Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: She's back for more.
Warnings: smut, protected and unprotected p in v, slight choking, ice play, masturbation, voyeurism, jealousy?, sleeping with two different men in one night, alex in a tuxedo, scotch, weed, barely proofread because all the blood has left my brain
Words: 3,100
A/N: This is going to be a thing for me. I know it is. I know this is going to turn into a whole fucking thing because I just can't say no to a dude who's fighting the way he feels about someone. Jesus Christ. I asked my enablers friends if I should post this today, and they said yes, even though I literally have the final chapter of Healed in my drafts for tomorrow. Get ready to get sick of me, folks. In my humble, dumbass opinion... I think this is the hottest thing I've written? Gif used thanks to my talented and beloved @perotovar.
Previous
Masterlist
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You don’t even know what he looks like naked.
Two weeks have passed, enough time for the shock of that night to dull, for any shame you held to fade and turn into something unresolved between your neighbor and you. There’s also been silence after eleven. Alex doesn’t play, and Alex doesn’t fuck. No cello, no woman gasping his name. You hate yourself for noticing the new schedule and how you can’t stop thinking about him.
Until Oliver.
You meet him at your friend’s art show, he’s handsome, funny, and instantly charms you. He at least pays attention to you and even knows your name.
You’re feeling bold, maybe it’s the negronis, your lilac short skirt and crop top, or the fact that you haven’t gotten off in over two weeks. You don’t hesitate to ask Oliver if he’d like to go back to your place.
The car smells like stale lemon, and the Uber driver’s playing some sad, twangy country song you can’t stand, but Oliver’s hand is warm as it rests on your leg. He tells you about his dreams of being a professional comedian. He’s cute, but not too cute, the kind of handsome that if your friends saw him, they’d send you a nod of approval. Good enough for a quick fuck.
As the car turns on your street, Oliver’s hand now rests at the top of your thigh, and you actually feel yourself begin to ache in anticipation. You’re giggly by the time you reach your bungalow, and Oliver’s palm stays on the exposed skin of your lower back as you dig through your purse for your keys.
Your hand stops when you hear the echo of footsteps behind you. Soft and rhythmic. You look up and over, just in time to see a shadow.
Alex. In a black tuxedo, holding his cello case, all debonair and gorgeous. You haven’t seen him since that night, and now he’s here, haloed by the streetlamp. He looks at you, and the only thing that gives him away is the split-second clench of his jaw before he begins to move again.
You turn back to your keys, unlock your door, and pull Oliver inside.
A joint is split between the two of you, kissing in between, sharing smoke and tongues as you try not to think of your tuxedoed neighbor just on the other side of the wall. Oliver’s grunts and groans as your hand runs up his leg tell you he really wants you, so you lead him to your bedroom.
You let him undress you, let him take in your body and call you beautiful. It feels… nice. Fine, really. The heat of his glare is a little warming, but it pales in comparison to the way Alex looked at you from the first time you knocked on his door.
You lie back on your bed, open your legs, and Oliver runs his fingers through your folds, definitely slimmer and clumsier than Alex’s thick, efficient hands. He’s hopeless at finding your clit, but you ooh and ahh him, hoping his cock will be a good enough lay to help you get off.
Oliver eagerly and clumsily undresses. You reach into your drawer and fetch a condom. Oliver rolls it on, and when he guides his dick in, it’s definitely slimmer than you wanted. He grins, like he’s been blessed by your pussy, and gently asks you, “Is this okay?”
You moan a yes for him, and he begins to move. Slow and savoring, not quick, passionate, desperate like the way Alex fucked you. Honestly, it’s so milquetoast and forgettable, your mind wanders off. No matter how much you want to be present, want to be here in your bedroom under cute Oliver, your thoughts are on Alex. He’s probably still in that tux, maybe he’s undone his bow tie, popped open the first few buttons of his crisp, white shirt.
It’s then that you hear the soft, muffled whine of cello through the thin drywall. The notes rise and fall on the other side of the wall. You close your eyes and open your thighs wider, as if you can let the notes slip in, past Oliver and fuck you. You moan, way louder than usual. Oliver believes your moan, and fucks you faster, desperate to be the one who’s making those noises escape you. But it’s not him. Of course it’s not. It’s Alex’s, keeping a tempo that makes each note drag you closer and closer to the edge of bliss.
Your moans duet with the music, and though your body lies in your bed, your mind and heart might as well have drifted past the thin drywall and into Alex’s home. It’s not the way Oliver moves in and out of you, or the sound of his slight whimpers and groans, but the faint music played by your handsome neighbor that nears your orgasm. You’re close, your eyes clenching shut, only picturing the ethereal glimpse of Alex you saw earlier. The memory of how full he made you, the rasp of his grunts, the warmth of his cum as it splashed across your skin. Alex, Alex, Alex.
Oliver feels you getting close, tries to seal his mouth over yours, but you tilt your head and move. Moaning loudly into the air as you orgasm.
The cello stops as soon as you let out the first, long moan.
Oliver finishes inside you, with a long gasp, then rolls away. You get up, clean yourself, and tell him there’s a trash can by your dresser, almost feeling bad about how clinical you make it, but you just want your guest gone now. You’re already resigning yourself to the fact that nobody’s going to beat your hot neighbor.
When you return, now covered in the silk of your robe, he’s at the edge of your bed, still naked. Before your new neighbor, you probably would’ve invited him to stay the night, let him hold you all night, then wake up and get breakfast. Maybe you’d see how it all plays out and date him for a while. But that’s just not going to work now.
You smile, touch his arm, and say, “This was really fun.” His grin is full of pride, and he looks at you like he’s almost in awe of you. “So, I’ve got such an early morning tomorrow,” you say.
You see a hint of disappointment before he smiles at you. “I totally get it. You’re busy. I’m busy.”
He gets dressed quickly, like a good one-night stand.
Maybe you’ll text him; maybe you won’t. Either way, when you walk him toward the door, you kiss him on the cheek and thank him for coming. The door clicks shut, and there’s a moment of quiet.
Until your siren song starts to play again.
The cello.
It summons you.
You open your door, cross the small strip of grass, barefoot and only in your robe, hair still mussed and sex still on your skin. There’s barely enough time for you to ask yourself what the fuck you’re doing here before you knock on the dark wood with 2B in gold letters. It’s like he was expecting you, it takes Alex no time to answer the door.
You were right. He’s still in his tux… and the top buttons are undone. That cocky grin is there again, but there’s a hint of ferality and maybe… possessiveness as his deep brown eyes assess your barely clothed body.
“Play for me?” you ask.
He nods and lets you in.
You float to the couch on the waves of lust and need, skin burning hot as you feel him watch you. The couch dips, the buttery leather forming around your heated skin when you settle atop it. Alex picks up his drink from the table, a scotch on the rocks, big clear ice cubes tinking against the glass when he takes a drink.
He sits in his chair across the room from you, pulling the cello into his hold. He almost looks out of place, bare feet planting against the oak floor, tuxedo pants riding high. He’s the confusing mix of cocksure and casual as he plays the first note.
It’s lush, full of longing, and you bite your lip because he’s not looking at the cello. He’s looking at you.
You can’t even pretend you’re here for the music, and Alex knows that. You untie your robe, silk parting to reveal your collarbone, your breasts, and the way your thighs are already pressed together. He watches intently, playing his instrument flawlessly. So you keep going, letting your robe fall to the couch, spreading your legs to let him get a good look at you.
The cello keeps time with you, your fingers dragging over your soft mound, through your folds, brushing against your clit. You move with the music, let it overtake you as your hips grind against your palm and you dip your finger lower. Every whimper you breathe is for him to play against, and for his greedy, predatory gaze.
God, you’re so fucking wet, leftover from your orgasm from just fifteen minutes ago and the searing heat of your neighbor’s attention. You slide two fingers into your cunt, flutter them inside, and drag them along the gushy walls in time to the tremolo of his bow. The music pulls you, spreads your legs wide, cants your hips in the air as the cello player soundtracks your desire.
He plays fast now, the loose curl on his forehead springs up and down as his eyes stay planted between your legs. Every note is perfect, but you can see the way you’re affecting him… the unsteady breaths he’s breathing, the tremorous rise and fall of his chest. You’re so fucking close, one hand petting yourself, middle finger circling your clit, the other hand, two fingers deep in your pussy. You start to chase and chase, your orgasm floating with the notes just above your reach. You’re a trembling, wet, and loud mess, stretched out on your new neighbor’s couch.
It’s obscene how bad you want this, how bad you want to put on this show for him. You’re panting, lungs singing “close, close, close” when Alex stops the song suddenly, and you freeze, holding yourself right on the brink.
“Don’t stop,” he growls.
You listen, but go slower now, and rebuild your bliss. He stands, cello set aside, and takes his scotch with him. His bare feet move across the room to you, lowball glass hanging from one hand. He comes to the couch, looms over you, and you have to tilt your head back to look all the way up at him, all domineering in the low, golden light. He watches, sipping, as casual as ever in his only slightly off-kilter tuxedo.
You whimper, and he catches your jaw, tilts your face towards him. He presses the glass to your lips, and you taste the smoke and warmth when he pours it into your mouth. You swallow every drop, even if it burns, because the afterglow is so smooth.
He takes one last gulp, taking an ice cube into his mouth. He spits it into his palm, then traces it over your burning skin, a delicious shock of cold against it. The trail of wet and cold runs down your chest, circling each nipple until droplets fall down your breasts. A cold path is left down your ribcage, down your belly, past your mound until he runs the melting edge between your spread lips and right over your clit.
You gasp and laugh and moan all at once, breath catching when you see the wild devotion in his eyes. The ice falls to the floor, and Alex parts your knees wider, fitting his thumb against your clit. You’re nothing but heavy breaths, ache, and want. You feel like you’re going to melt just like the discarded chunk of ice when he brings his face low, flicking his tongue over your nipple, teeth scraping against it. You try to speak, try to tell him you’re close, but you’re so fucking powerless, especially when his long, thick finger joins yours. You almost sob, a perplexing gratitude for the pressure of his hand guiding your own further. He presses the tip of your chin with his other hand and makes you look at him, as if he wants your eyes wide open for this, wants you to remember just how fucking humiliatingly desperate you are for him.
“Go on and take it,” he gruffs in that frustratingly still velvety smooth voice.
You do, bucking into his hand, soaking his palm as the pressure builds and sends sparks up your spine. Your whole body seizes up in one long, almost-endless orgasm. He doesn’t even let you recover before he pulls your fingers out and raises your hand to his lips, tasting you, licking the sweet, sticky webs of your soaked desire off your fingers.
You reach for him, finding the outline of his cock, thick and hard through the expensive black pants. You slide your palm along the impressive length, squeezing him, savoring the way he grunts into the air.
He’s already ragged and wrecked sounding when he tells you, “Take it out, if you want it.”
Your clumsy hands are at his belt, fumbling and trembling so hard you nearly snap the black, pearl button off. He stands, towering over you, yanking his pants open, and pulls his cock out. Jesus Christ, he’s gorgeous, all golden brown and huge, a fat vein latticed down the shaft, leaking crown so fat your pussy clenches at the promise of being stretched again by it. His hand wraps around his base, stroking it once, you fight your eyes from rolling into the back of your head at the sight of the drop of precum that he squeezes out.
“Fuck me,” you beg. “Fuck me.” You’re a broken record of need and desperation, wanting to be played by this beautiful, broad man and his big cock.
He hmphs, cockily getting off at the way you plead for his dick. You’re shoved back against the couch, and Alex splits your legs open, lining himself up with a hand on each of your knees. He presses his cock against your soaked, dripping core, running the thick head of it against your swollen clit. You’re so restless, yearning for the stretch and ache of him that you’re keening, almost crying out prayers of his name as he teases your cunt with his cock. And then, when his cock finally bestows heaven into your needy hole as he enters you in one thrust, filling your glossy pussy, you scream. He holds you there, splitting you open as he’s buried in you to the hilt. You’re locked at cliff, just breathing hard, as if savoring the impossibility of feeling this way again. You hook your ankles behind his waist, and he begins to move, slow at first, then faster, fucking you with the same furious, controlled tempo as he played the cello.
You don’t know if you’ve ever felt more alive, vibrating like a string as he plays you, every nerve screaming loud. His pace is brutal, his balls slapping against your ass as he curls you even more into him, his weight pressing against you. A curl falls onto his sweaty brow, and it springs just like before, up and down, up and down, keeping tempo with the way Alex slams himself in and out of you. He grabs your head with both hands, his fingers tight at the nape of your neck. His eyes are locked to yours, pinning you down, narrowing your world down to just him. There’s something in the way he’s cradling your head, rough and careful at the same time, that makes you burn even hotter for him. There’s an almost exposed tenderness in his eyes as he holds you and grips you, giving you no choice but to meet his black-coffee gaze.
You can barely breathe. But why would you ever need to? Not when you want this man to inhale you, consume you, and destroy you.
“You let that boy fuck you earlier?” he growls.
“Y-yes,” you shudder.
He slips his cock out and freezes, heavy breaths puffing against your face.
“You like it?” he asks, eyebrow arching slightly.
“N-no.”
It’s borderline uncomfortable the way your pussy is aching for him as he teases you with the heft of his tip against your eager hole.
He hmphs, trusty cocky grin showing up again. “He get to cum inside you?”
“N-no. C-condom.”
“Can I cum inside you?”
You nod, eagerly. “I have an implant.”
That’s what Alex wants to hear. He slams into you so hard it almost hurts, but fuck, the pain is exquisite, it’s exactly what you needed. Tears are leaking from your eyes as Alex owns your pussy. He reaches around, splays his hand across your throat. The grip isn’t tight, but just enough to make you utterly surrender to him.
You orgasm again, not because he tells you to, but because you can’t not. Every part of you twists and detonates, your pussy clenching and spasming around him. The sight and feel of you shattering makes Alex join your euphoria. He thrusts once, twice, then lurches and his cock erupts inside you. You swear you can feel every pulse and drop of him paint your walls. He stills, tremors wracking his arms as he balances above you, then nuzzles his face into your neck, sucking greedy mouthfuls of your skin.
Time stops. You unwrap your still-shaking legs from around Alex, as he settles over you, his weight pressing you deeper into the soft cushions. You don’t know how long you stay like that, both gasping, stunned by the hedonistic display shared between the two of you. He presses a kiss to your jaw, and you try to ignore the way it makes your heart race. He stands, tucks his cock away, and excuses himself, blinking a look of awe away before he turns.
You’re already back in your robe when he comes back out, holding a dark gray towel. He offers it to you, eyes moving down to your exposed, sticky thighs, but you wave it off and tell him you’ll just shower at home.
There’s a slight tilt of his head, as if nobody ever tells him no, or maybe it’s just an awkward bobbling of a nod. Either way, you tighten your robe and head for the door. “See you around, Alex.”
“Wait.”
You turn, and almost get mad at how frustratingly gorgeous he is standing in the middle of his living room with his sex tousled hair and furrowed eyebrows.
*SEASON OF THE WOLF: a joel miller x reader story. (part five)
The giant wolf that has been killing people around town shares a very striking feature with the quiet man that keeps breaking into your home— They both have the saddest, warmest brown eyes you've ever seen.
join the TAGLIST. / SERIES masterlist. / PREVIOUS chapter.
It seems like Joel is incapable of stepping away, constantly hovering for the hours to come— Never interacting with you directly, but always paying you undivided attention.
warnings: the basics (werewolf!joel, age gap, no outbreak), law enforcement, abuse of power (acab!!!!!!!!), hunter/prey vibes, getting hunted through the woods by your hot werewolf boyfriend, they're super domestic though, characters resolving their issues like mature adults, smut (monsterfucking, oral f receiving, unprotected piv, biting, pulling out, werewolf-induced hyperspermia, size kink, creampie, we go full beast mode on this one, there's some gross stuff in the aftercare but yall wanted to fuck the wolf so now yall gotta deal with the gross goopy bloodied part of it too), body horror/gore, technically cannibal joel, murder/death of minor characters, everybody gets a happy ending.
word count: 12.4k (oops)
fox says: hello friends! oh my god guys, this is it. the final chapter! i'm so sorry for the delay, between my break and the stage fright that i always get when writing a finale, i chose to take my time and write something i'm proud of rather than rushing through it. i had so much fun writing this series, and i hope you guys have enjoyed it as well. (spoiler) it was super important for me to make sure everyone knows that reader's mental health doesn't improve because she finally got some monster cock but rather that she took the time to care for herself and how her environment was poisenous and making everything worse and i really really hope i managed to get that across. as always, please let me know how we feel about it!
also available on archiveofourown.
It seems like Joel is incapable of stepping away, constantly hovering for the hours to come— Never interacting with you directly, but always paying you undivided attention. You spend the afternoon and early evening on the couch with Sarah, watching cartoons and then watching as she played with her dolls, colored her little books and ran around the couch pretending to be a shark when she got hit with a particularly strong case of the zoomies. He sits down eventually, close enough that you can feel his body heat but not close enough to touch— Sarah is passed out on the rug in front of you, surrounded by pillows and blankets in something that is a mix between a pillow fort and a nest.
“I’m sorry.” Joel says, his voice gravel-like. He doesn’t look at you, stares instead at his hands fisted over his thighs. “For everything.”
You think he’s not talking just about what has happened to you. There’s a weight to the world ‘everything’ that makes you think back to his wife, to the scar on his temple and how he tried to kill himself over it.
“I know. I’m sorry too.” You open your hand, palm up. Joel takes it almost immediately, fingers interlacing with yours. “I was scared.”
“I was too. Had no idea where you were, what happened—” He swallows quickly, the raspiness of his voice thickening with emotion. “I shouldn’t have sprung none’a that on you. And I’m sorry about— I didn’t mean to call you—”
“It’s fine.” You shake your head. The hurt is still there but dulled, muffled by everything else: In the grand scheme of things, getting your feelings hurt by being called a dead woman’s name seems like the least of your worries. “Thank you for saving me.”
You don’t realize how much you mean it until you say it. You had wanted to die. You thought it’d feel like relief, finally letting go of all the hurt and pain and hopelessness but those few seconds of the car swerving off the road— The panic and the desperate desire to survive makes you realize that, deep down, it’s not death that you seek.
It’s comfort.
Joel brings your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of it. He looks you dead in the eyes, his often sorrowful eyes now clouded with a different emotion. Devotion. Love. Kindness and pain and everything in between.
“I’ll always save you.”
You kiss him. His lips are dry and chapped but his hands are warm when they cradle your face, a brief hesitation on his part before Joel kisses you back. One of his hands moves to the back of your neck, tangling with the hairs at the base of your skull; you crawl through the distance between the two of you, climbing on his lap without breaking the kiss. It’s nothing like any other kiss you’ve ever had— Your body molds against his with perfection, his hands gripping your body and pulling you close, his tongue pushing into your mouth.
You’ve never been much of a kisser— It always felt like a means to an end, something to signal that you want more and you actually often find your mind wandering off, your thoughts running away from the situation but this time all you can think and feel is Joel. He kisses you slowly but unhurried, exploring your mouth and whatever he can reach of your body, trying to figure out what makes you tick. It is too much and not enough all at once, and Joel shushes the desperate little noise you make with a concerned look towards the toddler sleeping a couple of feet away.
“Bedroom.” You beg against his lips, drinking down when his breathing falters in your mouth. “Please.”
Joel’s hands grab both of your asscheeks, raising the two of you from the couch as if you weighed nothing— You bite down on your lip to hold back the squeal, not wanting to wake Sarah up as he quietly pads down into his bedroom. He lays you gently on the bed before coming back to lock the door; the tent on his sweatpants is impressive when he turns back to you: You’ve seen Joel naked a couple of times now and you know he’s big but you hadn’t seen him hard before and, even with his clothes on, you’re intimidated. He stands by the edge of the bed, fingertips running slowly up your calves, drinking you down just as you do him.
The wolf never made you afraid before. Even with blood on his snout, even as you watched him tear a grown man apart, you were never scared— You were never afraid of Joel either, not in the true, primal sense of the word. But now, laying back on his bed as he watches you, you finally see the danger that ripples beneath his skin. His brown eyes are nothing short of predatory when he kneels on the mattress, aquiline nose running up the inside of your calf, his breath ghosting over your skin light enough to leave goosebumps in their wake.
“Been dreamin’ of this.” He tells you, big hands locking around your ankles. You’re putty in his hands, giggling when he pulls on your legs, tugging your ass further down the bed. “Havin’ you on my bed. My mate. My girl.”
You open your mouth but whatever witty response dies before you can conjure it, Joel’s mouth latching into the inside of your thigh— He bites down hard and your hands fly to his hair, though you’re unsure whether to pull him away or pull him closer. Joel soothes the bite with his tongue, lapping at the indent of his own teeth before he crawls higher, pushing the soft material of the boxer shorts out of the way so he can bite again, closer to the junction of your thigh.
You’re about to pull the shorts down yourself when Joel moves just a little higher, the bristles of his mustache tickling the softness of your stomach as he pushes your shirt up, kissing the skin as it is exposed. It’s involuntary, your body curling in and pulling away from him as you laugh, the noise pure instinct to soothe the bluntness of your movements as you shove your shirt back down.
“Ticklish?”
“Yup.” It’s true but not at the same time. Sure, you’re a little ticklish, but not like that— It’s a gut reaction, instinct telling you to hide and pull away as if he isn’t already aware of your size. Joel’s head cocks to the side and he leans back a little, searching your face.
“Okay. I won’t touch you there.” He breathes out, and you can tell Joel doesn’t believe you entirely. He doesn’t push it, however, choosing instead to bring his mouth back to yours, thick fingers playing with the elastic band of your shorts. “Can I take these off?”
You wonder if you should be offended that he’s all of a sudden walking on eggshells but you don’t; if anything it makes you a little giddy when you nod and Joel smiles against your lips as if you’ve just given him a gift. He tugs your shorts and underwear in one go, discarding them to the ground without taking his eyes off of you. Joel sits back on his knees, his hands running up and down your calves.
“You’re beautiful.” He whispers, voice reverent as he drinks you in. “Spread your legs f’me.”
In any other instance, you might’ve felt self-conscious about letting someone look at you so intimately but Joel stares at you like you’re the single most divine thing he’s ever seen. It fills you with enough courage to do as he tells you, your bent legs falling apart.
“I need to taste you.” Joel says, leaning forward to press a kiss on the inner side of your knee. His eyes find yours, darkened with desire. “Will you let me?”
“Please.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He makes a V with his fingers, spreading your pussy open before latching his mouth to your clit. Joel makes out with your cunt, slow and messy, the pressure of his tongue and the scrape of his teeth enough to have you squirming but not enough to properly get you off; you tug at his hair, fingers tangling with his curls, whining.
“I want you inside me.” You breathe out, eyes rolling to the back of your head when Joel suckles against your clit. “Please, Joel, I need your fingers.”
He hums against you, a single digit twirling your entrance until you’re pushing your hips against him, bucking on the bed. Joel chuckles as he finally relents and pushes a single finger inside; even a single digit is a stretch, both from the thickness of his fingers from the amount of time you’ve gone without, desire curling low on your stomach.
“Joel—”
He shushes you, then, and the sound brings a new wave of wetness between your legs. “Calm down, sweet girl. Let me take care of you.”
You try to do as he says, letting your body melt against the mattress; Joel looks entirely pleased as he dives back into your pussy, his eyes sparkling with mirth as he flicks his tongue this and that way— You can tell that he is exploring you, trying to figure out the best rhythm and pressure to have you shaking and that’s not really something you’ve ever experienced with a man before: Most of them simply assume that their moves are a universal like, always too pleased with themselves even if most of the sounds you make are fake.
Joel is a quick, eager learner. He suckles on your clit when he sees the way your chest heaves at that, crooking two fingers inside of you and slowing down their thrusting when you bring both of your hands to your face, trying to stifle your moans. Your thighs clamp down the sides of his head when he pushes a third finger in, rubbing them slow and steady against that single spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; you choke down the noises threatening to escape from your mouth, one hand on his hair and the other trapped between your teeth, not wanting to wake up the other residents of the cabin.
His blunt nails dig into the soft flesh of your hips, holding you down on the mattress as his fingers push in and out of you, his tongue running circles on your clit; the ball of your feet knock into his ribs as you come, body shaking underneath him— Your jaw goes slack as pleasure shoots down your spine, going fully silent as you get lost in it. Joel slows down but doesn’t stop, licking you through your orgasm before he finally pulls away.
You tug on his hair before Joel can pull away entirely, yanking on his curls as you breathe his name.
“Joel—” You say, and his nose crinkles a little with the harshness of your tug but he still smiles, the lower half of his face glimmering in the pale bedroom light. “C’mere. I need you.”
Joel kisses your arm, the only part of your skin that he can reach, before gripping your hips and flipping you over; it makes you bounce on the mattress and you cackle, half from glee and half from surprise— You’ve never been with a man strong enough to manhandle you like that, and you bite down on your bottom lip, arching spine, ass in the air.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, sweetheart.” Joel mumbles behind you, the tone of his voice sending a shiver down your back. “Look at ya. Drippin’.”
The tip of his cock brushes against your entrance, catching for a second before Joel slides his cock down your slit and it has you whining, pushing your hips against him. You call out his name a little louder and Joel shushes you again, pushing just the tip inside before pulling back out; the sensation is enough to drive you crazy, biting down on your thumb to keep you from complaining again.
When Joel finally plunges inside of you, it’s blissful. He makes a choked sound between a moan and a groan, holding himself very still. The stretch hurts at first but you wiggle against him, trying to signal for him to move— His fingers dig into the fat of your hip, his other hand coming to steady you on the small of your back.
“Fuck— Just— Gimme a sec, darlin’.” Joel says, his voice strained. “ ‘S been a while.”
He starts slow, his thrusting as exploratory as his mouth had been, pulling out halfway before sliding back in with enough force to punch the air out of your lungs. You arch your spine a little further, nose buried in the pillow that smells so much like Joel you feel entirely encompassed by him. All you can hear, feel, smell— It’s him, the little grunts he’s trying to stifle, the calloused hands on your skin, his scent on the pillow and in the air. You reach back without thinking, grabbing Joel’s wrist and pulling him towards you.
Joel topples on top of you, breathy laugh against your ear before he rearranges himself, one arm next to your head, the other sliding between you and the mattress, wrapping around your hips and pulling you backwards just enough— The new angle hits different, deeper somehow, his entire weight settling on your back.
“Fuck,” he pants near your ear, chest hair brushing against your back. “You feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. So sweet. Made f’me.”
His thrusts have you wailing, Joel’s teeth scraping the side of your neck whenever he’s close enough— Never biting down, but teasing is enough to drive you crazy, one hand reaching back to grab at his hair, fists of curly grey and brown locks between your fingers. The arm by your face comes forward, Joel’s thick fingers closing your mouth shut: His hand is big enough to cover the lower half of your face entirely, your breathing erratic behind his glammy fingers.
“Can’t wait to have you screamin’ f’me, pretty girl.” Joel whispers, knees digging into your thighs, spreading you even further. He stops moving, buried to the hilt inside of you. “But I’m gon’ need you to be a good girl and keep quiet, ‘kay? Don’t go wakin’ up the whole house.”
You nod and, even though Joel starts moving again, he doesn’t pull his hand away from your lips; he uses the leverage of holding your face hostage to pull your head backwards, bending your spine in a way that makes him feel even bigger inside of you. Joel whispers a string of dirty praises in your ear as his cock pistons in and out of you, telling you how much of a good girl you’re being, how much he loves your sweet pussy and all of the nasty little things he has planned for the two of you.
You feel the change in the air before you can properly recognize what it is. Joel feels heavier against your back, his chest pressing down on your back to the point of becoming just shy of suffocating, the hair on his chest coarser, rubbing against your shoulder blades with such friction you think you might get beard burn, his thrusts sharper and not as rhythmically.
But, above all, Joel goes silent. His breathing is still heavy, still stuttering after a particularly hard thrust, but he’s not moaning anymore, isn’t saying your say or the dirty, sweet nothings he’s been whispering in your ear all night.
You turn your head, trying to catch a glimpse of him so you can check in and make sure everything is okay but the image reflected in the window makes you stop— Joel looks like himself and yet, at the same time, he doesn’t. His face is buried on the back of your neck, hidden away from view, but his shoulders seem broader, his hips and thighs thicker, his biceps even more defined than they already are. His hair, the soft curls still trapped between your fingers, seem thicker like this, fuller and longer.
You tell yourself that you’re seeing things. It’s the warping of the window pane, it’s the soft lighting, it’s your brain turning into mush because Joel’s cock keeps hitting repeatedly into the deepest parts of you. And then Joel’s teeth scrape against the back of your neck and he growls— A noise that doesn’t sound human at all, deep and rolling and menacing, the sort of rumbling sound human anatomy shouldn’t be able to produce.
Your cunt spasms around his cock and you shake, the orgasm hitting you like a freightrain. It’s too much and not enough all at once, your entire body set ablaze; you push back against him, head thrown back, yanking at Joel’s hair with far more force than you ought to be using.
Your body is soft and pliant when he shifts positions, pushing one of your knees higher up on the mattress, leaving you even more open and exposed; Joel’s cock punches in and out of you with rapid precision, now chasing his pleasure more than yours in deep, long thrusts that have you drooling on the pillowcase, unable to catch your breath.
Joel pulls out with a pained whine and you’re too tired to turn around, fighting to keep your eyes open as you listen to the slick sounds of him fisting his own cock, followed by the sticky warmth of his spend as it covers the roundness of your ass. He presses a kiss on the space between your shoulderblades just as you start to recover your breathing.
“I’ll be right back.” He says, his voice soft like you’ve never heard before; you just give him a thumbs up, smiling when you hear him laugh.
Joel cleans you with a warm towel and so much care it makes you almost embarrassed, peppering kisses to your clammy skin and saying how well you’ve done for him. He helps you redress, fixes the place where the fitted sheets came loose, and then pulls you to his chest. You slide a hand underneath his shirt, fingertips playing with the wispy hair on his chest.
