જ⁀➴ ♡ Your resignation should have been simple: hand Harry Castillo the letter, walk out of his office, and forget everything that happened the night you found him falling apart behind the closed doors of Castillo Holdings.
Forget his hands, his mouth, and the terrible, impossible feeling that, for a few stolen minutes, Harry had wanted you more honestly than he had ever wanted anyone.
Unfortunately, Harry has never been good at letting go of things he wants.
So when his family starts pushing too hard, when his mother asks one question too many, and when his brother’s perfect life is held up like proof that Harry has somehow failed at his own, he does the only reasonable thing a lonely, emotionally constipated man can do.
He lies.
He tells them he is engaged.
To you.
Now Harry needs you to spend one weekend pretending to be his fiancée in front of his family. Smile for the photographs. Wear the ring. Share his room. Let his mother adore you. Help him survive the lie he was stupid enough to tell.
In return, he’ll give you everything you asked for: your freedom, a clean exit from Castillo Holdings, and a recommendation letter to any company in New York.
Easy enough.
It’s not like Harry is using a fake engagement as an excuse to keep you close.
And it’s definitely not like either of you could fall in love over one disastrous weekend.
...Right?
જ⁀➴ ♡ tags: boss/assistant relationship, age gap, fake engagement, fake relationship, marriage of convenience vibes, forced proximity, grumpy x sunshine, workaholics with terrible coping mechanisms, mutual pining, banter, anxiety, loneliness, fear of abandonment, mentions of past emotionally abusive relationships, Harry believes he is destined to die alone, Reader believes love is not meant for her, Reader is Harry’s aggressive chihuahua, miscommunication final boss, pole dancing, unprotected sex, a frankly irresponsible amount of smut, possible breeding kink, one very non-jewelry-related pearl necklace, but don’t worry, babes, this is a rom-com, love is very much on the menu despite all the angst!
It's kinda ridiculous that we have to wait for your inconsistent posting of chapters. You said Saturday all the time, then your posting in the middle of the next week.
We get it, you have a life. But don't make promises you can't keep, its a bad habit.
yo this just pissed me off.
Now I'm going to bed because I WAS working on t&c, but now I suddenly don't feel like it anymore. Everyone say "thank you nonnie!"
Believe it or not, people have lives outside of Tumblr.
The problem is when some of you cross that line and start acting like you’re entitled to demand something that nobody, and I mean nobody, owes you. Harassing and hounding someone because they’re not posting on a schedule that happens to suit you is not normal behavior.
Please go outside, get some fresh air, and touch a little grass!
"I don't think you fixed me. Don't want you thinkin' that's your job. You just... made stayin' feel like somethin' I wanted to be good at."
Your eyes burned immediately. Tommy saw it and squeezed your ankle, but kept going before humor could rescue either of you.
"And yeah, I wanna be somebody's dad. I wanna see you be a mama if that's somethin' you want too. I wanna see what kind of kid we make. Whether they get your eyes or my curls. Whether they get your common sense, which'd be ideal, or whatever the hell Joel says is wrong with me."
His smile trembled at the edges.
"I wanna come home and have two people in this house I love so much it scares the shit outta me. I wanna teach 'em how to ride a bike, how to hold a hammer without smashin' a thumb, how to make pancakes shaped like somethin' other than Texas even though Texas is a damn fine shape."
He rubbed his thumb over your calf again.
"And nothin' would make me prouder than gettin' to do that with you. Watchin' you love our kid. Watchin' them love you. Hell, watchin' you become even more bossy because now you'd have backup."
Frank Castle is unexpectedly gentle… 18+ SMUT Masterlist
GIF BY @amhrosina
This man is anything but gentle. He comes home bloodied and bruised more times than not. Knuckles split, black eye, cut cheeks. So when you finally finally get him on top of you in your bed, it’s not what you expect at all.
You expected to get right to it, for him to simply slip his cock inside and do you. But he starts by teasingly kissing down your entire body, until he’s in between your thighs.
Slowly removing your panties and playing with your cunt until he feels your ready. He eases you with one finger before adding a second, and he loves the way you gasp when he does.
Then he laps your clit like he’s a man starved and you’re the last meal on earth.
Where you expected bruising grips and bite marks is all soft touches and long kisses.
Where you expected degrading, you received nothing but praise.
“That’s my pretty girl.”
“God you’re so perfect, like you were made for me.”
“You like that? This okay? Come on baby, I wanna hear you. Tell me what you want.”
“Feel so good around me, taking me so well.”
He even starts slow, letting you adjust to his size. He must’ve seen your eyes widen when his cock slapped against his stomach as you pulled his boxers down.
His fingers are calloused, of course they are. All he does is hold guns and you don’t see him applying moisturizer every night before bed. But his touches are feather light, bordering teasing.
Even when he takes your wrists in his hand and hold them above your head as he thrusts into you it’s like he’s holding a precious gemstone.
At one point you take his hand and put in on your throat, just to see if he’s holding back. He swiftly moves it, leaning down to kiss you instead, “not like that, honey.” He whispers it so low in your ear, you could cum just from his voice.
After every bite there’s a kiss, every thrust he watches your face for any trace of pain.
He focuses on your pleasure fully before even considering his own. He’s the type of man you read about in romance novels, that seems like some nonexistent, made up character.
When you flip him over and start riding him, he holds your hips so preciously. It’s firm but gentle, guiding your every move as you bottom out, feeling nothing but ecstasy.
“Wanna hear you,” he says every time you’re being quiet. He wants you to say his name, whimper, curse, anything, because anything you do drives him insane.
When you cum around him, he cums with you. Because he can’t help but reach his climax watching your face twist in pleasure, screaming his name until your throats dry, and clenching around him like your life depends on it.
You realize that he does that nearly every-time, that his pleasure is derived from your own, and you find that insanely hot. Hotter than any roughness could be.
Frank Castle can be gentle… and he’s the best you’ve ever had.
I miss so much RFA and FMN! I love how you write Joel but I like even more how you used to write Tommy.
Hi ghostie!!! 🥹🩷
FMN is coming back, I promise!!! Some of my mutuals already read the first new chapter!!! Expect cowboy Tommy, though 👀 guess Angel is going to be riding so many MANY things LMAO
Ughh I loved the two fics you came out with Joel x wife reader and I’ve been DYING for another… I love your writing so much
Could I request a fic with the same troupe? Joel x wife reader where the reader wants to try out degradation and a humiliation kink… and Joel is hesitant and unsure about it… and he’s kinda awkward, and the reader has to direct him??
I thought it would be a kinda cute concept that Joel doesn’t want to call you names and humiliate you but he’ll do it anyways because you want to try it out🥹🥹
Hi ghostie!!! 🥹🩷
First of all come here and let me KISS your brain!!!! 💋🧠
I fucking LOVE this idea and I'm actually going to open my google docs right now because of you 😭
This is absolutely delicious and the aftercare would be amazing like 🫠
Heylooo I apologize if this is annoying or disrespectful but i remember enjoying ch1 of TMWCBM a lot but i can’t seem to find it anymore , has it been permanently taken down?
Love your work btw 🙏
Hi, ghostie!!! 🥹🩷
I put some of my work on private due to some personal things BUT I'm re-written behind the scenes for some of them... TMWCBM was my first baby and it's honestly tempting me so SO BAD lately because since I'm writing about husband! Joel I'm seriously thinking about making it about him (I mean reader and him were married but not really together... Wouldn't be beautiful to see this big boy yearning for her wife like crazy while she thinks that she literally ruined his life for being with her??? Plus they've raised Sarah and Ellie together!!!)
જ⁀➴ ♡ Your resignation should have been simple: hand Harry Castillo the letter, walk out of his office, and forget everything that happened the night you found him falling apart behind the closed doors of Castillo Holdings.
Forget his hands, his mouth, and the terrible, impossible feeling that, for a few stolen minutes, Harry had wanted you more honestly than he had ever wanted anyone.
Unfortunately, Harry has never been good at letting go of things he wants.
So when his family starts pushing too hard, when his mother asks one question too many, and when his brother’s perfect life is held up like proof that Harry has somehow failed at his own, he does the only reasonable thing a lonely, emotionally constipated man can do.
He lies.
He tells them he is engaged.
To you.
Now Harry needs you to spend one weekend pretending to be his fiancée in front of his family. Smile for the photographs. Wear the ring. Share his room. Let his mother adore you. Help him survive the lie he was stupid enough to tell.
In return, he’ll give you everything you asked for: your freedom, a clean exit from Castillo Holdings, and a recommendation letter to any company in New York.
Easy enough.
It’s not like Harry is using a fake engagement as an excuse to keep you close.
And it’s definitely not like either of you could fall in love over one disastrous weekend.
...Right?
જ⁀➴ ♡ tags: boss/assistant relationship, age gap, fake engagement, fake relationship, marriage of convenience vibes, forced proximity, grumpy x sunshine, workaholics with terrible coping mechanisms, mutual pining, banter, anxiety, loneliness, fear of abandonment, mentions of past emotionally abusive relationships, Harry believes he is destined to die alone, Reader believes love is not meant for her, Reader is Harry’s aggressive chihuahua, miscommunication final boss, pole dancing, unprotected sex, a frankly irresponsible amount of smut, possible breeding kink, one very non-jewelry-related pearl necklace, but don’t worry, babes, this is a rom-com, love is very much on the menu despite all the angst!
Hi babies!! The first chapter of Mr. Castillo, apparently! will be published the next weekend... And it's going to be a pretty roller-coaster... 👀🍷❤️🔥!!!
Where Our Shadows Meet by @isabellaboo2025 -- amazing Old West AU where Joel marries a spinster to take care of Sarah. slow burn but omgggg
Your Needs, My Needs by @honey-moon-13 -- smut with fluff with Husband!Joel
A Different Kind of Love also by @isabellaboo2025 -- Reader + son make it to Jackson and the beginning is some widow angst, but the plot twists in the newest chapters have me in a chokehold.
The Lonely Single Parent's Club by @railaneyb is prolly my all time fave rn!! -- Single Mom x Single Dad Joel forming their own village in a No Outbreak AU. Adorable, fluffy, literally the cutest omg.
Eternity Across the Lawn by dontlooknow. Reader is Joel's neighbor and gets pregnant by another man....... joel doesn't care <3
Choice by dreamedaboutitinthedark. Reader arrives 4 months pregnant in jackson and again....... joel doesn't care
((tbh i always think of joel with a breeding kink oops)
Please like/comment/reblog the fics you enjoy. Have fun and heed tags and warnings! 🖤
Joel Miller
After Midnight - @hsispunk - joel is feeling lonely in austin, so he calls a sex hotline.
Taco Tuesday - @time-for-my-weekly-spanking
No One But Me - @koshkamartell - your relationship with Joel Miller was a secret, one in which he would break you over and over. Tired of mistreatment you leave. But what happens when Joel cannot handle losing the control he has over you? And what happens when another man catches your attention?
Let Me Teach You - @aurorawritestoescape - your boyfriend begs you to have anal but knows jack shit about the act. Much to your surprise and pleasure, his dad steps up and teaches him. By example.
Take my hand where you want it - @time-for-my-weekly-spanking - After you discover that your husband is cheating on you with Joel's secretary, Joel becomes your confidant. One night, after your husband comes home late yet again, you rush to Joel for comfort. And Joel makes sure you get everything you deserve.
stay away - @coolgirlmonolog - you left your small town in austin to study in new york and, after graduating, found a nice job in the big city. every year you go back home to visit your parents and your high school best friend, tommy miller. last year you went back for a whole week during the summer, and joel wasn’t exactly friendly with you. you were never friends, but after 10 years of knowing each other, his attitude caught your attention. this summer you’ll see him again… how will it turn out?
Unfaithful - @peepawmiller - Joel takes you on a date. And then he takes you home.
Humiliated - @broad-shouldrs - joel accidentally comes inside you
Bad Neighbours - @koshkamartell - Joel Miller is a grumpy old man who enjoys peace and quiet. Ever since you moved into the neighbourhood he can't seem to escape you.
Happy Campers - @baronessvonglitter - Joel Miller, the new head counselor at Camp Happy Trail, makes sure this summer will be one you won't forget.
What happens behind Buc-ee's, stays behind Buc-ee's - @kindahecticinside - 56 year old Joel Miller spends his days as a blue collar contractor busy on the job site, though his idea of being 'busy' involves standing around cat-calling ladies all day long. One day he tries his luck with you and he gets more than he bargained for in the process.
Your Needs, My Needs - @honey-moon-13 - The worst part about injuring his hand isn’t the pain. It’s having to take off his wedding ring—and being unable to jerk off properly. Luckily, Joel has a wife who’s more than happy to lend him a hand.
Sloth | se7en collection - @milla-frenchy - after you promised Joel to try something new in bed and managed to make him skip patrol and stay home, he makes sure you mean it. So you enjoy a chill morning with him, and then you make good on your promise
Tess & Joel
Awakening - @time-for-my-weekly-spanking - When you join Joel, Tess, and Tommy, you shake Joel to his core. But he may not be the only one awakened by your presence.
Frankie Morales
Frankie - The Best Friend | Guy-Crazy - @baronessvonglitter - After a disastrous breakup, Daisy's best friend Frankie offers her the jumpstart she needs to get over her ex.
Javi Gutierrez | Guy-Crazy - @baronessvonglitter - We go back several years to find Daisy healing her very first broken heart.
Tommy Miller
Maid Discreetly - Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Series - @mountainsandmayhem - After what he did to your best friend, fuck Joel Miller and the horse he rode in on! But a twist of fate has you falling for his brother, who is also your dad’s friend. Oh, and did you mention that you hate him? Can love really conquer all, or should you just settle for kinky hot sex with an older man?
Joel Miller & Javier Peña
Lust (Taste in Men Part 2) | se7en collection - @milla-frenchy - you’ve spent a perfect night with your best friend Javi and your ex-boyfriend Joel, and the next day holds the promise of what’s to come
Javier Peña
Puff, Puff, Smash - @half-moon16 - When you're reunited with your old crush, Javier Peña at a get together at his dad's ranch, you proposition him with a theory he just has to test out for himself.
Clint Flood
Changes (In the House of Flies) - @quickiesgirl - Clint recognizes a familiar face while conducting business at a strip club, someone he'd known quite intimately.
Tags: minors DNI, dub con/non con, stalking, rough oral, forced feeding, deep throating, inappropriate use of cake, cum eating, finger sucking, boot licking, stalker!joel, dirty talk, Stockholm Syndrome, pet names (angel, sweetheart, darlin, etc.), praise & degradation, use of “sir,” yelling, crying, violence, swearing, obsession, name calling (slut, whore), pain, Joel is a sadist, humiliation, degradation
WC: 5.4k
Summary: You reminisce about your times with Joel while he has something special in store for you.
A/N: thank you to @missadangel for this idea. i’ve been so excited to write this and got a little carried away - so this will end up being two parts. thank you also to my lovely stalker!joel babes for helping me brainstorm when i was feeling a little stuck (@rawndoldersupremacist @whorefordaveyork @david-10ninch-blog @cordycepskiss) - muah! 😘 as always, this is a dark fic, so please read warnings.
Divider: @/saradika-graphics
It had been at least a few days since you’d last seen Joel. He had left before you’d woken up the other night. His absence had left you feeling empty and lost. You missed the usual relief that accompanied his leaving. When you rolled over in bed this morning, there was a bouquet of fresh flowers on your nightstand. A small square envelope was propped against the glass vase with your name written on the front.
Your heart thumped as you reached for the piece of paper, slipping your finger under the flap and sliding it open. A notecard was tucked inside.
Morning, angel. Coffee and breakfast is on the counter. Check your closet and I’ll see you later.
You had no idea he’d even been here. It felt odd that he’d come inside and leave you undisturbed. You looked over at your closet. Your anxiety started to bubble up as you swung your legs out of bed and crossed the room. You held your breath as you slid open your closet doors. The reveal brought instant tears to your eyes.
It was the dress – the one you had so desperately wanted before that Joel had already surprised you with, just to ruin it later that same day. You started crying as you took a step back. The thought of putting that back on your body made you feel nauseous. You could see some of the stitching on it where it had been repaired. It made you envious.
This dress had started out as something beautiful, something hopeful. It went through hell – dragged through the dirt and leaves, ripped, stepped on, spat on, degraded and made to feel like nothing special. And then it was taken somewhere new. It was given another chance, another life. It was cleaned, sewn back together, repaired. And now, here it hangs in your closet, looking beautiful. You had half a mind to rip it off the hanger, stomp on it, dirty it all over again. But instead, you slammed the closet doors shut and went to the kitchen.
Of course, your favorite iced coffee sat on the counter beside a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil. You chewed on the inside of your lip, just staring at the food for a moment. You were growing tired of being at war with yourself.
Your fingers gently unwrapped the foil, as you thought about the previous night. Taking a bite, you thought back to how he cared for you – the pizza, the groceries in the fridge, your clean laundry that he’d already folded and put away, how he held and cuddled you. You sipped your coffee, now remembering the harsh way that he grabbed your hips, the cruel things he said to you, how he took advantage of your exhaustion and vulnerability to violate your body in a way that you’d already asked him not to. Your stomach suddenly turned and you ran to the bathroom, falling to your knees as you vomited into the recently-cleaned toilet bowl.
When your stomach was emptied, you stood up, rinsing your mouth out in the sink and looking in the mirror. Your eyes looked lifeless, with dark rings around them. Your lips were chapped, your skin was breaking out, and your hands trembled as you dried them off on the hand towel. You couldn’t bring yourself to look in the mirror again before walking back out to the kitchen.
You made sure to wrap up the sandwich and bury it in the bottom of the trash, anticipating how angry Joel would be if he knew you hadn’t eaten it. You carried the coffee to the back patio, along with a book. You were hoping that maybe fresh air would help you feel more normal.
It seemed to work. Your body started to relax, allowing you to actually read for the first time in weeks. You sipped on your coffee, allowing yourself to get lost in the book. Time slipped by quickly, and you had no idea how long it had been when you heard the back door open and looked up to see Joel with a smile on his face.
“Hey, angel,” he said as he stepped forward, sitting down in the chair opposite you.
Your chest tightened a little as you tried to smile back and answered with a weak, “Hey.”
“What’ve you been up to?,” he asked, tilting his head to try and read the cover of your book.
“Just this,” you replied as you lifted the novel.
Joel squinted to better read the title. “Wide Sargasso Sea? What’s it about?”
