’,” he tells you. “Ride my fingers, sweetheart, you just take what you need. Fuck, listen to this pussy. You like suckin’ cock, don’t you? Makes you all wet and achy?”
You nod, breaths coming fast as tension twists in your tummy, heat rising rapidly at your nerve endings.
“That’s so good, baby,” Joel smiles. “You gonna come like this?”
“Yes, oh god–”
It’s too loud, almost a shout, and Joel is quick to rein you in, covering your mouth with his other hand just as your orgasm crashes over you.
“Sh, that’s it,” he murmurs as you break for him, pussy clenching wetly around his fingers. “I got you.”
It’s so much more powerful like this, even better than you’d always dreamed it would be. Joel’s ravenous stare only makes it that much more thrilling, an adoring audience to your pleasure. It’s like he can see the stars bursting in your eyes and the sparks fizzling in your core. He even knows when it ends, sensing how your body deflates as he drops his hand from your mouth and slowly slides his fingers from your underwear.
“Fuck,” you whisper through a breathy laugh.
“Good?” Joel smirks.
“Mhm.”
He holds you until you’ve come down completely, until your body stops shaking and the vice grip you have on his curls loosens.
“I should–I should probably drive ya home,” he says, and you like to imagine you hear some reluctance there. “S’late.”
You know he’s right. You have no idea what reality holds for you outside this bedroom now, or what consequences this…lesson will have on the future of your employment, but you know you can’t stay here.
“Yeah,” you nod, awkwardly climbing off him. “Okay.”
-
Joel stays true to his word, driving you the short few blocks back to your parents' house even though you offer to walk yourself. There’s a fraught sort of silence that fills his truck, a palpable uncertainty that seems to flow both ways.
It’s a warm night, you realize. Joel rolls the windows down. At least until he pulls up at the end of parents’ driveway.
Behind a veil of tinted glass, you wait for him to do something. Anything.
“That was fun, right?” he asks at last. “What we did. You liked that.”
In spite of the awkward air around you, you smirk. “I had fun. Did you have fun?”
Joel laughs. A single, throaty outburst before he’s clearing his throat and shaking his head.
“Yeah, sweetheart, I had fun,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
You share a tentative smile, and then it’s quiet again. You should go, but you can’t seem to make your muscles move.
“Joel?”
“Yeah?”
“Am I fired?”
He rounds on you at once.
“What? Fired? No,” he shakes his head, sighing deeply as he scrapes a hand over his scruff. You think he must be tired. “Just–if anyone finds out about this–”
“I won’t tell anyone,” you promise. Who would you tell anyway? Your mother? And it’s not like any of your friends live here anymore. Nor would they even understand. You are perfectly okay with keeping this a secret if it means you get to keep your job.
Joel sighs again, looking like maybe he’s going to argue before he eventually nods.
“Right, okay. Good.”
It seems like all you’re going to get tonight.
“Well, thank you, Joel,” you mutter, fingers hovering over the passenger side door. “For–the drive. And…yeah.”
“Anytime,” he nods. You make to pull your door open, but Joel catches your wrist across the centre console before you can. “Hey, and, uh–good luck with your date. I think you’ll do just fine.”
“Well, you’re a good teacher,” you shrug.
Joel just chuckles, then finally lets you go. You hop out of his truck, out into the warm, dark night, turning back to face him one last time.
“See you next week?” he asks.
It fills you with a comforting kind of hope, that maybe you and he can go back to normal after this, maybe you really will get to keep your job, maybe it doesn’t have to be weird.
“See you, Joel.”
There’s another hope too, of course, just a tiny, glimmering thing; maybe–maybe–Joel still has more he wants to teach you.
Pairing: Jake Lockley x gn!reader (implied Marc Spector x gn!reader and Steven Grant x gn!reader)
Word Count: ~580
Summary: Jake comes home from patrol a little worse for wear. You help patch him up.
Content: Blood and injury (nothing graphic), fluff
A/N: Just a little fic to try to get myself back into writing! Enjoy! :)
Masterlist
You’re sitting in bed with a book when you hear the distinct squeak of the bedroom window opening. You should be used to it by now—you do live with Moon Knight, after all—but it still makes you jump.
You catch a glimpse of the suit before it dematerializes and know it’s Jake who’s standing in the room with you.
“How’d it go?” you ask, closing your book after marking your place.
“I got shot.”
“You what?!” You spring out of bed, panicked.
“I got shot. Only a little bit, though.”
He seems far too calm. You, on the other hand, are beside yourself.
“And how, pray-fucking-tell, does one only get ‘a little bit’ shot?!” you ask, struggling to keep your voice level.
He lifts his shirt to show off where the bullet grazed his side. “See? Barely a scratch,” he says with a slightly feral grin.
You shake your head disapprovingly.
“Hold on,” you say after a moment. “Why didn’t Khonshu heal you?”
Jake shrugs. “Dunno. Haven’t heard from him all day. It’s been nice, actually.”
“Why’d you go out if that stupid bird didn’t tell you to?”
“There’s still people who need my help,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
You nod in understanding before moving through the apartment to grab the first aid kit.
“Kitchen or couch?” you ask as you reemerge from the bathroom, kit in hand.
He considers his options. “Couch,” he decides.
“Fine, but you’d better not get any blood on the cushions this time.” You let him lead the way, sitting down in the spot next to him.
“We can just flip ‘em over, no big deal.”
“We already did that, genius,” you remind him, opening up the first aid kit and pulling out the materials you need. “Shirt off, please.”
“Oh, right,” he says as he complies, wincing slightly at the movement.
You suck air through your teeth in sympathy. You hate seeing your boys hurt. The fact that it’s such an uncommon occurrence doesn’t make it any easier to stomach. If anything, the rarity of the situation makes it worse.
You make quick work of cleaning and bandaging the wound. To his credit, Jake is a good patient. He hisses a little when the disinfectant is applied, but otherwise stays remarkably still and quiet.
“Alright,” you say, closing up the kit, “you’re all set.”
He grabs your hand as you hoist yourself off the couch. “Thank you,” he says when your eyes meet his, warm and bright and full of unspoken appreciation.
“Of course,” you say softly, smiling down at him and giving his hand a squeeze.
You return the first aid kit to its spot in the bathroom cupboard and rejoin him on the couch.
“Can you get me the remote?” he asks sweetly.
You look to the coffee table, where the remote sits directly in front of him. “You can’t get it yourself?”
He pouts. “I’m injured. You have to be nice to me.”
You give him an exaggerated eye-roll, but you do as he asks, not quite able to keep the fond smile off your face.
“You’re really gonna milk this, aren’t you?” you ask.
He just flashes you a grin as he turns on the TV.
You snuggle up against him on his uninjured side, and he puts his arm around you. You smile to yourself while he flips through the channels. You’ll gladly do whatever he asks, as long as it means he’s safe at home with you.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)
feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART TEN
masterlist | kofi | notifs | *spongebob narrator voice* 4 months later.
well, i'm not gonna bore you all with excuses, god knows most of you have heard what's been goin' on with me at this point lmao. but yall have been so patient and lovely and i really really appreciate it. i hope you enjoy this chapter; it's a little bit of bliss before things get... interesting. there's still more to come (about four chapters or so) and i'll try to update much sooner next time but please remember i'm only one person & i write this for fun (and for free) in my spare time!!! ik it can be frustrating when there are long periods between updates but i'm trying my best, please know that. k love u bye 💕
chapter summary: you & joel enjoy your little weekend getaway, far from the prying eyes and ears of your parents.
rating: 18+ explicit
warnings: age gap (reader is early 20s, joel is mid 50s), unprotected p in v sex, creampies, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink (joel has a big dick), tummy bulge, deepthroating (or...attempted deepthroating), cum swallowing, fingering, pussy kisses, ridiculous amounts of fluff, namedropping one of my fav songs of all time because i can, the tiniest mention of sexual assault (aka noah)
word count: 12.9k
ao3
You think you might finally understand what it means to experience happiness.
Not the feelings you've faked for most of your life, not the plastered-on smiles and faux giggles, autopilot prayers and forced gratitude. No - real happiness. That tingling sensation of nothing but pure bliss, safety, love, and peace, something that's felt far out of your reach for most of your life. It swells in your chest, makes a home in your heart as you nuzzle into fluffy pillows, warm bedsheets, and feel yourself drift in and out of consciousness, completely and utterly relaxed. Happy, you can't help but think to yourself, I'm so happy.
