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⭐️ 26⭐️ They/She Honestly just a fan page for all my fav fics

[agirlcandream84]

How Boyfriend!Frank Would React to Your Car Breaking Down

Lord, I need therapy. This goes so hard in daddy territory that it's quite damning evidence of my psyche. I hope it is beloved by all.

Frank Castle x Reader

Word Count: 1,236 (~5 min read)

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut, Choking, P in V, a non-zero chance of daddy Frank

-----------

"Ya know, I don't really like the fucking attitude right now," he grumbles, eyes still plastered to the road.

"Frank, quit it with the speech. I don't wanna hear it," you reply, your foot bouncing in agitation. Frank loved being a disciplinarian, his time in the Marines left a lasting impression.

"Oh you don't wanna hear it? Well you not hearin' it is the reason your car broke down and left you stranded. I told you to tell me if the engine light ever came on," he rants, exasperated at you getting yourself into a dangerous situation.

"I said I was sorry, just fucking drop it Frank," you reply, fast and clipped.

"I don't think you have apologized sweetheart," he correctly notes, "so at least spare me the damn attitude about being worried about my girl being stranded with a broke down car in the middle of fucking nowhere."

You hadn't meant to ignore the light. It was only on for a week and you had been so busy at work that it kept slipping your mind to let Frank know. When the damn thing finally puttered out along the forest preserve road, at night no less, you had contemplated not telling Frank at all but he would have really been livid if he found out. Begrudgingly, you called him from the side of the road and the man acted as if you were bound, gagged and left for dead amongst the forest. That agitated hand sweeping down his face the minute he exited his car, barking at you to "get in the goddamn car sweetheart" and even buckling your damn seatbelt (the gall of this man), as he inspected the car and arranged for a tow.

By the time you arrived home, half of Frank's dialogue was just under-breath-mumblings to himself, "in a fucking dress no less, freezing your ass off on the side of the road," and "the fucking car is practically on E, I swear to god you got a death wish or somethin'" as he shrugged off his coat and you stormed to the bedroom and slammed the door.

Seated on the edge of the bed, the weight of the day on you, you allowed yourself a brief pity party which turned into a healthy cry and eventually a hiccuped sob. It only took a moment to hear the soft tap on the door, Frank imploring you to open up.

"Fuck honey, don't cry," his voice, the kindness back in it, traveling through the door. "Come on baby, open up, hate hearin' you cry," he pleads.

You shuffle over to the door and burst into renewed sobs upon seeing Frank's face, all the softness back in it. Stuffing your face into Frank's chest, your mumble a muffled apology as he rubs big circles on your back, saying "That's my girl, let it out honey. S'alright," adding, "You know I worry about you babydoll, can't go scaring me like that." You nod and promise not to ignore the light again.

After a life-affirming shower, a good meal and copious snuggles on the couch, it's not long before you find yourself back in the bedroom being stretched by Frank's monstrous cock, him cooing how well you're taking it. What a good girl you are. His promises to make you feel good. He had you so close, the angle and slow guide of his cock drraaggiinnng against your swollen clit, the build leaving you breathless and whimpering.

His broad hand leaves your hip and lands gently on your throat, usually a precursor to sliding a thick finger into your mouth to suck on. You grip his wrist with both hands, his thick arm dwarfing yours in size easily as you feel the subtle tension in his arm, his hand gripping the column of your neck and squeezing slightly. A breathy "eh" forced from your throat as the sensation seems to heighten everything.

"Yeah, you like that sweetheart," Frank grunts, more slow drags that punch the tip of his cock into your cervix. You grip his forearm tight and squeeze your eyes shut, chasing the release swirling around the edges. Frank squeezes again, this time a little harder, and slows his pace to long, deep measured thrusts. You whine, your climax so close. Needing more of him, to be fuller.

"Want me to make you feel good, yeah sweetheart?" he asks, his tone almost pitying. You nod, whining again

"Gonna be a good girl for me then?" he asks, his cock nearly pulled out, just the tip teasing your hole now. He tightens his grip on your neck just a hair, enough to make a squirm. You nod in response to his question.

"Gonna do what I say when I say so?" he asks, inching his cock in further as his grip on your neck tightens again. Your chest is heaving, your airways compressed slightly, making every sensation floaty and dreamy. You whimper and clench your walls, nodding again.

"Gonna give me attitude when I'm takin' care of you?" he asks, sliding in deeper and gripping tighter. The action nearly floods your desperate pussy and makes your periphery vision start to blur. You couldn't feel the bed at your back or the hair tickling your neck or your earrings dangling from your ears. You only feel the sensation of Frank, claiming dominion over your body and pinning you in place, his cock in your walls and his hand on your throat. You barely manage to shake your head no at Frank's question, hugging his forearm to your chest.

"Who's in charge sweetheart?" he huffs, working to contain his own release, sinking so deeply you feel the punch of him again. His grip on your neck doesn't waver but his thumb swipes back and forth on your neck, he's practically cooing and shushes your whimpers. Your clit is swollen and achey, the smallest pressure and you'd tumble over the edge. You manage to murmur out "You Frankie" and he replies "Say it once more for me doll. Who's in charge?"

"You Daddy," you whimper and your response ignites him. He huffs out a "fuck" as he releases your neck and returns to a punishing pace all at once. The flood of stimulation returns to you in a tidal wave and it's only a moment until you're pulsing on his cock so tightly as you cum that he needs to slow his pace to acommodate.

He coos "fuck baby, you're alright. Sssh sshh, I got you," as you convulse on his cock, whimpers tumbling from your lips and your legs quaking with aftershocks. His brows furrow in concentration as he pumps you five more times, finally releasing his sticky seed in you. He pauses for a moment, panting, his hand landing softly on your mound above where his cock is tucked in you and his thumb gently massages your folds. You mewl and mumble "frankie" and reach for him before he bends to weave his arms behind your back and pull you up to him.

His cock still buried in you, he positions himself to lean on the headboard with you in his lap and you're still panting to catch your breath and draping heavy arms around his shoulders. He pulls you to his chest and lets his fingers graze on your back, planting kisses on your forehead while he tells you what a good job you did.

"You were such a good girl for me sweetheart," he says, adding "always gonna keep my girl taken care of," and that's the last thing you hear before drifting to sleep in his arms with his cock still buried in you.

[frannyzooey]

Din Djarin Wild West AU

Set in a brothel in the late 1800's in a desolate desert town, you've only been working there for a month when Din Djarin shows up. A bounty hunter who makes his stops into town between jobs, he's known at the inn for his generous appetite and demanding preferences. Asking for you to be made available to him every time he's in town, neither one of you is ready for where this requests leads.

Rating: Explicit af - it's a brothel, friends 🥰

A/N: This is a complete revision of the previous story I posted in 2020. The original story was the very first thing I ever wrote, and this revision is truly the labor of love it deserves. Nothing is going to be removed from the original story -- this is an expansion and improvement on the original, hopefully for the better. To everyone who has been here since the first chapter all the way to the new readers -- I hope you enjoy! ❤️

--

The first time you see him in the brothel, you call dibs.

With your eyes fixed on the way his throat moves when he swallows his drink, the madam laughs.

“You’re too sweet for that one. He needs more experienced girls.”

From across the room, the two of you size him up together – your face curious, hers more knowing.

“He’s more generous than you’ll ever meet when it comes to money,” she confides, leaning in close. “But his appetite and size are also generous.” A lewd smirk graces her lips. “I’m not sure you’re ready.”

Giving her a skeptical glance, your eyes go back to the man. He pushes back from the worn bar top, tipping his head in a silent thanks to the bartender. Broad shoulders tightly encased in a worn but clean jacket, holsters slung low on his hips, trail dusted boots. Following his loose, confident gait up the stairs, you take in the way he moves with surety up the staircase, disappearing into a room.

“Wait. What do you mean, “his appetite”?” you question, turning back to the madam, but she’s already gone, cooing over someone else playing cards nearby. 

Giving one last glance at the door of the room he went into, you plaster on a smile and make your way towards the crowded tables. 

--

The next time he comes into town, the madam tells him you’ve been asking about him.

The settling of quarries, the payment of services, the collection of flyers among other useful pieces of information – he’s fresh from the sheriff’s office, his sparse patience running even thinner. His replies have become near one word responses while he drops a few coins towards the barkeep, in payment for a hot plate of whatever is available.  

“Is that so,” he asks, tipping his hat in thanks when the plate is set in front of him. A glass of  whiskey is poured next, followed by a tin cup of water. 

“Well,” she asks, leaning on his shoulder. “What do you think of her?”

Spearing a bite of food, he chews while his dark eyes study you from across the bar. Chatting with another girl, your face breaks into a smile at something she says. 

The madam’s head tilted in appraisal, her tone is thick with the sweetness of someone trying to sell their wares. “All the men love how sweet she is.”

“Sweet?” he questions, skeptical. Swallowing his whiskey in one go, he sets his glass down on the bar, giving her a side-long look. “I don’t think sweet –”

“Oh, hush,” the madam replies, swatting his shoulder with a fan. “Besides, the girls you had last time moved on. It’s been a while since you’ve been around.” She nods in your direction. “Give her a try. I think you might like her.”

–

He has a routine, the madam tells you. 

“Always two girls, always a bath first.” Opening the door to your room, she strides in, gesturing to a table in the corner. 

A girl of twelve scurries behind her, a maid. Placing clean towels down and laying a fresh bar of soap on top, she gets to work on filling the copper tub. The madam straightens the blanket on your bed, and you inwardly laugh. Like that thing stays straight. 

“Always the whole night, and the next day,” she continues. 

“The next day?” Gracie asks, her brows raised. “He keeps going?”

You laugh at the impressed look on Gracie’s face, and she gives you a wink.

“Most men only get an hour,” she muses. “He must be really generous if he gets the whole night.”

“The next day isn’t for him,” the madam replies. “It’s for you, so you can rest.”

Scooting the girl out of the room with an affectionate swat on her behind, your face sobers, and it’s Gracie’s turn to laugh. 

“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes. “They’d all like to think themselves so good.”

The madam gives her a knowing look. “You’ll see.” She starts towards the door, then turns around. “He’s one of our best customers. Make sure you give him what he wants.” With those final words, she shuts the door behind her. 

You immediately turn to Gracie.

“Think we bit off more than we can chew?” you tease, trying to hide the sudden nerves in your stomach. 

She waves your worries away. “We would have heard about him sooner if he was a rough one.”

That’s true. There are rough ones, and they are well known among the girls. 

One of the most popular girls since her start at the brothel, Gracie has been by your side since you started. Up for anything, she wasn’t fool enough to think she had actual agency in this world, but the little she did have, she used to the full extent. She knew she could reduce these men to nothing with the roll of her hips on theirs, with the whisper of her sweet words – and so she did. She didn’t take anything too seriously, and you loved her for it, especially in contrast to your natural inward nature. 

“I’ve only ever seen him that one other time,” you reply, testing the water with your hand. “Have you seen him before?”

“No. I would have remembered one like that. He is a handsome thing,” she replies, fixing her hair in the mirror. “He’s got tall, dark and mysterious written all over him. A bit dirty,” she shrugs, “but do at least he’s asking for a bath. More than most before they crawl into bed.”

Scrunching your nose, you agree. 

“I’m going to get ready,” she says. “Get him in the tub, and I’ll be back. Try not to have all the fun without me.”

Blowing you a kiss, she slips out of the room. 

Without the distraction of others, you fuss with the tub until it’s filled with hot water, steam curling above the surface. Shampoo, pitcher, basin. Towel draped to the side, and a sack for him to put his clothes in. The inn ran a laundry service that overnight visitors took advantage of, and you weren’t sure if he was the type to trust others with the clothes off his back, but you prepared for it just in case. 

Everything ready, you slip into a silk shift that skims your curves, and try to recall the anticipation and bravery you felt when you called dibs. The warning the madam gave has rattled you, and you wish Gracie were here to help distract. She’d help you shake the nerves free, crack jokes to help clear the tension from the room. 

Finding yourself fiddling with the edge of the blanket, you huff a laugh at yourself before a sharp knock has you straightening. 

He enters, and your greeting is automatic. 

“Hey there,” you smile with practiced sweetness. “Come on in.”

He tips his head in acknowledgment, and all bravado you had when you called dibs disappears, slowly replaced with hesitation. 

He’s so much bigger in your small room than he seemed downstairs in the main room, especially with the door closed. So much more intimating, his silence making it even more so. The amount of weapons on him doesn’t help. Hip holsters with two pistols, ammo slung low across his hips and attached to one of his boots. 

He looks dangerous – until he lifts his hat from his head, uncovering rumpled, dark brown curls. Dirty from weeks in the saddle, the sight of them is surprisingly vulnerable and helps take the edge off his appearance. He looks softer with them, even while working his holster open next, placing the heavy weight of his guns over the back of your chair. 

His silence is unusual. Most men are vocal, demanding, crass. They come in and take what they want, knowing full well they only have an hour to get it – though most of them only need about ten minutes. They are full of boasting pride, of rushed lust, or in the worst instances, poorly disguised condescension. They paid for the hour, which means they paid for you. It comes with a natural assumption that your body is theirs to do as they please, and it often brings loud-mouthed attitudes with it.

Piquing your interest, the man in front of you says nothing, continuing to get undressed. 

Maybe he wants seduction. Come on, you scold yourself. Give him what he paid for.

You stand, the thin strap of your shift slipping down off your shoulder. “Want some help?”

Stepping closer, you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze. 

It’s unforgiving, but not unkind. Bold, unashamed, assessing. His eyes are a deep brown, almost black in the dim, romantic light of your room. Fringed with thick lashes, creased at the edges from the sun, showing evidence of living life in the saddle. A strong nose, a pouty mouth, a dark mustache with scruff that covers his cheeks. 

Handsome. Definitely handsome. 

He continues to look, curious, with a slight lift of his chin like he’s testing you. A natural arrogance, you assume, from having to navigate the rough world outside. There is a thrum of tension between your bodies, one you don’t usually feel with customers. Unsure if it’s his quiet confidence, or just his handsomeness you’re drawn to, you use it to bolster your own forwardness. 

Standing on your toes and bracing yourself on his chest, you lean in, whispering just under his ear. “I heard you like to get clean…so you can get me all dirty.”

Pulling back with a mischievous twinkle in your eye, you let your touch slip down the front of his shirt. “That true?” 

He waits a beat before answering, his darkening eyes rovering over your face as his expression relaxes slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting. Like you’ve passed his own silent test. 

“It is,” he answers, in a rough baritone. 

“Well then,” you reply. “Let’s get these clothes off.” 

Keeping your eyes on his, you start with his vest, working the buttons free one at a time.

–

He waits in the bath, watching as you undress. His arms stretch wide along the edge of the tub, his broad chest and shoulders taking up space. Admiring the quiet strength held in the way he holds himself, you smile at the naked hunger clear on his face as you climb into the tub, lowering yourself onto his lap. 

“So,” you make conversation, “What do you do?”

“I’m a bounty hunter.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Sounds dangerous.”

“For some.” The reply reeks of confidence, of the implication that he isn’t one of the people he’s referring to. Relaxing, he sinks lower into the tub, closing his eyes. 

“How long has it been since you’ve had a bath?”

A low sigh of relief slips out of him, his voice low. “Too long.”

Lathering the soap, you start with his hand, slipping your fingers between his. You work each finger, comparing the size of your reach against his. His palms are rough and calloused, worn from handling rope. Massaging as you go, you work your way up – over his thick forearms, up along the muscles in his arms. Your fingers dig into the firm rounds of his shoulders, and he lets out a grunt of appreciation. 

Sneaking a peek at his face, you’re startled to find him openly looking back at you. His dark eyes rake over your face and shoulders, dipping low and sweeping back up. His expressions – lust, blended with curiosity – aren't guarded at all, like he’s not used to hiding them, and you suppose his job has made him this way. The sensation is unfamiliar, and unmooring. Most don’t care enough to look as much as he has. None have ever studied you the way he has, that’s certain.

You swallow, reaching for the soap again. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

The bar in your hands, his blunt words make you look up, meeting his eyes. He is earnest, sincere. His statements have been blunt and to the point since he’s walked into the room, with right now being no exception. And somehow, that lets you know he’s telling the truth. 

Your own practiced expression slips before you can catch it, open vulnerability displayed on your face before you quickly reel it back in. 

“I know,” you reply, though you don’t – and he knows it. 

His head tilts to the side, waiting. Patient, letting you come to your own decision. After a beat, you dip your chin in acknowledgement. 

Confirmation at your reassurance, he closes his eyes and leans back, letting you continue. 

The tension broken, you resume. The quiet makes the situation seem so much more intimate than usual; the trickling of water, the soft sweep of your touch over his skin. Your thumbs work the base of his throat, your palms sliding over his firm chest. The sparse collection of hair along his sternum catches suds, and you soap under his arms, and along his ribs; his body releasing tension with every smooth glide of your hands. 

You can feel him harden underneath you, but he does absolutely nothing about it…and for some reason, that makes you relax around him even more. You can feel the evidence of how much he wants it, have heard from the madam how demanding he can be…but yet he waits, savoring this part. You suppose weeks without a bath will do that to a person, and you’re determined to reward him for the wait. 

Pouring shampoo into your palm, you lean forward to start on his hair. Pressing your bare front against his own, the sensation gives you your first real reaction since he’s entered the room – a low hum of appreciation, deep from within his chest. Lifting the corner of your mouth with a smile, you become bolder, and let yourself slide down, dragging the pressed weight of your slick breasts over his skin. 

He lets out a shaky breath, and dropping his hands from the edges of the tub, they find the meat of your hips under the water with a squeeze. Lifting onto your knees, you lean your weight into him again, lining your front with his. Breast to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip – the sensation of his firm, warm, wet skin pressed against your own has you distracted for a moment before you slide your fingers up through the curls at his nape, working the shampoo into his hair. Your nails drag across his scalp, your fingers twist in his curls, and he simultaneously melts underneath your touch while tightly bundled tension rises between you. 

“Feel good?”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate, low with desire. His hands squeeze your hips, hard, and he kneads your skin under the surface, his touch becoming bolder. Stretching his arms to reach your ass, he grabs greedy palmfuls, tugging you against his lap. 

The warm weight of desire fills the cradle of your hips, and reaching for a jug to rinse the shampoo from his hair, you yelp when he surprises you by gripping your waist to hold you in place and sliding down to submerge himself underwater. Suds float to the surface as he quickly scrubs the soap from his hair, and when he sits back up, you’re laughing – a sound that brings the first smile you’ve seen on his face. It’s quick, yet no less devastating, with two deep dimples in his cheeks that make you want to press your thumbs into the divots. 

A smile that makes you want to kiss him. 

Wiping the water from his face with a broad sweep of his palm, he slicks his dark strands off his face and the effect is startling. Still handsome – so handsome – but the vulnerability of the rumpled curls is gone, replaced with dominance. The hunger in his hooded eyes darkens, and feeding off the tension gathering between your bodies and greedy for another groan or smile, you grab the soap. 

Arching your back, you put on a show as you reach behind and slide your soapy touch up the length of his legs. Over his shins, behind his knees, up the top of his thighs. Stopping short right before his groin, you straighten again and reach the soap, but he plucks it from your hands. 

“Hey!” you protest, biting a grin. 

Keeping his eyes on your face, you watch as he slowly lathers it between his large hands and lets it drop into the water before splaying his hand across your sternum. Whether it’s the hold itself or the way he’s looking at you, you sense the shift of power in the small space as it transfers to him. Sliding his hand to the side with an appreciative hum, he palms your breasts, covering them with soap. He cups the weight of them, smearing his thumbs over your nipples with a slippery glide until they pucker under the suds, teasing them with exploring, needy touches that have you arching your back, leaning into his touch. 

Desire trickles down from the tight peaks along your spine, settling between your hips. Slick and warm, you begin a slow roll over his lap and dip your hand beneath the water in search of his cock.  When you find it with a firm grip, he sucks in a sharp breath. 

“You ready to get out yet?” you breathe, your hand stroking him root to tip. He’s thick, a heft to his cock that is more than most and your cunt clenches with anticipation. The space between you is filled with steam, with the slick warmth of the water, with the weighty charge of electricity. He swallows hard, the bob of his tanned throat calling for your lips and leaning forward, you press your mouth to his skin. Warm and wet and fragrant under the press of your mouth, you open up wider, your tongue slipping out for a taste.

The sound he lets out is delicious.

A rough scrape of need, a low growl as his touch grows needier, his hands scooping up your breasts with a squeeze. The soap aids in a slide of his touch down to your hip, his other hand curling around the nape of your neck as he guides you back, and your neglected chest heaves; your hand still working under the water. 

You want him. A rare feeling with clients, always fleeting on the rare occasion it happens, you can taste the edge of your arousal, the spark of it burning bright. He’s handsome, but there is also something about his patience and his attentiveness that has you feeling more comfortable than you have in ages. Usually, at this point, you’d be faking your interest just to get the hour over with. Right now, you’re surprised by how much you want it. 

“You just gonna stare at my mouth, or —“ Your words cut off with a gasp when he drags his thumb over your bottom lip, your question finishing in a whisper. “Or are you gonna kiss me?” 

Pulling you in, he does. Fuck, he does. 

The first press of your mouths together is sure and firm, his need leading your mouth. He tastes you like he’s been dying for it, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert. Fitting your mouth against his, he devours the whimper that you let out, drinking it down. His hands splay in their hold around your waist, sliding up over the smooth skin of your back and abandoning his cock to scoot closer, you wind your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. 

Grinding down against his lap, the steamed air above the bath fills with the sound of ragged breath, of low groans, of the gentle lap of water as your mouths taste and part, only to seal again. He meets your need with his own – savoring, full sweeps of his tongue over yours, kisses that are lazy until they’re not. Breaking the kiss to taste your neck, his teeth scrape over the delicate skin before he sucks, groaning against your throat. His tongue smears over your skin, and you reach for the soap, wrapping your arms around him to wash his back. 

“Stop, he groans, his lips brushing against your skin, and you pause.  

“You don’t want me to wash you?”

He growls low in his throat, cupping your jaw with his hand. He slides his thumb over your lips again, pushing against their plush softness and when you suck on the pad, his eyes fixate on the sight. He shakes his head slowly, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip. 

“I want you to get on that bed, girl.”

Girl. 

The word should be demeaning, but it’s not. It slips through your torso, shivers along your spine, the weight of it curling low between your hips. The word is like the man – forcing you to yield. He’s been lying in wait this whole time, letting you believe you have the advantage until you get comfortable, letting you come to him…just like you assume he does with his quarries. You fell for the trap, and you don’t even care. 

Scrambling out of the tub, he follows you — and that’s when Gracie walks in. 

“Oh,” she breathes, openly appreciating the size and breadth of his nude body. Her eyes drag down and back up again, a pleased smile playing at the edge of her lips. “Aren’t you a sight.”

He jerks his head towards the bed. “Get in here.”

“Whose in charge here, mister?” she teases, and he replies without hesitation. 

“I am.” 

“Yes, sir,” she coos with a little shimmy, shutting the door behind her. 

–

That night, you learned who he was. 

Not only his name – Din Djarin – which was exchanged in the middle of the night, with your body draped over his, but who he was, as a man. Blunt, straight forward, used to being in charge. Your bodies sore, spent and sated – he had spent hours putting you through your paces, and your eyelids were as heavy as your limbs as you relaxed into the warmth his bare skin radiated. 

Gracie curled into his other side, the reasoning behind two women became evident after that first night: he was touch-starved, with the desire to be immersed in skin to skin, buried underneath someone or within them. Two women at once allowed him this luxury, while also providing him ample resources to expend his excess...energy. 

You also learned that he seemed to care about your pleasure. Needed it, in fact. Demanded it from you, pulled it from your body even when you thought you couldn’t give him any more. He pushed and pushed and pushed you, and that night, you understood the madam's earlier comments. 

He didn’t seem satisfied until you were just as wrung out as he was, and afterwards, he left you sated and sore, thoroughly used – and thoroughly asleep. 

He had spoken to the madam before he left the next morning. 

“I always want that one. Make sure of it.”

–

Since that first night, he’s shown up a few times. 

Always weeks apart: saddle weary and dusty, worn around the edges and ready for a softness that only you could provide. 

Tonight, when he gets to your room, you’re already in the bath with Gracie perched on the side, soap and rag in hand. You take turns with him: you, washing his body from your seat on his lap, Gracie leaning over to offer her mouth. His kisses are demanding and deep, his hands reaching to hold her in place while his mouth tastes everything she gifts him. When you interrupt to wash his hair, he shifts to you, cupping your breasts to latch that same hungry mouth onto the peaks. The swirl of his skillful tongue is distracting, decadent, and a hum pours from your throat when his nose brushes along the length of your neck, his mouth sampling the hollow under your ear. His hand travels down your back and over your hip, his thick fingers pressing between your legs. 

“I’ve been dreaming of that cunt of yours,” he confesses, his voice like gravel. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, his middle fingers parting you under the water, sliding through the slick wetness he’s pulled from you already. “Let me taste it.” 

It doesn’t take long until he stands, pulling you from the water and guiding you backwards onto your bed with a push. 

“You’re going to get my bed all wet – oh my god,” you moan, arching into the wet heat of his mouth. From the bath to his knees, he’s found his way between your thighs with a rough jerk of your body to the edge of the mattress. His shoulders spread you wide, his mouth devouring your cunt in a wet, decadent kiss. Gripping behind your knee, he shoves it up to open you up wider, and his tongue smears and licks across your spread center as he groans, savoring the taste.

Kneeling on the floor next to him, Gracie wraps her hand around his thick cock with a stroke, an action that has him pressing his face closer. He’s messy, open mouthed and hungry, like he’s starved for it and you roll your hips against his greedy mouth, losing yourself in the sensation.

She strokes him harder, faster and breaking his kiss to your cunt, he circles the nape of her neck, tugging her in for a kiss. You watch, his glistening mouth meeting hers, his other hand still splayed with a grip on the inside of your thigh to hold you in place. Slipping your fingers down across your soft belly, you find your clit and swirl a practiced circle over it – until his hand swats yours away. 

“It’s mine,” he orders. “That cunt belongs to me.”

“Then take care of it like it’s yours,” you challenge. Your tone is sweet and soft, but the lift of your chin tells him it’s an order.

He likes the way you push against him, you’ve come to find out. His need to make you submit is only satisfying if you push back, if you play at fighting against it. It needs to feel hard won for him, but not in a way most men like to win. Not with harsh, demeaning words and cruel orders. No – he needs to overpower with pleasure, needs to make you succumb because you can’t fight it anymore. Begging, pulling against restraints, pushing against the weight of his body as he forces you to take it – those are the ways he likes it. 