“Umm,” you pondered as you looked down at the book. “I’m not that far into it, so I’m not sure how much I’ve grasped yet.” You looked back up at him. “What…uh, what have you been up to?” You weren’t sure if you were allowed to ask him a question in return. This casual chatter wasn’t common for the two of you.
“Wanna see?” Joel stood up from the chair, extending a hand out towards you.
You took it uncertainly, standing up and letting him lead you back into the house. On your way in, you stole a quick glance at the woods behind you. Memories of him chasing you through the trees flashed through your mind and made your stomach turn once more. Still, you allowed him to hold your hand as he pulled you through the back door and into the living room.
There was a white box on your kitchen island that looked to be from a bakery. As you got closer, Joel’s hand still in yours, you saw the box was stamped with the name of your favorite patisserie downtown. You gave a meek smile and looked over at him. “Thank you, Joel.”
“Open it,” he encouraged, an uncharacteristic smile on his face.
You let go of his hand, walking toward the counter and lifting open the lid on the smooth white box. From the scent alone, you knew it was your favorite triple berry cream cake, but instead of the top of the cake usually being covered in whipped cream and berries, the berries were in a ring circling the top of the cake with the words, “for my angel,” written in pink icing across the center.
The cake was clearly a kind gesture, but with the mixture of emotions you’d been feeling all day, you weren’t exactly in the mood to dig into it. You hoped your smile was convincing enough when you looked back over at him and thanked him once again. You made sure to make your voice as sweet as you could when you responded, “It looks great.”
“It’s your favorite, right?,” he asked, looking somewhat confused by your reaction. He looked at the cake and back at you.
“Yeah! Yeah…it is.” You gave another forced smile then closed the lid, carrying it to the fridge and putting it inside. “Maybe we can eat it later?” You looked back at him as you slowly closed the refrigerator door.
“What?” Joel watched you carefully. His face started to change. “You…know what today is, right?”
You looked at him blankly for a moment, having no idea what he was getting at. Your mind reeled, trying to land on what it might be. You chewed your lip, contemplating. The longer it took you to answer him, the more impatient he started to look.
“Um…your…birthday?” As soon as the answer left your mouth, you were sure that you were incorrect. His expression continued to darken and when he turned away from you, you realized you’d made an even bigger mistake than you thought. “Joel, I-”
The words were ripped from your mouth when he spun around, finger pointed at you as he gritted out, “You’re a spoiled fuckin’ brat!” The venom in his words was enough to anchor you to the floor – too afraid to move or speak.
He looked from the refrigerator back to your face. You could see in his eyes that he was contemplating something, something that you were sure was not going to be good. All you could do was swallow the lump in your throat and shake your head. You weren’t sure if you’d ever been so desperate for an answer as you were right now.
You watched as he moved toward the fridge. Your stomach tightened, a pit forming as you tried to wrack your brain for what he was referring to in hopes that you could prevent whatever was about to happen. Tears formed at the corners of your eyes as you tried to speak again, prepared to beg, “Joel, I’m so sorry. I really-”
He cut you off again when he slammed the fridge door, cake now in hand, and shot a threatening look in your direction. “Shut the fuck up,” he said as he set the cake back on the kitchen island, unceremoniously lifting the lid and then motioning with his hand for you to take a seat.
By now, you’d learned your lesson about disobeying him, so you hesitantly lifted yourself up onto the stool, resting your feet on the bar and glancing at the cake then back to Joel. He was standing beside the counter, shoulders squared and the crease evident between his brows. With the tips of his fingers, he slid the cake box towards you.
“Eat.”
It was a simple command, but you immediately felt your stomach revolt. You were entirely too unsettled to eat a dessert right now. Still, you looked at the cake, preparing to take a bite. You looked at Joel plainly and asked, “Can I have a fork, please?”
He shook his head while maintaining eye contact with you. “Don’t need one, angel. Eat up.”
You drew in a breath. It was shaky and incomplete, leaving you feeling slightly lightheaded as you took your pointer finger, swiping it across the whipped frosting and then dipping it into your mouth. You immediately salivated at the sugary taste and looked at Joel for approval.
“Eat it.”
You took two fingers now, using a scooping motion at the edge of the cake, gathering a generous bite, including a raspberry. Blush crept across your cheeks at the slight humiliation and you once again brought your hand to your mouth, sucking the dessert off your fingers.
Joel nodded this time, clearly pleased with the vision in front of him. Normally you’d feel relief, maybe even satisfaction with making him proud. But right now, all you wanted was for him to leave. You could feel yourself shutting down again, wanting to get away. It was no use because after you’d swallowed down the dessert, Joel lifted his own hand. With his two fingers, he scraped up another bite of cake. His eyes were on your mouth as he demanded, “Open up.”
You had to fight the shudder that threatened to work its way through your body. Instead, opening your mouth as he asked and then moving your tongue against his fingers once they were pressed against your tongue. His eyes softened at the sight and he moved his body closer to you. You continued sucking until the cake and frosting had dissipated, leaving just the salty taste of his skin.
“Good girl.” Even though his features weren’t as dark, his eyes didn’t carry the same twinkle they usually did when he praised you. It was clear he was still upset and your heart started racing again when he slowly slipped his fingers from your mouth.
“I’ll give you one more chance t’guess the significance of today,” he spoke calmly, despite the storm you could see brewing within him. “But if you don’t get it right, I’m gonna be very upset, angel. Y’understand that?”
You didn’t. You didn’t understand it at all, in fact. But you didn’t know how to tell him that. So all you could do was nod and respond, “Yes, Sir.” The honorific left your lips before you could even realize it. There was a natural submission that Joel pulled from you and you hated how normal it felt.
He looked at you expectantly and you played with your fingers in your lap, trying to conceal your nervousness from him. His lack of patience was palpable as you tried to think of the significance that the day could hold.
You exhaled before giving your final guess, “Are we…did we have plans for today? Something you…something you wanted to do?”
Under normal circumstances, you were sure that you could think of a better guess. But your mind had not been working normally for quite some time. You still found that you were losing chunks of time and that you often had no idea what day it was. Doing anything felt like moving your body and your brain through molasses. So all you could do after giving Joel your weak attempt at an answer was look at him pleadingly, hoping that some shred of him might take pity on you.
There was a moment of silence and that foolish part of you thought that maybe Joel was just giving you another chance. But then he moved toward you, his hand slid along the countertop, stopping right in front of where you sat as he now loomed over you, large and imposing.
His face neared yours, as though he was going in for a kiss, but before your lips could meet he gritted out a rough, “Happy anniversary, darlin’.”
Your mouth dropped, not expecting to hear those words come out of his mouth. Before you could utter anything in response, Joel’s lips collided with yours in a sloppy, aggressive kiss. His hand moved to the back of your head, anchoring your face to his as his teeth, lips, and tongue roughly claimed you.
To maintain your fragile balance on the stool, one of your hands rested against the countertop as the other gripped Joel’s bicep. The hungry kiss took your breath away. When Joel finally pulled away from you, you were prepared for him to drag you into the bedroom, but instead your body startled when you saw him swipe the cake off the counter and onto the wood floor beneath you.
The box sprang open, the cake sliding out and onto the floor in a gloppy mess. You looked down at it, your racing heart sinking slightly at the sad sight of the ruined dessert. Joel stood beside the mess, looking down at it then back at you. Some of the whipped cream had splattered across his worn, brown boots.
“Gonna say it back?” His expression was serious as he regarded you.
“Happy…anniversary, Joel.” The words left a sour taste in your mouth, your body rebelling at the idea that you would celebrate a year of pure misery with him. You felt your eyes start to water. Somehow, him making you say that sentence was the most humiliating thing he had done to you yet.
The corner of his mouth lifted and then he spoke, “Good girl. So now you know why I fixed your dress up…got you your favorite cake.” He looked down at the cake mess again and when he looked back at you, his eyes were a shade darker. “I don’t feel like you’ve adequately appreciated the gesture.”
Not wanting to upset him, you responded in a panic-stricken tone, “N-no! I do appreciate it. V-very much. Thank you, Joel.”
“Yeah? That right?” His head cocked to the side slightly and a smirk spread across his face. “Show me, then.”
“What…do you mean?” You felt your entire body become rigid in anticipation of what cruel thing he was sure to make you do.
His smirk stayed on his face as he responded, “Think you know exactly what I mean, angel.”
“If this is your favorite cake…eat it.” With a simple command, he nodded toward the cake on the floor. His expression was stoic now – showing no signs of this being some sort of joke.
Your cheeks burned with humiliation and you shook your head. “Joel…I don’t…” You trailed off, not quite sure what you were going to say in protest.
Joel leaned forward just slightly, looming over you. “I suggest you do as I say. Next time I ask…may not be so nice…”
You gulped, looking up at him then back down at the sad cake. On your knees, you reached out toward the cake, ready to scoop another bite in your hand, but before you could even touch the frosting, you heard Joel say, “Tsk, tsk, angel…didn’t tell you to use your hands.”
As if things couldn’t become even more humiliating, you hung your head, bending forward and trying to carefully take a bite of the cake. Joel’s hands took hold of your arms, pulling them back behind you.
“Hands behind your back, sweet girl.” It was hard to keep balance, so he helped by holding your wrists together for a few seconds, then slowly releasing. You did your best to clutch your hands together, fingers intertwined, while you continued to lean forward and take a bite of the cake.
You sat back a bit, chewing the small bite you managed to get. Too nervous to make eye contact with him, you kept your eyes trained on the floor in front of you. The taste of the cake was ruined by the fear and bitterness in your mouth.
Joel was quiet as you ate, just watching with rapt attention as you leaned forward and took another bite, wobbling just slightly from being a little off balance with your arms behind you. The corner of his mouth lifted as he watched you sit back again, chewing with your head down. You made it so easy sometimes.
“While you’re down there, angel, looks like my boots got a little dirty in the mishap. Mind cleaning ‘em up?”
That caught your attention, drawing your eyes up to him as you nervously swallowed the last little bit of cake in your mouth. You could feel the frosting that was smeared on your chin and the tip of your nose, feeling humiliated once more. But the look in Joel’s eyes wasn’t entirely mocking like you had expected. There was a prideful twinkle in them that spread warmth in your lower tummy. And while the thought of cleaning his boots with your mouth made you feel sick, there was something else inside of you that was eager to please him.
So without putting up a fight, you simply nodded your head and leaned back down.
“You can use your hands now, darlin’,” Joel offered out of the kindness of his heart.
You released your hands from behind your back, your arms slightly sore as you set your hands on the floor in front of you. Tears pricked your eyes but you continued to bend forward, moving closer to the ground and tentatively sticking your tongue out. Joel’s breath caught in his throat. His jeans grew tighter as he saw you lick your first stripe across his boot.
His voice came out gravelly as he said, “Good fuckin’ girl.”
You didn’t look up when you heard his voice. Your face was so hot with shame that you couldn’t even stand the thought of needing to look anyone in the eyes right now. His boots were clearly worn. Dirt combined with the white cream as your tongue smoothed over the surface, licking up the degrading concoction. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to continue if it wasn’t for the consistent praise he was offering you.
“Doing such a good job, sweetheart…just like that, get ‘em all clean f’me.”
The humiliation had settled deep in your gut, but the longer you licked his boots clean the more normal it started to feel. His soft words twisted inside of you, creating a pull between your legs that was shocking.
When he was satisfied with your performance, he took a step back, garnering your attention as you peered up at him, lifting your hand and wiping your mouth with the back of it.
“Good as new, angel,” he said with a wink. Your eyes dropped down, noticing his prominent bulge for the first time. “Think I got somethin’ else that could use your attention, sweet girl.”
You didn’t have to think about what it was he was referring to. Your heart was racing in your chest and your entire body felt taut. Your eyes peered up at him wearily as he nodded down toward his crotch.
Closing your eyes for just a momentary escape, you opened them a second later and began to unzip his jeans with shaky fingers. He wasn’t wearing boxers, so his dick popped out at you, earning a chuckle from him as he saw you startle.
You took a deep breath and then held the base of his cock in your hand, sticking your tongue out and licking a stripe up the underside of his cock, feeling the thick vein run along your tongue. You were immediately aware of how dry your mouth was. Pulling back, you closed your mouth, trying to gather saliva, but it didn’t work.
Joel looked down at you impatiently. “The hell are you waitin’ for?”
You didn’t answer him, simply opened your mouth and tried to wrap your lips around him. Sliding back up, your tongue twirled around his head, just how you knew he liked. It drew a groan from him as one of his hands moved to the crown of your head, following your movements. But when you tried to take more of him in your mouth, it proved to be difficult with what little saliva you had. You pulled back with a cough and Joel frowned at you.
“What’s wrong with you?” He had a look of disgust on his face when you finally gathered the courage to look back up at him.
Stammering, you tried to answer him quickly, “I-I don’t know. My mouth...feels dry.”
He was still scowling at you, clearly trying to rack his brain for a solution. You knew he found one when his signature smirk crept across his lips. Joel looked down at the cake and then back at you. “Looks like you gotta get creative then, sweetheart.”
You hesitated, the threat of further humiliation starting to rear it’s ugly head again. You were disgusted with how long this was dragging on, and hoped that the sooner you could get him off, the sooner he would leave. That seemed to be his modus operandi anyway.
Scooping a handful of the disheveled cake, you brought it to his cock, watching how the cake and icing created a sticky lube. Dragging your hand up and down, you smeared the sweet substance all over his shaft. Joel moaned softly, clearly satisfied with his idea and reaping the benefits of it.
“Mouth too, angel,” he spoke softly as he watched you stroke him.
The cake was gathering between your fingers, creating a sensory nightmare that you couldn’t even think about. You were surprised at how well it was working to jack him off, though. Bringing your mouth to the head of his cock, you began to suckle as your hand continued working his throbbing shaft. Joel’s hand found the top of your head again as you tasted his precum that was slowly leaking out onto your tongue.
You continued sucking, moving your head up and down as your tongue swirled around his smooth tip. Your hand matched the pace of your mouth and you started to taste the icing mixing with his precum. It was sweet and tangy and you didn’t mind it.
“Fuuuck, jus’ like that...mhhm…” Joel’s grip on your head tightened and he started to move his hips back and forth, eagerness grabbing hold of him as he neared his euphoric peak. “Keep goin’, keep goin’, angel...shit.”
You cupped his balls with your other hand and Joel grunted, snapping his hips forward. His fingers moved through your hair, holding for leverage so that he could fuck your mouth. “Fuckin’ take it, dirty slut.” You worked to open your throat, allowing him in deeper as his balls contracted in your hand. “Messy lil thing. Should see yourself. Pathetic.” Your nose smashed against his curly hairs at the base of his cock. “Made t’be used by me, huh? Bet your fuckin’ dripping right now. Filthy fuckin’ whore.”
It was clear he was getting close with the intensity of his degrading words and the unforgiving snapping of his hips. Tears pricked your eyes as he continued abusing your throat.
“So beautiful...shit…” He pulled out of your mouth quickly and gripped his cock. He aimed the head of it down toward the cake on the ground as he furiously pumped himself.
You watched, somewhat slack-jawed, as he fucked his fist until his cum spurted all over the cake in thick ropes. Some of it missed, landing on the box or the floor, but the majority was now strung across the cake in thick, milky-white ropes. Joel groaned the whole time, his eyes dark as he already knew what he was going to make you do.
You shrunk under his gaze when he finally looked over at you and spoke, “Still got some cake t’eat, angel.”
Your mouth tasted sour at the thought of it and you had to work to suppress the sudden nausea. But when you bowed down, hands planted on either side of the cake as you lowered your face and took your first cum-laden bite, you were once again surprised at the pulsing sensation between your legs. This was humiliating, degrading, even disgusting. And yet, as you took bite after bite it was without Joel’s encouragement.
Even he watched in awe as you used your tongue to sweep across the frosting, gathering the sweet and salty mixture in your mouth. His neck was red and his pulse hammering within him as his arousal grew. You’d eaten nearly every bite of cake that his spend had touched. And when you finally kneeled back, looking up at him like a lovesick puppy, he couldn’t help but to drop to his own knees, taking your face in his hands and kissing you passionately.
You leaned into his affectionate touch and wrapped your arms around his neck. The cake smeared against his lips and chin as he kissed you. He continued holding your face as his tongue prodded into your mouth, tasting you along with the mixture you’d just consumed. When he finally pulled away, his eyes moved back and forth between yours and he smiled at you softly.
“You should go get changed. We’re gonna be late.” He let go of your face, standing up and reaching down to pull you up with him. He wiped the cake off his face with the back of his hand, then leaned forward, using his mouth and tongue to clean the rest off of yours.
You stood on slightly wobbly legs, looking at him with a confused yet still cock-drunken expression. “Late?”
He nodded, taking your hand and leading you towards the bedroom. “Course, angel. It’s our anniversary...what sorta guy would I be if I didn’t take you out to dinner?”
“D-dinner?” You hadn’t been on a date with Joel since your first time meeting him. Images of that date flashed in your mind. He had seemed so normal, so sweet. He had brought you flowers when he met you at the restaurant. The conversation had flowed well, despite him being on the more quiet side. He had asked you lots of questions and you remember being flattered that he had seemed so genuinely interested in you. It hadn’t been until later that night when he was blowing up your phone, calling and texting asking when he would see you next, that you realized something was off. It didn’t take long for your friends to convince you to leave him behind. Those same friends that no longer reach out anymore after so many failed attempts at reaching you. You’d completely isolated yourself.
You look up at the only person you had left in this world. He was smiling down at you as he held the dress. “Go freshen up, I’ll be waiting on the couch,” he said as he handed you the dress, kissing your cheek and then closing your bedroom door on his way out.
Standing in front of your full-length mirror, you moved around in the dress, admiring how it hugged your curves. You’d put on some simple makeup and fixed your hair into a half updo. You slipped on your shoes, put on a pair of earrings, and then stood at the door with your hand hovering over the handle.
The emotions within you were a confusing concoction of excitement, dread, appreciation, and fear. This particular mixture was not new to you. Joel pulled these emotions from you frequently, but there was a new sense of apprehension about going out with him in public. You had trouble picture how he was going to treat you. Behind closed doors, it was a constant whiplash effect. The idea of him embarrassing you in a restaurant was nearly nausea-inducing.
“You about ready in there?,” Joel called from the other room. He didn’t sound irritated thankfully, but you knew that you didn’t have much more time to stall.
Opening the door, you looked over at Joel standing near the couch. His face lit up when he saw you and he crossed the room, reaching for you and pulling you close to him by your hips.
“Goddamn,” he remarked, staring down at you with admiring eyes. “You look incredible, angel.”