You're aware of Joel's presence, fading in and out here and there as he wipes a damp cloth between your legs, across your stomach, down your thighs - taking care of you, making sure you're comfortable. Afterward he cuddles in behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, buries his face in the back of your neck and inhales deeply; you wonder if he's feeling the exact same way you are right now - god, you hope he is.
"That felt so good," you murmur to him softly, eyes still closed, "Felt so good, Joel."
He kisses your neck, holds you tighter in his embrace, "I know, babygirl."
"Can still feel you inside me," you breathe, "It's like you're still there."
He chuckles softly, "Not to burst your bubble but that's probably cum. Couldn't get all of it with the cloth." The words that should be dirty - should seem shameful - do nothing but send a warm tingle down your spine, a sleepy smile to your face. You know he's right - you can still feel something warm deep inside you, a slow trickle making its way to your opening, but there's something else. You're still pulsing every so often around the phantom of a shape, an echo of what was still there only a few moments ago.
"It's not just that," you shuffle in the sheets, nuzzling your face further into the pillow, "it's like... like you're still in there, spreading me open."
He groans and his grip around you tightens, fingertips pressing into the malleable softness of your belly. He leans down to press a small kiss to your ear, "Can't just say stuff like that, angel. Gonna get me hard again." You shiver.
"Good," you whisper, "'Cause I want you to do it again."
His legs tangle with yours under the sheets as he pulls you in, scruff nuzzling against the bare skin of your shoulder, "We'll wait a little bit," he murmurs, "You're gonna start feelin' a little sore soon, if you don't already."
"I don't," you breathe, and you mean it. "Doesn't hurt at all, really. It... it didn't hurt. I always thought it would hurt."
You can almost feel his frown against your skin, "S'not supposed to hurt," he murmurs, "Woulda stopped if you'd been in any pain."
You smile, "I know you would've."
He hums into your hair, strokes his hand down along your arm, "S'good," he mumbles, and you're suddenly aware of the heaviness in his voice, the way his lips wrap lazily around the words.
"Are you sleepy?" you ask softly.
"Yeah, baby," he breathes, "M'sleepy."
You smile at the adorable admission, then lean back into his embrace and settle in. The sun is starting to go down, casting the room in long orange and blue shadows, warm and comforting. Your eyes close again and you focus on that blissful feeling, on the weight of Joel's naked body behind you holding you close, the sound of his breathing, his smell. On the fact that you've never felt more safe in your entire life.
"I'm so glad it was you," you whisper, and you don't mind if he's already fallen asleep.
--
You're not sure how long you both nap, but you wake up soon after to a completely dark hotel room, save for the flickering lights from the traffic below and the warm glow of the buildings outside the window. Your eyes flutter for a few seconds as your brain reconnects you to the present, and you're suddenly very aware of a dull ache in your groin, an unpleasant throb that hadn't been there earlier.
"Ow," you mumble incoherently, reaching blindly for the blankets and pulling them back to peer down at yourself, but the room is so dark that it's difficult to see anything properly, "Ow."
"S'wrong?" you hear Joel mumble beside you, stirring from his own slumber.
You wince in embarrassment, shaking your head, "It's nothing, go back to sleep."
"Y'said 'ow'," you feel him sit up and reach over to turn on the lamp, "You okay?"
As soon as the lamplight floods the room your eyes cast downward, half expecting to see some medical emergency, some horrific reason for the vacation to end early, to ruin everything before it's barely even started - but thankfully it's none of those things. You're just a little swollen - puffier than usual - and aching, but not in a good way. You bring your hand down and cup yourself gently, hissing a bit when your fingers brush against your opening; it feels almost like a bruise.
"Oh, honey," Joel murmurs, and you turn your head to see his brows furrowing in concern, "Y'sore?"
You wince, biting your lip, "Um, a little."
He frowns and pulls his own side of the blankets back, and you can't help the warmth that floods your cheeks when you see his exposed body; the dark hair wisping across his tan skin, his soft belly and strong thighs - and his cock, soft and heavy and impossible not to look at. You've seen him naked several times at this point but every time still somehow feels like the first, like it's brand new. You watch as he crawls downward and gently places his hand on top of yours.
"Lemme see," he murmurs softly, and you allow him to pull your hand back, exposing your sore pussy to him. His brow furrows, "Aw baby, you're all swollen."
"Is that normal?"
He nods, eyes still trailing up and down, "It's normal," he assures you, "It's probably worse 'cause - well," he smiles sheepishly, peering up at you.
"'Cause you're so big," you finish for him, your own lips turning up into a smirk, and he chuckles.
"Yeah, that." You watch as he brings his hands down and very carefully thumbs your outer lips, pulls them apart to assess what's inside. He groans, and you're about to ask what's wrong when you see a thin stream of his cum dribble out onto the sheets below.
"Fuck," you both whisper at the same time, and when your eyes meet you can see that his are suddenly dark, glassy. You feel yourself begin to throb beneath his touch.
"Still full o'me," he murmurs, eyes trailing back down to where you're dripping, "Messy girl."
Your own eyes go hooded as you watch him lean down and press a small kiss to your clit; your hips buck up, a whimper slipping past your lips as his whiskers prickle deliciously against your sensitive skin. He smiles against you, kisses your clit again and darts his tongue out to taste, just for a moment. You whine.
"I know what you need, babygirl" he whispers, nosing your mound and closing his eyes, "I know what'll help."
Your mind races with possibilities. "Wh-what?"
He suddenly pulls back, crooked smile lighting up his beautiful face, "A bath. It'll help with the soreness." Oh. He presses another kiss to your clit, "If I can bring myself to stop kissin' this perfect pussy."
You giggle softly and he opens his eyes to look up at you again, smiling tenderly. He reluctantly pulls himself off you and climbs off the bed, reaching down to grab his discarded underwear from the floor. "I'll start runnin' the water," he tells you softly, pulling them on and taking a step forward to brush your hair out of your face, "You just relax, sweet girl. Don't move a muscle."
The bath is warm and inviting, lit candles lining the counter and floor and dousing the room in a warm glow; it's hard to believe only a few hours earlier you were on the verge of a panic attack on these very tiles. Now you lean back against the cool rim of the claw foot tub, eyes closed as you submerge yourself in the hot water. There's no panic or anxiety in your body anymore, just warmth and comfort and the welcome ache in your groin, the smell of vanilla in your nose.
"Good temp?" Joel asks softly nearby, and you hear his hand breach the surface of the water, testing the heat. You smile.
"Perfect," you breathe, eyes still closed, "Thank you."
His hand brushes lightly against yours under the water and he squeezes it gently, then murmurs, "I'll give you some privacy."
Your eyes snap open, "No," you cradle his hand in both of yours as your brows furrow, "Stay."
A smile breaks across his face, charming and boyish as he seats himself down next to the bathtub with barely any hesitation, like he'd been hoping you'd say that. He keeps hold of your hand beneath the water and tilts his face toward yours - you press your forehead against his and breathe a long sigh of relief.
"Feelin' okay?" he murmurs, "Emotionally?"
You nod, sighing contentedly, "More than okay," you whisper, "I... I still can't believe it actually happened." Your lips twitch upward and you press a soft kiss to his cheek, closing your eyes, "Thank you."
He squeezes your hand again beneath the water before pulling out and bringing it upwards to cradle your face, tilting your head to look at him. His eyes are still a bit sleepy, hair sticking up in all directions and that beautiful smile still lighting up his face as he thumbs your cheek.
"I should be thankin' you," he breathes, "For trustin' me like that, bein' so vulnerable with me." He leans in to kiss you tenderly, but his words send a sudden flutter of insecurity through your body and you pull back to look at him again, unsure.
"Was I... was I good at it?" you ask quietly, "Did I do okay?"
"Oh, angel," he murmurs, bringing his other hand up to cup both your cheeks and brush his nose gently against yours, "You did so good. So, so, so good."
He ends up washing your hair, a small but significant gesture that makes the feelings from earlier bubble up again, the warm fondness and tenderness and love. You lean back in the tub, eyes closed, lost in the sensations of his big hands deftly applying the shampoo and conditioner, massaging it into your scalp and making your eyes roll back. It's ridiculous how even this makes you throb beneath the surface, the ache dissipating a bit in the hot water. So much so that when he caps the conditioner and rinses your hair once again, you reach up to take his hand and squeeze, eyes still shut.
"Touch me," you whisper, voice already desperate, "Please."