Giving you a look that pins you in place, he spreads you wide as his hands grip and pinch. He bends, his mouth sucking and biting at the soft skin of your thighs, soothing it with wide sweeps of his tongue. Your head tips back, a moan pouring out of your throat towards the ceiling and you feel the bed dip beside you as Gracie crawls onto it. Reaching over to you, she tips your chin towards her and pulls you in for a kiss. 

She’s so much softer than the man at your feet: her lips lush and pliant, her breath sweet. Her hand cups your breast with a gentle squeeze, toying with the peak while taut pleasure fills the cradle of your hips. His eyes on your face, you can feel his possessiveness in the way his mouth devours, and the combination of her sweetness mixed with his intensity pushes you closer and closer to the edge. The attention is all consuming, your thighs trembling with the release he’s building deep inside you. Breaking away from Gracie, you beg him for relief. 

“Fuck – Din,” you moan, threading your fingers through his dark curls with a tug. Letting yourself drop back into the plush mattress, you reach for Gracie as he moans into your spread cunt, and she holds your hand while your back arches, your heels digging into the firm muscles of his back. “I’m – you’re going to make me cum.”

Your voice breaks when you do, a bright wave of taut warmth spreading from your core outwards. He licks you through it, sliding his tongue through the gush of wetness, focusing his efforts on your swollen clit. Your hips jerk and you whimper, a sound Gracie hushes with another kiss. 

Focused on her and still floating, you don’t notice he’s stood up until you feel his sure hold slide up over the top of your shins, guiding your knees back against your chest. He steps forward, and you can feel the thickness of his cock pressing against the slick dip of your entrance. 

“You ready, girl?” he asks, grinding his hips into you. His breathing is ragged, pent up, his chin glistening and wet. 

You can feel how soaked you are, his movement smearing your wetness into the curls at his base, over his thick shaft. He positions the weighty, blunt tip of his cock in place, groaning when he feels you clench against it. When he breaks you open, your lips catch against Gracie’s, your hot whine fanning over her mouth. 

He’s so much – so filling, so thick, the slide inside so satisfying it makes you want to cry. He reaches further than most, pushing forward with a grind and though Gracie has your mouth, he leans to focus your attention on him. Pulling out and sliding back in with a firm roll of his hips, he breaks your kiss with a grip of your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

“Look at me,” he commands, another slide out, another grind in. Another, another. Trying to match your rhythm with his, you can’t move your hips with how he has them pinned in place, forcing you to take it. 

“So –,” he hisses, pulling out to slide back in, “So fucking wet. So tight,” he groans, picking up pace. You bounce lightly with the motion; the muscles along his ribs rippling with the action. “Gracie, look at her gorgeous tits. They look neglected to me.”

The smile she gives him is affectionate and sweet, though the situation is anything but. Crawling to you, she bends and licks a wide stripe up the soft underside of your breast, before giving it a lingering kiss. 

“Din –,” you beg, arching into her wet mouth. He’s already building something low in your tummy, ratcheting it higher with every thrust of his hips, even higher with the unrelenting grip he’s using to pin you in place.  

Gracie switches breasts with a wet path from one to the other, nibbling at the stiff peak of your nipple. The two of them work in tandem: her sweet mouth with his unrelenting pace, her softness paired with his strength. 

She pulls back and Din bends forward just enough to give you a rough, hungry kiss, one that has your knees pressing into your chest and then he’s fucking down into you, his hips pounding into your ass, your mouths hovering over each others as you drink down his panting, ragged breaths – 

“Gracie,” he tells her, a soft grunt between each word, “Show me your fingers. That’s right,” he praises her, as she dips them inside herself with a sigh. “Get yourself nice and wet for me – you’re next.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Gracie rolling her hips against her hand, her soft thighs spread wide, the silk nighty she’s wearing twisted around her torso while her eyes glaze over watching him fuck you.

You whine underneath him, earning yourself a quick, breathless kiss. “You can take it, girl. I know you can.” He gives a couple of particularly rough thrusts, groaning over your higher moan. “Go ahead, girl. Tell her how good it feels. Tell her –”

Before he can get the words out, you pull his head down to seal his mouth with yours, breaking again underneath him with a hoarse moan. Stronger and more intense than the last one, your cunt squeezes him so hard you feel him stutter a grunt against your mouth, trapped in place. Everything is so wet: your sore cunt, his lap, the sweat that clings to his lower back and along your hairline, the kiss you share with him, as you come down from your peak. 

Pausing to let you catch your breath, he’s tender with his touches, brushing your sweaty hair back from your face. “You did so good for me girl. So good,” he murmurs between kisses. Giving a final caress to your cheek, he gently eases himself out of you. “You stay there and rest – it’s Gracie's turn.”

So tender and soothing with you, his rigid cock betrays his yet unsatisfied need as he shifts his focus to her. She looks delighted at the sight – a desperate Din, his muscles rigid with tension, his stomach taut with effort. Limp and pliant, you lay still while he gently eases your thighs open with a sweep of his hands to look at your cunt. His expression clearly torn between tasting the sticky, slick mess you’ve made for him and leaving you be, he wets his bottom lip, before sliding two fingers through the mess, feeding it to Gracie. 

Radiating dominance and tightly wound need, he watches as she sucks on his fingers like it’s nourishment, scrambling up on her knees to pull him towards her. He jerks the neckline of her nighty down, palming her bare breasts with a squeeze and her hand reaches for his cock, eager for him to fill her. Pushing her backwards, the bed bounces with the weight of their bodies falling together and bracing himself on his forearm, he reaches down to slide into her in one, brutal stroke. One hand fisting into the bedding over her head and the other roughly massaging her breast, the flesh of it spills out between his fingers as he pounds into her, needing to be rough. 

It’s a lot, even for her — but you can tell she loves it. Worked up and waiting for her turn, her fingers dig into his ass, pulling him into her as her hips grind against his. Reaching for her wrist and pinning it into the mattress above her head, he presses his weight into the hold while his hips shove into hers, over and over. 

Everything about the way he fucks is so filthy and base. Almost feral, frantic with need. He demands so much from both of you, but also of himself. Edging himself until he’s exhausted. Seeing just how long he can go and how many times he can make you come before he allows himself the same pleasure. 

“What do you think, girl?,” he asks, looking over at you. “Can she take it?” 

Gracie moans loudly at a particularly rough thrust and he turns back to her, clamping his hand tight over her mouth while continuing to push her further. Her dazed eyes widen above his broad hand before rolling back, her brow bunching when they slide shut. 

Pressing a kiss over the top of his hand where her lips would be, he shushes her. “Shhh. It’s okay, filthy girl. I thought –” he groans, “ – I thought about making a mess of your pretty little cunt, but I – fuck – I think I want it in your mouth instead.”

At this, Gracie comes – her legs squeezing tight around his waist, her whines still muffled by his palm as her body arches underneath him. Digging her fingers into his bicep, he holds himself still as she sobs underneath him, trembling with her release. 

At the edge himself, he pulls out of her and quickly climbs up over her body, he pinching her cheeks together until her mouth opens up. Fisting his cock with an audible stroke, he rests the tip between her lips and cums, hard. 

There is so much of it. Coating her lips and tongue, his release pours into her mouth, dripping down her chin. She sits up, eager for more, swallowing him deeper and he hisses, his hips jerking forward to chase the wet heat. She looks up at him with a warmth of adoration, eager for praise, as his hands cradle her jaw while his hips roll lazily against her mouth. Staying there until he’s too sensitive, he slips out and slumps forward, catching himself on the bedframe. 

“Fuck me,” he pants, the tension in his muscles slowly ebbing away. Sluggish, he moves like he’s drugged and the two of you shift on the bed to make room for him. Him in the middle, he gathers you into his arms, while reaching back to ensure Gracie is tucked tight behind him. 

The first time he held you in his arms, you fell asleep immediately, exhausted from all he demanded from you. He slept like the dead as well, finally being able to let his guard down. Tonight, you resist the urge to close your eyes, savoring the warm weight of his arm curled around your waist, and the firm, solid tuck of his body behind yours. Delicately tracing his knuckles, you think about how no other man has ever held you like this. So used to them taking what they want and then leaving, you know you shouldn't get too attached or read too much into it…but it’s nice, the weight and comfort of his warmth. 

In the small hours of the morning, you wake to the sensation of his nose gliding up the nape of your neck, his lips peppering kisses along the top of your spine. The room is dark, before dawn, and rolling over to face him, you see Gracie curled up behind him, dead to the world. 

He’s achingly soft with his handling of you: sweeps of his palms over your soft skin, kisses that have you aching for more. It’s hard to see him in the darkness of the room, but that only makes every sensation more heightened. You focus on other senses: his low, rumbling hums, the heat of his skin, the taste of his mouth. His hand teases down the slope of your body, finding a home between your legs. Cupping your cunt, he preps you to take him again. 

Swirls over your clit, fingers slipping inside to draw out slick wetness. Bringing the digits to his mouth, he coats them thoroughly with his saliva before bringing them back down to your cunt, easing them into you. 

Half awake, everything feels like a dream, saturated with sensation. The weight of his body on yours, the filling push of him inside. His warm breath ghosting over your skin, the press of his mouth along your jaw. 

“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, his forehead sliding against the soft skin on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your skin. “You always take me so well. You make me feel so good.”

Your fingers thread through his curls, guiding his mouth to yours for a kiss. Deep, just like his achingly slow thrusts inside of you. Deep, like the aching feeling in your chest at his tenderness. 

Swallowing your moans, he breaks the seal of your mouths just long enough to make whispered promises in the dark: that he’s going to come back in a month, that some day he’s going to settle down in this town. That someday, he’s going to build a house and take you home with him, just to keep you all to himself.

At the last promise, you let out a quiet laugh, tipping your head back into the pillow as he runs the bridge of his nose against your throat, nuzzling the soft skin. 

“They all say that,” you tease. 

You feel him smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Knowing that he’s going to have to leave soon, you shift your focus on giving him everything he asks for – your legs hitching high on his hips, your thighs squeezing him tight as he rocks into you, deeper, harder. With every grinding slide, he makes you repeat his words back to him, each statement sounding needier than the last: 

No one fucks me like you do. 

I can’t think about anything else when you’re deep inside me. 

I’m your girl. Only your girl. 

When you both come, he rests his head on your chest for a while, listening to the rapid thrumming of your heart as you stroke his soft hair away from his temple. The sun begins its ascent outside, the room slowly becoming hazy with dawn. 

With one last kiss for you, and a kiss placed on Gracie’s temple, he pulls himself from the bed. 

You watch as he searches for his clothes, his belt, his boots. 

Your eyes sliding shut, you listen to him slip from the room, shutting the door with a soft click as you roll over into Gracie’s warm heat and go back to sleep.

[la-vie-est-une-fleur29]

Daddy is back everybody.

Save a horse, ride Din Djarin.

@frannyzooey somehow made this better than the first time, and that was a 10/10. I will never shut up about this fic. AU Cowboy Bounty Hunter Din is my dream.

[frannyzooey]

“Daddy is back” made my fucking day 😍😍😍😍

I missed him so much — writing this brought me so much joy, and I am so, so happy that you liked it!!! My literal dream 😍

I’m so grateful for you sticking around this whole time, and beyond thankful to you for reading. I can’t wait to share the rest with you ❤️❤️

Thank you thank you! ❤️

[agirlcandream84]

Frankie’s reaction when he comes back home and finds the reader her back to him, being needy and humping his pillow while moaning his name

Well this is a daddy!Frank scenario of I've ever seen one.

More below the cut cuz we gettin' dirty

Frank steps in through the front door and hears familiar soft grunts from the bedroom- breathy little eh eh eh's he'd heard from you only this morning. He shrugs off his coat and takes the few strides to the bedroom and cracks the door open slightly, finding you in panties and bra as you straddle his pillow and grind your hips back and forth over your clothed center. He feels himself grow hard at the site -- how damn needy and determined you looked.

He opens the door the remaining distance and keeps his voice soft not to scare you. "Hey hey hey babygirl," he says, landing his hands on your hips and moving to ease your body off the pillow.

You startle just a bit and mumble, "Frankie?" as you look back at him, your cheeks and neck flushed with excursion.

"Just me doll," he assures you as he pushes the hair out of your face. "What's goin' on huh doll? Feelin' needy?" he asks, tugging the pillow from between your legs and making you shudder at the feeling.

You give him a small nod, mumbling a small "m'sorry" as he gently pushes you onto you back and thumbs at the wet core of your panties for a moment, his brows furrowing.

"Don't gotta be sorry doll but what did we talk about huh?" he asks, his voice still kind, as he hooks his thumbs into your panties and shimmies them down your legs and tucks them in his back pocket.

"You said..." you start but lose concentration the moment Frank slips two thick fingers inside you, pumping a few times before he removes them and smears the slick wetness over your petals and clit, his evaluation almost clinic and concerned.

"Fuckin soaked," he mumbles to himself and begins to unlatch his belt and button. "Said what doll?" he prompts you to continue.

"You said to call when I need you," you manage to answer, shimmying your ass closer to where he spreads your thighs and frees his cock.

"That's right sweetheart, I said to call," he confirms, landing his thumb on your clit to address your whiney fidgets, knowing you needed attention but determined to reinforce his rules. He pumps his cock a few times and it immediately grows rigid at the sight of you spread open for him.

"Didn't wanna bother you," you explain, your eyes locked on the way his broad hand palms his cock before screwing your eyes shut at the feeling of his thumb drawing small, tight circles on your clit.

"Not botherin' me," he replied, gripping his cock and guiding the head to your wet core, "My job to take care of you sweetheart," he continues with a grunt, pushing the thick head of his cock into your walls and pumping slowly until you made room for him.

[agirlcandream84]

How Frank Would Handle Making You.. ahem… Squirt

Listen, sometimes you get to thinking and then you simply HAVE to write the hottest Frank headcanon.

Word Count: 873

Frank Castle x Reader (written inclusively)

You had been at it for 45 mins, Frank already pulling 3 orgasms out of you and his cock still felt as hard as steel as he thrusted measured and deeply into your core

"Doing so good for me sweetheart. Just need you a little longer," he'd huff into your ear, his pace slowing slightly to sink himself deeper.

You felt the flush creep up your neck, your ears burning tomato red. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the pressure built in your core. You had never come close to 3 orgasms, let alone 4, but you felt the familiar winding in your gut.

Despite Frank's praise, it all started to feel like too... much. The sweat beading at your brow. The hair stuck to your neck. The sheet bunched below your back. The everlasting sting and stretch of his cock. The deep punch punch punch as he he hit the spongey spot. Pleasure, yes, but too much of everything.

But you couldn't find words. You weren't sure you wanted anything to stop but the overstimulation had you panicky about the next orgasm, your heart racing as the tip of his cock nudged your wall so deeply that the air felt squeezed from your lungs.

"FFffrrannkie..." you stammer out, eyes squeezed so tight that tears fall out the corners.

"Fuck honey I know. I know baby," he says, grunting to give you to orgasm he thought you were whining for.

He changes pace to seat himself deeply against your slit, heavy balls slapping you, micro-thrusts of his cock so powerful that your vision goes black around the edges and your breath stalls in your lungs.

Your hand lands on his broad chest to stop his movements just as the orgasm tears through, making you squirt so forcefully that he pulls out instantly. Your back arches, eyes rolling back in your head as warm, clear liquid squirts in a steady stream from your pink walls. Your legs shake uncontrollably and tears stream down your cheeks.

"Fuck, honey. Shit, baby, you ok?," Frank is instantly attentive, guilt flooding him as he realizes he misread your cues. His only concern is you, his calloused hand landing feather-light on your cheek to swipe away the tears and gently push the hair from your face.

"Breathe for me sweetheart. Come on-- slow breath," he coos as one hand lands softly on your lower belly and the other on your quaking leg, trying to still your aftershocks.

Your heart rate slows and you can't help the hiccupped sob that bubbles up, covering your eyes with your forearm to hide the tears pouring out. Embarrassment burns through you. Shame at the mess you made in Frank's bed, the theatrics you put on. You had just been so overstimulated -- an impending orgasm had never felt so frightening before.

At the sound of your sob Frank scoops up your form to cradle you in his lap, I'm sorrys tumbling out of his mouth.

"Fuck honey I'm so sorry. Shoulda checked in with you better. I got caught up in the moment and I wasn't listenin'. Shit, baby, don't cry. You're ok. You're ok."

Through messy sobs you choke out "S'not your fault Frankie. I'm so embarrassed. I made such a mess"

You feel Frank pause, can practically hear his brows furrowing as he says, "Wait wait, hang on. Honey, none of this is your fault. You know that, don't you baby?"

You shake your head no and burrow it deeper into his chest. You couldn't bear looking at him after the show you'd just put on.

Gently, his hands pull you away from his chest but you avoid his eyes. "Sweetheart, you know that right? Need you to look at me baby"

You venture a quick glance to his face. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are scanning your features. You mumble out "I'm so embarrassed," before curling into his chest again, feeling like a blubbering, messy fool.

"Let's get something straight sweetheart," Franks starts, his words stern but his touch gentle. He rests his chin on your head as his hand makes slow, soft circles on your back. "I love every fuckin' part of your body and if i weren't so scared that I hurt you, I'd tell you how fuckin' gorgeous you looked taking me so well like that. You can make a mess in my bed anytime but we don't have to do that ever again if you don't want to. Ok?" and at his final word his finger hooked under your chin to lift your face to peer up at his.

You nod your head because you believe him and force out a soft "ok" in acknowledgement.

"Attagirl," he responds as he stands, your body still supported in his arms.

"Where are we going?" you ask quietly, your energy still zapped from the proceedings.

"First shower, then couch. I'm gonna clean you up and I'll order from the Bahn Mi place. But you gotta make me a promise sweetheart."

"What Frankie?' you respond tentatively.

"You're gonna let me take care you and get you cleaned up. No shame. No embarrassment. Understand?"

You nod yes against his chest as he carries you to the bathroom.

Ok I'm dead now bye.

[agirlcandream84]

Frank with a very clingy/cuddly reader? Like, always holding his hand, hugging him, practically glued to him 24/7. Idk I just wanna be all over him all the time. Just like, cling and bite.

Listen, Frank likes it and I think he doesn't even notice?? Like he's not thinking to himself "damn she's always touching me" or "this girl is a little needy," he's just sooooooo physically instinctual. He's not thinking how to navigate your clinginess, he's just responding to it, giving you what you need. If you come up to his right side while he's jotting something down, he just kinda smoothly transfers you over to his left side so he can finish writing. Or if you're in his lap and he needs to stand up, he's positioning you with your legs around his middle and just taking you with him, patting your ass and saying something like "alright come on lil' monkey." I think if you're especially clingy, he becomes especially sturdy in response. It gives him a job to do. Like, it's ok for you to be soft because he'll just carry the load for the both of you.

(and if we wanna be really dirty, this is where cockwarming comes into play)

And also, HE'S CLINGY TOO lol. If you're within arm's reach, he's touching you. He cannot keep a hand to himself if the opportunity is there. He's always just nuzzling up to you and saying, "Just so fuckin' cute readin' your book [or insert literally any activity you're doing]" I really do think the most healed and secure version of Frank is the CLINGIEST man. Like he's all simpy for you. He's always giving you puppy eyes if he's on the couch and you're not and he's saying "All alone over here sweetheart. S'like you're abusin' me or somethin'". ok drama queen! He just wants you to put your hands in his hair while he rests his cheek on your tits.

[littledes1re]

daddy, i’m sorry 

Pairing: Old!daddy!joel miller x female!reader

Summary: Joel sits downstairs, reading by the stove, trying to pretend he doesn’t hear the footsteps of his son’s girlfriend. Trying to pretend he doesn’t remember what the two of you have done and feel. But when you appear in the dark—barefoot, wide-eyed, floaty-headed and call him Daddy like you still mean something by it, he knows you’re about to break the rules again.

Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, slight angst, age gap! (60s and 20s), fingering, praise kink, slight mean!joel, daddy kink, ddlg undertones, subspace, infidelity, power imbalance, taboo relationship dynamics, needy!reader, no outbreak,

A/N: i’m not feeling very well lately. this is just an unfinished draft that I never finished, but I wrapped it up now to kinda ease myself back into writing. I also want to finally get to some requests that have been sitting in my inbox. Things might move a little slower for now, I’m sorry about that! But i hope yall enjoy this one in the meantime: filthy, taboo nonsense that just hits right when you’re horny hehe😋

The fire crackled low in the stove, its orange glow flickering across the old wooden floorboards. The room was dim, lit only by the firelight that danced around Joel’s chair. He sat still, legs stretched out, reading glasses perched low on his nose, the spine of a thick book resting in one hand.

Outside, the wind knocked against the windows, but inside it was warm and real quiet. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones and makes you forget the day.

Joel turns a page slowly, his eyes moving steady across the lines, but he wasn’t really reading anymore. Not with the fire murmuring besides him. Not with the weight of the day finally easing off his shoulders.

And then—

a sound.

Soft and unmistakable. Footsteps.

He stilled.

The book lowered an inch. His jaw tightens just slightly. He didn’t look up, not yet. Just listened. One step. Then another. A pause. Then the creak of the top stair.

Joel closed the book gently, thumb marking the page.

He didn’t need to look to know it was you.

His eyes flicked towards your figure in the hallway, dressed in white like a ghost. The room was dark, but Joel could still make out the tremble of your lips, the flush blooming across your cheeks.

He doesn’t want to know what you did upstairs with his son, he didn’t even want to think of it.

And more than anything, he didn’t want you coming to him—disturbing the only ounce of peace he ever feels, that quiet hour when the house is asleep, and it’s just him, a book, and the soft crackle of the fire.

You slip into the room without a word, the hem of your dress brushing your thighs as you move gently to the couch besides him. He doesn’t say anything. Just watches. Swallows. His jaw tightens. And you can already see his knuckles going white from gripping the book too hard.

With a quiet sigh, legs are drawn up as you settle besides him, eyes fixed on the way he turns the page—his hands broad and steady, the book looking small in his palm.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, thoughts wrapped in cotton. Everything feels soft, distant—like the only thing keeping you tethered to the moment is Joel.

He clears his throat, making you look up to him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, voice low and hoarse, the sound of it rumbling deep in your chest.

You shake your head. “No, it’s too quiet up there.”

“You’re not used to country,” he answers with a hum.

He was right. Staying at Joel’s farmhouse—just because your boyfriend insisted that spending the holidays at his dad’s place would help you relax—was a mistake. Instead of peace, you were face to face with the very thing you’d been trying to avoid for years.

And now you can’t keep it together anymore. Joel knows it.

He saw it already on your glassy eyes on the breakfast table. Or on the way you gently touched him when you tried to slip past him.

“Do you always read in the dark?” You ask.

“Sometimes. When my eyes get used to it. Helps me wind down, you know?”

You nod, and you feel it in your chest—knowing that once, you knew everything about him. That he once told you everything. Every little quirk he had and has.

Silence stretches between you. Joel’s head dips, trying to make something of the words he is reading, but the only thing his mind allows is to hear your little breaths and your voice looping inside his mind.

He can feel you staring.

“You should go back to bed.” He says, finally.

Your heart thuds in your chest. You tilt your head, eyes glassy looking at him.

“Doesn’t feel right,” you murmur. “Up there. Without you.”

He shakes his head, jaw clenching, hands closing the book.

“We’ve talked about this.”

You nod.

“Remember?”

“I remember.” Your voice is just above a whisper.

“And?” His eyebrows go up, reading glasses moving with them. His voice makes your skin crawl; it makes you want to curl yourself further into the couch and disappear. You just needed him.

“I-i’m not trying to start anything.” A lie.

“Bullshit.” His voice cuts through the warm atmosphere of the room—sharp, hitting right into your heart. Your bottom lip wobbles as you look at him, breath picking up.

“Look at you.” His hand sways in your direction, eyes scanning you up and down. “You look like a mess.”

“I—I don’t mean to be.” Your voice is breathy, almost like a whimper. “I just…I don’t feel right.”

Joel scoffs, his heart breaking a little too—from being so mean. He doesn’t want to be. But you two were never meant to be. What happened between you has to stay in the past, forgotten. That was the deal: to never talk about it again. To never seek each other out. To never ask for more.

“You should go,” Joel says again, quieter this time. “Ain’t right, you sittin’ here like this.”

You don’t move. Just look at him, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t wanna be alone.”

“That ain’t my problem.” You flinch. “You have your boyfriend right upstairs, you don’t need me.”

Silence falls again.

Neither of you move or say anything. Joel doesn’t look at you—his eyes are focused on the way the fire plays shadows on the walls and the way it lights up the place.

You, on the other hand…are almost on the verge of crying. Not because of sadness, but because you’re locked in a headspace that won’t let you think straight. One that just wants to be cradled, to be held, and to be told that everything is going to be okay.

And that should be from Joel.

Because your boyfriend doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand your headspace, your needs. He doesn’t listen, and when he does he misinterprets what you say.

Joel doesn’t. He never did.

After a while Joel releases a big breath, and rubs his forehead.

And then he hears it:

“daddy, i’m sorry.”

It lands like match on dry grass.

Joel freezes. That word hangs in the air—thick, trembling. He squeezes his eyes shut, his mind already drifting to the past, to when you laid underneath him and called him that word like he was your anchor.

When he opens his eyes again, they’re darker. But they’re not angry. Not anymore. They’re wrecked. He knows he has been fighting this way too long, and he knows that a single word can break him. And that happened now.

“Jesus,” he mutters, just under his breath.

Your cheeks flush, embarrassment runs through your body.

He drags a hand down his face, then looks at you—really looks. At the way you’re still curled in on yourself, flushed and trembling, eyes wide, lips swollen, wet and waiting for something.

“You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me,” breathes out.

But he’s already moving. The book slides from his lap to the floor with a soft thud. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and opens his arms.

“C’mere,” he says, voice gentler now. “Come here.”

You move fast. You climb into his lap like you’ve done it a hundred times before—knees on either side of his thighs, arms already reaching to curl around his neck, face nuzzling toward the warm space beneath his jaw.

But his hand comes up, firm against your shoulder.

“Hey.”

You pause, blinking up at him, dazed and soft. Sou try again, leaning in, seeking the comfort of his chest, but his voice sharpens.

“Hey…hey. Hey.” He catches your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up to his. His eyes focused on your lips.

“You know we can’t keep doin’ this,” he starts, voice low. “We said last time was the last time.”

You whimper, barely a sound, but it’s enough to make his grip falter for a second. His thumb brushes your cheek, gentler now.

“Last time,” he says again, quieter. “You hear me?”

You nod, slow.

“Promise?” he asks.

You nod again, eager. But he doesn’t let go.

“No,” he says, firmer. “Words.”