A true smile flashed across your face for just a moment. He had the ability to make you feel like the most beautiful and special woman in the world. But the reality came rushing back in readily, reminding you that he frequently made you feel worthless, stupid, and small.
Joel didn’t notice the shift in your expression, too busy walking you out the door and toward his truck. He got you situated, even leaning in to buckle your seat belt and giving you a quick kiss on the cheek. His hand rested on your thigh for the drive, occasionally moving up toward your center in a claiming reminder.
Your stomach dropped when he pulled up to the same restaurant that you’d had your first date at. You hadn’t been back since then because you had started to avoid it when you were trying to rid yourself of him altogether. He parked the car and looked over at you with an expectant look.
“Recognize it?” He turned the truck off, holding the keys in his hand as he unbuckled his seat belt.
You did the same, unbuckling and glancing at the restaurant then back to him. “How could I not?”
Joel took it as a statement of affection rather than an obvious acknowledgement of the trauma you’d experienced. You steeled yourself, prepared to put on a brave face throughout the dinner. It was already dark outside and when Joel walked around the truck, opening up your door, you were hit with the cool November air as he took your hand.
You stepped out, letting him guide you toward the Italian restaurant. It was situated downtown in what used to be one of your favorite areas to frequent. There was a boutique hotel attached to it that supposedly had some of the best views of the city. As Joel escorted you inside, you looked around, noting that it looked the same as before. You took a breath and smiled at the hostess as you neared.
“Good evening, do you have reservations tonight?” She gave a pleasant smile as she looked at Joel.
Joel nodded and said, “Miller.”
“Oh! Wonderful.” Her voice perked up as she walked around the stand. “We’re excited to have you tonight. I hope everything will be to your liking.”
You gave Joel a look, cocking your head slightly and trying to see if he was up to something. He grinned back at you, following the hostess as she continued walking toward the back of the restaurant.
He placed his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the sea of other patrons as he lowered his mouth to the shell of your ear, whispering, “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
AO3 | masterlist | YSFL masterlist
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pairing: husband!Joel Miller × f!reader
summary: The worst part about injuring his hand isn’t the pain. It’s having to take off his wedding ring—and being unable to jerk off properly. Luckily, Joel has a wife who’s more than happy to lend him a hand.
a/n: I’ve had a really rough few weeks, so this is pretty much unedited! A little Joel never hurts when you’re trying to pull yourself out of a slump, I guess ❤️🩹
warnings: smut, established relationship, implied age-gap, husband!joel, male masturbation, shower handjob, praise kink, “good boy” used two times, dirty talk, teasing (kinda), male orgasm, mild injury and pain, mentions of urgent care and painkillers, caretaking, aftercare and a lot of love!
wc: 5634 k
I’d love to know what you thought, so please don’t be shy and leave me a little comment. Hearing from you truly means so much to me .⋆❀°
The shower had been running long enough for you to read the same paragraph three times.
Joel had claimed the heat might help his hand, although the doctor had prescribed ice, elevation and several days without gripping anything. The X-ray had shown no fracture. Joel had treated that information like permission to ignore the rest, trying to open the truck door with his injured hand before you had even left urgent care. By dinner, the bruising had spread in deep violet shadows across his knuckles, and you had needed soap to ease his wedding band over the swelling.
That had bothered him more than the pain.
He had watched you work the ring slowly over his knuckle, his mouth set in a hard line, and when it finally slipped free into your palm, his thumb had rubbed once over the pale indentation it left behind.
“Only for a few days, honey,” you had told him.
“I know, I know.”
But he continued staring at his empty finger until you placed the band on the bedside table beside your own things, safely within view.
You opened his painkillers, replaced his bandage and left him to shower while you climbed into bed with your book. But the water continued to run and you had retained nothing from the page before you.
You closed the book.
“Joel?”
No answer.
You glanced at the clock, set the book aside and crossed the bedroom.
Steam rolled through the bathroom when you opened the door. His discarded bandage lay damp beside the sink, his clothes gathered in a careless heap near the hamper. The mirror had fogged completely, but through the glass of the shower you could make out the broad, blurred shape of him standing beneath the water.
“Joel?” you called again.
No answer came, though beneath the steady rush you heard the faint scrape of skin against tile, followed by a low curse that was unmistakably his.
You undressed and stepped inside quietly, drawing a breath when the hot water struck your shoulder.
Joel stood with his back to you.
He had his head bowed and his right arm braced against the wall from elbow to wrist, protecting the swollen hand from bearing his weight. Even in the softened light, you could see the mottled bruising across his knuckles, his fingers held stiff and slightly apart. His left palm rested lower on the tile. His broad shoulders were drawn tight, every muscle along his back rigid beneath the water as it streamed through the silver beginning to thread the dark curls at the nape of his neck. It followed the shallow groove of his spine, split around the soft fullness above his hips and disappeared between his legs.
For several seconds, you simply watched him.
His left arm moved, but the motion lacked the steady, practiced rhythm you knew, his fist travelling over his cock with an awkwardness that seemed to frustrate him more each time. He adjusted his grip, tried again and shifted his hips forward, chasing a sensation his other hand could not quite give him. His shoulders tightened. A harsher curse slipped from him when his injured fingers flexed instinctively against the tile.
The sight sent heat through you with such sudden force that your breath caught.
Joel touching himself would always affect you—the thick length of him flushed dark in his fist, water shining over the soft curve of his stomach and the wet hair beneath his navel—but it was the vulnerability of the moment that drew you closer. This was the man who noticed when your shoulders hurt before you complained, who left water on your bedside table every night because you always woke thirsty, who could read the smallest change in your breathing beneath his hands and know whether you needed more, less, faster, slower. He had spent years learning every language your body spoke.
Yet he stood alone beneath the water, unable to give himself what he needed, too proud to call for you and too stubborn to stop trying.
You stepped closer without speaking.
He was so absorbed in the effort that he did not hear the shower door close behind you. He did not notice the water shift when your body interrupted its path or the quiet whisper of your bare feet against the tile. It was only when you placed your mouth between his shoulder blades, lips pressing softly to the center of his wet back, that his entire body jolted.
“Jesus!”
His head turned sharply. Pain flashed across his face when his injured fingers contracted against the wall, and he forced them open again with a hiss.
“Didn’t hear you, darlin’.”
“I noticed, baby.”
Your lips moved over his back once more, slower this time. Water ran between your mouth and his skin, tasting faintly of soap. Up close, the heat of him felt different from the heat surrounding you, deeper and alive, held taut beneath skin that shivered when you kissed the raised ridge of an old scar near his shoulder.
“What’re you doin’ in here?” he asked.
“Checking on my handsome husband.”
You rested your chin against him and looked down the length of his body. His left hand had gone still, the grip around himself loosening now that he knew you were watching. Embarrassment was not something Joel wore easily; on him, it appeared as a stubborn tilt of his chin and a refusal to look directly at you.
“Looks like I was right to worry.”
“Ain’t anythin’ to worry about.”
“You’ve been in here twenty minutes.”
“Lost track.”
“That so?”
Your palms settled at his waist and moved around him, spreading over the curve of his belly. He had grown softer through the middle over the years, his body shaped by long workdays, evening beers and all the second helpings he accepted after insisting he was full. You loved the weight of him, the solid breadth of his chest, the coarse hair flattened beneath your fingers. You loved the familiar scars and the places age had begun touching him. You loved that you could stand behind him with your eyes closed and know precisely where your hands rested.
“Seems like you’re hurting yourself because you’d rather wrestle with the wrong hand than call your wife,” you murmured.
“Wasn’t hurtin’ myself, sweetheart.”
“No?”
Your nails travelled upward through the hair on his stomach before descending again, leaving pale trails across his flushed skin. Joel’s breath changed when your fingertips passed beneath his navel.
“That hand doesn’t seem to be accomplishing much either.”
His jaw tightened, but his hips shifted subtly into his fist.
You closed the remaining distance between you and pressed your naked body to his back. The instant your breasts touched him, his breath caught. Your mouth found the side of his neck while one hand remained spread over his stomach and the other followed the dark line beneath his navel.
“Couldn’t get it right?” you asked softly.
“Left hand don’t feel like mine.”
There was so much quiet frustration in the admission that your teasing softened.
“You could’ve called me.”
“Didn’t wanna bother you, baby.”
You lifted your head. “Joel Miller, I don’t care if I’m reading, sleeping or halfway through the best dream of my life. Asking me to touch you is never going to bother me.”
“Ain’t exactly somethin’ you should have to—”
“No.” You kissed the back of his shoulder as your hand slipped lower, fingertips barely grazing the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “You take care of me so often that half the time I don’t notice you’re doing it until it’s already done. So let me have my turn.”
The rigid set of his shoulders loosened by a fraction.
His left hand opened around himself, although surrendering even that unsatisfying contact made his hips follow your hovering fingers.
“Need a hand, don’t you, cowboy?” you teased, catching the edge of his ear gently between your teeth.
A strained breath left him, somewhere between a groan and a protest.
“You gonna help or keep makin’ fun of me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” You clicked your tongue. “You do look awfully pretty struggling, baby.”
“Christ, woman.”
“Although…” Your hand settled over his left wrist and guided it away from his cock. He allowed you to place his palm on the tile, but his body remained tense, caught somewhere between wanting what you offered and resisting the act of receiving it. “I suppose I could lend my favorite cowboy a hand. If he asks nicely.”
Joel lowered his forehead to the wall.
Water slipped through the grey in his beard and fell from his jaw. Pride held him silent for another moment. You could almost feel the struggle taking place inside him—the same man who would carry too many grocery bags rather than make a second trip, who would work through a fever and insist he was only tired, who treated being needed as though it were the simplest form of love but had never learned how to need someone without apology.
You spread your palm over his bare ring finger.
The touch made him look down.
His gaze rested on your hand covering his, your wedding band shining through the water while his finger remained pale and empty beneath it. His thumb moved once against the tile, reaching for yours before remembering the awkward angle.
Then his weight shifted back into you.
“Need you,” he admitted quietly.
You waited with your lips resting against his shoulder, though the answer had already travelled through you. Joel asked for so little that sometimes you resented him for it. He would mention that his boots needed replacing only after the soles had begun admitting water, would say he was hungry once you had already placed a plate before him, would carry an ache for days until you noticed the careful way he avoided turning his neck. Even now, naked and hard between your arms, he had tried to make the request smaller than it was. Need you. Two words offered in place of everything his body had already confessed, as though wanting something from you was still harder than enduring without it.
His breath left him slowly. His empty ring finger shifted beneath your palm. When you still did not move, his hips pressed back against you before rolling forward, his cock brushing heavily against the hand you kept just beyond his reach.
“Please,” he said, whatever remained of his pride finally yielding to the need roughening his voice. “Put your hand on my cock. Stroke me. Been tryin’ to come for so goddamn long, and I can’t—I need you to do it for me.”
Joel had trusted you with his home, his daughter, the parts of his past he still struggled to name. He had stood before everyone you loved and placed a ring on your finger with hands that had trembled more than his voice. Yet this small surrender seemed to cost him something too.
You kissed the pale place where his wedding band belonged.
“Good boy.”
Joel went utterly still.
His breathing stopped for one suspended second, his stomach turning rigid beneath your forearm and his left palm pressing flat against the tile. His cock pulsed before you had even closed your fingers around him.
Slowly, he looked back at you.
Steam had gathered in his lashes. His dark eyes found yours over his shoulder, surprise exposed there before he could conceal it, followed by a heat so immediate that your thighs drew together behind him. A flush travelled higher along his throat. He appeared almost offended by the force of his own reaction, as though his body had answered you before his pride could intervene.
“What’d you call me?”
“You heard me, baby.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Say it again.”
A smile touched your lips, but you did not laugh at him. There was something too open in his expression, too uncertain beneath the want.
“Later,” you promised. “Face the wall and lean back against me. Let your wife take care of you, big boy.”
Joel held your gaze for another moment before looking forward again. His forehead settled against the tile as his shoulders gradually loosened beneath your arms. He moved back until the curve of his ass pressed firmly against your lower stomach, giving you more of his weight than before.
You kissed the center of his back and slid your right hand down.
This time, you did not stop.
Your fingers curled around the base of his cock, and Joel’s entire body answered.
His abdomen contracted beneath your forearm. His left palm slipped before flattening against the wall again. A sound left him—low, involuntary, pulled from somewhere beneath the frustration he had carried into the shower—and the thick length of him hardened further in your grip.
You held him without moving at first, letting him feel the fit of your hand around him although your fingers could not quite meet. Heat pulsed beneath the slick skin, his heartbeat fast and heavy against your palm. You adjusted the showerhead until the strongest part of the spray struck his back rather than your joined hands, then tightened your grip. Another broken breath warmed your cheek.
“There,” you murmured. “Better?”
“Fuck, yes—”
“I thought so.” You stroked him slowly from base to tip, watching his stomach pull tight beneath your arm. “Next time you need my hand around your cock, come put it there.”
Joel’s hips followed your fist as it descended. “Knew you’d enjoy this.”
“You knew correctly.”
Your thumb swept over the broad head before your fist travelled down again. At the base, you loosened your grip and slipped your free hand beneath him. Joel groaned when your palm cupped his balls, the swollen, heavy weight of them filling your hand while the other continued moving slowly along his cock.
“Oh, baby...” You rolled them gently beneath your fingers, and his hips pressed forward as though even that small touch had reached somewhere deeper than he expected. “No wonder you were getting so frustrated. These are awfully full.”
“Don’t start.”
The words lacked any real warning. They came roughened by the careful twist of your wrist, Joel’s breath catching when you tightened your fist beneath the head. You smiled against his shoulder and gave him another long stroke, refusing the faster pace his body was beginning to seek.
“I’ve already started.” Your lips followed a rivulet of water toward the sensitive place behind his ear. “You should’ve seen yourself, hiding in here with all of this aching for relief.”
“Enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Very much.” You squeezed the weight in your palm once more, tender enough to make his thighs tense. “I’ve got my handsome husband naked in my arms, getting harder every time I tease him. I can feel how badly he needs to come, and he’s making the prettiest noises while I take my time giving him exactly what he asked for.” Your thumb gathered the slickness from the tip and spread it beneath the head. “What’s not to enjoy?”
“Mean woman.”
The complaint dissolved into a groan when your fingers tightened around him. His hips followed your hand instinctively, cock sliding through your wet fist while you maintained the slow rhythm already wearing away his restraint.
“Mm. And you love me.”
“Yeah.” His answer came without hesitation, broken slightly by the next stroke. “More than anythin’.”
The words entered you with the familiar weight of truth. Joel could spend ten uninterrupted minutes complaining about traffic, Tommy or the price of lumber, but anything that mattered was pared down until only its simplest form remained. More than anythin’ was extravagance from a man like him, offered with his forehead resting against the shower wall, his injured hand held carefully before him and his body surrounded by yours.
You kissed him behind the ear and released the heavy weight beneath his cock, bringing your free arm around his middle. Your palm spread over his stomach as you drew him more securely against you.
“Good,” you murmured. “Then be sweet and let me take my time with you.”
You kept the first strokes long and measured, your fist gliding over every thick inch before closing more firmly on the descent. Joel attempted to follow you, but impatience made his hips arrive too early. You adjusted without comment, refusing to hurry; the next time he thrust forward, you slowed near the head and held him snugly in your palm until a strained breath escaped through his teeth.
Water ran over his shoulders and divided around your arms, gathering briefly in the dark hair beneath his navel before disappearing between your joined bodies. The shower could not conceal the low sounds he made whenever your grip changed or the unconscious contraction of his stomach beneath your palm. You understood what he wanted—the shallow movement of his hips asking for more speed, his left hand spreading against the tile to brace for the pressure he preferred—but kept him at that patient rhythm a little longer. By the time you tightened your fist, frustration no longer held his shoulders rigid. He was waiting for you, and his cock pulsed heavily against your palm.
“That’s it,” you whispered, your mouth close to his ear. “You can move with me now.”
Joel released a deep, uneven breath and rolled his hips forward. You met him, your fist descending as he pushed into it and closing more firmly when he reached the base. On his retreat, you stroked upward, letting the swollen head drag through the circle of your fingers before guiding him into the next movement. He followed more carefully this time, the rhythm hesitant only for the first few strokes before pleasure taught him what you wanted.
“There you go, baby.”
“God—feels so damn good.”
You held him close and let the rhythm develop between you. Each thrust grew deeper, Joel’s ass pressing into your lower stomach when he drew back before he drove forward again. Your fist worked over him in time with the motion, no longer making him wait, though you retained enough control to keep his impatience from carrying him too quickly toward the edge.
The change reached his breathing first. Those deep, measured pulls of air began catching halfway into his lungs, his mouth opening against the tile to release the low sounds he had tried to suppress when you entered. Soon he no longer seemed aware of them. His attention had narrowed to your fingers around his cock, your palm against his stomach and the body supporting him from behind.
You kissed the wet slope of his shoulder.
Joel had touched you in darkness and sunlight, slowly and with desperate hunger, had learned your body so thoroughly that sometimes a single adjustment of his hand could make you fall apart. Yet this felt different from simply returning the pleasure he had given you over the years. Tonight, he could not reach back and distract you with your own need. He could not turn, gather you against him and assume the responsibility of taking care of both of you. All he could do was remain inside your embrace and trust that being wanted did not depend upon what he could offer in return.
Your grip tightened. Joel groaned and drove forward with enough force to push the air from your lungs. You widened your stance and continued meeting him as the movement grew rougher, each thrust dragging his cock rapidly through your closed fingers before your hand followed him back to the base. Wet skin moved against wet skin beneath the shower, punctuated by his heavier breathing and a broken curse whenever you changed the angle of your wrist.
You pressed your mouth beneath his ear.
“Take it, baby,” you murmured. “Use my hand exactly how you need.”
Joel stopped trying to follow each movement you gave him and began taking the friction for himself, thrusting through your fist with all the force he had been restraining. You let him, your hand closed and steady around him while your other arm held him against you—until his injured fingers curled instinctively against the tile. The hiss that left him cut through the pleasure. You caught his wrist at once and drew his arm away from the wall without slowing the motion between his legs.
“Give me this one.”
Joel allowed you to fold his arm across his chest. You tucked the bruised hand against his opposite shoulder and covered it with your own, your forearm securing it safely in place.
“Ain’t bad,” he managed.
“Shh.”
You kissed the uninjured edge of his wrist. Your fist continued working steadily over his cock as though caring for one hurting part of him required no sacrifice from the rest.