“Joel?” You call out, wanting to ask him about what had happened before — how you’re fairly certain you’d seen him half-way into shifting before he somehow got it under control — but you’re unable to, because the only response you get is a loud, reverberating snore.
Tommy brings a bag with your belongings two days later. He doesn’t say anything, just drops it by the bed, pats you on the shoulder, and says ‘the old bastard reckons it’s time ya start wearin’ yer own shit again’ before he steps out of the room; you haven’t seen either Miller men all day, with Tommy busy trying — and failing, because it seems like the damage you've done is mighty permanent — to fix up the truck and Joel at work. You go through the bag carefully, pulling out your clothes — the clothes that Joel chose from your closet — and finding them a home next to Joel’s flannels.
You wonder if you should feel like it’s some sort of violation, that Joel had gone to your house while you took care of his kid and picked out your underwear, but you don’t.
If anything, it makes you feel seen.
It’s the pounding on the door that wakes you up. Your mouth is parched, muscles pleasantly sore, too warm from Joel’s steady presence behind your back; Joel grumbles, not fully awake, but Tommy’s insistent knocking drags the both of you up.
“Joel— For fuck’s sake, Joel. The cops are here.” He says through the door, his voice so panicked he can barely hide it. “They wanna talk to both of ya.”
It’s ludicrous, but the first thing you think about is the pens you stole from the pharmacy— The used, old pens that you stole out of pettiness and you think the police are here to arrest you for it. But then, as you hastily get dressed, you think of the car accident you were in and panic sets even deeper; you’d been driving while drunk, and you fled the scene— You don’t remember any of it, maybe you injured or killed someone. Maybe you drove into some ancient protected tree. Maybe they’re here to charge you for the damage you did to the cement safeguard next to the road.
The truth is, somehow, a lot worse. The cops — Josh McKenley and Chad Hobbs, one of them who you went to school with, the other who is a year older than you at most — kindly ask you to step outside while one of them stays inside with the men; Tommy has Sarah perched on his hip, distracting her with breakfast but you can see just how worried he is.
McKenley steps out with you, Hobbs stays inside, arms crossed over his chest while he stares at Joel as if he is some sort of deviant criminal.
“Josh, what the fuck is going on?” You ask, hugging yourself. You almost want to ask if this is about the car but you don’t, biting your tongue at the very last minute; the last thing you need is to incriminate yourself.
Josh, on his part, shifts from one foot to the other, his bovine eyes scanning every inch of your body.
“Céline called.”
You lean back against the cruiser when your knees threaten to give out. “What do you mean?”
“She’s worried about you. Been trying to call you—”
“I lost my phone.” You bring a hand to your forehead, hating the way your fingers shake. “This is a wellness check? How did you even find me?”
“We didn’t know we’d find you here, but we figured we should look ‘round after we realized you hadn’t gone home in days. Honestly, after what Céline said, I thought we’d be searching for a body.”
Your stomach churns unpleasantly. You can barely remember what you said to her, far too drunk to make any sense of it but you know, you know it had been bad. Josh looks at you more carefully, and you know what he sees: The scrapes and bruises that remain from your accident, fading but still there, and the way you tremble like a leaf in front of him.
“I’m alright.” You say and, even though it’s true, it sounds like a lie. Josh cocks his head to the side.
“We can help you. We’re going to help you. Céline told us that the guy is dangerous, that you were scared, but we’re here now.”
“Josh—” You shake your head, but he keeps talking over you.
“We’ll pretend that we’re bringing you in for something else, and then we go down to the station, you report him and he won’t be able to keep you here anymore.”
“He’s not holding me hostage. I’m here because I want to.” You push the heels of your palms into your eyes. “I appreciate the concern, I really do, but Céline doesn’t know what she’s talking about. I lost my phone and I lost my job, and Joel’s letting me stay here with him while I figure something out, that’s all.”
“You’re hurt. Are you going to tell me you just… What? Fell down the stairs?”
“Car crash, actually.” You huff. “I was driving from Céline’s place and lost control of the car. It’s fine now, nobody else got hurt and Joel and Tommy already brought the car back.”
Josh’s eyes turn into narrow slits and you can’t tell he doesn’t believe you, but you’re sure there’s not much else he can do. There’s a heavy moment of silence while he stares you down, maybe waiting for you to crack, before he eventually nods.
“Okay.” He says in a tone that doesn’t make anything seem okay— It’s half a challenge, half a threat. “Do you want to explain why you told Céline that he’s the one killing people ‘round town, then?”
“I never said that.”
He hums, shifting from one foot to the other, effectively blocking your view of the house.
“That ain’t what Céline said. She said—”
“I don’t care what she said. Do you even hear yourself? You think, what— That Joel faked the animal attacks? Josh, that’s crazy talk.”
“What I think it’s that it’s mighty interesting that folk only started dying after he came into town. And I think it’s mighty interesting that you are the only person that’s seen the animal and got out alive. If you’re not being held against your will, and if you know what happened— That’s accessory to murder.”
You laugh, then, because you can barely believe what you’re hearing; it’s not a funny, happy laugh but rather the noise of pure despair.
“Holy shit, you’re so fired.”
“Is that a threat?” He asks, eyebrows raising high.
“Are you seriously thinking about charging Joel for murder because Céline said so? You can’t just— Humans don’t do that. They don’t eat and tear each other apart like that. If there was a single chance that it was a person faking an animal attack, don’t you think the coroners would’ve caught it?”
There’s just a hint of uncertainty on his chubby cheeks before Josh puffs his chest again, clearly trying to seem taller and more in control than he has ever been.
“I think it’s part of my job to do my due diligence when an accusation is made. And if you and Mr. Miller don’t have anything to hide, then you shouldn’t be so upset about me asking a couple of questions.”
“Does your dad know about this? That you’re here harassing me and my boyfriend over gossip?”
“The Deputy will be informed of our official investigation as soon as—”
“That’s fucking fantastic. Alright, go in there and ask Joel if he’s the big bad wolf that has been eating people.” You wave at the front of the house, and then promptly shove your hands into your pockets once you notice just how badly you’re shaking. “Please do. And then go home and tell your daddy what you did. You’ll be the joke of the entire fucking town, Officer McKenley.”
You sidestep him and it’s only then that you realize just how loud you’ve been, with Officer Hobbs and Joel both standing by the front door; the police officer seems uncertain, torn between coming closer and staying with the suspect, and Joel looks like he’s a split second away from rushing down the stairs.
“Hey, Hobbs!” You yell, giving what you can only hope is a smile that is more acidic than you truly feel. “Did you know your partner here thinks Joel Miller is a werewolf?! Is that what you idiots are up to nowadays? Monster hunting?”
By the look on Officer Hobbs’s face you can see that he, indeed, was not aware of the murder accusation Josh decided to throw. The man’s eyes fly from Josh’s face to yours and then to Joel, who simply raises both of his eyebrows. Josh is already speaking a thousand words per minute trying to explain to his senior the conversation he had with Céline but you don’t pay any attention to it; all you can do is focus on the officer’s face, the way he burns red and how you can tell he’s trying to show an united front even though he clearly feels like an idiot.
“This is just a wellness check.” Hobbs says to you eventually, having all but dragged Josh back into the cruiser. “A friend of yours was concerned.”
“I know. And I appreciate it. But going from that to saying that my boyfriend is killing people? I mean…”
Hobbs nods, once, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He looks like he’s agreeing with you, but his eyes linger on Joel’s figure behind you for a beat too long before he finally drives away.
You, Joel and Tommy reunite after you help Sarah brush her teeth and then Joel pulls out a fairly large collection of crayons and papers, enough to keep the little girl occupied while the three of you talk things through by the kitchen table.
“They can’t… They can’t do anything, right?” You ask, watching as Tommy paces back and forth— Joel is leaning against the table, his body entirely still even though you can feel the nervous energy radiating from him. “I mean, even if they try to say you faked the animal attacks, that’s easily disproven.”
The silence that settles is full of answers you don’t like. Your head snaps towards Joel, who is looking intently at the wall.
“The DNA could match.” He says, at last, just as you open your mouth to beg for the reassurance that isn’t coming. “If there’s any saliva left, or— Maybe the fur, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.” You don’t mean to sound as judgemental as you do, but— Considering he’s the one that has been murdering people for almost three decades, you figured he should know at least how much risk he’s been putting himself in.
“No, I don’t. This shit didn’t come with a manual.” Joel snaps. He doesn’t yell, and he’s not aggressive, but the words are still much sharper than he’s ever spoken to you. Tommy’s pacing falters for a moment as his eyes bounce between the two of you. You preen, ready to snap back at him, but—
It’s your fault, really.
You close your mouth shut with so much force your teeth clack. If you hadn’t said anything to Céline, if you hadn’t sent the e-mail and if you hadn’t had your little outburst at the bar, none of this would be happening. Joel and Sarah and Tommy would be safe, their lives completely undisturbed; and now here you are, all but squatting in their house, bringing the cops to their front door.
Your head falls forward, burying it in your hands.
“We’re panicking over nothing.” Joel says. “The Deputy is never going to open an investigation on you ‘cause of what some lil’ girl had to say.”
“Officer McKenley is his son.” You say, your voice laced with defeat; the heels of your palms dig into your eyesockets, little flashes of brightness popping behind the darkness of your closed eyelids.
“Even better for us. He ain’t gon’ let his kid embarrass himself like that.”
“We should just pack up and leave.” You raise your head at Tommy’s voice, the first time he spoke since the conversation started. His arms are crossed over his chest, mustache twitching. “The truck won’t take us long before it shits itself out again, but I can get us a new car today, we pack our shit and get out of town in the middle of the night. If we leave before they can properly open an investigation we’ll be down in Mexico by the time a judge allows them to exhume one of the bodies.”
“Runnin’ is only going to make us look more suspicious.” Joel shakes his head. “They ain’t got anythin’ on me. We stay put, keep workin’ and goin’ about our business. And you—” Joel pulls his cellphone from his pocket, the black glass square tumbling on the table when he throws it at you. “Call your friend and tell her you’re fine. We need her to think she overstepped and overreacted.”
You don’t want to call her. You don’t want to talk to Céline at all, even though you understand why she did what she did— You would’ve done the same in her shoes. Hell, you probably would’ve driven yourself back home to check in on her. So, while your brain understands the logic, understands she was just looking out for you, your heart doesn’t seem to agree.
You pick up the phone anyway, though, because you’re the one that fucked everything up in the first place.
“I don’t know her phone number.” You say, swiping left and right trying to find the Instagram app. Joel doesn’t have much other than the pre-downloaded apps, a guitar tuning app and some games that are clearly meant for Sarah. “Where’s your Insta? I need to message her there and ask her to FaceTime me.”
There’s a beat of silence where Joel blinks at you, his face entirely blank. Tommy snorts, which turns into a full blown cackle when Joel turns to stare at him.
“You might as well be speakin’ Greek to him, kid.” Tommy shakes his head, checking his watch before he looks back at Joel. “You sure you want to play this by ear? If we’re goin’ to keep on movin’, we gotta be at the Arlington’s by ten to get started on their bathroom.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” Joel gives a final nod, tension radiating off of him. He turns back to you then, the tip of his tongue pressing against his upper teeth as he hesitates.
“I got it.” You tell him, waving a hand. “Go play in someone else’s bathroom, I’ll find a way of contacting Céline, and then I’ll take Sarah for a walk.”
Joel kisses both of Sarah’s cheeks before he leaves, promising that he’ll be home by dinner with a treat if she behaves. You don’t think Sarah is capable of misbehaving, really, but she gives him a toothy grin and requests Reese’s as her bribery of choice. He kisses you too before he leaves, a long kiss on the lips, his big hands cradling your hips like the last thing he wants to do is let you go.
“Do I also get a good girl treat?” You ask, voice low and teasing. Joel’s teeth nip at your bottom lip, fingers squeezing your hips.
“I left my card and cell on the counter.” Even though Joel doesn’t answer your provocation with words, the fire that burns in his eyes is more than enough. “Call Tommy’s phone if you need anything, okay?”
“Can you—” You hesitate, fixing his flannel even though it’s not out of place at all, unsure if you even should voice your request. Joel squeezes your side again, head cocking to the side.
“Anything.”
“Can you check in throughout the day? Whenever you’re free.”
You burn hot with shyness by the way his eyes soften at that, and Joel presses a kiss to the top of your head before stepping away. “Yeah, of course, darlin’. I’ll call on my lunch break.”
Céline answers your Instagram message in less than ten minutes, and the two of you settle on a FaceTime call just as Sarah goes down for her afternoon nap. You’ve cleaned up a little, wearing a shirt that you don’t think she’ll be able to tell is Joel’s, and you’ve even added just a little bit of make up to the still fading bruises on your face; it’s not the make up or your hair being done that strike you as the most odd when you look in the mirror, though— It’s the fact that you look healthy, no bags under your eyes or ashiness to your skin, your cheeks rounder and even your eyes seem lighter, not in color but in brightness.
You don’t remember ever looking this good before, and it makes your smile a little wider when Céline finally answers the call.
It’s every bit as uncomfortable as you expect it to be: Céline is surprised and suspicious, and you can see her craning her neck to look over your shoulder as if she’d be able to tell if you were being held at gunpoint. You tell her about the car crash, about losing your job and your phone and about staying at Joel and Tommy’s place because you didn’t feel well enough to be by yourself. You walk around the house as you speak, trying to make it seem casual as you grab a pre-made iced coffee from the fridge — the expensive brand, the one you never would’ve gotten on your own money —, but it’s mostly just so she can see you’re truly by yourself, minus the toddler that sleeps in the little tent in the corner of her bedroom.
“You… Look good.” Céline says at last, after the both of you have apologized for everything that went down in Jackson— You know it takes a lot for a woman like Céline to admit defeat, always so used to people bending at her every whim, always ignoring and overlooking any of her flaws. “Happy.”
“I am.” You bite down on your lip, giving the camera a small smile. There’s a lull in the conversation, the first one since she picked up the phone, and you take the opportunity to bring up the real reason for the call. “Josh came around. Though he’s going by Officer McKenley now.”
Céline’s face goes from its normal color to incredibly pale before burning bright red.
“I was worried about you.”
“I know.”
The two of you fall silent again, though it’s heavier this time, pregnant with all the things you want her to say.
“I’m not going to apologize for caring about you. You left drunk and crying, wouldn’t pick up your phone. And then there was the whole thing about him killing people. And the stalking.”
“Like you said, I was drunk and stoned. I was just saying bullshit for the sake of it.” You shake your head, trying to steer the conversation where you need it to go. “Did you send him my e-mails?”
“The e-mails where you describe the terrifying, weird old man that has been breaking into your house? Of course I did. I don’t care if the two of you kissed and made up, I thought you were in danger. Thought they were going to find you raped and killed somewhere.”
“Did you— Was it, like, an official report or something? Because if it’s official then— Shit, I don’t know, they’ll probably have to look into it even if I said I’m fine.”
“I called Josh’s personal phone. I don’t know if he ever filed a report on it.” Céline shrugged. “Just tell them you lied to me. If he didn’t kill anyone, then they’ll investigate a bit and drop it when there’s no evidence of anything.”
Céline’s face remains impossibly blank, her tone entirely diplomatic, but you can see the way her eyes scan your face and you know she’s trying to catch you in a lie. She still thinks Joel is the killer, you realize, and you’re not certain there’s much you can do now to change her mind.
“You know how people gossip in this fucking town.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, mostly to hide your face from her scrutiny than anything else. “People are going to show up to our house with pitchforks and silver bullets the second they hear he’s a person of interest.”
“I’m not going to apologize—”
“Yeah, you said that already.” You cut her off, your tone clipped and sharp.
Céline offers you a small smile. “Just handcuff him to a radiator during the full moons and you’ll both be fine.”
Her words, although they’re not really funny, pull a snort out of you. “He would look good in handcuffs.”
Céline’s face twists, but she still laughs.
“Is he good to you? Treating you right?”
“Better than anyone.” You say, having to bite down on your tongue to hold back a bitter remark about how she’d basically called you an attention seeking whore the last time the two of you were together. “He’s good with his daughter, and his brother. Takes care of everyone. Hard worker, too.”
“Yeah, okay, well— My door is always open if things go south, alright?”
You think back to how horribly it ended the last time you saw each other but you still smile and nod.
You don’t know what the future really holds, your relationship still so new and fragile, but you don’t think you’ll need her charity ever again.
For the next few weeks, you watch as Joel grows antsier and antsier. He agrees to lay low, to not hunt while there’s still a chance the police are looking for a reason to pin the killings on him, but you can see just how much it affects him. Joel gets snappy, his words clipped and short, fucking you rougher and rougher every time— Never staying still for too long, fingers tapping on his thighs or feet tapping on the floor whenever he’s sitting down, always finding something to fix around the house when he’s not working.
He’s hungry, you can see it in the burning of his eyes and the tension of his muscles.
“Can’t you just have a raw steak or something?” You ask him during one of the few afternoons in which he’s home, the house finally falling silent after you spent forty minutes trying to get Sarah to go down for her nap. “I’m sure it’s not the same as a person, but it might help you hold on for a couple more days, right?”
“It’s not the meat that the wolf is cravin’.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers tapping on the back of the couch as if he’s playing the piano. “It’s the hunt. The chase.”
An image comes to the forefront of your mind, the wolf with his teeth bared and nostrils blown wide, and it makes desire churn in your stomach. For the first time in weeks, Joel’s body goes entirely still, his sharp inhale reverberating through the two of you.
“You’re not thinkin’ —”
“He wouldn’t kill me, right?” You ask, thighs squeezing together, cutting him off because you don’t think you can handle it if he says it out loud.
“I don’t think so.”
His words aren’t all that reassuring, but they only make you wetter.
“Are you— Sweetheart, are you sure?”
You finally look back at him, holding his gaze.
“You’re the one that told me he could come out to play sometime.”
Joel growls. He’s sitting there, fully human, but the sound that leaves him is one that you don’t think human vocal chords would ever be able to produce— Similar, but not the same, as the one he’d done the first time the two of you had sex, when he was starting to lose control over himself.
“Go put on your shoes.” He tells you, voice low and full of gravel. “I’m givin’ you a forty second head start. Make ‘em count.”
Your underwear is fully damp by the time you finish putting on your boots, Joel standing in the kitchen with his back turned to you. You can feel the heat radiating off of him even from afar, his back muscles rippling underneath his cotton shirt as he sips from a water glass; you only hesitate for a moment before reaching underneath your dress, pulling out the pair of black cotton panties you’re wearing and letting it fall on the ground. You think of those cadaver dogs, the ones who can find a person just by the smell of their clothing alone, and goosebumps erupt all over your body as you turn on your heels and run out through the backdoors into the darkening woods.
In hindsight, you probably should’ve prepared better. You don’t have your phone, and you don’t have a flashlight, or a coat— It gets dark incredibly fast as soon as you’re past the treeline, the old trees tall and imposing, blocking the fading sunlight just the same as it blocks the house. You’re not planning on making it too difficult for Joel to catch you, maybe a little dodging him before the wolf finally catches up to you but, the further you go into the darkness, the more it becomes real.
The forest falls silent all of a sudden, the birds and the toads and the crickets silencing so fast you hold your breath; it’s almost as if the animals can sense something you can’t, as if they’ve all been warned of the predator that has entered the territory, every living thing going into hiding as Joel takes the reigns of nature.
You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting around before you find a small pathway between the trees. The man-made kind, the grass stomped over, tree branches carefully removed out of the way; it’s narrow, not visible unless you’re really looking for it, but you rush forward just as you hear the first branch creaking and snapping behind you— Too close.
Your legs push you forward, instinct taking over as you run through the small pathway before taking a sharp turn to the left, mingling with the trees; the space is so small that branches scratch against your face and you think momentarily that you’re safe, that the path you’re on is too closed off for the wolf to follow.
Above your labored breathing you hear the heavy and fast sound of his footsteps— You wonder if it’s on purpose, if he’s being loud to scare you, and it surely works. It makes you panic, in fact, heart hammering inside your chest. You think the sound is coming from your left so you run to your right, jumping over rocks and almost falling over when you step on a moss-covered root; it leads you to an area where the trees aren’t as clumped together, more space for you to see and less claustrophobic. The moonlight shines above, peaking through the top of the trees, and you narrowly miss a depression on the ground that would’ve absolutely sprained your ankle. Air becomes harder, your lungs and thighs burning as you duck underneath a thick branch, skidding to a halt as you hide behind a giant, imposing willow tree.
You drop down, knees to your chest as you try to take a proper breath. You can hear the rustling of the trees, the barely audible creaking of twigs and loose leaves under Joel’s paws as he stalks closer to you; your throat tightens, trapping the air inside your lungs. You can tell that he is right there, just on the other side of the tree, his breathing loud and controlled.
One, two, three— You count his steps, measured and certain, approaching you from the left. You fix your stance, hands on a thick tree root as you prepare to run.
It all happens so fast you barely have time to understand what is going on. You launch yourself to the right just as you hear another creaking from the left and you make it exactly four steps before you’re lunged forward and down; You spin, trying to escape the animal’s grasp but all you manage to do is land on your back, Joel’s heavy weight settling on your chest. His body covers yours like a weighted blanket, wet nostril bumping against the sensitive patch of skin just behind your ear. You push his head away like Tommy had done the night of the accident, trying to wiggle yourself from underneath him but, unlike last time, the wolf doesn’t pull away kindly. Instead he growls, low and long, his chest rattling against yours.
Your muscles freeze, much like they’d done that first time Joel hijacked your body— There are no words this time, no audible command other than the growl but your body responds as if it understands the wolf’s orders, laying pliantly underneath the stars.
“Joel—” You start, trying to call his attention, but the wolf doesn’t seem to mind; it nuzzles the side of your neck and then your collarbone, wet nose tickling against your sternum as it travels lower and lower. You open your mouth, ready to try again, but the words are cut off by the sound of the wolf’s teeth tearing through your dress. The cold air hits your chest for barely a second before his warm breath takes over, tongue impossibly large and unbelievably soft as it laps at your nipples. You shift again but, this time, it’s to accommodate him better between your legs; his belly is warm and soft against you, soft fur that you know you’re soaking with your wetness as you grind up into him. His tongue travels lower, teeth scraping against your stomach as he tugs at the scraps of your dress until you’re fully nude.
You look down, the wolf’s giant head between your legs, but all you can focus on are his eyes.
Joel’s eyes. Warm and kind and human, staring up at you in a way that is uncannily similar to his human form when he checks in on you— You nod, unsure if you even have it in you to give him any sort of verbal consent, but the small movement is more than enough; his tongue is so large that it encompasses your entire cunt in a single swipe. It’s so different from anything you’ve ever experienced but, at the same time, you can still recognize Joel’s movements in the way he laps at your clit, the tip of his tongue toying against your entrance in sharp, certain circles. It’s just a little clumsy, his teeth and snout getting in the way but it makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, hands gripping the grass until chunks fall out as you try to ground yourself. You bite down on your bottom lip, awfully aware you’re in a public setting even though there’s no one around, but you think back to Joel’s words that first time you had sex. Can’t wait to have you screamin’ f’me, pretty girl.
You come with a scream of his name on your lips, tufts of grass and dirt underneath your fingernails, hips pushing up into his mouth.
You’re still trying to regain your breath when Joel crawls back over you, whining softly as his snout bumps into your cheek. The fur sticks everywhere, glistening with your slick the way it had done with your blood so many moons ago, and you giggle, scratching the space between his eyes.
“I’m okay. That was—” You giggle again when he starts to purr, chest vibrating where it presses against yours. You feel the head of his cock bump against your thigh, scorchingly hot and leaking, and a fresh new wave of wetness dribbles down your thighs. “Do you want me to turn around?” You ask, still petting his head. “On all fours?”
Joel whines again, and the way he presses his body even more against yours seems like enough of an answer. You press a kiss to his snout, legs spreading even further when you feel his cock pressing against your entrance.
He’s even bigger like this. Joel in his human form had already been a task to take in, but this is something else— You take a deep breath, your fingers digging into the soft fur of his pectoral, your body screaming to push him away but you remain still. He pushes himself inside in two strokes, and the second one has you wailing; for a horrifying moment, you think you won’t be able to handle him, the burn of the stretch and just how full you feel not subduing as quickly as you expect it to.
“Gimme a second.” You say when he starts grinding, legs clamping around him. “Just— please, just a second.”
You bring a hand down to your clit, forcing your tense muscles to relax, rubbing soothing circles until the pain melts away, his thick cock pressing against that perfect little spot inside of you even when he’s not moving making you hungrier. Joel runs his nose down your cheek to your collarbone, sharp teeth scraping against the soft skin of your shoulder. You clench around him, his cock feeling impossibly warm inside of you— He growls, the noise reverberating between the two of you before his hips pull back ever-so-slightly, snapping harshly against yours. It makes you wail, the tip of his cock hitting against your cervix with every fast, jerky thrusts that he gives you; You’re babbling, begging for more and crying that it’s too much, your hand falling away from between your legs. You hold onto him, clutching the fur as Joel ruts into you, his thrusts so harsh they push you upwards on the grass. It doesn’t take you more than a couple of minutes to come, head tilted to the side, drool pooling on the side of your mouth and down your cheek as your body convulses underneath him, clamping down on him so tight that he might’ve slipped out if he wasn’t buried so deep inside of you.
Joel comes with a growl on his throat and his teeth sinking into your shoulder painfully enough that you think he might snap a bone— You scream, both from pain and from pleasure, his cock swelling and throbbing inside of you. He grinds against you as he comes and comes and comes, his pelvic bone pushing against your clit and hurtling you into a third orgasm, the sort of wave of pleasure that has your throat constricting and your eyes rolling back, pebbled nipples rubbing against his chest as your spine twists up. Joel remains locked into you even as you tremble from the overstimulation; he feels even bigger, swelling inside of you and stretching you even further, a mixture of growling and whining rumbling in his throat. And when the aftershocks of your orgasm start to subdue, you realize he’s still coming, still filling you up, teeth clamped down on your shoulder as your lower stomach swells. It’s an odd sensation, feeling his come leak from where he’s still buried inside of you, feeling it push against your bladder in a way that makes you feel him all the way up to your stomach; you think he’ll be leaking out of you for days, thick and warm where he fills you up.
He doesn’t move, caging you protectively when he finally calms down, his head tucking above yours. His neck is soft where you nuzzle into it, so satiated and exhausted you can barely keep your eyes open.
You wake up to Joel’s face — his human face — hovering above yours. His hand is cradling your jawline, and he’s covered in his own blood, curls darkened and sticking to his forehead; a thick glob of congealing blood slides down the beautiful curve of his nose and plops on your cheek.
“Honey, I’m so sorry.” He says, wiping something from your cheek— It leaves behind a wet trail that you can’t recognize whether it is blood or sweat. “I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have— I should’a shifted back earlier— How bad does it hurt? ‘M gon’ get you home, or— Or a hospital if you need, alright?”
You frown, pushing yourself up on your elbows. Your body is sore, maybe a little more than it should be, but it doesn’t feel hospital worthy. The worst pain is from your shoulder, in fact, the bite mark throbbing and irritated.
Above all, though, it’s hard to miss how you’re covered in blood. It’s like a scene from Carrie, thick deep red blood dripping down your body, lathering you in it— It’s too much to be yours, and it’s everywhere, from your neck all the way down to your shins. There is a gunk of fur stuck to your left thigh, which Joel pulls away hastily when he notices you staring down at it.
“I had to—” He stalls and, although you can’t see the color of his cheeks underneath the blood, you’re willing to bet he’s blushing. “I had to shift still inside— Would’a hurt you even more if I didn’t.”
“Thank God I wasn’t here for it.” You snort, wiping a hand over your eye— Between the remnants of blood and grass on your fingers, you don’t realize you’re making it worse until after you’ve done it. “You didn’t hurt me, Joel. I’m okay. More than, really.”
He leans forward, bumping his forehead against yours, shoulders sagging with relief.
“Thought you were gonna hate me.”
“Joel,” You shake your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “You eat people and I don’t hate you for it. This is nothing.”
Joel’s head snaps to the right just a second before you hear the snap of a branch.
There, between the trees, is a man. Officer Josh McKenley, at the two of you with wide eyes and a raised rifle. You can only imagine what it looks like, two people naked and bloodied in the middle of the woods, embracing in a pile of torn clothes and gore.
“Step away from her.” He demands, the gun pointed at Joel. “You okay, miss?”
Even though it would seem that he’s trying to protect you from Joel, you don’t miss the way his eyes rake over your body— Slower than they need to, taking in details more than searching for injuries. You curl in on yourself, trying to hide your body from view. Joel growls, and McKenley’s attention snaps back at him.
Despite being fully naked with a gun pointed at him, Joel doesn’t seem worried; he has two hands stretched out in front of him, legs slightly bent, ready to pounce. He waits, though, stepping away from you as instructed.
“I’m going to call for back up.” The man warns, fumbling with the gun as he reaches for his left pocket. “If you move, I’ll shoot you.”
Joel moves. He jumps on the man so fast it makes you shriek, the loud noise of the rifle going off ringing in your ears and drowning out the way McKenley screams, both from surprise and pain as the two of them topple to the ground.
You expect Joel’s shifting from human to wolf to be as slow and gruesome as the deshifting, perhaps the bone-breaking and agonizing process like a scene from An American Werewolf in London but it’s not: It happens in the blink of an eye, the hair on his head growing thicker and spreading, the muscles on his black rippling as his skin stretches and his bones shift into something else. And then you blink, and McKenley is crawling backwards, mouth open in terror, the wolf’s head down to his shoulders as he stalks his prey.
It’s only then that you finally feel the pain. It tears through your bitten shoulder, burning, a small round hole that pierces through one of the teeth marks that gurgles fresh blood.
“Joel?” You call out, hand shaking as you bring it to press down on the bullet wound. It hurts too much, pain searing and blinding, making you pull your hand away instantly. “Holy fuck.”