“Promise.”

He watches you for a beat longer, then exhales through his nose. His hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you in.

“Good girl.”

And just like that, you curl into him, breath soft against his neck, while he can feel how far you’ve gone—how quiet, how warm, how gone. Your body’s heavy in his lap, boneless, like you’re melting into him inch by inch. And Joel knows what that means.

His hand moves slowly over your back, steady and grounding, trying to soothe you.

“You’re real quiet now,” he murmurs. “That little motor of yours finally ran outta steam, huh?”

You don’t answer. Just nuzzle closer, your lips brushing the side of his neck, barely there.

“You’re deep in it, ain’t you,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “Didn’t even see it happen.”

He shifts slightly, adjusting you in his lap, cradling you closer. His voice drops to a whisper.

“You always do this to me,” he says. “Come in here all soft, all sweet…and I try so damn hard to be good.”

You let out a tiny sound—half sigh, half whimper—and it breaks something in him.

“Shh,” he soothes, pressing his lips to your temple. “I know, baby. I know.”

His hand cups the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair.

“You’re safe,” he whispers. “Daddy’s got you.”

You feel soft in his lap, breath already hitching, hips starting to shift just enough to make him feel it. You need him.

Joel’s hand tightens on your hip, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to hold something back.

“Y’are needy, aren’t you, baby?” he murmurs, voice dropping low. “Figured.”

You nod, whimpering softly, and he exhales like it hurts.

“Can you tell me what you need?” he asks, brushing your hair back. “Just wanna make sure you’re still with me.”

“Want you,” you whisper. “Please, Daddy.”

He closes his eyes for a beat, then nods. “Yeah. You want Daddy to help you come back down.”

His hand slides lower, slow and steady.

“S’okay,” he murmurs. “I got you.”

And just as he shifts you in his lap, his mouth close to your ear, you hear it—barely a breath, like he didn’t mean to say it out loud: “This the last time.”

But his hands don’t stop.

“Y’stay real quiet, yeah? Don’t want him hearin’ that his dad’s takin’ care of his girlfriend better.”

It’s not a threat. It never is. It’s resentment, but not at you—god, never at you. It’s at the boy, his own son, who gets to have you in the daylight, while Joel only gets the dark.

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing hard while looking into your hazy eyes. You whine again, signalling that you’re ready. Ready for him to take you. He chuckles under his breath in response.

So, Joels hand slides down, slow and warm, slipping beneath the hem of your dress, then lower. He cups you over your panties, real gentle, but firm—and lets out a quiet breath when he feels the dampness.

“Messy girl.” he coos.

You whimper, hips pressing desperately into his palm.

“Shh,” he soothes, lips brushing your temple. “I know. Daddy’s here.”

He quickly hooks a finger around the edge of your panties, tugging them aside with care, while your head rests on his chest—breathing in his wooden scent. His fingers find you, slick, soft, sticky and he strokes through the wetness, slow and teasing. His fingertip brushes over your clit gently, and you gasp.

“Just like that,” he whispers. “Let me feel you.”

After letting you settle, he eases one finger inside—only one, because he knows you need time to adjust in this headspace. His finger settles into your cunt, and you breathe out, clinging to him, as he holds you tighter.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Nice and easy.”

He waits for yuou, lets you adjust, then begins to move—gentle, curling thrusts, deep and slow, while his other hand cradles your back.

You were already feeling sensitive—like your body knew Joel was near, like your cunt could sense the weight of his big, steady hands cradling you. And you were always extra needy when you started to float.

He shifts just enough to see your face, brushing your hair back with the hand not inside you. Your eyes are half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed. You look dazed, dreamy, like you’re floating somewhere only he can reach.

Joel swears under his breath. “Look at you,” he murmurs. “All gone, huh?”

You hum, barely even able to nod, and he smiles: absolutely wrecked by how beautiful you are like this.

His fingers keep moving, slow and sure, coaxing you through it, fingertip curling into that one spot that only Joel can reach. He leans in, presses his forehead to yours.

“You stay with me, babygirl. Don’t drift too far.”

You move softly in his lap, breath hitching, but hips shifting just a little more desperately—like you’re chasing something just out of reach.

Joel notices. Of course he does.

“Still restless, huh?” he murmurs, voice still against your ear. “One ain’t enough for you, baby?”

You shake your head, your body answering before your mouth can.

He smiles knowing. “S’okay,” he whispers. “I got you.”

He eases his hand back, just enough to press a second finger to your entrance. He waits—feels the way your body flutters, how you cling to him tighter.

“Breathe for me,” he whispers. “Let me in.”

And when you do—when he slides that second finger in, slow and careful—you sigh, your cunt fluttering around him. The stretch is deeper, fuller, and your whole body melts around him.

“There she is,” he murmurs. “That’s what you needed, huh?”

Joel starts with his thrusts again. Slow, deep and grinding. Every thrust now pressing into you more fully, brushing against that sweet, aching spot inside you. You can already feel the stickiness between your thighs, the way your slick clings to him, to you, to everything. It’s warm, messy, perfect.

“Daddy…” you sigh, burying your face into his chest.

“Yea? Like that?” He asks, placing a kiss on your temple. “Daddy’s filling you up nice and slow?”

You nod your head softly, coming closer to his chin, pressing a peck on his lips and then a faint one on his stubbles.

The chair under you two groans as your hips shift, chasing the rhythm of his hand. You’re trying to stay quiet, but every slow thrust makes you tremble, makes you cling to him tighter.

His fingers continue to move slow and deep inside you, while the room is quiet, so quiet that you can hear it. That soft, wet sound each time he thrusts in. It’s intimate.

A slick little whisper between your thighs, hidden in the space where your bodies meet.

He presses in deeper, and the squelch is louder now—squelching, needy. You feel it in your belly, on your skin.

The slick sounds between you grow wetter, messier, and your breath comes in soft, broken gasps. Joel feels it—the way you’re clenching tighter, the way your body’s starting to shake.

“You’re close, yea?” he murmurs, voice thick with warmth. “I can feel it, baby.”

You can’t answer. You just whimper, pressing your face into his neck, trying to hold on.

And then you feel it—his thumb, warm and steady, sliding down to circle your clit. Gentle at first, just enough to make you gasp.

“There we go. So puffy for daddy, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Let Daddy help you.”

His fingers keep moving inside you, while his thumb works soft, perfect circles over that aching spot. The rhythm is steady and grounding.

“That’s it, babygirl. Just come for me. I’ve got you.”

His fingers find that tender spot inside you again—just as his thumb circles your clit just right, and his voice drops low in your ear. “Yes, that’s it, baby. I’ve got you.”

And then you do.

Your whole body tenses, then breaks. You cry out, soft and wrecked and he holds you tighter as your release rushes through you. He feels it immediately—the way your walls flutter around his fingers, the way your slick gushes over his hand, warm, wet and so desperate.

It runs down his fingers, over his knuckles, dripping onto his wrist and soaking into the fabric of his jeans. But he doesn’t care. He loves it.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, kissing your temple. “Let it all out. I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t pull away. He keeps his fingers inside you, gentle now, nestled deep, cradling the soft, fluttering squeeze of your walls as you come down. The chair creaks beneath you, the room still thick with heat and breath and the soft, wet sounds of your release.

“You’re making such a big mess, baby girl…” he murmurs. “Daddy has to clean ya up, hm?”

His other hand strokes your back, grounding you, while his lips press soft kisses to your temple.

“Still flutterin’,” he whispers, almost in awe. “So sweet. So soft.”

You whine, your body coming down from your release—still overwhelmed, and he hushes you gently.

“I know, baby. I know. You gave me everything, didn’t you?”

He stays there with you, fingers still inside, until your breathing evens out and your body stops trembling. Even then, he doesn’t pull away. He just holds you, full and warm and safe in his arms.

“You’re okay,” he says softly.

You hum, content. His scent is everywhere—smoke, leather, wood. You feel like you could stay here forever.

“You feel better, babygirl?” he asks sweetly.

You nod, slow and lazy. “Mhm. Thank you, Daddy.”

You’re curl into his lap, limp and trembling, your cheek pressed to his chest. His fingers slip from you now, but his arms don’t move. One hand strokes your back in slow, grounding circles. The other rests on your thigh, warm and steady.

The chair creaks softly beneath you both again, but neither of you moves. You’re still slick between your legs, the mess of your release soaking into his jeans, but he doesn’t care. He just presses a kiss to your hairline—gentle, lingering.

“You were so good,” he says softly. “So damn sweet.”

There’s a pause. Like he wants to say more. Like there’s something sitting heavy in his chest. But instead, he just holds you tighter.

“Let’s just stay like this a while.”

“Just let me have this,” he says, barely audible. “Just for a little longer.”

And you do. Because right now, in this hush, in his arms—you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Okey i’m gonna be honest…i don’t like this🫩 but i also missed writing for daddy Joel sooo…I hope you guys enjoyed it! Also this is not proofread🫣 please let’s just ignore all the mistakes and things that don’t make sense

Now i’m gonna concentrate on some requests, and then i’ll probably post ex hitman!joel! He is miserable, bleeding but still soft for her <3

Taglist: @vickie5446 @thatgirlmendo @ihearttdilfs @pickyeater13 @sweetiegirl16 @afyreinjuly @shivispunk @kyloispunk @marisemonteiroo @meetmeatyourworst @joelmillerswife9 @iveseenstrangerthings50 @idrkman @blueberryfruittart @vanishintoyoubby @dlwrish @brittmb115 @xcallmetaniax @umadirectioner @millersweetheart @wildthyng @armandispunk @chick66i @bratty-spicee @am1a-niigo @hopelessromantic727 @styleslfreak @psclcain @rxsemarinusx @jandtmillersgirl @fertilise-me @mitskilover88 @lostboys1987girl @begginforthread @facethepascal @ddiana111 @twilightblogss @cheeseizts @pedrosgirl03 @swimmingnightcolor @gabfromgreedycity @bartzabel4 @blueflowerstranger @easybbgrl @madnessofadaydreamer @sadie6sinks6slut @hopelessromantic727 @miramindlesslywriting

[kittiescraft]

thighs

pairings: daddy!bucky x f!reader

cw: daddy!bucky, incest, thigh humping, dry humping, mutual orgasms, they know its bad, protective!bucky, possessiveness... 2.7k

a/n: reposted from my old account !! sorry if you've seen this before <3

you didnt realise your father would be home early.

you sat on the leather couch, dress on, makeup not too over the top, just enough to make people double take.

you hadn't told him about the date. some boy your friend gave you the number to, you hit it off unfortunately well and a couple drinks and maybe a night in sounded like the perfect time.

that was until you heard footsteps.

the click of his oxford shoes on the tile making your heartbeat faster.

fuck.

you promised to never keep secrets from your daddy, its something that drew the two of you closer together. you'd tell him anything, ask him questions — embarrassing or not — he cared enough to answer, sometimes even demonstrate.

you had been sitting against the squeaky material waiting for six to arrive, slowly, minutes going by like hours, your leg moving restlessly up and down until you could get up and have some fun.

"What's you so dolled up for?"

your dads voice threw you out of your mind, snapping your neck to turn towards him.

shirt sleeves tugged to his elbows, first couple of buttons undone from his neck, tie loose and his hair disheveled. he'd ran his hands through it one too many times.

bad day.

shit, hes had a bad day at work.

"Going out."

"Oh yeah? With who?" he didnt move, just stayed in the doorframe, leaning against the wood like a predator. arms crossed against his chest. you couldnt help but look at his hands and muscles work as he moved them.

"Just a friend." your voice gave you away. you werent the best at lying, thats something Bucky liked. how your voice quivered, how you looked anywhere but him. you squirmed. he likes a squirmer.

he huffed amusingly, "this friend gotta name?"

you exhaled impatiently, you can already feel yourself getting worked up. stomach tingling, knees weak. your teeth just happen to find your lower lip.

"just some guy —"

before you could finish, he spoke. form straightening, hands in pockets, his eyes looked almost primal.

"Some guy?" he stepped into the room, inching closer and closer to your space, your warmth.

bucky could smell the perfume you had just sprayed, lingering on each pulse point like a tease. He knew you knew what was going to happen. it was your own private game you two liked to play.

"Get up," bucky snapped his fingers, the same hand running through his salt and pepper beard. "panties off, on my thigh, you know what to do."

while he sat down next to you, muscular thighs spread apart for you like some perverse version of the gates of heaven, you scrambled up, losing your underwear in the mix, and perched on his leg.

"Go on, princess, you think you can do whatever you want? go ahead," he gestures to where your cunt sat, warm, already dripping, "see where it gets you."

oh, you were.

you moved slowly at first, letting your body relax, and back arch as you found the perfect spot. the tiny ridges of the pant leg grazing agonisingly right against your clit. you sighed sweetly at the sensation.

"Is… Is this oh—okay?"

"You tell me, sweetheart. Keep going."

you stayed like that, easing yourself faster and faster until the fabric of his slacks burnt deliciously between your thighs, tugging yourself back and forth, ass clenching with each push closer to his body.

the want ached through him, god it was so so wrong. to want you like this, to crave you like this. but this is the closest you'll ever come to that strong of a bond. one wrong move and it'll shatter into a million tiny pieces and your life would never be the same. ruined for anybody else.

bucky was snapped out of his lingering, forsaken thoughts when you started to clutch at his shoulders, squeezing tighter and tighter. warm breath mingling into his cotton button-up, wanton sighs escaping your lips as you tried to keep your vulgar voice in. he could feel himself slipping. cock, already rock hard, now twitching in the confines of his briefs, spurting from every lewd squeak you made.

the sounds clicked around your throat, wet and soft from thick spit threatening to dribble out the corners of your mouth, as you chased your final ending. humping faster, bucking your hips harder. as much as your dear father loved seeing you all desperate and pliable, dumb all from him, he moved.

his two large hands, warm and cold, fire and ice, clutched at your hips, squeezing them, letting himself really feel, savouring the warmth of you before he let it all go.

this was punishment after all.

whining from the loss, he hauled you up a few inches.

"Wha-? hmph…" the only thing you could give was a few disapproving grunts. no more warmth, no more pleasure, no more daddy.

he seemed to grin at your dismay. pearly whites bared in a smile enough to kill any woman around. sly, devious. what a cunning man.

"can't let you finish that easy now, can i, princess?" the words flow like warm honey from his soft lips. you want to kiss them and shut him up, keep rolling your hips in retaliation until you got what you want — punishment be damned! if you had to spend the next month unfinished and worked-up, with bruises on your ass, so it be.

and you tried. tried slipping through his fingers, squirming against his iron tight grip with a few tired sighs. palms squeezing his shoulder as you tried to wiggle. but bucky, as always, was the strongest man you knew.

"now, sweetheart, lets not get ahead of ourselves," he pushed you away, only just, and took a glance at the mess you made on his expensive slacks. his smile grew. such a good girl, he thought as he tutted. sucking his teeth with such fake annoyance, you ate it all up.

"such a pretty mess you made… do i do that to you?" his hands regripped, jerking you slightly, a move to get you to comply.

you sniffle softly, "Yes."

god, the burn was real now. just the sheer breadth of his meaty thigh splitting your own open, the sweet ache of your gracilis making the whole ordeal sting — but daddy always loved toying with you.

your whole body wobbled as his vibranium hand found its way to your neck, warmer from the body heat. his palm flirted at the skin, stroking gently before finding purchase. fingers weaving through the fluff on the back of your neck, thumb petting the softness of your cheek. you couldnt help but lean into his touch.

"yes who?"

tease.

your thighs quivered, any more taunting and your whole body may disintegrate into dust. your body flushed warm with his touch, his voice — his husky voice. the kind that soothed you to sleep every night. it was like he was conditioning you this whole time, to find comfort and solace in the words he said. it was working so goddamn well.

your eyes closed slowly, sleepy or lustrous, perhaps both. your throat worked slowly around the words, swallowing at the vowels and syllables, until you finally caught up.

"Yes, daddy."

"That's my girl," just when you thought the gentle abuse was over, bucky pushed again. shuffling himself on the sofa, making the leather creak beneath him, and widening his legs. your breath hitched. "On the floor for me, babygirl,"

"come on, please?" you whined, but you did as you were told. slick thighs slipping against each other as you dropped to the floor between his knees.

his cheeks start to colour with your vexation, such a little brat he's turned you into. he didnt give into your complaints though, he tried not to at these times. bucky is always in charge and he always made sure you knew.

he shuffled once more. strained cock unmistakably thick in front of you, his heady scent all that filled your senses — but that wasnt what he wanted, not right now at least.

his warm, calloused hand tugged at your hair, startling you as he pulled at you to his thigh. the one you rode. the one you were mere seconds away from soiling properly.

he pointed to it with one thick finger. "Y'see that?" he said authoritatively. a shiver ran up your spine.

your voice trembled as you stared at the dampness. "Y-es, daddy."

the puddle was noticeable. a dark black patch in the middle of his thigh, it looks as though you had already finished. so worked up for your daddy, you ruined his expensive clothes.

"Clean it up."

"What?"

his face stayed stoic. the kind he only used to command, the kind he used when you did something wrong. you were in trouble, you knew that, but this? cleaning him up, you only did that when he finished in your hands. clean up meant to lick your fingers clean first, and then take his half-hard dick into your mouth, tonguing up all the saltiness you could gather. soft, wet mouth over his skin, his tender flesh that homed him all. he made sure you lapped over his heavy balls too, hand in your hair and all — usually until he was stiff again, especially if he had an extra hard day at work.

never a piece of clothing. he loved when you made a mess on him, especially his thighs, sometimes even his shoes. going to see a boy must have furiated him.

you're his little girl. his. he cant have you running off to some limp dick who knew jack shit about pleasing a woman — especially you. you deserve the best after all.

"Clean it up." he repeated. voice fair and steady, though his eyes bore into yours, blues swallowed by the vast darkness of his pupils as he watched you, eyebrows raised in confusion and concern. mouth parted only just, lips slick and tipped down slightly as you adjusted your position.

you sit on your knees, both hands on his thighs, one above his knee, the other fairly close to his erection he could swear you were teasing him too. you leaned yourself down, tongue darting out.

you swiped at your own arousal, sweet and musky, you could feel the scent of laundry detergent in the back of your throat, but it was all gone by the second, third, fourth lick, and all you could taste was the mingling taste of both you and bucky together. the saltiness of his skin, sweat and just him, that stuck to the cotton, and the flavour of you that you only had the pleasure to be aquainted with while his mouth was on yours.

you lapped greedily at the spot, dribbling through the frabric like you were desperate to get a taste of what was underneath, but it was nowhere near as bad as the hunger you felt between your thighs.

sore and aching. tender with the remnants of the soft stitching that held the trousers together — you wanted it back, you wanted to climb back into your father lap and take, and take again, until all you felt was the fuzzy numbness of your want and desire. but you loved your dad, you had to make him happy.

he cooed at the warmth seeping around his thigh. how your hands clutched, fingering painstakingly as you licked and licked at yourself. the hand closest to his cock shuffled closer, pinky running along the seam, barely grazing the mound his hardness created. he cant fuck you. absolutely not. but maybe just…

"Good girl, good girl," he preened. his hand, still within the strands of your hair, pulled your head back up to look at him.

the two of you wore similar expressions. out of breath, eyes glassy, pupils darkened with a sick, sappy desire. disgusting.

"C'mon, onto daddy's lap. That's it."

you pushed your way up before he could even finish the sentence. knees parted and bracketing his hips. bare heat sat straight atop his own, causing the two of you to exhale harshly together.

your stomach pulled taut. you weren't sure if it was out of pure want, or the knowledge of what you two had was wrong. but either way, it made you throb like nothing else.

bucky leaned back, taking you in fully. your disheveled dress, the one you wore specifically for… Adam… Aaron… you couldn't even remember now, nor did he care to know, one strap fell dreamily against your bicep, and the skirt was left crumpled up your thighs as you sat.

he got the perfect view. how the outline of his dick sat perfectly between your lips, he could feel you soaking the fabric again. the man clutched your hips, fingers splaying wide, holding your ass open like he just couldnt help himself, until they finally found purchase on the exposed skin of your knees.

"Take it, babygirl, enough punishment. Wanna watch you get daddy off."

like a gunshot at the starting line, pavlov'd into submission, you started.

hips bucking into his warmth, trembling hands grasping at his shoulders as you worked, up and down, against the throbbing heat you shared.

nothing but the heady scent of two bodies, and the sweet whines of you both filled the room. sweet, tiny moans spilled from each of your opened mouths. hips working in tandem, bucking up, trying to get inside you, go home. and yours pulling him in hopelessly.

your teeth bared as you chased your end, crying out with each force you gave to your dad below you.

the band pulled further and further, you felt it wind in your stomach, the mound of your pussy tingling with each second closer. the dribble of your arousal helping each climb, slicking his clothed dick.

your breath hitched. close, you're so close.

"Da—" you swallow, catching your breath, eyes wandering to the ceiling as you catch yourself, "Daddy, m'gonna cum…"

bucky wasnt doing all that good himself. brows taut together, eyes latched into where the two of you met — wrong, this was fucking wrong. but he couldnt stop, not now, not ever — and his palms stuck hotly to the exposed skin of your ass.

he chuckled breathlessly at you. how your hair mussed, how your head lolled with each buck you shared, especially as he humped his hips up into you. your eyes glazed over with a heat you've only ever felt with him.

"Hold it. Let your old man catch up, sweetheart," he groaned lowly, fingers tightening their grip on your cheeks, holding you down. he thrusted harder. "Almost with you."

You whined needily at each slap of his thighs, how he dragged onto you with precision, with a sharp kind of demand you only knew from authority. but each thrust was bared with love, a deep kind only shared between a relationship like this.

you shook in his hold, limbs sore with each second you tried to keep your orgasm in, hold it for the moment you wanted to share with your father. and luckily that moment was perfectly close.

his hands urgently left your behind and planted on your hips, his left thumb immediately pulling the soft flesh of your mound, before his right started to circle your clit. you had no choice but to gasp at the sudden touch, your orgasm washing over your whole body in a cloak of warmth, flashes of white veiling behind your eyes as you cry out.

bucky finished with a groan, hips boring up once, twice, before twitching into a stream of hot cum. dampening the spot of his crotch worse than you had with his own thigh.

you laid your head down on his shoulder, the two of you catching your breaths. chest to chest, heartbeats easing in sync. you could feel him soften. warm hands wrapping around your midsection, stroking up and down ever so gently.

he inhaled your scent. a gentle fruitiness of the perfume you chose for the night you were supposed to have, citrusy yet soft, mixed with the coconut of your conditioner. he pinched at your side and shuffled, causing you to hum.

"You're my good girl, you hear me?" he sat upright, keeping you in his hold tight. your own hands wrapped around his neck, holding him closer. your breaths mingled on each others necks.

"M'sorry, dad."

"No, no," he stroked your hair so delicately, wrapping the pieces around his fingers. "you apologised enough princess. lets get cleaned up, huh?"

[mytearsricochetm]

wildflower

Pairing: dad! joel miller x reader

Summary: joel takes your virginity in what was supposed to be an innocent pinic

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, incest, age gap (20's/50's), virginity loss, established relationship, praise kink, oral (f! and m! receiving), outdoor sex, creampie,cum eating. Let me know if i missed one

A/N: don't like don't read, the world is hateful enough to be hating on the internet. I know Joel would never do something like this and i don't condone this in real life

dividers by @blasphemoussinkk

You sat behind Joel on the horse, your arms wrapped around his middle, chin resting in his shoulder. You had been riding for an hour already but he wouldn't say a word other than he was taking you somewhere because you two hadn't had a proper daddy-daughter date in a while.

"Dad, c'mon you gotta tell me where we're going." You whined.

"I told ya already, it's a surprise."

"I hate surprises." You huffed, a small pout on your lips that you hoped was gonna change his mind. He didn't.

"You're gonna like this one, baby. I promise." His eyes went back on the trail, a smug smile on his face that told you he was enjoying your impatiance.

"You're gonna like this one, baby. I promise." You mumbled under your breath, your tone high piched and mocking.

"Hey. Watch it." He responded, trying to sound threatening even though there was no bite in his tone.

Another hour passed in a comfortable silence, only broken by the sound of birds chipping and the horse's hooves on the ground.

"Feels like we've been riding for days." You huffed dramatically.

"It's only been two hours."

"Two hours too long."

"You keep complaining and i'll turn the damn horse around."

You gasped, feigning offence "You wouldn't dare."

"You're right. I wouldn't."

Ten minutes later the trail started opening up, sunlight breaking through and hitting you and Joel for the first time since you set out. "Alright. Close your eyes."

You obeyed without complaining. The horse slowed to a stop before you heard the soft thud of Joel's boots hitting the ground "Grab my hands and i'll help you off." He streched his hands in your direction.

You reached for his hands and then carefully swung one of your legs over the horse before sliding down into his steady grasp.

"Just a little longer." He stepped behind you and covered your eyes with his palms before guiding you foward. The air smelled sweeter here, the wind carrying something floral, which made you even more eager. You loved flowers.

"You can look now." Joel removed his hands from your eyes your breath caught in your throat.

A wildflower field displayed in front of you– pink, purple, white and yellow delicate bossoms swayed softly under the soft spring wind. In the distance you could see the mountains, their snow-covered peaks glowing under the sun.

"Dad..." You trailed off, unable to look away from the delicate flowers. "This is so beautiful."

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, placing a kiss on your shoulder before resting his chin there. "We haven't had a day to ourselves in a while. Figured you'd like this.."

You turned around, wrapping your arms around his neck as you repeatedly kissed his face. "Thank you, thank you. I love it."

He pressed his lips against yours, then crouched down to pull a blanket from his pack. He spreaded it on the floor, then set down a container with cookies, two sandwiches and fresh raspberries–your favorite.

"I know I've been busy working lately so this is me making it up to you."

He sat down first, spreading his legs so you could settle between them. Handing Joel a sandwich, you took your own before leaning back against his chest.

"I'm gonna grab some flowers and take them home later." You spoke between bites.

Joel nodded, "Sure, I got a vase somewhere. We can put them in the bedroom or in living room."

"I was thinking about drying them, actually. We can frame them and hang them up. I'll put one in your workshop so you'll always think of me."

"I'm already thinking of you all the time." He brushed some of the crumbs you had on the corner of your mouth and you kissed the pad of his thumb.

When you finished, you rose and wandered towards the field. Joel's hand immediately found his rifle. He knew the area was clear–he'd come here two days before to make sure there weren't any infected or raiders– but still. He was always alert whenever you weren't in his immediate reach.

The hem of your dress fluttered in the breeze, letting joel get a glimpse of your panties– the baby white cotton with small patterned flowers. He whistled at you.

"Dad! You're such a perv!."