Joel’s chest rose beneath your arm. His bruised fingers gradually relaxed against his shoulder, and his left hand left the tile to cover yours where it held him. His thumb searched through the water until it found the smooth band around your finger and rested there.
You turned your face and kissed his cheek.
Joel leaned into it for a fleeting second before the next stroke pulled a groan from him. His thumb remained pressed over your wedding band as he settled farther back, giving you more of his weight without looking to see whether you could hold it. You planted your feet, tightened your arm around his chest and did.
He was letting you have all of his need now: his injured hand held safely beneath yours, his balance entrusted to your body, his pleasure naked in every sound he could no longer contain. When your fist moved faster, his hips answered immediately. The rhythm that had belonged to both of you began to unravel as he pushed forward too soon and retreated only far enough to thrust again, each movement shorter and rougher than the last.
You adapted without breaking pace, concentrating the friction where his body responded most strongly. A rough curse left him when you repeated it, his cock almost painfully rigid within your fist, the pulse against your palm heavier and more insistent. His thighs began to tremble as the measured roll of his hips disappeared altogether. He was no longer fucking your hand with any discernible rhythm; he was chasing it, moving on instinct whenever your grip reached the sensitive head.
Your own breathing quickened against his back. Heat gathered low in your stomach as you watched the man who could reduce you to pleading with the smallest movement lose himself in your arms. You pressed your thighs together, but every sound he made travelled directly through you, every desperate thrust sending another pulse of want between your legs. None of it made you want to turn his attention toward you. Tonight, his pleasure was enough.
Your mouth found the place beneath his ear that always made his shoulders rise.
“Look at you,” you whispered, affection wrapped around the teasing words. “You were so determined to handle this yourself, and now you can barely keep those legs steady.”
Joel tried to answer, but your fist tightened and the words collapsed into a hoarse moan. You smiled against his skin.
“No clever answer for me?”
“Hard to—” He broke off, thrusting roughly into your grip. “Hard to fuckin’ think.”
“That’s all right, baby. You don’t need to.”
You increased the pace until the movement became relentless, your slick fist closing around him as quickly as his hips could push forward. Joel’s forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders drawing tight as pleasure gathered beyond his control. His breathing fractured into rough, shallow pulls, each ending in a sound he no longer attempted to swallow.
His left hand abandoned yours and flattened against the wall, fingers splayed wide for purchase. Your wedding ring remained warm beneath the place his thumb had pressed it. He drove into your fist once, twice, then faltered, the next thrust arriving shorter as his cock throbbed heavily in your palm. You felt the approaching release before he spoke—in the sudden rigidity of his stomach, the way his thighs locked as if bracing might delay what your hand was already pulling from him, the helpless twitch that travelled through his cock whenever your grip reached the head.
“Baby—” His voice cracked around the word.
You kissed his jaw. “I know.”
“Close—”
The admission came through clenched teeth, barely louder than the water. You kept your fist moving at the same firm pace, refusing to startle his body with any sudden change.
“How close?”
“Real fuckin’—close.”
Joel attempted another thrust, but the rhythm had abandoned him entirely. His hips jerked into your hand and stopped, leaving you to carry the movement while he trembled within your arms. His weight tipped backward. You accepted all of it, your forearm held securely across his chest and his injured hand protected beneath yours.
“Please,” he rasped. “Don’t slow down—”
“I won’t, baby.”
Your fist travelled over him in fast, complete strokes, drawing the tension tighter with each pass. His cock pulsed violently against your palm, so close now that every movement seemed to pull a broken sound from the deepest part of his chest.
You caught his earlobe gently between your teeth.
“Every drop for me?”
“All yours.” The answer came instantly, stripped of breath and pride. His head dropped as his hips gave one final, desperate drive through your fist. “Every fuckin’ drop.”
A tender satisfaction spread beneath the heat in your chest. You tightened your embrace, lips brushing the shell of his ear while your hand gave him the exact rhythm his body had been seeking from the moment you entered the shower.
“That’s my good boy,” you whispered. “Give it to me.”
The praise undid him.
Joel came with a sound so raw it seemed torn from the center of him.
His entire body locked in your arms. His cock jerked hard in your fist, the first hot pulse spilling over your fingers before the shower could carry it away. His hips punched forward with the next one, wrenching a broken groan from his throat as another thick streak struck the tile beneath him.
You kept your hand moving, drawing every stroke from base to tip while release continued to pulse from him. Each one seized a different part of his body—his stomach clenching beneath your arm, his thighs jumping, his shoulders drawing taut beneath your mouth. You felt the force of it pass through him until there was nothing left with which he could hold himself upright.
His knees buckled.
You caught his full weight before either of you could fall.
Your chest pressed tightly to his back, your arm banded across his ribs and your palm protecting the swollen knuckles tucked against his shoulder. Joel trembled through every aftershock, forehead resting heavily against the wall. His cock gave one final, helpless pulse into your slowing hand.
“Fuck,” he choked. “Baby—”
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
You continued moving until the last throb softened beneath your palm. Only then did you loosen your fingers, careful of the sensitivity that made his hips flinch when your thumb grazed the head. The water washed your hand clean, carrying the evidence of his release toward the drain.
Joel remained folded against the wall, his breathing coming in ragged pulls. You kept him gathered within your arms, lips moving over his shoulder and along the nape of his neck while the final tremors passed through him.
“Take your time, baby,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His left hand covered your forearm where it crossed his chest. His thumb rubbed slowly over your skin, Joel still searching for some way to touch you even while you bore most of his weight.
Eventually, he lifted his head.
“Need to turn around.”
“You steady?”
“With you holdin’ me? Yeah.”
You helped him move carefully, keeping his injured hand against his chest until his back met the wall. The moment he faced you, his left arm came around your waist and pulled you against him.
Joel kissed you before you could speak.
The kiss held none of the frantic hunger that had taken him apart moments earlier. It was slow and open, his lips moving over yours with an exhausted tenderness that left you more exposed than anything he had said. His damp beard scraped gently across your chin as he kissed you again, lingering this time, breathing you in as though the release had stripped him down to the simplest things he knew.
Your hands settled against his chest.
He rested his forehead against yours.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You never have to thank me for touching you. Your needs are my needs too.”
“Ain’t only that.”
His hand moved slowly up your back, keeping you close.
“Been meanin’ everything else.”
You traced the wet line of his jaw with your thumb. “Joel…”
He watched you, something tired and unguarded in his eyes.
“You’d do the same for me,” you said.
“In a heartbeat.”
“Then quit acting like it only works one way, my love.”
The corner of his mouth lifted before he kissed you again. His hand travelled down your arm until his fingers found yours, and he raised your left hand between you. His thumb passed over your wedding band with quiet concentration.
“Feels strange not havin’ mine on.”
“I know.”
“Kept reachin’ for it all night.”
“I noticed that too.”
You guided his injured hand closer and pressed your lips to the bare place where his ring belonged.
“Still all mine without it.”
His eyes softened. “Always.”
You stayed beneath the water until his breathing settled, holding each other in the humid quiet. When you finally turned off the shower, Joel allowed you to dry him, although he complained when you knelt to run the towel down his legs.
“Can dry my own damn feet, darlin’.”
“With which hand?”
His mouth closed.
“That’s what I thought.”
You wrapped the towel around his waist and guided him into the bedroom with your palm resting at the base of his spine.
The wedding band remained exactly where you had left it.
Joel looked at it while you sat him on the edge of the mattress and knelt between his knees with fresh gauze. You worked carefully around each bruised knuckle, smoothing the bandage without pulling it too tightly. He watched your hands throughout, quiet and heavy-limbed, his left palm resting warmly against the back of your neck.
When you finished, you raised his injured hand and kissed the pale indentation once more.
His gaze moved from his bare finger to the ring on the table.
Then he reached for it with his left hand.
“Joel, you can’t put it back on yet.”
“I know, baby, but I was thinkin’…” He picked up the band and held it toward you. “You still got that chain in your jewelry box? The one you don’t wear?”
Your heart gave a small, painful pull.
“I do.”
You retrieved the thin chain and sat beside him. Joel placed the ring in your palm, trusting you with it as he had trusted you with everything else that night. You threaded the chain through the band before fastening it carefully around his neck.
The ring settled against the damp hair on his chest.
Joel looked down and touched it with two fingers. His thumb passed slowly over the familiar curve before he closed his hand around it, holding it against his sternum. The tension that had lingered in his face since you removed it finally eased; his shoulders dropped, and the breath he released sounded deeper than any he had taken since leaving urgent care.
“Better?” you asked.
“Yeah.” His eyes lifted to yours, tired and unmistakably relieved. He gave the ring another small squeeze but did not release it. “Much better.”
You covered his closed hand with yours. “You really hated having it off.”
Joel glanced down at the pale indentation around his finger. “Kept feelin’ for it.” His thumb rubbed over the empty place as though demonstrating a habit his body had not yet learned to abandon. “Every time I looked at my hand, somethin’ felt wrong. Like I’d left part of myself sittin’ on that table.”
The quiet confession tightened your throat. It was only a circle of gold, small enough to disappear inside his broad palm, but Joel had worn it through years of work, sleep, arguments, dinners and mornings when neither of you had anything more important to say than asking who had finished the coffee. He had grown so accustomed to carrying the visible proof of your life together that its absence had left his hand feeling unfamiliar to him.
You curled your fingers around his, pressing the ring gently against his chest. “It was never going anywhere.”
“Know that.” His gaze returned to yours. “Still didn’t like bein’ without it.”
You leaned forward and kissed the crease between his brows, lingering until it softened beneath your mouth.
“Come here,” you murmured, drawing back the covers. “Let me hold you, my love.”
He lay down without argument, his injured hand elevated safely on the pillow. When you settled beside him, Joel rested his head against your chest and curved his left arm around your waist. The ring lay cool between his skin and yours, warming slowly where your bodies met.
His thumb found your wedding band once more.
“Mine safe, sweetheart?” he asked, already half asleep.
You covered the ring resting over his heart.
“Right here, baby.”
Joel released one final, tired breath against your skin. His entire body softened into the mattress, giving you its full and familiar weight.
This time, when you held him, he did not try to hold you up in return.
honey screw you for writing porn and making it so beautiful?????????????????? oh my god this is GOLDEN i swear
This was the man who noticed when your shoulders hurt before you complained, who left water on your bedside table every night because you always woke thirsty, who could read the smallest change in your breathing beneath his hands and know whether you needed more, less, faster, slower. He had spent years learning every language your body spoke.
dude............. they way you write joel................... your characterization of him is so fucking perfect i just want to DIEEEEEE
Pride held him silent for another moment. You could almost feel the struggle taking place inside him—the same man who would carry too many grocery bags rather than make a second trip, who would work through a fever and insist he was only tired, who treated being needed as though it were the simplest form of love but had never learned how to need someone without apology.
seriously im going to fucking COMBUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! not even talkin g about the good boy situation............................ i cannot survive him asking to hear it again............................................
the wedding ring thing also fucking killed me!!!!!!!!!!!!! him being so upset about it!!!!!!!!!!!! i love this man!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he loves his wife!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! husband material so badddddddddddd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
honey seriously thank you SO much for giving us this gift i'm so in love and i miss my man so bad 😫😫😫 joel pls come home 😫😫😫😫
Me reading this onw to work at 8am, ah love this app. @honey-moon-13 u killed it. The way you write joel is just 🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭 @mcthsman giggling with ur comments 🫶
pairing: husband!Joel Miller × f!reader
summary: The worst part about injuring his hand isn’t the pain. It’s having to take off his wedding ring—and being unable to jerk off properly. Luckily, Joel has a wife who’s more than happy to lend him a hand.
a/n: I’ve had a really rough few weeks, so this is pretty much unedited! A little Joel never hurts when you’re trying to pull yourself out of a slump, I guess ❤️🩹
warnings: smut, established relationship, implied age-gap, husband!joel, male masturbation, shower handjob, praise kink, “good boy” used two times, dirty talk, teasing (kinda), male orgasm, mild injury and pain, mentions of urgent care and painkillers, caretaking, aftercare and a lot of love!
wc: 5634 k
I’d love to know what you thought, so please don’t be shy and leave me a little comment. Hearing from you truly means so much to me .⋆❀°
The shower had been running long enough for you to read the same paragraph three times.
Joel had claimed the heat might help his hand, although the doctor had prescribed ice, elevation and several days without gripping anything. The X-ray had shown no fracture. Joel had treated that information like permission to ignore the rest, trying to open the truck door with his injured hand before you had even left urgent care. By dinner, the bruising had spread in deep violet shadows across his knuckles, and you had needed soap to ease his wedding band over the swelling.
That had bothered him more than the pain.
He had watched you work the ring slowly over his knuckle, his mouth set in a hard line, and when it finally slipped free into your palm, his thumb had rubbed once over the pale indentation it left behind.
“Only for a few days, honey,” you had told him.
“I know, I know.”
But he continued staring at his empty finger until you placed the band on the bedside table beside your own things, safely within view.
You opened his painkillers, replaced his bandage and left him to shower while you climbed into bed with your book. But the water continued to run and you had retained nothing from the page before you.
You closed the book.
“Joel?”
No answer.
You glanced at the clock, set the book aside and crossed the bedroom.
Steam rolled through the bathroom when you opened the door. His discarded bandage lay damp beside the sink, his clothes gathered in a careless heap near the hamper. The mirror had fogged completely, but through the glass of the shower you could make out the broad, blurred shape of him standing beneath the water.
“Joel?” you called again.
No answer came, though beneath the steady rush you heard the faint scrape of skin against tile, followed by a low curse that was unmistakably his.
You undressed and stepped inside quietly, drawing a breath when the hot water struck your shoulder.
Joel stood with his back to you.
He had his head bowed and his right arm braced against the wall from elbow to wrist, protecting the swollen hand from bearing his weight. Even in the softened light, you could see the mottled bruising across his knuckles, his fingers held stiff and slightly apart. His left palm rested lower on the tile. His broad shoulders were drawn tight, every muscle along his back rigid beneath the water as it streamed through the silver beginning to thread the dark curls at the nape of his neck. It followed the shallow groove of his spine, split around the soft fullness above his hips and disappeared between his legs.
For several seconds, you simply watched him.
His left arm moved, but the motion lacked the steady, practiced rhythm you knew, his fist travelling over his cock with an awkwardness that seemed to frustrate him more each time. He adjusted his grip, tried again and shifted his hips forward, chasing a sensation his other hand could not quite give him. His shoulders tightened. A harsher curse slipped from him when his injured fingers flexed instinctively against the tile.
The sight sent heat through you with such sudden force that your breath caught.
Joel touching himself would always affect you—the thick length of him flushed dark in his fist, water shining over the soft curve of his stomach and the wet hair beneath his navel—but it was the vulnerability of the moment that drew you closer. This was the man who noticed when your shoulders hurt before you complained, who left water on your bedside table every night because you always woke thirsty, who could read the smallest change in your breathing beneath his hands and know whether you needed more, less, faster, slower. He had spent years learning every language your body spoke.
Yet he stood alone beneath the water, unable to give himself what he needed, too proud to call for you and too stubborn to stop trying.
You stepped closer without speaking.
He was so absorbed in the effort that he did not hear the shower door close behind you. He did not notice the water shift when your body interrupted its path or the quiet whisper of your bare feet against the tile. It was only when you placed your mouth between his shoulder blades, lips pressing softly to the center of his wet back, that his entire body jolted.
“Jesus!”
His head turned sharply. Pain flashed across his face when his injured fingers contracted against the wall, and he forced them open again with a hiss.
“Didn’t hear you, darlin’.”
“I noticed, baby.”
Your lips moved over his back once more, slower this time. Water ran between your mouth and his skin, tasting faintly of soap. Up close, the heat of him felt different from the heat surrounding you, deeper and alive, held taut beneath skin that shivered when you kissed the raised ridge of an old scar near his shoulder.
“What’re you doin’ in here?” he asked.
“Checking on my handsome husband.”
You rested your chin against him and looked down the length of his body. His left hand had gone still, the grip around himself loosening now that he knew you were watching. Embarrassment was not something Joel wore easily; on him, it appeared as a stubborn tilt of his chin and a refusal to look directly at you.
“Looks like I was right to worry.”
“Ain’t anythin’ to worry about.”
“You’ve been in here twenty minutes.”
“Lost track.”
“That so?”
Your palms settled at his waist and moved around him, spreading over the curve of his belly. He had grown softer through the middle over the years, his body shaped by long workdays, evening beers and all the second helpings he accepted after insisting he was full. You loved the weight of him, the solid breadth of his chest, the coarse hair flattened beneath your fingers. You loved the familiar scars and the places age had begun touching him. You loved that you could stand behind him with your eyes closed and know precisely where your hands rested.
“Seems like you’re hurting yourself because you’d rather wrestle with the wrong hand than call your wife,” you murmured.
“Wasn’t hurtin’ myself, sweetheart.”
“No?”
Your nails travelled upward through the hair on his stomach before descending again, leaving pale trails across his flushed skin. Joel’s breath changed when your fingertips passed beneath his navel.
“That hand doesn’t seem to be accomplishing much either.”
His jaw tightened, but his hips shifted subtly into his fist.
You closed the remaining distance between you and pressed your naked body to his back. The instant your breasts touched him, his breath caught. Your mouth found the side of his neck while one hand remained spread over his stomach and the other followed the dark line beneath his navel.
“Couldn’t get it right?” you asked softly.
“Left hand don’t feel like mine.”
There was so much quiet frustration in the admission that your teasing softened.
“You could’ve called me.”
“Didn’t wanna bother you, baby.”
You lifted your head. “Joel Miller, I don’t care if I’m reading, sleeping or halfway through the best dream of my life. Asking me to touch you is never going to bother me.”
“Ain’t exactly somethin’ you should have to—”
“No.” You kissed the back of his shoulder as your hand slipped lower, fingertips barely grazing the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “You take care of me so often that half the time I don’t notice you’re doing it until it’s already done. So let me have my turn.”
The rigid set of his shoulders loosened by a fraction.
His left hand opened around himself, although surrendering even that unsatisfying contact made his hips follow your hovering fingers.
“Need a hand, don’t you, cowboy?” you teased, catching the edge of his ear gently between your teeth.
A strained breath left him, somewhere between a groan and a protest.
“You gonna help or keep makin’ fun of me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” You clicked your tongue. “You do look awfully pretty struggling, baby.”
“Christ, woman.”