The wolf’s head turns, staring at you— It’s the split second that McKenley uses to run away, his rifle forgotten in the overgrowth as he flees through the path he came from. Your vision swims, the wolf coming in and out of focus as you lean back, scraping your arm against a tree before you manage to put yourself in a mostly upright sitting position. Joel howls, that same deep and loud noise he’d made to call out for Tommy after the car accident, before coming to your side. He gives the wound a single lick before you manage to push him away; he whines, trying to get you to move your hand out of his snout.
“Unless that tongue can pull out the bullet, I don’t think you should be doing that, buddy.” You say, your voice sounding slurred and foreign in your ears. “Just— Fuck, Joel, it hurts. Just shift back and get me home, please.”
Tommy is in charge of packing while Joel patches up your arm in the bathroom. You’re not proud to admit that you almost pass out as he digs through your shoulder for the bullet, barely hearing the string of apologies that leave his mouth as he works as fast as he can. It’s clear that he’s done this before, a well-stocked first aid kit in the bathroom cabinet and precise movements from his hand.
You keep your eyes averted from the wound, trying to stay as still as you possibly can.
“Do you think it’ll stick?”
Joel hums, distracted. “What, honey?”
“The bite. Am I— Am I gon’ turn into a wolf too, now? You said it spreads through biting and genetics, right?”
“No, ‘s not a full moon tonight.” He runs a finger close to the bite mark, stopping his stitching for a moment. “I’ll fix it as soon as I can shift again, okay? Reckon I can make sure it won’t scar.”
You don’t want it fixed— You don’t want to be a werewolf either, but you like the idea of Joel’s teeth-shaped scar a little too much. But you simply hum, ending the conversation, too tired to voice any of those feelings. He kisses the stitches once he’s done with them, and then helps you into the shower— It’s the first time you’re in the shower with him and it’s certainly not what you pictured, both of you rushing through wiping each other clean while Tommy rushes from room to room, trying to gather as many essentials as he can without waking Sarah up.
You’re not sure at which point they’ve decided to flee. You’ve run into Tommy on your way back to the house, Joel carrying you in his arms. ‘Cop caught me mid shift.’ is the only explanation he gives but that seems to be enough to enable some sort of crisis protocol.
There’s a single, curt knock on the bathroom door just as Joel helps you into your sweatpants.
“Can you wake Sarah up f’me?” He asks you, knuckles brushing softly over the bandage on your shoulder. “Don’t pick her up, can’t have you strainin’ yourself. Just tell her to pick out her favorite toys, that we gotta go on a trip.”
You do as you’re told, arm placed in a sling that Joel pulled together out of gauze and sheer willpower, hair still dripping wet down your back. Sarah is curled up on her toddler bed, a protective wall of stuffed animals between her and the safety guard, her little thumb stuck inside her mouth.
“Sarah?” You call out, softly, trying not to spook the little girl as you push the curls away from her face; her hair is wild and frizzy and you make a mental note of telling Joel to buy her one of those toddler bonnets. “Wake up, puppy. We gotta go.”
“Mama?”
It breaks your heart, watching her little doe eyes blink without recognition— It almost hurts more than Joel calling you by her mother’s name, the cold proof of a little girl that still yearns for someone you could never be.
“Hi, sweetie.” You coo, pushing down the safety rail. “Y’wanna go on an adventure? Your daddy planned a trip for us.”
You sit by her bed as you watch Sarah toddle around the room, collecting her toys and shoving them inside a purple backpack covered in sequins, her little brow furrowed in concentration. She doesn’t ask the million questions you expect from a child so young, she just accepts what you tell her and then gets to business.
It takes Tommy exactly fifty-five minutes to leave the cabin with the half-functioning truck and come back with a fully-functioning car. You’d be impressed if you didn’t have the sneaking suspicion that he prepared for it even though Joel told him not to.
Joel doesn’t let you help with anything other than carrying one of Sarah’s stuffed toys that didn’t fit her backpack and, if you’re being honest, you don’t try too hard to help— Your shoulder throbs even after you’ve taken a couple of painkillers, your muscles sore from… Well, everything. Instead, you sit inside the champagne-colored sedan with Sarah, trying to distract her from what is happening; there is a nervous energy in the air, both Tommy and Joel wound up tight, and you can see the moment she picks up on it, fussing when Joel buckles her into the car seat.
“Where are we going?” You ask, pushing your head between the two front seats. Tommy is driving, and Joel holds a map that looks so old you think it might be close to you in age.
“North.” Joel responds at the same time that Tommy says: “South.”
They both look at each other for a split second before Tommy continues.
“Mexico. I have to, Joel.” His voice is tight and urgent, hands flexing against the steering wheel. “Been feelin’ it for weeks now.”
“Mexico it is.” Joel nods before he turns to you; his face is now so close you can see the different shades of hair on his mustache, his bottom lip marred with teeth marks. “Tommy’s feelin’ the pull.”
“Pull?”
“That’s where my mate is. Somewhere in Mexico.” Tommy is the one that answers. “‘S why we came here of all places. Joel felt you callin’ out to him.”
Despite everything, your lips pull into a small smile.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Mexico.”
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER.
Rainy season means stuffy, warm days and unpredictable downpour of rain showers in the middle of the afternoon just when you think the heat is finally going to get you. You’re slowly learning how to adapt, your body craving the rain just as much as it craves the sun. The rainy days are usually easier to handle during the week, while Sarah is in pre-k and you’re at work all afternoon— During the weekends it means Joel has to stay at a job site for longer, and that you’re trapped inside the house with a tiny, bored little girl.
“That boyfriend of yours is coming to pick you up?” Joel asks, leaning against the kitchen sink. Disdain drips off of the word ‘boyfriend’ but, at this point, you think he does it mostly to annoy you and not really because there is any jealousy.
Your ‘boyfriend’ is Raúl, a single father to a little girl around Sarah’s age. The girls met on Sarah’s first day of kindergarten and even though Ellie doesn’t speak English and Sarah doesn’t speak Spanish, the two girls attached to each other’s hips— They share toys and food and are even starting to trade words in their languages; Sarah has taken the habit of pointing out every perro she sees on the street (her uncle Tommy included, once) and you know that didn’t come from her.
“Yup.” You say, pulling the glass of mango juice from between Joel’s fingers just as Tommy bursts into your home— He’s been living on the floor above yours, but it seems like your kitchen is the Central Station. “He’ll pick me and Sarah up in, like, fifteen minutes. G’mornin’, Tommy.”
“Morning.” He says, stealing a slice of bacon from Sarah’s plate. “Who’s coming to pick you up?”
“Mommy’s boyfriend.” Sarah pipes up, licking honey from her fingertips.
“Raúl.” You correct her, elbowing Joel when he cackles at the look on Tommy’s face. “Who is a friend and a boy, but not my boyfriend. His daughter has a playdate with Sarah.”
“Don’t forget it.” Joel taps the little pill container on the counter before he moves back to the living room. The kitchen is small and, although the brightly lit windows make it seem bigger than it really is, the place gets just a little crowded as Tommy shoves his head inside the fridge.
You roll your eyes, but you pick out the antidepressants and swallow them with the mango juice anyway; truth is, even though you keep complaining about the pills, the wonders that they’ve done to your life are something you don’t think you’ll ever take for granted— The pills and Dr. Canul, the therapist that has been seeing you ever since settled down in Puerto Morelos.
It had taken your little family — your pack — about eight months to figure out a town to finally settle roots, living in cars and cheap motels for so long you thought it might affect Sarah’s development; Tommy was the one guiding the four of you, never settling anywhere for longer than a month before his mate started to pull him somewhere else. It got to a point where you were certain he was making it up, or perhaps confused by his feelings, but Joel had blind faith in his brother so every other month you packed up your car and left for a new place.
Puerto Morelos had been your home for almost ten months now, and it was such a dream you feared the day Tommy decided his mate wasn’t there anymore— Sarah is thriving in kindergarten, Dr. Canul is the nicest doctor you’ve ever met, and your little house near the beach is everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Your job, too, at a local artisan shop where you get to sell your paintings while manning the register; the owner is an old woman that had been kind and patient, teaching you how to weave baskets and huipiles, never faulting you or making fun of the way you still tripped over your ever-growing Spanish vocabulary. She simply corrects you with a soft ‘no, mija’ and, during one particularly exciting afternoon, threatened to beat a teenager with the bat she keeps in the back of her shop after he made fun of you.
Life is good, more than— Life is everything you’ve ever dreamed of, in the community that embraced you and your family, with the ocean breeze and the hot sun and the sense of belonging that you’ve never found anywhere else.
The thought that Tommy might take that away at any moment keeps you awake at night. You understand his connection to Joel, understand that their need for each other goes much further than simply a sibling bond: They’re a pack, and their wolves are social creatures that need each other to be fully at peace. Still, you fear the day you’ll have to mourn your home.
Raúl knocks on the door just as Tommy shoves the last piece of bread in his mouth, his tanned cheeks full like a chipmunk as Sarah runs to yank the door open.
“Hola, cielito.” Raúl says but she’s barely listening, already grabbing Ellie and yanking her inside. They squeal together and run to the back of the house. “Hey. Front gate was open, I figured I could—”
You don’t really understand what happens at the moment but, in hindsight, it’s pretty obvious. Raúl freezes halfway through his sentence, his eyes glued to the looming presence over your back; he stares at Tommy for a second too long before plastering a smile that is visibly fake.
“Joel, right?” He asks, offering a hand. Tommy doesn’t answer, mouth still full, not really chewing anymore. You resist the urge to elbow him, choosing instead to answer.
“Tommy, actually. Joel’s brother. Say hi, Tommy.” You finally give in and elbow him in the ribs when Raúl’s fake smile falters, his hand already halfway down before Tommy spurs into action, grabbing it between both of his.
It only dawns on you what is actually happening when Tommy brings Raúl’s hand up, pressing a kiss to the back of it before dropping entirely. Raúl’s eyes dart to you, shoulders visibly relaxing when he sees the way you’re tying — and failing — to hide your smile.
“We kinda had a change of plans.” You tell him, neck craning as you try to catch Joel’s attention— He has his back to you, lacing his boots and mumbling something on the phone. “I have some errands to run, my prescription expires today so I really need to go get it and I forgot to defrost the chicken so I can’t make lunch and, uh, Joel needs my help with some stuff. Tommy’s chaperoning the girls with you today, if that’s alright?”
Tommy frowns at you, his eyes fleeting to your face before rushing back to the man still in front of him. “Joel said we—”
“Like I said, change of plans.” You cut him off. “Can’t go into work with all this rain, so you both get the day off. Well, he gets the day off. You get to babysit your niece.” You smile at Raúl, who is biting down on his bottom lip and you can tell you haven’t been able to fool him. “Tommy’s great with kids. Loves them to death. Always wanted one of his own, right?”
“Uh—”
“And Sarah loves him.” You go on, not letting Tommy get a word in. “Ellie will love him too, you’ll see. He’s kind of a dumbass sometimes and he charms all of the old ladies wherever he goes, but he’s a sweetheart. And— Uh— A great chaperoning partner. You guys should go grab some ice cream later.”
“Ice cream sounds nice.” Raúl agrees, eyes shining with mirth.
Tommy nods a second later. “Yeh— Yeah, it does.”
“Great!” You say, clapping your hands. Joel is finally looking at you, both of his eyebrows raised. “Now off you go. I want a day off with my boyfriend.”
The house is all but empty before Joel can finish lacing up his boots. From the kitchen window you watch as Tommy opens the car door for Raúl, giving him a thumbs up when he looks back at you for a second; Tommy offers you his middle finger, but he’s smiling from ear to ear.
“Is there a particular reason why you just gave my brother a day off without tellin’ me first?”
“That’s his mate.” You say, surprised Joel didn’t pick up on it. “I’ll handcuff them together if I have to before I move out of Puerto Morelos.”
He laughs, his hands coming up to wrap around you.
“And here I was thinkin’ it was because you wanted the house all to ourselves.”
Your arms settle on his shoulders on their own, leaning back so you can look him in the eyes. Joel seems happier too, more at ease than he did when the two of you met— His eyes shine more, his smile brightening more often. That sadness you’d noticed when you first saw him is completely gone, his face constantly sunburnt and his hair frizzy from the salt air.
—TASTE BACK — PART THREE: "Do it, Cowboy" ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆‧₊˚ (ex!husband joel miller x f!reader) MDNI!!
fic masterlist | read on ao3 | capuccinodollupdates
summary: Extremely nervous, you get ready to break the news of your pregnancy to your ex husband, Joel. You can't guess how the night might end. Final part of Taste Back. wc: 17,3k
TW: graphic violence
A/N: Nothing to say, just... I want Joel to be my yearning ex-hubby. Enjoy this last part!
If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment and reblog! I really appreciate feedback<3
With a bad shoulder, you weren't much help with the heavy lifting. But that didn't mean you had to stay home.
Nora had brought her brother to work; Giuliano was a tall, stocky guy who curiously had way too much free time since quitting his job. He was, in his own words, "drifting." And since you needed to rest and avoid lifting anything heavy for a couple more days, he took over the physical labor; hoisting, moving, and handling the heavy tools. Nora took care of the rest.
Frustrated by how little you could contribute, you kept yourself busy with light tasks, serving them coffee, and constantly asking if anyone needed anything. Their answer was usually no.
Two days had passed since your hospital visit. Your frustration probably didn't just stem from not being able to give your all at work, but from the total lack of distractions.
Dean was about to head back to Austin, and you still hadn't figured out how to break the news to him. Cheating on him was one thing, and you could have sidestepped that detail during the breakup; maybe Kat was right, and you could spare him the painful details, even if it wasn't the most honest or respectable route. But things had changed. Monumentally.
He was sensing it, you could tell. Lately, he had started calling and texting more often, likely picking up on something off in your tone. But what could you tell him? Nothing's wrong, really. And that was a flat-out lie.
Meanwhile, Joel kept texting you every day. He could read you a bit better, even over text. When your replies started taking a bit longer than usual, he called you.
"What's wrong? You okay? Is Dean back?"
You did your best to assure him nothing was wrong, that you were just a bit tired. He probably didn't buy it, but didn't ask.
Since yesterday, he hadn't asked about it either. But as you listened to Nora and Giuliano laughing over a tik tok they'd just watched while drinking the coffee you'd poured them, you stared at your phone screen, knowing you had to do it now.
The last message in your chat with Joel was from him. You hadn't replied yet.
[J]: Outlander
[J]: it’s on netflix, have you seen it?
[J]: if you haven't you should
[J]: I only watched the first two eps but i know you’ll like it because it has time travel, it's historical and it has muscular men in kilts
You bit the inside of your cheek. You had read the text two hours ago and had almost replied no, I haven’t seen Outlander. But every message you sent him made you feel more sick to your stomach because of what you weren't telling him.
It wasn't his reaction that scared you; you could already picture exactly how he'd take it. What terrified you was how fragile everything would become the moment you said the words. Because this changed absolutely everything. This was no longer just about the two of you; it was about something far more vulnerable and precious, something you couldn't afford to ruin. And at the same time, a suffocating fear crept in, making you wonder: What if it's like last time? What if your body can't handle it, if you aren't strong enough?
You were scared. Terrified. You couldn't imagine going through that kind of pain again; you couldn't imagine surviving it. But you clung to the hope that everything happened for a reason, and that if this pregnancy had come right now, in the middle of this chapter of your life, it was meant to stay.
Nora and Giuliano didn't notice when you slipped away from the main workshop area and headed toward the tiny kitchenette in the back. Or maybe they did, but they didn't think much of it. Either way, you shut the door behind you and leaned against the counter, unlocking your phone as your chat with Joel appeared on the screen.
Alright. You can do this. It’s Joel.
Quickly, you tapped the phone icon and brought the receiver to your ear, nervously tapping your chin with your other hand.
Suddenly, your overalls felt incredibly suffocating. The denim was too thick, and it was smudged with paint and—oh, you couldn't be breathing in too much paint, or varnish, or any of that. What were you going to do with all the work you—
"Hey."
Your mouth flew open. "Joel, hi."
"Hey. Was just thinkin' about you."
"Thinking about me?" Your eyebrows shot up, pushing past your nerves to muster a bit of playfulness. "Did you watch Kramer vs. Kramer again?"
A soft, low chuckle rumbled through the receiver. "Nah. Just finished off a blueberry muffin."
Any urge to throw back a witty retort vanished; you just smiled with your cheeks tight.
"You at work?"
"Yeah, in my office. Folks think I'm workin', but I'm mostly just hidin' from a real pushy architect. My assistant told him I was in a meetin'."
"And you're really just in there eating muffins. Uh, that's unfair."
Joel clicked his tongue. "Only for a couple more minutes. I'll get back to bein' a responsible boss once my fictional meetin' wraps up. Won't be long now. What about you? How's work goin'?"
You crossed one foot over the other. "Good. Everything's good. Wasn't really doing anything. Actually, I was calling because I thought... I was thinking, if you're up for it, maybe we could meet up to talk?"
On the other end of the line, there was a brief pause.
"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, when were you thinkin'?"
Your stomach suddenly fluttered, and you took a quiet breath to steady it.
"I know it seems quick, but does today work? Can you do today? Dean gets back tomorrow and I have to talk to him, and I need to talk to you about a few things before—"
"Everything alright?"
"Yes," you said quickly. "Everything's fine, don't worry. Just... I'd really like to talk to you today. If you can."
"Course I can. I'm off around five, maybe five-thirty. But I can head out early."
You nodded. "Yeah, that's perfect. How does six sound?"
"Sounds good."
"At my place. I'll text you the address."
"Alright. I'll be there."
"Okay," you said, straightening up from the counter. "I'll see you then. I'll leave you to your fictional meeting now. You know I could totally expose you, right? I bet your employees would love to know how you're spending your time."
He laughed. "Hey, I just gave 'em some pretty nice bonuses not too long ago. I'm a real good boss. I think I can pick my battles every now and then."
"I'll let you off the hook, then," you said, resting your palm against your cheek, smiling so hard it hurt. "But only until six."
"Until six." From the way his voice sounded, you knew he was smiling.
Before either of you could say another word, you pulled the phone away and ended the call. An overwhelming wave washed over you, rising through your chest until it finally escaped your lips as a long sigh.
"Okay," you muttered to yourself, running a hand over the back of your neck to steady your nerves.
Slowly, hesitantly, you lowered your hand to your flat stomach, resting your palm right over it.
"What a time to show up, baby."
When Joel heard the line go dead, it took him a few seconds to pull the phone away from his ear. He held it out in front of him, staring at the screen for a moment longer.
On the outside, he looked relaxed. He was kicked back in his chair with his legs stretched out under the desk, crossed at the ankles. In front of him sat a coffee mug and a plate littered with blueberry muffin crumbs. There were crumbs on his black t-shirt, too, and a few caught in his beard.
Suddenly, he felt hyper-aware of it. He brushed a hand down his chin and across his chest, shaking off every last trace of his little feast. He straightened up, pulling his chair closer to the desk.
He checked his watch. It was barely eleven in the morning.
He could handle this today. Say the right words, give you the right silences. Above all, he just couldn't ruin things.
Joel knew your relationship with Dean wasn't officially over yet, and that he would need to keep his distance until you gave him the green light. He didn't have any guarantees with you either; just a fresh chance to get close again, and he couldn't afford to screw it up.
But to be completely honest, he didn't give a damn about Dean. He didn't care if the guy was good, or ideal, or any of the things he'd heard over the last few months. He probably wasn't anyway, and Joel knew it. Even if he was, it didn't change a thing. He didn't care.
After tonight, if things changed, Joel had everything ready to offer when the time was right. He knew you too well to think this would be a quick fix, and he knew himself well enough to know that, if it were up to him, he’d be putting a ring back on your finger the second the nearest church opened tomorrow morning.
Two years he’d spent without you. Two years of waking up lonely and miserable in a king-sized bed, in an apartment that felt way too big and entirely useless. Every single day since the last time he’d seen you had been pure torture, a constant reminder that he’d lost the most important person in his life.
He didn’t blame you—he truly didn’t. And he knew that no matter how much he’d hurt right alongside you, no matter how much he wanted to understand, he’d never truly know what it was like to be in your shoes. He’d watched your body suffer, watched you nearly slip away, and saw the raw pain in your eyes every single day afterward as you tried to piece yourself back together. That memory had chased him all this time, a brutal reminder that he’d been completely helpless to stop it.
But when he saw you in Maui, he knew instantly: it wasn’t over. Your eyes had always been dead giveaways, and Joel knew that even with another man in your life, there was still hope for him.
You weren’t the same person you were two years ago, and neither was he. The grief was still there, just as heavy and close to the surface as ever if you dared to reach out and touch it. But things were different now; he hadn't doubted for a second that he was ready to try and win you back. And if luck was on his side, you’d look at him again with those eyes that told him everything with just one glance.
Tonight. He just had to wait until tonight.
Three sharp knocks on the door made him look up startled.
"Yeah? Maggie?"
The door swung open immediately. Maggie poked her head in, tilting her chin down to peer at him over her glasses. It reminded Joel of the silent, scolding looks his mom used to give him.
"Di Palma just left."
He nodded. "Alright."
"Can I officially wrap up your fictional meeting, then?"
"Please do," he said, tilting his head.
Maggie shook her head, but he caught the brief smile she tried to hide before she turned and walked out.
No matter how many times you scrubbed, it still didn’t feel right. And you thought of it as a feeling rather than a sight because, logically, you could see the place was spotless, but it just didn’t feel clean.
Your apartment wasn’t too big, nor was it too small. It fell right into that average comfortable sweet spot. In your living room, you had a cozy, nice navy blue sofa and walls lined with frames full of photos of the people you loved. The television across from the coffee table was on, the evening news murmuring in the background entirely ignored. The place smelled clean; actually, the whole apartment did, mixed with the sweet scent of the vanilla candle you’d lit ten minutes ago.
Joel would be here any second now. You knew he was punctual, and it was already twenty to six. It was only a matter of time before the buzzer went off and he was standing right there with you.
That was when you realized you had to be quick.
He could read you so well. He always had. If he showed up and looked you in the eyes for even a second, he’d know something was up.
It was a childish idea, but you wanted to beat him to the punch, to catch him off guard before he could do the same to you. You wanted to see just how long it would take him to figure it out.
You deserved to have a little fun with this, didn't you?
Okay, you gave up. You had officially polished every single surface in the place, and you were well aware that your nerves were making you act a little irrational. If you scrubbed the floor one more time, you’d be able to see your own reflection right where you stood.
With a sigh, you sat down on the sofa, cradling a warm mug of tea, and checked your phone. 5:48 PM.
Oh, God, please just let him get here.
You’d sent him your address a few hours ago, and he hadn't texted back—he’d just reacted to the message. You weren’t sure if that was his way of trying to play it cool or what, but it definitely wasn't helping your anxiety.
You were being incredibly restless today.
You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. And then, your phone buzzed in your lap.
You snatched it up and stared at the screen.
It was Dean.
Your eyes traced the letters of his name two, three times, debating whether or not to pick up. But before you could make up your mind, the call cut out.
[Dean]: heyy, you there?
The text popped up a few seconds later. You decided the best move, at least for now, was to ignore it.
Tomorrow you’d have to face him anyway, with no way out.
At exactly 5:55 PM, the buzzer rang. Punctual as usual.
You quickly got up from the sofa and stood frozen for a second, catching your breath before you could actually open the door.
This was it. The first time you were going to see each other since Maui.
You pulled the door open, and there he was.
Your eyes lingered on his face, unable to look away and silently acknowledging how handsome he looked. Tall and broad-shouldered, Joel stood in your doorway, his curls looking neatly styled but perfectly messy at the same time. He was wearing a black cotton t-shirt with a small company logo on the chest, paired with black dress pants and his black boots. It was a strange outfit on anyone else, but on him, it looked fucking good.
The look in his eyes said only one thing. He was mirroring your own thoughts.
But Joel didn't say a word about it. Instead, he just smiled softly, tilting his head slightly. "You don't live too far from me."
You smiled back. "Oh, really?"
He shook his head. "No. And I've never run into you once. Where've you been hidin'?"
You laughed and stepped aside, letting him into the apartment before shutting the door behind him.
"Want something to drink?"
"Uh..." He hesitated, and you immediately caught the quiet wave of nervousness rolling off him. "Sure. Whatever you're havin' is fine."
"Alright," you said, leading the way into the living room.
Joel sat down on the sofa, his eyes wandering curiously around the space. You noticed him clasping his hands together, his fingers fidgeting; a nervous habit he'd always had.
Stepping away, you headed into the kitchen.
"Coffee?" you called out from there.
"Yeah, sure," he replied.
You didn't ask how he took it; you already knew. You poured him a mug of the hot, black coffee that had been ready on the counter for the last ten minutes, and prepared a cup of tea for yourself. You dropped three small spoonfuls of sugar into your mug, stirring for a few seconds as your stomach tightened, your nerves winding tighter and tighter with every swirl of the spoon.
You pressed your lips together. Dozens of ways to break the news flashed through your mind, but unable to pick just one, you picked up both mugs and walked back into the living room.
Joel was sitting very straight, but he squared his shoulders even more the moment he saw you walk in. You set his coffee down on the coffee table, placed your tea right beside it, and sat down next to him.
"How've you been?" he asked. "How's your shoulder? You feelin' any better?"
You nodded. "I think so, yeah."
"Don't go doin' anything you shouldn't be doin' in the meantime. I've been there, and the healing takes a whole lot longer if you push it."
You hummed and smiled, completely unable to find your voice, even for some light silly reply.
Joel picked up his mug and brought it to his lips.
You watched his profile; his nose, his soft lips resting against the warm porcelain, the curve of his eyelashes, and the stray curls partially hiding his ear.
You licked your lips. "Joel, thank you so much for coming today. I know it was really sudden."
He looked at you immediately, shaking his head. "Not at all. You don't have to thank me for anything. You know I wanted to see you."
You swallowed hard and nodded, lowering your eyes to your hands resting in your lap. "Well, I wanted to see you too. A lot," you confessed, lifting your gaze back to his. "I've been thinking so much, though there wasn't really all that much to think about, to be honest."
He offered a soft lopsided smile. "No?"
You shook your head slowly. Your eyes locked with his, and for a long, heavy moment, neither of you looked away. The quiet space between you felt intense; there was no wall anymore, nothing to stop yourself from spilling everything you hadn't said over the last two years.
Joel set his mug back down on the coffee table. He paused for a split second before turning fully toward you, shifting a little closer.
"Tell me what you want," he said, reaching out and bringing his hand close to yours where they rested in your lap, but he stopped just short of touching you, as if he were afraid to break the spell. "What are you thinkin'?"
You took a slow, deep breath and let it out. Your heart was drumming so hard against your ribs, and every nerve in your body ached to close the distance and just… touch him.
"I'm thinking... I'm thinking that I want you. I want you back," you let the words rush out. "Because I need you, and... and because I can't help it, and I don't want to help it either." You shook your head slowly, keeping your eyes locked on his. "But most of all, Joel, because I love you."
It felt so good to finally get those words out of your chest. And looking at Joel, the way his eyes grew glassed over, his expression seemingly shattering and piecing itself back together all at once; you knew he felt the weight of them too.
He sat completely still, frozen by the sudden rush of it all.
You swallowed hard, waiting.
"I want you back, too," he said, as he nodded slowly. "I've never wanted anything else. My feelings are the exact same as they were in Maui, and the same as they were years ago. I'm always gonna regret a lot of things, mostly not fightin' harder for us back then, but I'll never regret choosin' us over and over again. Because I love you, I'll always love you."
Your throat tightened just as a sudden ache bloomed in your chest as the urge to cry threatened to spill over. You swallowed past the lump, trying to hold it in. Words failed you completely, so you didn't even try to speak.
Instead, your body just leaned forward, your hands reaching up to wrap around his broad shoulders.
The second you moved, Joel was already matching you, his large arms locking around you and pulling you flush against his chest; his mouth found yours in a desperate, breathless kiss, one that tasted of salt as the tears you'd tried so hard to hold back finally slipped down your cheeks.
This wasn't like Maui. This wasn't desperate and built on need; now Joel kissed you with tenderness, with all the time in the world in his hands while they traced your back and kept you close to him.
As he held you steady, you slid your hand up to his face, cradling his cheek. Your thumb swept over his damp skin, and only then did you notice the few warm tears trailing down his face.
You had to tell him now.
Softly, you pulled your mouth away from his; he sought it again.
"Joel, wait."
He barely nodded, his nose brushed yours. "Yeah."
"I need to talk to you about one more thing."
"That about Dean?"
You licked your lips and shook your head, his hands still tracing quiet patterns along your spine. "No. It's not about Dean."
"Oh."
Your hand slid down his neck, resting on his shoulder. "Wait here."
Carefully, you pulled away and stood up from the couch. His hand lingered until the very last second, his fingertips brushing yours right before you stepped out of reach.
You walked to your bedroom and straight to the nightstand, pulling open the top drawer to retrieve the white envelope you'd hidden there two days ago. You gripped it tight, your fingertips pinching the paper as if it might slip away, and headed back to the living room. Joel was waiting exactly where you'd left him, sitting in the same spot.
Sitting back down beside him, you instinctively shielded the envelope under your palm.
Joel's eyes caught it instantly. He looked at the white paper, then at your trembling hands resting over it, before his gaze drifted back up to meet yours.
"I didn't tell you everything the other day," you started, and his brow furrowed right away. "When I went to the hospital, it wasn't just 'cause I got hurt working. Actually, for the last couple of weeks, I've been gettin' dizzy. That's how I got hurt. I fell—"
"You alright?"
He sat really still.
You nodded quickly to reassure him. "Yeah, I'm okay. Don't worry about that. The doctor told me everything was fine; my bloodwork, the X-ray, absolutely everything. I'm healthy."
Joel let out a long breath of relief, his gaze dropping to your feet.
You were doing this so terribly.
You took a breath. "I'm okay. And I'm..."
He raised his eyes back to yours.
"I'm… I'm pregnant."