He doesn't need any convincing, inching toward the side of the tub and reaching inside to cup your pussy in his big hand again, softly rubbing your clit. You whimper and tremble, gripping the edge of the tub for support and whining when he speeds up, circling and rubbing it exactly how you like it.
"Poor little pussy," you hear him murmur, "Just needs some relief after gettin' fucked like that, doesn't she baby?"
"Mmhmm," you manage to hum, squeezing the sides of the tub and nodding furiously, "Y-yeah."
"Took so much cock in this little hole," he whispers, and that's enough to send you over the edge, eyes snapping open as you shake and shiver in the hot water. You see him sitting there, smiling at you with a devious glint in his eyes. He knows exactly the effect he has on you.
--
"What do we do now?" you ask him softly from the couch a little while later, carefully scrunching a towel in your hair and watching as he changes the bedsheets upon your request - you'd felt a bit embarrassed asking, but you'd really rather not sleep in a wet spot. He'd been more than gracious in honoring your request.
It's late, but the nap and the bath have left you feeling wide awake, and you have to admit that you're feeling a bit hungry too despite the full meal earlier. Does sex make you hungry? You file it as a question to ask Tasha.
"Whatever you wanna do, darlin'," he says with a smile, turning down the sheets and gesturing for you to join him in bed again, "C'mere."
You give your hair one last squeeze and pad over to the bed, clad in Joel's Grateful Dead shirt from earlier today. You don't care in the slightest that it's not necessarily the cleanest article of clothing to be wearing after a bath - it smells like him, feels like him. You just can't get enough of him.
Insatiable.
You both climb back into bed and he pulls you in immediately, tugging you close and wrapping his big arms around you. You lean back into him and feel yourself grinning without even really thinking about it, eyes closing as you focus on the feeling of his chest moving back and forth against your back with every breath.
"Always look so pretty in my shirts, babygirl," he whispers in your ear, and it sends tingles down your spine, a rush of warmth to your heart. He kisses you gently and you listen as he inhales deeply, nose buried in your damp hair. His hand travels downward and you both watch as he cups your pussy yet again, warm and soft.
"Feelin' a little better?" he asks quietly, thumb trailing gently up and down your outer lips, "Still sore?"
"Better," you reassure him gently - and you mean it; the warm water did help to ease the ache.
He hums and continues to trace your soft lips, nosing your ear and breathing deeply again, and fuck, you could get used to this. This casual intimacy, being touched without any expectations, any fear or anxiety. Feeling safe and wanted and cared for in his embrace, no worrying about getting home early, no time limit looming. Just you and him.
I love you, you want to whisper.
Your stomach growls.
He removes his hand almost immediately. "Room service," he says with a chuckle, and your eyes snap open again as he reaches over and grabs the menu on the nightstand, placing it in front of you both, "Pick your poison."
Your eyes are drawn almost immediately to the dessert section, followed by a short wave of guilt. You're craving something sweet, but you can't help but think back to being a kid again, asking for treats and being denied, feeling as if your desires were unimportant, childish, silly.
But no, you're not that scared kid anymore. You're not. You won't be.
You bite your lip, "You know what I could really go for right now?"
"What?"
"It's silly, but-"
"It ain't silly, babygirl," he murmurs, and his big hand travels down to squeeze your thigh gently, a comforting gesture, "Whatever it is, it ain't silly."
Less than a minute later he's on the phone with room service, ordering you a hot fudge sundae.
You spend the rest of the night nestled in the warmth of your hotel bed, flicking between channels, legs tangled together beneath the sheets as you take turns scooping heaping spoons of ice cream back and forth. Your mouth and fingertips are sticky, chocolate lining your lips, dribbles of melted vanilla dolloped on your chin which Joel wastes no time in delicately lapping up with his tongue.
"God, you're so fuckin' sweet," he whispers to you, kisses you softly, darts his tongue out to taste again. You hum against his lips and try to keep your emotions at bay; he tastes like chocolate and vanilla and safety.
--
Waking up is different with the morning sun shining brightly through the hotel windows, but that's not the only thing that's different; you notice as your eyes flutter open that the ache in your groin is gone, replaced by a growing hunger and arousal in the pit of your stomach.
Oh, wow.
Joel's arms are around you, wrapped strong and solid, and when you turn within them and see him sleeping next to you, the hunger only grows. God, he's so handsome like this - the grey in his hair sparkling in the early light, jaw soft and lax with sleep, cheeks flushed. Almost angelic in his own way, gentle and peaceful.
Until his eyelashes begin to flutter delicately against the streams of sunlight, brow furrowing in sleepy confusion at your sudden movement; he's awake.
The desire in your belly burns.
"You look so cute," you whisper without even really thinking about it, and his eyelashes halt their fluttering to give you another look of confusion.
"Cute's not exactly a word I'd use to describe myself," he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, "S'all you."
"Well, I would," you reply with a smile, watching as he closes his eyes again and nestles his face into the pillow. You reach forward to gently thumb one of the lines at the corner of his mouth, deep-set and soft beneath your touch. His eyelids twitch but he doesn't open them, "You're so soft too," you admit quietly.
"Again," he breathes, lips turning up slightly into a sleepy smile, "Not a word I'd use."
"Cute and soft," you repeat, thumb moving downward to trace the shape of his bottom lip, "And mine."
He chuckles under his breath, face smooshing a little more into the pillow, "M'yours," he murmurs, "all yours."
All yours.
You lean in even closer and inhale deeply, nose trailing up and down along his temple. Your eyes almost roll back at the scent of him, the masculine and heady aroma of his sweat alighting your senses. You're wide awake now, pussy throbbing somewhere below as you press a kiss to the apple of his cheek, tongue darting out to taste his skin.
His eyes open halfway, eyebrow raising as he sleepily watches you work your mouth up and down the side of his face, breath coming quicker and more frantic as your legs wind around him under the sheets. Obliging your desperation, his big arms tighten around you and he rolls the both of you, allowing you to settle on top of his large, warm body.
You stare down at him, hunger clear in your eyes.
"You were inside me," you whisper.
His mouth turns up at the corners, "I was."
"It felt really good."
"It did."
You lean your face down to trace your nose along his cheekbone again, eyes hooded, voice needy.
"I want you to be inside me again."
He peers up at you, sleepiness already fading from his expression as he watches yours with mirrored desire, "Yeah? You want me to be inside you right now?"
You nod, "Yes, please."
"Then turn over on your side, angel."
A little confused but certainly not opposed, you do as he says, rolling back over onto your side and resting your head softly against your pillow. You feel his hand dip downwards beneath the sheets, then his fingertips glide smoothly along your abdomen. Your heart hammers in your chest when he lifts up your - or rather, his - shirt and thumbs your tummy gently.
"Are y'still sore?" he murmurs, "How d'you feel?"
"M'wet, Joel," you whimper, grinding back against the blankets and trying to feel him, "M'really wet."
"Lemme feel," he breathes, hand trailing downward even further. His fingers dip into your soft, soaked centre and a low groan rumbles in his throat, "Oh babygirl, so wet for me."
"Put it in," you whimper, not caring how pathetic and needy you probably sound, "Please, Joel, put it in me again."
"Christ," you hear him mutter, arousal burning in his voice, "Okay baby, hold still, I'll put it in. I'll make you feel better."
Seconds later you feel the heat of his tip crowding the space at your entrance, already wet and sticky. A soft moan falls from your throat at the sensation, eyes closing as you feel Joel's hand cup your leg and pull it upwards, holding you open. He hooks it in the crook of his arm, shuffling forward a bit and pushing the head of his cock inside your heat.
"Oh, fuck," you whine, head falling backwards. You feel his nose in your hair again, feel the stretch of your pussy and the widening of your thighs as he pulls your leg up even more.
"Yeah, there you go," he murmurs, pushing inside further. He goes slow, takes his time, until he's fully sheathed inside of you and your eyes are rolling back on their own accord, quiet whimpers tumbling past your lips. "Yeah, look at you takin' that cock."
As if by muscle memory your hand reaches downwards to cup the protruding shape of him at the bottom of your tummy, a low whine in your throat. He's so big inside you, nestled perfectly within the deepest parts of your body just like he'd been last night, large and warm.
"Feels so good," you manage to gasp out, other hand clenching into a fist against your pillow, "So good, so good." It's almost a mantra, voice breathless as you squish your face against the cotton and push back almost lazily against him, his balls settling heavy and warm at the base of your ass. You can feel every twitch of his shaft, the way the tip pulses against that special spot within.