"Should've covered up if you didn't want me looking."

You chuckled before going back to picking flowers, bending just a little more than necessary to give him a show. You walked back with your hands full of flowers, settling in his lap this time. You placed the flowers by Joel's backpack and he picked up one to tuck it behind your ear.

"You're so pretty, baby. Sometimes I can't believe you actually came from me."

You giggled, nuzzling your cheek against his hand. Your dad was always complimeting you. You grew up hearing you were the most beautiful little girl in the world–he still thought you were, the only thing that changed was that now his compliments were a lot more sexual sometimes.

He placed both hands on your face and kissed you, slow at first, but tangled your fingers in his head, pulling him closer to you. His hands moved to your waist and wrapped your legs around his him. You ground against him with small rocks of your hips, making groan into the kiss.

He broke the kiss, his breathing ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours. "Wow... Slow down, baby."

You just smirked, brushing your lips against his. "Why? I thought you liked it when I did this."

His grip on you tightened, holding you still when you tried to move again. "I do like it. But i'm trying not to ruin our picnic."

You tilted your head, lips grazing his ear. "There's no one around, daddy. And I want you. I think i'm finally ready."

Joel froze for a second. It wasn't like you two hadn't touched each other before, he had taken it into his hands to teach you everything surrounding sex. He taught you how to please him with your mouth and had spent countless hours making you fall apart on his tongue and fingers until you couldn't even remember your name– but you never went all the way.

He cupped the back of your neck, making you look at him. "You sure, baby? You know I can wait for as long as you need."

"I'm sure, daddy. This place is beautiful. We can make this the best daddy-daughter date we've ever had."

The little restrain he had left cracked. He kissed you again, hungry this time, desperate, tongue and teeth clashing together. His grip loosened and you began to move again, rubbing your clothed clit over his growing hardness. Joel met your rythm with thrusts of his own.

His hands roamed your body, caressing your waist, hips, your thighs, your ass. He squeezed it before giving it a gentle pat to get your attention. "Lay down."

He helped you settle down on the blanket and he hovered over you, supporting himself on his forearms so he wouldn't crush you. He lowered his head and pressed open mouthed kisses on his neck.

He took his sweet time kissing his way down your body, he pulled your breasts out of your dress and took one hardened peak into his mouth, sucking and running his tongue through your it while his hand paid attention to the other. You arched your back into him, hands on his hair to keep him close while played with your tits.

He buchered up your dress to your waist and moved his mouth to your stomach and hips. He spreaded your legs and hooked his arms under your thighs. You bucked your hips up, trying to get some friction on your clit but he shook his head. "Daddy'll get to it."

You whined in respond, your lips forming a small pout. But Joel didn't relent and moved to kiss your inner thighs. He noticed the damp spot in your pretty pink panties. "Oh. Poor baby. She's soaking wet."

"Please, daddy. Need your mouth."

Joel used your hips to bring you closer to his mouth. He kissed through your panties, nuzzling his nose against your clit. "So pretty..." His teeth grazed your clothed nub, leaving a small bite that made you yelp.

He chuckled, warm breath ghosting over the wet fabric and making you shiver in anticipation. He hooked his fingers into your panties and slowly pulled down. He stuffed them into his back pocket and he leaned down, admiring your now bare cunt.

"Fuck, look at you. Making such a mess for your dad." He spreaded your folds with two fingers, covering them with your slick. You tried to close your legs from embarrasment, but his strong hands kept you open.

Then he finally gave you what you needed and licked a long stripe through your folds until he reached your puffy clit. Your head against the blanket. "F-Fuck– dad–"

"Mmm, taste so sweet, baby." He hummed, lips finally latching onto your clit and sucking while his tongue flickered over it.

Your hands tangled in his head once more, tugging and guiding him. He finally pushed two of his fingers inside, curling them just the way you liked and scizoring you open.

Your thighs trembled around his head, toes curling in your shoes. "Daddy, i'm gonna–" You were cut off as the orgasm crashed through you, your cries echoing through the field.

"That's it, baby." He helped you ride out your orgasm, licking every drop he could get until you started twitching from the overstimulation.

He pulled away, licking his lips before wipping the remains of your arousal off his beard with the back of his hand. He crawled up your body and settled between your legs again.

Your hands fumbled with his belt, the metalic click of it opening making your stomach twist with anticipation. Joel shoved his pants down just enough, his cock springing free–thick, flushed and already leaking pre-cum. It made your mouth water.

You sat on your knees, leaning in to press your lips against it. But Joel stopped you. "Not today, princess. Today's about you."

"But I wanna give him a kiss, daddy." You pouted, hand reaching out to cup his balls. "Please, daddy.

Joel's heart swelled. He could never get enough of how much you loved having his cock in your mouth. "Alright." He held the tip at your lips. "Give 'im a kiss."

You pressed a kiss to his tip and started kissing your way down to his balls. You took both of them into your mouth before sticking out your tongue and licking a long stripe up again. You eagerly opened your mouth and swirled your togue around it, tasting the salty yet tangy pre-cum. Joel's hands tightened in your head as he let out a low groan.

You placed your hands on his thighs and started taking more and more of him until your nose was pressed against his lower stomach. Your hands massaged his balls and you bobbed your head up and down, at the pace you knew drove him wild. He bucked his hips into your mouth, setting a gentle, steady pace.

Joel's head tipped back and he had to remind himself that he still had to fuck you and if he came he wouldn't be able to get it up until tomorrow. His fingers tangled in your head and he pulled you away from his cock, a small string of saliva connecting it to your lips. "Greedy little thing." He teased you, shaking his head. "You said a kiss."

"sorry, daddy." You said sheepishly.

"Lay down, baby." He placed his hand on your shoulder before pushing you back into the blanket.

He grabbed the base of his cock between his thumb and index finger, rubbing it against your slit and slapping it against your clit. "It might hurt at first."

You gave him a little nod. Joel was a big guy, learning to take him into your mouth had already been a struggle, you could only imagine how that strecht would feel in your pussy. But you craved it. You wanted to be impossibly close to him, feel every inch of the man who'd help to create you.

You squirmed, rubbing yourself against his cock. "It's okay, daddy." You reassure him. "I can take it."

Joel smiled. His girl. Always so sweet and brave. "You wanna help daddy put it in?" He said reaching for your hand and making it wrap around his cock.

His tip nudged your entrance and with the help of your hand he slowly pushed the tip in. Joel sighed, his free hand squeezing your hip to keep himself in control and not just shove himself completely.

Your free hand fisted the blanket underneath you, a pained whimpered leaving your lips.

"Oh, baby. I know." He cooed, leaning down so his chest was pressed against yours and he could rest his forehead against yours. "Deep breaths, baby."

"Keep going, daddy." You said in between shaky breaths, your voice barely audible.

One of his hands came up to caress your cheek as he slowly bucked his hips into you, feeding you inch by inch. "Just a little more, baby."

"Daddy..." You whimpered, your hands coming up to touch his back, your nails digging into it. "It hurts..."

"I know. Daddy's so sorry, but I promise it'll feel good." He pressed soft kisses to the side of your head, trying to ease you. He didn't want to hurt you but he knew it would be better for you if he just ripped off the bandaid. He buried himself to the hilt with a sharp thrust. He swore he could've finished right there and then.

You cried out, a few tears slipping down your face. He leaned down to kiss your tears, soft reassurances slipping through his lips. "Worst's over now. Just hold onto daddy, 'kay?"

He hugged you close to his body since you've always found comfort in, grinding his hips against yours so that his pubic hair tickled against your clit. You gasped at the sudden spark of pleasure, the pain from the strech subsiding with each passing second.

"Oh–daddy– that feels–" You moaned, his hips setting up a slow steady pace that hit your 'special spot', like dad called it, perfectly.

"Better than daddy's fingers, huh? You feel full, baby?"

It was taking everything in him not to flip you onto your stomach and fuck you the way he wanted to, hard and fast. But he could never do that to his baby girl, specially knowing you'd already be sore tomorrow after this.

"God, baby. You don't know how I thought about this." He murmurred, pulling back a little so he could press his hand against the bulge forming in your lower stomach. "See this? This is where I belong. You're all mine, always been and always will."

You nodded, your eyes blurry with tears from the overwhelming pleasure and the love you felt for your dad. He always made you feel so loved and wanted, there's no one you'd rather be doing this with. "All yours, daddy."

He pressed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as he felt you clench around his cock, the same way you did when you were about to cum on his fingers. "Cum for me, baby. Cum for me and daddy'll fill you up." He whispered against your lips.

Your back arched against him as you came hard, your pussy soaking and spasming around his cock as you came. It was probably the strongest orgasm you've ever experienced since Joel and you started playing with each other.

He let you ride it out with gentle thruts. But then he grabbed your hips tight enough to bruise and got rougher, each thrusts hitting deeper every time. "Fuck–gonna stuff you so full of my cum you'll fill me for days."

You felt his cock twitch and spam as he spilled inside you with a loud grunt, his body going limp above yours. Only when his cock went completely soft, he pulled out, watching his cum drip out of your used hole before pushing it back inside with his finger. He always thanked himself for having had a vasectomy before the world went to hell.

He pulled you up to sit you on his lap before kissing your forehead. "You took it so well, baby. Daddy's never been prouder."

"I love you." You said, still a bit breathless.

"I love you too." He shifted around a little so you could see the mountains and the flowers again. "Now let's just stay like this until we have to head back."

i was proof reading this and gave up halfway through bc i'm lazy so sorry if there's any mistakes. Consider rebbloging or commenting if you liked it and i'm taking requests, they can be dad!joel or not

[ess-evo]

Hear me out: How would stalker Joel react if there was ever a situation where he couldn’t get it up as fast as he liked? Because he’s a bit older and what if he has been stressed out and stuff (poor ole man)… what depravity would he make the reader do to him to get him goin’?

hi beautiful anon 😘 this ask made me smile sm because it allows me to just write absolute filth. so, dirty smut incoming:

tags: stalking, breaking in, dirty talk, slapping (face, pussy), noncon/dubcon, humiliation, degradation, pussy inspection, furniture humping, oral sex, spitting in mouth, fingering, erectile issues, anger

It was past midnight when Joel came over. He was sure you'd be sleeping, and he'd be lying if he said that waking you up wasn't one of his favorite things - your groggy voice, confused look in your eyes, your warm body - he could get hard at the thought alone.

He came in through the window this time. You'd added another lock to your backdoor, and while he knew he could figure it out, he was too horny to complete a puzzle of any kind to get to you. Instead, it was easier to grab the ladder you kept in the back shed, lean it against the house, and come in through one of the second story windows.

The comforter was only covering half of your body. He licked his lips when he saw your sleep shorts that had ridden up, exposing your bare ass with no panties underneath. He palmed himself as he approached you, slightly surprised that he wasn't sporting an erection yet. But he wasn't concerned, he knew that as soon as he smelled your scent and felt your soft body underneath him, he'd be hard as a rock.

You didn't stir when he first climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped and he wasted no time in pressing himself against you. His lips met the tender skin of your neck and he kissed, licked, and sucked, devouring you immediately. He felt you jolt underneath him, your hands trying to push you up from the bed and then reach around to push him away. He smiled against you as he murmured, "missed you, angel."

"Joel?" You sounded scared and normally your voice alone would have him practically leaking in his pants, but he pauses for a moment when he doesn't feel anything. At all.

"Mhhm, angel," he murmurs again, this time his hands have gotten greedy and he's groping your body, feeling your curves underneath his broad form.

He can feel the moment that you decide to give in. Your body becomes more pliant and he can finally flip you over and look at your sweet face. Your eyes are wide, but they hold a glimmer of excitement in them. He knows that look. You want him there just as badly as he wants to be there, you just don't want to show it.

Sliding down your body, he pulls down your sleep shorts and holds them to his nose, taking an inhale of his favorite nectar. His eyes are dark when he looks up at you and he smirks.

It isn't until he's tongue-deep inside of you that he starts to really worry. He reaches down to feel his cock, it's entirely flaccid. Irritation blooms and he stands up. "On your knees," he commands, pushing down his pants and stepping out of them. He sees your surprised look when you look down at his limp cock. It pisses him off.

"On your fuckin' knees, I said." His jaw twitches.

You obey quickly, flinching at his sharp tone and sliding off the bed and then onto your knees in front of him. His thumb swipes your bottom lip before slipping inside and opening your mouth. "You know what t'do."

You can take most of him in your mouth since he's soft. You bob your head up and down, one hand cupping his balls as the other is pressed against the hairs on his thigh. Trying to focus, you close your eyes, smelling his musk and tasting the salt of his skin.

It isn't working. Joel is only growing more frustrated. He shoves you off of him, causing you to fall backwards as you catch yourself with your hands behind you. You look up at him and can see the anger etched into his features. As you open your mouth to say something, his hand flies across your face.

"Fuck!" he exclaims, frustrated that nothing seems to be working. He smacks you again, hoping for his cock to at least twitch. Nothing. He grabs you by the hair, hauling you up quickly and then crashing his lips against yours. He walks you backwards until you hit the wall of the bedroom. His hands are rough as he gropes and kneads at you.

"Goddamnit!" He punches the wall next to your head, his fist breaking through the dry wall. You flinch as he takes a step back, his chest rising and falling as he scans your body.

His mind is racing, trying to think of anything he can do to try and get his dick hard. He closes his eyes for a moment, fantasizing. When he opens his eyes again, he sees you shrinking against the wall, anticipating what his next move is going to be.

You're too afraid to speak, but when he grabs you by the arm and flings you toward the bed, an involuntary yelp escapes. You fall on the bed and he immediately places a hand on your back, stilling you as you are bent over the side of the mattress.

He removes his hand and stands behind you. "Spread f'me."

There's a moment of hesitation then you ask, "W-what?"

He reaches over, taking your hands and pulling them behind you, setting them on your ass. "Spread yourself f'me."

You feel your face redden as you're bent over. It's humiliating. And still, you comply, reaching behind you, your fingers pressing into the fat of your ass as you pull apart. You hear Joel whistle as you present your holes to him. You squeeze your eyes shut, shame washing over you.

"Fuck, look at that.." His eyes are zeroed in on your tight holes and he can see how you start to glisten. "Pretty lil holes, darlin'."

He keeps you spread like that for another couple minutes, but they drag on slowly. He watches intently, focusing on how your slick gathers and drips. His brain is aroused, but his cock is fucking useless. Another wave of anger overcomes him and he steps forward, slapping his hand across your spread holes. You immediately startle, jumping up and turning to face him with a shocked look on your face.

Joel has the audacity to laugh. You snarl at him as you spit out, "I fucking hate you."

He's still smiling as he runs a hand down the side of your face. "Aww, angel..think you just need t'feel good, huh?"

Before you can respond, he's grabbed you by the back of the neck and is dragging you into the living room. You stumble as he thrusts you toward the couch. "Ride it."

You look at him clueless again. He rolls his eyes. "I gotta explain everything to ya? Get up there, straddle the armrest, 'n hump."

You're wearing nothing but your sleep shirt, still feeling embarrassed and afraid as you climb up onto the couch, straddling the armrest. You can't stand to look at him, so you avert your eyes to the plant in the corner of the room as you start to grind your hips against the soft fabric.

You can already feel how wet you are and this only makes you feel more ashamed. Your nipples perk up, visible through your shirt, and Joel notices immediately. "Fuck," he whispers to himself as he sees you swirl your hips. "Faster," he says more audibly.

The increase in friction pulls a whimper from your lips that you wish you could've stifled because of the groan that it elicits from Joel. Your fingers grip the edge of the armrest, your thighs clenched tight around it. When your eyes move over to him, he's still flaccid. Worry starts to overcome you when you wonder if he'll ever leave without being able to fuck you.

He stands beside the coffee table, watching you hump against the couch. You continue the fast pace that he made you set, and you feel that familiar tightness in your lower belly. You look up at him with a furrowed brow, and he knows you're close.

"Stop."

Your hips still but another whimper slips out. Joel gets on his knees in the middle of the living room. He motions for you to come over to him. "Kneel in front of me, legs spread."

When you do, he takes no time in pushing his hand between your legs, two of his fingers thrusting up into you. "Ohhh fuck, angel..so fuckin' tight all the time..goddamn."

You moan as you feel his thick fingers plunge inside of you. The pace he sets is brutal. Wet sounds of skin on skin fill the room and you toss your head back. His thumb presses on your clit and you clench around his fingers.

"Open your mouth."

You're seconds away from an orgasm, desperate to feel the release, so you don't think twice before your jaw falls open. Joel spits in your mouth and you swallow it down without being told.

"Good fuckin' girl..now come."

Your pussy squeezes his digits, your entire body stiffening as the orgasm works through you, wave after wave. Then you start shaking as he continues the thrusts of his fingers.

When you start to come down, you look to see that his cock is starting to harden. His smirk tells you that this is all far from over.

YSFL Taglist: @untamedheart81 @shadowqueen2024 @shrewdreader @m3rdim @taniamiller @joelmillerspnk @have-you-seen-my-sanity @wand-erer5 @whorefordaveyork @jasminedragoon @pedge-page @cinnxmxngxrl @arthursdodobird @honey-moon-13 @jules6898 @valyrianjoel @spectralgalaxygauntlet @missadangel @mydarlingjoel @jamjamjamming @biagaloree @sub-aro @david-10ninch-blog @pdrospnk @ratatouilleremyrini @gunnersaurusrex @joelsarchive @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @bevellin777 @cordycepskiss @upintheclouds95 @fairly-feral @rawndoldersupremacist

[loveyazy]

THE LAST OF US (2023-?) 2x03 | The Path

[mytearsricochetm]

Bad idea, right? (dad!joel x reader)

summary: the start of a very messed up relationship.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do No Eat, incest, age gap (20s/50s), pussy eating, fingering, unprotected p in v, creampie, joel's lowkey an asshole ig

A/N: don't like don't read. Just to clarify I know Joel would never do something like this and i don't condone this in real life. don't hate me im sensitive okay? also didn't proof read

Joel was well aware that your relationship went beyond what a normal father-daughter relationship. 

You had never grown out of needing him, of seeing him as this knight in the shining armor that was always there to make the day better. 

He was always told that he should brace himself for your teenage years. He waited and waited for you to change, for you to suddenly start hating him and push him away, for you to get a boyfriend that he'd have to scare away.

But that day never came.

You never stopped calling him ‘daddy’–of course you never said it in public– but when it was just you two, it was always daddy, can you get this? Daddy, where did you put my shoes? Daddy, can you buy me that purse?

You never stopped the movie nights that you did on the weekends, going out to eat together or going to the lake. You never believed that you were too cool to hang out with your dear old dad.

And while your friends talked about dates, parties or boys they liked, you always stayed quiet. The only time he heard you talk about a boy was when you were telling your friends about how you rejected a guy from the football team when he asked you to prom.

Even now that you were twenty-one you didn't seem to want to leave your daddy's side, still living at home despite Joel telling you that he would get you a dorm on campus if that's what you wanted.

A part of him loved it, always knowing where you were and having you at home meant that you were safe. Safe from creepy frat boys that would only want you for your pretty little body.

God, he felt disgusting for thinking about his daughter that way. But there was no denying it.

You had developed into a beautiful young woman, a pretty face with a perfectly round ass that he could always see when you paraded yourself around the house in short shorts and breasts that pressed into his chest whenever you hugged him.

He first realised his feelings the night of your twentieth birthday, something about the short tight dress you wore that night made his heart stop. You had gone out to eat and when the young waiter kept making eyes at you and gave you a free dessert, Joel found himself clenching his fist to stop himself from punching the guy’s teeth in. He dismissed it as being an overprotective father, months later he admited it was about not wanting anyone but himself to have you.

He felt an immense amount of guilt about it and no amount of beer or women his age could make his feelings go away. 

So he tried the next best thing he could think of. He had to push you away, make you stop spending so much time with him and do stuff girls your age liked to do. 

On a Friday night, when you were about to set up everything for your movie night with him, Joel came out from his room. He always wore sweats and an old T-shirt because he wanted to be comfortable, so it confused you when you saw him in jeans and a button down shirt.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What are you doing, daddy?”

Joel's cock twitched as his eyes landed on you. You were wearing baby pink shorts that barely covered your legs and a tank top the same color that let him see your nipples poking from underneath it.  

He wanted nothing more than to stay here and have you lay on him the way you always did during movie nights, but he knew he couldn't. He had to be strong and set boundaries before you realised how hard you got him when you did that.

“I'm going on a date tonight, pumpkin." He said in his usual deep, steady voice. “Sorry I didn't tell you before.”

“What?” You asked, clearly confused and hurt. You had never liked the idea of having to share your dad with another woman. When you were a teenager and your dad brought home a girlfriend, you'd turn into the bitchiest person ever.

You would purposely get their names confused, talk back when they tried to tell you something and just be a straight up brat. Eventually they would leave your dad when they got sick of having to deal with you. “But it 's Friday. We always do movie nights on Fridays."

Joel sighed, annoyance stirring deep in his gut. He swallowed it down though, not wanting to snap at you and then have to deal with your crying.

“Why don't you go out with your friends? There must be a party or something somewhere.” He deflected, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket. “Do you want money?”

You shook your head. “You know I don't like parties, daddy. Stay with me.” You pushed yourself off the counter, walking over to him. “Please.”

“I got a date, baby girl.” He repeated, forcing his eyes to stay on your face instead of taking you in like he really wanted to do. “And you should go out more. I can't spend all my life neglecting my love life because my daughter doesn't want to do stuff girls her age do.”

Jealousy burned within you. Your dad going on a date? You hated the idea of some other woman getting her hands all over him. He was yours or at least that's how you saw it in your head. 

“Yes, you can.” You responded as sweetly as you could, your arms wrapping around his middle. You looked up at him, giving your best doe-eyed look that you knew always convinced him of doing what you wanted. “I don't want to go to a party with a bunch of drunk idiots. I want you to stay here with me.”

Joel shook his head. It pained to do this but he gently peeled you off his body. “You need to start doing stuff girls your age do. You can't spend all your weekends here. You need to go out more, experience life, get a boyfriend. I’m trying to put myself out there and I can't do that if I have to worry about you being here.”

 “You're saying I bother you?”

Joel squeezed his eyes shut for a second. Jesus Christ you were as stubborn as he was. “I- baby– you know I love you. But you're not a little girl anymore. You can't spend all your free time cuddling with me on the couch. It 's not right.”

“But, daddy–” 

“No buts.” He cut you off firmly. “And cut it out with the daddy thing. It ain’t cute anymore.”

You scoffed, clearly offended and hurt by Joel's words, even if you were trying to act like you were unaffected. “Whatever. You always pick shitty movies anyway.”

Joel wanted to strangle himself. He hated knowing he was the cause of you being upset. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms and rock you in his lap, but he knew this was the right thing to do. He knew–or at least he thought he knew– that you'd be disgusted if you knew how much he wanted you.

After that night, Joel barely saw you anymore.

You had taken his word to a T. 

You didn't ask him to drive you to campus anymore, opting to ride with a friend who lived nearby. You started getting home later, no longer rushing to get there as soon as the lecture was over. You started studying at a friend’s dorm or in the library. And in the few hours where he did see you, you were mostly on your phone. 

One night Joel commented on it. “Your thumbs are gonna fall off if you keep typing like that. Who you texting anyway?”

“Nobody.” You answered quickly.

That's when he knew you were seeing someone. 

For weeks on end things kept going like that. Joel had hoped that his feelings would have gone away but now, but it was the opposite. 

The more he felt you drift away the more he wanted you, the more he wished that he could be somebody else so that he could have a change with you. 

He missed you. He missed feeling your warm body press into him when sat on his lap, your arms wrapping around his torso when you fell asleep on your chest, and the sound of your sweet, sweet voice calling him daddy.

He had given up on fucking women his age to forget about you. The last few times he couldn't even get it up for them anymore.

All that seemed to get him hard was you. He often stole your used panties from the laundry bin and pressed them against his face as he furiously stroked his cock. 

When he got home today, he was surprised to find the door unlocked. You were never home when he got there anymore.

He heard shuffling in your room, which made his heart stop. Had you brought this boy over? What were you doing? What if you were losing your virginity to a loser?

He dropped his bag and went up the stairs with heavy footsteps. If this had been a cartoon you would've been able to see the smoke coming out from his ears.

He pushed the door open, hard enough that it made you jump and squeak in surprise.

“Dad! What the fuck?!” 

Joel paused when he saw you. You were alone, that brought him some peace of mind, but your cheeks were wet, your eyes full of unshed tears and your bottom lip was trembling.

His expression softened. He walked over to your bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he sat on the edge.

“Baby, what happened? Are you okay? Did someone hurt you?” He asked in the most gentle voice possible.

You broke down again at his words. Tears streamed down your face, your body shaking with each sob you let out.

Joel scooted closer to you, pulling you against his body. His arms wrapped around your shoulders, one hand cradled your head as he placed it over his chest.

“This is all your fault.” You choked, making weak attempts to push him away before letting your body melt against his.

“My fault? What happened?” Joel questioned, caressing your back. Ever since you were a child, it worked like a charm to make you calm down.

“You told me to get a boyfriend and I did.” You stammered, creating fists with his shirt. “But he kept pushing me to have sex and I kept telling him no– he was so mean to me, daddy. He said i'm not pretty enough to be such a prude and that I should be lucky he was even looking at me.”

Joel's jaw clenched. A part of him was relieved you hadn't given yourself to this idiot boy and the other was pissed that he had the audacity to treat you like that.

Joel maneuvered you until you were sitting on his lap. You hid your face in his neck, relishing in the comforting and masculine scent of your father after a long day of hard work. 

He rocked you gently, rubbing your back in circles. “It’s okay, baby…” he cooed, trying to ignore the goosebumps that formed on his arms at the feel of your thighs over his crotch.

“This is all your fault.” You repeated, your voice weak. “This wouldn't have happened if you didn't tell me to get a boyfriend so I would leave you alone.”

“Baby girl, it wasn't about me wanting ya to leave me alone, I promise you that. I just– I thought it would be good for you.” He lied through his teeth. “You spent all your time here with me. I don't want you to miss out on your life because of me.”

“But I already told you I like being here with you.” You pulled back, letting him see your tear streaked face again. “Do you not want to spend time with me anymore?”

Joel rapidly shook his head. The thought of you thinking that was like a punch to the gut. “No, baby. Of course not. You know I love you. It's just it's not normal for a girl your age to act like this. You still call me daddy, sneak into my bed when you can't sleep, sit on my lap… You were supposed to grow out of those things a while ago.”

“You don't like it?” You questioned, your hands resting over his shoulders. You shifted on his lap, just enough that you felt his growing erection graze your inner thigh.