Instantly, the worry on Joel's face shifted into complete, silent shock. His brows lifted slightly, and his mouth pulled into that soft frown he made whenever something was just too much to take in.
Without a word, you reached out and offered him the paper envelope. He took it automatically, quietly, his breathing picking up noticeably even as he kept his composure. His fingers opened the unsealed flap, and he pulled the paper out. He unfolded it, held it up, and read.
Meanwhile, you read every single micro-expression on his face.
His eyes welled up, and he brought his hand up to cover his mouth, trying to steady himself. A muscle twitched in his brow as his eyes traced every single word printed on the paper.
"Is it…" He looked up at you, his gaze completely melting you. "Is it… mine?"
"It's yours," you nodded, tears blurring your vision. "It's ours. Dean… Dean can't. And we use protection anyway."
Joel nodded, and whatever was keeping him together shattered right then. A smile broke across his face, wide and radiant, contrasting with the fresh tears spilling over his lashes. He reached out and grabbed you by the waist, and you immediately crawled into his lap, burying yourself in an embrace you'd been starving for.
You hid your face in the crook of his neck, finally feeling the reality of it sink in.
"I love you so much," he breathed, his warm breath brushing against your shoulder. "You make me so happy."
"I love you too, Joel, so much," you wept.
With your eyes closed, all you could feel was his warm body against yours; his hands, one of them moving up your back to the nape of your neck, where he tangled his fingers gently into the hair there; his arms holding you firmly by your sides; his scent, which you had longed for so much and that now completely invaded you as you buried your nose in his neck.
It felt so good to have told him, to finally have lifted from your chest the small secret that had been with you for just two days.
"I promise you, baby, I'm gonna make it up to you. Everything."
A sob escaped you. "I missed you so much. I'm so sorry I pushed you away. I never wanted to do that."
"I know, is okay. You don't have to say sorry," he murmured, his thumb pressing softly against your neck. "I should have done things different."
"No," you lifted your head and looked straight at him, shaking your head; your hand took his chin. "You did what you could. I know you were scared, and how much it hurt you. It was your baby too. You deserved support too, Joel, and I couldn't give it to you."
He shook his head gently. "Was not your fault, none of it."
Suddenly, a very subtle pain appeared on his face. To anyone else, it might be almost imperceptible, but it pierced right through your chest.
"We are gonna do better this time," he added, his lips curving into a smile that still held a trace of sadness.
Nodding, you brushed your thumb against his lower lip, pulling it down slightly as you leaned in to kiss him.
Softly, at first; a strange sensation washed over you. A sudden mix of lingering pain, relief, and an aching desire. The different emotions blurred together until they became just one thing: pure necessity.
The softness melted away as the kiss deepened, growing more desperate. When you parted your lips and slid your tongue into his mouth, Joel let out a low breath, tightening his grip around your waist. His hand slid back up to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling firmly into your hair. He pulled back just enough to tilt your head, changing the angle to take your mouth exactly the way he wanted.
A small, breathless moan escaped the back of your throat, and that single sound broke whatever restraint he had left.
His pace turned urgent, his mouth devouring yours as if he were trying to make up for every second you've been apart. You couldn't get close enough; your hands gripped his shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt to pull him even closer.
"Need you," he muttered against your lips. "I need you right now."
"Bedroom," you managed to breathe out between kisses.
Holding you tightly by the hips, Joel stood up from the sofa with you still wrapped around his waist. Your feet touched the floor as your hands kept searching, tracking the lines of his back and shoulders, while his arms remained locked around you, lifting you slightly off your feet whenever the distance became too much.
Every step toward the door was a messy rush of breathless gasps. Joel pressed your back against the corridor wall for a fleeting second, his mouth dropping down to bruise your jawline and the soft skin of your neck, making you arch into him with a gasp.
Look at him. His body was so warm and solid, a mountain of need and beauty. And before you could even catch your breath, he caught your lips again, carrying you forward until you finally crossed the threshold into the bedroom.
Once inside, you finally broke the kiss, but the desperation took over completely. You scrambled backward a step, your hands tearing at the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head and tossing it blindly aside.
Joel was already mirroring you; his thick fingers gripped the edge of his shirt and ripped it down his arms, exposing his broad chest to the dim warm light in your room. Your heart started beating so fast at the sight, you felt your cheeks boiling hot.
You kicked off your shoes and pushed your jeans down your legs, stepping out of them until you were left only in your underwear. Joel’s shirt hit the floor, and his hands immediately went to his belt, unbuckling it. But the need inside you was too loud to wait.
Dropping to your knees right there in front of him, you reached out and gripped his hips, pulling him firmly toward you. Joel let out a ragged breath, his hands coming down to rest on your shoulders for balance as you reached for his trousers. You undid the button, slid the zipper down, and hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down together.
His length freed itself, heavy and fully aroused, standing thick and rigid right before your face. The sight of him, so ready for you, made your mouth water.
You leaned in, breathing your warm air against the sensitive skin of his tip before you ever touched him. Joel’s thighs flexed, and a quiet hiss escaped through his teeth.
Slowly, you extended your tongue, licking from the base all the way up to the crown.
"Ah... god," Joel groaned, his head tilting back as his fingers tangled into your hair. His grip wasn't harsh, but it was firm enough as you swirled your tongue around the ridge.
A moment later, you parted your lips and took him inside.
You started slow, letting your lips coat him as you drew him into the wet heat of your mouth, moving your head in a steady, rhythmic slide, using your hands on his thighs to pull him deeper, and deeper, and tasting him fully.
Joel's groans grew thicker; he began to budge his hips forward, a desperate instinct taking over, but he caught himself, his hands gently framing your face instead.
"Baby... look at me," he strained out.
You looked up, your eyes watering slightly as you swallowed him deeper, taking the full length of him until your nose pressed against the coarse hair at his groin.
His thumb stroked your cheekbone, his blown out dark eyes filled with a profound feeling that went far beyond just physical release.
"I missed you so much," he breathed, trembling a confession. "Every single day. Was tearing me apart."
The emotion in his voice, mixed with the friction of your throat around him, sent a wave of heat straight to your core. You gave him a few more deep sucking strokes, swirling your tongue over the sensitive underside of his shaft until he whimpered.
But it wasn't enough. The ache between your own thighs was turning into an unbearable demanding throb.
You pulled back, letting him slip from your lips with a gasp.
"No more," you whispered, your voice trembling as you stood up, hands immediately sliding up his bare chest to his neck. "I need you."
"C'mere."
His skin was so incredibly soft under your palms, a total contrast to how rough and heavy the rest of him felt as you dragged your hands all over his chest.
Joel leaned into you, his mouth capturing yours in a consuming kiss that blurred everything together. And lips locked to yours, he slowly crowded you backward until the edge of the mattress hit the back of your knees.
You let yourself fall back onto the sheets, watching him while he stripped out of his trousers and boxers. And there, standing fully bare at the edge of the bed, his dick was thick, rigid, and glistening in the dim light from your saliva, pointing directly at you.
Your breath hitched. Reaching behind your back, you unhooked your bra and tossed it aside, baring your chest to him.
Joel climbed onto the bed. He crawled over you, his body settling perfectly between your thighs. And with steady hands, he hooked his fingers into the sides of your underwear and slid them down your legs, discarding them completely.
Like a good man, he didn't make you wait. Shifting his weight down, his hands slid under your thighs to open you up, and buried his face between your legs.
The first stroke of his tongue against your aching pussy made your eyes roll back, your eyelids fluttering shut as an intense wave of pleasure tore through you, instantly relieving that desperate need. He ate you out with ravenous hunger, deep and slow as he lapped up your slick heat.
Feelin you, Joel let out a muffled groan against your skin, tasting you like a dying man finally drinking water after a long moment of thirst; he thoroughly enjoyed it, his thumbs pressing into your inner thighs to steady you while your hips twitched helplessly against his mouth.
"Oh, Joel, yes, yes, yes…" Your hand gripped his hair. "You do it so good."
Joel and you had so many beautiful, special things in your relationship. And one of them had always been… this.
It went way beyond the simple act of sex; Joel made you feel a way no one else ever could match. His hands knew exactly how to touch you, his mouth how to taste you, his teeth when to bite. The weight of his body was just what yours needed on top of you and inside you, fitting together so perfectly there was no way you weren't made for each other.
No man could compete with that.
As he kept pushing into you, the tension tightened until you couldn't take it anymore: arching your back, your fingers tangled into his hair and gave it a hard tug, your breath hitching as your body completely gave in.
Your hips twitched helplessly against his mouth as the waves crashed over you, your vision blurring as you squeezed your eyes shut. Every muscle in your body tightened so hard it hurt, and a broken moan escaped your lips while your fingers dug tightly into his hair, pulling him closer, and closer, and closer.
It felt like a total release of all the tension you’d been carrying for days, for weeks. A throbbing ache that melted away into unbearable pleasure as Joel kept his tongue pressed firmly against you, drinking you in and riding out the storm until your body finally went soft.
Your fingers tangled, clumsy and heavy, in the hair just above his ear as your eyelids grew too weighted to keep open. Joel started to move up, pressing one last kiss against your center before trailing his lips over your hip and stopping just above, right against the flat of your lower stomach.
He kissed you right there, and let out a long, shaky breath, his forehead resting against your belly for a beat before he looked up at you.
"Please," he choked out. "Please tell me this means I get to come home. Don't make me leave you again."
A shaky exhale left your lips as you tangled your fingers tighter in his hair.
"Then come up here," you murmured. "Don't just stay down there. Come back to me."
He didn’t need to be told twice. Joel moved up the length of your body, and when his lips met yours, it wasn't frantic or rough; it was a deep kiss full of a soft, sweet desperate hunger.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down against you, your fingers anchoring into the short hairs at the nape of his neck just as you were feeling him right at your entrance.
He groaned low in his throat as his large hands slid up to frame your face, holding you there as if you might vanish if he let go. Every bit of the grief and the distance between you seemed to bleed out into the press of his mouth.
Without breaking the kiss, Joel tilted his hips and pushed forward, sliding smoothly and completely inside you.
He didn't rush; he felt massive, a blunt and crowding heat that stretched you open so easily, filling the empty spaces that had belonged to him all along.
He stayed there, buried to the hilt, letting his weight settle completely as your body adjusted to the size of him.
His mouth left yours, breaking the kiss just enough so he could look down at you.
When your eyes met, the emotion in your chest felt almost suffocating, swelling so large and heavy it hurt. You loved him so much it felt like your ribs could barely hold it all in.
Holding your gaze, his dark eyes burning into yours, Joel began to move.
The first few strokes were deep and soft as he slid out and sank back in, testing your limits. But the restraint didn't last. The friction caught, and the pace began to shift, his thrusts gaining a hard, commanding speed that had your hips tilting up to meet him.
A soft gasp broke from your throat, your entire body bathed in electric pleasure that made your eyelids flutter shut.
"Keep 'em open. Look at me," Joel growled.
Your eyes snapped open instantly, locking onto his.
He kept up the pace, driving into you with a force that felt agonizing; a deep ache that hit every single right spot until you were completely breathless. You couldn't speak, couldn't think, couldn't do anything else but feel it. And the intensity of it combined with the unwavering stare he pinned you with, had tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
Another choked moan escaped your lips, your head tossing back against the pillows as the overwhelming pleasure threatened to pull you under completely.
The heat between your skin and his became unbearable, filling the room with nothing but the sound of hitched breaths and the constant clash of his skin against yours; a rhythmic tap tap tap that kept picking up speed.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking him against you, searching for him as deep as physically possible. And every time he bottomed out completely, your entire body shook; it was too much, and it felt so good.
As you squeezed him tighter, your shoulder flared with pain, reminding you of the fall from just two days ago. Carefully, you lowered your arm to his waist, digging your fingers into his hip instead.
Joel let out a groan against your jaw, losing track of his own strength. He stopped holding your gaze and buried his face straight into the crook of your neck; his breath burned your skin and his beard scraped your collarbone as he let himself go, hitting the exact center of your pleasure with every single thrust, firmer and harder, while his hands slid down to grip your hips, squeezing your thighs to pin you against the mattress and take everything you had to give.
You couldn't help it; your eyes closed again, completely overwhelmed by the sensation rushing up your stomach. You arched your back against the bed, letting out a loud, broken moan that caught in your throat as you clung to him, feeling your walls squeeze tightly around his cock.
"... Joel, please," you begged in a whisper, not really knowing what you were asking for, just needing more of him, needing him not to stop.
"I got you, baby. Right here," he growled against your neck.
He didn't let you go. He pressed you a bit deeper into the pillows, pinning his chest to yours as he kept moving, gaining speed and force, driven by the need to make you completely his again.
And then, the feeling broke you completely for the second time; your hips trembled and your legs opened even wider as Joel crashed into you faster and faster. His rhythm turned broken, hips driving against yours with an unraveled speed that had you clinging to him for dear life. You were completely coming undone beneath him, your pussy gripping him so hard it finally pushed him over the edge.
He lost his rhythm completely, burying himself to the absolute hilt, and a deep low groan tore from his chest as he came inside you.
Hearing him like that made your heart race; you absolutely loved his groans, loved the way his usual control completely shattered whenever he was inside you. And he didn't pull away; he collapsed his weight over you, and you could hear his shaky uneven breathing right against your ear as the aftershocks kept running through both of you.
It was heaven.
After a few minutes, feeling a fierce need to touch him more, you slid your hands up to his head, burying your fingers deep in his messy hair. His cheek brushed against yours, and you pressed your lips right against it.
You kissed the skin there. "I missed you so much since Maui."
Drunk on you, he raised his head and looked down with a spellbound gaze. "Why didn't you tell me? I’d have come right away. You don't know how bad I wanted to see you."
Your hand caressed his temple. "I wanted to do things right. Wait until I broke it off with Dean..." You shook your head. "I guess it doesn't matter now."
He pressed his lips together. "You ain't a bad person."
"Oh, no?" You tilted your head a bit, raising your eyebrows. "My current boyfriend is away on a business trip and I just made love to my ex-husband, who I'm secretly pregnant by."
Joel rolled his eyes and kissed the corner of your mouth. He was still inside you, soft now, but he didn't seem uncomfortable or in any rush to move.
"I'm sorry for the guy. But this is us." He frowned just a bit. "Don't go callin' him your boyfriend."
The sad edge in his voice when he said that made you smile.
"And what should I call him, then?"
Joel shook his head, and carefully moved his hips back, sliding out of you.
He got up from the bed completely naked, and you watched him move across your bedroom, a space entirely foreign to him, until he found the bathroom door and disappeared inside for a few seconds.
"We can talk about that tomorrow," he said after a moment, stepping back out with a damp towel in his hand. "While I make you some breakfast, how's that sound?" He sat on the edge of the mattress beside you, his fingers brushing against your leg.
"Sounds good," you smiled, reaching out to stroke his bare thigh.
Joel gently wiped you down with the damp towel, cleaning you carefully, and a moment later, you got up to use the bathroom yourself.
In the mirror, your eyes looked different. You couldn't quite explain it; it wasn't a physical change, not exactly, but your entire expression just seemed brighter. You tried to ignore how big this felt. Too much for a night.
Once you finished washing up, you wrapped yourself in a robe and walked back out. Joel was sitting on the bed in just his boxers, checking something on his phone. The deep look of concentration on his face reminded you of your own phone, left behind somewhere in the living room.
You hurried out, flipping on the lights as you went. The night had completely swallowed the house, leaving only a dim glimmer of moonlight through the windows. The living room lamp was still burning, though, illuminating your phone right where you left it on the side table by the couch.
Four missed calls from Dean and three text messages stared back at you from the lock screen.
Your heart stopped for a second.
At six-thirty, he had written:
[Dean]: Baby is everything okay? I've been calling you
[Dean]: you home?
[Dean]: you asleep? how's your shoulder doing?
Now, it was already almost eight o'clock. Jesus.
If you already felt like a bad person, reading his worried messages only made it worse. You were going to pay for this somehow, you were sure of it.
[You]: Sorry, I was asleep
You had never lied so fast in your life.
[You]: Everything's fine, my shoulder doesn't hurt that much. Nora didn't let me work too hard today.
[You]: u getting ready to come back tomorrow?
"You want somethin' to eat? You hungry?" Joel's voice startled you.
You looked back; he was walking down the hall, still in just his boxers.
"Yeah, what do you feel like?"
He stepped up to you, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear while pressing his lips together.
"Right now, I'm cravin' a steak."
A laugh escaped your mouth. "Check the fridge."
Joel gave a sideways smile and followed the nod of your chin toward the kitchen. As he walked away, you watched him go with a foolish grin plastered across your face.
He opened the refrigerator, leaning down to scan the shelves.
You loved to cook. You were always making lunch and dinner for your friends, and you especially loved Sundays, which was when your mom would come up from San Antonio every other weekend. Nora almost always joined in too, and you would spend the entire morning getting everything ready. Vegetables, fruits, different meats; you kept a well-stocked fridge.
Joel whistled. "Baby, I'm gonna make ya dinner."
It was as if no time had passed at all. As if there had never been any pain between you. Nothing awkward to hold a grudge over, nothing painful to hide.
Joel made steaks with well-seasoned vegetables, showing off by preparing two different sauces. The man was starving, that much was clear, and his appetite only pushed him to cook dinner with a level of care you could taste in the very first bite.
While he cooked, you set the table and kept him company in the kitchen. You had a few bottles of wine you would have loved to open, and this was the perfect occasion, but given the new guest living inside you, you limited yourself to pouring a glass of soda. Joel drank the same out of solidarity.
During dinner, you realized just how much had happened for each of you since you stopped seeing each other. Joel told you about the progress he had made at work; how a major deal last year had allowed them to grow immensely and secure big, long term clients. He told you how much Tommy had improved on the job; he wasn't getting into trouble anymore and had even stopped going out to bars and all that, since he was trying to be a better man. You really missed him too. He told you about his place, an apartment not too far from yours that he'd been renting for a few months, though it was just temporary since he wanted to buy a place of his own. But not once did he pressure you with questions or demands about what you were going to do now.
Tomorrow at breakfast, he had said. And you both respected that, avoiding any complicated topics.
You wanted to get back together with him, and he wanted to get back together with you. That much was clear. But it wasn't as simple as pretending nothing had happened, getting remarried, and moving back in together right away. You had your own independent life and he had his, and you were going to have to find a way to work together to share them again.
But that was a conversation for tomorrow.
After dinner, Joel cleared the table and you washed the dishes. He stayed in the kitchen the whole time, venting his frustration and telling you about Di Palma, the architect he had been avoiding all week. Apparently, the man had zero work ethic. But Joel didn't waste time on long or boring explanations; he just wanted you to understand why he had decided to fake a meeting.
"And I don't normally do things like that," he said, defending his stance as a good boss. "You know how I am."
You believed every word, of course, because you knew him well enough to know that if there was one thing Joel hated, it was people who didn't respect other people's work.
After half an hour of talking, and with no more missed calls or text messages from Dean, sleep caught up with both of you and you decided to head to bed.
Joel wrapped his arms around you the moment you lay down beside him, and you settled your cheek against his bare chest the exact same way you always used to. His hand caressed your back, and the steady sound of his breathing calmed you down. Nothing could really be that bad if it meant having this.
Looking up, you noticed his eyes wide open and shining in the darkness.
"What are you thinking about?" you asked, sliding your hand up his chest.
He sighed. "I'm thinkin' I need to get fit."
"What?" you laughed.
"I'm gonna be a daddy. Need to be in good shape to play and do all kinds of stuff with the baby."
"Mm. I think you're fine. You've always been strong and tough, I'm sure you'll be able to do whatever you want with the baby. I don't think a little kid demands that much."
"And when they turn into a toddler?"
You smiled. "Maybe. Could be."
"Mm. That's what I thought."
In silence, you kept watching him for a few seconds. He frowned slightly.
"You're doin' alright, aren't you?" When he asked, his voice sounded firm, but the worry underneath it was hard to hide. "I mean, this baby… this baby ain't gonna put you at risk? They tell you anything at the hospital?"
"They told me everything was fine. But I have to go get an ultrasound next Monday. Are you coming with me?"
"Course I am. What time?"
"At ten."
"Good, I'll be here early."
Turning toward you, Joel kissed your forehead and wrapped you tight in his arms.
You kissed his chest. "Everything is going to turn out fine, you'll see."
In the dead of night, a harsh thud ripped you from sleep.
THUMP.
A dull, heavy impact echoed through the floorboards.
It took a second for your mind to claw its way out of the fog. The bedroom was drowned in thick shadows, the door left half-ajar, spilling a faint yellow sliver of hallway light across the floor.
Reaching out blindly for warmth beside you, your hand met only cold sheets. Joel was gone.
"Joel?" you rasped.
You sat up, straining your eyes against the dark as a cold prickle of dread crept up your arms. Then, the muffled rumblings in the hall sharpened, turning distinct, and vicious.
"Where the fuck is she?"
"Hey, take it easy—"
"Don't you fucking tell me to take it easy!"
In a single heartbeat, the blood drained straight to your toes. Your stomach dropped so fast it made you sick.
That voice.
No, no, no, no, no, no…
He wasn't supposed to be back until tomorrow evening. You were supposed to have time. You were supposed to…
Harsh panic hit you like a live wire. Reason vanished. Completely reckless of how incriminating you looked wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and underwear, you scrambled out of bed.
Your bare feet slapped against the ice cold floor as you hurried toward the doorway, chest tight, breath coming in ragged uneven gasps. Rounding the corner into the hall, you dug your heels in and froze.
"Dean."
The name slipped through your lips as a shattered whisper, carrying all the guilt you couldn't put into words.
Right there, under the dim overhead light, the nightmare was laid bare.
Dean stood near the front door, his keys still clutched in a white-knuckled fist and his bag dropped awkwardly onto the floor. His jacket was damp from the midnight rain, and his jaw was set so tight the muscle twitched. But what truly stole the air from your lungs was the figure blocking his path.
Joel.
Joel had his back to you, broad and towering, wearing nothing but his boxers. The faint shadow of old scars traced across his bare chest, and his dark hair was rumpled from hours of pressing against your pillow.
At the sound of your voice, the muscles along Joel’s spine went rigid. He didn't break eye contact with Dean, but he shifted back a fraction of an inch, subtly interposing his frame to shield you.
"What the hell is this?" Dean spat, his voice raspy and trembling with fury. "What the fuck is this guy doing here? Is this why you didn't answer a single damn call yesterday?"
Dean’s eyes darted from Joel’s bare chest down to your exposed legs, the wrinkled t-shirt, and the stark lack of any explanation. Every single detail was a piece of damning evidence, tearing down any lie or excuse before you could even frame the words.
"Dean, please, just let me explain..." You tried to step forward, hands rising slightly, but your knees shook so badly you felt on the verge of collapsing.
"What the fuck do you have to explain?" He took an aggressive step toward you. "I go away for a little while and that's all it takes for you to throw everything we have in the trash? If I hadn't walked in right now, what was gonna happen tomorrow? Were you just gonna pretend everything was fine?"
"No," you shook your head, firm despite the panic. "No, that's not how it is. I was gonna tell you—"
"Bullshit."
"I was gonna tell you before your trip but you left—"
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me—"
"Dean, please, just listen to me," you took a step forward, knowing full well you had no right to demand his attention, let alone expect him to give it. "I know you don't deserve this and I didn't plan for it to happen like this—"
His face was flushed red with fury. "You didn't? You've been cheating on me since before I left for Oslo, and now you wanna play me for a fool?"
"I know but—"
He surged toward you, jabbing a finger in your face. "You're a fuckin' b—"
"Step back," Joel cut in, shoving him back with a single hand. His voice was no longer the soft rumble that had been whispering in your ear all night. "You don't talk to her like that, and you ain't takin' another step into this house."
"She's my girlfriend, asshole!" Dean exploded, taking an aggressive step forward. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Get the fuck out of my way!"
Joel didn't even blink. He adjusted his stance, planting his feet firmly like an unmovable wall.
"I don't give a damn who you are," Joel replied, a terrifying calmness settling over him as the vein in his neck bulged. "You take one more step toward her with that attitude, and I promise you this conversation ends right here."
"Joel," you whimpered, your voice shaking and soaked in tears as you reached out, resting a trembling hand against his back to calm him down. Your eyes spilled over, your face burning hot.
At the sound of the name on your lips, Dean snapped his gaze to you, his glare so intense it felt like it could bore right through your skull.
"Joel?" he repeated. "This is Joel?"
Dean's face shifted drastically; the initial confusion mutated into a cold, sickening contempt as the pieces clicked into place.
In nearly a year together, you had never shown him a photo of Joel, never dug deeper than absolute necessity. You had guarded the ghost of your divorce with a painful secrecy, keeping the past hidden like an open wound. You'd told him about him, of course, about the relationship and the agonizing divorce, but for some reason, you had shielded his face, his identity.
And now, the myth was standing right in front of him, bare-chested in your hallway.
"Ah... you gotta be fucking shittin' me," Dean let out a bitter, humorless laugh. His eyes flicked between Joel and you, shredding you with a single look. "Joel? Joel Miller? The grand tragic love you cried about for so damn long?"
"Dean, please..."
"Shut your mouth!" Dean roared, taking a rabid step forward. He pointed a finger at Joel, his whole hand trembling with rage. "This is the goddamn prick who left you broken? You used me! You used me for months just to fill this asshole's shoes!"
"I told you to calm down," Joel's voice rumbled through the hallway, much lower than Dean’s shouting, but somehow carrying twice the weight. He stepped all the way forward, completely blocking you from view. "Ain't gonna tell you again. Grab your shit and get outta here. Now."
"You're telling me to leave?" Dean let out a scoff of sheer disbelief, closing the distance until he was mere inches from Joel's bare chest. "This is my girlfriend's place, you idiot. What the fuck are you even doing here? Came back to play the dutiful husband again? Or'd you just pop in to collect your pity lay?"
"Dean, shut up, please..." Panic was suffocating you, your face burning with tears as your knees threatened to buckle beneath you.
"No, I ain't shutting up," Dean spat, glaring up at him. "Why don't you tell her what you really are? You're a manipulative piece of trash! You know damn well she's sick over you, and you just take advantage of it to come fuck her whenever you feel like it!"
In a flash of instinct, Joel’s hand shot out and clamped around the collar of Dean's jacket, dragging him back half a meter in one violent jerk.
Dean's body slammed against the hallway wall, rattling a picture frame against the plaster.
"Joel, no!" you screamed, lunging blindly to grab his arm.
"Don't you ever speak about her like you know her," Joel hissed. "You ain't got a damn clue what you're talkin' about, or who the hell I am, or what's gone down between us. You walk out that door this exact second or I swear on whatever memory you hold dear in this life, I will drag you out myself."
Dean shoved against Joel’s bare chest, trying desperately to break free, but it was like trying to shift solid stone. The sheer disparity in strength was overwhelming.
"You're crazy," Dean spat at him, but his eyes locked onto yours over Joel's broad shoulder. "You're fucking out of your mind. Go back to him if you want, you're a piece of shit. Every damn bit of you is a fucking lie."
Joel tightened his grip, lifting Dean an inch or two off the floor. "I warned you."
"Joel, no. Please, let him go!" Your trembling hands clawed desperately at his bare arm, feeling the rock-hard tension in his muscle. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."
The words tumbled out of you in a frantic spill, smothered by sobs as tears completely blurred your sight. You felt miserable, small, utterly hollowed out by guilt.
Seeing you break down like that snapped whatever restraint Dean had left, turning his rage into desperation. Eyes bloodshot, he swung a blind fist straight toward Joel's face.
Joel didn't even blink. With clean instinct, he ducked the clumsy punch, caught Dean's wrist mid-air, and instead of throwing a hit back, used Dean's own momentum to drive him brute force into the adjacent wall. The impact rattled straight through the hallway.
"It's fuckin' enough," Joel warned, raising his voice for the first time, pinning Dean against the plaster with a heavy forearm locked across his chest; no intent to hurt him, just keeping him dead in his tracks. "Settle the hell down and think about what you're doin'."
"Let go of me, you fuckin' bastard! Let me go!"
Joel dug his forearm in deeper.
"Joel, please, just leave it... please," you begged, slipping up beside him, resting your hands against Joel's bare chest, feeling his heart pounding like a war drum.
Dean stopped fighting for a fraction of a second. Pinned against the wall, he locked eyes with you. The rage on his face had cracked, revealing a deep, hollow sadness; the bitter grief of someone who just had their heart smashed into a thousand pieces. His bottom lip quivered.
"Nearly a year..." he muttered. "I gave you everything for almost a year. You let me into your life, into your bed... and I was never even there, was I? It was always him. You're a piece of shit, you make me sick."
You stumbled back a step, stifling a pained groan as you covered your mouth.
Joel's face darkened instantly as he saw the words shatter you. He ground his teeth but forced himself to hold back, and eased the pressure of his arm and stepped back, letting Dean go.
"You said your piece," Joel said. "Grab your stuff and get out."
For a split second, it looked like Dean was going to give in. He straightened his jacket, breathing heavily, eyes fixed blindly on the floor. But it was too much. The wounded ego, the humiliation, and the sheer heartbreak clouded his judgment entirely.
Without warning, Dean let out a roar of fury and threw his entire weight straight into Joel.
"You son of a bitch!"
The charge caught Joel off guard just as he turned back toward you, and the impact threw him off balance, both men crashing hard to one side.
Driven by desperate strength, Dean tackled him into the wall, slamming Joel's back violently against the plaster. A framed picture tumbled off the hook, shattering into a thousand pieces with an unbearable crash against the floorboards.
Dean started pounding on Joel with unhinged violence; a solid right caught Joel flush on the cheekbone, followed by another hard blow to the jaw. Joel tried to throw his arms up to guard, but Dean’s weight in the cramped hallway broke his balance, sending him heavily down to his knees.
"No! Dean, no!" you screamed, out of your mind with terror.
Panic wiped out any trace of logic. You lunged toward them, reaching out to grab Dean by the shoulders, desperate to yank him off, to pull him away from Joel. But the second Dean felt your hands on him, jacked up on adrenaline, he spun around on instinct and swung a blind fist backward.