"Yeah, you like bein' full like that, don't you baby?" he murmurs, "Don't even need me to move, do you? Just like feelin' it in there, huh?"
And you almost hate how right he is, how just the sensation of being so full of him already has you on the edge of an orgasm without any stimulation. Because you want more, you want what he gave you last night, want him to fuck you even firmer, deeper, without holding back. You want it to last hours.
But you know it's too much before he even starts to move, that familiar ache in your groin returning as your walls constrict around the long shape of him. He pulls out slowly, takes his time, pushes back in at a snail's pace. You feel a tickling sensation against your clit, his pubic hair pressing deliciously against the wet skin as he fills you - and without any warning, you start to come.
"Fuckfuckfuck," you cry out into the sunlit hotel room, trembling in his arms, legs shaking. You can tell in his body language behind you that he's taken aback by your sudden release, hand suddenly dropping from your calf so he can palm your sternum and pull you against him.
"Oh, honey," he groans, simultaneously tender and aroused, "Are you comin', baby? You comin' just from bein' stuffed full like that?"
"Yes," you grit out, voice a high keen as your body shakes and your release stretches out before the both of you in quick spasms, "Yes, I'm sorry."
"Nonono, no sorries," his voice is honey in your ear, fingertips grazing your nipples as he lays his palm flat against your chest, "You're a good girl, angel. You're such a good girl."
You continue to spasm on his cock, legs quivering and pathetic whines tearing from your throat until your orgasm has passed and you're just leaning back into his embrace, eyes closed. You breathe deeply, lashes fluttering when he noses your jaw and presses a soft kiss to the space beneath.
"S'alot for you," he murmurs, "I know it's a lot, babygirl. Don't ever gotta apologize for comin' too fast, not to me."
You hum softly, still extremely aware of his girthy size stretching you out somewhere below. Your eyes open and you peer downwards, brows scrunching in wonder and pleasure when you see where you're joined, where his flesh meets yours. You really are full, the base of his cock barely visible beneath your folds, the pubic hair that had caused your early release still pressed against your outer lips.
"How does it even fit?" you ask softly, almost by accident, but he just chuckles.
"The human body is a hell of a thing," he murmurs, kissing your cheek and pulling you in even closer, shuffling you on his dick just a little bit and making you wince a bit with oversensitivity, "You want me to pull out?"
"No," you shake your head and readjust yourself in his embrace, taking a breath, "No, I want you to keep going."
"Y'sure?"
"I'm sure."
He doesn't need telling twice. Within seconds he's resumed his slow and careful thrusts, almost rhythmic in their presses and pulls, filling you and emptying you in melodic succession. You reach down and take his big hand in yours, squeeze his fingers and let him fuck you like he had last night - tender, soft, comfortable. It almost doesn't feel real; how are you in a hotel room in another city, wrapped up in bed with a man three times your age, his cock buried to the hilt inside your body while you whimper and twitch in his arms? How did you get here?
"Y'know, women are a bit different than men in the orgasm department," Joel says gently behind you, stroking your hand with his thumb, "You might be able to come again if we try."
Your eyebrows go up, "Really?"
"Mmhmm," his hand slips from yours and he reaches it downward to carefully prod one of his fingers against your sensitive clit. You buck in his arms but don't protest, watching as he temporarily halts his slow thrusts to rub you softly. Your eyes go hooded, body melting like jelly in his arms as his his thick fingers slowly begin to work against the already swollen bud.
"Feel good?" he whispers.
"Yes."
He continues his careful circling, presses a kiss to your shoulder and resumes fucking into you. The sounds are pornographic in nature, surrounding your senses and filling the room with the low slap of his hips against your ass and the wet squelch of your juices dripping down his palm. But it somehow doesn't feel dirty or shameful - in fact, it's hard to imagine anything that feels more right than this.
"Joel," you breathe shakily, face twisting against the pillow again, heart pounding.
"I know, feels good doesn't it, babygirl?" he noses your skin and breathes you in, hooks your leg under his arm a bit more and groans softly, "God, you're so fuckin' tight. Such a tight fuckin' pussy."
It's your pussy, you want to breathe, it's yours. I'm yours. But you can barely get any words out as his thrusts pick up speed, as the sounds get louder and his fingers against your clit become firmer in their movements. You can feel yourself teetering on the edge again, the fire in your belly burning hotter than ever as you let him crowd your space as much as possible, let his body push yours further and further until your eyes are rolling back and all you can feel is the steady thrust of his big cock and the girth of his fingers against your pussy.
"I'm coming," you moan out weakly, "M'coming again, Joel."
You don't hear what he says in response, ears muffled as if you're underwater, pleasure spreading throughout your body and hitting you at full force like a hurricane as he fucks you through it. You're barely aware of the sounds you're making, high pitched and almost feral as his hips slap against yours a few more times. And then you feel it, the hot pulses of his cum painting your insides, filling you up as his cock spasms and twitches deep inside.
"Oh, fuck," he groans, voice thick with pleasure and sleep as he buries his face in your hair, hips stuttering, "Fuck. Take it, there you go."
Yeah, you could get used to this.
--
You'd been pretty sure you wouldn't leave the hotel room this weekend, just like you'd told him a few days prior. The thought of staying wrapped up in bedsheets, warm bodies pressed up against each other, sharing soft kisses and quiet whispers and tender looks...it'd be more than enough for an enjoyable getaway.
But it's hot, way hotter than you'd anticipated before arriving - and the pool is calling your name.
Or maybe something else is calling your name.
You stand in the bathroom and stare at your bikini clad form, a smile curving your lips as you assess the thin straps and baby pink frills. To think you'd tried to return this to Joel, briefly refused to wear it. Now you're about to don it in front of a hotel pool full of people like a normal woman, like someone without shame, without guilt, without a mother who'd skin her alive if she saw her wearing it.
Your smile falters.
You'd texted your mother after getting out of bed, apologized once again for missing her calls last night and told her you had a "busy" day at the festival ahead of you, that you'd let her know when you leave tomorrow. All she'd said in response was Ok.
You'd climbed back into bed defeatedly, finding a home against
Joel's naked form, "She's mad at me," you'd murmured softly against his bare chest, squished into his side with his heartbeat thrumming in your ear.
"Don't think about her right now," he'd whispered, carding his fingers gently through your hair, "Think about this. How this feels."
He'd peered at you so softly, so full of warmth and affection. Those three words had been on the tip of your tongue again, so close to tumbling past your swollen lips - but you'd held it in.
It hadn't stopped you from texting Tasha though:
we had sex and i love him.
UM!! UMMM!!!! DETAILS????
monday!!! i'll call you
🫡 ok slut just leave me hangin i see how it is. AT LEAST TELL ME HE LIKED THE LINGERIE.
oh he liked it :)
queen shit
"Hi, pretty girl," Joel's voice says suddenly, and you're snapped from your reflection in the mirror to find him leaning against the doorway, clad in a pair of swim trunks and a Bob Dylan t-shirt, "Look at you."
You pose a little bit, hand on your hip, "Think the pool boys will like it?"
He laughs lightly, shaking his head, "I don't doubt it, but they might have some competition." He holds out his hand for you and you take it, stepping forward to let him pull you in close.
"They couldn't hold a candle to you," you whisper honestly, and he kisses your forehead with a smile, thumbing the corner of your mouth.
"Wait 'til you see my breaststroke, that'll really get you goin'."
You snort and slap his arm playfully, "Lead the way, pool boy."
--
Joel may have just been teasing about his swimming ability, but he certainly hadn't been wrong about it getting you going. You watch from the comfort of a lounge chair as he whips back and forth across the broad expanse of the hotel pool like a bullet, kicking off from end to end without much effort at all. His arms are strong and lean, body fast and nimble as the water splashes around his broad form. Every so often his face peeks up from the water and you catch a glimpse of his drenched scruff, the way the greying locks of his hair curl down his forehead into his eyes. God, he's fucking gorgeous.
You're laid out in your bikini just watching, letting him expel some energy before you join him. He'd told you he likes swimming but doesn't get to do it as much as he'd like, what with his work responsibilities. You wonder if he'd ever want to swim in your parent's pool...
You shake the thought away as soon as you think of it. There's no feasible way that could work, no option that wouldn't involve an obscene amount of risk. But still... the thought of watching him from the comfort of your own backyard, just completely alone without any bystanders or hotel guests...
"You gonna join me or what?" Joel suddenly calls from the water, and you blink the thoughts away and throw him a grin. He wades near the shallow end, arms coming up to lean against the concrete edge as he peers at you. "Don't keep me waitin', baby."