Joel's breath hitched. No, no, this can't be happening. He was supposed to be acting like the father he was and comfort you, not get hard like a fucking teenager. You were gonna think he's a gross pervert, tell him to never–

You shifted your hips, grinding your ass against his bulge. “Because I think you do like it.”

Joel could feel his stomach turning. This couldn't be happening, could it? Surely, he had passed out at work and he was now dreaming of you wanting him the same fucked up way he wanted you. 

He blinked, stunned. He tried pushing you away, firm hands on your hips in a futile attempt to push you off his lap. “What are you doing?”

“I feel the same way, daddy.” You shifted again, making Joel's jaw go slack. “We could've got this over with weeks ago if you hadn't tried to make me get a boyfriend so you wouldn't feel guilty for wanting to fuck me.”

“How did you know?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Your grey sweats don't hide anything, daddy.” 

Your eyes drifted to his lips before you leaned in, letting them brush against yours. 

“We shouldn't do this.” He whispered but made no effort to pull away. “It 's wrong.”

You nodded. You were aware that you shouldn't want this, shouldn't want him to be anything other than your dad, but that fact only made it more arousing. “I know, daddy.” 

Joel couldn't hold it any longer. He grabbed your face with both hands and smashed his lips against yours. He kissed you aggressively with months of pent up frustration he was finally getting rid of. 

You struggled to keep up with the fast pace. You had only made out with the boy you had been seeing a handful of times and he never kissed you the way Joel was doing it. You could feel his beard tickling against your face too, it was so different than kissing someone with no facial hair.

Joel pulled away. “You're sure about this, baby? We can't ever go back if we do this.”

“I want you, daddy. So bad it hurts.” You reached your hand down, placing it over his clothed bulge and squeezing it. He felt so big in your hand and you couldn't help but compare it to how small the other boy’s cock had felt the times it had pressed against you. 

“You want your dad's cock?”

“Please, daddy.” He laid you down on your soft bed and freed his cock, making your eyes widen slightly.

Joel noticed your reaction and chuckled as he climbed over your body. “Don't worry. Daddy'll help you take it.”

Joel undressed you in a way that was almost reverent, kissing your body while peeling off each layer of clothing until you were as bare as the day you came into this world. He took off   his shirt too, finally letting you see all of him.

Your arousal was dripping from your pussy all the way to your thighs. Joel placed himself between your legs, hooking your thighs over his shoulders as he pressed kisses to the inner part.

“Look at how wet you are. All this for your old man?” He sucked and bit the skin of your inner thighs, marking them with little hickeys. The taste of your juices on your skin made him groan.

“You have such a pretty pussy, baby.” He inched his mouth closer, his warm breath making shudder. “Tell me you didn't let anyone touch it.”

“Nobody touched me, daddy.” You promised, propping yourself up with your elbows so you could look at what Joel was doing. “I wanted to save myself for you.”

“Good girl.” He lowered his head, letting a sitting of saliva fall on top of your clit before flattening his tongue and giving it a slow lick. He swirled his tongue around it, sucking it into his mouth.

You whined, lifting your hips to push them closer against his face. “Dad–”

“Feels good, doesn't it?” Joel groaned against your folds. “None of those boys would've done this for you–would’ve said it's gross. But not me, baby. I wanted to do this for so long.”

Joel thrusted his hips against the bedding, searching for anything that would help his aching cock. “Used to dream about how you’d taste. Sweeter than damn honey.”

“Ughh, dad…” You cried as he pushed two of his fingers inside of you, stretching you open as his mouth continued to devour your clit. 

Soon enough your thighs were shaking around his head, your entire body tensing as you reached your climax. You grinded your hips against his face, further drenching his beard with your juices.

“Look at me, baby.” Joel's voice pulled you back from the dreamy state your orgasm had left you in. He was hovering over you again, holding his weight on one of his forearms so he wouldn't crush you and using his other hand to rub the head of his cock against your folds. “I ain't gonna lie this might hurt a little, but don't you worry, baby. Daddy'll be real nice and gentle with his girl.”

“‘kay, daddy.” You breathed, letting out a surprised gasp as you felt the thick head nudged against your hole.

Joel pushed his hips forward, letting the head go past your tight walls. Your nails dug into his back, a pained whimper leaving your lips.

“I know, I know…” Joel cooed, pressing kisses to your hairline as he pushed a few more inches inside. “It's a big stretch, isn't it? But you're my good girl. You gotta take it for daddy.”

“Can you hold me, daddy?” You whispered, a few tears spilling from your eyes. 

“Of course, sweet girl.” He placed his arms under your head, pulling you closer until your head was nestled on his chest. Joel crushed you with his weight as his soft belly pressed against yours. “Always needed daddy’s arms.”

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “‘s so big, daddy.”

“Just a little more. Hold onto daddy.” He snapped his hips, letting the last few inches fill you.

He groaned, dropping his forehead to yours. “God, you're so tight. Can’t believe I made such a perfect little pussy.”

“It’s all yours, daddy.” 

Joel pulled back almost all the way out before slamming back inside, making you squeal. “Say that again.”

“My pussy’s all yours, daddy.” 

Joel thrusted into you deeply, angling his cock so that it hit your g-spot every time he shoved himself back inside. Your moans only grew louder as the pain you once felt was replaced by an immense amount of pleasure. 

You arched your hips into him, wrapping your legs around his thick torso. He started slamming into you harder, making the sounds of his balls snapping against your ass fill the room.

Joel didn't roll off of you until he made sure he made you cum for a second and he made sure he had buried his load deep inside your pussy. He knew he couldn't have you pregnant with his baby–that would be a whole new level of fucked up–but the opportunity was too good to pass on. 

He pulled you to him, letting you rest your entire body on him like he knew you liked to do. You were both sweaty, droplets of sweat making your hair stick to your face.

You stayed like that for a few minutes, calming your breaths. Joel caressed your back as he stared at the ceiling of your room, the one he had painted many years ago, a sense of guilt washing over him.

He had just fucked his daughter. What if it wasn't really what you wanted and you were just confused? What if you regretted this and left home so you wouldn't have to see your perverted father again?

“You okay, daddy?” 

Your voice pulled him out of your thoughts. Such an attentive little girl.

Joel looked down at you, his hand stilling in your lower back. “You don't regret this, do you?”

You looked at him like he had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world. “What? Of course not. I wanted this. I know it's messed up, but I feel things for you. I have for a while. I thought it would go away, but even when I kissed someone else all I could think about was you.”

Joel looked at you, searching for any hint of hesitation, but he found none, all he could see in your face was the love and maybe even admiration you felt for him. He nodded, accepting your answer and placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Okay, baby. But if we're going to continue with this you know we can't tell anyone, right? Not even your uncle Tommy.”

You giggled. “I know, dad. I'm not dumb.”

“And this doesn't mean I only care about your body now.” he continued using the typical dad voice he used when he wanted to get his point across. “I'm still your dad and I'm gonna be a pain in your ass if you do stuff you're not supposed to.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I know, dad.”

“C’mon, give your old man a kiss now.” He brought your face up to his, planting a kiss on your lips before letting you rest your head on his chest again.

“I love you, daddy.”

“Love you too, pumpkin.”

dividers by @/dividers-are-us

tags: @hauntedinkk @joelsarchive

[hauntedinkk]

Joel undressed you in a way that was almost reverent, kissing your body while peeling off each layer of clothing until you were as bare as the day you came into this world.

ITS SO FUCKED UP I LOVE IT!!!!

[sleepyangelkami]

smut's fun. have you ever read soul crushing, heart aching, head throbbing comfort that makes your eyes burn out of your head to the point where you just have to crawl into a ball because your inner child feels so safe? haha... yeah smuts fun.

[honey-moon-13]

𝜗ৎ The Story of Us: the beginning 𝜗ৎ

𝜗ৎ You love Joel, and he loves you back. But the moment his brother Tommy steps into your lives, everything starts to shift.

𝜗ৎ a/n: For fellow greedy girls like me who love the Miller brothers equally, especially for you @mrsnanamiller 💕 A special thank you to the lovely and incredibly patient @pearlessance 🧡 and @pattwtf 💜 for letting me ramble in their DMs about this fic and for always being so kind. 𝜗ৎ warnings: throuple (joel x female!reader x tommy), dirty talk, soft jealousy, emotional intensity / intimacy, anxious!joel, tommy trying not to disappoint his brother, it’s more than just sexual tension okay, lots and lots of kissing, light dom/sub elements, possessive language, brother/brother dynamics (no incest, shared partner), greedy-but-in-love joel, golden retriever energy tommy, oral sex (male receiving), blowjob, ball sucking, cum eating, reader with a massive praise kink. 𝜗ৎ wc: 9.810

Tommy had never believed the saying that all’s fair in love and war; not until Maria left him.

They had been trying for their first baby together.

Doctor visits and specialists that seemed endless.

Lifestyle changes. Diets.

Calendars packed with strict routines.

Negative pregnancy tests and the blame that always came with them.

All that effort. All that hope. All of it for nothing.

Only for her to wake up one day and decide she wanted to go back to Kevin’s biological father, her little boy’s dad.

So when the lawyers for his ex-wife demanded the house they’d lived in, Tommy didn’t argue; there was no point.

Why keep a place that had become a graveyard full of ghosts that would mock him the second he walked back through the door?

He didn’t tell his brother what had happened, or what he planned to do, until the paperwork was done.

He wanted out of state, a clean break; anything that would let his lungs fill again.

Joel thought it was the dumbest damn thing he’d ever heard because his little brother wasn’t a pariah, he didn’t need to be running.

So he told him to move in with him and his girlfriend.

Tommy tried to refuse at first.

Didn’t want to barge into their lives like he still belonged there.

But Joel kept pushing.

And Tommy was so fucking tired, empty in a way sleep didn’t fix; aching for something that felt like home.

He still remembered the way Joel met him at the door the day he arrived; pulling him into a hard hug that made it impossible to miss how damn happy he was to have him back.

The way Joel walked him through the house, like he was showing him a place that was supposed to be home now, too.

And Tommy looked. Really looked.

Photos of you and Joel everywhere, bringing every wall to life.  Dark, heavy wood furniture, solid as a promise, softened by vases of bright, delicate flowers.  Like the whole place was built on that balance the two of you seemed to have; steady and sweet, rough edges smoothed out without losing what made it real.

When they reached the guest room you were already there, oblivious to both of them. Humming to the radio, cheerful and unaware, while you smoothed a clean quilt over the bed—his future bed—like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He could’ve sworn he’d heard that same song when he stopped for gas on the drive from Wyoming to Texas.

Too soft, too damn sentimental for a man in his position, heartbroken. The kind of song that made him feel old and miserable.

Tommy didn’t know if it was Joel calling your name that made you look up, or the soft knock he tapped against the doorframe letting you know you weren’t alone anymore.

All he knew was that when your eyes met and you rushed over to him, arms tight around his neck, saying you couldn’t believe he was finally here, that song stopped being a joke.

It somehow became his favorite.

Because right then, Tommy couldn’t stop thinking that if all the hurt, all the wrong turns he’d taken in his life had led him to this exact moment… then maybe everything he’d been through had been worth it.

Completely.

One year later. 

Tommy Miller was going straight to hell.

Or at least, he was sure that every single step leading down into the inferno had his fucking name carved into it.

Joel had asked him, last minute, to pick you up from work. No big deal. No problem at all, right? Except it was.

Because he’d stayed long enough to see the end of your pilates class and it nearly killed him but the moment you started teaching the yoga class, every indecent thought he’d been trying to keep out of his head stopped feeling like his, they ran wild and slipped free from his guilty mind. 

You in those poses. Open. Unaware.

Stretching slow, easy.

Skin shining with sweat.

Cheeks pink from the burn.

That damn outfit.

The way the leggings hugged the curve of your hips. Your ass.

The way your mound showed when you moved just right.

And when his gaze slipped higher—it just kept getting worse.

That long-sleeve top, crossed at the chest and tied at your waist, was a damn problem. It framed your breasts, made them look heavy. Soft. Impossible to ignore.

“Fuck,” he breathed, close enough to the glass to cloud it.

And just like that, Tommy was imagining his hands there—imagining how it would feel to take that shirt off you.

Would he drag it up over your head, desperate to get to what was beneath?

He could with anyone else but not with you.

With you, he’d dip his head first.

Right to your neck.

Kiss you there. Once.

Then again.

And then lower. Unhurried.

His tongue tracing your skin, taking his time.

And by the time his mouth reached your chest, he’d be tasting the salt of your sweat while his fingers worked patiently at the knot at your waist, loosening it so he could—

“Alright, guys, the class is over—see you next week!” Suddenly, your sweet voice broke through it, followed by loud applause that killed his fantasy instantly.

And thank fuck for that because he was about one second away from his erection propping the door open and saying goodbye to your trainees as they started filing out of the room.

Pilates and advanced yoga classes always left you wiped out and starving.

It didn’t help that one of your students—Sharon, sixty-seven—made you run through everything more than five times. You’d tried to nudge her toward the beginner classes for her own good and for her hip but she always brushed it off, telling you that you were the only instructor at the gym she liked; that you reminded her of one of her granddaughters.

Her kind words, along with the cinnamon cookies she faithfully brought you every week, were enough to secure her a permanent place in your classes.

I’m softer than I thought, you whispered to yourself, breathing out a slow, overdone sigh as you began to roll up your mat.

When it was neatly done, you grabbed one of the elastic bands from the box on the desk. You were halfway through sliding it into place when a pair of hands suddenly cut into your line of sight.

Anyone else would’ve tensed up on instinct but instead, a laugh bubbled up from your chest, soft and uncontrolled because you knew those hands; they belonged to the person who’d quietly filled your life with warmth this past year.

“Should I be scared?” you said through a laugh, placing your hands over his, trying to pry his fingers away.

He didn’t budge. 

Kept them right there, steady against your face.

“You could fake a little fear for me, couldn’t ya?” he murmured at your ear, voice low and conspiratorial. “Takes all the magic outta it.”

“We’re literally in a gym,” you answered, reaching back—your fingers brushing his lips without meaning to.

“And that’s meant to stop me how…?” Tommy said softly, nipping at one of your fingers.

You gasped, exaggerated on purpose and he knew it.

“Because the bodybuilders are right down the hall,” you said, reminding him. “And the deadlift crowd’s in the next room. So if you scare me for real, I don’t think you’re gonna enjoy who comes running.”

Tommy’s body went a little stiff behind you and that alone made you laugh again.

“You’re a real buzzkill, y’know that?” he said, letting his hands drop—not before his fingers brushed your face, slow and fond.

When you turned, you found only him; a flicker of disappointment passed over your eyes. Seeing Tommy still made you smile—but the lack of Joel settled heavier than you expected but he caught it. All of it.

“He asked me to come get you,” he said gently. “Said he’d texted.”

“Oh,” you breathed, fishing your phone out of your gym bag, fingers impatient.

You had two messages from him you hadn’t seen until now.

[Joel]: Sorry, sweetheart. Still showing the new guys the ropes.

[Joel]: I’ll make it up to you tonight. Promise.

You smiled again, but it didn’t quite land.

When you looked back at Tommy, it was already fading.

“C’mon,” he told you softly. “Don’t look like that.”

“It’s just… Fridays are our day.”

The word our sounded holy when you said it. Like it wasn’t meant to bend.

“Your day?” he echoed, eyebrows lifting with interest.

“Fridays. When Joel comes to pick me up, we always have a date,” you explained, slinging your gym bag over your shoulder—deliberately skipping your favorite part of the routine; the part where Joel promises to behave while you change in the locker room, only to break that vow and end up fucking you stupid in one of the showers. “There’s a mall right across the street, so we make a thing out of it. Snack. Shops. A movie. You know. Couple things.”

“Well… that makes sense,” Tommy murmured, finally understanding the weight of your disappointment. 

“Whatever. Let’s go home,” you breathed, already deflating.

“Hey—easy, sweetheart.” He couldn’t stand seeing you like that. “What d’you say we do all that you mentioned? Just you and me,” he said, easing the gym bag off your shoulder like it was nothing.

Your expression changed on the spot.

“You’d really do that?” you asked, caught somewhere between hope and accepting a quiet, dull Friday night.

“An afternoon with my favorite girl? Can’t think of a better way to spend it,” he said, like the decision had been made the second he saw your face.

You didn’t even let him finish. You rose onto your toes, cupping his cheeks. His arms wrapped around you without hesitation, pulling you in while you covered his face in small, affectionate kisses.

“Thank you,” you kept murmuring. “Thank you. You’re the best.” Again and again.

The way you accepted it without hesitation—that you were his favorite girl, like some quiet, universal truth—made his heart feel light again.

You.

His sweet girl; his brother’s girlfriend.

Spending the afternoon with Tommy ended up being one of the nicest times you’d had in ages—though it would’ve been perfect if Joel had been there too.

You dragged him through every store you’d been dying to check out. Tommy waited it all out, patient as ever, his arms piling up with bags from each of your little purchases.

By the end, his poor wrists were dusted with at least a dozen different perfumes, all mixed together.

And his hands? Full of lip liner swatches from your failed attempts to find a brown that didn’t lean too orange on you.

Tommy really sealed his fate when he said—out loud—that all browns looked the same to him, only to be overheard by a Sephora employee who, much to his suffering, decided it was her civic duty to walk him through warm, neutral, and cool undertones.

He kept glancing at you, eyes pleading for rescue, while you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

After that chaotic, hilarious moment, the two of you shared a brownie with vanilla ice cream for a late-afternoon treat—then he took you to the movies, because they were showing a rom-com you absolutely adored: The Proposal.

But the best part of the afternoon was when you dragged him into a tiny photo booth.

“How’re we doin’ this?” he asked, dropping the coins one by one.

“Tongues out,” you said instantly.

The booth echoed with laughter, your shoulders brushing as you squeezed into the cramped space together; when the options came up on the screen, you stopped Tommy before he could choose the plain, classic photo strip.

“The keychain’s cuter,” you said, as the screen reminded you to grab your souvenir.

You grabbed it as soon as you stepped out, checking that the photo looked right before placing it carefully in Tommy’s hand.

“You don’t want it?” he asked, a little confused, looking down at the small pink butterfly keychain.

“No, idiot,” you said fondly, smiling up at him. “It’s for your keys.”

Later, you and Tommy left the mall together, walking toward his bike as the night closed in around you.

“So what happens if one day I land a date and some girl sees your picture?” he teased, helping you slip the helmet on.

You shrugged. “Then she gets to see how pretty her sister-in-law is.”

Tommy chuckled, shaking his head. “Hold on tight, will ya?” he said.

You did, wrapping your arms around his waist as he fired up the engine.

But on the ride back home, you couldn’t stop a small, unwelcome stab of jealousy from creeping in at the thought of Tommy with someone else.

When you got back, Joel was easing his truck into the garage.

Tommy barely had time to help you down, to take the helmet off, before you were already rushing toward Joel.

“Hi, babe,” you breathed, arms sliding around his neck as you kissed him.

“Hey, baby,” Joel said into your mouth, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You mad at me?” The guilt was written all over him but it didn’t last long, not with the way you were looking at him.

You tipped forward, stealing another quick kiss. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “Your replacement behaved pretty well,” you added, just to needle Tommy.

He gasped behind you, clutching his chest, deeply offended on principle.

“The things I’ve endured,” he said to Joel. “I was made to watch a Julia Roberts–Ben Affleck movie. Against my will.”

“That is not who they were,” you laughed as you corrected him. “It was Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds.”

“Did she make you watch The Proposal?” Joel asked, clearly entertained.

Tommy nodded. “Awful. Zero outta ten.”

“Wait till she makes you sit through a Bridget Jones marathon,” Joel said, mock-sympathetic. “Then you can talk to me about torture.”

“Lord, no,” Tommy muttered, already heading toward the house.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Joel said, tipping his chin toward you.

Tommy’s eyes landed on you and lingered longer than they should’ve.

“Anytime,” he smiled, and then he was gone.

The second you were alone, Joel turned all of himself toward you.

“We brought dinner,” you said softly, fingers sliding into his hair, brushing off gently some construction dust. 

“Did ya now?” His hands settled on your ass, firm, possessive. A slow squeeze. “Too bad what I’m hungry for ain’t on the table.” His voice scraped low, thick with want. He’d spent the entire day thinking about you and the heaven waiting between your thighs.

You tilted your head up, flashing him that smile—the one that always got him.

“Good thing I still need a shower,” you murmured, letting him press you closer before you pulled back, sweet and cruel all at once.

“Are you coming or not?” you tempted, pausing by the door into the house; thumbs resting at the edge of your leggings, teasing the promise of movement.

Joel’s honey-colored eyes darkened as he started toward you. “Don’t think we’re makin’ it to the shower, sweetheart,” he drawled.

You giggled and bolted up the stairs anyway—only to be caught halfway, hauled back into his strong arms, making you gasp.

“Gotcha,” he purred right by your ear.

“So… what now, huh?” he asked, dangerously calm as hell.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Tommy heard the shower turn on.

The sound of running water started to blend with your voice—your laugh—as he clipped the keychain with your photo onto his set of keys.

His thumb brushed over your face.

A small, absent gesture as he did something he had no right to do; wanting and desiring those forbidden moments of intimacy with you.

Ever since you were little, you’ve had trouble choosing just one thing.

If someone asks about your favorite color, you can’t say pink without adding blue.

Same goes for food.

If you’re gonna snack, it has to be a mix of something salty and something sweet or you’re never really satisfied.

Music works the same way.

Why pick a song with just one singer when collaborations exist? No matter how much you love Somebody to Love, you’ll always choose Under Pressure instead because David Bowie’s there too, sharing the space.

One day at school, they told everyone to bring their favorite toy.

The rule was simple: only one allowed.

That was a nightmare for you.

You lay awake the night before, quietly miserable in the way only a little girl can be, trying to choose between two Barbies: Erika from The Princess and the Pauper or your Cali Girl Horseback Riding Barbie.

You ended up picking the second one—she smelled nice, after all—but Erika went into your backpack too because leaving her behind felt wrong.

The next day, the most smug, prim little girl in class: Cindy Palmer, talked everyone into playing weddings.

The mission sounded easy: pair your doll with another doll.

Everything was going fine until you saw a boy who’d somehow managed to bring a Wolverine figure and a Cyclops from the X-Men.

You remembered that a while back—without permission—you’d read the comics your uncle kept in his bedroom.

In them, it was pretty clear Jean was involved with both of them; they were together free and happy.

So the decision was made.

If Jean Grey could have Logan Howlett and Scott Summers, your Barbie wasn’t settling for just one either.

You lined up like everyone else, anxious and unsettled about your beloved doll’s future marriage; the ribbon your mom had used to try and tame your hair kept bouncing, restless, like it couldn’t sit still either.

When it was your turn, Cindy looked you up and down and told you that you couldn’t marry your Barbie to two dolls.

You had to choose one but you refused, stubbornly. 

You said you didn’t see the point of God making hearts with a left side and a right if there was only space for one person anyway and naturally, she tattled to the teacher and since it was a Catholic school, you ended up being lectured by the Mother Superior for committing such a blasphemy.

She told you that you had to be stronger than temptation. Resist it. That what was expected of you was long-suffering propriety because whoever loves two, loves no one.

You cried through the entire scolding, feeling your small heart shatter into pieces but the nun, far from showing you any mercy, assigned you a sin: greed; and you felt the sentence draw tight around your neck, like a noose. 

That small story stayed with you until graduation. Thanks to Cindy—of course—who made sure it was printed in the yearbook so no one would ever forget it.

Now, in the present, you found yourself staring at something uncomfortably similar.

You’d done a bit of channel-surfing before sitting down to paint your nails and between True Blood and The Vampire Diaries, the choice had been obvious.

You were biting your lower lip, completely focused. Carefully trying to paint a tiny flower on your big toenail when Katherine Pierce said something to Elena Gilbert that made you freeze mid-stroke:

It’s okay to love them both. I did.

You didn’t like Katherine, not at all; if anything, you flat-out hated her.

But for the first time, you recognized yourself in her. Just without the manipulative, vicious edge.

You loved Joel, there was no arguing that. You’d marry him tomorrow, even if it meant paper rings or an onion ring.

And yet, somewhere along the way, Tommy had slipped in your heart too.

He’d always been charming. Attractive. A Miller—what did you expect?

But it was the shared space, the closeness, that did you in; the moment you realized you wanted him the same way you wanted Joel.

Maybe the nun hadn’t been wrong; maybe you were just greedy at the core.

That same night, Joel walked in already on edge; short-tempered and wound tight.

They were up against a major job—the hospital build—and the deadline was breathing down his neck.

He snapped that he wasn’t hungry and didn't want company.

You gave him time. You always did. 

Then, quietly, you tried to get him to eat anyway.

But his only response was snapping at you, stepping away the second you touched his back, brushing you off when you murmured, Don’t do this, baby—please.

It shattered something in you every time he went like that; so distant, so silent.

You don’t know who started yelling or who said the thing that cut deepest just that you left the kitchen with your eyes stinging, refusing to cry where he could see with your hands trembling and your breath hitching.

And somehow you ended up in the guest room, aching and craving for Tommy’s sweetness.

You came undone the moment Tommy opened the door and asked what was wrong; you just shook your head and pressed your face into the curve of his neck, tears soaking into his pajama shirt.

“Hey… shh,” Tommy whispered, fingers combing through your hair, his other hand rubbing slow, steady circles into your back. “You’re alright, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

When you finally settled enough to talk, you told him what happened and asked him not to say a word to Joel. You didn’t want to pile more on him. 

You tried to convince yourself it wasn’t as bad as it felt; maybe you were just hormonal or maybe it was the tangle of feelings sitting heavy in your chest.

Tommy promised he wouldn’t say anything. And he meant it. But after he gave you an aspirin for the headache he knew was coming—because it always did after you cried like that—and walked you to your bedroom, he headed straight for the kitchen, jaw set, ready to have a few words with his brother.

“What the hell’s gotten into you, man?” he said, voice low but edged.

“This doesn't concern you, Tommy,” Joel replied, eyes fixed anywhere but him.

“It damn well does if she’s cryin’,” Tommy snapped back.

Joel finally looked up like he’d just been hit.

“She cried?”

Tommy crossed his arms with his jaw tight. “You made her cry,” he said. “That ain’t the same fuckin’ thing.”

“Fuck,” Joel exhaled, rubbing his face. “I wasn’t tryin’ to take it out on her—”

But Tommy didn’t let him finish—he just opened the fridge. “Look at what you messed up with that damn attitude of yours,” he chided. 

Salmon in garlic sauce with roasted potatoes, his favorite.

“Lower,” Tommy demanded.

And Joel looked.

A big dish of tiramisu.

Fuck, he’d really screwed this one up.