The full force of his knuckles caught you right in the face.
The pain was dull and blinding; it sent you flying backward, completely stealing your balance until you hit the floor hard on your side, and the heavy impact against the wood knocked the breath right out of your lungs.
And in that hallway, a deafening, sickening silence fell for one terrible second.
Joel saw it all from the floor. He saw your body collapse, saw the terror in your eyes, and saw the blood begin to spill.
Every ounce of restraint, every bit of composure he had been desperately holding onto just to protect you and keep things from spiraling, vanished in a single microsecond.
"She's pregnant, you fucking idiot!" Joel roared.
Before Dean could even process the words, Joel launched himself forward with every bit of his two hundred pounds of muscle and built-up fury. He seized Dean by the throat with a single hand, hauling him nearly off his feet, and slammed him flat against the floor with terrifying force. Dean let out a strangled gasp as the wind was knocked clean out of his lungs.
Joel gave him no room to breathe; he pinned him down and unleashed all the brutal strength he’d been holding back. He drove a vicious fist straight into Dean's face, then another, and another, and another. The sickening crunch of bone against flesh echoed through the space, and within seconds, Dean's face was a bloody mess, utterly crushed under Joel's relentless force.
He was gonna kill him. He was one hit away from beating him to death.
But then, Joel froze his fist mid-air. He was breathing through his mouth, his bare chest heaving violently, slick with sweat and splatters of blood. He stared down at the wrecked man beneath him, released his hold on his throat, and spat in a deadpan, deadly voice:
"You better watch real fuckin' close what you do next."
Joel sprang to his feet, abandoning Dean completely, and rushed straight over to you.
You were trying to push yourself up off the floor, your hands shaking against the wood. Your shoulder hurt like hell, your face felt like it was on fire, your nose was bleeding heavily, and your mouth tasted like copper from a split lip.
"Look at me, look at me..." Joel's voice shifted instantly, turning frantic and soft as his hands gently took you by the arms to help you up. His gaze darted frantically from your bloodied face to your stomach, then back to the door, keeping a sharp eye out in case Dean tried anything. "Let me see you, baby, let me look at you."
"I'm okay... I'm okay..." you managed to choke out between sobs, trying to wipe the blood with the sleeve of your shirt while Joel's face crumpled with raw guilt and agony, his thumb tracing your cheek with tenderness.
A few feet away, a agonizing groan sliced through the air.
Dean, bleeding heavily from his nose and mouth, one eye swelling shut at a terrifying speed, dragged himself up off the floor against the wall.
He was beaten to a pulp, battered and humiliated, but his bloodshot, tear filled eyes weren't locked on Joel. They were fixed on you. On Joel's hands wrapped around you. On the confession he heard minutes ago.
"Are you... are you pregnant?"
Unable to hold his gaze for more than a second, you simply nodded, letting your head drop as a fresh wave of tears burned down your cheeks.
"When?" he demanded to know.
You swallowed hard, feeling your throat close up.
"Maui," you confessed. "It was just one time. I was planning on tellin' you when you picked me up at the airport... but you were so happy about Oslo. I couldn't bring myself to do it."
Dean nodded. A broken laugh escaped his chest as tears cut clean tracks through the blood on his cheeks.
"I didn't tell anyone yet, just Nora," you continued, pleading in a choked whisper. "I only found out three days ago. And Joel found out last night. Before that, we hadn't seen each other, Dean... I mean it. I wanted to tell you."
"But you couldn't wait just one day for me to get home, could you?" he scoffed, shaking his head as he took in the scene: you half bare, Joel standing over you like a protective shield, his skin flushed, his cheek bruised from the fight, and his lip bleeding. The picture-perfect image of a family piecing itself back together over the ruins of his own heart.
"I'm sorry."
Dean shook his head once more, turning away with a defeated sigh.
"You know what? Save it."
He winced as he crouched down, letting out a groan of pain as he scooped his bag off the floor. He grabbed the handle and yanked the front door wide open, letting the cold air from the hallway rush in.
Right before stepping over the threshold, he froze.
He didn't turn around, but his voice sounded hauntingly hollow, worn down to nothing:
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you. Please forgive me for that."
He cast one last look at Joel, then let his eyes rest on you for a fleeting second before stepping out and slamming the door shut.
The silence that followed the slam of the door was deafening, so intense it hurt your ears.
Joel looked at you immediately, and the moment his eyes met yours, the air left your lungs completely and you broke down, crying so hard your whole chest heaved with gut-wrenching sobs. He didn't hesitate for a single second; he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his bare chest.
"It's okay... it's over now, it's okay," he murmured against your hair.
You wept uncontrollably, but why?
It wasn't the end of your time with Dean that was tearing you apart inside. You didn't feel the loss of that relationship; what suffocated you was that it had gone down in this... this way. So violent, so unfair, so grotesque and aggressive. Because Dean didn't deserve this; nobody deserved that kind of surprise. Every blow Joel and Dean had traded burned in your mind, the sound of flesh against bone echoing in the memory of your ears, and your own body ached from the hit you'd taken in the crossfire.
Joel loosened his hold just enough to frame your face in his large hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the thin trails of blood running down your skin.
"He hit you real hard. We gotta go to the hospital."
"No, Joel, I'm okay," you shook your head quickly, though the motion sent a spike of pain through your temple. "Seriously, it was just... it was just one hit."
"You took a hard fall. And you're pregnant. Best we make sure you're alright. I ain't takin' any chances."
"And what're we supposed to tell them there?"
"The truth. What else?"
Your eyes drifted across Joel's face: the split brow, the nasty scrape across his cheek, and his bleeding lip.
"You need a doctor way more than I do," you whispered, carefully reaching up to touch near his split lip.
"Well, then let's go for me, and we'll get you checked out while we're at it, if that works as an excuse for ya," he replied, raising his brows, though he winced right after; the movement agitated the eye that was already turning dark purple. "I ain't takin' no for an answer. You're still bleedin'."
The firmness in his voice was the exact anchor you needed to keep from completely falling apart. Without another word, you threw yourself against his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist with every ounce of strength you had left.
You felt Joel's hand glide up into your hair, tangling his fingers in your strands and stroking it softly, keeping you safe from the world amid the ruins of that night.
The harsh stench of antiseptic and the glaring fluorescent lights made everything feel far too cold. You had hated places like this for as long as you could remember. But after spending so much time wandering their halls, after collecting so many horrible painful memories in every hospital and clinic across Austin, being here now felt infinitely worse.
Yet Joel, sitting right beside you, made it bearable.
Over two hours had slipped by in the middle of a storm of paperwork, signatures, and suspicious stares. Arriving in the dead of night with battered faces and split skin meant the hospital’s safety protocols kicked in immediately. The nursing staff and the ER physician asked probing questions, pulling each of you aside to rule out domestic abuse or immediate danger. You both had to tread carefully, repeating time and again that it had just been a blowout at your place with your ex, that you didn't want any trouble, desperate to keep the paperwork from turning into a full police report that would only complicate things further.
They cleaned Joel's cuts, closed the split above his brow with a few neat stitches, and handed him a heavy-duty prescription for painkillers and anti-inflammatories; 800 mg ibuprofen and tramadol for the throbbing ache in his bruised ribs. His left eye was now angry purple, swollen and almost completely shut.
From the gurney where they kept you under observation, you couldn't take your eyes off him. And as you traced every bruise on his face, it was impossible to keep your mind from drifting to Dean.
No matter how guilty you felt, no matter how certain you were that what you had with Joel was forever, you couldn't just switch off your empathy overnight. You had shared nearly a year of your life with Dean. He had been good to you—attentive, patient... and knowing the state he was left in, after taking blows three times more brutal than Joel's, made your stomach churn.
You felt like utter trash for how everything had played out, but right now, that mountain of guilt had to be set aside.
There was something far more urgent to worry about.
Even though the general physical exam showed that the hit to your face and the fall hadn't caused any serious trauma, Joel remained completely unyielding. Driven by that protective stubbornness of his, he didn't rest until the ER doctor authorized an ultrasound just to be safe.
They had you lie back on the gurney and exposed your stomach. The cold gel hitting your skin made you shiver, but your entire focus locked onto the dark monitor beside you.
At one month along, the risks after a fall are small but still very real due to the raw impact and severe stress, even if the embryo is no larger than a tiny seed protected inside the gestational sac.
You knew all about loss; you knew every single risk that came with each gestational month. You had studied them relentlessly years ago, and neither the knowledge nor the terror ever truly left your mind.
The doctor glided the transducer over your abdomen and flipped on the monitor. You squeezed your eyes shut right then, completely unable to look. Joel squeezed your hand back tight.
"It's alright, baby."
The sonographer moved the device across your belly for a moment.
"There it is," he said after a few seconds, and your eyes snapped open instantly. He pointed toward the screen. "The gestational sac is fully intact and well implanted. No signs of detachment or hemorrhaging. Everything is right where it should be."
On the black and white screen, nestled among shadows and soft gray tones, a small dark cavity appeared, and inside it, a tiny white dot.
A ragged gasp escaped your chest as an entire mountain of weight lifted off your shoulders.
Turning your head, you looked up at Joel. He stood beside the gurney, his good eye fixed on the screen, his mouth parted slightly.
Despite the blackened eye, the neat row of stitches over his brow, and the faint smears of dried blood still staining his neck, his face transformed entirely. All the harshness, the fury, and thetension of the night melted away in an instant, replaced by a deep almost childlike wonder.
Joel took a step closer, unable to tear his eyes away from that tiny dot on the monitor. He raised a trembling hand, tracing the screen with his fingertips as if trying to touch the image itself.
"It's... it's so small," he murmured. For the first time all night, a single clean tear slipped down his cheek, cutting a path through the scrapes on his face. "Look at 'em... they're alright. Right there."
Seeing him like that, the crushing weight in your chest finally broke. A soft smile touched your lips, shattering the last remnants of the night’s horror, and you tightened your grip on his hand, weaving your fingers through his.
At your touch, Joel pulled his gaze from the screen and turned to you. His features, battered and worn thin by exhaustion, softened completely. He leaned over the gurney with tender care, closing the space between you, and found your lips.
He kissed you softly, a sweet, unhurried press of his mouth. Then came another kiss at the corner of your lips, and another against your cheek; a succession of tender pecks that pulled an airy, honest laugh from your chest despite how tired you were.
Joel smiled, and that grin lit up his entire face. His eyes shone with an overwhelming brightness; filled with hope, with a devotion that left no room for regret.
"Worst of it's over now," he whispered against your lips.
And looking at him right there, with his hand wrapped firmly in yours and the tiny yet monumental presence of the baby resting on the monitor, you knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was right.
The worst was finally behind you.
4 months later.
"Mmm. A little more to the left, looks a bit crooked from here."
Nora shifted the frame a few millimeters against the exposed brick wall and immediately glanced back over her shoulder at you. "Like this?"
"Yeah, yeah," you raised a thumb with a smile. "Perfect."
She grinned, pleased with her work, and tilted her chin up. "Always a pleasure, ma'am."
In the frame, a woman from the Old West was looking forward with her hand raised, dressed as an outlaw, while holding a water gun. Beside her, a speech bubble said, 'Do it, cowboy!'
You watched her step down nimbly from the wooden stool she’d been perched on.
"By the way," Nora said, dusting off her hands against her work apron, "Crane called early. Giuliano’s swingin' by at two this afternoon to pick up the bookshelf for the delivery."
You nodded. Giuliano had joined the workshop full-time two months back to help out with logistics and the heavier hauls; an addition that had lifted an enormous weight off both your shoulders.
"Awesome. It’s all wrapped up and ready in the back," you said, leaning back against the workbench. "So... you gonna spill the tea on how last night went, or are you gonna keep playin' mysterious?"
Nora let out a choked laugh, a bright flush instantly staining her cheeks.
The whole thing with Mr. Harrison had started in the most unexpected way: two weeks ago, he’d ordered a custom desk purely as an excuse to get close to her, confessing the truth the second it was delivered. Sure, he’d actually needed the furniture at first, but he’d fallen for Nora, too.
Ha, told ya!
Even though Nora had been "caught off guard" at first and hesitated to say yes, she had finally caved and agreed to a first date.
"It was... incredible," Nora confessed, sinking into one of the shop chairs with a dramatic sigh and a bright sparkle in her eyes. "Honest to God. He took me to that Italian place by the lake I've been dyin' to try, but the food wasn't even the best part. He's charming, attentive, funny as hell... We talked for four straight hours without stoppin'. Swear I haven't felt this good about someone in years. It ain't weird, is it?"
You laughed out loud, loving how giddy she looked. "Why on earth would it be weird? It's awesome."
"Ehh, I don't know, you know... he's older, and I just—"
"Doesn't matter one bit," you waved a hand dismissively. "Besides, works out great for us if things go well between you two. That way he'll keep buyin' furniture from us."
Nora cracked up. "Look at you, such an opportunist! You're right, though."
Before you could say anything else, the shop door chime chimed, announcing a visitor.
Spring had rolled into Austin a month ago, painting the city green, flooding the streets with warm breezes and golden sunlight. Everything looked infinitely prettier this season... and your boyfriend was no exception.
Joel pushed the door open and stepped inside the workshop, looking ridiculously handsome.
He wore a soft white button-down tailored neatly at the shoulders with the top few buttons undone, paired with black trousers and black shoes. His hair had grown out a bit more over these past few months, just enough for a few unruly strands to tuck loosely behind his ears.
"Afternoon, ladies," Joel greeted, stepping up to Nora first and planting a warm kiss on her cheek. "Nora."
"Joel. Look at you, right on time," she teased with a grin.
"Am I? How's Mr. Harrison treatin' you?"
Nora let out a theatrical sigh. "I'm tellin' you all about it later!"
Laughing, Joel walked straight to you.
Without a second thought, he slid a hand gently around your waist, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to your lips that stole your breath for a beat.
"Look at you, darlin'," he murmured, pulling back just an inch or two. His palm slid down right away to rest against your stomach, seeking the warmth of your skin.
At five months along, your bump was still small but undeniably visible, highlighted by your outfit: a skirt sweeping down from your hips to your ankles with a slight slit on the side, and a white crop top that left just a small glimpse of your belly bare and uncovered.
Joel traced the curve of your bump with his thumb, his face softening with that tender warmth that was all yours now.
"You ready?" he asked.
"More than ready," you smiled, giving his hand one last squeeze.
You turned back to your partner, who was watching the two of you with a sweet expression.
"I'm outta here, Nor. See you tomorrow."
"Go on, have fun," Nora waved you off. "I'll lock up."
You laced your fingers through Joel's, letting him lead you toward the exit you knew by heart.
It had become a ritual. Every Friday for months, Joel would pick you up at the shop just before closing for date night. There was no need for elaborate planning; the routine you had built was perfect, centered around a few favorite local spots.
Some nights, you managed to snag a table in a quiet corner of Genoveva's for a delicious meal. Other times, you would stroll leisurely down South Congress, enjoying the glow of the streetlights, sharing ice cream, browsing through antique shops, and grabbing a bite from the food trucks along the avenue. On simpler evenings, you would just pick up takeout tacos and sit near the lake, watching the evening fade over the Austin water.
It was the perfect way to close out the week and ease into the weekend, which almost always found you both at home, cooking together and setting the table to host Sunday dinners, as though no time had passed at all.
That you and Joel had gotten back together didn't surprise anyone because it was outrageous, but rather because of how sudden it had all been. The change in him was immediate, and the person most thrilled by the news was, without a doubt, Tommy.
To him, his brother had spent years living as a shadow of himself, and he never missed an opportunity to remind you, or anyone else willing to listen.
"I told him, didn't I?" Tommy said one afternoon, popping the cap off an ice-cold beer as you hung out in his sunny backyard. "I kept tellin' him to quit messin' around and go get you back once and for all."
Tommy was a completely different man from the boy you had first met. You had watched him grow over fifteen, almost sixteen years; from a rebellious teenager into the man he was today.
You were family, plain and simple. Tommy had always been there to witness every major chapter of your life, and this new stage was no exception: he was right by your side when you finally reached the three-month pregnancy mark.
The pregnancy was proving to be a strangely beautiful experience. You barely had any symptoms; nausea was minimal, and against all odds, your body felt stronger, healthier, and more full of life than ever.
Even so, with all the good news on your side, you and Joel had decided to keep the secret and wait patiently to hit the first-trimester mark before sharing the news with family.
During the last ultrasound, the obstetrician confirmed that the baby was perfectly healthy and growing strong. When she asked if you wanted to know the gender, you decided to wait until the birth.
Time to tell everyone; when you finally told them, it felt as though the world around you settled right into place.
Tommy was overjoyed. But your mom's reaction was no less intense: the very day after learning you were back with Joel, she had caught a bus from San Antonio to Austin just to wrap her arms around you. And the moment she found out a grandkid was on the way, she didn't hesitate for a second and began packing up her life to move to the city for good.
"I ain't gonna make the mistake of bein' far away, not like last time. I'd never forgive myself," she told you, her voice breaking as she squeezed your hands tight.
You knew all too well the weight she carried in her chest for not having been there the night everything crumbled. But you had never blamed her. How could she have known? Nobody knew.
Life, however, seemed ready to offer everyone a fresh start, and this new beginning with Joel felt warmer, brighter, and more hopeful than anything you could have imagined.
A healthy baby on the way, a peaceful pregnancy, and the man you had loved since you were nothing more than a girl, back by your side.
The car glided smoothly through the streets as Billy Joel played softly over the speakers. You had the window rolled down, letting the warm spring air rush in, carrying the delicious scent from this time of year: a sweet blend of damp earth, oak trees, and the first blossoms of the season opening under the sun.
Joel kept one hand on the wheel while the other rested comfortably near the gear shift. You had asked him at least three times where you were going, but all you got in return was a sly smirk and the exact same evasive answer.
According to him, it was a surprise, and he had no intention of spilling the beans no matter how much you begged. He knew your curiosity was bottomless, and he seemed to enjoy every second of your mild frustration.
As you drove further, the city landscape began to blur away. The massive downtown structures, heavy traffic, and towering buildings faded into the distance, giving way to broader streets lined with one-story homes, lush lawns, and a far more tranquil suburban stretch.
"Where are you takin' me?" you asked again, letting out a soft laugh and leaning slightly toward his side to try and read his face.
Joel clicked his tongue without taking his eyes off the road, though the corner of his lips tugged upward.
"You'll find out soon enough, don't be impatient," he murmured, reaching out with his free hand just to give your knee an affectionate squeeze before settling back into place.
You turned back to look out the window, crossing your arms as you scrutinized every passing corner. You tried to get your bearings, guessing the name of some hidden restaurant, a park, or any familiar spot. The route felt vaguely recognizable; you knew you’d been around this area years ago. Yet no matter how much you mapped it out in your head, you couldn't quite connect the dots on what Joel might have planned this time.
The car kept rolling for a few more minutes, heading down a street shaded by a massive canopy of trees, until Joel flipped on the blinker and came to a smooth stop by the curb.
The moment the engine cut off, you looked up.
Standing before you was a warm fronted café and resto-bar, complete with string lights glowing on the porch and a handful of small tables scattered outside. The original structure was still there, but the place looked completely different from how you remembered it. Even so, muscle memory kicked in, and you recognized the corner in a heartbeat.
You froze for a second. Then you turned to look at him, your heart doing a sudden flip in your chest as an inevitable smile spread across your face.
Fifteen years ago.
The memory rushed back instantly. You remembered a younger version of yourself, lying in bed, exhausted and crushed under a cloud of bad mood after a miserable week at a dead-end job that drained your life away and kept you from focusing on your studies. One of your best friends back then, and still today (your precious Kat) had practically forced you to get dressed and leave the house to clear your head.
She had brought you right to this very place: a simple, noisy, cozy neighborhood bar that was always packed with college students.
You remembered sitting at a low table, drinking cheap beer and eating bacon fries, trying to drown out your frustration while your friends talked. But the beer wasn't enough; you needed something stronger to turn off the noise in your head.
You got up, walked to the wooden bar, ordered a stiff drink, and stood there waiting; staring into space with a furrowed brow, wondering what the hell you were supposed to do with your life. You weren't feeling particularly optimistic.
That was when he showed up.
You saw him first: a young stranger with a gentle face, a slightly lanky posture, and the most intense, expressive eyes you had ever seen. He walked right up beside you and, without pretense or hesitation, looked you dead in the eye.
"You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine," you replied, dropping your head with an awkward slightly embarrassed smile for being so transparent in your misery.
But Joel, even as little more than a boy, had that innate ability to read you like an open book, even without knowing you. He hadn't bought your answer for a single second.
"Tell me what happened," he said.
And just like that, without you even realizing it, the entire night slipped through your fingers. What began as a cautious conversation with a total stranger turned into hours of laughter, whispers, and knowing glances across the bar.
By the time the sun started peeking over the horizon, that stranger had already claimed a piece of your life.
Today, the noisy weathered bar of your youth was gone; in its place stood this warm, renovated restaurant. But the corner was the exact same.
Joel got out of the car, rounded the hood, and opened the door, extending a hand to you. He helped you out gently and, without letting go, guided you toward the entrance.
As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, the faint chime above the entrance announced your arrival, but the Friday evening bustle you expected was nowhere to be found. The space was completely empty, just for the two of you.
A peaceful quiet enveloped the space, where the only sound was soft music drifting from small speakers hidden somewhere out of sight. There were no patrons at the bar, no murmur of background chatter; it was just the two of you, along with two impeccably dressed servers standing in a welcoming posture beside a small table prepared in the middle of the room.
The lighting throughout the space was gorgeous: dozens of tiny warm lights, strung together like delicate garland alongside exposed filament bulbs, hung from dark wooden beams, bathing everything in a golden glow. The tables shimmered beneath that radiance, and at the exact center of the room, the table set for you was covered in a linen cloth, two crystal glasses catching the light, a simple floral arrangement, and a single candle whose flame flickered softly.
You turned completely toward him, a smile spreading across your face as a deep warmth filled your chest.
"Joel, what is all this?"
Without waiting for an answer, you raised your hands to cup his face, feeling the rough texture of his beard against your palms, and leaned in to kiss him. Joel didn't hesitate for a second: his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you in gently as he deepened the kiss.
"This is where we met," you murmured against his lips, pulling back just a fraction of an inch, feeling his warm breath mingling with yours.
"Bar's gone," he said, gesturing with a slight nod toward a corner of the room where a row of tall windows now stood, "but it was right there. You remember?"
"Of course I remember. How could I ever forget?"
You looked around once more, taking in every single detail. Meeting the eyes of the servers, you offered them a grateful smile; they returned the gesture with polite nods and, sensing the intimacy of the moment, quietly slipped into an adjoining room.
Then Joel took both of your hands in his, lacing his fingers through yours, and guided you toward the center of the room, right beside the candlelit table.
He stopped in front of you, looking down at your joined hands for a moment before lifting his eyes back to yours. A faintly shy smile curved his lips as he shook his head.
"I was gonna wait till we finished dinner," he confessed, letting out a small, nervous chuckle. "But I can't. I truly can't wait no longer."
You said nothing; you simply met his gaze, letting the smile spreading across your lips speak for you.
Joel’s expression shifted. His face turned serious for a fleeting moment, weighted with a almost childish nervousness that sparked a swell of tenderness in your chest. It instantly brought back the Joel from your first dates; the jovial yet clumsy man who adjusted his shirt every few seconds and weighed every single word because he was terrified of messing up. Of course you noticed.
"These past few months with you... baby, you got no idea how happy I've been," he broke the silence. "Just as happy as I was before, maybe even more so. I know I say it all the time, but you truly ain't got a clue how much I love you."
Your smile widened as you raised a hand, tracing your fingertips along the warm skin of his cheek.
"I love you so much too, Joel. More than you know."
He caught your hand in his, tilting his head to press a soft, lingering kiss right in the middle of your palm.
"You're the love of my life. And being without you all that time... it was a nightmare, you know that?"
Of course you knew.
Joel’s words brought a wave of unearthed memories crashing over you; you remembered the endless nights when your subconscious betrayed you, bringing dreams of the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his laughter, or the familiar weight of his arm over your waist, only to wake in the dead of night to the icy emptiness of a lonely bed. You remembered that bitter ache, the heavy tightness in your chest upon realizing you were no longer together, that the "us" had broken.
Above all, you remembered the painstaking discipline it had taken not to pick up the phone and dial his number at three in the morning.
"I ain't ever gonna be able to erase what happened," he continued, lowering his voice. "Gonna carry the fact that I let you go once like a fool. But I think I'm the luckiest man alive, 'cause despite my mistakes, life went ahead and brought you right back to me."
He took another step closer, closing the tiny distance remaining between you.
"And I know it was messy, troublesome, and downright questionable dependin' on who you ask... but I'd do it a thousand times over if I had to. Do things a hundred times worse, just to keep you right here with me," Joel raised his brows. "And I know that makes me sound a little bit crazy."
You let out a soft laugh, keeping your eyes locked on his.
"It's the honest truth, though," he added.
Still smiling, you slid your hands up the fabric of his shirt, moving up his firm chest until your fingers laced together behind his neck.
You tilted your head. "Yeah... truth is, you do sound a little crazy sometimes."
Joel offered a lopsided smile his that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "I know, what're you gonna do about it?"
You shrugged lightly. "I don't know, Miller... what are you gonna do about it?"
Bringing his face close enough to steal the air between you, Joel rested his forehead against yours.
"I'm gonna get my Mrs. Miller back."
With his eyes locked on yours, Joel began to step back. His hands glided down your arms until he let go, and with a measured movement, he bent one leg and rested a knee upon the floor.
A lighthearted laugh escaped your lips. You immediately brought your fingers to your mouth to muffle it, feeling a warm moisture pooling in your eyes that threatened to overflow at any second.
Joel spoke your name. From his pocket, he pulled out a small pink velvet box, opening it on the palm of his hand as he held it out to you. In the center, set against the pale cushion, a breathtaking ring caught every ray of light in the room: a gorgeous, big, elegant oval-cut center diamond, flanked by a delicate band paved from end to end with tiny sparkling crystals that shimmered at the slightest tilt.
Joel looked up at you. A faint twitch flitted across his brow, betraying the nerves that the solid strength of his words tried to hide.
"Baby, you've been makin' me the happiest man alive since the very first night we met, right here, fifteen years ago. I couldn't ask for a single thing more from life than what it's already given me. But you... you..." He swallowed hard, seeking your gaze behind the veil of tears clouding your eyes. "Will you marry me?" He paused briefly, a flash of mischief peeking through the vulnerability on his face. "... Again?"
You began nodding frantically, a breathless laugh wiping away any other expression as tears finally spilled down your cheeks.
"Yes. Yes, Joel, of course I'll marry you... again!"
Before he could react or even push himself up, you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your hands tightly around his neck.
Joel reacted with his usual reflexes: he caught you mid air, gripping your hips and back firmly to cushion the impact and make sure you didn't get hurt in the slightest.
With a shaky sigh of relief that rumbled in his chest, he pressed you close against his body and, using the strength of his legs, stood up while holding you in his arms.
The moment his feet planted on the floor, you gave him no quarter. You kissed him; desperate, hungry kisses overflowing with a happiness so pure it set your skin ablaze. Your right hand buried itself in the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in the soft texture of his hair, while the other stroked his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw and moving down toward the warmth of his neck.
When you finally pulled apart, breathless and with your foreheads still pressed together, you offered your left hand to him, your fingers trembling slightly.
Taking your hand, he began sliding the sparkling oval diamond down your finger. But right before settling it completely in place, he paused;
"Got somethin' that belongs to you."
With his free hand, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out another small box. He opened it carefully and held it out for you to see.
Your smile softened into a look of absolute awe.
"My rings..."
There, resting against the velvet, was that first delicate ring with the tiny diamond in the center. Your absolute favorite. The very first ring he’d ever given you; the one he’d used to propose in the middle of the living room of his cramped apartment on a rainy night thirteen years ago, back when neither of you had anything to offer but promises. And right behind it lay the second one: larger, more striking, the piece he’d gifted you three years later, born from years of hard work and sacrifice.
"You had them this whole time?"
Joel let out a shaky breath. "They're yours. Always been yours."
Your lips trembled into an inevitable pout. You threw yourself into his arms once more, smothering a sob against his mouth, kissing him, and framed his face with both hands, pressing desperate kisses to his lips, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, his chin. You kissed him again and again, feeling as though no amount of kisses would ever be enough.
Smiling through the blur of your tears, you pulled back just enough to look at him. Joel took your hand again and, with a playful glint in his eyes, began sliding the other two rings onto your finger, fitting them right alongside the gleaming new diamond.
You burst into a laugh at the sight of the stack of jewelry piled up against your knuckle.
"I don't think this looks very good."
Joel huffed, shrugging with a smirk. "Well, you get to choose. They say third time's the charm, don't they?"
You let out a laugh and leaned in to kiss him again, but right as your lips brushed his—
"Oh."
Your head snapped down. Your left hand flew instinctively to your stomach, pressing gently against the fabric of your clothes. You felt a small flutter right there.
"What? What is it?" Joel’s face shifted instantly, alertness flaring in his eyes.
You looked up at him, and the smile that broke across your face was so radiant it lit up Joel’s entire expression.
"The baby just kicked... They just kicked, Joel! Look."
You took his broad warm hand and pressed it firmly against your belly.
Silence fell over the two of you. Joel didn't even breathe; his eyes were glued to the exact spot where his palm touched your skin, his jaw set with anticipation.
And then... Bump!
A small but firm little nudge hit from within, pressing right against Joel’s hand.
"There it is. Did you feel that?" you asked, smothering a giggle.
Joel let out a soft laugh, his eyes suddenly bright with unshed tears.
"Yeah... yeah, I felt it. Good Lord... what're the odds?"
"I don't know," you covered his hand with yours.
Joel kept his palm pinned to your stomach, unmoving, waiting patiently for another little kick, another quiet sign that the baby was not only awake, but completely on board with this latest family decision.