You feel your cheeks warm, unable to help but glance back and forth to see if anyone is watching, listening. Everyone else seems to be minding their own business, lost in their own conversations, their own fun. Nobody cares that you're here with him. Nobody cares what you're wearing.
Slipping from the lounge chair, you totter over to the edge where Joel resides and slowly sink down onto the concrete, kicking your legs over the side to seat yourself in front of him.
"God, these legs," he almost groans, immediately taking one in his hands and massaging your calf, your knee, your thigh, "Look at you."
"Stop acting like you haven't seen me naked," you tease, though you still feel a bit shy underneath his gaze as he moves his attention to your other leg.
"Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop admirin' this body," he seems lost in his own movements as he caresses the space behind your knee, "You're so god damn beautiful." His hands suddenly wrap around your waist and without much warning he's carefully pulling you down into the water, moving you in close. On instinct your arms come up to wrap around his neck.
"How the hell am I here with you right now, huh?" he murmurs, leaning down to brush his nose gently against yours, "How're you even real?"
"I could ask you the same thing," you reply a little breathlessly, "I've been asking myself that since we got here."
He slowly turns your bodies in the water, peering down into your eyes like you're the only people here - and you might as well be. You're unable to stop yourself from leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, from letting your tongue dart out to gently explore his mouth; he tastes like toothpaste and chlorine.
"Y'gonna swim with me?" he asks after you've pulled away, pupils blown a bit wider, "Gonna put that little swimsuit to good use?"
"I think I'm putting it to good use right now," you breathe, inching closer so your breasts are pushing against his chest. You're genuinely surprising yourself at your own boldness, especially in such a crowded place - it's almost like you're a different person here, the person you're supposed to be, confidence coursing through your veins. You stand on your tiptoes beneath the water, bringing one of your legs up to wind around his waist.
"Hmm," he hums, and his face is still dripping with water, the wrinkles in his skin peppered with little droplets that make you crazy, "You do have a point there, darlin'."
You lean in again to kiss him, feel a burst of pride in your chest when you see the sudden hunger and arousal in his expression. Just before your lips touch however, you pull back from him and throw yourself into the water, turning back to toss him a cheeky grin.
"Gotta catch me first," you giggle, then speed off in the opposite direction, leaving him standing there with a look of surprise etched on his face - followed quickly by a look of determination.
"Oh, I will," he practically growls, diving into the water in the same manner and reaching out to grab your ankle.
Time passes quickly in the pool, Joel chasing you back and forth, catching you time and time again until you're a giggling mess with tears streaming down your face and his fingers pinching your sides. You can't remember the last time you had this much fun, felt so free and light. You suppose your night out with Tasha had been a fun experience for the most part, until you remember the vague feeling of an unfamiliar body pressed against you from behind and the smell of alcohol crowding your senses on the dance floor.
No, don't think about that.
Before long you've exhausted yourselves, settled back near the edge of the pool where you started and just softly talking to each other. His big hands are all over you beneath the water, palms wide on your bare hips and tummy, caressing your thighs and your back, touching everywhere he can reach. You feel almost lightheaded with desire, eyes hooded as you peer up at him and tighten your arms around his neck, pull him closer and silently beg for more. You can feel the shape of his hardening cock through his swim trunks, pressed wet and heavy against your thigh. It makes you salivate.
You suddenly hook your chin into his shoulder, bury your face in his neck and whisper, "I wanna suck it, Joel."
"Yeah?" he murmurs, hands exploring your back and holding you tighter against him, letting you rut softly against his bulge, "You wanna go back to the room and suck on it, babygirl?"
You nod ferociously against him, "Yes. Please."
It doesn't take long at all for you both to be out of the pool and making your way back over to the chairs to grab your towels. It's frantic the way you rush to dry off, slipping back into your flip flops and shaking the water from your hair as quickly as possible. Joel follows suit, ruffling his own towel through his hair and making your body burn with need, lost in how sexy he looks with water droplets cascading down his large and strong form, dipping down his sternum and into his belly button. All you can think while you look at him is how badly you want to lick, to taste.
You're making your way back toward the entrance together when a woman runs up behind you, calling out, "Wait, hang on!" You both turn, confusion in your expressions as she reaches you and holds out something in her hand - your phone.
"I think you or your dad left this behind, sweetie," she says with a smile and places it in your grasp, "Gotta be careful!"
"Th-thank you," you manage to stutter out, eyes wide as she nods and turns away from you to head back toward the pool.
You stand there dumbstruck for a moment, thoughts muddled.
You or your dad.
Your dad.
You turn to Joel then. He's looking at you with what you can only describe as apprehension, lips downturned into a frown as he stands and waits for you to say something - anything. You stare back, words failing you.
And then you burst out laughing.
His apprehension turns into a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughs along with you and squeezes your hand in his tightly - as if to say, this isn't wrong, what we have isn't wrong and you know that. And you do, which is why he has to practically drag you back inside the hotel as you double over and heave out laugh after laugh, tears in your eyes.
"Silly girl," you hear him mumble under his breath fondly as he leads you to the elevator, and all you can do is keep giggling.
--
"I love your cock."
Your knees dig into the plush rug of the hotel room, ass sitting atop the balls of your feet as you kneel between Joel's wide legs. He's sitting comfortably on the couch, one hand resting to the side while the other strokes circles into the apple of your cheek. His cock is out of his swim trunks, heavy and hard in your palm as you slowly stroke him up and down, up and down, heart pounding in your chest.
You've done this to him before, you remind yourself, and he said it was good.
But not like this, another part of you argues, not properly.
"Yeah, you love it?" he murmurs, breaking you out of your thoughts. With his words his hand drops from your face and joins yours on his shaft, helps direct it toward your cheek so he can press the tip ever so gently against it, "What d'you love about it, baby? Tell me. Wanna know."
"It's so big, Joel," you practically whimper, brows furrowing together at the sensation of his warm stickiness on your face, "So big and so thick and long."
"I know, baby," he coos softly, smearing it along your jaw in a way that has goosebumps rising all over your flesh, "Bigger than your pretty face, huh?" At his words he delicately lays the length of his cock against your face from base to tip, lets it rest there as you close your eyes and try to calm your breathing. You're so fucking turned on.
"Big," you repeat, as if no other words can find their way to your brain, as if your brain doesn't even exist; all that exists is this. The feeling of his warm dick laying heavy across your face, precum leaking out onto your forehead.
"And what's it taste like, babygirl?" He's suddenly moving it downward, towards your mouth, and you happily lean forward to lap at the tip. It pulses against you, leaks onto the pink softness of your tongue. "Tell me what it tastes like."
"Kinda salty," you whisper, peering up at him with big eyes, "But good, it still tastes good to me." Your nose scrunches and you peer up at him sheepishly, "Tasha said it's not supposed to."
He laughs breathlessly, taps the tip against your bottom lip, and when more precum dribbles out you allow it to drip into your mouth. You swallow, eyes never leaving his, then swirl your tongue all around the head before slowly taking it into your mouth and suctioning carefully.
"God, you make me fuckin' crazy," his voice rumbles in his chest, eyes hooded, "Look at you suckin' on my cock." After a few seconds he pulls it out and taps your lips with it again, hissing a bit through his teeth, "Fuck, this mouth. And those eyes," his head leans back against the couch and he groans, low and deep, "You gotta stop lookin' at me like that, angel. M'not gonna last."
"How am I looking at you?" you ask shyly, a smile playing at your lips.
"Like... you're just so new to everything."
"But I am," you say with a breathless giggle, "It is new to me."
He smiles fondly down at you on your knees in front of him, so vulnerable, "I know," he tells you, "It makes me want you so bad."
"You have me," you whisper, leaning forward to mouth at the head of his cock once again, "M'yours, Joel."
His lids go heavy as you suckle gently on the tip again, reveling in the masculine taste of him and the way you can feel his heartbeat on the tip of your tongue. You suck it the same way you did last time - like a sucker or a popsicle - and you hope it feels good to him, hope you're doing it right.
"That's so good, baby," he murmurs, and you whimper at his praise.
You pop him out of your mouth and take a deep breath, peering up at him curiously, "Can...can you..."
His brow furrows, "Can I what, angel?"
"Can you show me how to... how to take all of it? Like, how to put it in my throat?"
The expression on his face is hard to describe, a mix of disbelief and untamed arousal. His mouth opens to speak but he doesn't say anything, taking a few seconds to formulate a response before clearing his throat and giving you a weak - and slightly wrecked - smile.