“She cooked all damn afternoon for you, and you couldn’t even appreciate it,” Tommy spat. “And for the record, she soaked every single cookie in your favorite coffee, you dumb son of a bitch.”

That did it.

Joel moved in front of him, all solid presence and clenched teeth. “Don’t forget you’re a guest in this house,” he warned, voice low, dangerous.

But Tommy stood firm, shoulders set, refusing to give even a single inch. “We ain’t kids anymore, Joel,” Tommy said firmly. “So don’t expect me to roll over for you now.”

They stared at each other down; the tension around them was thick enough to choke on.

They’d been here before. Once, it had ended with fists and years of silence between them.

Tommy leaned in just enough that their chests nearly brushed. “You keep this shit up,” he said low and deliberate, making sure every word landed, “and she’s gonna walk.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving Joel standing there alone.

Things between you and Joel were finally improving. He was making an effort not to close himself off; not to shut you out when things got overwhelming. 

But Tommy’s words kept echoing in his head, slow and relentless, stirring up something he hadn’t felt before.

The fear of losing you.

It had never even crossed Joel’s mind until now and the realization made him feel like a damn fool for ever assuming you’d always be there.

And yet—there was more.

The way Tommy had stood up for you, protective and wounded all at once, like you already belonged to him too, made Joel start looking at everything a little more carefully.

It started with little things he’d never paid attention to before: The way Tommy watched you, the way he lingered whenever you hugged him; like pulling away took effort. 

And then there was the one thing he couldn’t ignore anymore; Tommy hadn’t dated anyone since his divorce from Maria. He didn't even flirt when they went out for drinks after work.

Had he really been that blind? Or had he just refused to see what had been in front of him the whole damn time?

But the cherry on top was when he found his brother finishing the vanity he had left half-done for you in the garage.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Joel asked, staring at him in disbelief.

Tommy startled at the sound of his voice, nearly spilling the can of varnish he was holding onto the concrete floor. “Jesus, Joel,” Tommy blurted. “You tryin’ to give me a damn heart attack or what?”

“I don’t know, Tommy. You’re the one lookin’ like you just saw a ghost.” He folded his arms, eyes fixed on him, while Tommy stood there with the brush still in his hand—caught and guilty— like he’d been spray-painting someone else’s name where it didn’t belong.

“I was just puttin’ a coat of varnish on it, okay?” Tommy explained. His voice hadn’t quite settled yet. “She mentioned earlier she’d been lookin’ at vanities online, and I thought helpin’ you finish it faster made sense. That’s it.”

And then there was you.

Showing it to him with bright eyes, walking him through every little detail of how you’d arranged your makeup after he surprised you with the vanity.

“It’s perfect, baby. I even still have room to put more things away.”

Joel hummed a quiet mmmmm under his breath as he checked every drawer, making sure they slid open and closed just right.

“I put a picture of us on the shelves above the table,” you said, pointing to a white, heart-shaped frame holding a photo of you and Joel at the beach.

You kissed him then, telling him you still couldn’t believe he’d taken the time to make something like this for you from scratch but right at that moment his eyes drifted to the other side of the vanity.

There was another identical frame there.

A picture Joel remembered taking of you and Tommy not long after his move.

Everything about it felt ironic.

On the right side was his photo.

On the left, Tommy’s.

Like the vanity itself was a reflection of your own heart and each of them held one half; a quiet unintentional confession.

Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t feel jealous after that. Because he did.

And then, hand in hand with that jealousy, came a twisted thought born from his anxiety. 

What if one day you got tired of how complicated loving him could be sometimes? Would you look for that closeness—that sweetness—somewhere else, just like Tommy had warned him?

No, you wouldn’t do that; he knew you never would but the idea stayed with him anyway.

But his greedy, hopelessly in-love heart couldn’t stay quiet, sinking deeper into the anxious thoughts that were gnawing at him from the inside out.

What if the sweetness you craved didn’t have to come from outside these walls? Just right here, at home.

As crazy as it sounded, he’d sleep better knowing you had everything you craved; everything you needed.

And if something ever happened to him, he knew Tommy would take care of you. 

That thought alone steadied him.

He only wanted you to be happy, he lived for that; lived for you.

So maybe—just maybe—he’d finally figured out the key to keeping you by his side always.

One afternoon, while you were gone, he sat down with his brother to tell him what he’d decided about you.

Tommy kept pacing like standing still might kill him. “I think that hit you took when we were kids finally did its job,” he said flatly. “’Cause you’ve lost your damn mind.”

“Tommy, just hear me—”

He turned fast. Too fast. “Hear you—You want me to hear you?” he said, staring at him like he didn’t recognize him. “You just said you wanna share her with me, Joel.” Hand gesturing between them.

Joel understood the confusion. Hell, he did. But the frustration was setting in now, tight in his jaw, because Tommy wasn’t being honest; not with him, not even with himself.

Joel peeled slowly at the sticker on his beer bottle, anything to keep his hands busy; anything to steady himself while he said the thing he’d fought accepting.

“I’m plenty of things, Tommy,” he said quietly. “But I ain’t stupid.” His eyes stayed on him now. “I’ve seen how you look at her. How she looks back at you. Same way she looks at me—like we’re her whole damn world.”

Tommy opened his mouth, but Joel raised a hand—Stopped him dead.

“I know I get closed off,” Joel went on. “Always have.” A beat. “You’re the opposite of me.”

“What’re you tryin’ to say?” Tommy asked, bracing himself against the counter.

“That what I can’t give her,” Joel said, steady and certain, eyes locked on him, “she could get it from you.”

Tommy laughed, sharp and wrecked all at once. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “You’ve lost your damn mind. You really have.”

Joel didn’t flinch; didn’t look away. “Are you in love with her?”

Not attraction. Not want. Love.

Tommy shook his head. “I wouldn’t ever do somethin’ like that to you.”

“Jesus, Tommy,” Joel said sharply. “Quit skirtin’ it. Say it plain.”

Tommy’s throat bobbed. Worked like it hurt. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly.

Joel turned away, just for a beat. Breathed in through his nose. “She’s my girl, Tommy.”

Tommy nodded, his jaw locked in place, ready for whatever came next.

A yell. A hit. The look that said you’re a traitor and I’m disappointed in you; anything sharp enough to tear him apart.

“But she could be yours too.”

The sentence stayed suspended between them; dense and unavoidable.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tommy barked, spiraling fast. “Is this a joke or somethin’?” He shook his head, furious. “This isn’t funny, Joel. Not at all.”

He searched for his big brother’s face but all he found there was sincerity and acceptance. “Fuck,” Tommy breathed, fists clenched tight at his sides. “You serious right now?”

“I ain’t scared of sharin’ love, Tommy,” Joel admitted with his voice strained. “I’m scared of losin’ it.” Saying it out loud loosened something in his chest; like the claws of his anxiety finally eased their grip from his throat.

“Joel—” Tommy faltered, thrown completely off balance. “She’s not—damn it, she’s not somethin’ we can trade around like she don’t matter,” he snapped, voice cracking as he sat down hard, hands gripping his hair.

Joel laughed under his breath, nervously. “That ain’t what I’m sayin’,” he replied. “I’m not just talkin’ about sex here.”

Tommy finally looked at him then, relief cutting through the panic. “You mean… everything?”

Joel met his gaze and nodded once. “Everything, Tommy.”

“So… does that mean she’d be…?” Tommy asked softly, hope trembling in his voice.

“Our girl,” Joel avowed. “I just want her to have what she needs. Everything she deserves. And if that means she’s got the both of us, Tommy—then that’s how it’s gonna be.”

February 3rd, 2013

The Super Bowl dominated the room, loud and impossible to ignore; the biggest event in American football was the undisputed star of the evening.

“I’m tellin’ you, the 49ers are gonna win,” Joel hollered toward the living room while he helped you bring out all the food you’d spent the afternoon making.

“You’re wrong, old man. Ravens all the way,” Tommy answered back, already sounding way too confident.

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as you lined up the bowls and plates on the counter. “Baby,” you said sweetly, tilting your head up at Joel, “can you grab the wooden board from the top shelf so I can cut the cold cuts and cheese?”

“Course I can.” He reached up easily, muscles flexing under his shirt, then set the board down in front of you with a soft thunk.

“You spoilin’ us tonight,” he said, pride thick in his voice. “Ain’t nobody got it better than you.”

You laughed, nudging his hip with yours. “You say that every time I make a charcuterie board.”

“And I mean it every damn time.”

You were slicing the cheese when you spotted a hand sneaking a handful of deli meats . “Hey—don’t even think about it, Tommy!” you warned, giving his hand a gentle smack. “No picking at anything until kickoff.”

“C’mon, have some compassion,” he groaned, all drama. “I’m starving over here, sweetheart,” he murmured against your ear, pulling a laugh out of you.

His hands settled at your sides, fingers poised like a warning. “Hand over the cheese,” he teased, chin dropping onto your shoulder, “and we can all walk away from this unharmed.”

“Oh, yeah?” You cleared your throat and called for Joel. “Honey,” you said in that syrupy-sweet, bratty voice. “Your brother is blackmailing me with tickles if I don’t give him something to eat.”

Joel shook his head, lips pressed tight as he tried not to laugh.

“Traitor,” Tommy said under his breath, fingers digging into your sides before he snatched a piece of cheese and popped it into his mouth, ignoring your complaints.

His touch had stopped feeling accidental weeks ago like there was intention there now; even Joel’s expression had changed—the tightness he used to wear every time Tommy came near you was gone.

Thirty minutes later, everything was set for the game.

Joel and Tommy picked at the food, arguing over plays, while you lay comfortably between them on the couch.

Your head rested in Joel’s lap; your legs stretched across Tommy’s.

Your eyes were fixed on your iPad, lost in daydreams—imagining how you’d design your own yoga and Pilates studio; something you hadn’t stopped thinking about since they told you they could renovate the old guesthouse out back for you.

A single floor.

A small kitchen.

A spacious living room.

One bedroom.

Two bathrooms.

It was perfect, like it made for it.

The kitchen would turn into a cozy sitting area, somewhere to chat and have a drink before and after sessions.

The living room would be where the classes happened. You’d even set up a little corner with toys, a place where kids could play while their moms took some time for themselves.

And the small bedroom? That would be your office.

The whole place would be filled with pastel colors and plants. So many plants.

You’d add two speakers in the living room too, mostly to torment your students with your eccentric playlists; jumping from unapologetic pop hits straight into music that felt way more appropriate for a man surviving his second divorce.

“See?” Tommy ribbed Joel. “Flacco’s makin’ a mess of the 49ers.” His fingers hooked into your sock, pulling it aside so he could start rubbing your foot.

“You feel like bettin’, Tommy?” Joel taunted, fingers combing lazily through your hair.

You peeked over your iPad, biting back a laugh.

“Got an opinion?” they asked at the same time, amused. 

“I’m here for Kelly Rowland,” you said, unfazed.

“Sweetheart, it’s Beyoncé doing the halftime show,” Joel chuckled. 

“And Kelly Rowland is still the better artist,” you replied calmly. “The world’s just not prepared for my truth.”

“Uh-huh. We’re just gonna ignore how you tried slippin’ past our question by bad-mouthin’ the queen of pop,” Tommy teased, puttin’ extra emphasis on queen.

“C’mon now—who you got?”

“I honestly don’t know, Tommy,” you admitted. “I don’t know a thing about football.”

“You know the thing is, sweetheart,” Joel said, stretching his arm along the back of the couch,“Tommy and I always make a bet on Super Bowl night. Just us.”

“Like a tradition?” you queried.

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that,” he commented, taking a pull from his beer, licking a bit of foam off his lip. “And now he wants to rope you into it.”

“Into the bet?”

“Caught red-handed,” Tommy barked out a laugh. “Why don’t you let her put her money on you this time?” he knowing-looked at his brother; his hand never left your foot, thumb moving in slow circles. “But if I win,” Tommy said, turning his attention fully to you, “you’re gonna owe me.” The grin in his blue eyes was all trouble.

“I don’t really like betting money.”

“Ohhh, so that’s the problem?” Tommy smirked, thinking it over as he reached for a handful of nuts. “Alright then—the winner picks the prize.”

You looked at Joel, unsure.

“Up to you, sweetheart,” he said with a grin. “But if you’re in, you better bet on the 49ers.”

“So… deal?” Tommy coaxed, cocking a brow as he offered you his hand.

What’s the worst that could happen? you thought to yourself.

“Deal,” you announced solemnly, shaking his hand like the two of you were finalizing a business contract.

“Good,” he whispered under his breath, lifting your hand to his mouth for a quick kiss before the game pulled their focus again.

At some point, you half-dozed off while they kept talking over the game. You vaguely registered that the coaches—John Harbaugh for the Ravens and Jim Harbaugh for the 49ers—were brothers before sleep fully took over.

They nudged you awake just in time for the halftime show.

“How in the hell do they move like that?” Joel muttered, staring at the screen.

The three of you watched, completely absorbed, as the dancers moved through Single Ladies.

“I don’t know, but I love their heels,” you whispered. You were absolutely buying a pair like that next time you went shopping.

“Baby… no.”

You shot Joel a look. “Why not?”

“’Cause the last time you tried wearin’ heels that tall, you ate concrete,” he deadpanned, and Tommy cracked up.

“Everybody knows you’re the clumsiest person on earth,” Tommy added, poking the bear. “Don’t get mad.”

“That is not what happened!” you protested offended, getting up from the couch to head to the bathroom. “I slipped. And I’m not clumsy—I have flat feet. Big difference.”

You were in the bathroom, wiping your makeup off, when loud, dramatic boos erupted from the TV and you almost ignored it until Joel and Tommy chimed in with a few very clear fuck and what a load of crap.

“What?” you asked from the bathroom as you patted your face dry.

“The stadium lost power,” Joel answered.

“Whole place went dark,” Tommy added. 

Thirty-four minutes later, after keeping everyone in suspense and right when it felt like it might not come back at all, the lights returned and the second half finally began.

Joel walked you through every near-miracle Kaepernick pulled for the 49ers, while Tommy shifted anxiously as the Ravens started running into trouble.

They were both acting like little boys again and pulled in by their excitement and by the way they both went so still, you found yourself actually focusing on the game.

The commentator’s voice lowered as Kaepernick broke into a run, the noise of the stadium blurring into the background.

He called his name, the distance; the five-yard line—like naming it might hold everything in place.

First and goal; an incomplete pass.

Another try that went nowhere.

A third that never connected.

Then came the pause before fourth down, when even the voice on TV admitted this was it but the play collapsed as soon as it began; the ball hit the turf—incomplete.

“The Baltimore Ravens are champions!” The stadium erupted. 

“Oh, come on—don’t fuckin’ do this to me,” Joel muttered, clearly pissed.

“Told you,” Tommy chirped, smug and thrilled. “Ravens had it. Flacco was always gonna pull it off.”

You leaned in and kissed Joel gently. “I’m sorry, baby,” you pouted. “Maybe next year?”

He growled into the kiss and it pulled a giggle out of you.

Then Tommy cleared his throat, eyes on Joel, and he finally let you go. “You lost the bet,” Joel reminded you, thumb brushing your cheek.

You turned to Tommy, trying for pitiful. “Are you serious? You’re going to make me pay?”

Tommy lifted a shoulder. “A bet’s a bet… right?” And the way he said it—drawling it out while he traded that quick, knowing look with Joel—told you they had something planned. 

Something you didn’t know about.

“Besides,” he went on, “I ain’t gonna make you do much.”

You raised a brow, unconvinced. “Oh, you aren't?”

“Nope,” he promised; still not reassuring you even a little.

You laughed again, but it sounded thin. “So what do you want, then?”

Tommy went quiet pretending he was thinking, and then Joel cut in. “Why don’t you give him a kiss?”

Your mind went empty and you tittered, thinking it was harmless and leaned in to kiss Tommy’s cheek making sure it sounded ridiculously loud and dramatic.

“There.” You pulled back with a grin. “Prize for the winner.”

Then Joel was behind you, warm and solid, arms banding around your waist.

“Not that kind, baby,” he purred, teeth catching your earlobe just enough to make you inhale sharply. “The kind you give me.”

Your laugh stopped dead at his words and as you watched Tommy edged closer; the space between you disappearing. 

“Right here, princess.” he beamed, pointing at his mouth with that teasing little smile.

“Okay—this isn’t funny,” you grumbled, nerves creeping into your voice as you tried to get up, Joel’s arms holding you in place. “Can you please stop messing with me?” Your heart was racing, loud in your ears.

“Sweetheart,” Joel shoothed, calmly, “I swear this isn’t a joke. We’re not messing with you.”

Tommy raised his hands, palms out. “Scout’s honor.”

You turned to Joel, searching his face. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Only if you want to be.”

You knew Joel didn’t say things like that without meaning them, so you found yourself leaning toward Tommy because you’d wanted this for longer than you cared to admit.

Eyes fluttered shut as your lips brushed his; you intended it to be brief, gentle and innocent but then Tommy’s teeth caught your lower lip, wordlessly asking for more and your eyes snapped open. Breath catched in your throat. 

Joel felt you go rigid against him. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” he cooed, voice steady and warm against the skin of your neck. “You can let it happen.”

And the quiet certainty in his words—the love threaded through them—was what finally did it, what made you give in and let Tommy take the kiss deeper.

The sound Tommy made, low and pleased, told you everything.

When his tongue finally found yours, you got your first real taste of him; sweet in a way that felt almost dangerous, sending the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. His hand curls into your hair, angling you just right, deepening the kiss like he’s been allowed to take his time.

“Tommy,” you murmured, breath warm against his mouth.

“I know, baby,” he whispered softly. “I know.”

Hearing the word baby leave his lips nearly undid you, right there in Joel’s arms. You loved them both, and the kiss with Tommy only made real what you’d been refusing to admit for months.

It took everything Tommy had to pull away, his forehead pressing to yours; you were both breathing like you’d just finished a race.

“Best damn bet I’ve ever won,” Tommy grinned, voice strained—because he’d felt it too. The love; the feeling of finally finding its way home. 

“I don’t think you’ve got much to complain about, brother,” Then Joel’s hand came up fast, fingers curling at your throat, his thumb lifting your chin so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Joel—” his name faded against his mouth as he kissed you, stealing the rest of the word. 

His mouth found yours, hungry and urgent, knocking the breath clean out of you.

He needed to know; needed to feel that nothing had changed, that your love for him was still the same after kissing Tommy. And he felt it. God knows he did. In the way you kissed him back; In the soft, broken sounds you made—half sighs, half I love yous breathed into his mouth—like you were giving yourself to him all over again.

When he felt you smiling against his lips, he did the same and pulled back just enough to look at you, because he knew that smile; the one you only ever wore in moments of intimacy with him.

“Can I give the winner another prize, baby?” you asked softly.

His grip at your throat tightened—still gentle, still affectionate.

“You know I like it when you use your words, sweetheart,” he encouraged, nudging you to be clear.

Your eyes flicked between both of them nervously. 

“I want to make Tommy feel good,”

“More?” Tommy asked with a laugh, trying not to look too affected by what had just happened.

You gave him a light smack on the shoulder and he gasped dramatically. 

“Well?” Joel pressed, waiting.

“I want to put my mouth on him,” you confessed, your throat tightening as heat began to rush through your veins. “Please,” you added, as if good manners could soften how dirty the request really was.

Joel had known this would happen the second that invisible boundary between you and Tommy started to soften. And now, knowing that he—and only he—was allowing you to finally do what you’d always longed for, to love two people openly and freely, without shame, without blame… who was he to deny you what you craved?

After all he knew that all you wanted was to show Tommy how much you loved him; how much you desired him and Joel wasn’t going to deny his brother an experience that felt nearly sacred; not when he was finally about to learn how good it felt to share you.

“Is that what you wanna do, baby?” Joel asked, his voice low and heated, your pulse fluttering beneath his hand.

You nodded, all but begging him with your eyes. “Please. Let me.”

He used his hold on your neck to draw you back into a kiss. “Be a good girl for both of us,” he murmured into your mouth. “Do it right.” Then he released you, letting himself fall back against the couch.

You looked at them again and felt that familiar warmth blooming deep in your belly.

“So… you gonna take care of me, princess?” Tommy asked, his hand settling over the hard shape in his jeans.

You nodded, and he took your hand, pulling you close enough to steal another kiss. “C’mon,” he coaxed, that easy Southern drawl wrapping around every word. “Show me how pretty you look on your knees for me.”

You were on your knees in an instant; the carpet was thick beneath you, brushing your skin.

Your hands shook as you worked at his belt, undoing it—unbuttoning the buttons, lowering the zipper.

Tommy lifted his hips slightly, helping you slide his jeans and underwear down together.

His cock slipped free, heavy against his stomach; the tip was dark, already wet with precum.

He was just as thick as Joel—and for a split second, the thought of both of them at once crossed your mind before you could stop it. Filling you; fucking you. 

You tried to laugh it off, not wanting to sound too eager. “One kiss and you’re already like that?” you teased.

Tommy blinked, caught off guard.

Joel laughed outright. “Looks like she got under your skin,” he said. “Told you—she’s cheeky.”

“Fuck me,” Tommy breathed, rolling with it. “You’re not the one starin’ like you’re about to drool, sweetheart.” His hand slid around his length, slow and deliberate, letting you see exactly how hard he was because of you. He’d never admit out loud how many nights he’d spent thinking about you—never thinking this would actually happen.

And the worst part was that he wasn’t wrong because you were practically salivating.

You chewed on your cheek, caught between teasing him more or giving in.

But Tommy didn’t wait, making the decision for you. “Get closer.”

You shifted in until his cock hovered right in front of your face;  your hands resting on his thighs, thumbs circling absently.

“You want it?” he tempted—just to see if you’d bite, dragging the head of his cock along your lips, mapping them out—only making you more flustered and needy; leaving his mark on you. 

“Yes,” you breathed; lips salty and tacky with anticipation.

“Then open up, baby,” he said softly, amused. “Closed mouths don’t get fed.”

“Careful,” Joel muttered from the couch, legs fully stretched out, his own hardness obvious; he was hard as stone too—and not doing a thing to hide it. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Seeing them both desire you, both waiting, made slick heat gather fast between your legs; because even though you were the one on your knees, you could feel that quiet power. Knowing that even as they looked at you like they wanted to devour you, you were the one holding the control.

Tommy guided your hands to his cock, knowing you couldn’t wait anymore. “Go on,” he murmured. “Show me how you’re payin’ the winner back.”

You didn’t hesitate; you started pressing small kisses along his length, slow and deliberate, until you reached the head; keeping eye contact as you placed your lips there.

Licking over the surface, letting your tongue greedily collect every drop of precum because you wanted all of him.

A soft mmmm slipped from your throat when his taste spread across your tongue; if you thought Joel’s cock had been your favorite thing to suck, you’d just found your second.

“Get it in your mouth, baby,” Joel encouraged, his voice low. The sound of his own belt coming undone only made you wetter; anticipation buzzing under your skin. 

You glanced up at Tommy. “Can I?”

He brushed your hair back, his fingers shaking just a little. “Yeah, all yours.”

“Just mine?” you murmured, leaning into his touch.

“Just yours,” he repeated, soft but certain.

“And you?” You needed to hear it—because this was more than sex.

“I’m yours too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion and want.

The words hit deep, sparking a rush of need that finally had you taking him into your mouth, slowly because you wanted, needed, to feel every inch of him filling you.

Tommy’s breath stuttered, his blue-green eyes slipping shut as your mouth closed around him.

“Damn, baby,” he muttered, voice rough and low. “You feel… unreal,” he whispered, stunned.

You smiled around his cock, pleased—and then you started to move, setting a steady rhythm with your head; savoring it like it was your favorite thing in the world, already aching to take him deeper.

After some minutes humming and moaning around him you noticed Joel stroking himself with his eyes fixed on you.

You tilted your head without stopping, sucking and drawing in Tommy's dick deeper, giving Joel a better view—putting on a show just for him; letting him watch as you choked gladly around his brother’s cock.

“Fuck,” Tommy gasped. “She always this eager?” he asked Joel, staring at your pretty face like he couldn’t look away. “Feels like she’s suckin’ the life right outta me.” He pinched your nose teasingly, and you laughed softly against his fat cock.

Joel shook his head, letting out a low laugh. “That ain’t nothin’,” he said, voice deep and rough. “You should see her after a girls’ night—she comes back extra talkative. Extra sweet. Gets real handsy. Real bossy.” He spat into his veiny hand and gripped himself, never taking his eyes off you; his gaze grew darker, wilder, with every passing second.

“You get real bossy, baby?” Tommy asked, amused.

“She gets on top—pushy, needy, like she’s gotta have it,” Joel said, breath rough. “But there’s a rule, ain’t there?”

You pulled off Tommy's dick with a slick pop, the sound loud in the quiet room; your hand kept moving on him, using the excess of your own saliva as lubricant. 

“I don’t get to come until he says so,” you murmured, a little shaky; your tongue tracing the thick veins along his length.

“Is that right?” Tommy said, grabbing your hair, firm, guiding your face down to his balls. As much as he loved your mouth, he was dying to touch himself while watching you.

You took one eagerly into your mouth, sucking hard, feeling him tense as he started stroking himself.

“Next time you’re ridin’ me,” he said. Not a question; his eyes never left your face.

You nodded, looking up through damp lashes and behind the lust in your eyes, Tommy saw something else—something close to love; to devotion. The same look he’d seen on your face so many times when you looked at Joel; the sight made his chest tighten, sharp and aching.

“How’m I supposed to last,” Tommy panted, more to himself than anyone else, “when you look like that… and your mouth feels so damn good?”

You shook your head, pulling back just enough to switch your focus to his other heavy ball.

“I don’t want you to hold back,” you whispered against him, soft and needy. “I want you to come for me. In my mouth. I wanna taste you, Tommy.”

Joel exhaled, broken. “Such a good fuckin’ girl,” he said, pride thick in his voice. “Always so eager to please.”

“Fuck—you’re gonna ruin me,” Tommy gasped. “Soundin’ all sweet while sayin’ fil shit like that.” His voice dropped, rough. “Tongue out. Now.”

You released him immediately, sticking your tongue out, waiting—aching—as he started stroking himself faster, breath coming sharp and uneven.

Your hands grabbed his thighs again, nails biting in as you pressed your legs together, desperate for some friction; your cunt throbbed—empty and needy—demanding more than you could give it right now as Tommy came apart with a rough groan, spilling hot and thick ropes of cum over your tongue. “Fuck—fuck,” he whimpered, giving you everything he had. 

Afterward, he was left breathless. Still stunned. He bent down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, careful and reverent. “My sweet girl,” he whispered.

Just then, a sharp tsk from Joel made you look up.

“Looks like you’re not done yet, princess,” Tommy joked as he started tucking himself back into his jeans. “Think you can handle all that?”