“Although…” Your hand settled over his left wrist and guided it away from his cock. He allowed you to place his palm on the tile, but his body remained tense, caught somewhere between wanting what you offered and resisting the act of receiving it. “I suppose I could lend my favorite cowboy a hand. If he asks nicely.”
Joel lowered his forehead to the wall.
Water slipped through the grey in his beard and fell from his jaw. Pride held him silent for another moment. You could almost feel the struggle taking place inside him—the same man who would carry too many grocery bags rather than make a second trip, who would work through a fever and insist he was only tired, who treated being needed as though it were the simplest form of love but had never learned how to need someone without apology.
You spread your palm over his bare ring finger.
The touch made him look down.
His gaze rested on your hand covering his, your wedding band shining through the water while his finger remained pale and empty beneath it. His thumb moved once against the tile, reaching for yours before remembering the awkward angle.
Then his weight shifted back into you.
“Need you,” he admitted quietly.
You waited with your lips resting against his shoulder, though the answer had already travelled through you. Joel asked for so little that sometimes you resented him for it. He would mention that his boots needed replacing only after the soles had begun admitting water, would say he was hungry once you had already placed a plate before him, would carry an ache for days until you noticed the careful way he avoided turning his neck. Even now, naked and hard between your arms, he had tried to make the request smaller than it was. Need you. Two words offered in place of everything his body had already confessed, as though wanting something from you was still harder than enduring without it.
His breath left him slowly. His empty ring finger shifted beneath your palm. When you still did not move, his hips pressed back against you before rolling forward, his cock brushing heavily against the hand you kept just beyond his reach.
“Please,” he said, whatever remained of his pride finally yielding to the need roughening his voice. “Put your hand on my cock. Stroke me. Been tryin’ to come for so goddamn long, and I can’t—I need you to do it for me.”
Joel had trusted you with his home, his daughter, the parts of his past he still struggled to name. He had stood before everyone you loved and placed a ring on your finger with hands that had trembled more than his voice. Yet this small surrender seemed to cost him something too.
You kissed the pale place where his wedding band belonged.
“Good boy.”
Joel went utterly still.
His breathing stopped for one suspended second, his stomach turning rigid beneath your forearm and his left palm pressing flat against the tile. His cock pulsed before you had even closed your fingers around him.
Slowly, he looked back at you.
Steam had gathered in his lashes. His dark eyes found yours over his shoulder, surprise exposed there before he could conceal it, followed by a heat so immediate that your thighs drew together behind him. A flush travelled higher along his throat. He appeared almost offended by the force of his own reaction, as though his body had answered you before his pride could intervene.
“What’d you call me?”
“You heard me, baby.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Say it again.”
A smile touched your lips, but you did not laugh at him. There was something too open in his expression, too uncertain beneath the want.
“Later,” you promised. “Face the wall and lean back against me. Let your wife take care of you, big boy.”
Joel held your gaze for another moment before looking forward again. His forehead settled against the tile as his shoulders gradually loosened beneath your arms. He moved back until the curve of his ass pressed firmly against your lower stomach, giving you more of his weight than before.
You kissed the center of his back and slid your right hand down.
This time, you did not stop.
Your fingers curled around the base of his cock, and Joel’s entire body answered.
His abdomen contracted beneath your forearm. His left palm slipped before flattening against the wall again. A sound left him—low, involuntary, pulled from somewhere beneath the frustration he had carried into the shower—and the thick length of him hardened further in your grip.
You held him without moving at first, letting him feel the fit of your hand around him although your fingers could not quite meet. Heat pulsed beneath the slick skin, his heartbeat fast and heavy against your palm. You adjusted the showerhead until the strongest part of the spray struck his back rather than your joined hands, then tightened your grip. Another broken breath warmed your cheek.
“There,” you murmured. “Better?”
“Fuck, yes—”
“I thought so.” You stroked him slowly from base to tip, watching his stomach pull tight beneath your arm. “Next time you need my hand around your cock, come put it there.”
Joel’s hips followed your fist as it descended. “Knew you’d enjoy this.”
“You knew correctly.”
Your thumb swept over the broad head before your fist travelled down again. At the base, you loosened your grip and slipped your free hand beneath him. Joel groaned when your palm cupped his balls, the swollen, heavy weight of them filling your hand while the other continued moving slowly along his cock.
“Oh, baby...” You rolled them gently beneath your fingers, and his hips pressed forward as though even that small touch had reached somewhere deeper than he expected. “No wonder you were getting so frustrated. These are awfully full.”
“Don’t start.”
The words lacked any real warning. They came roughened by the careful twist of your wrist, Joel’s breath catching when you tightened your fist beneath the head. You smiled against his shoulder and gave him another long stroke, refusing the faster pace his body was beginning to seek.
“I’ve already started.” Your lips followed a rivulet of water toward the sensitive place behind his ear. “You should’ve seen yourself, hiding in here with all of this aching for relief.”
“Enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Very much.” You squeezed the weight in your palm once more, tender enough to make his thighs tense. “I’ve got my handsome husband naked in my arms, getting harder every time I tease him. I can feel how badly he needs to come, and he’s making the prettiest noises while I take my time giving him exactly what he asked for.” Your thumb gathered the slickness from the tip and spread it beneath the head. “What’s not to enjoy?”
“Mean woman.”
The complaint dissolved into a groan when your fingers tightened around him. His hips followed your hand instinctively, cock sliding through your wet fist while you maintained the slow rhythm already wearing away his restraint.
“Mm. And you love me.”
“Yeah.” His answer came without hesitation, broken slightly by the next stroke. “More than anythin’.”
The words entered you with the familiar weight of truth. Joel could spend ten uninterrupted minutes complaining about traffic, Tommy or the price of lumber, but anything that mattered was pared down until only its simplest form remained. More than anythin’ was extravagance from a man like him, offered with his forehead resting against the shower wall, his injured hand held carefully before him and his body surrounded by yours.
You kissed him behind the ear and released the heavy weight beneath his cock, bringing your free arm around his middle. Your palm spread over his stomach as you drew him more securely against you.
“Good,” you murmured. “Then be sweet and let me take my time with you.”
You kept the first strokes long and measured, your fist gliding over every thick inch before closing more firmly on the descent. Joel attempted to follow you, but impatience made his hips arrive too early. You adjusted without comment, refusing to hurry; the next time he thrust forward, you slowed near the head and held him snugly in your palm until a strained breath escaped through his teeth.
Water ran over his shoulders and divided around your arms, gathering briefly in the dark hair beneath his navel before disappearing between your joined bodies. The shower could not conceal the low sounds he made whenever your grip changed or the unconscious contraction of his stomach beneath your palm. You understood what he wanted—the shallow movement of his hips asking for more speed, his left hand spreading against the tile to brace for the pressure he preferred—but kept him at that patient rhythm a little longer. By the time you tightened your fist, frustration no longer held his shoulders rigid. He was waiting for you, and his cock pulsed heavily against your palm.
“That’s it,” you whispered, your mouth close to his ear. “You can move with me now.”
Joel released a deep, uneven breath and rolled his hips forward. You met him, your fist descending as he pushed into it and closing more firmly when he reached the base. On his retreat, you stroked upward, letting the swollen head drag through the circle of your fingers before guiding him into the next movement. He followed more carefully this time, the rhythm hesitant only for the first few strokes before pleasure taught him what you wanted.
“There you go, baby.”
“God—feels so damn good.”
You held him close and let the rhythm develop between you. Each thrust grew deeper, Joel’s ass pressing into your lower stomach when he drew back before he drove forward again. Your fist worked over him in time with the motion, no longer making him wait, though you retained enough control to keep his impatience from carrying him too quickly toward the edge.
The change reached his breathing first. Those deep, measured pulls of air began catching halfway into his lungs, his mouth opening against the tile to release the low sounds he had tried to suppress when you entered. Soon he no longer seemed aware of them. His attention had narrowed to your fingers around his cock, your palm against his stomach and the body supporting him from behind.
You kissed the wet slope of his shoulder.
Joel had touched you in darkness and sunlight, slowly and with desperate hunger, had learned your body so thoroughly that sometimes a single adjustment of his hand could make you fall apart. Yet this felt different from simply returning the pleasure he had given you over the years. Tonight, he could not reach back and distract you with your own need. He could not turn, gather you against him and assume the responsibility of taking care of both of you. All he could do was remain inside your embrace and trust that being wanted did not depend upon what he could offer in return.
Your grip tightened. Joel groaned and drove forward with enough force to push the air from your lungs. You widened your stance and continued meeting him as the movement grew rougher, each thrust dragging his cock rapidly through your closed fingers before your hand followed him back to the base. Wet skin moved against wet skin beneath the shower, punctuated by his heavier breathing and a broken curse whenever you changed the angle of your wrist.
You pressed your mouth beneath his ear.
“Take it, baby,” you murmured. “Use my hand exactly how you need.”
Joel stopped trying to follow each movement you gave him and began taking the friction for himself, thrusting through your fist with all the force he had been restraining. You let him, your hand closed and steady around him while your other arm held him against you—until his injured fingers curled instinctively against the tile. The hiss that left him cut through the pleasure. You caught his wrist at once and drew his arm away from the wall without slowing the motion between his legs.
“Give me this one.”
Joel allowed you to fold his arm across his chest. You tucked the bruised hand against his opposite shoulder and covered it with your own, your forearm securing it safely in place.
“Ain’t bad,” he managed.
“Shh.”
You kissed the uninjured edge of his wrist. Your fist continued working steadily over his cock as though caring for one hurting part of him required no sacrifice from the rest.
Joel’s chest rose beneath your arm. His bruised fingers gradually relaxed against his shoulder, and his left hand left the tile to cover yours where it held him. His thumb searched through the water until it found the smooth band around your finger and rested there.
You turned your face and kissed his cheek.
Joel leaned into it for a fleeting second before the next stroke pulled a groan from him. His thumb remained pressed over your wedding band as he settled farther back, giving you more of his weight without looking to see whether you could hold it. You planted your feet, tightened your arm around his chest and did.
He was letting you have all of his need now: his injured hand held safely beneath yours, his balance entrusted to your body, his pleasure naked in every sound he could no longer contain. When your fist moved faster, his hips answered immediately. The rhythm that had belonged to both of you began to unravel as he pushed forward too soon and retreated only far enough to thrust again, each movement shorter and rougher than the last.
You adapted without breaking pace, concentrating the friction where his body responded most strongly. A rough curse left him when you repeated it, his cock almost painfully rigid within your fist, the pulse against your palm heavier and more insistent. His thighs began to tremble as the measured roll of his hips disappeared altogether. He was no longer fucking your hand with any discernible rhythm; he was chasing it, moving on instinct whenever your grip reached the sensitive head.
Your own breathing quickened against his back. Heat gathered low in your stomach as you watched the man who could reduce you to pleading with the smallest movement lose himself in your arms. You pressed your thighs together, but every sound he made travelled directly through you, every desperate thrust sending another pulse of want between your legs. None of it made you want to turn his attention toward you. Tonight, his pleasure was enough.
Your mouth found the place beneath his ear that always made his shoulders rise.
“Look at you,” you whispered, affection wrapped around the teasing words. “You were so determined to handle this yourself, and now you can barely keep those legs steady.”
Joel tried to answer, but your fist tightened and the words collapsed into a hoarse moan. You smiled against his skin.
“No clever answer for me?”
“Hard to—” He broke off, thrusting roughly into your grip. “Hard to fuckin’ think.”
“That’s all right, baby. You don’t need to.”
You increased the pace until the movement became relentless, your slick fist closing around him as quickly as his hips could push forward. Joel’s forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders drawing tight as pleasure gathered beyond his control. His breathing fractured into rough, shallow pulls, each ending in a sound he no longer attempted to swallow.
His left hand abandoned yours and flattened against the wall, fingers splayed wide for purchase. Your wedding ring remained warm beneath the place his thumb had pressed it. He drove into your fist once, twice, then faltered, the next thrust arriving shorter as his cock throbbed heavily in your palm. You felt the approaching release before he spoke—in the sudden rigidity of his stomach, the way his thighs locked as if bracing might delay what your hand was already pulling from him, the helpless twitch that travelled through his cock whenever your grip reached the head.
“Baby—” His voice cracked around the word.
You kissed his jaw. “I know.”
“Close—”
The admission came through clenched teeth, barely louder than the water. You kept your fist moving at the same firm pace, refusing to startle his body with any sudden change.
“How close?”
“Real fuckin’—close.”
Joel attempted another thrust, but the rhythm had abandoned him entirely. His hips jerked into your hand and stopped, leaving you to carry the movement while he trembled within your arms. His weight tipped backward. You accepted all of it, your forearm held securely across his chest and his injured hand protected beneath yours.
“Please,” he rasped. “Don’t slow down—”
“I won’t, baby.”
Your fist travelled over him in fast, complete strokes, drawing the tension tighter with each pass. His cock pulsed violently against your palm, so close now that every movement seemed to pull a broken sound from the deepest part of his chest.
You caught his earlobe gently between your teeth.
“Every drop for me?”
“All yours.” The answer came instantly, stripped of breath and pride. His head dropped as his hips gave one final, desperate drive through your fist. “Every fuckin’ drop.”
A tender satisfaction spread beneath the heat in your chest. You tightened your embrace, lips brushing the shell of his ear while your hand gave him the exact rhythm his body had been seeking from the moment you entered the shower.
“That’s my good boy,” you whispered. “Give it to me.”
The praise undid him.
Joel came with a sound so raw it seemed torn from the center of him.
His entire body locked in your arms. His cock jerked hard in your fist, the first hot pulse spilling over your fingers before the shower could carry it away. His hips punched forward with the next one, wrenching a broken groan from his throat as another thick streak struck the tile beneath him.
You kept your hand moving, drawing every stroke from base to tip while release continued to pulse from him. Each one seized a different part of his body—his stomach clenching beneath your arm, his thighs jumping, his shoulders drawing taut beneath your mouth. You felt the force of it pass through him until there was nothing left with which he could hold himself upright.
His knees buckled.
You caught his full weight before either of you could fall.
Your chest pressed tightly to his back, your arm banded across his ribs and your palm protecting the swollen knuckles tucked against his shoulder. Joel trembled through every aftershock, forehead resting heavily against the wall. His cock gave one final, helpless pulse into your slowing hand.
“Fuck,” he choked. “Baby—”
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
You continued moving until the last throb softened beneath your palm. Only then did you loosen your fingers, careful of the sensitivity that made his hips flinch when your thumb grazed the head. The water washed your hand clean, carrying the evidence of his release toward the drain.
Joel remained folded against the wall, his breathing coming in ragged pulls. You kept him gathered within your arms, lips moving over his shoulder and along the nape of his neck while the final tremors passed through him.
“Take your time, baby,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His left hand covered your forearm where it crossed his chest. His thumb rubbed slowly over your skin, Joel still searching for some way to touch you even while you bore most of his weight.
Eventually, he lifted his head.
“Need to turn around.”
“You steady?”
“With you holdin’ me? Yeah.”
You helped him move carefully, keeping his injured hand against his chest until his back met the wall. The moment he faced you, his left arm came around your waist and pulled you against him.
Joel kissed you before you could speak.
The kiss held none of the frantic hunger that had taken him apart moments earlier. It was slow and open, his lips moving over yours with an exhausted tenderness that left you more exposed than anything he had said. His damp beard scraped gently across your chin as he kissed you again, lingering this time, breathing you in as though the release had stripped him down to the simplest things he knew.
Your hands settled against his chest.
He rested his forehead against yours.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You never have to thank me for touching you. Your needs are my needs too.”
“Ain’t only that.”
His hand moved slowly up your back, keeping you close.
“Been meanin’ everything else.”
You traced the wet line of his jaw with your thumb. “Joel…”
He watched you, something tired and unguarded in his eyes.
“You’d do the same for me,” you said.
“In a heartbeat.”
“Then quit acting like it only works one way, my love.”
The corner of his mouth lifted before he kissed you again. His hand travelled down your arm until his fingers found yours, and he raised your left hand between you. His thumb passed over your wedding band with quiet concentration.
“Feels strange not havin’ mine on.”
“I know.”
“Kept reachin’ for it all night.”
“I noticed that too.”
You guided his injured hand closer and pressed your lips to the bare place where his ring belonged.
“Still all mine without it.”
His eyes softened. “Always.”
You stayed beneath the water until his breathing settled, holding each other in the humid quiet. When you finally turned off the shower, Joel allowed you to dry him, although he complained when you knelt to run the towel down his legs.
“Can dry my own damn feet, darlin’.”
“With which hand?”
His mouth closed.
“That’s what I thought.”
You wrapped the towel around his waist and guided him into the bedroom with your palm resting at the base of his spine.
The wedding band remained exactly where you had left it.
Joel looked at it while you sat him on the edge of the mattress and knelt between his knees with fresh gauze. You worked carefully around each bruised knuckle, smoothing the bandage without pulling it too tightly. He watched your hands throughout, quiet and heavy-limbed, his left palm resting warmly against the back of your neck.
When you finished, you raised his injured hand and kissed the pale indentation once more.
His gaze moved from his bare finger to the ring on the table.
Then he reached for it with his left hand.
“Joel, you can’t put it back on yet.”
“I know, baby, but I was thinkin’…” He picked up the band and held it toward you. “You still got that chain in your jewelry box? The one you don’t wear?”
Your heart gave a small, painful pull.
“I do.”
You retrieved the thin chain and sat beside him. Joel placed the ring in your palm, trusting you with it as he had trusted you with everything else that night. You threaded the chain through the band before fastening it carefully around his neck.
The ring settled against the damp hair on his chest.
Joel looked down and touched it with two fingers. His thumb passed slowly over the familiar curve before he closed his hand around it, holding it against his sternum. The tension that had lingered in his face since you removed it finally eased; his shoulders dropped, and the breath he released sounded deeper than any he had taken since leaving urgent care.
“Better?” you asked.
“Yeah.” His eyes lifted to yours, tired and unmistakably relieved. He gave the ring another small squeeze but did not release it. “Much better.”
You covered his closed hand with yours. “You really hated having it off.”
Joel glanced down at the pale indentation around his finger. “Kept feelin’ for it.” His thumb rubbed over the empty place as though demonstrating a habit his body had not yet learned to abandon. “Every time I looked at my hand, somethin’ felt wrong. Like I’d left part of myself sittin’ on that table.”
The quiet confession tightened your throat. It was only a circle of gold, small enough to disappear inside his broad palm, but Joel had worn it through years of work, sleep, arguments, dinners and mornings when neither of you had anything more important to say than asking who had finished the coffee. He had grown so accustomed to carrying the visible proof of your life together that its absence had left his hand feeling unfamiliar to him.