"Y'sure you wanna try that?" he asks you, ever the gentleman, "That's....it's a lot to take in your throat, babygirl."
"I know," you breathe, sincerity in your eyes, "But I wanna try."
He reaches down and thumbs a stray hair from your face, pushes it behind your ear, "You're probably gonna gag," he murmurs gently - a warning. "It might be uncomfortable for you."
You raise an eyebrow, "So... you don't want me to?"
He laughs breathlessly, "I... I didn't say I don't want it. But I don't want you to try something you don't feel ready for," he frowns, "Don't want you to feel any pressure with me."
"I don't," you admit honestly, "I don't feel any pressure, Joel, I promise. I just...really wanna try it. I want you to show me."
He takes a deep breath, strokes your cheek gently and then reaches down to hold the base of his cock again. Your hands fall to his thighs, still clad in his swim trunks.
"Lemme just see how far you can go without gaggin' first," he tells you softly, patiently, "Want you to stop when you feel it in that spot, okay? Don't go any further than that."
You nod, already beyond excited that you're learning something new, something that'll make him feel good. You open your mouth to take him back inside but he touches your face again, stopping you.
"Deep breath," he advises quietly. You do as you're told.
He helps guide the fat head of his cock past your lips, watches as you very slowly ease yourself down. You close your eyes, all your focus centered on this singular task, fighting to push past the slight discomfort of having your mouth stuffed so full. It takes barely a moment for you to reach the point he was talking about, when you feel the head of his cock brush ever so slightly against your gag reflex. On instinct, your eyes snap open, your entire body freezing in place.
"Right there?" he asks quietly, but you know he's not waiting for an answer, knows you couldn't talk even if you wanted to, "That's so much baby, good girl." His praise send throbs of pleasure to your pussy, warmth to your cheeks. Your eyes meet his and you can see how turned on he is, see the way the corners of his mouth twitch with pleasure. "Let go when you're ready, honey."
You hold yourself there for a few more seconds, eyes watering a little bit as you hold his gaze, just testing the power of your lungs and the strain of your jaw. When it becomes too much you pull your mouth off him and find yourself gasping for breath, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as drool spills down your chin.
"How was that?" he asks, thumbing your cheek again with one hand and stroking himself with the other, working your saliva up and down his length, "Uncomfortable?"
You shake your head, "It was good," you whisper, voice a bit crackly, "I wanna try and take more, can I?"
He nods, smiles encouragingly and taps his swollen cockhead against your bottom lip again, slow and tantalizing, "Course you can, babygirl," he murmurs, "Deep breath."
You inhale deeply again, gathering as much air into your lungs as possible before sinking your mouth down onto him and allowing his thick girth to fill you all over again. This time when you feel him reach that spot, you let yourself keep going just a little bit further, allow the head of his cock to push more firmly against it and slip the tiniest bit into the back of your throat.
You gag immediately.
It's very loud; a dry wretch that you can admit sounds absolutely horrific in the current circumstance. Before you can even really process what to do next, he's tugging you off his cock, voice suddenly worried, frantic, "Okay, no, that's too much," he says quickly, and you look up to see him shaking his head, "You're gonna hurt yourself."
"M'fine," you try to garble out, but you're shocked when just talking suddenly sends you into a coughing fit. You bang on your chest and squeeze his thigh with your other hand, feeling more drool cascade down your chin and onto your bare chest.
"Angel," he says soothingly, leaning forward to pat your back, brows furrowed again in concern, "I'm sorry, honey."
You shake your head, "I-I'm okay," you splutter out, "Just gimme a second."
"It's too much," he repeats, almost pleading, "Please, baby, I don't wanna see you struggle, that's not fun for me."
As much as you hate the idea of giving up, you have to admit that he's right. That wretch had not been pleasant, and while you think you could eventually learn to take all of him, maybe forcing yourself to do it when you're supposed to be having fun on vacation isn't the best time.
"Okay," you mumble defeatedly, sitting back on your knees, "But I still wanna suck it."
He laughs again, relief flooding his features as he leans back on the couch and smiles crookedly at you, "You can still suck it, darlin'. Just take your time and don't push your limits, alright? Promise me."
"I promise."
You spend the next fifteen minutes or so playing with Joel's cock, stroking it with your hand, kitten licking along the shaft and head, just touching as much as you can without any time pressure for once. He pets your hair as he watches you, thumbs your cheeks and dimples, small groans tumbling past his lips, face scrunched in pleasure as you explore. You take as much of him as you can in your mouth, bob up and down slowly with your eyes trained on his face, feel the way his thick length twitches and pulses against your tongue.
It's almost feral the way you drink him down, hollowing your cheeks and basking in the way his body responds to you. You're so wet, aching to touch yourself but wanting this moment to be just for him, a thank you for this weekend, this hotel, for everything. Instead you palm his balls, roll them in your palm and revel in the desperate sounds he makes.
"I love your cock," you whine, repeating your earlier statement as you fist it up and down with spit pooling at the corners of your mouth, "I love it so much, Joel." You can feel yourself dripping in your bikini bottoms, feel your own slick gathering on your inner thighs.
"I know, baby," he gasps out, running one hand through his hair and the other through yours as his belly tenses and untenses, as his thighs tremble, "I know you love it, s'all yours, baby. S'your cock."
"My cock," you echo, almost a whimper, "Mine."
"Yours, it's yours," he moans loudly, hands curling into fists as his head hits the back of the couch, "Shit, I'm gonna come."
"Come in my mouth," you tell him immediately, wasting no time in sinking back down onto his length. He doesn't ask if you're sure; he's too far gone to be a gentleman anymore, and you love it. You watch as he suddenly sits up on the couch, reaches both hands forward and cradles your head in them firmly. He helps you move up and down, groaning as he does, and then-
His cock pulses on your tongue, thick and heavy, bobbing against the roof of your mouth. You feel a burst of cum hit the back of your throat, then another, and another, all the while Joel moans and holds your head in place, toes curling into the rug. Your eyes roll back as he fills your mouth, overwhelmed by the salty taste and thick texture, and - without really meaning to - you swallow around him to make more space. He practically whines at the sensation, pulsing once more to release one final burst of his spend.
And then he's falling back against the couch, cock popping out of your mouth, expression dazed. Without thinking about it you swallow the rest of his cum, eyelashes fluttering at the odd sensation of it all slipping down your throat. So much, gone in an instant. It's only then that you actually realize what you've done.
"I swallowed it," you say, panic suddenly brewing in your stomach, "Was I supposed to swallow it?"
He laughs softly, covers his mouth with the back of his hand, "It is perfectly fine that you swallowed it, darlin'," he smiles wide and opens his arms, "C'mere."
You clamor off your knees and crawl into his lap immediately, straddling his thighs and pressing your wet bikini bottoms against the slope of his belly. He lets out a little groan, pulls you in and strokes your hair.
"You did so good," he praises you softly, kisses your temple, "So good, baby. Made me come so much."
"There was a lot," you tell him, nuzzling into his neck and letting your breathing slowly even out, "S'why I swallowed it, I was trying to make room."
"Was it okay? It didn't make you gag, did it?"
You shake your head, a pout on your lips, "Felt good in my mouth," you whisper, "I liked it."
He hums, hands trailing from your hair to your bare back where he unclasps your bikini top and lets it cascade to the floor, then reaches down and tugs at your bottoms. You lift up carefully, let him slip them down your thighs and watches as you kick them off, leaving you fully naked in his lap.
"So pretty when you're bare like this," he whispers, and it sends more slick to your folds, oozing down and making a mess on his tummy. He cups your pussy in one hand and slides two fingers easily inside of you, thumb rubbing circles against your clit. You grip his arm, eyes falling closed and pitiful little sounds slipping from your mouth. "My good girl deserves a reward for suckin' my cock so good, swallowin' all that cum, don't you think?"
You nod, biting down on your lip and letting him fuck you with his digits, eyes rolling behind your lids.
"Yeah, you do," he answers for you, "You deserve it, angel. Always."
He makes you come easily, leaving you a messy, twitching heap in his lap as your arms wrap around his neck, body going lax and loose. After a few moments he picks you up and carries you to the bathroom, helps you into the shower, smiles when you peer blearily up at him through your afterglow.
"Just close your eyes and lean against me," he tells you softly as the water falls, removing his swim trunks and getting in to stand behind you, "I'll get you cleaned up, sweetheart."