“Oh, she can,” Joel said calmly, curling a finger for you to come closer. “And she will. Won’t you, sweetheart?”

You crawled to him without hesitation, your mouth still full of Tommy's cum.

When you reached him, Joel stood, his imposing frame towering over you. “Don’t you dare swallow a damn thing until I finish too. Understood?”

You nodded, opening your mouth wide so he could see you hadn’t swallowed any of it; you pressed your cheek to his thigh, looking up at him with needy, pleading eyes—silently telling Joel that you wanted to take care of him too.

His hand cupped your face, stroking you softly, possessive. “You gonna let me fuck your throat, huh?” he asked, his voice tight. The words only made the ache worse, the heat nearly unbearable. “Course you are.”

He pushed his aching cock into your mouth and started thrusting— with no rhythm, no restraint—knowing he wouldn’t last long after watching you with Tommy.

“Fuck—baby, I’m right there,” he gasped, completely undone, and then he was coming hard—his release blending with Tommy’s, filling your throat until you choked on it; only when he felt you swallow he pulled back, his cock slipping free from your mouth so you could breathe.

“Show me,” he said firmly, still catching his breath.

You opened your mouth obediently for him, tongue bare and completely empty.

Joel smiled, satisfied, and helped you to your feet. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured. “You were perfect. So damn good.” He kissed you, groaning softly as he tasted what remained of himself and his brother on your lips.

“I love you,” you professed against his mouth, letting him feel the love—and the gratitude—for understanding you even before you understood yourself, packed into those two small words that meant everything to him.

Joel broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, brushing his nose to yours as he breathed your scent, grounding himself in you. “I love you too,” he whispered, eyes glassy, on the verge of tears. “From now on, you’re ours, baby. Ours to take care of. Ours to love.” He had to clear his throat before calling his brother. “Tommy—come here.”

Joel stepped aside, not without taking your hand first, threading his fingers through yours, giving Tommy the space to have his moment too—letting him feel the same certainty, the same warmth Joel felt every time you said those words. 

Tommy stood from the couch and took two steps toward you, just as nervous as if he were walking up to an altar.

“Tommy, we need to talk,” you joked as you looked up at his face, making him laugh and loosen up a little.

“That never ends well,” he smiled, voice shaky.

“I love you,” you proclaimed fearlessly—brave enough to say it out loud for the first time.

“Yeah?”

You nodded. “More than I can put into words.”

Tommy let out a shaky breath, silently praying God would have mercy on him in that moment and not let him fall apart in front of you—because after the failure of his marriage with Maria, he’d believed he was broken beyond repair, destined to wander alone… Until you proved him wrong; making him feel alive again. 

“I love you too, sweet girl,” he  promised, voice trembling, before leaning in to kiss you one more time, needing to seal that vow. 

You squeezed Joel’s hand gently as you sighed in relief against Tommy’s lips—because you had finally found where you belonged; with them.

In that quiet moment, your heart was freed of every trace of guilt, allowed to feel whole for the very first time and you knew without a doubt that this night was only the beginning of your story.

The story of us.

Dividers from @saradika-graphics

[joelssheep]

You’re overstimulating him, but you can’t stop.

-

It started off by you teasing him all day, waking up next to him with your ass pressed up against the swell of his morning wood. You roll over, slow. Joel’s a light sleeper, always has been. Your hand trails down the soft skin of his belly, through the beautiful dark curls there. Lower.

He won’t wake up.. yeah.. you’ll be fine..

Your fingers graze his tip and it twitches. Your mouth waters as you look down, you feel your pussy flutter. His hand snaps up, grabbing your wrist.

Fuck.

-

Tommy picks him up for work after Joel downs the coffee you made him & takes his breakfast to go. You’d been a distraction this morning, intruding on his morning shower. You made him late. Joel hates being late. And even worse, he’d walked to the truck with his lunchbox covering himself as his cock strained against his jeans. You hadn’t given him any relief.

-

You send him a picture on his lunch break, the ping coming through just after 12:30. He picks up his phone and nearly chokes when he sees what you’ve sent, immediately pulling the phone to his chest. Tommy’s next to him. Joel cusses to himself, adjusting himself in his pants subtly before returning to his lunch. When Tommy asks him if he’s ok he just grumbles something about the lunch you made him being too spicy again.

You love working him up.

-

Later that day when he comes home from work you can tell he’s pissed off. The way he kicks off his boots and goes right for the beer in the fridge isn’t even what gives it away. You could feel his heat when Tommy had pulled in the driveway to drop him off.

You don’t move from your spot on the couch when he stalks down the hallway and into the living room. You just set down your book and watch him freeze when he sees you. He huffs when he sees the way you’re smiling up at him, like you’re not the reason he’s so wound up today.

-

He’s up in bed early that night, dim light hitting all the curves of your soft body just right when he watches you throw on one of his huge shirts to sleep in. You crawl into bed, and you don’t touch him. You wait for him to beg.

Not even 5 minutes later, he’s all soft words and pleases when you’ve got him on his back and your tongue is tasting the bead of pre come he’s leaking. It’s mean, and you shouldn’t… but you kiss him too softly. His hand is in your hair, his fingers trembling when you let your tongue flick over his tip. He wants to pull your hair, shove your head down... but he doesn’t. Knows that won’t get him anywhere. Knows you’ll make him wait even longer if he does.

Instead, he shakes under you when your fingers finally wrap around him. His head falls back on the pillow. You tug gently, only a few times, then let your hand graze lower. He sucks in a sharp breath when you cup him, rolling him gently in your palm. He’s tight, drawn up, and pleading with you when you let him go again. Your nails graze up his sides and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“Please.. fuck- please baby, don’t know how bad I need you” he’s whispering, voice cracking.

You look up at him sympathetically, relaxed smile playing on your lips. You love the way his pupils are blown wide, the way his chest is heaving for you.. the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He’s propped up on his elbows when your hands leave him, his head rolling back… he could kill you.

You push his chest so he’s lying down, soothe him with a whisper, then climb ontop of him. You line yourself up with his throbbing member, and sit. He whines when he feels your heat around him, lowering yourself painfully slow. All he can do is repeat the word ‘please’ breathlessly, like he’s chanting a prayer.

Your hands brace against his chest when you impale yourself all the way, and he groans like he hasn’t felt this in years. His hands skate up your sides, under his too big shirt you’re wearing. He needs it off, needs to see his girl. He begs for that too.

It doesn’t take long until he’s gripping your hips and leaving marks as you ride him painfully slow. Your forehead is pressed to his and you’re flush to his chest as you fuck yourself on him. He’s whining under you when you stop for a minute,

“Please, baby come on... angel, you can’t do this to me.”

His head is turned away from you when you begin to move on him again. His eyes squeezed shut, the thick vein on his neck popping. You can see his pulse there.

You’re a nice girl. You really are. But god you love seeing him like this. It’s a little evil, knowing you’re the only one that can do this to him. The only one he’ll listen to.

You ask him how bad he needs it then. You love to hear him say it.

“ ‘M so close, sweetheart. Just need a little more, just need to feel you-”

You pick up the pace. Finally.

Finally.

He’s coming undone in no time, gripping your thighs so hard he’s leaving marks behind. You finish on him too, not realizing how pent up you were yourself.

You both see white. Joel groaning when you clench around him, milking his own cock with your orgasm. You stay like that, on top of him for a while.. chest pressed to his. He brings his hand up to your hair, brushing it back gently so he can see your face.

“Fuck baby, guess you needed that too.”

[joelssheep]

Imagine Tommy Miller kisses you when he thinks Joel isn’t looking, and then he rocks Tommy’s shit for doing it and then he makes Tommy watch him fuck you. Imagine.

[millermouth]

summary: joel was the moth to your flame. if your flame was a bonfire and he was the one pouring gasoline.

|| smut MDNI 18+, I DO NOT CONDONE THESE TWO FREAKS' ACTIONS!!! they're psychotic! toxic! obsessive! psycho gf x crazy joel, one scene with violent!joel (never towards reader), toxic behavior, jealous!joel, jealous!reader, no outbreak, drinking, pinv, f!receiving oral, m!receiving oral, missionary, doggy, slight voyeurism, possessive!joel, possessive!reader, stalker!joel, they're really just a match made in hell ya know. im marking this as slightly ooc!joel. he's so unhinged I just don't know if he'd really be like this lmao but its hot, age gap if you squint, pet names (baby, sweetheart, angel), dirty talk, daddy kink, size kink, joel is a big boy || wc: 9.3k a/n: I think im a little deranged for this one, guys. please proceed with caution.

Joel

God, you looked so pretty when you were mad.

That furious little glint in your eyes, the slight flare of your nostrils, the way your jaw clenched like you were deciding whether to kill him or kiss him. From across the room, you were a thunderstorm trapped in quite possibly the most incredibly addictive body Joel Miller had ever known. He couldn’t get enough of you, even when you were like this. Charged and seething, ready to level anything in your path. If you stood still long enough, he swore the air around you would spark and crack like lightning looking for a place to strike.

Your face was flushed, flushed enough that steam could’ve poured out of your ears. And in your hand was the source of it all—a harmless little card made of blue and white cardstock. It had a cheerful cartoon on the front and big, blocky letters that read Happy Father’s Day! The kind of thing you’d grab at the last minute while picking up toothpaste and a Gatorade. Joel had opened it, smiled a little at the sentiment, and tossed it on the dresser without a second thought.

That had been his mistake.

“Who is she?” you asked, your voice sharp and almost eerily calm, holding the card between two fingers like it had been dipped in something rotten.

“It’s from my neighbor,” he said quickly. “That’s all. She put it in my mailbox. I don’t even—”

“Does she give you cards for every holiday, Joel?” Your voice rose, the tone saccharine, but he only knew it as a warning. 

He blinked. “What? No.”

“Christmas?”

“No!”

“Valentine’s Day?”

“Would you quit it?”

“Sure, yeah. I’ll quit it,” you replied sweetly, and before he could stop you, you were reaching into your back pocket for your Zippo. You flipped it open, rolled your thumb over the wheel, and lit the flame with simple finality.

He watched you hold the card to the fire, watched it curl and blacken, the edges glowing orange as it turned to ash in your hand. You dropped the smoldering remains into the little blue trash bin by his dresser and brushed your fingers off like you’d just done something as ordinary as take out the trash.

“Happy now?” he muttered.

“Not quite,” you snapped back, arms folded, mouth drawn tight in a pout that made him want to bend you over his knee.

He stepped toward you slowly, the fight still buzzing in the room like a second heartbeat. “I got somethin’ that could make you feel better.”

“Oh yeah?” you countered, no playfulness to your voice yet, and not moving an inch.

He nodded, a grin starting to pull at his lips even though he knew better. Even though there were claw marks on his back from the last time you got jealous. Even though last week you keyed a heart into the hood of his truck. You were fucking insane. Certifiable. But so was he. Because he was no better when his temper got to him. And yet you both seemed bound to each other, always coming back like moths to a bonfire.

“C’mere,” he said, voice rough as he approached you.

You sighed as his arms came around you, wrapping them tight, hands smoothing down your spine. Maybe if he held you hard enough, you’d melt into him, forgetting about the stupid card.

“Only want you, you know,” he murmured against your temple.

You tilted your head, lips ghosting the side of his neck before you bit down hard—right into the tender skin at his jaw, teeth sinking into the beard where it hurt the most. He hissed, breath catching, jeans already going tight.

“Good,” you whispered, releasing your hold to kiss his earlobe.

Yeah. You were both fucked.

You

The next morning, you were all tangled limbs and mellow sunlight spilling through the slats of the blinds when Joel’s alarm started buzzing. He groaned, the sound deep in his chest, dragging a heavy arm from around your shoulders to reach for the clock. You rolled on top of him before he could, laying across his stomach and stretching to shut it off yourself.

“Just a few more minutes,” you whispered, your bare body melting across his, cheek against his beard as you pressed lazy kisses to the coarse scruff. The dark hair tufting his chest tickled your skin as you slid higher, lips brushing his mouth.

“Gotta get up,” he rumbled, kissing you back even as his voice betrayed how badly he didn’t want to.

“Tell the guys you’ll be late,” you purred, mouthing down the column of his throat, your tongue dragging over the warm salt of his skin. You felt him stir beneath you, his morning hardness nudging your thigh. “Tell them I kept you in bed, that I made you come so hard you forgot what day it was. They’ll understand.”

“Oh yeah?” His hand tightened on your hip, gravel-thick voice edged with amusement. 

You nodded against his skin as he added: “Now, if I tell ‘em that, you makin’ it worth my while? Or are these lies n’ empty promises?”

You smiled as you slipped down his body, sheets falling over your head as you disappeared beneath them. He was already half-hard when you kissed the trail of dark hair leading south, licking lightly at the ridges of his lower abdomen until his cock was heavy in your hand. You dragged your tongue up the underside, tracing the thick vein that wrapped around him, before swallowing his cock into the heat of your mouth.

“Christ,” Joel hissed, his head falling back against the pillows. The sound of your spit mixed with the wet drag of your lips filled the room, obscene and slick. His hips jerked when you moaned around him, throat working to take him deeper.

Before long, his hand was in your hair, tugging you up with a roughness that made your stomach flip. “Enough,” he muttered, pulling you to straddle him again. “I ain’t blowin’ my load down your throat when I should be fuckin’ you.”

He flipped you easily, pressing you forward until your knees dug into the mattress and your cheek brushed the sheets. The moment he pushed inside you, the sharp stretch knocked a gasp from your lungs. His hips slammed against your ass, heavy, rhythmic, the slap of skin echoing in the quiet morning.

That was when you heard a faint vibration against the nightstand and looked for the source—Joel’s phone. The noise rattled steady and insistent as his thrusts picked up, and you twisted just enough to grab it, shoving the buzzing rectangle into the pillows beneath you.

Joel groaned behind you, too lost in the velvet keep of your body to notice. You angled the phone so you could peek at the glowing screen. 

Tommy.

A wicked smile tugged at your lips as you swiped to answer. You didn’t say hello, or any sort of greeting. Instead, you moaned into the speaker, biting your lip as Joel’s cock hit deep, the bed creaking with every thrust.

“What the fuck—” Tommy’s voice muffled faintly before you let another wanton cry spill into the phone, pushing your face into the pillows. Joel’s pace never faltered, his groans mixing with the filthy slap of bodies colliding.

You clutched the phone tighter, muffling laughter against the sheets, savoring the delicious chaos as Joel fucked you hard enough to drown out everything else.

“Oh, fuck, Joel,” you cried out, “Yes!”

You’d really put on the show for his little brother.

“Yeah, baby?” Joel growled, his thrusts sharp and deep, “That’s it, take it. Nothin’ better than my cock stuffin’ you first thing in the mornin’, huh? Greedy little thing.”

Tommy’s muffled “Jesus—” was nearly swallowed by the wet slap of Joel’s thighs on yours.

He bent over you, mouth hot against your neck. “Listen to you. Cryin’ for it already. Can’t even start the damn day without this cock stretchin’ you open, can you? You gonna come for me, baby? Gonna come on daddy’s cock?”

Your grin curved wicked against the pillow, biting back a laugh as you let another loud moan slip free, feeding it to both men at once.

The thought of Tommy listening, hearing every filthy word, every cry that tore from your throat sent heat rushing straight through your belly.

“Fuck, Joel,” you sobbed, clenching tight around him. “I’m—god, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, you are,” he snarled, thrusts growing rougher, desperate. “Come on my cock, darlin’. Make a mess for me.”

Your body gave way all at once, ecstasy ripping through you as you gasped into the pillow, your whole frame trembling as he fucked you through it. Joel’s rhythm faltered shortly after, his groan breaking into a ragged curse as he pulled out quickly, fisting his cock until you felt the warm spurts of him over your back.

The line went dead in your hand at the same moment Joel pulled out of you, pressing a kiss to the damp curve of your neck, never knowing his brother had been there to hear it all.

Later that night, the Tipsy Bison was loud and hazy with neon lights bleeding against the wood-paneled walls, laughter and clinking bottles ringing out above the low hum of music. You slid onto a high stool, legs crossed, ordering a gin and tonic while Joel lingered behind you, already scanning the room like he didn’t trust a soul in it.

When he finally joined you, the weight of his presence filled the space before he even spoke.

“You wanna tell me why my brother couldn’t look me in the eye today, baby?” Joel asked, his voice pitched low, almost swallowed by the noise around you. He tilted his head, eyes sharp, catching yours like a trap. “Got anything you wanna say?”

You lifted your glass, took a slow sip, and shrugged, the ice clinking as if to punctuate your indifference.

“Got no idea, hm?” Joel asked, shifting closer. He stood close beside you where you sat at the barstool, crowding into your space like he owned it, lifting his beer and throwing back the last of it in one swallow. His throat worked, the cool neck of the bottle glinting as he drained it, then he set it down with a final clink on the counter.

The chatter of other bar goers washed over him, but it didn’t soften the heat rolling off his body as he leaned in, towering above you. One hand found the back of your chair, his palm broad and firm, caging you in. The other skimmed casually over your bare knee, thumb brushing slow circles that made your pulse jump.

“You gonna keep playin’ dumb,” he murmured, his mouth so close you could taste the beer on his breath, “or you gonna confess about your little stunt?”

You shifted, turning so your legs were on the opposite side of the seat, “Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You slid off the stool, ignoring the heat of Joel’s stare as you weaved through the crowd toward the jukebox tucked in the corner. The din of conversation and clatter of bottles filled the air, but you could feel him trailing you, heavy footsteps never far behind.

You leaned over the jukebox, flipping through the glowing list of songs, when his hand landed on the edge beside yours, caging you in.

“You’re lucky it was just my brother,” Joel murmured, his voice pitched low, private. “If any other man knew how sweet you sounded takin’ my cock, I might’ve had to kill ‘em.”

Your jaw tightened, finger still hovering over the screen. “You’re infuriating.”

He stepped in closer, chest brushing your back, his mouth brushing your cheek. “That noise you make when I’m inside you—that’s all mine, baby. That’s the holiest thing I got. And you went and handed it off to my baby brother like it was nothin’.”

You rolled your eyes, but were unable to help the way your stomach flipped at his breath on your neck.

“Don’t tell me,” he mocked, kissing the edge of your jaw before you flinched away, “You liked my baby brother hearin’ you?”

“Ew, no.” You rolled your eyes deeper, your head starting to throb with it. 

“Don’t gotta be shy,” he said, and though it sounded playful, the low lilt of his voice was anything but sweet. He pushed into you, hips flush with your ass, your hand having to flatten on the screen to hold yourself from leaning too hard into it. His mouth dragged along your cheek, almost a nuzzle if not for the teeth grazing your skin.

“If you ever do that again with another man,” Joel growled, “if you ever try to show what’s mine, I will kill him. You hear me? If you ever even looked at another man, even thought about givin’ what belongs to me to anyone else…” His teeth scraped harder, beard rasping against your skin, making your stomach knot, your thighs press together. “I’d ruin it for you, baby. Burn it right outta that pretty little head.”

You scoffed when he pressed a sudden, gentle kiss to your ear, the tenderness a mockery after all that venom. Your song came on, the jukebox humming to life behind you, and you twisted on him, shoving him hard.

Joel’s back hit the wall with a muted thud as your palm shoved hard up under his jaw, fingers flexing against the thick muscle of his neck. He was solid and hot beneath your grip, that maddening pulse thumping steady against your thumb. And the fucker was smiling.

That lazy, half lidded, cheshire cat grin that made your blood rise and your fists clench.

You could still hear the chords of the Nirvana song bleeding through the speakers, some drunk bastard singing along, but all you could focus on was the wicked gleam in Joel’s eyes.

“I don’t belong to you or anyone else, asshole.” you seethed through your teeth. 

Mmmmm, he hummed low, the rumblings of it tickling the heart of your palm, “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, voice rich and gravelled, full of heat and poison as he adjusted his jaw in your grip. “Right there. God, I love when you get like this.”

Your fingers clenched harder around the trunk of his throat without thinking. But you began to pull away, knowing you wouldn’t win this way, “Oh, fuck y—”

His hand shot out, snatching your wrist and keeping it in place, tightening it against his throat as he leaned down further, his beer tinged breath fanning over you as he towered into your space. 

“What?” he smirked. “Gonna give up so easy? Thought we were havin’ fun.”

“Let go, you bastard,” you seethed, eyes blazing as you struggled in his grip.

And then, a voice came from behind you.

“Um… excuse me, miss?”

The words sliced through the heat of it all, unwanted and clumsy. You turned, slowly. A guy stood there, tall-ish, clean cut in that polo wearing kind of way, with a nervous demeanor and khaki shorts. His hair was gelled, his eyes a little too earnest. He looked like someone’s nephew on spring break. He could've been your age. But the Hey Dudes were the final insult.

You stiffened, though Joel didn’t move, just cocked his head in your periphery like a predator clocking fresh prey.

The boy glanced between the two of you with that same naive concern you’d seen in well meaning men your whole life. You thought he must’ve seen your hand at Joel’s throat and the heat in your cheeks and thought this was his cue. 

And then he brought his hand up, letting the clammy skin touch the heated crest of your shoulder.

Joel’s demeanor changed immediately. He went stiff, the playful smile dropping from his mouth in an instant, the fury in his eyes burning molten as he stared down at the man beside you. The grip on your wrist didn’t change, you only felt his fingers twitch as if he was thinking of using them to wrap around the man’s throat instead. 

When he finally spoke, his voice came low and even, no louder than it needed to be, but somehow clearer than everything else in the room.

“Best get your hands off ’er if you wanna keep ‘em, son.”

The kid faltered, hand tightening on your shoulder as if he wasn’t sure whether to drop it or double down. His brows knit, lips parting like he was about to stammer something out, and for a second you thought that would be the end of it—that maybe he’d mutter an apology and walk off into the haze of beer and neon and learn never to touch someone else’s girl again.

But he just kept looking at you. 

Eyes narrowed, caught on your face, and whatever brief flash of uncertainty had gripped him evaporated. Maybe he thought your silence meant hesitation. Maybe he saw the flush on your chest, the bright heat still crawling up your neck, and mistook it for distress. Maybe it was that earnestness again, that dumb, open-faced naivety that in someone else’s life, they might’ve thought was sweet.

“Miss?” he asked again, a little firmer, steeling himself, like he’d puff out his chest and be your knight in shining armor, “I’ll take care of you, I can call the police if—”

Joel’s grip shifted at the same moment your mouth opened. He didn’t yank you, didn’t jerk your arm, but he took your wrist from his neck and pulled you aside so you were out of the way. 

Once you were safely out of his war path, he was moving. His hand came up, not in a punch or a slap, not a shove or a poke to the chest. 

His big, calloused hand came up, swallowing the stranger’s whole face like he was catching a flyball in a baseball glove. Joel’s fingers splayed across his entire face, palm crushing into his nose, and with a force that looked almost casual, he shoved the stranger back.

But the sound that followed was anything but casual. The man’s body hit the edge of a nearby table with a sickening crack, sending pint glasses toppling, chairs screeching across the sticky floor, a half-eaten plate of wings flipping onto the ground as someone cursed nearby. A sharp burst of fry oil and spilled beer hit your nose, along with that sudden, unmistakable shift in bar noise—that pause that happens when everyone senses a fight is about to break loose.

“Jesus fucking Christ, man!” the boy started, breathless, one hand half lifted in placation, “What’s your problem!?”

Joel moved fast, stalking across the space between them like all that heat had been simmering under the surface, boiling over the edge and finally allowed to break.

He wound back his clenched hand, and the crack of his fist hitting the man’s nose rang out sharp and sickening, knuckle against bone, loud enough to turn heads even in a place like this, where fights were cheap and tempers cheaper. The guy’s head snapped back on impact, his knees buckling as blood burst from his nose, splattering across the grimy tabletop and the front of his pastel shirt like some cruel brand. His body crumpled into a graceless heap of limbs and shock and pain.

Joel didn’t seem done yet. 

He stood over him, looming, chest still heaving from the exertion, his hand still partially curled into fist, blood streaked across the creases of his knuckles. His lip twitched like he was gearing up for another.

And after a brief pause of surprise, of the entire bar watching, their little brains catching up with what was happening, the room erupted in noise.

Chairs scraped hard against the floor. A couple of voices shouted, some cheering, some cursing or jeering, and then multiple pairs of hands descended, grabbing Joel’s shoulders from behind, one of their voices snapping, “Hey—HEY! That’s enough buddy!”

Two men now, maybe three, trying to haul him back. Joel resisted at first— out of rage, out of something wild in him, like his body hadn’t gotten the message yet. His legs planted, weight low, still staring down at the stranger like he hadn’t finished making his point. It took a few seconds and a hard shove to get him to move, stumbling half a step back, shoulders flexed, chest rising and falling like a piston as they pulled at him.

You looked between the bleeding man and Joel being hauled out of the scene into the night air. And you couldn’t help the small smile that was playing on your lips as you skipped outside. 

The door slammed behind you, cutting off the last of the shouting. The night air brought a relief with the cool breeze, less stuffy than inside, but still thick with cigarette smoke and fried meat drifting from the open kitchen vent, the pavement still warm under your shoes. 

Joel was pacing like an animal just outside the halo of the entrance light, chest heaving, blood drying on his knuckles. 

“You’ve officially lost your fucking mind, Miller.”

He turned when he heard your voice. And God, he looked like he’d eat you just for speaking.

You ignored it, “I can’t believe you. And you think that’s somehow gonna make me want you? Bashing some guy’s face in like that?”

You started walking, scoffing and shaking your head, out into the parking lot. Anywhere but here, to get away from him and his simmering rage, his toxicity. It was too much. 

But you heard his boots before you could do anything about it, his heavy, broad hand catching your arm and pulling you back. And the thing was, he was never violent with you. Never too rough unless you asked him, but all the same, the air felt knocked out of you as he pushed you against the brick siding, the lights of the bar illuminating his face in red. 

You opened your mouth again to spit a retort at him, but his body was crowding yours, hips pinning you, chest crushing into yours, his knee shoved hard up between your thighs so fast you gasped, your balance gone.

"Where the hell d’you think you're goin’?" he purred, face just inches from yours.

You could smell the whiskey and the beer on his breath, the copper tang of blood, the sweat from the fight still drying in the crease of his neck. His hands found your waist, fingers bruising, digging in to hold you against him and the wall. 

"Think I don’t know your game by now, baby?" he rasped, voice low and knowing, hot against your cheek. “I know you love when I make a scene. That’s what all that was, huh? Wanted to see how far I’d go?”

His thigh flexed between your legs and your body betrayed you with a stuttered breath, your hand flying to his chest to shove him, grab him—something.