You curled your fingers around his, pressing the ring gently against his chest. “It was never going anywhere.”
“Know that.” His gaze returned to yours. “Still didn’t like bein’ without it.”
You leaned forward and kissed the crease between his brows, lingering until it softened beneath your mouth.
“Come here,” you murmured, drawing back the covers. “Let me hold you, my love.”
He lay down without argument, his injured hand elevated safely on the pillow. When you settled beside him, Joel rested his head against your chest and curved his left arm around your waist. The ring lay cool between his skin and yours, warming slowly where your bodies met.
His thumb found your wedding band once more.
“Mine safe, sweetheart?” he asked, already half asleep.
You covered the ring resting over his heart.
“Right here, baby.”
Joel released one final, tired breath against your skin. His entire body softened into the mattress, giving you its full and familiar weight.
This time, when you held him, he did not try to hold you up in return.
honey screw you for writing porn and making it so beautiful?????????????????? oh my god this is GOLDEN i swear
This was the man who noticed when your shoulders hurt before you complained, who left water on your bedside table every night because you always woke thirsty, who could read the smallest change in your breathing beneath his hands and know whether you needed more, less, faster, slower. He had spent years learning every language your body spoke.
dude............. they way you write joel................... your characterization of him is so fucking perfect i just want to DIEEEEEE
Pride held him silent for another moment. You could almost feel the struggle taking place inside him—the same man who would carry too many grocery bags rather than make a second trip, who would work through a fever and insist he was only tired, who treated being needed as though it were the simplest form of love but had never learned how to need someone without apology.
seriously im going to fucking COMBUST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! not even talkin g about the good boy situation............................ i cannot survive him asking to hear it again............................................
the wedding ring thing also fucking killed me!!!!!!!!!!!!! him being so upset about it!!!!!!!!!!!! i love this man!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! he loves his wife!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! husband material so badddddddddddd!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
honey seriously thank you SO much for giving us this gift i'm so in love and i miss my man so bad 😫😫😫 joel pls come home 😫😫😫😫
Your comments are my favorite thing omfg 😭💘 a good boy and a good husband 💯 💯 💯 ILY!!!! (someone please sedate me because I can't stop using the good boy thing for him like I CAN'T!!!)
pairing: husband!Joel Miller × f!reader
summary: The worst part about injuring his hand isn’t the pain. It’s having to take off his wedding ring—and being unable to jerk off properly. Luckily, Joel has a wife who’s more than happy to lend him a hand.
a/n: I’ve had a really rough few weeks, so this is pretty much unedited! A little Joel never hurts when you’re trying to pull yourself out of a slump, I guess ❤️🩹
warnings: smut, established relationship, implied age-gap, husband!joel, male masturbation, shower handjob, praise kink, “good boy” used two times, dirty talk, teasing (kinda), male orgasm, mild injury and pain, mentions of urgent care and painkillers, caretaking, aftercare and a lot of love!
wc: 5634 k
I’d love to know what you thought, so please don’t be shy and leave me a little comment. Hearing from you truly means so much to me .⋆❀°
The shower had been running long enough for you to read the same paragraph three times.
Joel had claimed the heat might help his hand, although the doctor had prescribed ice, elevation and several days without gripping anything. The X-ray had shown no fracture. Joel had treated that information like permission to ignore the rest, trying to open the truck door with his injured hand before you had even left urgent care. By dinner, the bruising had spread in deep violet shadows across his knuckles, and you had needed soap to ease his wedding band over the swelling.
That had bothered him more than the pain.
He had watched you work the ring slowly over his knuckle, his mouth set in a hard line, and when it finally slipped free into your palm, his thumb had rubbed once over the pale indentation it left behind.
“Only for a few days, honey,” you had told him.
“I know, I know.”
But he continued staring at his empty finger until you placed the band on the bedside table beside your own things, safely within view.
You opened his painkillers, replaced his bandage and left him to shower while you climbed into bed with your book. But the water continued to run and you had retained nothing from the page before you.
You closed the book.
“Joel?”
No answer.
You glanced at the clock, set the book aside and crossed the bedroom.
Steam rolled through the bathroom when you opened the door. His discarded bandage lay damp beside the sink, his clothes gathered in a careless heap near the hamper. The mirror had fogged completely, but through the glass of the shower you could make out the broad, blurred shape of him standing beneath the water.
“Joel?” you called again.
No answer came, though beneath the steady rush you heard the faint scrape of skin against tile, followed by a low curse that was unmistakably his.
You undressed and stepped inside quietly, drawing a breath when the hot water struck your shoulder.
Joel stood with his back to you.
He had his head bowed and his right arm braced against the wall from elbow to wrist, protecting the swollen hand from bearing his weight. Even in the softened light, you could see the mottled bruising across his knuckles, his fingers held stiff and slightly apart. His left palm rested lower on the tile. His broad shoulders were drawn tight, every muscle along his back rigid beneath the water as it streamed through the silver beginning to thread the dark curls at the nape of his neck. It followed the shallow groove of his spine, split around the soft fullness above his hips and disappeared between his legs.
For several seconds, you simply watched him.
His left arm moved, but the motion lacked the steady, practiced rhythm you knew, his fist travelling over his cock with an awkwardness that seemed to frustrate him more each time. He adjusted his grip, tried again and shifted his hips forward, chasing a sensation his other hand could not quite give him. His shoulders tightened. A harsher curse slipped from him when his injured fingers flexed instinctively against the tile.
The sight sent heat through you with such sudden force that your breath caught.
Joel touching himself would always affect you—the thick length of him flushed dark in his fist, water shining over the soft curve of his stomach and the wet hair beneath his navel—but it was the vulnerability of the moment that drew you closer. This was the man who noticed when your shoulders hurt before you complained, who left water on your bedside table every night because you always woke thirsty, who could read the smallest change in your breathing beneath his hands and know whether you needed more, less, faster, slower. He had spent years learning every language your body spoke.
Yet he stood alone beneath the water, unable to give himself what he needed, too proud to call for you and too stubborn to stop trying.
You stepped closer without speaking.
He was so absorbed in the effort that he did not hear the shower door close behind you. He did not notice the water shift when your body interrupted its path or the quiet whisper of your bare feet against the tile. It was only when you placed your mouth between his shoulder blades, lips pressing softly to the center of his wet back, that his entire body jolted.
“Jesus!”
His head turned sharply. Pain flashed across his face when his injured fingers contracted against the wall, and he forced them open again with a hiss.
“Didn’t hear you, darlin’.”
“I noticed, baby.”
Your lips moved over his back once more, slower this time. Water ran between your mouth and his skin, tasting faintly of soap. Up close, the heat of him felt different from the heat surrounding you, deeper and alive, held taut beneath skin that shivered when you kissed the raised ridge of an old scar near his shoulder.
“What’re you doin’ in here?” he asked.
“Checking on my handsome husband.”
You rested your chin against him and looked down the length of his body. His left hand had gone still, the grip around himself loosening now that he knew you were watching. Embarrassment was not something Joel wore easily; on him, it appeared as a stubborn tilt of his chin and a refusal to look directly at you.
“Looks like I was right to worry.”
“Ain’t anythin’ to worry about.”
“You’ve been in here twenty minutes.”
“Lost track.”
“That so?”
Your palms settled at his waist and moved around him, spreading over the curve of his belly. He had grown softer through the middle over the years, his body shaped by long workdays, evening beers and all the second helpings he accepted after insisting he was full. You loved the weight of him, the solid breadth of his chest, the coarse hair flattened beneath your fingers. You loved the familiar scars and the places age had begun touching him. You loved that you could stand behind him with your eyes closed and know precisely where your hands rested.
“Seems like you’re hurting yourself because you’d rather wrestle with the wrong hand than call your wife,” you murmured.
“Wasn’t hurtin’ myself, sweetheart.”
“No?”
Your nails travelled upward through the hair on his stomach before descending again, leaving pale trails across his flushed skin. Joel’s breath changed when your fingertips passed beneath his navel.
“That hand doesn’t seem to be accomplishing much either.”
His jaw tightened, but his hips shifted subtly into his fist.
You closed the remaining distance between you and pressed your naked body to his back. The instant your breasts touched him, his breath caught. Your mouth found the side of his neck while one hand remained spread over his stomach and the other followed the dark line beneath his navel.
“Couldn’t get it right?” you asked softly.
“Left hand don’t feel like mine.”
There was so much quiet frustration in the admission that your teasing softened.
“You could’ve called me.”
“Didn’t wanna bother you, baby.”
You lifted your head. “Joel Miller, I don’t care if I’m reading, sleeping or halfway through the best dream of my life. Asking me to touch you is never going to bother me.”
“Ain’t exactly somethin’ you should have to—”
“No.” You kissed the back of his shoulder as your hand slipped lower, fingertips barely grazing the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “You take care of me so often that half the time I don’t notice you’re doing it until it’s already done. So let me have my turn.”
The rigid set of his shoulders loosened by a fraction.
His left hand opened around himself, although surrendering even that unsatisfying contact made his hips follow your hovering fingers.
“Need a hand, don’t you, cowboy?” you teased, catching the edge of his ear gently between your teeth.
A strained breath left him, somewhere between a groan and a protest.
“You gonna help or keep makin’ fun of me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” You clicked your tongue. “You do look awfully pretty struggling, baby.”
“Christ, woman.”
“Although…” Your hand settled over his left wrist and guided it away from his cock. He allowed you to place his palm on the tile, but his body remained tense, caught somewhere between wanting what you offered and resisting the act of receiving it. “I suppose I could lend my favorite cowboy a hand. If he asks nicely.”
Joel lowered his forehead to the wall.
Water slipped through the grey in his beard and fell from his jaw. Pride held him silent for another moment. You could almost feel the struggle taking place inside him—the same man who would carry too many grocery bags rather than make a second trip, who would work through a fever and insist he was only tired, who treated being needed as though it were the simplest form of love but had never learned how to need someone without apology.
You spread your palm over his bare ring finger.
The touch made him look down.
His gaze rested on your hand covering his, your wedding band shining through the water while his finger remained pale and empty beneath it. His thumb moved once against the tile, reaching for yours before remembering the awkward angle.
Then his weight shifted back into you.
“Need you,” he admitted quietly.
You waited with your lips resting against his shoulder, though the answer had already travelled through you. Joel asked for so little that sometimes you resented him for it. He would mention that his boots needed replacing only after the soles had begun admitting water, would say he was hungry once you had already placed a plate before him, would carry an ache for days until you noticed the careful way he avoided turning his neck. Even now, naked and hard between your arms, he had tried to make the request smaller than it was. Need you. Two words offered in place of everything his body had already confessed, as though wanting something from you was still harder than enduring without it.
His breath left him slowly. His empty ring finger shifted beneath your palm. When you still did not move, his hips pressed back against you before rolling forward, his cock brushing heavily against the hand you kept just beyond his reach.
“Please,” he said, whatever remained of his pride finally yielding to the need roughening his voice. “Put your hand on my cock. Stroke me. Been tryin’ to come for so goddamn long, and I can’t—I need you to do it for me.”
Joel had trusted you with his home, his daughter, the parts of his past he still struggled to name. He had stood before everyone you loved and placed a ring on your finger with hands that had trembled more than his voice. Yet this small surrender seemed to cost him something too.
You kissed the pale place where his wedding band belonged.
“Good boy.”
Joel went utterly still.
His breathing stopped for one suspended second, his stomach turning rigid beneath your forearm and his left palm pressing flat against the tile. His cock pulsed before you had even closed your fingers around him.
Slowly, he looked back at you.
Steam had gathered in his lashes. His dark eyes found yours over his shoulder, surprise exposed there before he could conceal it, followed by a heat so immediate that your thighs drew together behind him. A flush travelled higher along his throat. He appeared almost offended by the force of his own reaction, as though his body had answered you before his pride could intervene.
“What’d you call me?”
“You heard me, baby.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Say it again.”
A smile touched your lips, but you did not laugh at him. There was something too open in his expression, too uncertain beneath the want.
“Later,” you promised. “Face the wall and lean back against me. Let your wife take care of you, big boy.”
Joel held your gaze for another moment before looking forward again. His forehead settled against the tile as his shoulders gradually loosened beneath your arms. He moved back until the curve of his ass pressed firmly against your lower stomach, giving you more of his weight than before.
You kissed the center of his back and slid your right hand down.
This time, you did not stop.
Your fingers curled around the base of his cock, and Joel’s entire body answered.
His abdomen contracted beneath your forearm. His left palm slipped before flattening against the wall again. A sound left him—low, involuntary, pulled from somewhere beneath the frustration he had carried into the shower—and the thick length of him hardened further in your grip.
You held him without moving at first, letting him feel the fit of your hand around him although your fingers could not quite meet. Heat pulsed beneath the slick skin, his heartbeat fast and heavy against your palm. You adjusted the showerhead until the strongest part of the spray struck his back rather than your joined hands, then tightened your grip. Another broken breath warmed your cheek.
“There,” you murmured. “Better?”
“Fuck, yes—”
“I thought so.” You stroked him slowly from base to tip, watching his stomach pull tight beneath your arm. “Next time you need my hand around your cock, come put it there.”
Joel’s hips followed your fist as it descended. “Knew you’d enjoy this.”
“You knew correctly.”
Your thumb swept over the broad head before your fist travelled down again. At the base, you loosened your grip and slipped your free hand beneath him. Joel groaned when your palm cupped his balls, the swollen, heavy weight of them filling your hand while the other continued moving slowly along his cock.
“Oh, baby...” You rolled them gently beneath your fingers, and his hips pressed forward as though even that small touch had reached somewhere deeper than he expected. “No wonder you were getting so frustrated. These are awfully full.”
“Don’t start.”
The words lacked any real warning. They came roughened by the careful twist of your wrist, Joel’s breath catching when you tightened your fist beneath the head. You smiled against his shoulder and gave him another long stroke, refusing the faster pace his body was beginning to seek.
“I’ve already started.” Your lips followed a rivulet of water toward the sensitive place behind his ear. “You should’ve seen yourself, hiding in here with all of this aching for relief.”
“Enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Very much.” You squeezed the weight in your palm once more, tender enough to make his thighs tense. “I’ve got my handsome husband naked in my arms, getting harder every time I tease him. I can feel how badly he needs to come, and he’s making the prettiest noises while I take my time giving him exactly what he asked for.” Your thumb gathered the slickness from the tip and spread it beneath the head. “What’s not to enjoy?”
“Mean woman.”
The complaint dissolved into a groan when your fingers tightened around him. His hips followed your hand instinctively, cock sliding through your wet fist while you maintained the slow rhythm already wearing away his restraint.
“Mm. And you love me.”
“Yeah.” His answer came without hesitation, broken slightly by the next stroke. “More than anythin’.”
The words entered you with the familiar weight of truth. Joel could spend ten uninterrupted minutes complaining about traffic, Tommy or the price of lumber, but anything that mattered was pared down until only its simplest form remained. More than anythin’ was extravagance from a man like him, offered with his forehead resting against the shower wall, his injured hand held carefully before him and his body surrounded by yours.
You kissed him behind the ear and released the heavy weight beneath his cock, bringing your free arm around his middle. Your palm spread over his stomach as you drew him more securely against you.
“Good,” you murmured. “Then be sweet and let me take my time with you.”
You kept the first strokes long and measured, your fist gliding over every thick inch before closing more firmly on the descent. Joel attempted to follow you, but impatience made his hips arrive too early. You adjusted without comment, refusing to hurry; the next time he thrust forward, you slowed near the head and held him snugly in your palm until a strained breath escaped through his teeth.
Water ran over his shoulders and divided around your arms, gathering briefly in the dark hair beneath his navel before disappearing between your joined bodies. The shower could not conceal the low sounds he made whenever your grip changed or the unconscious contraction of his stomach beneath your palm. You understood what he wanted—the shallow movement of his hips asking for more speed, his left hand spreading against the tile to brace for the pressure he preferred—but kept him at that patient rhythm a little longer. By the time you tightened your fist, frustration no longer held his shoulders rigid. He was waiting for you, and his cock pulsed heavily against your palm.
“That’s it,” you whispered, your mouth close to his ear. “You can move with me now.”
Joel released a deep, uneven breath and rolled his hips forward. You met him, your fist descending as he pushed into it and closing more firmly when he reached the base. On his retreat, you stroked upward, letting the swollen head drag through the circle of your fingers before guiding him into the next movement. He followed more carefully this time, the rhythm hesitant only for the first few strokes before pleasure taught him what you wanted.
“There you go, baby.”
“God—feels so damn good.”
You held him close and let the rhythm develop between you. Each thrust grew deeper, Joel’s ass pressing into your lower stomach when he drew back before he drove forward again. Your fist worked over him in time with the motion, no longer making him wait, though you retained enough control to keep his impatience from carrying him too quickly toward the edge.
The change reached his breathing first. Those deep, measured pulls of air began catching halfway into his lungs, his mouth opening against the tile to release the low sounds he had tried to suppress when you entered. Soon he no longer seemed aware of them. His attention had narrowed to your fingers around his cock, your palm against his stomach and the body supporting him from behind.
You kissed the wet slope of his shoulder.
Joel had touched you in darkness and sunlight, slowly and with desperate hunger, had learned your body so thoroughly that sometimes a single adjustment of his hand could make you fall apart. Yet this felt different from simply returning the pleasure he had given you over the years. Tonight, he could not reach back and distract you with your own need. He could not turn, gather you against him and assume the responsibility of taking care of both of you. All he could do was remain inside your embrace and trust that being wanted did not depend upon what he could offer in return.
Your grip tightened. Joel groaned and drove forward with enough force to push the air from your lungs. You widened your stance and continued meeting him as the movement grew rougher, each thrust dragging his cock rapidly through your closed fingers before your hand followed him back to the base. Wet skin moved against wet skin beneath the shower, punctuated by his heavier breathing and a broken curse whenever you changed the angle of your wrist.
You pressed your mouth beneath his ear.
“Take it, baby,” you murmured. “Use my hand exactly how you need.”
Joel stopped trying to follow each movement you gave him and began taking the friction for himself, thrusting through your fist with all the force he had been restraining. You let him, your hand closed and steady around him while your other arm held him against you—until his injured fingers curled instinctively against the tile. The hiss that left him cut through the pleasure. You caught his wrist at once and drew his arm away from the wall without slowing the motion between his legs.
“Give me this one.”
Joel allowed you to fold his arm across his chest. You tucked the bruised hand against his opposite shoulder and covered it with your own, your forearm securing it safely in place.