--
You nap after your shower, exhausted and sated in every possible way. Joel wakes you up around two o'clock with more room service - sandwiches and soup that you devour with bright eyes and light conversation side by side in bed. It's domestic bliss the way he thumbs mustard from your lips, pours you more water, slices your key lime pie and feeds it to you with a fond smile.
I love you I love you I love you.
"Would it absolutely ruin this moment if I suggested tryin' our hand at a hymn?" he asks when you've both finished, wiping the crumbs on his fingers with a napkin and gesturing to his guitar case in the corner of the room.
You grimace, "I guess not."
"I'm just thinkin' about your parents," he places his hand on your hip - clad in another one of his shirts - and gives you a sympathetic smile, "It's probably best to pick somethin' and have it ready."
You nod. You know he's right, that your lack of preparedness these past few weeks has been pretty reckless considering it's been the entire "reason" you've been seeing him. With a sigh you slip out from under the covers and traipse over to the couch, listening as Joel unclasps the guitar case.
"I did some research," he tells you as he walks over, hooking the strap over his shoulders as he goes, "I think our best bet for an easy tune is How Great Thou Art. Pretty repetitive chord progression, only uses G, C, and D."
You make a face, crossing your arms, "I can't believe I have to do this."
He laughs, "It was either that or Come Ye Sinners, and I think that one's a little too on the nose, don't you think?" He tosses you a smile and you can't help but return it, feeling your frustration melt away under his gaze.
"Can we do that thing again where I get a reward?" you ask shyly, biting your lip. His eyebrows go up, a smirk lighting his face.
"Hmm, I think that's doable," he sits down beside you, tuning the guitar, "What'd you have in mind?" You notice the way his eyes dart toward your groin and your cheeks warm.
"I was actually thinking that maybe..." your hands play with the hem of his shirt nervously, unsure what he'll say, "maybe you could play something for me? You said last night that you've written some songs," you shrug, trying to be nonchalant, "I'd... I'd really like to hear one, if you wouldn't mind."
He peers at you for a few seconds, smirk fading briefly only to be replaced with a tender smile, eyes softening as he gazes at you. Warmth blooms in your chest. You never want him to stop looking at you like that.
"I can do that," he tells you quietly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck, "I mean... I can't promise it'll be good, but-"
"I don't care."
He chuckles and nods, grips the guitar again and clears his throat, "Well, alright then. Let's get started."
For the first time ever, the lesson is actually a lesson. No undercurrent of sex, no inappropriate touching or sensual glances, no teasing or filthy words. You're not sure how you're able to hold yourself back so easily, able to really focus on what Joel is saying and showing you, helping place your fingers in the right locations and teach you the strumming techniques. Maybe it's because you're tired - you did come three times already today - but it's not just that.
It just feels so... normal. So easy. You think back to that first lesson, the nervousness you'd felt and the pounding of your heart in your chest, the anticipation and the fear.
It's different now. Now that he's been inside you, become one with you, it's like your whole dynamic has changed - for the better. Of course you still feel that curious nervousness, the innocence, the electricity between you. But there's something so solid and tangible about it now, something certain. Something real.
He shapes your fingers along the neck of the guitar, praising you softly every time you play a note that sounds right, encouraging you as you repeat the G chord a few times, then C, then D. You strum along slowly, taking your time, and before you know it you're playing something that actually doesn't sound half bad.
"We definitely need to work on buildin' up those calluses," he murmurs, stroking the tips of your fingers under his thumb, "Well... If you're gonna do this long-term, I mean."
You peer at him curiously, tilting your head to the side. He looks sheepish, like he's said something he hadn't meant to.
"You think I could do this, like... for real? As a hobby?"
His mouth turns up at the corners and he nods, "I think you can do anything you set your mind to, darlin'."
Your heart is suddenly in your throat at his words, emotion bubbling under the surface of your skin. You drop your hand from the guitar and reach up to cup his face, pulling him toward you to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He kisses you back just as soft, just as careful.
"Thank you," you whisper, tears pricking in your eyes, "Thank you for saying that."
He presses his forehead to yours, shakes his head ever so slightly, "Don't gotta thank me for sayin' what's true, angel. You deserve to hear it every single day."
You finish the lesson with tears still welling in your eyes, a lump in your throat. When you lean the guitar against the side of the couch he cradles your face in his hands and gently kisses the tears away, brushes his lips along your eyelids and cheeks, your jaw and your lips, saying everything without saying anything at all.
"Okay," you sigh, taking a deep breath and opening your eyes to smile sweetly at him, "Time for my reward."
He chuckles and rolls his eyes a little, reaching for the guitar and beginning to tune it again. You watch as he twists the keys, strums a little here and there, hums softly for each note to match his voice. Anticipation rises in your chest.
"Now, uh," he clears his throat a bit, avoiding eye contact, "It's been a while since I played this one but it's, uh," he takes a breath, "It's one I wrote when Sarah was born. Used to sing it to her to help her fall asleep."
You melt at the words, smiling wider, "What's it called?"
He finally meets your eyesight, lips pressing together sheepishly, "Sarah."
Oh, duh. You nod in encouragement, leaning back against the armrest of the couch and waiting for him to begin. He takes another deep breath, dropping his gaze to watch his fingers shape the first chord. It's then that you notice his hands - usually deft and steady - are trembling a little bit, so much so that he has to readjust his position on the strings a few times.
He's nervous.
He stares at his hand, takes another deep breath.
You wait.
"Sorry," he mumbles under his breath, "Sorry, just gimme a minute."
"It's okay, take your time." Your voice is barely a whisper, awestruck by the sudden vulnerability you're witnessing. He'd agreed to the reward so quickly, you'd been sure he didn't mind. But now as you sit here waiting, you're not so sure. You watch him take more deep breaths, watch as he closes his eyes and seems to center himself.
"If you don't want to-"
"I want to," he says immediately, shaking his head, "I want to, I've just... I haven't sung in a while."
Your brow furrows, confused, "You sang yesterday in the car, didn't you? And you sang Tangled Up In Blue when we first met, and that other one, the one from the eighties."
His lips turn up at the corners, a welcome smile, "Take On Me."
"Yeah, that one."
He sighs, tightening his grip on the guitar, "It's not that I haven't sung I guess. Wrong wordin'," he bites his lip, "It's moreso that I haven't sung this one. Or any of my originals. Not for a long time."
You frown, "How come?"
"I guess... I just..." he searches for the words, staring at the floor, "No one's really asked me to. And it's not like I'm playin' gigs or tourin' or any of that pipe dream stuff I thought about when I was a kid." He laughs humorlessly, like the concept is ridiculous, "So I guess I just kinda... stopped, after a while."
You feel a sudden sadness that you can't really explain, picturing that bright-eyed little version of Joel, stuck in a household that wouldn't let him grow, wouldn't let him be himself. All those dreams and big ideas, dashed before he was able to get out and make his mark. Life getting busy, too busy, other responsibilities taking up all his time until the thing he loved most became nothing but a memory. A pipe dream.
It makes your heart ache.
"D'you mind if I just..." he meets your gaze again finally, eyes soft and a little sad, "Could I maybe just hum it? Instead? I know that's kind of a cop-out, but-"
"Of course you can," you breathe out, hand coming down to rest atop his knee, "Of course you can hum it."
"I'm sorry, baby, I know you wanted -"
"It's hard being vulnerable, Joel," you interrupt him again, shaking your head and stroking your thumb against his skin, "God knows it's been hard for me, and you've been nothing but patient." You give him a watery smile and he returns it, "Please take your time. I can be patient too, I promise."
You can tell how much he appreciates it. He reaches down and picks up your hand, presses a gentle kiss to the back of it before setting it back down and taking one last deep breath.
"Well, here it is," he says with a little more confidence, a smile playing at his lips.
You've heard him play before, obviously; you've already seen the way his fingers work the strings like it's just second nature, the way his thumb strums out the chords effortlessly. But this time is different. Knowing what he's playing is completely original, born from his own creativity out of love and devotion, a father's affection and protectiveness, it just sounds special. New. He begins to pluck out a soft, slow, soothing melody that immediately puts you at ease, makes you lean back further against the couch and loosen your body. It's tender, quiet - a lullaby.
He hums softly, voice crackling a bit in his throat at first but then settling into a smooth and comforting sound. It's almost like a waltz, the way the chords change back and forth, in and out, slow and steady. Of course you wonder what the real words are, what his quiet hums are substituting, but you find that it doesn't really matter. What matters is the look on his face, eyes distant, as if he's picturing his daughter as she was when she was little. You try to picture it too, thinking of the photograph in his house, the one of him pushing Sarah on the swing. Just a father and his little girl, against the world.