"Think they're tellin' us we gotta go buy a house as soon as possible," he said, breaking the spell with a lopsided smile.
You chuckled softly. "With a big yard."
"And a pool."
"And big windows."
Joel huffed. "Course with big windows."
You fell quiet, watching his face illuminated by the lights of the room, tracing every line on his face, taking in every detail of the man standing right in front of you. Yes. Seeing his hand resting over your belly and feeling the weight of all three rings on your finger, you knew there was no doubt left in your mind.
You would do it all over again, too.
The end!
I might add an epilogue if you guys want, may be nice to know how Joel and reader are doing after a while. Hope you enjoyed this <3
i broke in at chapter 7 part II of blood between us, it appeared on my feed (lucky me it happened!!), i'm so mesmerised and be a latecomer to read everything from the beginning. sorry i'm a slow reader so only catch up now.
will there be any flashback or change of POV so we can see more of joel's thought? i wonder how he agreed to the deal in the first place, no matter how much the reader knew about it. did they meet before (under the circumstance that only joel noticed the reader)? about what happened on the wedding night...... i reli dunno how would the reader forgive joel - probably this is one of the hardest knot to resolve in this story.
in my understand, joel is someone overly protective and sternly stick to promise, he'll see himself failed the reader every time - he hurt her by himself, he promised to kept her safe then she got hurt under his watch for twice - these are enough to devastate him. so it makes me wonder when or what is the occasion for joel to fall in love with the reader?
First of all—welcome!! ☺️ Please don't ever apologize for being a slow reader. I actually think it's lovely that you found the story halfway through and then went all the way back to the beginning.
And I love your questions!
Without giving too much away, there will be more of Joel's perspective. I always knew I wanted this story to be told predominantly through Reader's eyes because, in many ways, it's her journey. But Joel's inner world is becoming more and more important as the story unfolds, so you'll definitely get to spend more time in his head.
As for the wedding night: I actually love the idea of revisiting it from Joel's point of view one day. I don't know yet if or when I'll do it, but I think it would completely change the way that scene is understood. Not because it excuses what happened—it doesn't—but because it would show what was going on inside him, and how profoundly that night changed him too.
And when did he fall in love? I don't think there was one single moment.
I think it was the accumulation of everything: her quiet strength, her kindness despite everything she'd been through, the grace with which she carried burdens she never should have had to carry, her intelligence, her love for books, the life she dreamed of before it was taken from her, and her beauty, too, inside and outside. He kept seeing more and more of who she really was beneath all the circumstances that had brought them together.
By the time he realized he loved her, I think it was already far too late for him to stop.
Thank you so much for reading so thoughtfully and for taking the time to write all of this. Questions like these are honestly one of my favorite parts of sharing this story ❤️
jack abbot who does the hand comparison thing and thinks it's real cute when you get all shy and squirmy when he folds his knuckles over the tips of your fingers. jack abbot who jokingly rests his arm on top of your head and laughs when you swat him away and huff about it. jack abbot who sees the way you get quiet afterwards because he's pressed that special button in your brain that makes your mind go blank, all those smart thoughts of yours replaced with carnal desire instead.
jack abbot who tries really fucking hard to indulge you every time you climb up in his lap and try to ride him, acting all confident as you sink down onto his thick cock and start to roll your hips. he puts his wide hands on your waist to try and guide you, to set the rough rhythm he knows you like best.
jack abbot who encourages you the whole time with a gentle voice, saying, "there you go, angel. doing so good for me. takin' it all, huh? yeah, that's it."
he lets you do your best, his hand quickly becoming more than than simply guidance as he maneuvers you himself, a pretty little doll for him to use.
you'll try to get yourself off for hours if he'd let you, but he never does. he only indulges you up until your moans turn to whimpers and then to straight up whines. cause jack knows you'll never be able to give yourself what you need. he's just too big for you. so deep inside, filling you up so full that you can't move fast enough, never able to make it feel as good as he can.
but it's okay, because that's what he's here for. he smiles up at you all sweet like and ask, "you getting tired, pretty girl?"
and the moment you nod he's turning you over, hand splayed wide on the small of your back to keep his length fully inside you. jack situates himself so he's right between your spread legs, his hips grinding against yours. he lays his whole body weight on top of you, making you feel all warm and small and smothered in the very best ways.
jack abbot who laughs when he wraps those big, strong biceps around your head and smushes you between them, delighting in the excited little squeal you give in response. he fucks you just like that, holding you in his embrace, so close he can feel your heart beating fast against his sternum.
his belly is soft, pressing into yours as he ruts his cock into your syrupy heat. you can feel and smell and see nothing but him, engulfed in all his safety. the graying curls at the base of his cock grow slick with your arousal, providing just enough friction against your clit that it only takes minutes before your walls clench around him.
jack abbot who talks you through it each and every time. who presses tender kisses against your cheeks and nose and forehead and whispers, "yeah, that feel good, baby? there you go. that's better, hm? just needed a little help. s'okay. i've got you. feel how deep i am? squeezin' me so tight."
he pumps you full of cum and stays inside of you until his cock softens in the mess he's made, giving a last few slow, deep strokes before he finally pulls out.
jack abbot who holds you in his arms and smiles to himself when you lay your head on his chest and start snoring a few short minutes later, sleepy and sated and satisfied.
The final chapter of Healed will be posted next Saturday, July 25.
This has been a 200,000 word, 35 chapter love letter to a character I've been in love with since 2013, and what a journey it's been. If you're still here with me on the Healed train after 15 months, or you got off at a stop, missed the train a couple times, or meant to buy a ticket... know that I appreciate you and all of the love you've given Joel and Doc.
Series Summary: It's terrifying the extents someone is willing to go to ensure they get what they want. How horrible for you to experience it first hand.
Series Warnings/Tags: Heavy Non-con, rough sex, kidnapping, choking, hair pulling, dacryphillia, somnophilia, sensory depravation, bondage, self-harm, suicidal ideation, graphic depictions of violence, straight up torture, breeding kink, pregnancy, non-graphic child birth, Stockholm syndrome,
More in depth tags on each chapter
A/N: For those of ya'll who don't know, this is a rewritten version of the first fic I ever made in this fandom. Looking back there's a lot of things I want to change, especially considering I originally had no clear plan for it. For those of you who haven't read the original, it's still around but I would much much more recommend you read this instead, I promise it'll be much better!
~
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist
Summary: When you find yourself in an abusive relationship, you never thought your attending Jack Abbot would become your protector and saving grace.
TW: talk of domestic violence , age gap relationship (reader is in late 20s & Jack is 49), sex, p in v sex, masturbation, Jack talks you through it, trauma, sexual trauma, reclaiming the em dash from AI bc I love the em dash, not beta read, not proofread
Word Count: 4.5k
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The floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you hesitantly stepped into the foyer. The wallpaper had been peeled back, and holes littered the walls and ceiling from what you could only assume was water damage. The place smelled old, the dust tickling your nose as you glanced up at the chandelier above your head, caked in cobwebs.
Jack stood behind you, hands in his pockets, hair wet and dripping from the rain that slammed against the windows.
You found yourself in the kitchen with an oven that was probably older than Jack himself, and bright orange to match the rest of the accoutrements. Glancing down you shuttered at the carpet that probably had decades of grease caked into the fibers. Carpet. In the kitchen. Who thought that would work?
But behind the cobwebs, the peeling walls, and creaky floors, you saw your future.
It was you who found the place, driving by the abandoned house countless times to and from your therapy sessions. When you saw the lot go up for sale, you jumped at the opportunity to go inside. It was one floor, and ideal for Jack's prosthetic and your brain injury that you avoid stairs.
“What do you think?” You turned to Jack as his eyes scanned the time capsule before him.
“It’s— very orange.” He tried to hide his grimace.
You and Jack had been renting an apartment downtown as you looked for a place of your own. Jack selling his house and nearly everything in it. You slept in separate beds and overall you kept your distance from Jack. The fear still creeping in every so often whenever he got close.
The apartment felt too small. Too closed. You wanted out of the city and to find a home with some land.
“It is very orange.” You chuckled, wiping the dust off the orange appliances. “Really Jack, what do you think?”
“What do you think?”
“I asked you first.”
“I asked you second”
You rolled your eyes.
“I love it Jack.” You walked into the living room that overlooked 6 acres of land. “It’s perfect.”
Perfect isn’t exactly how Jack would describe it, but watching the gears turn in your head made his heart sing. He walked up behind you, looping his arm around your middle and resting his chin on your shoulder.
You jumped at his touch, Jack feeling the tension in your body and pulling back.
“I’m sorry.” You whispered, eyes shut as you tried holding back tears. You hated the way your body reacted this way towards him.
“S’okay.”
You turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck before burying your head in his chest. The house creaked around you. Water tapped against the windows. The drafty windows letting in the July humidity and making everything around you feel damp.
“This is a horrible idea, Jack.”
Jack looked around you. The peeling wallpaper. Green carpets. Wood paneling that was one second from crumbling from the dry rot. The roof leaked. The electricity wasn’t up to code, and the place smelled faintly of stale cigarettes.
But he saw you picking between 6 different paint swatches, all looking the same to him but you insisting they’re different. He saw you on your hands and knees in the garden, picking tomatoes and pulling weeds. He saw himself on a ladder, stringing Christmas lights outside in the Pittsburgh cold, your cheeks pink as you dictate “just a little to the left…”. He saw birthdays. He saw healing. He saw a future.
“Yeah, probably is… but it’s not about the house is it?”
You were quiet for a moment, hands curling into his shirt.
“I’m scared to buy a house with you.”
“Okay,” he said softly.
The acceptance of it made tears immediately sting your eyes.
“Because what if…” You struggled to force the words out. “What if I get comfortable again? What if I unpack all my boxes? What if I paint walls and plant flowers and put my books on shelves and let myself believe this is forever?”
His eyes never left yours.
“And then what if something happens again?”
“What if it does?” he asked quietly.
You blinked.
“What?”
“What if something happens again?”
You took a step back, but his hands took hold of yours.
“Jack—”
“No, really.” His voice remained gentle. “What if I have a bad day? What if you have a bad day? What if one of us gets sick? What if we lose somebody? What if life does what life always does and throws something ugly at us?”
You stared at him.
“That’s part of the deal, sweetheart.”
His hand lifted slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away before he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.
“We don’t buy a house because we know nothing bad will ever happen. We buy a house because we've decided it’s worth building a life around.”
“Whatever you’re paying your therapist, it isn’t enough.” You huff into his shoulder. Looking up, you ran your fingertips along his stubble, eyes shut at the sensation of the sandpaper on your skin.
“So you really like this money pit, huh?”
“I do, Jack. I really, really do.”
“We’ll put an offer in. It’s all yours, baby.” He leaned down slowly, his lips brushing against yours softly before you fused together. This was the first time since moving back in with Jack that you’ve allowed yourself to get this close. To feel his lips on yours.
You nearly whimpered at the sheer tenderness of it. The way his hands caressed your face, thumbs brushing against your cheeks in a soothing motion. Finding his shirt, you wrapped your fingers into the fabric, pulling him flush against you. His forehead rested against yours as he pulled back, exhaling shakily— his hands cradling your face like something precious.
“You okay?” He kissed your jaw, your cheek, your forehead, the tip of your nose.
“Mhm.” You smiled, letting your body melt into him.
“You have no idea how many times I imagined doing that again.” He guided you toward the giant bay window overlooking the property. “Come here.”
The glass was streaked with rain.
Beyond it, six acres stretched into the distance.
Wild grass that was years overgrown. Trees lining the property against the rusted fence line barely visible through the foggy windows.
“So,” Jack said.
You leaned against his side.
“So?”
“Where’s the garden going?”
A laugh escaped you.
“You don’t even know if we got the house.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve already mentally moved in.”
You wiped the condensation off the windows and bit your cheek.
“Garden beds there. Tomatoes, zucchini, bell peppers maybe. Pumpkins and radishes in the fall.”
You pointed.
“Flower beds along the house.”
Another point.
“Maybe a little greenhouse.”
Jack nodded seriously.
“Mhm. Got it.”
“And chickens.”
His head whipped around.
“Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
You stared at him for a moment, with those eyes. He felt himself start to fold.
“You know what that is?” he asked. “A trap.”
“A trap?”
“First it’s chickens. Then somehow we’ve got turkeys.”
“No turkeys.”
“A goat.”
“Maybe a goat.”
“See?” He pointed triumphantly.
“I wouldn’t mind a duck either.”
You sat on the hardwood floors; you and Jack having ripped the carpets up the day prior. The house wasn’t livable yet, rather a walking tetanus trap from all the rusty nails you still had to pull from the floorboards.
“Jack?” You called him away from his spackle job.
“Yes, my love.” He peered around the corner, spackle crusted into his curls.
“What backsplash do you like for the kitchen?” You stared at all the tile swatches laying in front of you. White subway tile, green geometric, tan and blue mosaic.
“I told you, you can pick whatever you want.”
“Jack Christopher Abbot, help me pick the tile.”
He stood above you, switching his weight on and off his prosthetic. You noticed immediately the grimace he tried to hide.
“The green is nice.” He tried to study the tiles, when in reality he didn’t care in the slightest. His body was sore to the bones. You were going to pick the green tile regardless of what he thought, you just wanted him to feel included.
“Let’s call it a day, Jack.” You stood, taking his hand in yours and wiping the chalky substance from his hair. He bent down to kiss you before nestling his head into your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your frame.
The ride home was quiet but comfortable, Jack ever so often resting his hand on your thigh, rubbing his thumb along your skin.
“Ya know,” you sat back against the seat. “I was thinking, once we get the deck replaced, we should get a hot tub.”
Jack's hand stilled, he sat straight up, adjusting himself in his pants.
“A hot tub, huh?”
“Thought it would be nice.” You shrugged. “Would be good for your leg.”
Jack thought about your naked body flush against his and you worked at each others bodies in the hot water. The stress of your days melting away.
“Just my leg?”
“Jack Abbot!”
He really needed to get a move on this house.
And soon the house was at least inhabitable, the last of your things were moved out of your apartment.
Sure the roof leaked in the bedroom, which caused you both to set up camp in the living room, but you were one step closer to making this your home.
The kitchen was somewhat close to being remodeled, yet you didn’t have a working stove or fridge… or a kitchen table. Which meant most meals consisted of takeout shared on a blow up mattress in the living room… because you didn’t exactly have a couch either. You were insistent on a specific sectional from West Elm that had been back ordered for 6 weeks and had cost more than your rent in downtown Pittsburgh.
Your house was a mess. Your life was a mess. Yet Jack had never seen you look so happy. Pouring your entire soul into every project, every room, every detail on the place you called home. Everything from the paint, the tile, and even down to the outlet covers were meticulously selected.
You tried to include Jack in your decision making, you really did. But it was hard to hide the fact he had absolutely zero taste when it came to interior design.
“Which towels do you like, Jack?”
“These are nice.”
“Jack, they’re yellow.”
“Is yellow bad?”
“It’s a bathroom, not Acrisure Stadium. If I wanted to see yellow towels, I’d turn on the Steelers game.”
“Our couch is orange, but you draw the line at yellow hand towels?”
“Our couch is burnt terracotta.”
“Which is orange.”
“No, it’s terracotta. I like these towels.”
“Okay baby, those are nice too.”
You also tried to ignore the fact he brought home the ugliest painting you’ve ever seen in your entire life. He proudly hung it in the living room, which slowly ended up in the hallway, which ended up in the master bedroom, which ended up in the walk-in closet hidden behind a stack of clothes. You’re not entirely sure he had noticed it no longer hanging next to the fireplace.
Jack absolutely noticed.
The first time you relocated the painting from the living room to the hallway, he stared at the empty space above the fireplace for a solid thirty seconds.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“The painting moved.”
“That’s nice, dear.” You kept your head buried in a book of wallpaper samples, not really paying attention. Hallway wallpaper wasn’t gonna pick itself.
Jack narrowed his eyes.
Three days later it migrated to the master bedroom.
Jack found it while carrying a box of tools upstairs.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“The painting moved again.”
You didn’t even look up from your laptop.
“You must have moved it.”
The look he gave you could have melted steel.
By the time it landed in the closet behind winter coats and a vacuum cleaner, Jack finally snapped.
“Okay.”
You glanced up from where you were sorting cabinet handles.
“Okay what?”
“Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The painting.”
You blinked innocently.
“What painting?”
“The painting.”
“What painting, Jack?”
“The painting I bought.”
“Oh. That painting.”
“Yes. That painting.”
“I haven’t seen it.”
“Liar.”
A grin escaped before you could stop it.
Jack pointed immediately.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The guilty face.”
“I don’t have a guilty face.”
“You absolutely have a guilty face.”
You dissolved into laughter.
Jack crossed his arms.
“Do you know how long I spent picking that thing out?”
“That’s actually what concerns me.”
His mouth fell open.
“Wow.”
“Jack.”
“Wow.”
“It was hideous.”
“It was art.”
“It was a poorly painted horse.”
“Yeah? And horses are cool.”
You laughed so hard tears started forming in your eyes. Jack watched you for a second before his own smile broke through.
God.
He loved that sound.
The house was still chaos. There were extension cords running through half the rooms. The kitchen sink only worked if you kicked the cabinet underneath it. The guest bathroom looked like a crime scene made entirely of drywall dust. And yet somehow this was becoming his favorite version of his life.
Not because the house was beautiful.
It wasn’t.
Not at all. At least not yet.
But because every day looked like this. You sitting cross-legged on unfinished floors debating paint samples. Him pretending to care about backsplash patterns. The two of you eating takeout on an air mattress because neither of you owned actual furniture.
And that’s where you found yourself tonight. Sharing Pad Thai and listening to some vinyls on the record player Jack finally brought from the apartment. You put your dinner on the floor and laid back on the mattress, Jack followed as he put down his take out and turned towards you.
“You feeling okay?” He ran his fingers through your hair.
“I’m just thinking.”
“Enough HGTV for the night. If you ask me another question about drawer knobs I’m gonna explode. I’m already having nightmares about Ikea.”
You chuckled.
“Not that, Im just thinking about…” you were quiet for a moment, your eyes almost expressionless as you battled whatever was eating at you. “Everything Charlie took from me.”
Jack's hand stilled in your hair, the other hand grabbed yours to stop you from nervously playing with his dog tags.
“He took so much from me, Jack. The career I worked so hard for, the health I took for granted, the trust I had for others— he saw my light and extinguished it. He did what he wanted with me and left me an empty shell.” A tear escaped you, Jack wiping it away with his thumb. “But he brought me to you. I just don’t know how to give myself to you.”
“Giving yourself to me?” he repeated quietly.
“My heart. My trust. My body.”
“Sweetheart…”
You shook your head, trying to hold yourself together.
“But I want to— give myself. Not because I feel like I have to. Not because I think I owe you something. But because I want my life back.”
His breath shuttered.
“And I want you in it, Jack.”
Jack leaned toward you, then hesitated. His lips hovered near yours before he gently pulled back, his eyes searching your face. A silent question. A chance for you to stop him.
“I love you.” He whispered, lips touching yourself softly before your bodies fused together.
You moaned into his mouth, welcoming his tongue as they danced together. It was feverish yet gentle. Jack's hands tangled into your hair before traveling down your body. Your body shuttered under his fingertips as he traced along your spine and cupped your ass in his hand.
You whimpered at the sensation, and Jack's eyes flew open.
“You m’Kay?”
You didn’t answer, just kissed him deeper and let your hand travel up his chest. He grabbed your leg, massaging your pillowy thigh before hiking it over his hip. Your heat brushed against him, feeling him hard and growing beneath his sweatpants.
Jack closed his eyes, pressing his forehead against yours and he began to grind his pelvis against your core. He growled at the sensation and it was enough to make your body to rigid.
It didn’t make sense to you, how Jack's body reacted to yours in such a way. To your body that felt broken and useless. That at any moment could betray you. But he was hard now. Painfully confined to his pants. He pulled away slightly as he brushed his erection against your clothed clit, causing you to gasp.
“M’sorry.”
But you just bit his lip, hands pulling at his curls.
“Want you.”
Jack pulled away slightly, hands firmly around your face as he studied you.
“You sure?”
You nodded, and his lips crashed against yours again. Your hands pawed at each others bodies, pulling at each other's clothes, hands shaking as you toyed with the buttons of his jeans. He pulled your shirt over your head, hands traveling to your breasts.
Your legs tangled together, Jack's hand slipping into your pajama shorts only to find you weren’t wearing anything underneath.
“Oh fuck...” he growled into your mouth as you felt yourself flush, “so fuckin’ wet for me already, hm?”
You buried your face into the crook of his neck, body tensing as he ran his fingers through your wet folds.
“Uh uh, baby. Wanna see you.” His other hand traveled up your body, across your scars until his hand was around your chin, pulling your face to meet his.
“I’m scared.” You admitted, hands gripping his biceps.
“I’m right here, we can stop at any time. You’re in control, c’mon, get on top of me.”
Jack rolled onto his back, guiding to straddle his hips, your body perched on top of his.
“Fuck you’re beautiful, look at your body.” His eyes traveled. Your plush tummy, your supple breasts and the scars that riddled them. “So perfect.”
You were embarrassed. Self conscious of the scars Charlie left behind. The permanent mark he made on you. The reminder.
But Jack saw your resilience, your strength and how far you’ve come— how far you’ve healed.
You crossed your arms over your breast, the sudden exposure making you feel too vulnerable. Jack ran his hands across your ass and up your side to slowly and gently pry them away.
“You’re so beautiful. Don’t hide these from me.” He sat up slightly and licked across your chest before slipping your nipple into his mouth. His eyes rolled back at the mere sensation and his hips involuntarily bucked up into you, making yo gasp.
You rocked your hips against him and moaned as your clit rubbed against his shaft. You stalled at the sensation, but Jack's hands immediately found your hips and began to rock you against him once more.
“Fuck, that’s it— use me baby.”
“Jack— I can’t” you tensed under his touch, almost crying out at the stimulation. Jack cupped your face in his hands, pulling you down towards him and kissing you passionately.
“You can baby, I’ve got you. Let yourself go. Let yourself feel good.”
“I want to I just—“ you gasped as Jack rubbed the head of his cock against your bundle of nerves. Your body jolted backwards, away from his touch and off of his thick frame. “No! Jack— I can’t.”
Your eyes filled with tears, and you frantically reached for your clothes.
“I’m sorry, I just— I thought I was ready.”
Jack sat quietly for a moment, before sitting up and kissing your bare shoulder.
“It’s okay, don’t apologize.”
“No Jack, it’s not.”
“You’re allowed to feel good. You deserve to feel good.”
“I just don’t know what to do when I feel good. It’s too overwhelming. I feel… dirty.”
“Baby, you aren’t dirty.” He cleared his throat, you watched as his mouth twitched as he contemplated the words. “Have you ever done it yourself?”
“What?”
“Touched yourself. Made yourself feel good.”
You felt the heat rising in your chest and into your cheeks.
“Um, I mean— I stopped a long time ago.”
“What do you mean you stopped?”
Jack saw your face change, the way your brow furrowed as you thought back. Thought back to all the times you’d gone to bed with Charlie and he never let you feel an ounce of pleasure.
“Charlie didn’t like it.”
“What?”
“I’d touch myself when we’d— ya know. When we’d have sex, and he’d just swat my hand away. Said it was disgusting. I guess I started to believe him.”
Jack clenched his jaw at the revelation.
“I mean I guess he’s not wrong if you think about it.”
“No.” Jack said firmly. “There’s nothing disgusting about it. It’s a beautiful thing.”
“I don’t know about that.” You scoffed.
“Watching someone you love enjoy themselves? Watch your body unwind? I can’t think of many things I’d enjoy more.”
“Oh…”
“Yeah… oh” he said sarcastically. “So if you’d let me, I want to teach you it’s okay to feel good.”
You had spent so long believing your body was something that existed for other people. Something to endure. Something to hide. Something that could be taken from you.
“How?”
“You get to decide what feels good. What feels safe. What you like. What you don’t like.”
“Okay…”
“So tell me, before… everything. What’s something that you liked? What made you feel good? What didn’t make you feel good?”
You pulled your knees to your chest.
“I don’t know…” your breath caught “I’ve— I’ve never really been able to get off with penetration.”
“That’s okay, most women can’t.”
“I don’t know, Jack!” You buried your head in your hands. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Then show me.”
You looked up.
“What?”
“Show me how you used to touch yourself, I wanna watch you.”
And that’s how you found yourself laid back on the bumpy air mattress, fingers drawing lazy circles on your clit as Jack coached you through it.
“Can I touch you?” He panted, and when you nodded, he ran his palm across your bare chest. You moaned at his touch and the slickness of your folds. Jack growled. “There she is. That’s it.”
Your pace quickened, your mouth feeling dry.
“Fuck, Jack.” You panted, your back arching off the mattress. You reached for his hard, leaking member but he grabbed your wrist.
“Uh-uh. This is all about you.”
“Please Jack.” You cried out. “Please.”
You didn’t know what you were exactly begging for, but you were teetering on the edge of your orgasm. Jack noticed, of course he did, as your pussy clenched around nothing.
It crashed over you, white and hot— legs clamping shut as your back curled backwards. Jack grabbed your face, turning towards him and licking into your mouth with a messy kiss. Your skin felt like static as his hands rubbed against your stomach in slow circles. Eyes glassy with pleasure.
“That’s it baby.” He kissed along your neck. “That’s how you let go.”
Your chin wobbled, throat tight as you pulled Jack towards you, arms wrapped around his neck. His body was flush against yours, skin on skin.
“Thank you.” You cried. “It feels like I got a piece of myself back.”
“You were always there,” he whispered.
You looked up at him. His body hovering over yours now, elbows on each side of your head.
“I want you inside me Jack. I wanna feel you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Please.”
And when he sunk in slowly you cried out. Your back arched off the bed, palm firmly on his chest to try and adjust to his size. He stilled, his forehead pressing against yours as he licked into your mouth.
The bed squeaked underneath you as Jack began to roll his hips slowly, and you had to suppress a giggle. It was awkward, the way the air mattress rocked with sudden movements.
The laugh surprised both of you.
He glanced down at the air mattress as it gave another dramatic squeak beneath you.
“The most romantic moment of my life and we’re being betrayed by an inflatable mattress.”
You rested your forehead against his.
“I love you.”
Jack closed his eyes, taking a shaky breath.
“I love you too.”
His thumb found your clit, still swollen and sensitive from your first orgasm.
A guttural sound escaped you, eyes rolling back as your toes curled into the blanket. Your nails scratched along his back, leaving marks behind that almost mirrored your own scars. The scars Jack was tracing as he fucked you. His hands found your hair, pushing the strands that fell in front of your face.
“Look at me.” You did. “You’re here,” he murmured.
A tear slipped toward your temple.
“I’m here.”
His expression softened.
“You’re safe.”
“I’m safe.” You affirmed as you felt another orgasm building in your belly. “I’m here and I’m safe.”
He adjusted your hips upwards, fucking into your g spot as he threw your legs over his shoulders to get deeper. Your skin was clammy, your mouth going dry as you gasped at the sensation.
“Fuck Jack I’m— I’m gonna—“ his thumb found your clit again, tracing lazy patterns as your pussy fluttered around him. You were so tight he felt as if he was gonna slip out with each thrust.
“Me too— fuck—“ his hips faltered as he tried to keep up the pace, wanting to feel your release around his cock.
The orgasm hit you like a freight train, somehow stronger than the first. Your legs trembled and your back levitated off the bed. It wasn’t long before that Jack was painting your stomach with ropes of his cum, collapsing and panting in your ear.
You stared up at him, eyes wide as you lay beneath him gasping for breath. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound in the room was the uneven rhythm of your breathing slowly finding its way back to normal.
Jack rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching your face. His hand lingered gently against your cheek, brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen across your eyes.
“You okay?”
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. Your chest still rose and fell unevenly as you searched his face.
Finally, you nodded.
“I… I think so.”
Jack didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press. He stayed exactly where he was, giving you the choice to close the distance or ask for space. Your gaze drifted toward the ceiling, avoiding his eyes that bore into you.
“I’m not used to…I’m not used to someone asking me that.”
His expression softened.
“Someone checking if you’re okay?”
You gave a small nod.
“Well,” he said quietly, “I’m askin’.”
He handed you a glass of water and began to wipe his seed off your stomach.
“If you’re overwhelmed, tell me. If you need a minute, you take a minute. If you need me to hold you, I will. If you need space, I’ll give it.”
“I don’t really know what I need,” you admitted.
“That’s okay.”
“Can we— can we talk about the light fixtures in the guest bathroom?”
Jack chuckled, head falling against your shoulder.
Before We Knew Better 10 | Andrew 'Pope' Cody x reader
Rating: 18+ MDNI
Masterlist
Summary: When Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody was taken into care Smurf pulled some strings and got him put in a place close to Oceanside. That place was with you and your parents. Something Smurf would later regret when she realised that the bond you and Andrew forged in the month he was there was never going away. The years went by and the older boy became your best friend. Your protector. Your person. Fast forward and when Andrew gets out of prison he finds out Smurf’s hatred for you has gone to a whole other level.
Pairing: Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x reader
Warnings: smut, descriptions of injuries and blood, alcohol, mental health issues, death.
a/n: just a quick one to warn I didn’t have the chance to read through and edit this as much as I usually do but wanted to get it out. So apologies for any mistakes or anything. I’ll come back and read through soon. As always thank you so much for all the likes, comments and interest. 🖤 The smut in this chapter might be my fav.
Something that always struck you about Andrew was how still he could be when you knew a storm was raging in his head.
He didn’t bounce his leg. Yet he would always steady yours. He didn’t bite his nails. But would grimace when you did it and pull your hand away from your mouth telling you how even the cleanest people have germs under their nails. The problem, you had learned, was that when the storm finally broke through it could easily shatter his mind.