“Ain’t bad,” he managed.
“Shh.”
You kissed the uninjured edge of his wrist. Your fist continued working steadily over his cock as though caring for one hurting part of him required no sacrifice from the rest.
Joel’s chest rose beneath your arm. His bruised fingers gradually relaxed against his shoulder, and his left hand left the tile to cover yours where it held him. His thumb searched through the water until it found the smooth band around your finger and rested there.
You turned your face and kissed his cheek.
Joel leaned into it for a fleeting second before the next stroke pulled a groan from him. His thumb remained pressed over your wedding band as he settled farther back, giving you more of his weight without looking to see whether you could hold it. You planted your feet, tightened your arm around his chest and did.
He was letting you have all of his need now: his injured hand held safely beneath yours, his balance entrusted to your body, his pleasure naked in every sound he could no longer contain. When your fist moved faster, his hips answered immediately. The rhythm that had belonged to both of you began to unravel as he pushed forward too soon and retreated only far enough to thrust again, each movement shorter and rougher than the last.
You adapted without breaking pace, concentrating the friction where his body responded most strongly. A rough curse left him when you repeated it, his cock almost painfully rigid within your fist, the pulse against your palm heavier and more insistent. His thighs began to tremble as the measured roll of his hips disappeared altogether. He was no longer fucking your hand with any discernible rhythm; he was chasing it, moving on instinct whenever your grip reached the sensitive head.
Your own breathing quickened against his back. Heat gathered low in your stomach as you watched the man who could reduce you to pleading with the smallest movement lose himself in your arms. You pressed your thighs together, but every sound he made travelled directly through you, every desperate thrust sending another pulse of want between your legs. None of it made you want to turn his attention toward you. Tonight, his pleasure was enough.
Your mouth found the place beneath his ear that always made his shoulders rise.
“Look at you,” you whispered, affection wrapped around the teasing words. “You were so determined to handle this yourself, and now you can barely keep those legs steady.”
Joel tried to answer, but your fist tightened and the words collapsed into a hoarse moan. You smiled against his skin.
“No clever answer for me?”
“Hard to—” He broke off, thrusting roughly into your grip. “Hard to fuckin’ think.”
“That’s all right, baby. You don’t need to.”
You increased the pace until the movement became relentless, your slick fist closing around him as quickly as his hips could push forward. Joel’s forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders drawing tight as pleasure gathered beyond his control. His breathing fractured into rough, shallow pulls, each ending in a sound he no longer attempted to swallow.
His left hand abandoned yours and flattened against the wall, fingers splayed wide for purchase. Your wedding ring remained warm beneath the place his thumb had pressed it. He drove into your fist once, twice, then faltered, the next thrust arriving shorter as his cock throbbed heavily in your palm. You felt the approaching release before he spoke—in the sudden rigidity of his stomach, the way his thighs locked as if bracing might delay what your hand was already pulling from him, the helpless twitch that travelled through his cock whenever your grip reached the head.
“Baby—” His voice cracked around the word.
You kissed his jaw. “I know.”
“Close—”
The admission came through clenched teeth, barely louder than the water. You kept your fist moving at the same firm pace, refusing to startle his body with any sudden change.
“How close?”
“Real fuckin’—close.”
Joel attempted another thrust, but the rhythm had abandoned him entirely. His hips jerked into your hand and stopped, leaving you to carry the movement while he trembled within your arms. His weight tipped backward. You accepted all of it, your forearm held securely across his chest and his injured hand protected beneath yours.
“Please,” he rasped. “Don’t slow down—”
“I won’t, baby.”
Your fist travelled over him in fast, complete strokes, drawing the tension tighter with each pass. His cock pulsed violently against your palm, so close now that every movement seemed to pull a broken sound from the deepest part of his chest.
You caught his earlobe gently between your teeth.
“Every drop for me?”
“All yours.” The answer came instantly, stripped of breath and pride. His head dropped as his hips gave one final, desperate drive through your fist. “Every fuckin’ drop.”
A tender satisfaction spread beneath the heat in your chest. You tightened your embrace, lips brushing the shell of his ear while your hand gave him the exact rhythm his body had been seeking from the moment you entered the shower.
“That’s my good boy,” you whispered. “Give it to me.”
The praise undid him.
Joel came with a sound so raw it seemed torn from the center of him.
His entire body locked in your arms. His cock jerked hard in your fist, the first hot pulse spilling over your fingers before the shower could carry it away. His hips punched forward with the next one, wrenching a broken groan from his throat as another thick streak struck the tile beneath him.
You kept your hand moving, drawing every stroke from base to tip while release continued to pulse from him. Each one seized a different part of his body—his stomach clenching beneath your arm, his thighs jumping, his shoulders drawing taut beneath your mouth. You felt the force of it pass through him until there was nothing left with which he could hold himself upright.
His knees buckled.
You caught his full weight before either of you could fall.
Your chest pressed tightly to his back, your arm banded across his ribs and your palm protecting the swollen knuckles tucked against his shoulder. Joel trembled through every aftershock, forehead resting heavily against the wall. His cock gave one final, helpless pulse into your slowing hand.
“Fuck,” he choked. “Baby—”
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
You continued moving until the last throb softened beneath your palm. Only then did you loosen your fingers, careful of the sensitivity that made his hips flinch when your thumb grazed the head. The water washed your hand clean, carrying the evidence of his release toward the drain.
Joel remained folded against the wall, his breathing coming in ragged pulls. You kept him gathered within your arms, lips moving over his shoulder and along the nape of his neck while the final tremors passed through him.
“Take your time, baby,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His left hand covered your forearm where it crossed his chest. His thumb rubbed slowly over your skin, Joel still searching for some way to touch you even while you bore most of his weight.
Eventually, he lifted his head.
“Need to turn around.”
“You steady?”
“With you holdin’ me? Yeah.”
You helped him move carefully, keeping his injured hand against his chest until his back met the wall. The moment he faced you, his left arm came around your waist and pulled you against him.
Joel kissed you before you could speak.
The kiss held none of the frantic hunger that had taken him apart moments earlier. It was slow and open, his lips moving over yours with an exhausted tenderness that left you more exposed than anything he had said. His damp beard scraped gently across your chin as he kissed you again, lingering this time, breathing you in as though the release had stripped him down to the simplest things he knew.
Your hands settled against his chest.
He rested his forehead against yours.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You never have to thank me for touching you. Your needs are my needs too.”
“Ain’t only that.”
His hand moved slowly up your back, keeping you close.
“Been meanin’ everything else.”
You traced the wet line of his jaw with your thumb. “Joel…”
He watched you, something tired and unguarded in his eyes.
“You’d do the same for me,” you said.
“In a heartbeat.”
“Then quit acting like it only works one way, my love.”
The corner of his mouth lifted before he kissed you again. His hand travelled down your arm until his fingers found yours, and he raised your left hand between you. His thumb passed over your wedding band with quiet concentration.
“Feels strange not havin’ mine on.”
“I know.”
“Kept reachin’ for it all night.”
“I noticed that too.”
You guided his injured hand closer and pressed your lips to the bare place where his ring belonged.
“Still all mine without it.”
His eyes softened. “Always.”
You stayed beneath the water until his breathing settled, holding each other in the humid quiet. When you finally turned off the shower, Joel allowed you to dry him, although he complained when you knelt to run the towel down his legs.
“Can dry my own damn feet, darlin’.”
“With which hand?”
His mouth closed.
“That’s what I thought.”
You wrapped the towel around his waist and guided him into the bedroom with your palm resting at the base of his spine.
The wedding band remained exactly where you had left it.
Joel looked at it while you sat him on the edge of the mattress and knelt between his knees with fresh gauze. You worked carefully around each bruised knuckle, smoothing the bandage without pulling it too tightly. He watched your hands throughout, quiet and heavy-limbed, his left palm resting warmly against the back of your neck.
When you finished, you raised his injured hand and kissed the pale indentation once more.
His gaze moved from his bare finger to the ring on the table.
Then he reached for it with his left hand.
“Joel, you can’t put it back on yet.”
“I know, baby, but I was thinkin’…” He picked up the band and held it toward you. “You still got that chain in your jewelry box? The one you don’t wear?”
Your heart gave a small, painful pull.
“I do.”
You retrieved the thin chain and sat beside him. Joel placed the ring in your palm, trusting you with it as he had trusted you with everything else that night. You threaded the chain through the band before fastening it carefully around his neck.
The ring settled against the damp hair on his chest.
Joel looked down and touched it with two fingers. His thumb passed slowly over the familiar curve before he closed his hand around it, holding it against his sternum. The tension that had lingered in his face since you removed it finally eased; his shoulders dropped, and the breath he released sounded deeper than any he had taken since leaving urgent care.
“Better?” you asked.
“Yeah.” His eyes lifted to yours, tired and unmistakably relieved. He gave the ring another small squeeze but did not release it. “Much better.”
You covered his closed hand with yours. “You really hated having it off.”
Joel glanced down at the pale indentation around his finger. “Kept feelin’ for it.” His thumb rubbed over the empty place as though demonstrating a habit his body had not yet learned to abandon. “Every time I looked at my hand, somethin’ felt wrong. Like I’d left part of myself sittin’ on that table.”
The quiet confession tightened your throat. It was only a circle of gold, small enough to disappear inside his broad palm, but Joel had worn it through years of work, sleep, arguments, dinners and mornings when neither of you had anything more important to say than asking who had finished the coffee. He had grown so accustomed to carrying the visible proof of your life together that its absence had left his hand feeling unfamiliar to him.
You curled your fingers around his, pressing the ring gently against his chest. “It was never going anywhere.”
“Know that.” His gaze returned to yours. “Still didn’t like bein’ without it.”
You leaned forward and kissed the crease between his brows, lingering until it softened beneath your mouth.
“Come here,” you murmured, drawing back the covers. “Let me hold you, my love.”
He lay down without argument, his injured hand elevated safely on the pillow. When you settled beside him, Joel rested his head against your chest and curved his left arm around your waist. The ring lay cool between his skin and yours, warming slowly where your bodies met.
His thumb found your wedding band once more.
“Mine safe, sweetheart?” he asked, already half asleep.
You covered the ring resting over his heart.
“Right here, baby.”
Joel released one final, tired breath against your skin. His entire body softened into the mattress, giving you its full and familiar weight.
This time, when you held him, he did not try to hold you up in return.
pairing: husband!Joel Miller × f!reader
summary: The worst part about injuring his hand isn’t the pain. It’s having to take off his wedding ring—and being unable to jerk off properly. Luckily, Joel has a wife who’s more than happy to lend him a hand.
a/n: I’ve had a really rough few weeks, so this is pretty much unedited! A little Joel never hurts when you’re trying to pull yourself out of a slump, I guess ❤️🩹
warnings: smut, established relationship, implied age-gap, husband!joel, male masturbation, shower handjob, praise kink, “good boy” used two times, dirty talk, teasing (kinda), male orgasm, mild injury and pain, mentions of urgent care and painkillers, caretaking, aftercare and a lot of love!
wc: 5634 k
I’d love to know what you thought, so please don’t be shy and leave me a little comment. Hearing from you truly means so much to me .⋆❀°
The shower had been running long enough for you to read the same paragraph three times.
Joel had claimed the heat might help his hand, although the doctor had prescribed ice, elevation and several days without gripping anything. The X-ray had shown no fracture. Joel had treated that information like permission to ignore the rest, trying to open the truck door with his injured hand before you had even left urgent care. By dinner, the bruising had spread in deep violet shadows across his knuckles, and you had needed soap to ease his wedding band over the swelling.
That had bothered him more than the pain.
He had watched you work the ring slowly over his knuckle, his mouth set in a hard line, and when it finally slipped free into your palm, his thumb had rubbed once over the pale indentation it left behind.
“Only for a few days, honey,” you had told him.
“I know, I know.”
But he continued staring at his empty finger until you placed the band on the bedside table beside your own things, safely within view.
You opened his painkillers, replaced his bandage and left him to shower while you climbed into bed with your book. But the water continued to run and you had retained nothing from the page before you.
You closed the book.
“Joel?”
No answer.
You glanced at the clock, set the book aside and crossed the bedroom.
Steam rolled through the bathroom when you opened the door. His discarded bandage lay damp beside the sink, his clothes gathered in a careless heap near the hamper. The mirror had fogged completely, but through the glass of the shower you could make out the broad, blurred shape of him standing beneath the water.
“Joel?” you called again.
No answer came, though beneath the steady rush you heard the faint scrape of skin against tile, followed by a low curse that was unmistakably his.
You undressed and stepped inside quietly, drawing a breath when the hot water struck your shoulder.
Joel stood with his back to you.
He had his head bowed and his right arm braced against the wall from elbow to wrist, protecting the swollen hand from bearing his weight. Even in the softened light, you could see the mottled bruising across his knuckles, his fingers held stiff and slightly apart. His left palm rested lower on the tile. His broad shoulders were drawn tight, every muscle along his back rigid beneath the water as it streamed through the silver beginning to thread the dark curls at the nape of his neck. It followed the shallow groove of his spine, split around the soft fullness above his hips and disappeared between his legs.
For several seconds, you simply watched him.
His left arm moved, but the motion lacked the steady, practiced rhythm you knew, his fist travelling over his cock with an awkwardness that seemed to frustrate him more each time. He adjusted his grip, tried again and shifted his hips forward, chasing a sensation his other hand could not quite give him. His shoulders tightened. A harsher curse slipped from him when his injured fingers flexed instinctively against the tile.
The sight sent heat through you with such sudden force that your breath caught.
Joel touching himself would always affect you—the thick length of him flushed dark in his fist, water shining over the soft curve of his stomach and the wet hair beneath his navel—but it was the vulnerability of the moment that drew you closer. This was the man who noticed when your shoulders hurt before you complained, who left water on your bedside table every night because you always woke thirsty, who could read the smallest change in your breathing beneath his hands and know whether you needed more, less, faster, slower. He had spent years learning every language your body spoke.
Yet he stood alone beneath the water, unable to give himself what he needed, too proud to call for you and too stubborn to stop trying.
You stepped closer without speaking.
He was so absorbed in the effort that he did not hear the shower door close behind you. He did not notice the water shift when your body interrupted its path or the quiet whisper of your bare feet against the tile. It was only when you placed your mouth between his shoulder blades, lips pressing softly to the center of his wet back, that his entire body jolted.
“Jesus!”
His head turned sharply. Pain flashed across his face when his injured fingers contracted against the wall, and he forced them open again with a hiss.
“Didn’t hear you, darlin’.”
“I noticed, baby.”
Your lips moved over his back once more, slower this time. Water ran between your mouth and his skin, tasting faintly of soap. Up close, the heat of him felt different from the heat surrounding you, deeper and alive, held taut beneath skin that shivered when you kissed the raised ridge of an old scar near his shoulder.
“What’re you doin’ in here?” he asked.
“Checking on my handsome husband.”
You rested your chin against him and looked down the length of his body. His left hand had gone still, the grip around himself loosening now that he knew you were watching. Embarrassment was not something Joel wore easily; on him, it appeared as a stubborn tilt of his chin and a refusal to look directly at you.
“Looks like I was right to worry.”
“Ain’t anythin’ to worry about.”
“You’ve been in here twenty minutes.”
“Lost track.”
“That so?”
Your palms settled at his waist and moved around him, spreading over the curve of his belly. He had grown softer through the middle over the years, his body shaped by long workdays, evening beers and all the second helpings he accepted after insisting he was full. You loved the weight of him, the solid breadth of his chest, the coarse hair flattened beneath your fingers. You loved the familiar scars and the places age had begun touching him. You loved that you could stand behind him with your eyes closed and know precisely where your hands rested.
“Seems like you’re hurting yourself because you’d rather wrestle with the wrong hand than call your wife,” you murmured.
“Wasn’t hurtin’ myself, sweetheart.”
“No?”
Your nails travelled upward through the hair on his stomach before descending again, leaving pale trails across his flushed skin. Joel’s breath changed when your fingertips passed beneath his navel.
“That hand doesn’t seem to be accomplishing much either.”
His jaw tightened, but his hips shifted subtly into his fist.
You closed the remaining distance between you and pressed your naked body to his back. The instant your breasts touched him, his breath caught. Your mouth found the side of his neck while one hand remained spread over his stomach and the other followed the dark line beneath his navel.
“Couldn’t get it right?” you asked softly.
“Left hand don’t feel like mine.”
There was so much quiet frustration in the admission that your teasing softened.
“You could’ve called me.”
“Didn’t wanna bother you, baby.”
You lifted your head. “Joel Miller, I don’t care if I’m reading, sleeping or halfway through the best dream of my life. Asking me to touch you is never going to bother me.”
“Ain’t exactly somethin’ you should have to—”
“No.” You kissed the back of his shoulder as your hand slipped lower, fingertips barely grazing the coarse hair at the base of his cock. “You take care of me so often that half the time I don’t notice you’re doing it until it’s already done. So let me have my turn.”
The rigid set of his shoulders loosened by a fraction.
His left hand opened around himself, although surrendering even that unsatisfying contact made his hips follow your hovering fingers.
“Need a hand, don’t you, cowboy?” you teased, catching the edge of his ear gently between your teeth.
A strained breath left him, somewhere between a groan and a protest.
“You gonna help or keep makin’ fun of me?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” You clicked your tongue. “You do look awfully pretty struggling, baby.”
“Christ, woman.”
“Although…” Your hand settled over his left wrist and guided it away from his cock. He allowed you to place his palm on the tile, but his body remained tense, caught somewhere between wanting what you offered and resisting the act of receiving it. “I suppose I could lend my favorite cowboy a hand. If he asks nicely.”
Joel lowered his forehead to the wall.
Water slipped through the grey in his beard and fell from his jaw. Pride held him silent for another moment. You could almost feel the struggle taking place inside him—the same man who would carry too many grocery bags rather than make a second trip, who would work through a fever and insist he was only tired, who treated being needed as though it were the simplest form of love but had never learned how to need someone without apology.
You spread your palm over his bare ring finger.
The touch made him look down.
His gaze rested on your hand covering his, your wedding band shining through the water while his finger remained pale and empty beneath it. His thumb moved once against the tile, reaching for yours before remembering the awkward angle.
Then his weight shifted back into you.
“Need you,” he admitted quietly.