“Joel—”

"You watched like you didn’t fuckin’ love it,” he hissed, cutting you off. “You think I’d let you leave after that? After he touched you? Told you he’d take care of what’s mine?”

His head dropped, nose brushing your cheek, lips dragging along the edge of your jaw like a threat disguised as affection. You felt his breath in your hair, heavy and ragged, every inch of him pressed to you like a cage.

“He didn’t even—” you started, breath catching as he nibbled on your ear, “you were the one—”

“I told you I’d kill any man that thought he could take what’s mine,” he said, voice so soft it didn’t sound real. “You hear me, baby? You’re my girl, only mine. Say it now, be a good girl.”

“Fuck you, I can’t believe you!” you tried pushing him away, but his knee edged higher between your thighs, his chest pushing you into the wall even more, “Get off, Joel!”

“So you’re tellin’ me, if I reached down your panties right now, they wouldn’t be sopping wet for daddy, hm?”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his question, “You’re a freak, Miller.”

He hummed against your neck, lips tracing your pulse, tongue darting out to taste the salt of you, lips pressing and suckling at your skin. You couldn't help the bend in your back as your body betrayed you. His hand moved from pushing your hip into the wall to unbuttoning the tops of your jeans, and before you could protest, he was reaching down, past the waist band of your thong and into the gusset of the lace, pushing it aside to run his finger between your folds. 

The moan he let out was guttural and feral, a man half animal as he shoved your legs apart, dipping his fingertips into your entrance.

“Oh fuck–” you gripped his shirt, no longer pushing him away but pulling him in. 

“Yeahhh…” he breathed, “there she is.”

And that smugness, something in that dark, satisfied grin, snapped the last of your restraint. With a furious growl, you wrenched his hand out of your jeans, planting both hands on his chest, and shoved him again, this time with finality. 

Joel fell back before righting himself, his grin nowhere to be seen as you spit the words at him: “Stay away from me.”

He froze, chest heaving, the feral edge in his eyes dimming with confusion.

“I hate you.” Your voice cracked, but you forced the words out. “I don’t want you. Not anymore. You don’t own me.”

For once, he didn’t come after you. He only stood there, jaw tight, swallowing back something ugly as you pushed past him, leaving him under the bar light with his hands curled into fists at his sides.

Joel

He told himself he wasn’t stalking you. He just… missed you. Needed to know you were safe. Needed to see you, even if from a distance.

So he’d started to park his truck down the block from your gym in the days that passed since the bar fight. Engine off, of course, and hat pulled low, watching through the windshield as you slipped inside the building in your leggings and hoodie, earbuds dangling, a bounce in your step that gutted him. Sometimes he’d wait the whole hour just to watch you come back out, the front of your little tank damp with sweat, forehead glistening, tugging at your bag strap as you crossed the lot. He memorized every detail from afar, from the way you tied your jacket around your waist and the way you bent your head to check your phone. 

Between jobs, he’d find excuses to pull over, thumb flicking to the Find My app he shouldn’t have still had. You hadn’t realized it was still on his phone. The tiny dot pulsed on the map and he felt calmer knowing where you were. At home. At work or the gym. The store. He told himself it wasn’t wrong…he wasn’t trying to control you. He just couldn’t breathe not knowing if you were safe.

One night, you were in a new spot he didn’t recognize. And suddenly, a kindling fire burst into flames inside him, molten with that green monster clawing at his chest as he jumped in his truck, phone still open, following the dot to the other side of town. His knuckles ached on the wheel, jaw tight, imagination running wild with pictures of you in another man’s house, some stranger’s hands where only his should be. The longer he drove, the darker it got inside his head.

If he found you there, if he drove up and saw another man touching what was his, Joel wasn’t sure what he’d do, except that it wouldn’t be pretty. He thought about fire. How quick a house could go up if you knew where to start it. How easy it would be to walk away with nothing but smoke curling into the sky behind him.

Or maybe it wouldn’t need fire. Maybe it’d just be one body to move. He knew where the ground stayed soft outside of town, how deep he’d need to dig to make sure no dog or man ever found it. What was having to bury one man in a grave, if it meant keeping you?

But when he pulled up, it wasn’t a house. It wasn’t even a bar to pick up strangers. It was a tattoo shop, neon light buzzing above the door. His pulse thundered as he killed the engine, eyes locked on the entrance. He couldn’t see you through the windows, but he stayed, headlights off, waiting.

When you finally came out, his stomach flipped at the sight of you again, though you looked the same—no fresh ink peeking out, no sign of what you’d done inside. That fire in him stoked down to embers, quiet but still burning, banked hot beneath his ribs.

It drove him insane that he couldn’t storm across the street, grab your face in his hands, kiss you until you remembered you were his. It drove him insane that he had to sit there in the dark, invisible, while you walked past him like he didn’t exist. All he wanted to do was show you how much you were meant to be with him and no one else. To touch, to hold, to bend you over and…well, he kept those thoughts between him and God nowadays.

Every night, he’d lie awake, phone in hand, staring at that little pulsing dot like it was the only tether keeping him sane. Joel Miller was half feral without you, starved, aching, sick in love and in need. The longer you stayed away, the more convinced he became: you weren’t just someone he wanted. You were his.

And if he had to watch, if he had to wait, if he had to burn with it, he’d do it. Because sooner or later, you’d understand. Nobody could love you the way he did. Nobody would ever try.

You

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that you saw Joel Miller again. Well, the first time you’d seen him when he wasn’t trying—and failing—to hide in the dark cab of his truck. You’d known he was following you, but it thrilled you. Maybe it should’ve scared you. But knowing a man was lovesick and obsessed only stoked the fire in your belly as you caught sight of his black pickup. You’d even left on your location for him to come find you whenever he wanted.

So now, in the blaring haze of the nightclub, you knew he’d show his face. You’d even thought about risking another nobody to grab his attention, to force his hand again, but for once you caught a stroke of pathetic empathy for the sweet brown haired, blue eyed stranger who tried to buy you a drink. It wasn’t his fault you looked single. So you’d turned him down before he could talk to you for more than a minute.

The place smelled of sweet fog smoke, bass pounding hard enough to rattle your bones. Bright lights strobed across sweat sticky bodies, the DJ hunched in the corner, spinning the same four beats into oblivion as you danced with one of the girls you’d come with that night. That’s when you saw Joel, arms folded over his chest, leaning against the wall like sin incarnate, his gaze locked on you. 

But there was a girl.

Tattooed, tipsy, sticky lip gloss smeared at the corner of her mouth. She was pawing at his arm, nails digging into the muscle of his bicep where it peeked from his black tee like she was claiming him. All flirty smiles and fake giggles, pressing herself close.

Joel wasn’t even looking at her. Not even a glance her way because his eyes were pinned to you. And that made your stomach twist tighter. Because she was still touching him even though he clearly wasn’t interested.

You pushed through the crowd, closing the space until you were face to face, your drink sloshing onto the sticky floor. You tilted your head, eyes raking over her cheap dress, her smeared mascara, her trembling little smile.

“You must be drunk,” you said sweetly, venom dripping off every word. “Because if you were sober, you’d know better than to touch something that isn’t yours. Unless you’ve got a death wish.”

Her eyes narrowed, mouth opening like she wanted to speak, but you leaned closer, lips brushing her ear. “You don’t want me as your enemy, sweetheart. So take your last chance and fuck off.”

The girl’s breath hitched. Joel chuckled low in his throat, his grin splitting wider, and you didn’t even need to look to know he was hard as stone watching you lose your mind.

The girl finally yanked her hand away, muttering something weak as she shoved into the crowd, vanishing into the fog.

You turned back to Joel, victory singing in your veins as the lights flashed across his face. He was still grinning, eyes dark and shining.

“What’re you doing here, Joel?” you asked, feigning your annoyance despite your win.

“You just told that girl I was yours.”

“No,” you corrected, tilting your chin up, “I said she shouldn’t touch what isn’t hers.”

“Because I’m yours.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “I’m so over this. I’m going home.”

You shoved your empty glass onto the nearest table and shouldered past the crowd. He followed instantly, slipping through the crowd like a shadow tethered to you, until the thump of bass gave way to the sharp night air outside.

“Baby, baby, c’mon,” he jogged up behind you, voice soft, coaxing. “Let’s just talk.”

You didn’t stop walking, heels clicking against the sidewalk, the neon buzz of the club sign painting the pavement in red and blue. “Talk about what? How you’re still following me around like some obsessed puppy?”

“Maybe,” Joel admitted, catching your wrist before you could slip further into the dark. His grip was warm, firm, but not rough, just insistent. “Because I can’t stand it. Because you’re mine, baby. You’ve always been mine.”

You stared down at his hand on your wrist, then back up at him, your lips curling into a cruel little smile. “If you’re so desperate, then maybe you can drive me home.”

His jaw tightened, eyes searching yours. “Okay.”

“Don’t get any ideas.” you said, snatching your hand back. But your heartbeat ricketed up a beat, betraying you. 

And on the way home, Joel kept his hands to himself, which both surprised you and made you fidgety. He asked about your day, about the past couple weeks at work with that coworker you hated, like things were normal again. His voice was even, steady, and for a moment it almost felt like it used to. Maybe he was just grateful to be close again. You weren’t sure. You hated that you liked it, though — hated how easy it was to slip back into his gravity.

As you pulled up to your apartment complex, the glow outside your door sputtered and crackled, flickering like a mosquito zapper about to short out. The pale light buzzed, flashing on and off, making the walkway look eerie and stuttered.

“When did that start?” Joel asked, his voice soft, too soft, as he frowned at your door.

“Dunno. Thanks for the ride,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant, pushing the door open before he could say more. But Joel cut the engine and got out after you, boots crunching on the gravel.

“I told you not to get any—”

“I know, darlin’,” he said gently, that maddening lilt curling around the word. He was infuriating when he was sweet, like he wasn’t the same tornado that ripped through everything you touched. “Just let me fix it. Might be the bulb, might be somethin’ with the wiring. I just wanna make sure you’re safe.”

You narrowed your eyes, arms folding over your chest as you stood planted in front of your door. “Fine.”

Joel nodded once, hazel eyes locked on you for a beat too long before he turned to the light. He reached up, big hand twisting the bulb, hissing when it burned his fingertips, but working at it anyway. He jiggled it loose, studied the socket, then shook his head.

“Gonna need to check your breaker.”

“Seriously?” you sighed, dragging the word.

He shrugged, looking annoyingly unbothered. “Sorry, baby.”

“Quit callin’ me that, Miller.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smirked at you, eyes glinting, and you rolled your own so hard it almost hurt.

You unlocked the door, muttering under your breath, letting him follow you inside. He didn’t even need pointing, he went straight for the coat closet like he’d lived there. The faint scent of him filled the space around you, leather and cedar, impossible to ignore.

Joel studied the breaker, flipping the switches with practiced ease. He went outside to replace the bulb, then came back in, wiping his hands together like a job well done.

“Should be good now.” He hit the switch, and sure enough, the porch lit up in a steady blaze, no flicker at all. Like it had never even been broken.

“Great,” you muttered, pushing your hair out of your face. “See you later, then.”

Joel chuckled, low and sure, shaking his head. “Not so fast.”

You groaned, leaning your shoulder into the doorframe. Here we go.

He stepped in, the porch light humming steady behind him as he came closer in the doorway, casting him in a gold halo. The irony wasn’t lost on you. His voice dropped, softer than you’d expected, almost shy. “Missed you.”

Your eyes narrowed as his arms came up to cross over his thick, wide chest, mirroring your stance. He looked down at his boots, sucking in a tight breath as if to steady himself before looking at you again. “Haven’t been sleepin’. Haven’t been eatin’ right. Nothin’...nothin’ feels right without you,” His gaze flicked down, then back up, unguarded in a way that made your chest ache. “I don’t know how to do it without you, darlin’.”

You shifted, uncomfortable, heat crawling up your neck. “God, you’re so—” You huffed, throwing your hands up, unable to look at him straight on.

“Tell me you ain’t been feelin’ the same,” Joel pressed, his voice rough but steady. “Tell me to leave, I’ll leave. But look me in the eye and tell me you haven’t missed me too, baby.”

You glared up at him, your eyes raking over his face, searching for a crack you could wedge your anger into. “I haven’t—I—” The words snagged in your throat, the lie choking itself before it could reach the night air.

His mouth twitched, flattening for a beat before curling slow around the edges, that cocky grin sliding back into place like it had never left.

“Shut up,” you muttered, sharp and breathless, before fisting his shirt and lunging for him.

You kissed him with messy furiosity, all teeth and tongue, like you were trying to silence him with the only weapon you had left. Joel groaned into it, arms locking around you instantly, his body swallowing yours whole as if he’d been waiting all this time for you to finally break.

He shoved forward, making you stumble back a step before scooping you up in his arms, slamming the door shut with his boot and clicking the lock without ever breaking the kiss.

“Christ,” he panted against your mouth as you dragged kisses down the thick column of his neck, tasting soap and sweat and the pounding pulse beneath. “Missed you so fuckin’ much.” His groan cracked when your teeth sank into his throat.

“Fuck, please,” you gasped, grinding against his stomach where he held you aloft. Joel swallowed your moan into his mouth, tongue rough and hot against yours as he carried you up the stairs, each step jarring but never breaking the fever between you.

“Please what?” he rasped, his voice shredded thin. “Tell me, baby. I’ll give you anythin’ you want. Give you the damn moon if I could.”

“Fuck me, Joel, please, I can’t—” your words tumbled out, frantic, the heat of his body a furnace that would never be close enough. You clawed at him like you’d crawl inside if you could, just to be closer. “I hated seeing that girl all over you tonight,” you choked out, voice venomous. “Hated it. I could’ve—I wanted to—”

“Shh.” He tightened his grip in your hair, pulling your face back just enough to meet his eyes, steady and molten. “I know. I know, baby. Ain’t no one takin’ me from you. Ever.”

He set you down on the bed with a care that clashed with the storm in his fists and mouth. He quickly undressed himself, wholly bare before you as you stayed clothed before he descended onto you. His weight hovered over you as he kissed down your throat, over your collarbone, dragging his teeth along bare skin. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it higher, calloused palms cupping your breasts through the thin fabric before tugging it over your head in one smooth pull.

“Pretty girl,” he muttered against your sternum, his mouth closing over a peaked nipple, teeth grazing before his tongue soothed. He palmed the other breast roughly, greedy, groaning into you like he was starving. You arched beneath him, your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, closer.

His mouth traced lower, down your stomach, his thumbs catching in the waistband of your pants.

“What’s this, hm?” Joel murmured, voice dropping low as he tugged them down, lace catching on his knuckles. The scrolled letters became visible slowly, unveiled by lace and Joel’s calloused fingers.

He stilled.

The script stood out stark and clean against your skin, perched right between the gentle curve of your hip and the bone just above your cunt.

𝓙𝓸𝓮𝓵

In black ink, just a couple weeks old and still healing.

Joel reeled back a little—not in shock or horror but in reverence, in something like awe, and when his eyes met yours, there was only heat. Dark and thick and heavy, the kind that filled the space between your lungs and made it hard to breathe.

"You’ve been hidin’ this from me, baby?” he asked, his voice light and lilting, like he was speaking to something fragile. But the edge of it curled mean. Sweet like syrup over a knife. “Tattooed my name on you like a good little girl, huh?”

You whimpered—surprised by your own nerves. You’d been proud of it when you got it. Smug, even. But now? Under his eyes? Under his hands?

Joel lowered his head.

His mouth found your skin and pressed his lips softly against each letter, tongue dipping out, licking over the lines like he wanted to taste every stroke. He kissed it, again and again, lips dragging across your skin, open-mouthed and worshipful. His tongue was hot against the sensitive skin, kissing it like he was kissing into your mouth and not the skin of your pelvis. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, breath warm and thick as it sank into your skin. Your hips jolted up against him, thighs twitching, need bleeding out of you like your body couldn’t hide it anymore.

“Can’t believe you got my fuckin’ name branded on you.”

You mewled, the sound raw, half formed in your throat as heat crawled up your spine now, your whole body alive with tension, every part of you sparking as his mouth trailed lower. Joel pulled your pants down the rest of the way, slow and greedy, and your legs opened for him without thought, a helpless thing begging to be touched.

He kissed down to your pubic bone, taking his time, all slow and reverent. He inhaled your scent, his nose brushing right up against your clit.

“Ohhh, baby,” he mocked, dragging the words out. “You’re soaked, huh? Pretty pussy just aching for daddy.”

“Shut up, old man,” you groaned, pushing the heels of your hands into your eyes, desperate and annoyed, thighs clenching with frustration.

He laughed low in his throat. “But you love this old man, don’t you, honey? Tell me how much you love me.”

You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek. “I love your cock, old man. Not you.”

“Mhm. Sure, sure,” he chuckled, kissing your hip again. “That why you got my name written in ink across your sweet body?”

“Drunken mistake.”

Joel shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.”

Then he kissed your clit—so softly you almost missed it. Just a brush, feather light, enough to drive you insane. You looked down and saw the bastard smiling.

“Tell me you love me,” he murmured, gravel in his voice, dragging his mouth just to the side again, pressing another kiss to your inner thigh. You twitched, whined, your body betraying you completely.

“No,” you gasped, your head rolling back. “No, I’m not saying it.”

“But I love you, baby,” he said, eyeing your glistening folds, “Fuckin’ obsessed with you.”

You whimpered, mouth twisting, a broken frown pulling at your face and Joel mirrored it, mockingly.

“Aww, poor thing can’t even talk now? Too many needy thoughts?” he crooned, pressing his lips right beside where you wanted him, tongue flicking out to trace the crease of your thigh. “Come on, sweetheart. Tell me why you got that tattoo. Tell me why you keep crawling back to me.”

“‘Cause—‘cause—” You were stammering, hips searching for friction, clenching around nothing.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute like this,” he said, dragging it out, “Could make you squirm for hours.”

His tongue still hadn’t touched you where you needed it most. He leaned down, breathing against your clit, tracing the sensitive skin just outside of your folds with his nose—

“I love you, Joel,” you gasped, eyes squeezing shut. “I love you, I love you—”

His lips hit your soaked skin with just a wet peck and you jolted in surprise.

“Aww, baby. You mean it?”

“Yes, yes—I mean it!”

“Say it again.”

“I love you! I got it tattooed because I’m in love with you, you fucking bastard!”

Joel laughed, low and mean. “That’s my girl. But c’mon, I know you can be sweeter than that.”

You cried out, half with need, half with fury as your hips rolled in search of any kind of relief. Joel’s forearm slid hard across your hips, locking you in place, keeping you from grinding up against his mouth. You thrashed once and he held tighter.

“Please,” you begged now. Your voice cracked, tears burning the edges of your vision. You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. “I love you, Daddy, I love you. Love you and everything about you. I’m obsessed with you too.”

Joel moved fast.

He surged his body upward, leaning in to crush his mouth to yours, his tongue deep and hungry, bypassing any kind of gentle pretense to devour you fully, kissing like he could never get close enough. You moaned into it, wild, grabbing his hair in tight fists, dragging him closer, pulling like you were starved.

“You make me insane,” he panted between kisses. “Make me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”

“Yes—yes—I know,” you gasped. “You make me crazy too, Daddy, please, please—”

“Okay, baby,” he rasped, his voice dark and reverent as he moved back down, stopping to kiss your navel before saying: “Okay. Gonna give you what you need. What only Daddy can give you.”

And then his mouth was finally on you.

Tongue thick and wet, sliding out of him like something obscene, starved, pressing heavy against your folds as he licked an open, shameless stripe up the whole slick length of your cunt. No teasing now. No trace of mercy. Just filthy, hungry mouth, slathering spit all over you like he was trying to wear you.

He buried his face in it, lips sealing around your clit, dragging it between them with a deep, needy suck that made your vision blur, made your hands fly to his hair like you needed to anchor yourself to him. And the sounds he made between your legs, those wet, slurping groans, breath snarling through his nose as he devoured you, tongue moving in greedy circles, then sharp flicks, then back to that flat, full pressure that had your thighs snapping tight around his head.

He groaned into you like he couldn’t breathe without it. The vibrations rattled through your clit, right up into your spine, your hips jerking helplessly against the strength of his hold. He fucking growled, the sound thick and low and furious as he sucked hard enough to bruise, and when he pulled back just enough to spit on your cunt in a thick, warm, filthy glob before dragging his tongue through it again, you sobbed. He was sloppy, nasty, mean and loving all the same when he ate at you.

"Messy little pussy," he muttered against you, his chin already soaked, beard shining with your slick. “Look at this, baby.”

You couldn’t think or breathe. You couldn’t stop shaking. He was licking like he meant to ruin you, to split you open with his mouth alone. Your clit throbbed under the attention, swollen and pulsing with every pull of his lips, every lewd moan, every inch of his tongue gliding through the slick, messy heat of you. 

Your thighs were trembling, belly fluttering and your voice was lost somewhere between a scream and a gasp and a high, cracked wail of his name. White stars burst in your vision as you crested over the edge, the coil wrapping around your spine tightening and slackening and twitching until you started to come down. Your thighs shook as he kept licking at you, softer now, more careful, drinking you down like every drop was sacred, his tongue pushing inside you for one last taste.

He kissed your thighs and up your body until he was hovering over you, pressing his mouth to yours. The taste of you was dizzying—honey, salt, sweat—and his tongue swept through your mouth gently, moaning like he was the one coming down from the high.

His cock twitched heavy between your stomach and his as you bit his lip, your hand sliding down to wrap around him. He drew in a sharp breath, leaning his forehead to yours, eyes wild as you both watched your fist stroke up and down.

“Where you gonna get my name tattooed, Daddy?” you whispered, voice sweet and melodic.

He chuckled low, then groaned as your thumb swept across the leaking tip, spreading it around his length.

“Anywhere you want,” he said roughly, kissing you harder, before sitting back on his haunches to watch your hand work him. Your fingertips didn’t even meet around the thickest part of him.

“I think right here would be cute,” you cooed, releasing him so his cock slapped heavy against your pelvis, then dragging your fingertip just above the thatch of hair where he disappeared.

“Yeah? Your property, huh?” he teased, but his grin was sharp, hungry.

You nodded, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth.

“All yours,” he agreed hoarsely, and began to drag himself through your glistening folds, the wet schlick obscene. He tapped the fat head against your clit, playful, before notching at your entrance.

Ohhh, you sighed as he pushed in an inch.

“Now,” he groaned, gripping your thigh to push you open wider, watching himself sink deeper, “wanna hear you say it again.”

“Ah–ah—say what?” you hiccuped, clutching at his forearm as he continued to disappear into you slowly.

“Why you got that little tattoo, baby.”

“I love you, Joel,” you whispered, eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice breaking, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder, the other hooking at his waist as he leaned forward above you. He pulled out slow, then slid back in deep, kissing your nose. “So much it hurts. Hurts in my chest, hurts in my fuckin’ bones.”

You moaned, eyes rolling back, arms circling his neck. His mouth crushed to yours as he moved, and he groaned into your mouth like a man who’d die without you.

His pace quickened, thrusts sharper, deeper, until the slap of skin was drowned by your ragged cries. Joel tore his mouth from yours, panting against your cheek, his voice rough, low, wrecked. “So damn tight around me. S’like this pussy was made for me, huh angel?”

“Yes, Joel,” you gasped, nails scoring down his back, desperate to keep him inside you.

“God, baby…” His teeth grazed your jaw as his hips sawed back and forth harder, his voice breaking with a new hunger. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you sobbed, head tipping back against the pillow. “Yours, forever.”

His hand caught your throat, not quite squeezing, just steadying you, his thumb brushing your pulse as if to remind himself you were alive, here, his. His cock pushed impossibly deep, kissing your womb, and he groaned against your ear. “I’d kill any man who even dreamed of you. I’d burn the whole world down if it meant keepin’ you here safe with me.”

Your thighs quivered as he drove into you, stars bursting white-hot behind your eyes. “I know,” you whined, broken on his rhythm. “You’ve already ruined me, I’m all yours.”

“That’s my good girl,” he growled, pressing his forehead hard to yours, sweat beading where your skin met. His thrusts grew frantic, almost pained, his voice unraveling. “And what if I knock you up, hm? Gonna hate me if I fuck a baby into you too?”

You clutched him tighter, delirious, babbling your devotion against his mouth, you should’ve never said those awful words, the ones you never meant outside the bar. “No, no, I could never hate you. I need you, I love you—keep me, keep me, Joel—make me yours.”

He kissed you like a vow, broken moans spilling hot against your lips. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it, gonna fill you, gonna put a baby in you, sweet girl, then you won’t be able to go anywhere,”

Joel’s hips snapped in merciless rhythm as if carving himself into you was the only prayer he knew, every word he spoke a fevered gospel, every thrust a confession of love so twisted it bordered on holy. 

The words seemed to stoke the fire in both of you at once, toppling your second orgasm over the peak, your back bowing into an arch you never thought possible as the world went white behind your eyelids.

Joel groaned above you, his body shuddering as he stilled, pressing as deep as he could, spilling into you with a sound that was half gasp and half curse. His arms locked tight around you, crushing you to him as if he could fuse you together.

For a long moment, the world was just the heat of him inside you and the rough sound of his breath against your skin. His mouth brushed your cheek, his voice ragged as he said: “Don’t ever leave me again,” he muttered, words splitting like they’d been torn straight from his chest.

Your nails scraped lightly through his hair. “Never,” you whispered back, your lips ghosting his ear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a broken groan, holding you tighter, burying his face against your neck. His weight pressed you deep into the mattress, his chest rising and falling against yours in uneven bursts. You stroked his hair absently as he stayed inside you, the damp ends sticking to your fingers, soothing him with gentle touches.

Little by little, his breathing evened out, the frantic edge fading until the two of you were just a tangle of limbs and sweat, cocooned in the heavy quiet that always followed the storm. The haze of arousal began to thin, leaving you raw, dazed, but not entirely unsteady. Your fingers kept combing through his hair, softer now, more thoughtful, until they slowed to a halt.

“Joel?” you murmured into the dark.

He answered with a low hum, the sound muffled, half asleep, content.

“Did you fuck with my porch light?”

[joelssheep]

He laughed low in his throat. “But you love this old man, don’t you, honey? Tell me how much you love me.”

HOLY FUCKING SHIIIIIT. I’m absolutely OBSESSED with this dynamic. Tommy being mildly included made my head SPIN!!!!!!! I will pay you 65 MILLION dollars to make a part 2 with Tommy included with these crazy motherfuckers holy shit

[joelssheep]

Headcanon: you beg your typically grumpy, older bf Joel to send you selfies throughout the day because it’s not fair that only you send them to him. Joel is terrible at taking selfies at first, but slowly gets the hang of it. He sends you a good morning picture every day now without fail (Sarah loves to be included).