You’d been watching for it since you’d walked into the yard that night and seen Smurf laid on the workbench. It took you a second to realise she was gone but one look at Andrew confirmed it. He looked away from you instantly and you knew it was so that he didn’t fall apart now that you were there. The one person he needed.
The boys were stood around the table and without even thinking about it you closed the space between you both, pressing your chest against his arm so that you were angled straight to him. Your hand on his back. He leaned into you slightly.
You had zoned in on the blood on his white shirt and ear instantly but otherwise he looked okay. You glanced around at the boys. They all just looked in shock. Andrew looked broken.
J didn’t look affected. Something you took note of.
“We need to call the doctor you use. What’s his name?”
“Why?” Craig asks.
“We can’t take her to the mortuary like this, they’ll call the cops. She needs to have died in her bed from the cancer.” J was right but you wished for Andrews sake this could have been easier. You didn’t know what happened yet but you knew the selfish bitch would have made it as hard on them all as possible. Especially Andrew.
You keep your hand where it is on his back, knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do to help but be there. And even that wouldn’t stop the repercussions of Smurfs actions, you worried.
“And we need a doctor to sign the death certificate that says so.” J continued.
“I’ll call him.” Deran says calmly before leaving. You grab his hand giving it a squeeze as he walks past you. He just squeezes back.
“Where’s your truck?” J asks Andrew and when you look up at him you can feel your chest shatter. He looks lost, he looks like a little boy, the one you know is always somewhere inside the scary shell he hides behind. He’s not there. You can tell. “Pope.” J says abruptly to get his attention, making the man jolt slightly against you.
“What?” He says to J.
“Where’s your truck did you leave it out there?”
“I was in a gun fight.” Andrew snaps back. “I barely got out of there.” He lowers his voice, as though not wanting you to hear even though you were right beside him. Your stomach drops but you know it needs to be filed away for another time. Like so many things these days just to get through the day. You feel him dipping and you guide him to walk backwards and sit on the stool just behind him.
When he’s sat he looks up at you so helpless that you can’t hold back any longer and pull him into you. He wraps his arms around your waist like a vice, burying his face into the space just below your chest. You hold him close, almost hiding him from the other with one hand and the other arm wrapped around his shoulders.
When you look over at Craig he sniffs and you can tell he’s holding back the tears. You offer him a look that you hope shows how sorry you are. Despite who she was, she was their Mom. And you just knew something fucked up will have happened today. You’ve known it. Had a bad feeling hanging over you from the second he told you Smurf had a job and that she would be joining.
You glanced at J who just looked at you and Andrew with an unreadable expression. The pair eventually left. To go home or to sort out the next moves with Smurf.
When they’d gone you shush Andrew the way you often had over the years when things got too much for him. “Andrew…” You whisper and he pulls back to look up at you, tears streaming down his cheeks. You hold his face, clearing them with your thumbs, your own falling now. Not because of that woman.
Never. But because you knew how hard this was going to be on Andrew out of them all.
“Im so sorry.” You tell him tearily as you bend down to leave a lingering kiss on his forehead.
“She’s just… gone.” He says it he can’t believe it, yet you knew that he more than most knew what that sudden sickening finality felt like when it came to death. You just nod.
“Yeah… yeah she is.” You confirm. “And you’re going to be okay.” You look him in the eye because you need him to know it. To believe it. “I promise.” You whisper it with so much certainty he almost believes you.
The thing was you knew him so well.
You knew what Smurf was to him. How deep that bond went. Traumatic or not and this would undoubtedly break him.
You knelt in front of him without a word. His shoulders sagged the moment you did.
Slowly, he folded into you until your foreheads touched. His face turned, brushing against yours in a quiet, absent movement, like instinct had taken over before he'd even realised he'd done it.
You closed your eyes. One hand came up to cradle his jaw, your thumb stroking across his cheek. He leaned into it immediately.
Eventually you feel like you should give him time alone with her. You tell him you’re right inside if he needs you and he nods looking at you gratefully. Grateful that you always know when to give him the space he needs. With one last kiss on his forehead you leave him.
Andrew told you everything later that night as you lay facing each other in his bed, only an inch or so between you. About meeting his Uncle and Cousins. Learning about his Father. How there’d been a shoot out that Smurf had no intention of getting out of. How he’ had to drag her out of there and left his truck behind. That you were going to have to go to your parents house until they figured out what they were going to do about the fact his new found ‘family’ were out for blood.
But it was Deran who told you, as you gave Andrew time to say goodbye to Smurf, the part about her shooting Andrew. How badly it could have all gone wrong. How she had wanted to drag him down with her. Couldn’t stand the thought of him living without her iron grip.
“It was so bad.” Deran had whispered into your hair shakily as you held each other, terrified at the fact there could have been two bodies in the garage.
After Deran had left and Andrew walked into the house, dazed and covered in blood you had told him to go get a shower. You knew he needed some direction right now or he would just sit. You would look after him. You always would but there was something you wanted to do first.
J was sat by the pool when you walked out.
“Is there anything I can do?” You ask and he looks over his shoulder at you. He reminds you so much of Andrew in that moment, calm faced but the shiver down your spine told you there was more underneath. And you weren’t sure you wanted to experience it.
“You’re kidding, right?” He scoffed before looking back towards the pool and takin a swig of his beer. “Pope would murder me if I got you involved in this.”
He was right, you knew that but recently you were getting the feeling that no matter how hard he tried you were getting more and more tangled into the Cody family web.
“Just trying to help.” You say aggravated. You’d just heard how close Andrew came to dying tonight.
“I know. Thanks.” You heard J say to your retreating back but you didn’t acknowledge it.
When you walk into the garage you just stare at her for a few moments. Waiting to feel something. Not sure what you should be feeling. The only thing you can think is that the damage she caused throughout her life was very much still here, even is she was not.
When you were stood right beside her you kept expecting her to jump up. Another fucked up Smurf event. But she didn’t.
You’d leaned down, close enough to her ear as though she would hear you better before speaking.
“May you always get what you deserve.”
Then with one last look you turn and walk away leaving her alone and cold. Exactly as she deserved.
“I’m not going.” You told him the next morning. He hadn’t slept, you could tell. Every time you’d woken in the night he’d still been awake, he would kiss your face gently and shush you telling you to go back to sleep. Every single time you tried to stay awake but he would run his hands through your hair. Whispering ‘please sleep for me’ like it was all he wanted as he kissed your eyelids.
He’d held you all night replaying everything that had happened and what he needed to do next to keep you and his brothers safe.
“You’re going.” He replies in a voice that left no room for argument but you found some anyway.
“I am not leaving you right now.” You’re sat on his bed, legs and arms crossed and he sighs as though he’s looking at a petulant child.
He doesn’t say anything just puts your shoes on the floor in front of you, points at them and says “put them on.”
“Do I get breakfast first?” You want to create more time to I’ve him all the reasons you absolutely have to stay with him.
“Of course.” He says in a soft voice that breaks your heart. You don’t want to be giving him a hard time right now but leaving him would be the worst thing for him even if it was the best thing for you safety. You didn’t care.
You move to the edge of the bed and start to put on your shoes but he kneels down, gently moving your hands away before resuming the task. He gets worse when he’s stressed so you don’t argue it, knowing that it helps him. That something in his brain will have told him he had to put your shoes on for you, that he wanted to look after you.
Once he’s tied them perfectly you grab his face in your hands and he looks up at you with those sad eyes.
“Will this be easier on you if I’m at my parents, handsome?” You ask him softly and he melts into you as he nods, head dipping. His arms flexing as he leans against the edge of the bed before buying his head in your lap and wrapping his arms around your hips.
Biting your lip and squeezing your eyes closed to stop yourself from crying, you take a deep breath as your fingers card through his hair and rub his large shoulder.
“Okay.” You say when you think your voice is finally steady enough. He doesn’t say anything just squeezes you one more time before getting up, kissing you gently and walking out the bedroom door like he’s ready to kill anyone in his path. Like he wasn’t just curled in your lap like a puppy.
You finish your breakfast and walk to the door leading out to where the brothers were sat just in time to hear Andrew saying something to J.
“Lose the glasses you’re not John Gotti.”
To which you reply, “who’s John Gotti?” As you follow him into the kitchen.
He lets out a tired huff that’s almost a laugh as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Christ, sweetheart.”
The goodbye is painful for you both. He promises to get everything fixed as quickly as possible. You also make him promise to call if he needs you. You also send Deran a text to make sure he calls you if Andrew needs you.
He doesn’t reply but you don’t think too much into it.
It’s only two days later when he calls to tell you to come home. The butterflies in your stomach don’t leave you the whole drive but you feel like your stomach falls out as you walk up to the door.
Andrew had let you in the gate and meets you at your car, opening your door for you. You step out and straight into his arms where he keeps you pulled into him with no intention of letting you go. You manage to pull back just enough to look at him.
“What the fuck happened?”
“We took care of it.”
Pulling him closer the pit in your stomach doesn’t go anywhere like his presence usually makes it. You had a terrible feeling and you were right to.
The next few days were hell. You could barely get in touch with him and when you did he was vague. When you did see him he wasn’t there. Not really.
It was bad, just like you knew it would be but when he started avoiding you that’s when you got really worried. You’d gone to Deran’s bar to talk about it but he just put it down to him ‘being Pope’ and insisted this was normal.
He came to you one night after they’d done a job, walking in like he just didn’t know what to do or where to go.
“I can’t be there.” You know what he means. That house. You simply grab his hand and take him to bed. No questions, no lectures. That was the last thing he needed.
He curls up on your bed in the dark and you climb in behind him, kiss his cheek and start talking. About anything and everything. Insignificant things that had happened in the last few days as you stroke through his curls and he falls asleep instantly. You know he probably hadn’t really slept in days.
He’d done it for you first. Whenever anything bad happened, whenever you codlin’t sleep for the pain sneaking around your chest. It became something neither of you ever had to ask for, just did.
When you wake up he’s not there. It’s 4am. You walk into your hallway and see him stood there facing your front door, like a guard.
“Andrew?” You whisper softly knowing there was a chance he was sleepwalking again.
He moves so slowly, just a shadow as he turns his head. “Julia?” He asks and you freeze. No idea what to do. You’d seen him sleepwalk before, you’d woken him up before but this felt different. Like his shattered mind had finally stopped holding him together.
“Andrew…” You say your name hoping to wake him, or bring him back, you weren’t sure.
“Julia…” This time it isn’t a question and a second letter he gasps as if waking you from a bad dream. He freezes and won’t turn around. You say his name but he just apologies as he rushes out. Still making sure to lock it on the way out.
“Fuck…” You curse before getting rest and grabbing your keys. The sun is is just starting to rise when you get to The Cosy house after driving around for in obvious places looking for him with no luck.
You look in every room but he isn’t there. J is fast asleep with some girl and you kick the mattress, he jumps, sitting right up. He’s clearly got the fear all the Cody family have when he grabs a gun from the side of his mattress. Once he see’s it’s you he lowers it with an annoyed sigh. The girl he’s with looks terrified and usually you’d feel bad but you’re in no mood.
“Have you seen Andrew?”
“What? No…”
“Useless.” You growl before walking back out slamming his door shut behind you.
Deran wasn’t answering.
Craig was as dismissive as ever making some joke about how you are allowed to be apart for more than 8 hours.
You were sat in your car in their driveway deciding where to look for him next when you got a call from an unknown number.
It was the hospital. They don’t even finish explaining anything past having Andrew there and you were already back on the road getting there in record time, driving in a way Andrew would definitely be mad at you for if he witnessed it.
He’s not hurt.
He’s not physically hurt.
You can fix this.
He’s not hurt.
Was the mantra going round and round in your mind as you walked into the hospital.
“Andrew Cody?” You ask at the desk, flustered. “You called me. I’m his next of kin.”
“Right through there.” She directs you. “Third bed.”
You rush down and when you finally see him all you want to do is dive on him but you hold back.
“Andrew…” You say thinking back to the last time you’d seen him, calling for Julia. When he looks up at you, finally notices you, he says your name and the sigh of release makes you physically sag. Then you do go to him, pull him into a hug which he leans heavily into. “I was so worried.”
“I… I’m sorry.” He says and the vulnerability in his voice destroys you.
You pull back to look at him.
“Hey… no.” You shake your head as you look him in the eyes. “We’re not doing that okay? Don’t apologise for something you can’t help.” All the things you’d tried to drill into him over the years, all the behaviours you tried to gently unlearn from him came back at their worst when he was like this.
His mouth turns downward and he looked utterly miserable.
“Can I take you home?” You ask gently. He nods and stands, grabbing your hand letting you lead him out.
In the car he opens up to you, apparently the shrink he had spoken to in the hospital had said he needed to. He complained that she was pushing his buttons.
“She was trying to help, handsome.” You tell him. “I think it’s good.”
“What happened… I remember falling asleep with you.” You look over at him, he’s studying you carefully.
“You… you were stood in the hallway. You kept saying Julia.” You look over at him as you stop at a junction. The way his fists are clenched on his thighs. His lips pinched together like he’s angry, at himself of course and he’s no longer looking at you. Ashamed.
BEEP!
You gasp as the sound jolts but before you gather your bearings Andrew has opened the passenger side door and started to get out, face like thunder.
“Andrew!” You yell, in the nicest possible way. The way a kindergarten teacher would. “No! Get back in here!” You reach over just in time to hook a few fingers into one of the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him back in. You don’t succeed of course but he feels the pull and it makes him turn to look at you, a dangerous look in his eyes.
“He’s being an inpatient little fucker!” He spat as he looked over at the car behind who has suddenly gone quiet.
“Andrew…” You plead.
“He made you jump.” He said, this time to you with a soft voice.
“I’m okay. I am begging you to get back into the car.” You say it and he hears the weariness in your voice. With one last look at the car behind you, hopefully not to memorise his license plate he gets back in.
Once it’s safe you turn.
“It was my fault.” You said. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“No it wasn’t.” He said before you’d even finished your sentence and despite yourself and the situation you laugh tiredly. It was sweet, in his own way, he knew how much you hated stuff like that but it also showed how short his fuse was at the moment. And that is what scared you.
When you get back to The Cody house you can tell by the cars that J and Deran are there. You lead over to kiss him gently, he kisses you back following when you pull back.
“Do you trust me?” You ask him,
He looks at you like you’re crazy.
“With everything.”
“Will you let me take care of you?”
“You always take care of me.” He says in a small voice that nobody would believe was him.
You nod. “Can you go pack a bag for me?”
He stares at you and you know a million thoughts a minute are going through his mind. But he nods.
“I’ll be back in less than an hour okay?” You tell him. He nods and gets out of the car before walking around to your side, you roll the window down.
“Drive safe.” He says like every time you’re about to drive away and puts his head into the car to kiss you one more time.
When you pull back into his drive he’s already stood there waiting arms hanging at his side with his duffle in one hand. He looks like a caged animal, eager to escape. He walks over and taps on your window.
“We’re taking the truck.” He tells you as you roll your window down. He grabs your bags out of the trunk before you park up and get out.
He doesn’t say a word as he drives you both away but the further he gets away from Oceanside the more irritated he seems to get. He barely engages with your questions or small talk. Not that he was a huge talker anyway, but still.
After a couple of hours you’re on the long empty roads in the desert. Ones you know he’s driven many times but his twitchiness still had you on edge. And then he started speaking what seemed like a stream of consciousness to you.
“She showed me where my Dad was buried.” He told you, a sharp edge to his voice. “Didn’t even know I had a Dad.”
You shake your head. “What happened to him?” You’re walking a fine line and you know it between angering him and helping him. You just want to get him away from the subject of Smurf.
He didn’t answer, his knuckles grip the steering, you weren’t even sure he was listening. When he sped up you stiffen but deep down you know he won’t put you in danger. You dread to think how he would have been alone.
“Andrew…” You say warningly.
“Wanted me dead.” He says speeding up again but this time there’s a car coming on the other side of the road.
“Andrew!” You cry, voice full fear despite trying your best to hide it. This seems to snap him out off it and his foot comes off the accelerator just as the cars passing you. He hits the break and you stop with a skid in the road. He lets out an angry cry hitting the steering wheel so hard you’re sure he will have hurt himself. You think that might have been the point.
You take a moment, eyes closed to push away the tears but before you can open them you hear his car door slam. You follow. He’s stood in front of a huge sign someone has painted.
WHO ARE YOU?
————————
FIND THE TRUTH
He hears your feet crunching on the gravel behind him.
“I’m sorry.” He says but it’s tired. He’s tired of apologising. He’s tired of feeling like he’s losing his mind. He’s tired of everything being so goddamned hard.
“Don’t.” You say simply and you thread your fingers through his, staring at the sign too.
A truck drives behind you up to a chain link fence where more signs hang. “What is this?” He asks and as you walk a little further down with him you see a sign.
“Kinship of light & truth.”
“Some hippy cult shit by the looks of it.” You shrug and try to pull him away slightly. “Come on. I’m hungry.”
He smirks slightly. It doesn’t reach his eyes but the fondness for you never leaves, never has. Even throughout all of his episodes over the years.
“Food.” He agrees before leading you back to the truck.
“Maybe I should drive?” You say with a teasing tone, trying to lighten the mood. It was very hit and miss but sometimes he would play along.
“Shut up.” He scoffed as he opened the passenger side for you.
“Your hair looks really good today.” You smile up at him as you pass to climb in. You always tried to compliment him on things, even trivial. Anything to get this mans confidence to where it should be.
His lips upturn at one side and you take it as a victory.
After you’d found a small town close by and eaten you were back on the road. Andrew had been driving for the last three hours, still on the long straight dessert roads. He had let you drive for an hour or so, only because you begged to but the second you yawned he made you stop and swap.
You had both decided there was no plan. You would just drive and be together. And for the first time since you can remember he wanted this.
He needed this.
To get away from the death, the destruction, the pressure and memories of it all.
For once Andrew Cody was thinking of himself.
Now you were relaxed in the passenger seat happily watching him drive along, golden freckled skin wrapped around the muscles of his arms in the setting sun. You hadn’t seen another sole for a long time and he had almost a peaceful look on his face. You smile over at him. This is all you ever wanted.
He caught you smiling at him, eyes never staying on the road long, softening in that way they only ever had or would for you. The man who handled violence and all the dirty work for his family was gone for a moment, just leaving behind your Andrew. His hand slid across the console, fingers threading through your before resting both in your lap.
“We should stop soon. Is there anywhere to stay close by?” You ask.
“You tired, sweetheart?”
“No. But you’ve been driving all day. Pretty much.”
“I’m fine.” He grins dismissively, like he has some secret knowledge that you don’t. Like he isn’t worthy of being worried about. Cared for. Adored.
You decide to remind him.
“You’re a good driver right?” You ask with a slight grin. He narrows his eyes at you, noticing your tone immediately.
“The best.” He said. He found it so easy to be confident about things that he could do and not who he was. “Better than you anyway.” He teases back.
“Well yeah..” You scoff. “Wanna test that out?” You ask as you let your hand reach over to stroke the bulge in his jeans.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened, a sharp exhale escaping him. The man who never hesitated, never faltered in high pressure situations was struggling to maintain composure and it was addictive.
“Yeah.” He says in a clipped tone.
You undo his pants and he lifts his hips just enough for you to move them and pull out his already hardening dick. “Thank you.” You whisper as you look up at him, his dick in your hand. You wait to make sure he is okay with it.
He let out a breath as he gave the slightest nod and takes the hand closest to you off the steering wheel to open his arm to you as you lean into his lap. You suck on the tip first before slowly inching down as far as you can take him. He pants as one hand squeezes the steering wheel and the other strokes gently up and down your back. The truck stayed perfectly steady on the empty road, his control absolute because as good as it felt he couldn’t afford to lose it. Not with you in the car.
You speed up slightly, letting the spit drip down his cock to help the hand that joined your efforts twist around the base. His hips lifted off the seat instinctively as he moaned your name. You moaning right back.
“Sweetheart…” He tries to speak. “I gotta…” But you choose that moment to take him right to the back of your throat creating a vacuum around his cock with your mouth. He was fucking your mouth, slowly and carefully. “That’s…”
You know he’s struggling but you trust him completely so you keep going but he grips the back of your neck with enough strength to pull you off him. “You’re gonna make me…”
He starts to say as looks down you’re looking up at him, lips swollen and wet, pupils blown and so obviously enjoying yourself. It makes his cock twitch and leak pre cum, which you happily lick up.
The pleasure shot up his spine and for the first time the car jerked to the wrong side of the road before he quickly corrected himself. He was fighting a losing battle. “I can’t come right now.” He ordered, voice rough with need but he wound’t risk it. “But you can.”
The hand he had a grip on the back of your neck with slid around to your front, pushing you gently back into your seat. You don’t have much time to think before he’s flipped your dress up and impatiently ripped your lace panties clean off you. “Sit back, sweetheart.” He commands and although his eyes remain on the road he doesn’t wast a second before dipping into your wet pussy and finding your clit. Rubbing slow, tight circles. “I want you to come.”
You spread your legs for him, his fingers easily sliding over you, he couldn’t believe you were so wet from sucking his dick.
“Put the seat back a little.” He tells you and so you do, gasping when he uses the space to turn his hand, two thick fingers entering you, his muscled arm across your torso whilst his hand his buried between your legs.
You moan as his fingers slide in and out of you, his palm bumping and rubbing against your clit.
“You’re so good for me.” He says, barely a whisper as he glances at you beside him as much as he can safely do so, jaw locked tight in concentration.
You gasp when his palm stays grinding into you at a certain angle, fingers curling inside you. “So good..” Your hands cling to the arm pressed into your chest. You look over at him, the other arm tensed as he keeps control of the vehicle and something about it makes you crazy.
“Yeah?” He asked, in a satisfied rasp, fingers curling deeper making you arch your back in the seat. “Look at you…” He says admiringly as you’re all spread out for him.
You know it wasn’t an order but something about the way he says it makes you look down where you could see his strong hand pushing into you, your swollen clit rubbing against his palm. He groans your name when he notices your face when you’re watching. “You like watching?”
“Mmhmm.” Is all you can get out before your head falls back against the headrest, hips beginning to rock into his hand. He barely had to do anything.
“Good girl.” His voice an encouraging deep lull. “Take what you need, sweetheart.” He repeated the words you’d used to him and it made you clench around him and cry out.
He stops all movement suddenly.
“Pull your dress back down.” He says in a calm but serious voice and you’re confused until you see the headlights of what seems to be a large truck heading towards you. You cursed loudly but does as he says and close your legs around his hand which he leaves exactly where it is. He would never pull out, not when you were this close.
And you were so close, but he codlin’t risk anyone seeing you that way. You understood but it didn’t make it any easier as you rocked your hips and whimper.
“Shh, angel.” He soothes, moving his hand ever so slightly so that his thumb could reach your clit, stroking it so, so slowly you banged your head back against the headrest in frustration.
Once the lorry passed you looked over at him. “Please…” you whine.
“Not yet, let it get a little further away.” You almost suspect this is partly for his own enjoyment by the way his cock throbbed painfully in the place he had haphazardly pushed it back into his jeans.
You can’t help but let your legs fall open again, one hand sliding down to grip his wrist as your body twitches involuntarily.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” He murmured sympathetically but his fingers never moved. He waited until the tailgates of the lorry were tiny red dots before he moved again, hand maintaining the exact steady rhythm he knew you needed. “That’s it.” He murmurs as he feels you clench around his fingers straightaway.
You cry out his name as you come apart. He usually waits, working you through the aftershocks, letting you ride it out but he pulls out his fingers the second he knows you’re finished, turning the truck harshly off the road.
The truck hit the asphalt abruptly, bumping into the dirt shoulder sending gravel and dirt shooting up against the car, all the while he’s sucking his fingers clean. When the truck came to a stop in a cloud of dust he unbuckles himself before grabbing you by the hips. “Backseat. Now.” He guides and lifts you over the console into the back seat.
Then he’s out and walking to back to join you, jeans pushed down to his knees as he sat down in the back seat. His cock is hard and swollen, wet with so much pre cum. He was massive, balls tight with need and it made your pussy ache, especially knowing he had just made you come with absolute patience.
He had clearly lost that now as he grabs you by your hips and hauls you into his lap operating purely on instinct. Dress shoved up to you waist exposing you completely whilst he grabbed the base of his cock, lined himself up and pulled you down onto him.
The second you start to sink down on him he lets out the most pathetic sound and it only makes you weaker. You brace yourself on his shoulders pressing close into him as you start to move up and down.
“Fuck… I can’t… ugh…” He codlin’t even form sentences as his hips were already bucking up into you. You keep riding him pulling him in for a deep kiss, tongues sliding over each other as he grabs your ass, helping you lift and slam back down. His fingers clumsily pull down the front of your dress to expose your breasts, mouth wrapping around one nipple, the other caressed by his hand.
“Need you…” He pants.
“You’ve got me… you’ve to me…” You whimper breathlessly, comfortingly. His cock throbs inside of you making your pussy clench, you both moan. "You wanna see?” You whisper against his lips but you don’t wait for an answer. You lean back against the seat behind you giving him a perfect view of where you are joined. Hoping it would effect him just as much as seeing his hand between your legs did you earlier.
His eyes lock onto where you’re connected, watching himself disappear inside you as you stretch to accommodate his size. You start rocking back and forth whilst he’s completely inside you and you feel him twitch and expand inside you but he sees it.
His head falls back against the seat, his hands gripping your thighs as he says your name in a broken whimper. It’s your undoing and he can tell from your gasp you’re about to come. He rocked up against you, keeping himself deep, watching as your walls flutter around him, your eyes wide and back arched.
“Yes, yes, yes…” He breaths.
The way his eyes flick greedily between your face and the way your pussy is wrapped around him turns you on even more and you come so hard, wetting his cock even more.
The visual alone is enough to tear a ragged moan from him as he hols your legs open and starts snapping his hips upward. You moan his name and meet his thrusts as he continues to not know where to look. He was trembling as one deep thrust has him tensing up underneath you, something that sounded like a sob tearing from him.
Emptying himself in you with broken, helpless noises and his eyes rolling back you feel the thick come coating your walls and moan his name. You look down and his come is already leaking out of you but his cock was still pulsing and he was still writhing under you. After what felt like minutes he finally seemed to calm down.
“Fuck…” He didn’t know what to say. He was a mess. You both were. You’re both shaking when you all forwards onto his chest weakly, his arms wrapping around you immediately.
“I think we made a mess…” You whisper apologetically after a few minutes as you feel more of him leaking out of you.
A weak breathless laughter makes his chest vibrate against yours. He was still twitching inside you, his heart only just stopped hammering against your ribs.
“Yeah.” He rasped, voice almost gone. “Worth it.”
You knew he was too exhausted, too sated and utterly destroyed to do anything right now. You knew because you were exactly the same. But by some miracle all he cared about in that moment was the weight of you on top of him and the evidence of the moment, the memory you’d just made. He would clean it up but not right now.
You’d found a motel, not the nicest but you didn’t care as long as you could shower and sleep with Andrew beside you.
Then you were back on the road.
“Can I ask about your Dad?” You say a couple hours into the drive the next day.
He just nods once.
“So he died?” You asked.
“Yeah.” His voice was gruff and full of emotion he wasn’t sure he was allowed to have. He had resented his Father for so much of his life having been told nothing from Smurf. Understandably he had assumed that like Deran and Craig’s Dad’s that his and Julias had just left.
“I’m sorry.” You say as you reach over to grab his hand. Since the night before he had been ever so slightly less tense.
“Me too.” He says with a slightly shrug of his shoulder.
“Did you find out anything else about him?”
“Billy said he was the only one my Mom actually loved.”
You actually smile at the thought of Smurf actually in love. Toy with the idea that if Colin had lived then maybe she wouldn’t have been such a bitch.
“That must be where all the good in you came from.”
He doesn’t acknowledge it and you’re not surprised.
“Stop!” You shout point at a sign for a town. “Turn. Please.” And of course he does. “Can we get day drunk?”
He looks over at you, amusement in his eyes. “It’s one fifteen.”
“It’s five o clock somewhere, that’s the saying right?” You look over at him hopefully.
“It sure is, sweetheart.” He sighs with a lightness you haven’t seen in him in weeks.
That’s how you end up drunk at 4pm in the afternoon.
The only way to describe Andrew "Pope" Cody drunk was that he'd go one of two ways. There was never an in-between.
And you knew that tonight was a gamble.
But if it went the way you hoped it would… It'd be worth it.
And it was.
“Do you remember…” he lets out a small laugh. “That time we were swimming in the ocean and you thought something had bitten you?”
“It hurt!” You laugh along. You love him like this. It’s far and in between but he is almost care free, he is right there in the moment with you.
“It was seaweed.” He said his head tilted forward looking up at you, a tight smile on his face.
“It moved!” You argue.
“The tide moved.” He deadpanned as he slid closer to you on the booth you were both sitting on. You happily leaned into him, his arm resting on the top of the seat around you. “Remember when you used to count my freckles?” He said in a low, rough voice. Your stomach flutters at the memories of how many times you’d started and never been able to finish.
The ways you both got distracted.
“Yeah… I’ve still never finished that.” You look up at him with lust filled eyes, a look he knew so well by now.
He dips his head letting his lips meet yours in an intense kiss, his large hand cupping your face, surrounding you in the back booth of a dive bar. You feel the soft growl in his chest rather than hear it and you pull back to remind yourselves where you are.
Time goes on and you never want to leave, in that bar you could both be anyone. Just a normal couple reminiscing and unable to keep their hands off each other. But you were quickly learning life was just always waiting to throw something at Andrew Cody.
You were going to get your last drink under his watchful eye of course as he could see the bar from your booth. Instantly you knew what was going to happen when a man came over, correction the drunkest man in the bar came over slamming his glass down on the bar next to you. His drink spilling out over your arm and the already sticky bar.
You gasped on instinct the mans blurry eyes finding you and in the back of your mind you knew Andrew would already be standing up.
Shit.
“Shut up bitch.” He slurs. “You were in my wa…” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence because Andrew grips the back of the mans neck, not unlike he had done to you last night just without the tenderness, of course.