You waited with your lips resting against his shoulder, though the answer had already travelled through you. Joel asked for so little that sometimes you resented him for it. He would mention that his boots needed replacing only after the soles had begun admitting water, would say he was hungry once you had already placed a plate before him, would carry an ache for days until you noticed the careful way he avoided turning his neck. Even now, naked and hard between your arms, he had tried to make the request smaller than it was. Need you. Two words offered in place of everything his body had already confessed, as though wanting something from you was still harder than enduring without it.
His breath left him slowly. His empty ring finger shifted beneath your palm. When you still did not move, his hips pressed back against you before rolling forward, his cock brushing heavily against the hand you kept just beyond his reach.
“Please,” he said, whatever remained of his pride finally yielding to the need roughening his voice. “Put your hand on my cock. Stroke me. Been tryin’ to come for so goddamn long, and I can’t—I need you to do it for me.”
Joel had trusted you with his home, his daughter, the parts of his past he still struggled to name. He had stood before everyone you loved and placed a ring on your finger with hands that had trembled more than his voice. Yet this small surrender seemed to cost him something too.
You kissed the pale place where his wedding band belonged.
“Good boy.”
Joel went utterly still.
His breathing stopped for one suspended second, his stomach turning rigid beneath your forearm and his left palm pressing flat against the tile. His cock pulsed before you had even closed your fingers around him.
Slowly, he looked back at you.
Steam had gathered in his lashes. His dark eyes found yours over his shoulder, surprise exposed there before he could conceal it, followed by a heat so immediate that your thighs drew together behind him. A flush travelled higher along his throat. He appeared almost offended by the force of his own reaction, as though his body had answered you before his pride could intervene.
“What’d you call me?”
“You heard me, baby.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth. “Say it again.”
A smile touched your lips, but you did not laugh at him. There was something too open in his expression, too uncertain beneath the want.
“Later,” you promised. “Face the wall and lean back against me. Let your wife take care of you, big boy.”
Joel held your gaze for another moment before looking forward again. His forehead settled against the tile as his shoulders gradually loosened beneath your arms. He moved back until the curve of his ass pressed firmly against your lower stomach, giving you more of his weight than before.
You kissed the center of his back and slid your right hand down.
This time, you did not stop.
Your fingers curled around the base of his cock, and Joel’s entire body answered.
His abdomen contracted beneath your forearm. His left palm slipped before flattening against the wall again. A sound left him—low, involuntary, pulled from somewhere beneath the frustration he had carried into the shower—and the thick length of him hardened further in your grip.
You held him without moving at first, letting him feel the fit of your hand around him although your fingers could not quite meet. Heat pulsed beneath the slick skin, his heartbeat fast and heavy against your palm. You adjusted the showerhead until the strongest part of the spray struck his back rather than your joined hands, then tightened your grip. Another broken breath warmed your cheek.
“There,” you murmured. “Better?”
“Fuck, yes—”
“I thought so.” You stroked him slowly from base to tip, watching his stomach pull tight beneath your arm. “Next time you need my hand around your cock, come put it there.”
Joel’s hips followed your fist as it descended. “Knew you’d enjoy this.”
“You knew correctly.”
Your thumb swept over the broad head before your fist travelled down again. At the base, you loosened your grip and slipped your free hand beneath him. Joel groaned when your palm cupped his balls, the swollen, heavy weight of them filling your hand while the other continued moving slowly along his cock.
“Oh, baby...” You rolled them gently beneath your fingers, and his hips pressed forward as though even that small touch had reached somewhere deeper than he expected. “No wonder you were getting so frustrated. These are awfully full.”
“Don’t start.”
The words lacked any real warning. They came roughened by the careful twist of your wrist, Joel’s breath catching when you tightened your fist beneath the head. You smiled against his shoulder and gave him another long stroke, refusing the faster pace his body was beginning to seek.
“I’ve already started.” Your lips followed a rivulet of water toward the sensitive place behind his ear. “You should’ve seen yourself, hiding in here with all of this aching for relief.”
“Enjoyin’ yourself?”
“Very much.” You squeezed the weight in your palm once more, tender enough to make his thighs tense. “I’ve got my handsome husband naked in my arms, getting harder every time I tease him. I can feel how badly he needs to come, and he’s making the prettiest noises while I take my time giving him exactly what he asked for.” Your thumb gathered the slickness from the tip and spread it beneath the head. “What’s not to enjoy?”
“Mean woman.”
The complaint dissolved into a groan when your fingers tightened around him. His hips followed your hand instinctively, cock sliding through your wet fist while you maintained the slow rhythm already wearing away his restraint.
“Mm. And you love me.”
“Yeah.” His answer came without hesitation, broken slightly by the next stroke. “More than anythin’.”
The words entered you with the familiar weight of truth. Joel could spend ten uninterrupted minutes complaining about traffic, Tommy or the price of lumber, but anything that mattered was pared down until only its simplest form remained. More than anythin’ was extravagance from a man like him, offered with his forehead resting against the shower wall, his injured hand held carefully before him and his body surrounded by yours.
You kissed him behind the ear and released the heavy weight beneath his cock, bringing your free arm around his middle. Your palm spread over his stomach as you drew him more securely against you.
“Good,” you murmured. “Then be sweet and let me take my time with you.”
You kept the first strokes long and measured, your fist gliding over every thick inch before closing more firmly on the descent. Joel attempted to follow you, but impatience made his hips arrive too early. You adjusted without comment, refusing to hurry; the next time he thrust forward, you slowed near the head and held him snugly in your palm until a strained breath escaped through his teeth.
Water ran over his shoulders and divided around your arms, gathering briefly in the dark hair beneath his navel before disappearing between your joined bodies. The shower could not conceal the low sounds he made whenever your grip changed or the unconscious contraction of his stomach beneath your palm. You understood what he wanted—the shallow movement of his hips asking for more speed, his left hand spreading against the tile to brace for the pressure he preferred—but kept him at that patient rhythm a little longer. By the time you tightened your fist, frustration no longer held his shoulders rigid. He was waiting for you, and his cock pulsed heavily against your palm.
“That’s it,” you whispered, your mouth close to his ear. “You can move with me now.”
Joel released a deep, uneven breath and rolled his hips forward. You met him, your fist descending as he pushed into it and closing more firmly when he reached the base. On his retreat, you stroked upward, letting the swollen head drag through the circle of your fingers before guiding him into the next movement. He followed more carefully this time, the rhythm hesitant only for the first few strokes before pleasure taught him what you wanted.
“There you go, baby.”
“God—feels so damn good.”
You held him close and let the rhythm develop between you. Each thrust grew deeper, Joel’s ass pressing into your lower stomach when he drew back before he drove forward again. Your fist worked over him in time with the motion, no longer making him wait, though you retained enough control to keep his impatience from carrying him too quickly toward the edge.
The change reached his breathing first. Those deep, measured pulls of air began catching halfway into his lungs, his mouth opening against the tile to release the low sounds he had tried to suppress when you entered. Soon he no longer seemed aware of them. His attention had narrowed to your fingers around his cock, your palm against his stomach and the body supporting him from behind.
You kissed the wet slope of his shoulder.
Joel had touched you in darkness and sunlight, slowly and with desperate hunger, had learned your body so thoroughly that sometimes a single adjustment of his hand could make you fall apart. Yet this felt different from simply returning the pleasure he had given you over the years. Tonight, he could not reach back and distract you with your own need. He could not turn, gather you against him and assume the responsibility of taking care of both of you. All he could do was remain inside your embrace and trust that being wanted did not depend upon what he could offer in return.
Your grip tightened. Joel groaned and drove forward with enough force to push the air from your lungs. You widened your stance and continued meeting him as the movement grew rougher, each thrust dragging his cock rapidly through your closed fingers before your hand followed him back to the base. Wet skin moved against wet skin beneath the shower, punctuated by his heavier breathing and a broken curse whenever you changed the angle of your wrist.
You pressed your mouth beneath his ear.
“Take it, baby,” you murmured. “Use my hand exactly how you need.”
Joel stopped trying to follow each movement you gave him and began taking the friction for himself, thrusting through your fist with all the force he had been restraining. You let him, your hand closed and steady around him while your other arm held him against you—until his injured fingers curled instinctively against the tile. The hiss that left him cut through the pleasure. You caught his wrist at once and drew his arm away from the wall without slowing the motion between his legs.
“Give me this one.”
Joel allowed you to fold his arm across his chest. You tucked the bruised hand against his opposite shoulder and covered it with your own, your forearm securing it safely in place.
“Ain’t bad,” he managed.
“Shh.”
You kissed the uninjured edge of his wrist. Your fist continued working steadily over his cock as though caring for one hurting part of him required no sacrifice from the rest.
Joel’s chest rose beneath your arm. His bruised fingers gradually relaxed against his shoulder, and his left hand left the tile to cover yours where it held him. His thumb searched through the water until it found the smooth band around your finger and rested there.
You turned your face and kissed his cheek.
Joel leaned into it for a fleeting second before the next stroke pulled a groan from him. His thumb remained pressed over your wedding band as he settled farther back, giving you more of his weight without looking to see whether you could hold it. You planted your feet, tightened your arm around his chest and did.
He was letting you have all of his need now: his injured hand held safely beneath yours, his balance entrusted to your body, his pleasure naked in every sound he could no longer contain. When your fist moved faster, his hips answered immediately. The rhythm that had belonged to both of you began to unravel as he pushed forward too soon and retreated only far enough to thrust again, each movement shorter and rougher than the last.
You adapted without breaking pace, concentrating the friction where his body responded most strongly. A rough curse left him when you repeated it, his cock almost painfully rigid within your fist, the pulse against your palm heavier and more insistent. His thighs began to tremble as the measured roll of his hips disappeared altogether. He was no longer fucking your hand with any discernible rhythm; he was chasing it, moving on instinct whenever your grip reached the sensitive head.
Your own breathing quickened against his back. Heat gathered low in your stomach as you watched the man who could reduce you to pleading with the smallest movement lose himself in your arms. You pressed your thighs together, but every sound he made travelled directly through you, every desperate thrust sending another pulse of want between your legs. None of it made you want to turn his attention toward you. Tonight, his pleasure was enough.
Your mouth found the place beneath his ear that always made his shoulders rise.
“Look at you,” you whispered, affection wrapped around the teasing words. “You were so determined to handle this yourself, and now you can barely keep those legs steady.”
Joel tried to answer, but your fist tightened and the words collapsed into a hoarse moan. You smiled against his skin.
“No clever answer for me?”
“Hard to—” He broke off, thrusting roughly into your grip. “Hard to fuckin’ think.”
“That’s all right, baby. You don’t need to.”
You increased the pace until the movement became relentless, your slick fist closing around him as quickly as his hips could push forward. Joel’s forehead pressed against the tile, shoulders drawing tight as pleasure gathered beyond his control. His breathing fractured into rough, shallow pulls, each ending in a sound he no longer attempted to swallow.
His left hand abandoned yours and flattened against the wall, fingers splayed wide for purchase. Your wedding ring remained warm beneath the place his thumb had pressed it. He drove into your fist once, twice, then faltered, the next thrust arriving shorter as his cock throbbed heavily in your palm. You felt the approaching release before he spoke—in the sudden rigidity of his stomach, the way his thighs locked as if bracing might delay what your hand was already pulling from him, the helpless twitch that travelled through his cock whenever your grip reached the head.
“Baby—” His voice cracked around the word.
You kissed his jaw. “I know.”
“Close—”
The admission came through clenched teeth, barely louder than the water. You kept your fist moving at the same firm pace, refusing to startle his body with any sudden change.
“How close?”
“Real fuckin’—close.”
Joel attempted another thrust, but the rhythm had abandoned him entirely. His hips jerked into your hand and stopped, leaving you to carry the movement while he trembled within your arms. His weight tipped backward. You accepted all of it, your forearm held securely across his chest and his injured hand protected beneath yours.
“Please,” he rasped. “Don’t slow down—”
“I won’t, baby.”
Your fist travelled over him in fast, complete strokes, drawing the tension tighter with each pass. His cock pulsed violently against your palm, so close now that every movement seemed to pull a broken sound from the deepest part of his chest.
You caught his earlobe gently between your teeth.
“Every drop for me?”
“All yours.” The answer came instantly, stripped of breath and pride. His head dropped as his hips gave one final, desperate drive through your fist. “Every fuckin’ drop.”
A tender satisfaction spread beneath the heat in your chest. You tightened your embrace, lips brushing the shell of his ear while your hand gave him the exact rhythm his body had been seeking from the moment you entered the shower.
“That’s my good boy,” you whispered. “Give it to me.”
The praise undid him.
Joel came with a sound so raw it seemed torn from the center of him.
His entire body locked in your arms. His cock jerked hard in your fist, the first hot pulse spilling over your fingers before the shower could carry it away. His hips punched forward with the next one, wrenching a broken groan from his throat as another thick streak struck the tile beneath him.
You kept your hand moving, drawing every stroke from base to tip while release continued to pulse from him. Each one seized a different part of his body—his stomach clenching beneath your arm, his thighs jumping, his shoulders drawing taut beneath your mouth. You felt the force of it pass through him until there was nothing left with which he could hold himself upright.
His knees buckled.
You caught his full weight before either of you could fall.
Your chest pressed tightly to his back, your arm banded across his ribs and your palm protecting the swollen knuckles tucked against his shoulder. Joel trembled through every aftershock, forehead resting heavily against the wall. His cock gave one final, helpless pulse into your slowing hand.
“Fuck,” he choked. “Baby—”
“Easy. I’ve got you.”
You continued moving until the last throb softened beneath your palm. Only then did you loosen your fingers, careful of the sensitivity that made his hips flinch when your thumb grazed the head. The water washed your hand clean, carrying the evidence of his release toward the drain.
Joel remained folded against the wall, his breathing coming in ragged pulls. You kept him gathered within your arms, lips moving over his shoulder and along the nape of his neck while the final tremors passed through him.
“Take your time, baby,” you murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His left hand covered your forearm where it crossed his chest. His thumb rubbed slowly over your skin, Joel still searching for some way to touch you even while you bore most of his weight.
Eventually, he lifted his head.
“Need to turn around.”
“You steady?”
“With you holdin’ me? Yeah.”
You helped him move carefully, keeping his injured hand against his chest until his back met the wall. The moment he faced you, his left arm came around your waist and pulled you against him.
Joel kissed you before you could speak.
The kiss held none of the frantic hunger that had taken him apart moments earlier. It was slow and open, his lips moving over yours with an exhausted tenderness that left you more exposed than anything he had said. His damp beard scraped gently across your chin as he kissed you again, lingering this time, breathing you in as though the release had stripped him down to the simplest things he knew.
Your hands settled against his chest.
He rested his forehead against yours.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“You never have to thank me for touching you. Your needs are my needs too.”
“Ain’t only that.”
His hand moved slowly up your back, keeping you close.
“Been meanin’ everything else.”
You traced the wet line of his jaw with your thumb. “Joel…”
He watched you, something tired and unguarded in his eyes.
“You’d do the same for me,” you said.
“In a heartbeat.”
“Then quit acting like it only works one way, my love.”
The corner of his mouth lifted before he kissed you again. His hand travelled down your arm until his fingers found yours, and he raised your left hand between you. His thumb passed over your wedding band with quiet concentration.
“Feels strange not havin’ mine on.”
“I know.”
“Kept reachin’ for it all night.”
“I noticed that too.”
You guided his injured hand closer and pressed your lips to the bare place where his ring belonged.
“Still all mine without it.”
His eyes softened. “Always.”
You stayed beneath the water until his breathing settled, holding each other in the humid quiet. When you finally turned off the shower, Joel allowed you to dry him, although he complained when you knelt to run the towel down his legs.
“Can dry my own damn feet, darlin’.”
“With which hand?”
His mouth closed.
“That’s what I thought.”
You wrapped the towel around his waist and guided him into the bedroom with your palm resting at the base of his spine.
The wedding band remained exactly where you had left it.
Joel looked at it while you sat him on the edge of the mattress and knelt between his knees with fresh gauze. You worked carefully around each bruised knuckle, smoothing the bandage without pulling it too tightly. He watched your hands throughout, quiet and heavy-limbed, his left palm resting warmly against the back of your neck.
When you finished, you raised his injured hand and kissed the pale indentation once more.
His gaze moved from his bare finger to the ring on the table.
Then he reached for it with his left hand.
“Joel, you can’t put it back on yet.”
“I know, baby, but I was thinkin’…” He picked up the band and held it toward you. “You still got that chain in your jewelry box? The one you don’t wear?”
Your heart gave a small, painful pull.
“I do.”
You retrieved the thin chain and sat beside him. Joel placed the ring in your palm, trusting you with it as he had trusted you with everything else that night. You threaded the chain through the band before fastening it carefully around his neck.
The ring settled against the damp hair on his chest.
Joel looked down and touched it with two fingers. His thumb passed slowly over the familiar curve before he closed his hand around it, holding it against his sternum. The tension that had lingered in his face since you removed it finally eased; his shoulders dropped, and the breath he released sounded deeper than any he had taken since leaving urgent care.
“Better?” you asked.
“Yeah.” His eyes lifted to yours, tired and unmistakably relieved. He gave the ring another small squeeze but did not release it. “Much better.”
You covered his closed hand with yours. “You really hated having it off.”
Joel glanced down at the pale indentation around his finger. “Kept feelin’ for it.” His thumb rubbed over the empty place as though demonstrating a habit his body had not yet learned to abandon. “Every time I looked at my hand, somethin’ felt wrong. Like I’d left part of myself sittin’ on that table.”
The quiet confession tightened your throat. It was only a circle of gold, small enough to disappear inside his broad palm, but Joel had worn it through years of work, sleep, arguments, dinners and mornings when neither of you had anything more important to say than asking who had finished the coffee. He had grown so accustomed to carrying the visible proof of your life together that its absence had left his hand feeling unfamiliar to him.
You curled your fingers around his, pressing the ring gently against his chest. “It was never going anywhere.”
“Know that.” His gaze returned to yours. “Still didn’t like bein’ without it.”
You leaned forward and kissed the crease between his brows, lingering until it softened beneath your mouth.
“Come here,” you murmured, drawing back the covers. “Let me hold you, my love.”
He lay down without argument, his injured hand elevated safely on the pillow. When you settled beside him, Joel rested his head against your chest and curved his left arm around your waist. The ring lay cool between his skin and yours, warming slowly where your bodies met.
His thumb found your wedding band once more.
“Mine safe, sweetheart?” he asked, already half asleep.
You covered the ring resting over his heart.
“Right here, baby.”
Joel released one final, tired breath against your skin. His entire body softened into the mattress, giving you its full and familiar weight.
This time, when you held him, he did not try to hold you up in return.