It isn't a very long song. It fades out relatively quickly, and as soon as he strums out the final chord you sit up on the couch and clap ferociously, tears stinging in your eyes all over again.
"I'd usually, uh, play it a couple times for her," he says awkwardly, "'Til she fell asleep."
"It was beautiful," you tell him earnestly, "It was so beautiful, Joel."
He shakes his head with an embarrassed laugh and swivels around to go place his guitar back in its case. He doesn't say anything else, but he doesn't need to. You know how he feels when you spot the tips of ears, tinged pink, warm from your praise.
--
The rest of the day passes in what feels like a warm, luxurious, passionate blur. You go to dinner that evening and order lobster, revel in the way it practically melts in your mouth with sips of champagne and bites of blueberry cheesecake. Joel tells you a little more about his life, tells you everything you want to know about his daughter and his ex. It's not a difficult or uncomfortable conversation like you'd been worried it might be. Instead, you feel closer learning these things about him, feel even more connected to him than you did before as he tells you about Mish and Sarah, their relationship, the arrangement.
"I think I understand it better now," you tell him thoughtfully, "Now that I've actually..." you peer at him shyly, "You know... done it."
He chuckles, "Sex is a powerful thing, it really is. And when you find someone you're compatible with it can be really easy to keep goin' back to 'em. Settle into it, you know? Even if the other parts of your relationship don't work."
"It's like...friends with benefits, right?"
"Exactly. And it really does work for some people, worked for Mish and I for a long time," he shakes his head and reaches across the table to take your hand, "But that's over now, I need you to know that. It's over. You're the only woman in my life and that's how I want it to be. You believe me right?"
His eyes are soft, warm, loving, sincerity practically glowing in his expression.
"I believe you, Joel. Of course I believe you."
You have sex again when you get back to the room, slow and intimate and tender and perfect. You claw at his back as whimpers and cries tear from your mouth, writhing in pleasure beneath him on the bed as he fills you over and over, murmurs filth in your ear and presses down on your clit with his thumb. It's like you've died and gone to heaven, this feeling of permanent bliss and satisfaction, the sensation of being so full and so connected. It's the closest you've ever felt to real inner peace; who would have thought that sitting on a cock instead of in a church pew would be the thing to bring you closer to godliness?
I pray at the church of Joel Miller, you think to yourself as you recover from your fifth orgasm of the day, laying there with fluttering lashes and heaving belly, mind foggy and eyes bleary. Joel is kissing your thighs somewhere below, whispering praises, humming against your skin as he wipes a warm cloth over your twitching pussy.
"I keep thinking about how many sins I've committed in the last twenty four hours," you mumble to him, sleep quickly making its way into your psyche, "And then I remember that I don't care."
His laugh is the last thing you hear before you drift off.
--
Sunday morning is bittersweet. You spend most of it wrapped in Joel's embrace, tracing the freckles and scars on his skin, drifting in and out of consciousness while he peppers kisses all over your face and neck. You have to leave the hotel by noon, get back on the road again and head back home, but the bed is so warm. He's so warm. Everything is warm.
"You never fucked me in the shower," you whisper to him softly, so quiet you wonder if he can even hear you, "Or on the floor."
"I still can," he murmurs, voice husky with sleep, fingers trailing delicately through your hair, "We have a little time."
You nuzzle into his warmth and close your eyes, sighing contentedly, "No," you breathe, "I just want you to hold me."
So he does.
--
The drive home is quieter, but not in a bad way. You're still tired from your escapades and find yourself dozing every so often, vaguely aware of Joel turning down the volume or switching the song to something more chill when he notices you starting to drift. His hand is ever-present on your thigh, stroking the skin over and over like it's just habit at this point. You know you should be forcing yourself to stay awake, to enjoy these last few hours before life goes back to normal, but he really did a number on you.
It's only when you stop at a gas station - the same one where you first saw the playlist you weren't sure you were meant to - that you finally start to feel more awake.
"So tell me about this Angel playlist," you say with a smirk, waving his phone at him as he gets back in the truck, "Can we listen to it?"
A look of surprise crosses his face, but he doesn't seem upset, "How did you even find out about that?"
"I'm in control of the music, remember? It's your spotify."
He groans, cheeks flushing as he pushes on the gas and pulls out of the station, avoiding eye contact. "You were not supposed to see that."
Intrigue floods your brain, fuels your grin, "So it's for me?"
He takes a moment to respond, thumb stroking the wheel as he eyes the road, lip between his teeth. You can tell he's debating whether or not he should answer you, but his silence says everything. Impatient, you practically bounce in your seat, "Can we listen to it? Pretty please?"
He laughs a little breathlessly, shaking his head in disbelief, "Who is this girl sittin' in the front seat of my truck?" He squeezes your thigh, "You're gettin' bold, darlin'. I like it."
"Enough to let me listen to the playlist?"
He sighs, but you know he's not mad, can see the smile tugging at his lips, "...Maybe. At least enough to listen to one song. Will that tide you over?"
"Yes, it most certainly will," you're already tapping Angel, eyes alight with curiosity, "Which song?"
"Northern Sky by Nick Drake, should be the first one there."
You turn to him with a raised brow, "How do you know that's the first song?"
"'Cause I made the damn playlist."
"And you listen to it a lot?"
He laughs again, eyes rolling fondly as he turns his attention back to the road and grins at your words, "You're somethin' else."
You've still got a shit eating grin on your face as the song starts, the soft strumming of guitar filling the small space. Oh, this is pretty. You playfully nod your head to the chords and he rolls his eyes again, strokes your thigh and keeps his attention focused on the road.
And then the lyrics start.
I never felt magic crazy as this
I never saw moons, knew the meaning of the sea
I never held emotion in the palm of my hand
Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree
But now you're here
Brighten my northern sky
Your grin fades almost immediately, realization blooming on your face as the reality of what this playlist actually is begins to dawn on you. You'd thought maybe it was songs he wanted to share with you, songs he wanted to teach you how to play. Just random tunes that he compiled together with you in mind.
No, that's not what this is at all. As the lyrics continue, the melody growing more steady, more beautiful, you realize that these are songs that remind him of you. An entire playlist dedicated to the way he feels.
You stare at the road as the song plays out, not speaking. Your eyes are stinging with tears but you can't bring yourself to say anything, to even look at him. You feel him squeeze your thigh again, a comforting and reassuring little gesture. As if to say, l know, I'm here. As the final chords fade out you frantically reach for his phone and press pause, out of respect for his privacy but also because you're completely unprepared to hear another song like that. You catch him peering at you in your periphery, and you will yourself to look at him with watery eyes.
"Satisfied?" he asks softly, giving you that gorgeous crooked smile.
All you can choke out is a "Yeah."
--
Arriving back at the parking garage hurts. Joel pulls his truck in beside your car, still in the same spot you'd left it, and takes the key out of the ignition with a long sigh. You look over at him, emotion burning in your throat.
"I don't wanna go home," you whisper.
"Oh, babygirl," he murmurs, brow furrowing, "C'mere." He holds his arms open and you clamor over the center console to settle into his lap, burying your face in his neck. He holds you tight and rubs your back, hushes you softly when you start to cry. How is this weekend already over? How are things just supposed to go back to normal now?
"I don't want you to go back there either," he breathes, "If I had it my way you'd be comin' home with me." You feel him press a kiss to the spot just beneath your ear, "But you're strong. You're stronger than you think you are and I know you can get through this. Whatever they have to say, whatever they do, you'll get through it. We'll get through it together."
You don't say anything else, just melt into the warmth of his body and let him hold you, comfort you, until your cries and hiccups fade into even breaths. You pull back slowly and peer at his beautiful face, long to say the words you've been holding back all weekend - but you know there's a reason you've been holding back, know this isn't the right time, not yet.
Instead, you kiss him. It's soft and sweet, a tender goodbye. Temporary, fleeting. You know it's not forever, know you'll probably sneak over tomorrow night to see him again under cover of darkness, find yourself in his bed, get wrapped up in him. But it's a goodbye nonetheless. A goodbye to this - the simplicity, the sense of normalcy and lack of time constraints, the domestic bliss and the thrill of the escape. A goodbye to the bliss.
Driving away from him a few minutes later, watching his truck fade into the distance in your rearview mirror - you think it might be one of the hardest things you've ever had to do.