Before the obliterated man even has time to know what’s going on he’s yanked back before being smashed into the bar top so harshly you hear something crack.
Silence follow but you react quickly.
"Fuck..." you whisper, grabbing Andrew's arm. "Come on.”
You tug, but he doesn't move.
He's a statue.
Every muscle in his body locked, his eyes fixed on the man crumpled over the bar.
You know that look. And you know he won't leave until he's decided the threat is gone.
You don't let yourself think about what that might mean.
“Andrew please, look at me.” You plead with him as the chaos starts, someone shouts to call the police, the drunk guy passed out on the floor, other men approaching warily. Like they want to fight him but recognise something in him.
His eyes shoot your the second you ask him to and he finally lets you pull him out of the bar. He’d parked the car around the back where there had been no cameras, such an Andrew thing to do but you were glad of it now.
“You shouldn’t drive.” You say.
He snorts still obviously slightly under the influence of it, or his version of that anyway. “I think we’re a little past traffic offences.
“That’s not funny!” You shout back but laughing despite yourself.
“Get in the truck.” He demands with a smirk you would commit your own crimes to see more often.
He speeds away and once you’re back on the freeway you’re laughing and laughing. Andrew looking over at you with a light in his eyes you wish you could bottle and give to him in his bad times. You ask him to stop eventually, it was getting dark and you hadn’t found towns close by.
You’d backed sleeping bags and blankets just in case and so you set up in the bed of his truck for the night, under the stars. You were lay beside each other holding hands, looking at the sky, stealing looks at each other.
Or you were stealing looks at him and he was just unashamedly staring at you.
“You still love me.” It’s a statement and you smile wide as you turn your head to look at him. You’d heard him question it far too many times. “After everything…” He swallows and looks up at the stars again. “After everything I’ve done.”
“Always.” You tell him.
“If you love me…” He says, his voice becoming unsteady as a tear runs down the side of his face. “I can’t be… completely bad.” He says it like he’s studying it, trying to make sense of it.
You sit up just enough to hover over him and wipe his tears, even though they keep coming.
“Why have you never been scared of me?” He looks completely broken by everything, but not in the way he did a couple of days ago. The distance was definitely helping.
“Because I know you.”
“I’m not sure I do.” He says shakily, clearly unsettled by the blackouts he’s had recently.
“Then let me, handsome.” You tell him softly as you stroke his hair back from his forehead.
He looks up at you like that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “But you know what I’ve done.” He cries.
“I also know why.”
You know he’s done when he straightens his face, he’s not going to argue it, not right now at least. He pulls you down onto his chest, holding you tight, his hand grabbing your before securing in on his chest under his own.
“I love you.” He whispers.
“I love you.” You reply.
You’d been gone a week when you started to head back. You knew it wouldn’t be permanent, this was Andrew. This was his brothers. You were just so glad he was coming back in what seemed to be a stronger frame of mind.
You’d had more sex than you could count, worked through things with him and you were sure this trip would stay sacred to you for a long time despite the way it came about.
Not far from Oceanside you had asked if you could stop by your parents. He was wary at first. Although he saw them from time to time and they were always nice to him, knowing he was a constant in your life despite being scared of his reputation. The thing was, and they had told him so, he would always have a place in their home and a soft spot in their hearts. They knew his history.
“We always knew he snuck in. We thought it was sweet.” Your Mom says as she puts a drink in front of you both.
You grimace knowing how unsweet they would think it was if they knew what you actually got up to. The modified look in Andrews eyes as he stared at the table almost made you lose your composure. You rub his thigh reassuringly under the table.
“You had a nice trip then?” Your Dad asked, looking at Andrew.
“Err, yeah. We did thank you.” He replies with a nod. Most people would have gone into details but you supposed it wasn’t exactly the vacation most people would expect.
The conversation goes a lot like that before Andrew excuses himself. You were all used to this. Used to Andrew so it didn’t matter.
“Is he doing okay?” Your Dad asked, you’d told them about Smurf passing from cancer.
“He’s…” You nod. “He’s getting there.”
“Awful woman.” Your says from in the kitchen.
“Mom!” You scold with a smirk.
“Well she is.” You all laugh. Your parents had more right than anyone to hate Smurf after all they’d seen the social services report and probably saw things they would never repeat. Even to you.
After a while you follow him outside and see him staring up at the treehouse.
“This is where we met.” He rasps, nodding his head up once as you approach.
Once you’re stood beside him you adopt the same stance, looking up at the place it had all started.
“Yep.” Your voice is full of fondness and he looks at you, eyes rimmed red like he cannot believe that him coming into your life could ever be a fond memory.
“I’m such a fucking idiot.” He holds back his tears but his voice is wrecked.
“What?” You say surprised, having thought you were discussing a nice memory.
He swipes his hand over his eyes once. “I love you.”
He says it slowly. Almost like he’s only just realising it but you know that’s not the case.
You say coming to stand in front of him about to say it back and ask what he means but he speaks before you can.
“I kept waiting.”
“For what, Andrew?” You ask so confused.
“To be good enough.” He says it simply, like he’s not just torn your heart from your chest at his admission. You always knew he held himself back that little bit, you always knew he didn’t feel worthy maybe but hearing him say it… killed you.
“Oh, Andrew.” You cry and pull him into you.
He pulls back only enough to take your face in his hand, study your face, bit by bit.
“Come home with me.” He says, voice rough with emotion. You scrunch up your brow in confusion before you realise what he’s saying.
Make a home with me.
Make a life with me.
“Your home?”
“Our home.” He clarifies with a small smile. “I know it’s not… I’ll still have to…”
“Shh…” You tell him as you pull him down to kiss you. “Our home.”
You smile up at him and he lifts you by your thighs, wrapping your around him properly.
“Was that our first home?” You ask teasingly as you look up at the treehouse and he laughs swatting your ass lightly.
A/N: Just a smutty little drabble, no plot! I normally hold myself to a rule not to write Pbois if I haven't watched them, but as a thank you 🎁 to @kokoluwie for making this amazing gifset, I had to break it 🥰 Thank you for fulfilling my request and all your amazing gifs and edits from the Behemoth! trailer - we all benefit from your talent!! xoxox
Warnings: 18+ Content (MDNI pls), established relationship, fingering, nicknames.
Dividers by @saradika-graphics ty😘😘
As soon as the front door closes behind him, Alex breaks from your heated, messy kiss and whispers your favourite words,
“Let me play you, darling.”
Giggling, you toe off your shoes and extend your hand to place onto top of his large palm, already upturned and reaching for you.
Both grinning dopily at one another, Alex raises your arm and spins you gracefully, much like you’ve seen him do with his cello and its endpin – a playful performance trick that never fails to awe the audience. His smooth, gentle handling of your body always has the same effect on you; by the time Alex finishes your turns, you’re in the living room, naked, all your clothes having mysteriously fallen off.
Cupping your face, Alex resumes kissing you; the press of his lips fervent, the dig of his calloused fingers firm, the pulse of his tongue against yours a testament to his restraint. You smile against his perfect lips, letting him chase yours as you turn away from him, resuming the desired position.
“What would you like to play tonight, my love? Bach? Beethoven?” you close your eyes, voice dreamy.
Alex presses himself close and hooks his chin over your shoulder, eyes darkening at the sight of the curves of your body, open and bare for him and him only; you feel him hardening against your backside. “Maybe just the fundamentals tonight,” he murmurs, hands sliding into place – one palming the swells of your breasts, the other snaking past your belly, “a musician is only as good as his foundation.”
You loll your head back against Alex’s hard chest – he makes you feel so cherished and venerated when he holds you like this, holding you like he does his most beloved instrument. Alex had once explained to you why the relationship between cello and cellist is the most intimate in all the symphony,
She sits between my legs, shielded and well protected, but the hold I have on her is precious. I cannot be overbearing or ever try to restrain her, confine her; I can only cradle her just right, just enough, so that she balances, safe – only then does she trust me, and only then, can she sing.
He loves you with that same gentle, thoughtful heart, and for that you love him with all of yours.
“An étude, then?” you barely have time to chirp your quip before Alex begins to play pizzicato with your body, strumming through the waves and dips of your dripping pussy with his strong, practiced fingers. He plays you from memory, knowing the map and tension of your body by heart – confidently and consistently, he plucks every note,
C string
G string
D string
A string
Sliding the rough pads of his fingertips through your folds, he expertly manipulates your pleasure so that you sing for him – a response to your lover’s call.
You cry out as Alex turns you into an instrument for his genius, showing off and alternating the same techniques that have made him a world class violoncellist: fingers dancing along your slit, he switches between stroke lengths - long and smooth, short and detached - so seamlessly, it makes you dizzy; anchoring his thumb, he rocks over your swollen clit with just the right pressure for your entire body to vibrate in ecstasy; sliding one, then two thick fingers into you, he drags, controlled, along the hug of your warm walls, coaxing from you his favourite song.
Far from being idle, the hand on your chest is equally as skillful, shifting between your breasts - toying, pulling and releasing its fistful of flesh to a hypnotic rhythm; nimble fingers arpeggiate, roll, and snap your sensitive nipples – pulling your perky peaks harshly upwards and releasing them to the twang of your gasps and melodic moans. Reaching your arms back to grab onto Alex’s neck, you fist the soft curls at its nape and arch, exaggerating the bounce of your tits – the sight is so lascivious, Alex has to bite a moan into your shoulder.
“Alex! Oh my god! Yes, please, please…”
“Please what, my darling?” a smirk is kissed into your skin, soothing the sting of his canines. Both of Alex’s hands slow and you whimper a soft, pathetic plea when you feel him withdraw from your cunt. He hums a sweet little harmony in your ear as he tortuously draws the back of his fingers through your slick like he would a bow over the strings of his instrument - purposeful, intentional. Chuckling at the way you jump when he knuckles over your sensitive clit, Alex asks you again, tone soothing and indulgent, “Yes?”
“Please, let me come, my love,” you barely recognize your own voice, it’s so airy and light, like you’re not even here.
Alex answers before you even finish saying the words, his desire to bring you to your climax overriding his patience. Without ceremony, he plunges his fingers back into your sopping hole and begins to thrust - fiery, impassioned, furioso. When you body starts to shudder from its impending crescendo, Alex bands his arm across your chest to hold you upright, rasping hot against your neck, “I’ve got you, darling.”
Continuing to piston in and out of your squelching cunt, his thumb circles your clit to an increasingly upbeat tempo, allegretto progressing to allegro; through your half-lidded eyes, you see Alex in your peripheral, his eyes closed, breathing laboured, soft curls bouncing wildly against his forehead. He’s lost now, lost to your pleasure the way you’ve seen him lost to the music, when he plays so passionately his arm becomes an extension of the bow. It occurs to you that tonight, it’s you who’s become an extension of him, his talent, his love.
The thought snaps the tightly strung wires in your lower belly and you come sharply, singing the high note that Alex wills from you. Slumping against his protective hold, you let Alex pull you down onto the couch and into his arms, cuddling you through your high with soft and tender kisses to your brow. When you finally return to yourself, you lift onto your knees and meet Alex’s mouth with a long, grateful kiss. Eyes full of love and mischief, your hand trails down his broad body to find the bulge in his pants waiting for your eager touch; smiling, you murmur against his lips, “My turn to play.”
Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI)
Summary: Your neighbor plays his cello way too fucking late, and all you want to do is get off and get to sleep...
Warnings: smut, masturbation, cello lessons, grey sweatpants, hot neighbor, voyeurism due to thin walls, bach, i have zero clue about this character but i want to fuck him, riding, unprotected p in v, finger fucking and sucking, like he HAS to be good with his hands right?!, written in a fevered few hours, i feel like that jon hamm gif
Words: 3,000
A/N: Did I fuck off and ignore work for a few hours to write this? Yes. Am I going to have to pay for it by working tonight? Yes. Is it worth it? I don't know man, I'm horny af for this new character. Siri, play "Fresh Out The Slammer" because I feel rejuvenated in my delusional porn writing. Gif made by me because I'm that fucking insane.
Masterlist
—-
The notes mock you, mock the catch of your breath, the beat of your heart, the way your fingers move across your clit, pressing and swirling. You’re so close, and yet so far. Your trusty vibrator, rose, and grinder sit discarded on your quilt. The mournful music filtering in through the thin bungalow walls and windows is not helping. So close. So far. Your orgasm drowns again.
You slap your hand down against your stomach, killing the last vestige of your mood and roll off the bed. You just wanted ONE singular orgasm, something to take the edge off. But no, there’s a sad cello playing some sort of depressing, somber thing that just leaves you even more frustrated.
You check your phone and grumble. 11:39. Who fucking needs Vivaldi or Bach this loud after eleven?
Your new neighbor, apparently.
You don’t even bother to close your robe when you stomp out into the damp night. Your bare feet squelch in the wet grass, and you don’t care. The music gets louder when you get to your neighbor’s door. It’s nice? You guess. You don’t even know anymore.
You pound on his door. Three rasps. You give your neighbor time. Nothing. So you pound again. Until the music stops. Footsteps get closer, floorboards creak.
The door opens, just like your jaw drops. Dark hair slicks back from a face that the gods might as well have sculpted. Sharp cheekbones, strong nose, plush lips, big brown eyes. He’s in a black tank top, ridiculously broad shoulders escaping the flimsy fabric. His gray sweatpants hang loose on his hips. His whole look suggests either a strategic carelessness or a total lack of giving a shit. It might be due to how fucking horny you are, but your new neighbor could be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
His dark eyes size and assess you. Your robe. The flimsy, light pink tank top sticking to your skin, the short, barely there sleep shorts with tiny, green polka dots. Your hair’s probably a mess, your skin still damp with a sweat of frustration. He looks almost amused at the sight of you, but his eyes linger a little longer than propriety should suggest at your thighs.
“Can I help you?” he asks. Deep, kinda dark, like a freshly poured cup of your favorite coffee.
“It’s la—” your voice squeaks. You clear your throat, square your shoulders. “It’s late. Your music. It’s… loud. Some of us have to, you know. Sleep.”
He leans on the doorframe, folds his arms, and your eyes square in on the way his biceps bulge, the line of his forearms. “Sleep,” he says.
“Yes. That’s right. It’s past 11.”
“Didn’t think it was that loud.”
“Could you turn it down at least?”
A thick eyebrow arches up. “Guess these walls are paper-thin. I suppose I could use a different bow.”
There’s no shame in his voice, no apology, and it just irks you more. You wobble a bit in the way he looks at you, half wanton desire, half boredom.
“I’d… appreciate that.”
“Mm,” he says, and his lip quirks up in a maddeningly handsome smirk… like he knows he’s gorgeous and getting under your skin. “You best get back to… sleep,” he says.
You nod, because you have no other fucking clue how to respond under his heated, cocky gaze and the revelation that the music was being played by him and not a too-loud stereo.
The silk of your robe swishes across your hot skin as you make your way across the grass to your bungalow. You’re sure your neighbor’s watching you the whole way and you don’t dare look back.
He keeps his word, you can barely hear the music when you lie back down in bed. Fuck him for being beautiful. Your whole body is still reverberating from the baritone rasp of his voice. You press a pillow over your face and scream an annoyed sound into it, as the heat of his gaze still blooms across your body.
At least now all you can hear is nothing but the sound of your breathing, picking up when the heel of your hand slinks its way back between your thighs. Jesus Christ, you’re even wetter now. You’re leaking a frustrating hunger, the image of your neighbor’s big shoulders and golden skin playing in your mind. You imagine his biceps pinning you down and his thick fingers hooking against your waist as he pounds into you.
“Fuck,” you whisper, picturing his wide palm against your mouth. You wonder what he sounds like when he cums, is it as sad and tragic sounding as the music he plays?
God, it’s so easy now. Your body’s arching up, desperate to feel how soft his tank-topped chest is when it’s shoved against your chest. You can almost feel him, the weight of him atop you, his dark eyes searing into you as you edge yourself closer and closer. You’re pressing needy circles against your clit, your thighs tensing and toes curling. “Fuck, fuck,” you moan out, too loud for your own good and the silence of your own bungalow. Your hips are moving against your hand harder, faster, and when you think of that damned smirk of his and the way he’d watch you shatter apart for him, you orgasm, hard and hot and loud. “Oh fuck, godddd,” you moan. You don’t even care. You want him to hear it. Maybe he will, with the thin walls. Maybe he won’t, because he’s too busy playing that damned music. Maybe he heard a hint, and now he’s sat, frozen in his chair, bow in one hand, listening to your own symphony between the walls.
—-
Two nights of silence, and then you hear it… a loud cat-like moan around 11 PM. Followed by another high-pitched mew. “Aleeeeex,” the shrill sounds. “Oh god, Alex.”
So, your hot neighbor’s name is Alex.
A rhythmic thumping starts up against your wall, fast, brutal, not sweet. You can’t help yourself as you move towards the wall, listening in for any type of low grunt or groan, but there’s nothing… just a repetitive smack of wood against drywall and the squealing of a woman.
You roll over, turn on your speaker, and pick up your phone. You know the perfect song. You scroll to the B’s in your music, find Cello Suite no. 2 by Bach, and let the sad, melancholy play… loud.
The pace just behind the shared wall picks up, and the wails of the woman speed up, along with the tapping against the wall. Now it’s your time to smirk, take that, Alex, and whoever he’s decided to fuck.
And when the roaring sadness of the music slows and quiets at a point… you hear it. A long, low groan timed perfectly to the song, almost like he was waiting for it.
You feel the angry roar of want in your body at the sound of him and let the song fade out as you reach into your drawer and pull out your vibrator.
—-
The next night, the cello is back, at 11 on the dot. Louder. Like it’s back to mock you. You shake your head and smile, willing it not to bother you as you turn in bed and put a pillow over your ear, but even through the muffled down, you recognize the song. It’s Cello Suite no. 2, just like you played him last night.
Damn, he’s talented. You have to give him that.
By 11:30, he hasn’t stopped, and the cello almost plays like a siren song to you and your sleepy, horny frustrations. You step out into the night air, and you swear the cool air hisses against your heated skin. No robe this time, just you and your light blue silky, short nightdress, complete with the lace trim across your breasts.
You punch at his door again, then stand back, arms crossed. You’re sure your nipples are pressing against the thin fabric, and you don’t care.
He answers almost instantly, and good lord, he’s only in a pair of boxers and a loose, button-up shirt.
“You’re playing on purpose now, aren’t you?” you ask him, no greeting, just attitude.
“I need to practice. Figured you’d like to hear it.”
You snort. “So why that song?”
His hand rests against the doorframe and he looms over you. “Thought I’d return the favor of last night.”
You roll your eyes and huff. “Thanks.”
He turns his head back to his living room, then back at you, deep brown eyes searing into you. “Come in. I’ll play you something else.”
“It’s late.”
“It’s not like you were going to sleep anyway.”
You don’t say anything, you just walk past him into his place. It’s neat, in order, vintage furniture with modern touches. His bow is discarded on the floor, the cello leaning against the wall.
He lifts his hand, guides you to his couch, a soft, buttery leather that dips when you settle on it, mindful of just how short your nightdress is. He bends to pick up the bow, and your throat goes dry as you stare at his ass. You blink yourself back to reality as he takes a seat and places his cello between his legs. God, his legs, strong and dusted with hair, he looks to be golden all over.
He begins playing. Something you don’t recognize, but it’s smooth and sultry. Your heart and body answer, heating and beating with each note of music that flows from the instrument.
Alex doesn’t look up, he’s transfixed by the music he plays, and you’re just as spellbound. You’re sure you’re breathing hard, sure your pulse is thrumming along to the song. You don’t know how long you sit like that, mesmerized by the music and the man. If this is how he looks as he plays, then you’ll surely sacrifice the nights of sleep, just to let this beauty out into the world.
His head tips back, neck straining as his head lulls back and forth, caught in the notes, and when he looks at you, dark brown eyes meeting yours, you know he can see the way your chest is rising and falling, the heat of your stare. He gifts you one of those damned smirks, but this time it’s different. It’s heated and full of desire. He watches you watch him, and you can’t look away. Every note he plays flows through you, from your ears to between your thighs.
Alex’s arm slows, the bow stopping, and the last warble of the strings escapes the cello. He sets the cello against the wall with reverence, his loose shirt gapes open as he turns, exposing golden chest and a dark line of hair. You try to adjust how you’re sitting, the leather couch sticking to you with the heat of your thighs.
His eyes roam over you, from your bare legs up to your chest, up, up, finally meeting your eyes again. He licks his lips, pink tongue against his plush bottom lip. He smiles, hot, knowing, painfully cocky. “Did you like it?” he asks.
You answer with a bobble of your head. Any type of words would just fail to be husked out of your dry throat. Goodness, you want him. You want him a way that’s almost embarrassing in the desperate, feral way you do.
"You want to try to play?" he asks.
You’re silent again, just another nod sent to him.
He pats his thighs, beckons you over, and you rise and pad towards him, going to exactly where he wants you. He parts his legs, and you straddle his lap, your back meeting his chest. You’re painfully aware of the silk of your dress clinging to the arch of your ass, the way your thighs bracket his, his skin meeting your skin. You move, hoping he can’t feel how wet you are for him, but you hear the small grunt, and you know he absolutely can.
He picks up the cello and sets it between both of you, the smooth wood is cool against your thigh. He wraps his arms around your waist, enveloping you in his strong arms, his chest flexing against your back.
You’re glitching, absolutely dumbstruck by how gentle and low his voice is as he places your fingers over the strings. “Here,” he whispers, guiding your hand to the cello’s neck. “Thumb here. Not too tight.” His hands are big and hot. His breath fans across your ear, and it makes you shiver.
“Now, try,” he says, handing you the bow. You attempt to make a song, but you’re so heady off the closeness of him that you’re too clumsy to do anything right. The bow draws across the strings, and it’s… like a car crash of a note, but he tightens his arms and chuckles low against your ear.
“Again,” he whispers, and you try. This time, the note is softer, a pleasant hum leaves the cello. “Good,” he says, lips grazing against your earlobe. He rewards you by letting his hand skim against your thigh.
There’s a shared hunger, an almost understanding, guided by the music and want that’s drifted between the walls. You melt and tense at the same time, and you feel the press of his cock against you when you tilt back and press yourself into him.
He slides his hand up, rucking up the hem of your dress. “You still want to play?”
You’re dizzy, barely holding onto the bow. “No.”
“Then set the bow down.”
You obey, letting it clatter to the floor. He takes the cello from between your legs and sets it aside while keeping you still locked against him, hand splayed against your belly. “Spread your legs,” Alex tells you.
You instantly spread, letting him slip his palm between you and trace your soaked pussy through the wispy layer of your lace panties. You almost lose it right there, hips jerking at the thick, callused fingers of his exploring the drenched line of your cunt.
He lets out a low, incredulous growl as he touches you, pressing his mouth to your neck, sucking at the skin. “Feel good?” he rumbles. “Yeah?”
“Fuccck,” you manage.
He smiles into your neck, slides his fingers into your panties, parts you, thick, middle finger slowly exploring before plunging deep into you. You moan, noisy and erupting, louder than any song he can play.
He fucks you with his hand, two fingers, thick and skilled, shallow then deep, giving you a pattern you’ll never guess. His thumb rubs circles on your clit, making you stupid with just how good he is at this. You’re sweating now, shaking, under the control of Alex’s possessive hands against your body.
He’s rutting and hard against you, whispering “that’s it, that’s it,” over and over as his fingers play you like an instrument he’s mastered.
You cum for him, so hard you shudder and squeeze. Head knocking back against his broad chest. He growls, licks up the sweat of you, holding you tighter as you ride and writhe against his fingers.
He pulls his fingers out, yanks your panties to the side, and frees his cock from the thin cotton of his boxers. You don’t know if you’ve ever wanted someone so bad before and when he brushes the fat tip of him against your accepting hole, you gasp at the promise of his size.
It’s one monstrous, behemoth of a thrust that makes your eyes flutter shut and all the air escape you. He fucks up into you hard, and you grab at his big hands, holding on as the old wooden chair frame creaks. He’s so fucking thick, overwhelming and rough, but Christ, the way your slippery cunt swallows him, it’s like he was fit for you. You ride him, back rubbing against his chest as he pumps in and out of you, the noise of your slick and his grunts crescendoing in the sex-heavy air.
He grabs your hips, planting both feet on the floor, and starts railing up into you so deep you let out a sob of his name. He’s rewarding and withholding at the same time, sliding all the way out, holding you above himself, letting you beg for him, until he plants all of himself into you. He slinks a hand up your body, thumb stroking your cheek before he sticks two of his fingers into your mouth.
You taste the sweet tang of your orgasm, tongue licking at the rough and ridges of his fingers. You suck, and he groans, bucking so hard the chair actually scoots back across the floor.
He must want to see you desperate and dumb, his other hand finding your moving between your legs, playing with you there. It only takes a couple strokes of his fingers against your puffy, needy clit for him to orchestrate your orgasm out of you. It’s shocking how fucking hard you cum for him, how white your vision goes, how the pulse of your body pulses a cacophony of beats. Alex fucks straight through your orgasm, cock spearing you as you whimper around his fingers and drip around his cock. But, he’s losing it now, panting into the crook of your neck, hips snapping so loud against you.
He pulls out, and you feel the slide of his cock head against your clit when he cums, thick, white ropes painting against your panties, your belly, the silk of your dress. You’re still floating high like the music notes he plays, a trembling mess in his arms when you lean your head back and can’t help but laugh. Alex chuckles, too. Both of you are sticky and soaked, pressed together, glazed in shared sweat and cum.
The cello sits unused, the bow on the floor. Alex’s forehead rests against your shoulder as he comes down. You think he’s going to say something smart and frustrating, but he just kisses your shoulder blade and tightens his arms around you.
The muse is musing, so fingers crossed it keeps up for while!
Okay this is where things really start to deviate. I'm actually really excited to be doing Din's pov earlier in the story than it was originally, it's going to go along with my plans really well!
As always I'd love to hear your thoughts if you've got them and if you want to be added to the taglist just let me know! 💛
Losing Grogu was the worst experience of Din's life.
He'd heard people talk about what it felt like to lose a child, the all encompassing grief that accompanied it, the hole in your soul that'd be ripped open only to never be filled again.
He thought he understood what that might feel like.
Then he held Grogu in his arms as he died and nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared him for it. He wanted to cry—scream until his lungs gave out and he was no longer breathing. He wanted to tear the galaxy apart, burn it to the ground, and leave nothing but ashes in his wake. The mental agony was far worse than any physical wound he'd ever experienced. He'd rather take a vibroblade to the heart than to watch as Grogu's bright eyes turned dull and empty.
He didn't think he'd ever find peace.
He'd never find something in his life worth living for again.
There was a span of time where Din had considered giving up completely. One day he'd sat in the cargo bay of the Razor Crest with his blaster in his lap trying to come up with any reason he could to not press it to his head and pull the trigger. He wanted to end his suffering. He wanted to stop waking up with an ache in his chest and a hole where his heart should be. The ship was haunted by the ghost of Grogu. Everywhere he looked, he saw empty spaces that shouldn't be. He could barely look at the controls in the cockpit cause every time he saw the ball on that damn lever, he would think about how it'd looked in small green hands.
The blaster had made its way to his skull, the cold tip of it pressed against his temple, his hands shaking with every sobbing breath.
The worst part of all?
He was too much of a coward to do it.
No matter how much he wanted to stop this never ending pain inside of him, he couldn't.
And then, somehow, life continued on.
He kept up with bounties, though after a certain point more of his targets were brought in cold than warm. If anything, the violence kept him grounded. At least that's what he told himself. In reality he was inflicting his pain on others, as if he could get rid of it by forcing it upon someone else.
Din knew he'd had a life before Grogu, but he'd been changed so much he'd never be able to return to the man he was before. But after his death? Din became so much worse than he ever was before.
Din quickly became able to wield the weapon he'd taken from Gideon—the Darksaber—with ease. Sometimes it felt like he was no longer in control, as if the very blade itself was the thing leading all his movements. He cut down people with ease, their lives even less of an after thought than they'd ever been before. The saber seemed to sing with every fresh drop of blood spilt. It felt good, something in it helped to distract from his anguish.
There were times he thought he could hear it whispering to him, saying things in the empty silence of his ship. The longer he had the weapon—the more he used it—the louder and more frequent the voices got.
Then, he found you.
All that time spent traveling planet to planet alone left him feeling isolated. It never bothered him in the past but the silence felt too heavy—some cycles it bordered on unbearable. Din had never seen the draw of the HoloNet before, but in his days of desperation, he found himself turning to it—not even entirely knowing what he was looking for. Though he knew the variety of content on it—of how easy it could be to partake in certain indulgences.
When he came across you doing one of your live shows, he was immediately enamored. Something about your beauty catching his eye in a way no one else had. He hadn't engaged in physical indulgences in so long but watching the way you touched yourself, the soft sounds you made—he was spilling into his fist far faster than ever before.
He became hooked on watching you. A good amount of his time in hyperspace was spent watching your shows.
And when the whispers became easier to hear, when they'd follow him into sleep, his thoughts around you grew more and more obsessive. Then he thought about what you could give him, what you could help him replace.
He was starting to think there might be something that could actually fix this pain. The voices told him he should, they told him how much better it would feel if he finally had someone here. They told him how good it would feel to have somewhere to put his feelings when he didn't know what to do with them. You could fix him.
You could fix it all.
He knew you were his. It was just a matter of time until you knew it too.
With the set of skills he had, finding you was easy. In fact he was so confident he would get you, he began to toy with you. He wanted to be able to taste your fear once he found you. He wanted you to be expecting him.
It truly did make it better when he finally came for you. And now having you here is even better than he could have imagined. He was so eager he couldn't stop himself from taking you as soon as he'd got the ship into hyperspace. When he first pressed inside you, he couldn't help but think about how incredible you felt.
The voices murmured in satisfaction.
He finally had you. Now he had everything he could need to manage the pain—to make his grief stop. You were stuck with him, and whether you wanted it or not, you would give him what he wanted.
